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asiantransformations · 2 days ago

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From KorKor to GongGong.

JunHao couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen. Once, he had everything—a loving girlfriend, a thriving business, and a body that turned heads everywhere he went. Now, all of that was gone. The debt he owed the Chinese mafia hadn’t just taken his money or his livelihood. They had taken him.

It all started years ago when his business began to crumble. Desperate to stay afloat, he’d taken a loan from the wrong people. Rumors of the Chinese mafia’s brutal, unorthodox debt collection methods had been whispered around town, but JunHao never imagined he’d become one of their victims.

At 35, JunHao had been the epitome of masculinity. Years of waking up at dawn to lift weights in his makeshift gym-esque courtyard had sculpted his body into a oriental masterpiece. His biceps, thick and powerful, could split the sleeves of any shirt. His abs, chiseled and defined, were a testament to his discipline. And his manhood—well, his girlfriend used to blush just thinking about it. JunHao was proud of his natural endowment, which had always made him feel invincible, as if he were destined for greatness.

But that was before. Now, at 70 years old and trapped in a frail, withered body, he was a shadow of his former self.

Determined to confront the man who had taken everything from him, JunHao arrived at Mr. Chen’s opulent mansion. The doors were opened by two towering young men, their muscles bulging against their tailored suits. Their chiseled jaws and cocky smiles hinted at their borrowed origins. JunHao knew these weren’t their real bodies—probably stolen from aspiring athletes or struggling gym rats who couldn’t pay their dues.

The guards dragged JunHao through the mansion’s marble hallways, past walls adorned with priceless artwork. The air was thick with the scent of testosterone and power. Finally, they arrived at the courtyard.

And there he was—JunHao's old body, lounging in a hot tub like a god.

Mr. Chen, now inhabiting JunHao's former body, looked like a vision of strength and virility. His light, sculpted chest glistened with water, the ridges of his abs catching the sunlight. He grabbed his growing cock and let out a sexy, alpha groan. A black necklace with the Chinese Mafia's logo now rested against his broad chest. He oozed confidence, his powerful legs stretched out lazily as if he owned the world.

When he saw JunHao, his lips curled into a smug smile. “JunHao!” he boomed, his voice deep and commanding—JunHao's voice. “Come to admire your handiwork?”

JunHao's heart twisted in his chest. Hearing his voice come from someone else, especially someone who was desecrating everything he’d worked for, was unbearable.

Mr. Chen stood, water cascading down his muscular frame. He flexed his biceps, their size seemingly even more pronounced than when JunHao had owned them. “This body,” Mr. Chen said, running his hands over his chest and abs, “is a masterpiece. A gift from you to me.”

He laughed, grabbing his stiffening crotch with an audacious smirk. “And this? This is a real treasure. Your little secret, huh? What they say about Chinese people, isn't true apparently. Don’t worry, I’m putting it to good use now. Let’s just say it’s… thriving in the right hands.”

JunHao's face burned with shame. He’d always been proud of his virility, his ability to satisfy his girlfriend and leave her breathless. Now, Mr. Chen was flaunting it like a trophy, using it in ways that made JunHao's stomach churn.

Mr. Chen stepped out of the hot tub, water dripping down his thick thighs. “You know, JunHao, I’ve never felt more alive. This body—it’s a machine. The stamina, the strength… And let’s not even get started on the bedroom. Let’s just say the boys can’t get enough.”

He flexed again, this time making a show of clenching his pecs. “I don’t know how you kept this gem hidden for so long. If I’d known what you were packing, I’d have taken it sooner.”

JunHao couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped to his knees, his frail body trembling. “Please,” he begged. “I want my body back. I’ll do anything.”

Mr. Chen chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. “Anything, you say?” He gestured for one of his guards to get him another bottle of beer. Taking a long sip, he let some spill down his chest, then wiped it off with a slow, deliberate motion. “You couldn’t handle this body anymore, old man. Look at you—pathetic.”

He stepped closer, towering over JunHao. “But I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a new body—not this one, of course. This beauty is staying right where it is. But I can get you something… better than the sack of bones you’re in now. A younger body. Maybe even a little attractive.”

JunHao's heart leapt. “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” Mr. Chen said with a grin taking of his sunglasses seductively. “On one condition.”

JunHao's hope faltered. “What condition?”

“You’ll become my personal servant,” Mr. Chen said, leaning in close. “Every day, you’ll oil this body, shave this chest, and make sure it looks its best. You will also be my own personal cum dump. You should know how virile I am now and my precious liquids aren't to be just spilled on the ground. You’ll clean my mansion, pour my drinks, and watch as I live the life you gave up. And maybe—maybe—I’ll consider giving you a slightly better body in return. A body that will please my sexual needs more.”

JunHao's stomach kept being churned. The thought of serving Mr. Chen, of watching him flaunt what was once his, let alone serving and pleasuring a body that was once his, was unbearable. Yet what choice did he have? To live the rest of his days as an old, broken man was equally unthinkable.

“So,” Mr. Chen said, flexing his biceps one more time for emphasis. “What’s it gonna be, JunHao? Serve me, or rot in that pathetic shell of yours?”

JunHao looked up at his former body, now radiating power and confidence, and felt his world closing in.

"Okay."

#asiantransformations #asianmuscle #racialtransformations #asianbodybuilder #asiantoasian #buff asian #buffasian #bodyswap #male possession #chinesemafia

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velvetchrry · 2 days ago

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━━━━ IT REMAINS

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x psychiatrist!reader

4.3k. after being shot in the head, johnny works with a psychiatrist to get his life back. **contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

It’s a tick.

Nine. That’s how many hash marks make up the upper margin of your notes. That’s how many times Sergeant MacTavish has rubbed the spot on his forehead where he was shot months ago. If you listen closely you can hear the pad of his thumb race along the grown out hairs of his mohawk.

It’s how he gives himself quiet comfort. When you ask him a question that makes him feel squeamish, he absentmindedly runs his finger along it. You’d have more hash marks if you deigned to keep track at the beginning of your session but this is only the first time you’re meeting him. You’ve also gotten farther than any of his other psychiatrists thus far. 32 minutes in.

His first psychiatrist, Dr. Williams is great. Phenomenal, actually. Old school, nearing his late fifties — he showed you the ropes when you started here. You thought for sure his calm demeanor would be just what MacTavish needed. He made it approximately 17 minutes into the session.

You’re not even sure Dr. Williams was able to get an answer out of him that day. You were here; heard the raised voice of Sergeant MacTavish. Watched as one of the Lieutenants who accompanied him dragged him out. Dr. Williams left his office a few minutes after that, pink-faced and flustered. The only time you’ve ever seen him like that.

MacTavish went through two other psychiatrists before landing in your lap. Why me? you couldn’t help but think. What could I possibly have that they don’t? You’re the youngest psychiatrist here by a mile. Fresh meat. A larva who has yet to transform, metamorphose.

He’s been staring at the same speck on your carpet for a few minutes now. You saw this faraway look in his eyes at the beginning of the session. Those piercing blues fogged over, mist on the lake. Pupils pinpricked.

His leg bounces slightly. Sweat glistens on his upper lip. Talking about what happened, bringing up that day is what has set him off in other sessions before. You weren’t ready to breach the subject until a few minutes ago.

“Johnny?” you try again, gingerly. He didn’t like when you called him Sergeant MacTavish earlier.

“Doc?” he says calmly, as if you haven’t been waiting in silence for him to answer your question.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

He sucks his teeth. Ponders. You let him. If there’s anything you’ve observed about his behavior thus far is that he does not like to be pushed, likely due to the fact that he simply needs more time than before. With a TBI like his, it’s not shocking. Memory loss and concentration issues are almost a guarantee. Along with the other symptoms he’s been experiencing — mood changes, difficulty sleeping, sensitivity to sound �� and that’s only what you’ve been able to gather so far from his own admissions this session and the notes from those very brief prior ones.

“I dinnae want ta talk about it,” he finally says.

“Alright,” you answer simply. Calmly.

His shoulders visibly slacken at that.

You wonder if he expected you to push him. And, had this not been your first session, you may have. But not this time. He’s not ready for that yet.

He does surprise you, however. When Sergeant MacTavish makes it the full hour, you award him with an honest smile.

“This is a great step forward, Johnny. I’m proud of you.”

You look down at your slightly smudged notes, the air still heavy with the scent of fresh ink. Notes on Johnny’s sisters, parents, home. How he imagines his life in the future — back home to the Highlands, maybe a little cottage in the woods, walking distance to his relatives. Surrounded by family — a wife, children. Animals. Fending for himself and his family. Providing.

It’s… sweet. His fantasy of the future. You imagine in different circumstances he might have been an ideal husband. He has a protective instinct that drives him in everything he does. A wolf defending his pack. Maw dripping with the blood of those who would stand to hurt anyone he loves.

