#and it didn’t matter whether or not I was there

[adispit]

Hiyaaa can I ask for Ayato from Genshin with a kitsune reader who steals pieces of his clothing as a secret crush on him but one day Ayato catches them and punishes them.

A Punishment ?

Ayato x kitsune! bttm male reader

Content warnings: spanking, anal tongue fucking (receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, creampie , slight predator prey dynamic (if you squint), slight dubcon because reader wasn’t really into the spanking at the start

Note: This fic has been marinating in my inbox for 2 weeks so I hope you enjoy! Also I haven’t played Genshin in a year so this might be a tad bit ooc 😭. Enjoy!

You had always been someone in the background, shadowed and sheltered under the protection of your sister, Guuji Yaemiko. Few to none knew of your actual existence as centuries passed, except for the Raiden Shogun and the clans themselves. Her influence stretched far, wrapping around you like a protective veil.

The Shrine was your haven, but also your cage. Every decision, every move you made, was watched, controlled. It was always for your safety, she would say. The sister who would tease and always play you like a fiddle to her silly whims became firm and unmovable when it came to exploring beyond the Inazuman city. You had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, never given the freedom to truly explore it. Yet, that defiant streak within you had only grown stronger. You didn’t want protection. You wanted to live.

However, what your sister could not shield you from was unforeseen. A little crush you had harboured for the Yashiro Commissioner himself, Kamisato Ayato. A man who carried himself with grace and power — a man who like your sister, commanded respect wherever he went. The very man that made the Kamisato name arise from its ashes and make it the prestigious clan today. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nothing better than those maidens who chased after him relentlessly for marriage offers. It stung to think of yourself in that way, to admit that you were drawn to him with the same intensity that they were.

It wasn’t just his power or his elegance. It was the way he moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the sharpness in his gaze that made you feel seen even when you wished to remain hidden. You were drawn to him with a fascination that bordered on obsession, an allure that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Due of your crush, you found yourself resorting to a silly yet strangely satisfying ritual—stealing Ayato’s clothes. It was an odd way to cope with the intense feelings you harbored for him, but it was the only outlet you could manage. Each stolen item, whether a glove, a ribbon, or a sash, became a cherished possession, a physical connection to him that you could hold onto.

Each piece of clothing was a wishful reminder of him—a way to keep a part of him close, even if you could never have him completely. You would fold his garments carefully, press them to your face, and imagine the moments he had worn them, his scent of sandalwood and rain with the lingering warmth, It was your own secret fantasy. It was harmless really. A secret way of indulging in the hopeless crush you’d harbored for the head of the Kamisato clan.

However, tonight, the air felt different—charged with something you couldn’t quite place. Strangely, there weren’t any guards present that were on patrol. The estate was quiet. A little too quiet.

Still, you pressed on.

The thought of what you were about to do made your fox ears twitch in excitement. Ayato’s chambers were silent as you nudged the door open, the dim light of a single candle casting long shadows over the room.

You crept inside, eyes scanning for something to take. His haori lay draped neatly over a chair, and without hesitation, you reached for it. The silk fabric slipped through your fingers, smooth and cool to the touch. Your breath caught in your throat as you brought it close, imagining, just for a moment, what it would feel like to be wrapped in it—surrounded by him. The thought made your cheeks warm, but you pushed it away, carefully folding the haori over your arm.

It was a ridiculous thought, you knew that.

You allowed yourself a small smile. Another successful heist, another piece of him to add to your collection. You moved toward the door, your escape clear and easy.

But as you turned, something stopped you.

A faint rustle. Barely a sound, but enough to make your ears twitch with alert. You froze, eyes darting toward the corner of the room. Nothing.

You waited, heart racing in your chest, every instinct telling you to bolt but curiosity kept you rooted in place. Slowly, you scanned the room again, your gaze lingering on the bed. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a figure sitting in the shadows.

Ayato.

He was leaning casually against the headboard of his bed, his body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. His lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours with a calm intensity. Those eyes were striking—like shards of amethyst, reflecting the light in a way that made them almost glow. They watched you with a calm amusement, though the glint in them suggested he was far more aware of the situation than you were.

Your heart raced as you took in his appearance. His long, pale blue hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose strands that framed his angular face. The moonlight accentuated his porcelain skin, making him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream. Yet there was nothing soft about the way he held himself—he stood with a quiet strength, the grace of a nobleman who knew his power.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the haori tightly. Ayato’s tall, lean frame was still relaxed, but every movement he made was deliberate. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as he spoke, drawing attention to his hands—hands that could command armies or, in this case, one mischievous kitsune.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

Ayato’s lips curled into a faint smirk, revealing a glimpse of his sharp wit. “Didn’t mean to what?” He interrupted, stepping forward, the soft rustle of his clothing barely audible. “You seem to have a habit of taking things that don’t belong to you,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too calm.

“Lord Ayato,” You squeaked softly, ears flattening as you clutched the fabric in your hands. He approached, slowly, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name. “What were you planning to do with this, hm?” He gestured toward the ribbon in your hand, his voice soft but laced with authority. “Stealing from me, Yae Miko’s brother no less… What would she say?”

You bristled at the mention of your sister, but there was no escape now. “I just wanted—”

“To see if I’d notice?” Ayato finished for you, his amusement deepening as he tilted his head slightly. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Up close, you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the quiet authority he carried in every word.

His hand reached out, brushing lightly against the fabric of the haori. “I noticed,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers grazed yours, cool to the touch yet searing with the unspoken threat of control.

Ayato’s smile was small but devastatingly confident. “But there’s a price to pay for stealing from the Yashiro Commissioner.”

Your heart raced as he stepped even closer, the close proximity making your tail swish back and forth with nervousness and anticipation. “And I think you know what that means.”

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for just a moment, but the look in his eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unyielding—was enough to make you comply. Your legs gave way almost instinctively as you dropped to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of adrenaline coursing through you drowned out everything except the sound of your own breathing, loud and uneven in your ears.

He took another step, his movements so fluid that his bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, as though he was one with the shadows. You could feel the heat radiating from him even before he stood directly in front of you, the faint scent of sandalwood and rain lingering in the air—intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his lips—a smirk that sent a thrill of both fear and excitement rushing through your body. The expression was playful, yet there was something undeniably dangerous in it, like he was silently toying with you, fully aware of the power he held over you. Up close, you could see the cool, detached amusement in his eyes—like a predator toying with prey, knowing full well you were already caught in his web.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. You hesitated again, but the silent disapproving look in his eyes was enough to make you move. You stood up slowly, your hands trembling as you began to undress. Reluctantly, your robes slipped off, leaving you stark naked and cold, shivering in the cold night air. Truth to be told, you were a virgin, never having the chance to even have a sexual outlet besides from fingering yourself and masturbating on rare occasions when your sister wasn’t at the shrine. Even with your crush on Ayato, you were rather reluctant and admittedly, a tad bit fearful.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, but the fire in his piercing eyes made your skin tingle with anticipation. That calm, calculating gaze burned with something primal even though his face remained impassive. When you were done, he simply gestured for you to turn around. You hesitated briefly, but his silent command left no room for question.

Your heart pounded as you moved, his authoritative presence looming behind you. “Hands on the bed,” he demanded, his voice brushing dangerously close to your ear. The soft, commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, making you feel small beneath him.

You obeyed, placing your palms flat against the cool surface of the futon. The fabric felt grounding under your trembling fingers. You could hear him moving, the quiet rustle of his robes as he adjusted himself, his body heat brushing ever closer. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension, until—

Without warning, the first blow landed hard across your ass. The sharp, stinging pain rippled through you like a wave. You gasped, your body jerking forward from the sudden impact, your tail instinctively going taut. The burning sensation lingered, intensifying with every passing second, until all you could do was grip the sheets, struggling to steady yourself against the onslaught.

“Ayato, I don’t think I want to — Ah!”

He wasn’t done.

The second blow came even harder, the sharp impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. This time, you couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped your lips, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic taste of blood faint on your tongue as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “And call me Sir. Stay still,” he added, the warning in his tone unmistakable, “Or this will be even worse.”

You could feel the power in his command, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.

“Two, Sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, doing your best to remain still despite the lingering sting.

The next few blows came in quick succession, each one more painful than the last. Your ass was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that was building inside you. You could feel yourself getting hard, your body betraying you as it responded to the punishment. The next few blows came in quick succession, each one landing harder than the last. Your skin burned, a searing pain spreading across your ass with every strike, and it felt like your entire body was on fire.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and no matter how hard you fought them back, they kept coming, blurring your vision. You mutely counted the blows between occasional cries of pain and ragged gasps for air. The room spun around you, the sensation too much, too fast.

Each smack to the ass only intensified your horror at your arousal and your arousal. You could feel your dick twitching and getting stiffer as the pain resonated throughout your body. Precum was beginning to pool beneath your cock as the electric sting that the pain brought felt even more pleasurable than the last.

“T-ten,” you whispered shakily, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep from collapsing under the pressure. Finally, he paused, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the tension in your body slowly unwinding as the sting of the blows lingered. Your skin was still ablaze with the aftermath.

You could feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his fingers brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier actions. The touch was almost tender, a strange gentleness that sent a confusing wave of emotions through you.