“Thanks, Doc.”

He scratches the scar again as he stands up. It’s still raised — pink flesh that draws your eye in. He waits for you, maybe the most awkward you’ve seen him thus far. You stand and offer your hand. His engulfs yours. He holds it tight, like letting go of you will make him slip out of reality again.

“Next week, same time?” You hate the phrase as soon as it comes out, making you sound like every movie shrink ever, but routine is important for him right now.

He swallows thickly and nods his head, finally letting go of your hand. You walk him to the exit, to the waiting Lieutenant. He goes without a fuss.

You don’t run into any problems until a few sessions later.

He’s agitated, but hasn’t told you why yet. You give him time, give him space. Let him work out what he wants to tell you. The Newton’s cradle that usually occupies your desktop is shoved in a drawer. Silence envelops the two of you, other than his ragged breathing as he tries to get ahold of his emotions.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been holding your own breath but you allow some oxygen into your lungs. You feel like you’re standing at the door of an airplane and he’s the one strapping your parachute. Checking for rips and tears. Making sure the deployment handle is secure.

“Johnny?” you murmur. Wait.

He rubs his scar.

“Lonely,” he blurts out.

“That’s to be expected,” you hum as your finger absentmindedly brushes across the large CONFIDENTIAL in red ink that runs across his folder. He hasn’t been allowed to talk to any family or friends. They all think he’s dead until the man who killed him is in custody and — while you have your disagreements on whether or not that is the best course of action for him — you don’t outrank the military men who made this decision.

“Yer the only friend I get ta see.”

You hesitate and realize that was your error as soon as his face drops.

“We’re friends, no?”

You give him a genuine smile. “I’m your psychiatrist, Johnny.”

“Said ya wanted what’s best for me. Said ya cared.” He’s agitated, fist clenched and shaking against his thigh. He strokes his scar in quick succession with his other hand. His usually serene, handsome face is contorted, as if what he’s hearing is causing him physical pain. He is seconds away from another episode.

“That is true and I meant it when I said it.”

He unfurls his fist but his fingertip never leaves his head. “So we’re friends then?”

You shouldn’t placate him with confirmation. If it were any other patient, you wouldn’t. You would stop this in its tracks, before anything has time to bloom. Cut out the dead root before it rots the rest of the plant. But it’s him — and you can’t be another in a long list of people who have failed him.

“Yes Johnny. We’re… friends.”

He beams at you and you think you see a piece of Johnny from before the accident. The golden retriever energy you suspect made up his personality. The finger on the scar stills.

“I knew you were the right one for me, Doc.”

You make it through three months with him.

“Bonnie flowers,” he nods towards the vase on your desk.

Lily of the valley, baby’s breath and red roses encompassed in a simple glass vase with a lilac satin bow. No note, but it was your birthday week and you figured one of your friends or parents just forgot to add one. You’ll figure out who sent it later.

“Mmm, they are.”

You level him with a look.

“You’re avoiding my question, Johnny,” you remark. He’s had enough sessions with you, become comfortable enough for you to be able to challenge him a bit. He sinks further into the couch and you sit up straighter, closer to the edge of your seat, not letting him run away from the question with physical distance. “Can we talk about this?” you ask his permission.

There’s a tick in his jaw as he mulls it over, eyes never leaving the flowers. You wait, unsure what his reaction will be.

“Can I say no?”

You nod. “You can always say no to me, Johnny. Though, it’s easier for me to help you if you say yes.”

He looks down at his lap, hands folded neatly. The hair on his arms escapes from his long sleeve a little bit. He rubs a knuckle.

“Ya ken I trust ya, Doc, it’s just…” he pinches his brow together, eyes shut as he brings a hand to his head. He hunches over slightly.

“Johnny?” his name lingers in the air. The physical distress he shows gives you heartburn, acid creeping up your throat. He groans, and pushes his fingertips so hard against his forehead you’re sure it’ll bruise.

The bottle of water is in your hands before you realize what you’re doing — standing from your seat and sitting next to him on the couch in your office. You offer it and he lets his hand idle on yours for a second before removing the lid and taking a long sip.

He sighs in relief and lets his muscles relax, leaning backwards into the sofa. A warm, massive hand settles on your knee and you startle but don’t recoil. It would set him back if you pulled away.

“I’m not ready, Doc,” he croaks, and the crack in his voice breaks your heart.

“Alright, Johnny,” you soothe. You grab the back of the hand resting on your knee and squeeze before standing up to return to your chair. “That’s alright. Take your time.”

A knock on your office surprises you a few nights later.

It’s late on a Friday night — you should have been home by now, but you had few things to wrap up before your week off. Notes to finish, information to chart. You were only slightly worried about Johnny, hoping one week off wouldn’t regress him any. At the end of his last session, you made sure to spend some time telling him that you wouldn’t see him next week. You emphasized that you’d be back the following week and would resume as normal.

There’s nothing you hate more than disrupting his routine. It’s been paramount to his recovery thus far. Last week his physician requested an MRI to update his brain imaging, since there hasn’t been any since the incident and it set him off. He only calmed down once you were paged and arrived — stripped yourself of any metal, put on two different pairs of ear plugs and sat vigil next to him on the scanner — your hand brushing against his exposed leg in a soothing motion as his head was inside the tube.

You wonder who could possibly be here at this time of night. As far as you know, you were the last one, but someone else could have easily had a late patient that you weren’t aware of.

The doorknob turns before you can reach it.

Johnny stands in the opening to your office. He is visibly distressed, sweat glistening on his brow. His fingers flex and squeeze as he walks in and closes your office door behind him, hard enough that you jump where you stand.

“Hello, Johnny. What brings you here so late? Where’s your escort?”

He’s still looking off in the distance as he approaches you. You hold your ground, tilting your chin up slightly to look at him. Now that he’s in front of you it’s easier to see how ragged his breathing is, how hard he’s fighting for control over his emotions.

“Do you want to sit?” you try again.

He doesn’t respond, simply holds his ground as you talk. His eyes flicker back and forth as he ponders something. Is he trying to use the calming techniques you’ve taught him?

Your fingers twitch, almost reaching out on instinct to grab his wrist. He sucks in a large breath, his chest nearly brushing against yours as he does. The hairs on your scalp tickle as you feel his exhale caress your face. Patiently, you wait for him. You’re used to this. Sometimes he needs a moment.

“Ye cannae just…” he starts then stops, pinching his eyes shut as he gets his thoughts together. He inhales deeply again before continuing, his voice more desperate. “Why’re ye leaving me, Doc?”

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny. I’ll be back the week after next.”

The line of his jaw sharpens as he clenches his teeth. His fingers continue to flex and contract, half moons indenting the skin of his palm as he does. The thin wire holding him together is about to break and you’re standing in the middle of the debris field.

“I’ll tell ye about it,” he pleads. He brings his hand up to cup your jaw and you hold your ground. Johnny has never frightened you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him agitated. You know, down to your core, he would never hurt you — so you stay still, let him make physical contact. “I’ll tell ye everything.” He dangles the bait over you like you’re a starving animal. The thing you’ve been waiting for all these sessions. A thumb traces the slope of your cheek.

“Okay,” you agree, bringing your hand up to lightly hold against the one stroking you. You wrap your fingers around his and pull his hand off your face. “We’ll talk about it when I return, alright?”

Wrong move.

He snaps.

Before you can react, Johnny grips the back of your neck and pulls you firmly to his chest. His other arm locks itself around your waist. You gasp, breathing in the scent of him as your face is pressed tightly to his body. Your hands fly up to push yourself away but it’s no use. Johnny is carved from stone, immovable, statuesque. He doesn’t crush you, only holds you as his arms lock in place. Your stiffened frame moves with his chest, his rapid breathing competing over the sound of your own.

Panic creeps into your throat, tightening the noose. You know Johnny would never harm you, but you’re not quite certain the lengths he would go when he’s feeling threatened — and right now he’s feeling very threatened.

Fingers wrap around the hair at your nape as he pulls your head back. He kisses you hard and it’s a battle of teeth and tongue as you try to back away from it, remove yourself from the situation. You whine in protest and Johnny groans.

Finally his mouth releases yours. Panting, you gasp for air.

“Johnny… this is… highly inappropriate,” you wheeze.

He looks into your eyes lovingly, as if his stare could keep you in place forever.

“Kept the flowers I gave ye,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen in realization. “You? You’re the one who sent those to me?”

A wide grin splits his face. “My girl’s birthday. ‘Course I did.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he knew when your birthday was — something you definitely did not share with him. “Johnny… I’m your psychiatrist.”

“Yer my friend. Said it yerself. Said a lot of things, hen. ‘We’re in this together’, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to help ye’, ‘Rely on me, even on bad days’,” he leans in, nose pressed to your hair and taking a whiff. “Cannae let you go… no’ now.”

You try pushing yourself off him again to no avail. “Johnny…”

With both arms now wrapped around your middle, he lifts you with ease, setting your ass down gently on top of your desk. He brushes a stray hair out of your face. “Said I can ‘always say no’ to ye. I’m saying it now. Cannae let you go, hen,” he repeats.

“Johnny,” you echo, strained as you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. You try to keep your voice strong and even but it’s becoming more and more difficult the longer you’re stuck in his hold.

He shushes you before you can continue talking, a massive palm covering your mouth. “Know ye want it too, pretty girl.” His large knee forces your legs apart, bumping it against your clothed center. You startle and he chubs up — your jump barely moving you in the strong grip of his arm. “Take such good care of me. Let me return the favor,” he murmurs, pupils blown out wide as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

You try to push him away again as he kisses you, but it’s no use. You’d have better luck tipping over a skyscraper with your bare hands. Defeated, you submit — not by kissing him back but no longer fighting him either.

“Tha’s it,” he coos when he decides to back away. He takes you with him, sliding your bottom across the desk and supporting your body weight until your legs are firmly underneath you. Suddenly you’re turning around and he’s forcing your face down to the cool wood. The action causes you to screech and he lays his body against yours and shushes your cries, smoothing a hand along the exposed skin of your cheek.

“S’alright, pretty girl. S’alright. Nobody’ll ever touch ye again. Safe with me, always.”

A shiver races down your spine. Johnny hums in delight, his hips crushed firmly to your ass. His thick length is pressed against you and he shudders. Impossibly, he pulls you by the waist against him even more and wraps a massive paw around your middle to tear your pants down your body. Your panties come with it and you can’t help the moan that escapes at the sensation and sudden coolness.

“Johnny…” you start again, knowing that kissing him is beyond innappropriate but fucking him on your desk is a different monster entirely.

A few thick digits in your mouth quiet you and you gargle at the sudden intrusion. “Shh, bonnie,” he pacifies you, before wrapping his arm around your front and swiping a long stripe up your core with his spit-moistened fingers.

He braces your squirming body down with his large forearm. You yelp as he continues to swirl around your sensitive nub, the motion getting his fingers wetter and wetter as your body responds to his touch. He continues his ministrations with deft and experienced fingers that have your legs trembling underneath you. Eyes closed, you cry out in pleasure — and then come back to reality when you realize you’re about to be fucked by your vulnerable head trauma patient.

“Johnny! We can’t do this,” you plead.

“Why no’ hen? We both want it.” You can’t see him with how you’re positioned but you just know he’s doing that little head tilt thing he does when he’s genuinely confused.

“It’s not right, I’ll lose my job,” you whisper.

He huffs. “Don’t need it. I’ll take care of ye.”

A bulky finger slides into you and your knees knock together. “You’re my patient,” you reply, breathless.

“Gonna help me at home from now on,” he responds effortlessly, stretching you with another finger, continuing his slow, lazy pumps.

Home?

“W… what do you mean by ‘home’, Johnny?” your psychiatrist brain asks, waiting for your patient to define his train of thought like you would in any other session. As if you were across the couch from one another — instead of his fingers spreading you wide as your body is splayed on your desk.

“Home,” he replies simply, like the word should explain itself. A third finger enters you and you suck in a breath at the slight burn. You whimper.

“Pretty baby,” he coos, accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

Your nipples pebble but you attempt to resist giving him anymore physical responses. “We can’t do this Johnny,” you tremble — from his fingers or the situation you currently find yourself in, you’re not sure.

“This beautiful body is telling me otherwise, Doc,” he practically purrs, his fingers picking up speed.

“Please Johnny… I…” you gasp.

He rips his hand out and you bite down hard on your cheek to prevent yourself from crying at the loss of contact.

“Want more, baby?!” he beams, the sound of his zipper your only warning before his thick, warm cock rubs lengthwise against the entrance to your cunt, hard length massaging your clit as he pumps.

‘No,’ your mind thinks, but your traitorous body says ‘yes, yes, yes,’ as you draw in a sharp breath, legs pushing your ass back without asking your brain.

Johnny makes a pleased grunt as he continues, lubing his cock with your wet, pulsing pussy. You can’t help it — you moan. A sharp slap on your ass pushes you further into the wood and Johnny soothes the sting by hitting your reddening cheek with his sticky cock a few times in a row.

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, keeping you in place but he’s surprisingly gentle. “Meant to be mine,” he declares as he enters you slowly. You suck in a large breath. “Only good thing that came outta this,” and you know he’s tapping the side of his head with his other hand without looking back at him. You whine and he groans when he enters you to the hilt, squeezing the flesh of your hip with the hand not securing your neck.

That’s it.

You’re fucked.

In more ways than one.

Johnny’s fingertips dig into your skin as he picks up the pace slightly. You grip the side of your desk, not bothering to stop him now. It’s too late for that. Arguments die on your tongue as Johnny pounds into you from behind, the bony protuberance of your pelvis hitting bruisingly against the hardwood with every thrust.

You resort to holding on as best you can as Johnny slams against you, like his anger is seeping out of his skin by doing it. The slapping of flesh and your combined pants sucking the air from the room. Johnny bucks into you until his pace gets sloppy and then he stills, pulling himself out with frustrated groan.

His hands leave you and you lay there, boneless, but watch as he drags your chair around the desk, cock bobbing and glistening in the light as he walks. He supports your weight effortlessly as he places you in your chair, like a delicate piece of china. He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as his arms come up underneath your knees and pull you to the edge of the seat — right to his waiting mouth.

Johnny swirls and curls his tongue around the sensitive flesh of your pussy, wrapping a strong arm across your lap to keep your bucking hips down. It stings a little, his solid arm pressing into the bruises forming on your hip. You pant and whine, unable to control the noises spilling out of you.

He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking until that little bundle of nerves can’t take it anymore. With all your strength you try to back away from his mouth but the effort is fruitless. Tears stream down your cheek, the sensitivity making you plead with him. “I can’t… Johnny please… please…”

He hums, the vibration sending a shockwave up your spinal column. He slows down but only slightly and you see stars, head floating as you cum on his tongue. He hums again and you shiver violently in reaction. Pulling back now, he smiles drunkenly at you and kisses your pussy before standing and lining himself back up with you.

Your legs are firmly secured and he throws your calves onto his broad shoulders. He teases your entrance before he lets out a sputtered groan. “Bonnie little thing,” he sighs before spearing you on his cock. You're contorted at an impossible angle, one you’re definitely going to feel later, as Johnny relentlessly drives himself into you.

Voice cracking, you can’t stop the sounds of pleasure that escape from between your lips. Sweat drips down Johnny’s brow as he concentrates. One of your hands grips the arm of your chair and the other finds your lower stomach, feeling Johnny’s cock push into you. The thick hair covering his muscular body tickles but it’s barely noticeable over the pleasure coursing through your system.

Your toes curl as another orgasm rips through you, and you bite down hard on the forearm braced beside your head. Johnny whines in pleasure, hips stuttering before resuming their normal brutal rhythm.

“‘M close, bonnie,” he pants. His motions become more flustered as he approaches his climax. The hand gripping onto the arm of your chair now curls around his forearm as you hold tight to him.

He releases, his spend coating your walls in thick spurts and he drops his body on top of yours. You can feel him twitching inside of you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

After a few moments, Johnny catches his breath and snakes his arms under you. He lifts you out of the chair and brings you to the couch he’s sat on countless times before, letting your limp form curl against his. He pets your head lovingly as you lay against him, humming softly to himself.

When you fall asleep, Johnny whispers his plans of the future to you. The house he’d purchased in the Highlands a couple of weeks ago is ready to move into. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. The plane is chartered, and you’ll both be on it. He’ll be able to last longer next time, and you’re going to give him the most beautiful family — together you’ve already started to.

#call of duty #cod x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap x y/n #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap x you #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish

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razorblade180 · 3 days ago

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Archon Ranking

Charlotte:Aether! As a famous traveler with deep connections to other nations and their Archons, I have to ask, *pulls out pen and paper* who do you think the best Archon is among the ones you met?

Aether:…*looks around* I don’t know how, but it feels like they’re listening. I just know it’s going to get back to them.

Venti:*behind a house* Shhh

Archons:*nod silently*

Aether:This question isn’t exactly easy, it’s not impossible. The Raiden Shogun and Rex Lapis are out of the running.

Ei:(That’s fair…)

Zhongli:*slouches*

Charlotte:Well one of them did kick off a civil war, but why think little of the deceased Lord of Geo? Is it because you didn’t get the chance to know him enough.