Suddenly, with a swift motion, you found yourself turned around, now facing him. Despite the harsh punishment you had endured, you felt your heart race and then falter as the close proximity of Ayato became overwhelming. Your traitorous tail, betraying your true feelings, swished involuntarily with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

However that did not distract him from the hard on you sported, much to your embarrassment. His slender hand crept down your body and dwarfed your cock. He rhythmically rubbed your length, making you shudder and feel the sparks and the familiar hum of pleasure beginning to ignite.

“Yes,” you gasped as Ayato purposefully tightened his grip around your sensitive tip, never stopping his pace, “Oh—fuck—” as that mischievous hand closed around you, there was a playful air about Ayato as he let out a soft melodic laugh while mumbling something under his breath and then shifting his grip.

The next slide up was a tight, demanding fist. You threw your head back.

“Does that feel good, (Name)?” There was an amused lilt in his voice that made you flush head to toe.

The rush of blood and desire to a point low in your stomach was overwhelming. The movement was growing slicker, better , so tempting to lean fully into. You had never been this turned on.

“I don’t know, ” you cried through a strangled whine, you felt Ayato’s laughter directly through your skin, and somehow that made him suddenly very close.

There was something so exciting and arousing about it the way the man you had dreamt about, the very Yashiro Commissioner, himself was helping pleasure you. The very thought had you moaning, once, and falling slack like a puppet with cut strings. 

You were gently pushed back onto your back against the soft surface of the futon with both your legs are hoisted up, hanging against Ayato’s shoulders. Your body folded in half as you saw his head buried in your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin as your tail hairs brushed against his chin.

“Ayato?!” You struggled for the commissioner to release his grasp on your legs, but to no avail, as he tightened his grip to hold you still. You flushed red in embarrassment, the thought of Ayato seeing everything too much to bear. 

And then you felt something warm and slimy breach past the ring of muscles, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Holy fuck. Was Ayato actually doing what you thought he was? 

You shuddered as waves of pleasure traveled up to your core. Gritting your teeth to try and contain the shameful moans from escaping you, afraid to realise that this was all a dream, afraid that Ayato would be turned off by you.

“Hnnn…Ayato….” You groaned, eyes clenching shut and face wrinkled as you bit back on a pathetic whine. All of a sudden, you jolted.

Ayato’s tongue had prodded at something deep inside you that made you melt into a puddle of arousal and shame. You unconsciously gripped his head tight with your thighs, messing up his perfect tidied hair. He had found your prostrate. And then he stopped, a gossamer thread of saliva connecting his lips to your hole as he retreated.

You couldn’t help but notice the shy mole that hid beneath his spit shiny lips — he was absolutely ethereal even with his messy and tousled hair. An unnatural pink flush decorated his fair and porcelain face and you realised that he was aroused.

By you.

The thick tension hung in the air as he silently gazed at you, the hunger in his amethyst eyes almost engulfing you on the spot like he was a man gone wild.

Shadows danced on his face as he meticulously removed his robes, still carrying himself with the same grace and dignity as if the air wasn’t imbued with the electric undercurrent of arousal and the fact that he had just tongue fucked you. He stood above you, full mast and you felt your breath get stolen away from you.

Ayato had a picture perfect physique, lean, almost like a statue carved out and had come to life. Your eyes immediately dove down to his abdomen, to be greeted with his cock, hard, already pressing against your rim, twitching invitingly. Both hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself.

“We will not stop now, (Name). Your pleas and cries will be unheard. This is a punishment.” He stared at you with an unyielding gaze, one that you were ready to challenge. “This is the lesson you must learn, the price of your rebellion,” he concluded. “One I accept.” You let out a hoarse giggle. His eyes darkened almost simultaneously as what seemed like another amused smile tugged at his lips before he let his actions speak for himself.

He did not give any mercy. Ruthlessly driving into your hips with a force like he wanted to merge into you, you felt his girth stretch and force your walls to mould into its shape. “Huh...?” Your mind went blank with pleasure, and for a while you couldn’t comprehend what happened. Your insides clenched down hard on his cock as slaps of skin punctuated the silent night air.

“Ah! Ggh- Aah! W-wait! Ungh —!” You slurred inaudibly as you felt your body rock to his merciless pace, your cock dribbling endless pre-cum uncontrollably. He promised your pleas and cries would be unheard and he served his promise, not even a single word could leave your raw throat. Only guttural whines and moans would escape your bitten lips as you fell into the throes of pleasure.

Alas, decisions were made and you could not regret what you said. Here you were, getting your deserved punishment in the form of a ruthless fucking.

Everything was too hot, too sticky and hummed with the sound of distant sobs, you groggily thought. Oh. Those were from you. Your skin was sticky with the sheen of sweat and cum and the futon beneath you was drenched. You felt unusually full, like something sloshing in your tummy. Your hole felt sore. And he wasn’t done. But you would never admit defeat….was the last thought that echoed in your muddled mind as you gave into the embrace of sleep.

“(Name)? Learnt your lesson now? Oh. The silly thief has admitted defeat.” He pushed back his sweat soaked hair as he glanced upon your slumbering form. Letting out a grunt, he pulled out of your red, swollen hole as semen immediately began dripping out your gaping rim. Humming an exasperated sigh, a fond expression appeared on his face as his lavender eyes crinkled into crescents as he gently ruffled your hair.

The little kitsune had fallen into his trap.

Sometime ago, Ayato had noticed his belongings going missing. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t deserve the title of Yashiro Commissioner. The thief clearly had no ill intent, but it became particularly vexing when he realized that the pair of gloves Ayaka had gifted him had mysteriously disappeared as well.

Then one day, by sheer coincidence, he noticed the little kitsune who had caught his eye more than once, wearing a familiar ribbon in their hair— his ribbon. And on their hands, the very gloves he had been missing. Amusement flickered in his usually composed gaze as everything clicked into place.

It seemed someone had developed quite the habit. But Ayato wasn’t the type to let such things go unaddressed. Oh no, if this little fox thought they could slip away unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. Someone was in need of a lesson, and he would be more than happy to provide it.

So he plotted.

note: ajskskskk, I’m finally done 🙏 my first ask so I hope this was done well!

Reblogs are appreciated 🧑‍🍳

[alotofpockets]

Running to you | Steph Catley x Reader

Where long time best friends are both oblivious to each other's feelings

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8K

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You met Steph on your first day of kindergarten. The two of you were instant best friends, despite being opposites. Steph was an outgoing kid, who loved playing every sport out there. While you were always found in a quiet corner with a book in your hands.

It didn't take long before you were a part of the Catley family, and Steph was a part of yours. The two of you were inseparable. When Steph was at football practice, you were somewhere near with a book. When you were sitting on a park bench with your latest favourite book, Steph was kicking around a ball near you.

When Steph played her first match after joining a football team, you were sitting in the stands, leaned against her father while flipping through the pages. Of course, when the whistle blew, your full attention went to your best friend on the field. 

After her first win she ran up to you and engulfed you in a hug. “You were awesome, Sunny.” A nickname you had given her after hearing your mom say that Steph reminded you of sunshine.

The same tradition stuck around after that initial match. It didn't matter what the final score was, she always came running to you, and you always welcomed her with open arms.

Your love for the sport grew while watching Steph play. While you didn’t have any interest in playing the sports, you got pulled into it in a different way. Your passion for writing grew over the years, and it didn’t take long to figure out that you wanted to be a sports journalist when you grew up.

In high school you had started writing about Steph’s matches purely as a hobby, but as soon as you got to college, you joined the school’s newspaper and became their sports journalist. Sport connected you with Steph on a deeper level. Whether you were at one of her games, or you were watching a different sport with her, the two of you always shared it and the love for it.

Throughout high school and college the same tradition continued, Steph running to you at the end of a match had been a constant through all these years, but that was soon to change as both of you had big opportunities coming up after college.

Steph signed a contract with a club in America and would play in the NWSL, while you found a job in London covering the WSL. It was hard at first, because you had always been by each other’s side, but you made it work. Texting, voice notes, and video calls became your new normal. Steph had found a new way of running to you after a match in texting you as soon as the match was over. Your phone was always filled with a recap of the match from her perspective. 

Then one day, everything changed again. “Sunny, it’s 4am. Did you forget we live in different time zones?” You groaned when you picked up the phone. “I’m moving to London.” The statement alone was enough for you to be wide awake. “Go on.” 

She told you about the offer she had gotten from Arsenal and that she would make the move in just three months. It had been two years of long distance friendship, and you could not wait to have her close again.

“I guess you’re stuck with me now, y/n/n.” She teased over the phone. You rolled your eyes at her, but were unable to wipe the smile off your face, “Like I ever minded.” 

Moving in together was a no-brainer. You had dreamed of it ever since you were little kids, and you were finally able to live that dream. 

The first time Steph stepped onto the pitch in an Arsenal jersey, you were on the sidelines covering the match. You did the pre- and post match interviews, as well as reporting on the match itself, as writing was still your part of it all.

When the final whistle blew, you stepped onto the pitch to get ready for the post match interviews. It wasn’t long until a pair of familiar arms found their way around your waist. 

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?” You teased, but without any hint of wanting her to let go. She let her head rest on your shoulder as she read over the notes you had made for your interview. “I missed celebrating with you.”

The words made a heat rise to your cheeks. “Interview time, Sunny. Shoo, I gotta be professional now.” You pushed her off lightly, not used to this feeling around your best friend. As Steph walked off, you followed her with your eyes, had you always felt this way for Steph?

“You and the interview lady seem pretty close.” Katie said while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Before Steph could answer, Caitlin walked up. “Was that Y/n?” Steph nodded proudly. 

“Okay, someone fill me in. Who’s Y/n?” Katie asked the two Aussies. “She’s my best friend from home.” You said which made Caitlin chuckle. “Still haven’t admitted that you like her, I see.” Steph’s cheeks turned a bright red, as she playfully shoved Caitlin away.

This raised even more interest for the Irish woman. “Oh, please tell me more.” A smirk grew on Caitlin’s face. “If you ever lose Steph after a match, it’s because she ran off to find Y/n. They’ve been doing that ever since the Matildas Youth team.”

“Actually we’ve been doing that since we were like five.” Steph added. “That is adorable. I am with Cait on this one, you two together would be so cute!”

The teasing from her teammates had started that day. It started with just Caitlin and Katie, but soon the whole team caught on to Steph and the girl she always ran to after their matches. 

Steph ignored the teasing and continued to live her life the way she always had. In other words, in love with her best friend, but not sharing her feelings with her best friend. You on the other hand did the exact same.

Months passed, and you settled into the new rhythm. The change of living in the same time zone was something you quickly got used to again, and took as much advantage of as you could. The two of you lived together in your cosy London apartment, sharing everything except for your feelings.

You thought about confessing your feelings many times. Especially when it was just the two of you on a quiet night, curled up on the couch. It was the most natural thing for the two of you to be cuddled up to each other. Each time you thought you would confess, you hesitated. What if your friendship didn’t feel the same any more after?

On the morning of a big match for Arsenal, Steph was pacing in your shared living room. “Are you okay, Sunny?” You asked when your eyes fell on her. “I can’t keep pretending anymore.” She started and went quiet again.

You were about to ask what she meant, but then she continued. “I love you, y/n/n. I have loved you for as long as I can remember, and I can’t keep my feelings to myself any longer.” 

You stood in front of her with widened eyes, shocked at her sudden confession. A smile crept onto your face as you started processing her words. “I love you too, Sunny. I always have.”

There was a moment of silence where the two of you were just looking at each other and taking in what you had just shared, before Steph stepped forwards and cupped your face, her thumb gently brushing your cheek as she leaned in. 

The feeling of her lips on yours was better than you had ever imagined. You got lost in the kiss, until you were rudely interrupted by your alarm sounding across the room. “To be continued.” You say with another peck to her lips, before you rush off to silence your phone. 

When you came back Steph was still standing in the place where you had left her. “Sunny?” You asked carefully. Her head turned your way and a smile spread across her face. “Yeah?” With a light chuckle you shook your head, “Just checking if you were still working.”

“Hmm, maybe you should kiss me again to make sure that I am.” You stepped closer to her, “Gladly.” You reconnect your lips, something you could definitely get used to. “I wish we could keep doing this, Sunny, but we’ve got an important match to go to.” 

You were both reluctant to go out of the home after your shared confessions, but you both had a job to do. Before you each went to your own cars, Steph pulled you in for another kiss. “Show them what you’ve got, Sunny.” Were your last words before you drove off.

During the match you had to keep reminding yourself that you had to write about the whole match and not just Steph, the person where your mind kept going. While in your pieces you were unbiased, in real life you fully stood behind Steph and whatever team she was playing for. So, when the final whistle blew and Arsenal had won the match, you cheered inside.

You quickly gathered your notes and made your way onto the pitch. Excitedly waiting for Steph to come running to you after she had celebrated with her team. You spoke with your coworkers while you waited for the players to be brought to you for the post match interviews, but excused yourself for a moment when you saw Steph making her way towards you.

She ran into your arms like she had always done. “You did it, Sunny.” You whispered proudly. Steph stepped back a little, but still with her arms around you. She shot you a questioning look, that you answered with a small nod. Her smile grew and she stepped closer again. She kissed you and you both smiled into it. 

“Ahem.” You heard behind you. When you turned to the sound you found Leah and Caitlin staring at you with knowing looks. “Took you long enough.” Caitlin chuckled. You put your arm around Steph’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. 

“Come celebrate with us when you’re done with work?” Steph questioned. “I’d love to.” She quickly pecked your lips again before she let you interview the captain and the player of the match.

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[cheriladycl01]

Crash into my life - Lance Stroll x Civil Servent! Reader

Plot: You work in a fancy government job, pretty boring 9-5 but Lance Stroll and his insurance claim makes your job that little bit better

Your job wasn’t exactly fun, wasn’t exactly boring. It was one of those jobs that you’d got it at a young age and worked your way up through the ranks as you’d got better and better and because it was safe and something you were good at you stuck with it.

To keep it short and sweet you were a civil servant. Not like 007 kind of crazy stuff but you did work for MI6 in their fraud, tax and insurance department.

You basically took over insurance claims that were over a certain threshold and had to go through the government for … whatever reason whether they are a foreign National claiming in the UK or something.

Usually it was boring matters such as Chelsea Football Club claiming compensation for things as simple as water damages etc. You didn’t even really get to see anyone, you had the data and you analysed it against the scenario and hey presto you made your pay out.

Your favourite time of the year was winter. More claims came through and life was more unpredictable thanks to the whether. Delayed train into London St Pancreas? No tubes working so you have to make the 20 minute walk to your office building from the station. Slipping on ice, it was the only excitement you got in life which was honestly kind of sad.

For you it started at as a normal Monday. You woke up at 7am, brushed your teeth, got into a nice corporate appropriate outfit, got on the train, got a coffee from Pret before heading into your building.

That was your routine, and you didn’t often differ from it unless you had holiday booked. But working a 9-5 Monday - Friday often meant that you

But it felt like there was a different buzz today around the building like there was something going on.

When you all went into the morning briefing for the cases you’d get today, everyone was way too excited for 9am and the start of the day. You sat down next to your office buddy Shiv and looked around confused.

“What in earth is going on with everyone?” You ask looking over at Shiv who’s typing away on her laptop taking in information.

“Apparently there’s some really interesting cases to work on up for grabs today” she explains and you nod knowing once every blue moon some exciting things would crop up and have the whole office acting like kids on Christmas.

You’re all still waiting for the department boss to come in, joining in conversations about what could possibly be happening today.

“Ladies and Gents please take a seat for the meeting to commence. Thank you. Thank you” he offers smiling and everyone gets comfy.

“So we’ve got some exciting stuff today. I’ve formed a team to deal with the Train Networks Claim, that’ll be Shiv, Brayden and Ravi” he says and they all nod writing in their pads what tasks they’d have to do today.

He went through all of them apart from you, before dismissing the meeting. You were slightly confused and therefore packed up yours things a little slower than everyone else to see if you could stay behind and ask why you hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Y/N could you stay behind so I can talk to you for a moment” he asks and you nod, going to the end of the long conference table where he was stood.

“I like you, you’re young and learn quickly and I want you to progress more than you already have so I’m giving you a really important case. You’ll actually get to meet the said person affected, he’s … of high value so be considerate of your wording when talking to him. Alright thank you, here’s the case! Have a report to me by Friday” he offers and you nod happily. You take a seat opening up the material seeing the name of the claimer immediately.

Lance Stroll

You read through the facts, apparently he crashed his Aston Martin driving down the M1 to get to Silverstone into some sort of government van.

After analysing some of the data yourself, a knock comes on your office door from one of the younger interns.

“Erm, Y/N there’s two men in suits here to see you?” She asks rather than tells you, it wasn’t common for people to come in and out of the building due to the confidentiality of the work conducted here.

“Send them in please, but before you do ask them if they want anything. Tea, Coffee, Water” you smile and go back to reading another report from a police officer who was on the scene of the accident.

You watch as two men walk into your office space. One looking younger maybe the same age as you and one looking significantly older which you assumed was the dad.

“Good morning” you smile lightly before going back to some data on your computer. They took a seat, patiently waiting for you to address them.

Lawrence, who you’d just read about in the report who was indeed the father, cleared his throat as if to get your attention.

“Give me one minute Mr Stroll and I’ll be right with you” you smile, still nose in your computer.

“We’ve come all this way to the city centre to see you it would be appreciated if you didn’t waste our time” he huffs and even just from this reaction a bubbling of excitement started in you, just at the promise of actually seeing a client and talking to them in the flesh.

“I understand that, but I won’t be able to tell you much unless I see all the data” you say looking up at them through your glasses. This time you notice Lance and how he’s just sort of staring at you.

“Can I help you Mr Stroll?” You ask looking over him.

“No, I’m all good. Take your time” he smiles and you nod. In 5 minutes you believe you’ve combed through enough data to talk to them.

“This is awfully interesting I almost never get to see the people behind the claim” you smile happily and they both nod.

“Okay so so far from what I can see is there was a crash in your vintage Aston Martin that was for an event at Silverstone, the race track and that you got into a collision with a government van trailing a foreign national?” You ask.

“In short terms, yes … but” Lawrence tries to declare.

“And you weren’t present Mr Stroll” you say looking in the direction of the older man.

“No I wasn’t” he huffs out.