Aether:…Yes. While I commend his diligence, I fear having such a strict and uncompromising approach to the concept of contracts lead to a few… rather unnecessary predicaments that could’ve been avoided by forming more open and new contracts with his people.

Zhongli:An interesting perspective. One that may or may not hold some merit. I won’t outright dismiss it, but some things must be set in stone.

Furina:Now I don’t mean to criticize such an enlightened individual, but as someone who actually had a national incident set in stone, I don’t think your plan had to have one.

Zhongli:Hmmm

Aether:The others are sorta tricky. I can’t find fault in how Nahida chose to conduct herself. Centuries of isolation by her own people and yet she still helped throughout history. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler for her to take a hands on approach and speak out against the injustices she felt, but she’s still a young and gentle god. I can’t blame her for feeling small.

Charlotte:I’ve read dozens or articles after Sumeru’s liberation. I gotta say some brought me to tears! Though she’s far older than us, I must say I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say asking such a feat is no different than expecting a child to stand up to an adult without ever being taught to do so. If anything, it makes it more amazing that she eventually did!

Aether:I agree. I’m very proud of her.

Nahida:*sniffles* Aw, I see. Suddenly I’m all warm inside.

Charlotte:Am I correct to say you’ve met the god of Anemo?

Aether:….

Charlotte:Off the record.

Aether:Yes. I’ve met them several times. As for on the record, the Anemo Archon may not be present often, his presence is always felt down to the blades of grass. From the very start he made a place made for his people, and lead by his people. A hands off approach not only not only fits the god of freedom, but is beneficial for the common man. Plus, it’s not like anyone feels abandoned. There’s countless records of their god returning to aid in times of need.

Charlotte:Make you wonder if he had any hand in the Storm Terror crisis.

Aether:I wouldn’t put it past them. My glider never seemed to fail a rookie like me when I needed it most.

Venti:*smiles smugly*

Zhongli:You still drink too much.

Venti:Because I have the time. You do too. Some might say, Liyue is more like Mondstadt these days.

Ei:No one is saying that.

Venti:And yet I still find it comical how much a certain someone put into retiring, just to live among his people with a normal occupation.

Mavukia:He…makes a point. To a degree. You both ended in the same spot surprisingly.

Zhongli:Sigh….

Aether: As for Furina and Mavuika… it feels wrong to praise one without the other. The Pyro Archon is a strong capable leader who’s very personable. Her plan was a bit more than crazy, but it had to be to face the abyss. Most importantly, she suffered alongside her people and sacrificed a lot in order to see her plan through. Things nobody should ever have to give up; like being an older sibling. She has my respect. Truly, no one fights alone with her around.

Mavukia:*smiles* If you ask me, he should share some of that praise with himself.

Aether:As for Furina, well, do I really have to tell you about her. To this day, people see her as a the Hydro Archon.

Charlotte:How could Fontainian’s not? Even with the truth discovered, it doesn’t change she’s been prevalent in our history.

Aether:While I don’t think I can say her leadership skills are as astute as other Archons, I personally can’t bring myself to say she isn’t brilliant. Furina did her job to the letter and never compromised it once for the sake of her people despite every single day wearing down her soul until she was in literal tears. I honestly don’t know what’s more impressive. Mavukia has always moved forward without faltering. That takes immense strength. Furina though, she doesn’t have that kind of strength. In a lot of ways, she did break and hesitate, yet she walked forward all the same. It’s both amazing and terrifying. Human Archons sure are interesting.

Charlotte:Maybe it’s our shared humanity that made them so strong in your eyes.

Aether:Maybe, but I think even archons in the traditional sense are more human than some give them credit. For instance, they’re all nosy enough to eavesdrop behind a house.

Venti:Ha, busted…

Furina walks out with a red face and eyes that tried to act serious but failed to do so thanks to their glossy gaze that struggled to hold back tears. She didn’t even know what to say and feared her voice might shake. Before she could try, Aether hugs her. She can only hug him back in frustration. It didn’t take long for Nahida to join. Meanwhile Mavukia and Ei walked out into view simply because there was no need to hide.

Aether:You guys are ridiculous.

Ei:True feelings are typically expressed when the subject isn’t around. I must admit, I wish you had said at least one positive thing.

Aether:No one can ever doubt that you care. Maybe you didn’t express it correctly, and very few people know your grief, but you are a good person. I mean that.

Ei:I appreciate your understanding. Perhaps in the future, many more will share a similar idea.

Charlotte:…*squints* Are the Anemo and Geo archon behind the house too?

Aether:Off the record?

Charlotte:*tosses pen and paper* I can keep a secret! I’ll make a contact if I have to! I just gotta know~

Venti:..*peeks head out* Hello!

Charlotte:I’ve seen you!!! You’re the drunk bard everyone likes even though he doesn’t pay his tab!

Venti:I pay my tab! It just keeps coming back.

Charlotte:*bounces with anticipation* Is the Lord of Geo with you? Hehehe~

Zhongli:…*sticks arm out*

Charlotte:DIRECTOR HU TAO’S FUNERAL CONSULTANT!?

Zhongli:Wha- she knew by my sleeve!?

Aether:I am going to be honest, wearing all brown and having a job that uses your encyclopedic knowledge of history is not a conspicuous disguise.

Venti:I told ya, you might as well of chose to be a miner. There’s dozens of those; much like there’s countless bards! So what if I sing an old song!? Nobody would bat an eye if you were good at digging.

Zhongli:Sigh…

#genshin impact #gi charlotte #gi mavuika #gi ei #raiden shogun #gi venti #gi nahida #gi furina #gi aether #furina de fontaine #venti the bard

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n0vazsq · 1 day ago

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Unstoppable | GB5 x Reader

pairing . . . gabriel bortoleto x f1!academy!driver!gf!reader

summary . . . Winning the F1 Academy Championship was special on its own, but when your boyfriend wins the F2 championship its even more special

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . okay but why is this so cute?? anyhow yeah one more fic then ill be on the smau grind

. . . It was a day neither of you would ever forget. Gabriel had just secured his title as the F2 champion, and you? You’d claimed the F1 Academy championship after a heart stopping battle that came down to the final race.

The gap between you and Abbi had been tiny all season, and as much as you respected her, you couldn’t deny the sheer relief of crossing that finish line first.

The paddock was chaos; team members shouting, cameras flashing, and celebratory cheers echoing everywhere. But amidst it all, there was Gabriel, standing off to the side, his grin so wide it could light up the entire circuit.

His race suit was tied around his waist, and his champagne soaked hair stuck up in every direction, but to you, he looked perfect.

"There’s my champion," he called out as soon as he spotted you. Before you could respond, he was already pulling you into a hug, lifting you off the ground as you laughed.

"I thought I was gonna lose it out there," you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest. "Abbi was so close, I swear she could’ve reached out and tapped my rear wing."

Gabriel laughed, setting you back down but keeping his hands firmly on your waist. "Close doesn’t count, meu amor. You were unstoppable."

"Unstoppable is a bit excessive," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "I was barely holding it together."

He leaned in closer, his voice soft but certain. "Doesn’t matter how you felt. You did it. And I’m so proud of you."

Your cheeks flushed at the sincerity in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile. "Guess I had to keep up with you, huh? Can’t let the F2 champion have all the fun."

"Ah, so this is a rivalry now?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Should I be worried about you stealing my fame next season?"

"Maybe," you shot back, grinning. "Better watch your back, Bortoleto."

It was moments like this, when the world around you seemed to blur into the background, that made everything feel so right.

Racing had always been your dream, but sharing it with someone who understood every high and low? That was something else entirely.

The celebrations carried on, and for a while, you were swept up in the whirlwind of congratulations and photoshoots.

But somehow, Gabriel never strayed too far, always finding his way back to your side. It was as if he knew exactly when you needed a steady hand to ground you.

At one point, the two of you ended up sitting on the edge of the garage, your legs laid out in front of you as you watched the party unfold. Gabriel’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your arm. You leaned into him, finally letting yourself relax after the chaos of the day.

"You know," he said after a while, his voice low and thoughtful. "I’ve dreamed about winning this championship for so long, but I never imagined it would feel this good. I think it’s because you’re here."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head to look up at him. "Gabriel…"

He turned to meet your gaze, his brown eyes so full of warmth it made your breath skip a beat. "I mean it. Sharing this with you makes it a million times better."

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned up and kissed him instead. It was soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without saying a word. When you pulled back, his smile was smaller, more private, but just as radiant.

"Okay, your turn," you said, trying to lighten the mood. "What’s next for the F2 champion? Are you ready to take the big jump to F1?"

He laughed, the sound echoing around the empty pitlane. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah? Let’s just enjoy tonight."

"Fair enough," you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, soaking in the moment together. Around you, the party raged on, but it felt like you were in your own little bubble, untouchable and perfectly at peace.

Eventually, your team principal found you, informing you that you had to go to inside the garage.