“Okay, then I will ask you to just step out my office while I get an account of the events from your son, if that’s alright with you. Just down the corridor there’s a waiting room there, help yourself to the food and drink in there” you smile hoping to butter him up a little to get him out.

“Alright” he says before taking his leave.

“Okay Mr Stroll lets…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Lance, please just call me Lance” he offers and you nod.

“Well Lance, it’s not … looking great” you start of slowly and he looks at you shocked.

“What do you mean? Your guys went into me?” He says raising his voice slightly and you give him a stern look that has him sinking into his seat.

“Don’t come into my office and raise your voice when I’m doing my best to help you!” You exclaim placing a pad in front of him.

“Sorry it’s just that my dad isn’t happy already that i totalled a car that was needed for race day” he sighs rubbing his temples.

“Ahhh so you’re an F1 driver. Or is it NASCAR because of the accent?” You ask and he looks shocked as if you were supposed to know who he was.

“Er F1” he offers and you nod.

“You any good?” You ask writing done some more notes as you watch the camera on the government vehicle as Lance’s car didn’t have one.

“Excuse me?” He chokes out and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I mean im currently looking at your claims for a super car that you totalled and so I can’t help but ask if your any good” you tease and once he heard the tone he gets it and just rolls his eyes.

“Oh haha laugh it up” he says and you do.

“Im sorry but this is quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had in this job. It’s rather boring most days so I’m just making the most of it” you smile and he smiles back.

“Okay I can see that they did in fact turn into you. And of course I’m here for the people. The issue is where your Canadian. I can pay out what the car was worth when you originally brought it, but 50,000 for the fact that it was an accident on our part” you say and he thinks for a moment.

“No” is all he says and you look over at him in shock.

“Sorry? What do you mean no, no is my final decision” you say crossing your arms.

“I would like to add something else to the 50,000 on top of the car value” he smiles and you nod, wondering what it could possibly be and admiring the boldness of his statement.

“Id like to take you out to dinner” he smirks and your head shoots up from your laptop.

“I- i cant do that… it’s not professional. I could get told off. I could loose my job.” you admit knowing that if people were to find out about your payout and think it was bad then they’d be asking questions to you.

“Oh come on it’s just dinner to say thank you for being so … helpful” he smiles leaning forward in his seat and you shake your head.

“Fine, dinner it is” you smile.

That was the start of something way bigger than just dinner.

y/user

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y/user: Work has been rather interesting lately 👀🏎️

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[wands-natsthing]

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭?

Hellooo this is chapter 2!! I hope you enjoy it. If there's anything you guys would like to see for this little thing please let me know!! Also I will be trying to update this fic at least once a week maybe either on Wednesdays or Thursdays and then posting a request or something on the weekends. 

Feedback is more than welcomed, pls like and comment I enjoyed sm reading and replying to them and if you would liked to be tagged pls leave a comment

Warings: This is like previous high school student x teachers kinda sorta reader was 18 when that was happening tho no smut yet but will be implied in the future. That’s all i think but if you recognize anymore lemme know pls!! 

Word count: 1.3k 

Summary: You didn’t see Wanda anymore after the cafe incident but you go to the schools open house and see here there and have a talk. (I'm so sorry i'm shit at summaries)

 You didn't see Wanda around anymore after that. School was lingering around the corner, with the hot summer air turning into a cool breeze. You had comfortably settled into your new apartment, adorning it with various fall decorations. 

The open house was coming up in a few days. It was an event filled with eager students and their curious parents about the upcoming school year. Although you weren't required to go because you weren't a teacher, you wanted to. You needed to know if Wanda still worked there.

Technically, you could check the school's website and browse through the staff directory, but you wanted to see for yourself. You wanted to see with your own eyes whether the classroom still looked straight out of a Pinterest board. If the fairy lights you both had hung during a shared lunch still twinkled from the ceiling, if her favorite cinnamon and vanilla-scented candle still filled the room with its soothing aroma?

You wondered if her teaching methods had changed. Had the years hardened her patience, or did she repeat herself as often as needed? Did she still listen more than she spoke, or did she talk over students? Did her words continue to carry the same weight as they did all those years ago? Would they still keep you awake at night pondering over what she said? 

You had so many questions you wanted answers to, but simultaneously, you were afraid to know the answers. What would you do if everything had changed? What if this wasn't the same Wanda from five years ago? Physically, she looked the same, but what would that matter if she had changed from within? 

Realistically, you knew that asking her to stay exactly the same was impossible. A lot can change in five years. You should know you have grown a lot yourself, but that didn't mean you liked it. 

And who was that woman? 

You asked yourself this question for weeks after seeing her that day in the cafe, constantly fighting the urge to try and stalk her. It's not like you could, anyway. You didn't even know her name, let alone what she looked like, as her back was facing you, but that didn't stop you from obsessing over her. 

Were they together? Were they married? How did they meet? When did they meet? Was it long after you left, or did she move on quickly, and your shared turkey and cheese sandwiches didn't mean as much as you thought? 

There were just so many questions. 

The day of the open house had arrived. You sat in your car, staring at the familiarity of high school. From the outside, it looked exactly the same, with the red and blue colored letters spelling out "Go Ravens!!"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you observed the array of cars in the parking lot, heightening your anxiety. You contemplated the idea of simply driving back home, but just the possibility of seeing Wanda again was too irresistible to resist. 

The clock was ticking, and with each passing moment, your dread only seemed to grow. 

How would she react upon seeing me again? 

Would the awkwardness be palpable, or would she greet me with the same warm smile she did in the cafe? 

And what about me? How was I supposed to act around her? I certainly had to do better than last time. 

Taking a deep breath, you force yourself out of the car. The walk to the entrance felt longer than it was; each step was heavy with hesitation. You thought about the day she saved you as you entered the hallways filled with eager parents and students. The noise seemed to fade into the background as you made your way to where her classroom used to be. Your usual fast-paced walk is now turning into you dragging your feet. 

Before you even turned the corner, you heard the same laugh you did in the cafe with another voice. Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking another thought, you turned the corner. 

There she was, Wanda, standing outside her classroom wearing black slacks and a white long-sleeved ribbed shirt tucked into them. Her hair was lightly curled down her back, and her feet adorned a pair of black loafers. 

She was engaged in conversation with a parent, and her passion for teaching was evident in how she used her hands to talk and the sparkle in her eyes. You hesitated, not wanting to interrupt but unable to pull yourself away. The parent soon left, nodding and offering a polite goodbye. 

As they moved, you saw her again, the redhead from the cafe. 

What was she doing here?  

She was leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her lips as she watched Wanda interact with the parent. 

Your eyes met. She turned to tap Wanda to get her attention and pointed at you. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to approach her. 

When she looked at you, the recognition on her face was immediate, and a warm, genuine smile spread across her face. "It's been a long time," she said softly while grabbing at your hands, using the same soft tone she had last spoken to you on graduation day.  

"Yeah, it has. Too long," you replied, the weight of the years settling between you both. You stood there for a moment, staring before you were brought back by the sound of the woman's voice that was standing next to her.

"Hey, Wanda, I can take over here for a while if you guys want to catch up."

"Are you sure? I mean, I know it's a little busy, " she asked, looking around at all the parents and students.  

"Yes, go. I'll be fine here; I can handle it, " the red-headed woman reassured her while pushing her farther in your direction. 

"Okay, then let's go somewhere less crowded," Wanda said while leading you away. 

As you walked to a quieter area, neither of you said a word. The silence wasn't necessarily awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. Inside, you were freaking out. 

What were you going to say? What if she told you to leave and that she never wanted to see you again?

It wasn't like you could fulfill her request if that's what she wanted. You needed this job; You could not go back home. 

The less crowded place turned out to be a janitor's closet. The smell of dirty mop water and ammonia was prevalent in the air. 

Wanda turned to lock the door. Once inside, you both looked at each other, wondering what to say.

"You look really good, so grown up," she whispers more to herself than to you while taking her left hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear before hesitating and bringing it back down to her side. 

You noticed that when she brought her hand back to her side, a silver ring with an oval-shaped diamond lay upon her ring finger. Has she gotten married?

"Thank you, so do you. Look really good, I mean," you stutter over yourself.

Wanda blushes with a slight chuckle, "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile.

Tension lingered in the air as both of you had questions but had no idea how to ask them or if you even should.

Wanda is the one to break that tension.

"So, um, not that I'm not super happy to see you because I am, but what are you doing here?"

Excitement swirled inside, hearing that she was happy to see you.

"I, uh, I got a job here as a library media assistant. I will be working in the media center, you know, checking out books and teaching computer programs."

"Really? That's great. You always loved the school library. I remember how you used to beg me to bring the class at least twice a week."

"Yeah, I'm really excited about it."

While you were trying to be present in the conversation, you really had a one-track mind.

"Who's the woman that was standing outside the door with you?" you asked.

You can tell Wanda hadn't been expecting your question by the way her eyes widened.

"Oh um that's Natasha, After you graduated I started teaching a co-taught english class and well she's the co-teacher." She paused before confirming the suspicion you had earlier. 

"She's also my wife…" 

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

Lemme know whatcha thinkkkk

@nebthetautora @esposadejoyhuerta @w4ndsversew0nder

@skz-xii

[a-b-riddle]

tw: bondage. Body hair removal. A bit of torture? (imo it would be) teasing. This is just… idk. Weird. Just a blurb about ingrown hair and how Price would handle it.

Price told you when you first got together how he liked his women groomed. He didn’t shy away from it. The man knew what he liked 🤷🏼‍♀️

And that was some hair down there. Be it a bit of scruff or a full bush, he liked his women to have hair.

“Need something to keep that pussy warm while I’m away.” He once joked.

But you had thought it was just that.

A joke.

At least it was until you had shaved everything — and I do mean everything— to be a bit spontaneous and boy were you regretting it now.

John had refused to eat your pussy. At first you thought he was being a right prick refusing you until you felt the scratch of his beard against your very sensitive cunt. You practically pulled him up by his ears while he met you with a cocky “I told you so” look on his face.

You didn’t even like being bare down there, but his smug ass smirk had riled you up. You had insisted on keeping yourself shaved, making John’s eyebrow raise in a challenge. He had warned you what would happen if he wasn’t able to get his mouth on you.

Shame you didn’t listen.

Ingrown hairs and obvious irritation made you feel absolutely disgusting. It was perfectly normal, but the constant scratching like you were trying to relieve an itch from a veenirial infection wasn’t exactly… sexy.

You had passed through it. Making a vow to never do it again….

Until you did.

And John had warned you.

Which was why on the second day after shaving, he had tied you to the bed. You had prepared yourself for a proper fucking only to feel that tickle begin to spread the moment he secured the final cuff.

You didn’t know what a devious fucked you had married. Only John Price would refrain from eating your pussy (his favorite past time) in order to prove a point.

You were nearly in tears after thirty minutes of having the irritation flare up and nothing you could do to relieve it. To make matters worse, John was barely a few inches from your soaked cunt.

“Would love to get my mouth on you, but I don’t wanna hurt you like last time.”

“You won’t,” you promised. Pulling at the restraints. Angling your hips upwards to get closer to him.

“Warned you what would happen if you bothered your pussy again. No need to shave it down. I can see her juuuuust fine.” He teased.

“John, please.” Tears had began to spill from your eyes at this point. Not sure whether from the sexual frustration or the torment of not being able to relief the other ache from between your thighs.

“Promise me you won’t take a bloody razor to this pretty little cunt.” He practically growled, his breath hot against you. In that moment you would have never picked up a razor to shave any part of you if he had asked.

When he was finally satisfied with your pleading, he released you. Telling you when she’s a bit more covered and could handle it, he’ll have you sitting on his face. But for now there was a brand new exfoliation glove in the bathroom that he read would help.

You practically bolted out of the bed. No longer caring about coming six ways to Sunday. You had an itch that you definitely didn’t want John to scratch.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could I request Feyd and reader’s wedding from “his”? Or maybe how her life changes once she’s his wife and not his mistress? I lovelovelove all the prequels, but I’m so interested to see their future together!

Forever His

Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader

Notes/Warnings: barely smut. discussions of babies. thank you for the request and for reading <3

Words: 1350

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You’re his now. Completely. Entirely. 

Before, anyone could have attempted to touch you, talk to you, insult you—though unwise—and no one but Feyd would have blinked an eye. Neither would they have assumed that such disrespectful behavior toward you would result in their death. A concubine is meant to be touched, spoken to however one pleases, insulted if it’s what a man needs to relieve the stress and frustration from his body. With the exception of Leto Atredies, Feyd’s the only Lord you’ve heard of who has ever given a fuck about the concubine they keep while simultaneously demanding respect for them. And on his part to ensure that, Feyd put secret rules in place when it came to you that men did not often follow. 

Being so heartless by nature, no one would expect a Harkonnen to care about anyone other than themselves—it’s risky to hint that the cold-blooded are capable of running a little warmer than rumor suggests—and for Feyd to lay out his care for you to the masses would have undoubtedly led to your death, whether by the hands of enemies or the Baron himself. But that didn’t stop Feyd from enforcing his rules and the repercussions for breaking them.

Those rules led to the deaths of many, most dramatically of his brother and a Caladanian diplomat, and it’s a wonder Feyd was able to talk himself out of the responsibility for their lives when the Baron called for an explanation. But he did. Feyd kept you alive, untouched by others, unbothered by others, respected by others because you were always his. His, at first labeled so in one way, and now, labeled so in another—as a wife. 

His wife. A Lady once more—not of your home planet, but of Giedi Prime—and though your renewed status may not change the way a Harkonnen man needs to present himself to the universe, Feyd can now be who he wants to be without the Baron lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to pretend not to care for you as deeply as he does, and neither do you have to fear the choices he was making for your sake. 

From the moment Feyd kissed you in front of those who declared the validity of Geidi Prime marriages, your worries were instructed to fall in line with the duties of a wife. But with Feyd—for Feyd—it’s easy. Be his woman; stand by his side; and bear him an heir. And those things, you can do. 

—

His fingers are digging into your hips, helping guide your movements as you grind and shift your hips. He never let you on top before, and he never answered you when you asked why, but you knew it was his method of protection. A psychological need that extended to the physicalities of sex. He had to be the looming one, the consuming one, the one who shielded the other from dangers that were not present in the confines of your room. But that changed as your title changed. You’re allowed to be freer now—uninhibited—and Feyd has been willing to teach you how.

His back teeth clench, jaw sharpening with his final grunt of pleasure. With his hand on your neck, he pulls you down, lips claiming yours as he spills inside of you for the third time in the night. 

Your chest rises and falls in sync with his as you come down from the high, and then he rolls you onto your back, remaining inside of you to keep his seed from leaving your body. “Do you think it worked this time?” you ask as you regain even breaths. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says as he tries to do the same. “We aren’t going to stop until you’re pregnant with my heir. We aren’t going to stop even once you are.”

Your chuckle is cut short by another press of his lips. Then, there is a press on your jaw. Then another on your neck. Then that kiss turns into little bites that are sure to leave marks. It feels too good to stop him, though you probably should. One of the things that works against you as a wife that did not as a concubine is the marks he makes on your body that cannot be covered by clothing. Nibbles, scratches, bruises—all acceptable on the skin of a concubine. Not as much on the skin of a bride. But it’s a propriety that Feyd could not care less for. 

“Feyd…” The vibration from his hum tickles your throat. “I’ll get stares.” Glares, more like. 

He pulls back with a quirked brow. “Ladies from other Houses eye the marks I give you and suddenly you’re bothered? What for?” He hums again, low, deep. His voice matches. “They’re jealous their Lords don’t fuck them like I fuck you.”

You snicker. “Maybe.”

Not maybe, definitely. However, you know it extends past the attention those women do not receive from their men. The fact that you were a concubine at all raises their hackles. While the Emporer and Lords have their meetings, the Ladies sit aside, offering words when requested but otherwise remaining silent, and in that silence, they have much time to think and scrutinize and judge. 

They don’t care that you were a Lady of your own planet before Feyd; they care what Feyd made you and then remade you when he decided he loved you. And now, you remind them too much of their own circumstances: a wife competing with a concubine. Except you were the concubine and then the wife while they are the wives shadowed by concubine counterparts. You’re an image of what they will never have and what their husbands wish they could have with the women they’d prefer. 

“They’re never going to like you,” Feyd interrupts your thoughts when he sees you’re lost.

“I don’t need them to like me,” you tell him. You prefer the company of the other concubines anyway—those brought alongside the wives for their Lords. Despite the complexities of your past, you connect with them better. “But either way, you need to be more considerate.”

“No,” he counters, “I need to fuck and touch and kiss my new wife however I want, and she needs to condemn anyone who gives her trouble for it.” You mock a gasp of offense. “You expect me to hold myself back with you? You want me to restrain myself when I’m trying to put a baby inside of you?”

“You make it sound silly.”

“It is,” he says. “I don’t whine about the marks you make on me.”

“Because Lords marvel at badges of honor,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. 

Feyd’s chuckle is your favorite sound. You rarely heard it before your wedding—he was always too stressed over you, concerned about your well-being—but you became addicted the moment it hit your ears. 

You wince at the discomfort of him finally pulling out, and your body instinctively follows as if to keep him where he was. When he falls onto his back, he tucks you into his side. 

“What do you think it’ll be?” he suddenly asks you.

You’re momentarily thrown off until you realize where his mind has shifted. Snuggling against him, you say, “I don’t care. As long as it’s healthy.”

“It will be,” he says.

“And as long as we can keep it safe,” you add.

Feyd swallows. You know there’s a part of him that is aware the life you have is not the life you were meant to have; that this life is a product of your lack of safeguarding; that you were taken as a prize; that he took you. And no matter the joy you’ve expressed or your previous unwillingness to consider leaving him—not that he ever entertained returning you—trying to have a child has made it impossible for him to forget how you met. He struggles. Something in you appreciates that about him. It means you helped to change him for the better. It means when he becomes a father, he will approach it differently than his own parents once did. 

“We can,” he promises you. “And we will.”

[ariesmoontarot]

The Honest Truth

—————————————

Hey everyone I hope you’re having a good day! So this reading is going to be different from my usual readings. I’m going to channel what the collective needs to hear without a specific topic being in mind. Take it how it resonates and leave what doesn’t. Enjoy!

—————————————

choose a number from 1-3 to pick your pile.