Gabriel nudged you gently. "Go on, star girl. They’re waiting for you."

"Not without you," you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him along.

Your team principal smiled, microphone in hand and a playful glint in his eye. "Ladies and gentlemen, our F1 Academy champion!" he announced, prompting a wave of cheers and applause.

The team parted as the two of you made your way to the front, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves as all eyes turned to you. But then Gabriel gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, and suddenly, everything felt better.

You took the microphone, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. "This season has been incredible, challenging, exhausting, but so, so worth it," you began.

"I want to thank my team, my family, and everyone who’s supported me along the way. And, of course, this guy right here," you added, glancing at Gabriel. "He’s been my support through all of it. I wouldn’t be standing here without him."

The team erupted into cheers, and Gabriel gave you a look that was both full of adoration and pride. He leaned in close, his voice just for you. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," you whispered back, grinning.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter, champagne, and endless congratulations. But no matter how many people pulled you in for hugs or photos, you always found your way back to Gabriel.

As the night quietened down, the two of you wandered away from the noise, finding a quiet spot under the stars. Sitting side by side on the grass, you looked up at the sky, the weight of the day finally settling in.

"Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"All the time," Gabriel replied, his voice soft. "But I think about where we’re going even more."

You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. "And where’s that?"

“Anywhere we want,” he said simply, his eyes sparkling with determination.

In that moment, with the stars above and Gabriel beside you, everything felt possible.

The future was uncertain, as it always was in racing. But with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

Together, you were unstoppable.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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dragon-creates · 3 days ago

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Funnybunny Week 2025

Prompt: Merch

AU: Madness AU by @allhailthequeenuwu

AO3

Jax held back laughter as he watched Pomni throw on her oversized hoodie, the sleeves too big for her arms and the ends flopping over her wrists. He never understood why she couldn’t wait until a smaller size came in, but then again he wouldn’t be able to see how cute she looked while wearing it.

She paused after zipping up her hoodie, raising a brow at him, “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing…shortstack,” he gave her a shit eating grin.

“I will kick your shins!” she pouted, stomping her foot.

His laughter echoed throughout the hotel room, ruffling her hair, “I’m teasing you songbird, you look cute.”

Her cheeks flushed, “You better. Now, how about our date?”

Jax’s eyes softened, taking her hand in his, “Sounds perfect.”

They had stopped by a diner in the mall, Pomni’s disguise giving her that freedom to feel like herself while being with the man she loved. She loved her fans and her career as an idol, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to feel normal without the pressing eyes of her audience and paparazzi.

It’s why she cherished these moments with Jax, he always made her feel like a normal girl living a typical life with her goofy boyfriend.

After finishing their meal, they continued their trek through the mall until coming across a window of a shop - pausing when they saw what was inside.

Pomni paled.

Jax wheezed.

It was her new figurine, doing her signature stage pose with a peace sign and a heel lift.

“Oh my god!” Jax snickered. “You look so cute!”

“Will you keep your voice down?!” she hissed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he wiped away a tear of mirth. “It’s just-it’s an even smaller version of you!”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” she crossed her arms, shaking her head at him.

“Oh I’m the worst, huh?” he smirked. “Wanna see me be even worse?”

Pomni furrowed her brows in confusion, until her eyes widened in mortification, “Don’t you dare!”

She tried to grab his arm, but Jax was quick enough to dodge her and run into the shop. Pomni was about to run after him, but she knew she’d be risking exposing her identity when seen next to the figurine. So she had no choice but to give Jax a death glare through the window as he purchased the figurine.

Pomni growled as he walked back out, “Are you pleased with yourself?”

“Very much,” Jax snickered. “Come on, I think this stuff is really impressive. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come in your career. Seeing this stuff just reminds me how incredible you are, songbird.”

She was still pouting, but couldn’t help but blush at his words, “You mean it?”

“Always,” he reached his arm out and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. Pomni relaxed into his hold, letting herself smile. “Although, out of curiosity. How much do you make off this stuff?”

Pomni pulled her head away to glare at him again, “Seriously.”

“I’m genuinely curious!” He said in defense.

Pomni grumbled, “...two billion…monthly.”

“HOLY SHIT!” Jax exclaimed.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Pomni rushed, covering his mouth with her hand.

“DUDE HOW ARE YOU CALM ABOUT THIS?!” He grinned when he grabbed her hands, cackling as she tried to grab at him.

“You’re the worst,” she cried, flopping her face into his chest.”

“I know,” he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “But you love me anyway, right?”

“...yes.”

“Heh, thought so.”

Gangle wandered into Jax’s room, some of her laundry had accidentally been mixed up with his so she wanted to quickly grab it while he was out. She searched through the messy pile on his bed until finally grabbing her red, fluffy cloak. She was about to turn and head out when she gasped at what she saw on his bedside stand.

It was a Pomni figurine! It was a rare item that had been sold out years ago and hadn’t been on the market since! How did Jax get a hold of one?!

Gangle picked it up carefully, running her hand over the plastic hair. She was so caught up in her excitement that she didn’t notice the tall figure entering the room behind her.

“What are you doing in my room?”

Gangle jumped, whipping round when she saw Jax - his eyes darkening. “Oh, Jax!” She squeaked.

His fists clenched when he saw what she was holding, “Put that down.”

“W-what?” Gangle looked down at the figurine. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just got excited, I never knew you were a fan of Pomni-”

“DON’T SAY HER NAME! LET GO!” He screamed, snatching the figurine out of her hands as Gangle yelped. “DON’T TOUCH MY FUCKING STUFF!”

The ribboned woman sniffed, “I-I’m sorry. I just thought-”

“JUST GET OUT! GET OUT!” He pushed her out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Gangle whimpered, running down the hall.

In his room, Jax held onto the figurine tight. He couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face when looking at her familiar face. There was a hole that she had left behind that he couldn’t fill. He wanted her back. He wanted her back so bad.

He sank to the floor, pressing his forehead against the doll’s. He wanted his songbird back.

#funbunweek2025 #funnybunny #funnybunny week #funnybunny week 2025 #jaxni #pomnijax #jax x pomni #jaxpom #pomjax #pomni x jax #jax #pomni #tadc #the amazing digital circus #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #dragon rambles

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earlycuntsets · 13 hours ago

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interview with frank, mikey and bob with mychemicalromanceforum.com 2006

"The big forum interview with My Chemical Romance!

Reporters: Imre (poison amy) and Lisette (Lica) Bandmembers: Frank, Bob and Mikey Place: The Melkweg (Milkyway), Amsterdam, the Netherlands Date: Wednesday August 31st, 2005, 3.30pm

After a lot of stress and the prospect that the interview might be cancelled, it was finally time to go upstairs and meet the band. Two hours later than scheduled, but hey, they were there so we’re not complaining! Our palms were sweaty and our hearts were racing, but we managed to remain calm and behave like proper journalists instead of squealing fangirls.

L: Let’s start with our list! We’re already talking about messageboards so lets continue on that. Some people sometimes claim to be one of you when they are on forums or other websites, what do you think of that? F: I don’t understand it really, to me it’s kind of like that game the Sims, they’re spending so much time leading this fake life while they could be doing their own thing, and if your dream is to be in a band you should go out and practise instead of playing a video game or pretend you’re somebody else. It gets really creepy when those people do that and put out pictures of you and say a loved one or your dog. When they do that and then talk to other people on your behalf, that really angers me because we don’t know what they’re saying to other people and they might give advise and others might believe it. Internet can be a great thing, but it can also be a really evil thing. I: We have a rule against talking about your private life. F: Thank you. I appreciate that. Mikey: That’s a big problem with MySpace, because some of my friends actually are on MySpace and they get messages, I don’t know how they knew that my friends are on there, but these are people that aren’t even in bands and they would get messages from ‘me’ on MySpace. It’s really weird. I: They know everything. Trust me. Bob: That’s ridiculous. F: I’m still a huge fan of music, but when I was a fan of a band I would never ever be that intrusive. You know what I mean, to go as far as walk on someone’s bus and sit down and go through someone’s things, or try to steal something… I: There was one girl last week, she was at one of the shows in London and she was proud that she ripped something off your arm! F: [sad tone] Yeah, yeah… I: She was bragging about it all over the internet. F: I know… L: How do you feel about these things? F: You know, it’s weird. *thinks* I don’t know how I feel about that. I definitely know that when I was at shows I would bring a souvenir home, but it wasn’t someone’s personal property, it was a flyer or something like that. It’s weird if you wanna go into the crowd thinking ‘am I gonna come out with everything?’ L: Are you nervous when you see a large crowd? Are you worried then? F: No! Well, no, I mean, it depends. There’s a bunch of different type of fans. You know, there’s people who just wanna say I love you, love your show, and that’s awesome. They respect the music and the art form. And then there’s some people that need to have that souvenir, that need a signature or a picture and there’s some that just scream and try to pull your hair out and that’s ridiculous and then there’s the drunk fan that wants to be the one that punched you. Unfortunately for the people that just wanna say hi or the people that just want an autograph, sometimes they get flooded because the bad apples are so loud or with so many. It sucks to make people wait outside for hours before you leave because I don’t wanna weed out the bullshit, you know what I mean, the teenie ‘oh wow the new N’Sync is an actual band’ you know that’s a terrible thing, but you try to do more good than bad.