The Piles:

💙Pile One:

I feel like things are happening around you that are changing you as a person. Your whole life could be changing in every aspect and I just feel like there is something you’re questioning. You feel confused and doubting how you feel in this situation. I’m seeing a heavy heart. You feel overwhelmed, exhausted, & burdened by a situation you feel betrayed in. I feel like something happened that made you feel like you were left for the wolves and it’s pushing you to pull yourself together as best as you can. I see you trying to create a feeling of stability and independence but it’s been a hard and long journey to get to where you are right now and you’re doing it! Slowly but surely. All things come around in full circle. What you give is what you get and maybe you gave time, effort, and energy to a situation that didn’t happen the way you wanted, but it’s happening in the right time in the way that it’s supposed to. I feel like you’ve blocked someone or something from being able to reach you. You’re protecting yourself and standing on business. I feel like you aren’t letting anything or anyone affect the ambition and goals you have in mind no matter how much it hurts. You’re learning to have healthier boundaries and I feel like for a lot of you there’s a person you felt connected to emotionally and they could have lied or moved a certain way that inevitably made you feel the way you do. You’re questioning on whether or not this person or connection is really for you. I feel like things didn’t seem to work out for you guys because of the way they approached you. I feel like they let their fears and pride get in the way of things and they self sabotaged. They know going about things the way they do isn’t going to work with you and I feel like you’re upset with them. You’re a little mad to be honest. I feel like you’re giving them the silent treatment and completely closed off now. I see they do have feelings for you and you make them really happy. They feel emotionally invested with you and they want to try and come together to make things work, but it’s taking time and I feel like they’re procrastinating not taking any responsibility or steps to come towards you at all. They’re just sitting on how they feel and not expressing it. I see them trying to approach you with this opportunity to try again for something long term and it took a lot for this person to come towards you. They had to let go of alot of things and I feel like they are trying to feel confident with their approach. Something blew up in this persons face and I feel like it was the fact that you went ghost on them. You simply withdrew yourself and went your own way. I see them looking at the situation with anxiety and fear because they know they’ll be losing a good person if they don’t get their act together. I feel like right now you’re just focused on loving yourself and life. You have this lighthearted energy where you aren’t letting things really get to you. You acknowledge the uncomfortable feelings and keep it moving. I feel like you’re disappointed and hurt but you just keep it moving with this “naive” attitude. It’s not like you’re giving them the benefit of the doubt, but you’re definitely just acting ignorant like you don’t know the gameplay. You know things aren’t fair right now and I feel like you’re aware of everything that’s going on. You’re just observing and paying close attention to all the details. You’re watching them too, maybe on social media or something but however you see them you’re definitely gathering up all the facts and evidence needed to back up how you feel without it actually being said to you. It’s like you’re listening to your own truth and accepting how you feel for what it really is. It’s up to you what you want to do with the information you find, but I see a lot of you are about to or already went hermit. I feel guided to tell you to pick another pile after this one if you feel like you should.

💙Pile Two:

Hi pile 2! I feel like right now you’re a bit disappointed and sad over some spilled milk. You’re feeling some guilt for doing what is best for you. I feel like you have all that you need to change your circumstances within yourself. You just need to be determined, patient, and willing. Good things really do take time. Trials and tribulations will happen and that’s just life. You don’t learn to appreciate the good if there is no bad. I see someone keeping a close eye on you. Paying attention and maybe talking about you. It doesn’t have to be bad talk though. I just feel like they’re seeing you do you and talking about it with people they’re around or close to. I see you feeling inspired by this disappointment though. The hurt is inspiring you to change and take control over what you can and that is yourself. You’re putting an end to this feeling of sadness and guilt and turning it into something positive. I feel like you’re not stopping your life for nobody. You keep it pushing even when it’s hard to. You’ve grown so much as a person and I feel like this situation is only pushing you to do even better than you are! You aren’t waiting for anyone to come and save you or be the person that you need. You’re definitely giving someone the cold shoulder and letting them watch you. You don’t necessarily need anyone, but when a person is getting your time, care, and efforts I feel like you aren’t going to just let them walk all over you and not hold up their end of the line. You have standards, morals, & integrity. I feel like you don’t like the unnecessary drama or chaos and if someone is disrupting your peace you will gladly cut off all communication with them. I see you confidently enjoying yourself and resting assured all things will happen the way they should. You’re letting your actions and effort lead you and having faith that you accepting things and letting them just happen will align what and who is really meant for you. I just keep getting this energy of “wait for me”. I’m not sure who is wanting this but someone definitely is. Someone who loves and cares about you, but can’t give you what you need right now in whatever way that applies to you. They’re trying their best to hold onto you and not let you go. Even if it’s just watching you, not saying too much or anything but putting on this front like as if they’re fine. They’re being lighthearted and cold at the same time. It’s like they’re being really quiet not saying much, but definitely feeling a lot of emotion without letting you see too deeply. They know if they get too close they will fall in love with you. For some of you this could be a friend or someone you have history with. This person is up in their head not trying to say anything because they’re afraid or they feel like they just can’t do much because of where they are right now. They want to take the lead and you follow, but I feel like they need to come up with a plan or take the extra mile in order to even get to you because I don’t see you settling. You feel like the situation itself is too much drama and conflict. It’s a bit triggering for you because I feel like you’ve grown past all that type of energy. You’re completely blocked off to this person and I feel like they feel it. They know you shut them out of your life and it took a lot for you to do that as well.

💙Pile Three:

I feel like you’re working on multiple things in your life right now and one of those things is a connection you have with someone. I feel like you were offering your love and care to this person and they broke your trust. You feel like you lost your energy to even try anymore and the situation has gone draining and more of a setback than it is benefiting you. I feel like you just want things to be balanced and reciprocated, but instead it feels like you’re the only one trying and you’re tired. I feel like you don’t want to fight for this anymore. This person unexpectedly felt something for you and I feel like they didn’t feel prepared at all for that. They feel this calling to just hold onto you and not let you go. They keep trying to put in bits of effort to hold on to the connection but I feel like because of the way they’re showing up it seems like they don’t feel for you at all. They seem distracted or a bit closed off emotionally and it’s because they’re afraid of opening up. For some of you they’re afraid of their feelings for you. You might be wondering why this person keeps in contact with you at all but it’s because they feel like they need to take their time with things and be patient with the way things are going. You don’t want to go with the flow when you don’t know where that river leads to. I’m hearing “this is getting old” and “reaching for the stars”. I feel like you’re tired of the same old story and excuses. It just feels like this will never be good. You can feel that way or this person does. I just feel like the energy is giving pessimistic hopeless romantic. Feeling like there’s no hope of this ever working out and I feel like you’re ready to just move on and keep it pushing. You’re not dealing with inconsistent and immature behavior. This person isn’t on the same level as you emotionally and besides all the surface level and physical stuff, deep down they’re struggling. They don’t know how to handle their feelings and I feel like they may run from them. I’m getting a lot of messages about the ocean and water so emotions are definitely a big factor here. It feels like you were building on an unsteady foundation and it was almost as if you stepped into a building that was inevitably going to fall apart and the minute you stepped in it crumbled. That’s how this person heart feels. It’s like the minute they got too close things just started coming undone. I do see you speaking your mind to this person and being completely honest about how you feel and I feel like you told them what you needed and wanted out and it made them realize they want the same things their mind is just at war with their heart. They aren’t saying much to you and I feel like they could just be ignoring you and not saying anything at all because they know you just want nothing but clear and direct communication. You want everything straight forward and I feel like your standards are high so you aren’t accepting less than. You’re very intelligent and I feel like you see through any situation that seems unclear. You know the minute you’re being gaslighted or manipulated and I feel like whenever you start to second guess yourself and what you feel, you know something is up. You know this person isn’t quite sure on how they feel and I feel like you accepted what they gave you and ran with it. In the sense that you let them do what they want to do and you just observe and move accordingly. Either way you’re gonna do what’s best for you. This person is separated from you by fate. I feel like there is distance between you and it could be a lack of communication, physical or emotional distance, or all of the above. This is happening so they can understand things by themselves. They know deep down how they feel and it’s up to them whether or not they want to accept it. I don’t see you waiting around though. You’re doing what makes you happy and I feel like being stuck and confused is something you’re definitely not about to do and they know this because of what you said and did. You said what you said and you stand on that.

You meant everything you ever said to them and I feel like when you walked away they realized how serious you were. I seen something that said “If a woman likes you enough you don’t even have to lie to her, she will lie to herself.” Some of you could have been lying to yourself giving this person the benefit of the doubt, but then you decided you couldn’t do it anymore and just started being honest with yourself. Of course you don’t have to be a woman but generally speaking. This person could’ve been in another situation before you, that didn’t work out and maybe they seen a good opportunity with you just to have a person like you around. They could’ve attempted to fill the void that they feel with you. However, they underestimated you. But I just hear “I’m not dealing with this” from you and you walked away. Completely cut off contact and went about your life as you should. I just feel like this person feels stuck and that’s something they’re gonna have to figure out.

[froggiewrites]

Unknown / Nth

Pairing: Shanks x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You don't know if Shanks will still be here tomorrow morning. You don't know if you should be doing this at all. But you can't help but indulge yourself tonight, if only to create another memory you'll yearn for later. Warnings: Smut, Angst (With A Happy Ending), Exes to Lovers/Second Chances, A LOT of Yearning Word Count: 4.4k

You thought you were dreaming, the first moment you saw him in the bar, head thrown back with laughter, a little sake running down his chin and catching the light. You were still convinced as you approached, vision blurred with unshed tears. It was only once he turned around, smile wide and ready, obviously aware of you from the moment you stepped in the room, and said your name that you knew that this was truly and definitively real.