L: How was it for you Bob, when you joined the band they were already on their way to become very successful, how was it for you to step into a band that was already on their way? Bob: When I first started it wasn’t really sure that… Well, I don’t think anybody thought that it was gonna be this successful. When I first started it was still in the van, playing shows for like a hundred people. It wasn’t like this when I first started. As far as the kids being crazy, obviously they *nods towards Frank and Mikey* get it a lot more, but it’s just strange for me. L: Well, you’re completely accepted on the forum, everybody loves Bob, they have it in their signatures. *grins* F: How could you not love Bob?!

I: When you started out, did you ever imagine being nominated for 4 VMA’s against Green Day? F: No, not at all! I: How crazy is that?! F: Pfff! It’s flattering. M: It was a great experience. The whole thing. F: I’m still reeling from it. I’m really glad it’s over. I: Were you nervous? F: Oh god, yeah. I definitely threw up before. M: You can see me biting my nails on camera. Every time they were showing Jamie Fox you can see me right behind him biting my nails a lot. I was really freaked out. F: It’s one of those things where.. Growing up I didn’t get to watch them all the time, but I saw bands like Nirvana play it and Guns’n’Roses. So just to be there and think of all the things that happened on that show and to actually play it, it was ridiculous. I: Because of the MTV awards you had to do the two festivals in England on the same day, how was that? Were you nervous doing those shows? B: It was tiring really. F: It was very tiring, yeah. And again, we kept like thinking of people that played it before. You know what I mean. I’m definitely keeping the two passes and I’m gonna frame them. It was rad. To do Reading and Leeds and especially on the same day, it was crazy! B: We were supposed to fly to Leeds and we couldn’t get on a bus and go to Reading, because we wouldn’t have enough time to set up, so we were supposed to take three helicopters and I was so psyched about that! I was so excited! It would have been so awesome to fly on a helicopter! But then something happened with the weather at Reading and they wouldn’t let the helicopters get that close to so many people, so we just took a plane. L: So the helicopter experience still has to take place. B: Yeah. We’re gonna do it one of these days. I don’t care, even if it’s on a day off, we’re taking a helicopter ride! L: Are you a thrill seeker? B: I … *thinks* Kind of. I guess so. F: As long as it’s got something to do with helicopters or motorcycles or black vans, that kind of stuff. I: You wouldn’t go horseriding on the beach. F: *laughs* I don’t think he’s that horseriding-on-the-beach type of guy. B: No. I wanna go skydiving one of these days. F: I’m not!!! I: Why not? F: If you’d asked me a couple of years ago to do it, I’d go ‘yeah, fuck it!’ but now I’m just too happy. You know what I mean? I: You don’t need that. F: Yeah! I don’t need to do that.

Then suddenly Bob exclaims: What is wrong with these people?! *reads from book* What would happen if you saw Mikey walk into the bathroom with another toaster? Signed: Bob Bryar’s official bitch. M: It wasn’t a toaster, it was a heater. I was putting a space heater in the bathroom when I was sick or something. I brought this heater into the shower so it was warm when I got out. It’s not the smartest thing in the world to do, but I was like ‘whatever, I’m fucking freezing’, but apparently they turned it into a toaster.. L: But you were fine. M: Yeah, I’m here right now. *all laugh*

L: For the video from The Ghost of You, you guys have your hair really smooth. We understand how you get your hair like that, but we were wondering how did they get Ray’s hair totally smooth? How much stuff did they put in there? F: You’ll see it on the making of the video, he has like these two little buns. B: Did they flat iron his hair too? F: They did something. It was all flattened out. It was all bundled together in this little fist of a bulb, so they could only shoot him from the front and part of the side. It was crazy. He was gonna cut his hair and we were all like ‘no don’t do that!!’. I: Did he ever tried to hide objects in his hair? To smuggle them inside? F: Hide objects in it? He might. B: *thinks* I don’t think so. *All giggle*

I: Another question they asked is: if your tourbus driver got ill, who would you trust to drive it? F: Bob. I: Yeah? Why? F: Cos he’s done it before. B: It happens a lot when you have to move a bus. When I used to tour with other bands, our drivers would just be like ‘hey, you wanna drive?’ and then I’d drive for like 1000 miles. L: It’s cool to drive something that big, isn’t it. B: Yeah, I like to drive and being on tour you never get to drive anywhere. If you’re not in a bus you’re in a cab or if you’re not in a cab you have somebody else driving you, so you know I take every opportunity I get to drive.

L: If you could describe your life so far in 5 words, what words would you choose? M: Tiring, wonderful… F: Surprising, uhm, definitely tiring… B: Red Bull. I: Hey, that’s two words! B: Oh sorry! *laughs* F: Coffee. B: There you go, coffee. Fun! (All at the same time) Proud. F: Prun! *grins* M: Yeah. B: How about proud-fun? I: We’ll make that a new forum-word! B: Prun.

I: Have you ever read any of the fanfictions people write about you? *guys laugh* M: My friends sent me one once. It was creepy! My friends are interested in all that stuff, so they all sit online and send it to each other and laugh. And then one of them emailed one to me and it was something really fucking out of hand. F: I heard Mikey’s hot for me. I: The hottest couple is you and Gerard actually. F: Oh really? We’re the hottest couple? B: That’s amazing. I: That’s actually one of the most active parts of the forum, the fanfiction section. F: Wow! That’s crazy. My god… (kind of unsure) Well, if that’s what gets you hot, go for it.

L: Do you have something with you when you go out on stage, like a lucky thing? B: High fives. F: Yeah we do, like high fives before we go on stage. I don’t think there’s any charm I have.. I think it changes like I’ll have something for a time that I feel is lucky, but then it’ll probably break or something and you get something new… Like these shoes *everyone looks at Frank’s feet* are lucky I think. None of it’s really lucky at all of course. *thinks* I have these dogtags that I wear a lot, but I can’t wear them on stage because it hurts my neck. I: Yeah and someone might steal them! F: Yeah that’s it, but I wear them all the time, except when I’m playing.

L: Yeah, you go crazy on stage and sometimes you’re lying on the floor, how are you able to play like that? F: You get used to it, like with anything. When we’re playing a new song, like right now we’re playing a new song. Well, not new new, but new for us because we haven’t played it in so long, so ah, we’ll play eh *looks at Bob* should we tell them? *Bob nods* Alright, we’re playing Jetset tonight and I’m not used to playing that song, so I’ll just stand there and make sure I hit every chord. L: So you’re not going crazy. F: *laughs* No, but you know what I mean like it’s hard because I get into it and I would do it, but at the same time if it’s so new I can’t. Once I’m comfortable with it I can do whatever I want. I: Is there a favourite song when you play? All: Prison! F: Yeah, Prison is like a band favourite. B: Yeah we like to play that. It’s become the song that when we need to play something for a soundcheck we pick that. I really like playing Jetset too though. I: Why didn’t you put it in the set before? F: We’ve never played certain songs, I mean like never ever played them. I think Jetset was one of those until we were like ‘yeah lets finally get this out’. We had about five songs to pick from for the headline tour, some older stuff that we haven’t played in a really long time and there’s this song called Cubicles that we’ve never played. I think you guys played it (to Mikey)… M: Yeah we’ve played it on a couple of shows. F: But I’ve never actually played it. I: It must be nice to do a different set. F: Yeah! You know it’s fun to be doing something that you haven’t played in a really long time because it puts a spin on things and it kind of challenges you.

L: Most places have a very active local music scene, do you ever go to a band of the local music scene when you’re in a city? F: I would love to if we had a second off, but we never do. L: And back home in New Jersey, do you go there to local shows? F: Yeah, if we’re home for a while and there’s a show going on, I’ll go see it. But it’s hard because we do this for a living and I mean we love what we do and we love music, but sometimes the last thing we wanna do is go to a show. It has to be a really good show, you know what I mean. I: Yah, but it must also be part of your job to keep up to date about new bands. F: Yeah, well we tour so much and we hear so many things from different people, I mean I found out about a lot of different bands from just kids. It kind of keeps you in your favourite scene, you know. And we get demos all the time.

I: A few weeks ago I interviewed the singer from HIM, Ville, and he told me he had been talking to you guys about maybe touring together. F: That would be cool. Yeah. He’s a great guy. He’s really nice. I: I know! *grins* F: I think that would rule. To me, HIM are kind of like the European Bon Jovi. That’s what I get when I listen to them.

Sadly the girl from the record company interrupted us by saying it was nearly time and we could ask one last question. Lica asked it. L: About the second I’m Not Okay video; it starts off with Ray and Gerard sitting there and Gerard says: I don’t wanna make it, I just wanna… What does he wanna do? F: Ok, the original line was: I don’t wanna make it, I just wanna rock! And we didn’t like it. If you keep an open end you can make it whatever you want it to be, you know. The rest of that, the whole opening scene, was written out. It was scripted and we were like ‘this isn’t really working’ so Ray actually re-wrote everything. Everything you hear in the video, other then ‘I just wanna’ is something that Ray wrote maybe ten minutes before we shot it!

Then the girl from the record company came back inside to tell us we really needed to wrap it up and Frank practically begged her to do two more from the book, like he suggested when we started out. Bob flips through the book. B: Bam! *points* All time favourite sad song? M: the Smiths – Asleep. That’s the fucking saddest song ever. B: That Jimmy Eat World song off of that show.. F: Angel song? B: Yeah. F: Oh yeah. Ah, geez, Angel Angel. Oh, right, ready? *flips through book again* F: When you guys stop and think about how you ended up where you are now, do you feel really lucky and jump for joy, or do you don’t give a damn at all? *laughs* I think we are the luckiest people in the whole fucking world. B: We’re very proud of ourselves! F: To be able to say that, you know, you’ve accomplished goals, that you set for yourself so long ago and this is awesome you know, like to be on tv or on the radio – fuck the radio and tv! To hear kids in different countries or different states sing along to songs that you wrote in your basement is the most surreal experience that you’ll ever have. And to have it mean something to people you never thought you would ever meet. That right there is the most amazing thing.

We had a minute to go on a picture with them and say goodbye. Frank told us that he really appreciated what we are doing for the band and thanked us for everything by giving us both a very tight hug. As you can probably imagine, we high on adrenaline for the rest of the day. The guys were lovely and very happy to see that all of you had posted so many questions for them. Thank you forum members, and thanks My Chemical Romance for making this all happen!

Second group picture Saying goodbye and packing our stuff Last minute chatting Frank telling us how much he appreciate the work we're doing on here"

interview with frank, mikey and bob with mychemicalromanceforum.com 2006

#this interview has the fanfiction question I was losing my mind about on my personal blog #homophobia is gay shirt #my chemical romance #mcr #frank iero #mikey way #revenge era #three cheers for sweet revenge #interviews #old web mcr

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charmed-quill · 2 days ago

Text

Burrow Bound//B.W x Reader Chapter 2

a/n: okay a few things: 1) I am not American nor am I English (🐨🦘🇦🇺) so if anything is wrong don’t tell me I’ll cry. 2) I made the reader Southern cuz southern accents are so stinking cute are you joking?! 3) this is definitely going to be a slow burn since I just LOVE building character relationships, I love having relationships that feel genuine?

request: @littlegreenteacup

Could you possibly write a longer one shot (or longer if that makes more sense) for Bill Weasley x American reader where the reader is a halfblood witch who works for the natural history museum in muggle London and befriended the twins (who are the same age as her) and Charlie after getting lost looking for a shop in Diagon Alley since she’s only just moved to England. Bill is reeling suddenly being a single father after Fluer leaves and has to leave her with Molly during the day. The reader spends a fair amount of time at the Burrow but she and Bill always seem to just miss each other (much to everyone else’s amusement and frustration) and then one day he walks in to pick up Victoire after work and the reader is either holding her or playing with her or something and it’s love at first sight for him, but he’s a little bit awkward about it all and it’s slightly angsty until the dam breaks and fluff ensues.

Word count: 2.7k

Last Chapter

Next Chapter

The Burrow was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of dishes. Y/N stepped through the doorway into a space so warm and inviting it felt like stepping into a hug. The scent of roasted potatoes and pork mingled with the rich aroma of gravy and something sweet dancing in the air.

The kitchen was a whirl of activity, with Molly bustling between the stove and the table, her wand directing a ladle to stir a pot while she stacked plates with practiced ease.

“Oi, Y/N!” a loud voice called out, and she spotted Fred, grinning at her from the table. He waved her over with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Saved you a seat. Right next to the charming one.”

“That’s me,” George interjected from across the table, earning an exaggerated scoff from Fred.

She made her way over, carefully weaving through the chaos of chairs and family members, trying to take in everything at once.

A clock ticked softly in the corner, the wood-paneled walls were adorned with moving photographs, their subjects waving cheerfully at her. A stack of books teetered precariously near the fireplace, and the whole house seemed to hum.

As she sat down next to Fred, Y/N couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

“This place is incredible,” she murmured.

Fred smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Wait ‘til Mum gets yelling about something. Really completes the ambiance.”

“I hope you’re hungry,” he added as he handed her a plate.

“Starved,” she replied, inhaling deeply once more. The smells were intoxicating, a reminder of home-cooked meals she hadn’t realised she missed.

“Ron!” Molly’s sharp voice rang out across the kitchen. “Get your grubby fingers out of the pudding!”

Ron, mid-swipe at a bowl of something creamy and golden, froze like a deer in headlights. “I was just checking if it was done,” he mumbled, quickly retracting his hand as Molly shot him a glare.

“By sticking your fingers in it?” Ginny said, rolling her eyes as she passed him a clean spoon. “Try this. It’s called ‘not being disgusting.’”

“Enough out of you,” Ron muttered, his ears turning pink as he busied himself with a plate of bread rolls.

Arthur, seated at the head of the table, chuckled warmly. “Careful, Ron, you'll be banned from dessert.”

“I’m not banned, am I, Mum?” Ron asked quickly, shooting her a worried glance.

“That depends on how well you behave,” Molly replied, her tone stern but her eyes twinkling.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension of being an outsider slowly melt away. She leaned closer to Fred and whispered, “Does this happen every night?”

“Every meal,” he confirmed, looking far too proud of the chaos. “You’ll love it here. We specialise in entertainment.”

“Entertainment or torment?” George quipped.

“Both,” Fred replied with a grin. “We’re multi-talented.”

Molly bustled past, setting down a steaming bowl of vegetables in the center of the table. She paused to pat Y/N on the shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of noise, dear. With this lot, it’s unavoidable.”

“It’s perfect,” Y/N said sincerely, her gaze sweeping over the cozy kitchen again.

Ginny plopped down beside George, shaking her head at her brothers. “Ignore them. They think they’re funny.”

“We are funny,” Fred corrected.

“No, you’re annoying,” she countered, snagging a roll from Ron’s plate before he could stop her.

“Hey!” Ron protested. “Get your own!”

“And miss the fun of stealing yours?” she shot back, grinning.

Molly took a seat beside her husband, smiling kindly at Y/n.

“You better get cracking, Y/N,” Charlie called from a few seats down, his grin wide as he gestured at the food-laden table. “There’ll be nothing left if you wait much longer.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the warmth of his teasing, and turned her attention to the feast before her. Taking his advice, she began piling her plate with roasted pork, golden potatoes, bright green peas, tender carrots, and flaky little pastries that looked too good to resist. She finished it off with a generous ladle of thick, dark gravy, the aroma alone making her stomach growl in anticipation. The scents were heavenly, a comforting blend of herbs, roasted meat, and buttery richness that filled the room.

Her plate was a masterpiece of food, and her mouth watered just looking at it. Not knowing where to start, she scooped a little bit of everything onto her fork and took a big bite.

The flavors hit her all at once, savory pork, perfectly seasoned vegetables, and the velvety gravy tying it all together. It was so delicious she couldn’t help but close her eyes for a moment, savoring the explosion of flavors.

“So, Y/N,” Molly began, her voice cutting gently through the hum of conversation. “What do you do for work?”

Y/N froze mid-chew, her eyes widening slightly as all attention turned to her. She quickly chewed harder, trying to swallow without choking, and reached for her glass of water to help wash it down. Setting the glass back down, she gave a sheepish smile.

“Well,” she began, setting her fork aside. “I work at the museum here in London. Actually, I was finishing an orientation there earlier today before I ran into Charlie.”

“A museum?” Arthur leaned forward, his curiosity palpable. “Muggle museums are fascinating, so many exhibits! What do you do there?”

“I’m part of a small team of magical historians,” Y/N explained, her nerves easing under Arthur’s enthusiasm. “We make sure the artifacts No-Majs bring in aren’t cursed or magically significant before they go on display.”

“Like a curse breaker?” Ron asked, his brow furrowing in thought.