You don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing, but your heart sings anyway.

“Long time no see!” His grin doesn’t waver a moment, but you can still see the slight tension in his shoulders, the unease lurking in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say to you, not after all this time. You used to know him like the back of your hand, but the man in front of you is practically a stranger. You imagine he feels much the same about you.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You can’t smile as brightly as he does, no matter how excited part of you is to see him again. You’re weighed down by years of grief, of longing, and you’ve never been a good liar. “A lot’s changed.” You glance down at where his arm used to be, the hand that had once held you so tenderly.

He laughs. “Yeah, I guess it has. But not too much.” You don’t know what he’s implying with that, but there’s a weight to the words, a sort of finality to them. “You should sit down. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“I shouldn’t,” she says, already in the chair he gestured to.

He laughs. It’s such a beautiful, familiar sound, something unchanged by the years between the man she used to know and the man who is. “I’ve always been great at convincing you to do the things you shouldn’t, haven’t I?”

You don’t know whether he realizes the gravity of what he’s said. Sometimes everything about him seems so free, so spontaneous, and others it seems like he knows everything that has, can, and will happen, and his hands are the ones making the cogs of the world turn.

But he really had always been so wonderful at convincing you. You had been reluctant to take the next step to lovers. You had told him such, several times, but he had always soothed away your worries with a bubbling laugh that always put you at ease.

I'm afraid of losing you, you had told him.

And he, to his credit, didn't tell you you never could. A calculated risk, he had called it. And I have a good feeling about this one.

You had never been an excellent gambler.

How horrible, to go from friends to lovers to nothing. You didn’t know how to be someone without him. Waking up to an empty bed was one thing, but ordering one drink instead of two, hearing a joke you know he’d love and being unable to share it with him, collecting trinkets just for them to collect dust when you realize you have no one to give them to, it weighs on you. In weaker moments, you can still feel his hands on you, hear his laughter in the wind, see the sparkle of his eyes behind you in the mirror. Haunted by the ghost of all you had and lost.

You never know which to call it: the day you lost him or the day he lost you. It doesn't matter, really, since his warmth left your side all the same, but you can't help but stick on the point anyway. Who took the bigger blow? You had loved him so deeply he had etched himself into your bones down to the marrow, but you would never accuse him of loving you with anything less than his all. Maybe you both lost in the end, a mutually assured destruction that had ended with nothing left of you but scraps.

But you’ve grieved for years, years that are long behind you. In front of you is the man you loved, grinning wildly, leaning in very purposefully to give you a look at his chest and abs under his shirt. He always knew his happy trail drove you wild, and now he does everything he can to ensure you see it. You can’t help but laugh at him. “You aren’t subtle, Shanks.”

“No one’s ever accused me of subtlety. That’s not usually what I’m going for.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and you notice lines that weren’t there when you saw him last. You wonder if the joy you brought him helped forge them, or if maybe it was all that came after that made its mark. Is there anything left of you with him?

You move to order a drink for yourself, but before you can speak to the bartender it’s already sat in front of you. Shanks ordered for you before you even approached. “Wow, you sure were confident.”

“Of course I was! How could you ever walk in here and not come and see me?” A slight twitch of his lip, a weakness in his smile, betrays insecurity. He absolutely thought you might have left without a word.

“Maybe I would have gotten nervous and ran. I’ve done that enough in my life.”

“Not to me. You always came to me.” His eyes are soft, filled with an affection that makes you ache.

“Maybe I changed. Maybe I got worse.”

“Not possible. Not you. No matter what the world threw at you, you would never let it break you down.”

“I think you think too much of me.”

“I think maybe I just know you better than you know yourself.” His smile isn’t smug, which is almost worse. He’s being devastatingly genuine, far more than you expected when you sat down. “You never had enough faith in yourself. Has that changed at all?”

You want to lie. God, you want to lie. But staring into his eyes you know you can’t. “No, it hasn’t. It might have gotten worse.”

He sighs softly, and he’s close enough that you can feel the rush of air on your face. “I had a feeling.” He pauses for a moment, before leaning back and taking a swig from his drink. “But tonight isn’t the time to unpack that. We’re two old friends having a drink. We should celebrate!”

It stings more than you expected. “Old friends, huh? That’s what this is?”

“It certainly sounds nicer than calling you the one who got away.”

“I got away?”

“And I never should have let you.” Another sip of his drink. “But really, we should talk about something happier, don’t you think? How’s life been?”

You want to press the issue, but his eyes are slightly pleading, and you think maybe you have more sway over him than you ever expected, an ability to press onto his weak spots hard enough to hurt. You used to think he was unshakable, invincible, but now you wonder if perhaps long ago he had gifted you a knife that could perfectly slip between his ribs if you so chose, if you ever developed the penchant for cruelty.

So you don’t press. You tell him about your life, how things have been since he left. He listens with rapt attention, holding onto your every word. He doesn’t share much about his own life, but you’re too caught up in the intoxication of his attention to care. It feels so wonderful to have those eyes on you again, if only for a while. It loosens your lips, makes you say things you never thought you’d be willing to admit.

"You know, there were times in my life I was convinced you were an angel. A gift from heaven, just for me."

"What convinced you otherwise?"

"I got to know you."

"Ouch!"

"No, no. It's not...you're just so...human. It's a compliment, I promise." It doesn't come out right, as you stumble over your words like you're sixteen again, every part of you slightly too big, too clumsy, too you. You don't know how to tell him that being him is the best thing a person could be. You could never love an angel the way you loved that man.

“I didn’t think you’d have many compliments left for me.”

You don’t know how to disagree with that. You certainly shouldn’t. But there’s a place in your heart carved out in his shape, and you’ve never been able to fill it with anything else. “I have almost nothing but, really.”

He smiles, wearier this time, tired down to the bone. “You’ve always been too good to me.”

You’ve always been too good for me, so what a pair we make. You don’t let the thought leave your lips, not today. But you suspect he might be able to see it in your face. He’s always been able to look you in the eyes and know exactly what you’re thinking. It’s one of his greatest strengths, and one of the things that tore you apart. You were never on equal footing, the wonderful liar and his woefully honest love. 

“So…anybody else you’ve got nothing but compliments for?”

“That was an awful segue.”

“I’m doing my best.”

You can’t help but laugh. “If you’re asking if I’m with someone, no, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I thought we were supposed to keep this to happy topics?”

“So it’s a sad reason.”

“It’s a normal reason!” It’s not, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever you say,” he chuckles, moving closer once again. He’s been slowly pulling your stools closer together throughout the night, inching his way into your space. With this final push, he allows himself a moment with his arm around your shoulder, so close to familiar, but not quite. He used to hold you with his dominant arm, the one he lost. You wonder if it feels strange to him, too, to be so close to the past, inches away from what was, but unable to fully bridge that gap. His drink sits on the counter, unattended, abandoned in favor of your warmth. “No matter the reason, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I think you know.”

“I think I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh, well how could I ever deny a request from you?” He leans closer, brushing his lips against your ear. “I want you.”

You flush, and suddenly you aren’t a tired pirate, filled with regrets and lost in nostalgia. Instead you’re twenty, and the beautiful boy you’ve been in love with has finally looked at you with all of the longing you thought you were alone in. You’re giddy and terrified and yearning all at once, but you can handle it, because he’s right there to catch you, just like he’s always been. You remember very well what it’s like to love him. You don’t know if you ever stopped. You would tell him, had he not flustered you so thoroughly you can hardly bring yourself to speak.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d still have that effect on you.” He’s grinning, the smugness offset by his obvious boyish glee.

“How could I ever resist?” It comes out barely a whisper, eeks out of your lips before you can stop it.

“Can I do what I do best?”

“What’s that?”

His eyes glance longingly down at your lips as he mutters, “Convince you to do something you shouldn’t.”

Tomorrow, you expect to wake up to cold sheets and an empty bed. Tomorrow you will be left with nothing but a longing for what you could have had, had things been different. Tomorrow you will scream and cry and curse yourself for daring to give yourself a taste of it, knowing this time would be the last. But it is not tomorrow yet, and he looks beautiful in the light, a decade younger and kinder, just like you remember him.

You let him kiss you.

And god, how cruel he was, for kissing you like it mattered. Like he always used to, dragging it out, lips following you even as you pulled away. He always kissed you like it would be your last.

His hand grips your hip tightly, as though he’s terrified you’ll turn to smoke beneath his fingertips, as though the moment he lets you you will slip through his fingers. Your chests press together, your hearts beating loudly, calling to each other through the small amount of space that separates them. A greeting to an old friend.

Your walk to your inn room is frenzied, his hand never leaving you, your lips hardly parting for a moment. You would thank the cover of darkness for maintaining your dignity if you were capable of worrying about anything other than the feeling of his skin beneath your fingers when you slide them beneath his shirt. You hear nothing except for his frantic breath in the small moments you part, the soft sighs that leave him when his hands find another part of your body to refamiliarize himself with.