Y/N shook her head, smiling. “Not quite. Curse breakers work on a much larger scale. What we do is a lot more focused. We just ensure the items brought in are safe for No-Majs to display and study. If something turns out to be cursed or too dangerous, there’s a separate department that handles it.”

“Sounds like you’re the first line of defense,” Percy remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Cataloging magical artifacts sounds like no small task.”

“It’s definitely detail-oriented,” Y/N agreed. “Most of our job involves identifying enchantments, figuring out their purpose, and determining if they pose any risk. A lot of the time, it’s minor things, like a quill that writes by itself or a mirror that gives overly enthusiastic compliments.”

“Now that’s something I could use.” Fred interjected, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

“For what?” Ginny asked, rolling her eyes. “Inflating your ego even more?”

“Exactly,” George chimed in, grinning. “Fred’s confidence isn’t quite unbearable enough yet.”

The table erupted into laughter, and Y/N couldn’t help but join in, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“Have you ever found something dangerous?” Ron asked, clearly intrigued.

“A few times,” Y/N said, nodding. “We’ve had a cursed necklace that tried to strangle its owner and a painting that screamed whenever someone looked at it. But those cases are rare. Most of the time, it’s harmless, like a clay pot that sings or a book that rewrites itself depending on the reader.”

Arthur’s eyes sparkled with fascination. “Muggles have no idea how extraordinary their world becomes when it overlaps with ours. What do they make of these items?”

“They usually just think they’re quirky or broken,” Y/N said with a small laugh. “It’s amazing how easily people dismiss the magical when they don’t know it exists.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got a fascinating job, dear,” Molly said warmly, her genuine smile lighting up the cozy dining area. “And an important one. It must feel good knowing you’re helping to preserve history.”

“It really does,” Y/N admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly as she set her fork down. “I’ve always loved history. My dad and I used to go to a different museum every month when I was a kid. He loved them almost as much as I did.” She paused, her eyes softening as she recalled the memories. “There’s this big magical museum in Magical New York kind of like the magical world’s version of the Smithsonian. He took me there when I turned ten, and I think that’s what really sparked my interest in it all.”

“Are both your parents magical?” Ginny asked curiously, her head tilted as she rested her chin on her hand.

Y/N shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips.

“Nah, just my dad. My mum’s a No-Maj. She’s always been supportive, though.” She chuckled, the sound soft and nostalgic. “Dad was the one who taught me all about the magical world. He always said that being a witch meant having one foot in two different worlds, and I should learn to love both.”

“That must have been an interesting way to grow up,” Arthur said, his tone tinged with admiration.

“It was,” Y/N agreed. “I grew up in a small town in Georgia, where magic wasn’t exactly common. Most of my friends were No-Majs, and my mum did her best to keep things as normal as possible. But Dad would sneak in little bits of magic here and there, a charmed broom to help clean the house, enchanted fireworks on birthdays, that kind of thing.”

Fred and George perked up at the mention of enchanted fireworks. “He sounds brilliant,” Fred said. “A man after our own hearts.”

“He really was,” Y/N replied, her smile widening. “He always wanted to visit London, though. It was on his bucket list. He loved everything about British history, both magical and No-Maj.”

“He must be thrilled you’re living here now,” Ginny said, her voice light.

Y/N hesitated, the smile faltering for just a moment. She could picture her father’s gleaming smile, the way his eyes would light up at the news.

“He would have been,” She agreed, a wave of bittersweet sadness washed over her, and she quickly took another bite of her dinner to distract herself, letting the flavors ground her.

“Would have been,” Ron said loudly, his fork clinking against his plate. “What changed?”

“Ron!” Molly chastised sharply, her voice tinged with disapproval. “Mind your manners.”

“No, it’s alright,” Y/N said gently, setting her fork down and taking a breath. “He died just after I graduated from Ilvermorny.”

The room grew quieter, the lively chatter dimming to a soft murmur. The warmth of the room seemed to hold her, a silent show of comfort.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Molly said, her expression filled with understanding as she reached out to pat Y/N’s hand. “Losing a parent is never easy.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, managing a small smile in return. “It was hard, but he always encouraged me to follow my dreams. Moving here felt like a way to honor him, you know? He’d have been over the moon.”

There was a quiet nod of agreement around the table, a small acknowledgment of the weight of her words.

After a moment, Fred leaned closer, breaking the silence with his usual mischievous tone.

“Well, if your dad was as brilliant as he sounds, then he’d definitely approve of you hanging out with us.”

“Absolutely,” George chimed in. “We’re practically a historical exhibit ourselves. Living legends, really.”

Y/N chuckled, the tension in her chest easing as the table erupted into gentle laughter. Ginny rolled her eyes, and Molly shook her head with a fond smile, but the warmth radiating from the family made Y/N feel a little lighter.

As the conversation shifted and the lively energy returned to the table, Y/N took another bite of her meal, savoring the flavors.

Slowly, the plates began to clear as Molly stood up from the table, her wand in hand. With a graceful flick, the dirty dishes floated toward the sink, clinking softly as they settled into the soapy water. The warm hum of post-dinner conversation filled the room, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

“We made an American delicacy for dessert,” Molly announced proudly, waving her wand once more. A massive apple pie floated to the center of the table, its golden crust perfectly crisp and flaked with sugar. Alongside it appeared an impressive trifle layered with custard, jelly, and whipped cream. Both desserts gleamed under the warm light, looking like they belonged in a wizarding cookbook.

Y/N’s grin widened as Molly handed her a generous helping of pie, the cinnamon-scented steam wafting up to tickle her nose. “This looks amazing,” she said earnestly, her fork already hovering over the plate.

“Careful,” Fred said from across the table, watching her with mock seriousness. “Mum’s desserts are enchanted. One bite and you’ll never want to leave.”

George nodded solemnly, a spoonful of trifle halfway to his mouth. “Happened to us. We were going to move out years ago, but she keeps us trapped here with puddings and pies.”

“Honestly, I don’t see the downside,” Y/N quipped, taking her first bite. The warm, gooey filling and buttery crust melted on her tongue, and her eyes closed in bliss.

“See?” Fred gestured dramatically to George. “She’s already under the spell!”

–

After dinner, Y/N wandered about the Burrow, her curiosity drawing her to every quirky detail of the cozy, mismatched house. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and baked goods, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated the rooms. Family photographs in animated frames waved at her from the walls, and a few stray knitting needles clattered away in the corner, working on a scarf of their own accord.

She stopped in front of a tall, old clock that sat proudly in one corner of the living room. At first glance, she thought it was just another whimsical wizarding relic, but upon closer inspection, she realized the clock didn’t display the time at all. Instead, its hands, each labeled with a family member's name, pointed to various locations: Home, School, Work, and Bed. All the hands currently rested on Home, except for one, which pointed to Bed.

“Who’s in bed at this hour?” Y/N mused aloud, leaning in to examine the name on the errant hand.

“Bill,” came a voice directly in her left ear.

“He’s our oldest brother,” added a voice in her right.

Y/N startled slightly, spinning to find Fred and George standing on either side of her, identical smirks plastered across their freckled faces.

“Do you two always pop up out of nowhere?” she asked, laughing despite herself.

“Part of our charm,” Fred said with a wink.

“I haven’t met him, have I?” she asked, pointing at the clock.

“Nope,” George replied, popping the p for emphasis. “Bill’s a busy bee.”

“Probably for the best, though,” Fred added, crossing his arms. “We wouldn’t stand a chance if he were here.”

“Why not?” Y/N asked, her brows furrowing.

“Because,” Fred said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, “all the witches go crazy for him. They think he’s all cool and mysterious.”

“But really,” George interjected with a grin, “he’s just a massive nerd.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing back at the clock. “He’s the curse breaker, right?”

“Yep,” George said. “Used to work in Egypt, raiding tombs and dodging deadly curses.”

Fred leaned in conspiratorially. “But he traded all that in for nappies and bedtime stories when Victoire was born.”

“Victoire?” Y/N asked.

“Our niece,” George explained. “Mum’s first grandchild. Total scene-stealer.”

Fred nodded solemnly. “Mum cried for two days when she was born. It was very dramatic.”

“Not as dramatic as when George sat on a toy broomstick last Christmas and broke it,” Fred teased.

“That was a faulty broom, and you know it!” George shot back, narrowing his eyes.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head at the antics. “Well, now I’m curious to meet this infamous Bill,” she said.

“Careful what you wish for,” Fred warned. “If you’re not careful, you might fall under his nerdy spell too.”

“Unlikely,” Y/N shot back with a grin. “I’m more interested in the clock. Do you think it could tell me where my lost socks are?”

“Not a chance,” George said. “That’s advanced magic. Even Dad hasn’t cracked the sock mystery.”

Fred sighed wistfully. “One day, though. One day.”

#bill weasley angst #bill weasley fluff #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley #harry potter fanfiction

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