You barely feel your back hit the bed. It is only when he finally pulls back a moment that you catch your breath and realize where you are. You could still back out. Still allow yourself to go back to the numbness, the grief surrounding you like a blanket, keeping you not comfortable but certainly safe.

Your fingers find the bottom of your shirt, throwing it to the side carelessly. Your fingers struggle with the clasp of your bra for a moment, frantic to get it off, to feel his fingers and mouth on your chest again after years of dreaming of them. You look up to see him shirtless, having fought a panicked battle with fabric of his own. He’s staring at you, mouth agape, his look something resembling wonder. He’s not simply admiring you, or doing something as disconnecting, glorifying, as worship. He’s simply adoring you, taking in the sight of you and tucking it away in his heart, treating you as something to be remembered. Something he will carry with him for the rest of his life if he has the choice.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remember you.” His voice is hardly a whisper, the words feeling almost like a confession of something more.

“So are you,” you murmur, moving slowly to run your fingers across his abdomen. He’s still built sturdily, and you can feel his muscles tense slightly underneath your fingers.

“I’ve dreamed of this. So, so many times.” He comes closer, his next words nearly directly against your lips. “I might have seen you more in my dreams than I ever did in reality. You’ve haunted me.” With that he kisses you again, tenderly, like an apology. There isn’t a heat or urgency like there was before, only affection and longing. You can feel in every movement of his mouth and tongue how he has wanted you, waited for you.

He slides onto the bed, pulling you onto his lap, pressing your bare chests together with his arm wrapped around your waist. His mouth moves to your neck, nipping gently, trying to find a spot he could once find in an instant. It takes him only a moment before he finds your sweet spot, making you moan softly. When you do, he lets out a soft groan. “God, I’ve missed that sound.”

You grind down slightly on his lap, making him let out a soft surprised noise of his own. You can’t help the giggle that comes out of you, girlish and joyous. “And I’ve missed that sound.” You grind down again, electricity shooting up your spine. “And that feeling.”

“Oh yeah? Haven’t felt that a lot since…” He trails off.

“They haven’t been you.” The weight of the words don’t hit you until they’re already out, but they don’t shatter the fragile bubble you two have found yourself in. All they do is make him give you a lovesick grin that threatens to rip your heart from your chest.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Another nip at your neck, and a callused hand sliding up your torso to your chest. “I’d give anything for it to have been me.”

“It’s you now.” It’s always been you.

“So it is. I’ll make sure you never forget tonight.” His mouth moves lower, his tongue and teeth lightly grazing over your nipples, making you grab his shoulders to ground yourself as a shiver works its way up your spine. His mouth is on one breast, his hand on the other, and he takes his sweet time working you up. He’s determined to appreciate you with all of the time he’s been granted, ensure that you know how much he’s savoring this moment. It’s only once you’re panting, hips jerking lightly without permission, that he eases up his attacks and starts working his way to the main event.

He lifts you slightly, just enough to slide your pants and panties off in one go. “Show off,” you mutter, no fire behind it.

“Only for you.” What should be a cheeky grin is too softened by the mood, turning to something sickly sweet. He taps your thigh lightly, an indication to stay elevated, and starts to unbuckle his pants before your hands reach out to stop him.

“Let me.” You wish your voice weren’t so desperate, but you’ve been dreaming of this moment for years, and you want so badly to live it how you’ve always wanted to.

He chuckles. “Of course, dear.”

Your hands make quick work of his belt as it’s flung to the side, but you take your time slowly working off his pants. The tent in his boxers is huge, almost bigger than you remember, but you don’t take long to stare at it. You save that for when you finally slide off his underwear, exposing his cock to your hungry eyes. It’s exactly as you remember, long and veiny and twitching with want. You slowly reach a hand to it, wrapping your fist around it, then the other, pumping slowly and appreciating the weight in your hand. He lets out a soft groan, head falling forward, eyes falling closed, allowing for you to admire his body without fear of embarrassment.

You seize the moment you can, eyes scraping over every inch of him, updating him in your memory, adding every new wrinkle, scar, every part of him that’s new to you. You never thought he could grow more beautiful, more perfect, more him, but somehow he managed. There’s more hair on his chest now, more scars on his legs, more evidence of the hard life you knew he led as an emperor. You’re determined to memorize every inch, so now at least when you dream of him it will be him as he is instead of as he was.

He makes a strangled noise when you lean down to take him in your mouth, to see if his taste has changed as well. You’re pleased to know it hasn’t, as you slowly move up and down his shaft as your hands continue to work him. The weight of him in your mouth is almost comforting in its familiarity, something between you two that has remained wholly and truly unchanged. His moans grow deeper when one of your hands moves to his balls and his hips lurch forward slightly. You remove your mouth just to take one final long lick up his cock, one that once again causes him to shiver and groan.

He makes a quiet noise somewhere between disappointment and relief when you fully remove your hands and mouth from him and begin to straddle him again. “I really didn’t want to finish before the main event. I don’t have the stamina I used to.”

You laugh at him. “You liar. One, you’re not even forty, you shouldn’t act like an old man. Second, you’ve only gotten stronger since then. No way in hell have you lost any endurance.”

“Me, lie to you?” He places a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Never!”

“So you admit you’re weaker than you used to be? An unpracticed lover?”

“Well…maybe I was lying this one time.” He leans forward to kiss you again, a quick peck at the corner of your mouth. He reaches down to align himself with your entrance before he begins to thrust in slowly and carefully. His hand moves to your hip, resting there as you both quietly moan at the feeling of you stretching him out.

He leans your foreheads together when he finally bottoms out, both of you panting quietly and getting used to the feeling. It’s blissful, to finally be filled so perfectly after thinking about it for so very long. You fit together perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you mewl.

“Of course.” With that he easily grips your hip to help you ride him, rutting up into you as you come down. The sound of skin slapping makes you feel light headed, leaning your head forward to rest in Shanks’ neck. The room feels burning hot, but despite the heat radiating off of his skin, you need to feel every inch of him. You feel as though you’ll float away if you don’t ground yourself here, with him, perfectly intertwined in a way you could never be with anybody else.

“I’ve missed this,” he gasps out as he hits particularly deep, making you cry out. “You feel so wonderful, sweetheart. So perfect.”

You try to respond, but he hits your sweet spot again, so you can only let out a choked cry against his neck. He presses his nose into your hair, and you can feel him smile against you. “That’s right, just like that. Let me hear it.”

And so you do. You don’t hold back a single sound, crying out for him louder and louder until you’re sure the entire inn can hear. You can’t bring yourself to care. You can feel the heat rising, the pulsing spreading through you, and you don’t give a damn about anything other than the man beneath and inside of you.

“So close, almost there.” Another thrust, another cry, and you are teetering on the edge, ready to let yourself fall.

“Let it out, sweetheart. Cum with me.” You tighten around him as you feel your release fly through you and Shanks’ pulse inside of you. He continues to thrust through your orgasm, ensuring you take every last drop of him as deep inside as you can. When you come back to yourself, he’s running his fingers lightly through your hair, pressing loving kisses to the top of your head. “That was perfect.”

You can’t help your smile. You nuzzle against his neck, and his hand drops from your head to your back, pulling you closer. You both lay for what feels like hours, Shanks soft inside of you, as both of you refuse to move and shatter the moment.

Eventually, Shanks pulls out, cum slowly starting to leak out of you, as he gently shifts you both so he’s laying on his back with you on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady like a drum, pounding in his chest. You’d missed that sound.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You only remember waking up still feeling warm and safe, and the quiet confusion that comes with it. You were sure he would be back on his ship by now, halfway to a new island, a new adventure, and someone else to share his bed with. Someone with less baggage, or at least some that can be left by the door. Instead he’s here, in this bed, staring down at you with a tenderness that could bring you to tears if you let it.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He brushes your hair lightly from his face.

“Does that make you Prince Charming?”

He laughs. “God no. I’m the handsome and roguish pirate that’s here to steal his princess away.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“Hm?”

“Steal me away? Is that your plan?” You try to keep the hope out of your voice.

"We're leaving tomorrow. You could..." He trails off, an uncharacteristic hesitation. You never used to do this to him, make him lose his sure footing. You don't know how to feel about changing from home to unsteady ground, somewhere he has to tread carefully lest he fall right through. He doesn't finish his question, doesn't get brave enough to risk it. Instead he looks at you with wide, pleading eyes that beg for a return to something you can't even fully remember the feeling of.

I can't, you want to say.

"I don't know," your mouth betrays, vulnerability seeping through. He's always been good at that, striping someone down to their center, exposing the softness they desperately try to hide.

"I don't know either," he mutters. "But I'd... I'd like it if you did. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

“You don’t have to miss me anymore. Not if you don’t want to.” His hand is gentle as it caresses your cheek. You close your eyes and lean in, soaking up the feeling. You want to. You want to so badly you could scream. But there’s a terror inside of you, a part of you where the wound he left never closed. You don’t know if you can risk tearing the rest of it open again. You don’t know if you’ll survive it.

His voice goes soft again, saying the one word that brings down your defenses instantly. “Please. Please come with me. I can’t lose you again.”

You know he could still hurt you. Could still rip you open in an instant if you let him, expose your soft insides and destroy every part of you you managed to keep safe the first time. You know this intimately. But somehow it doesn’t sway you as much as his quiet desperation, his admittance that perhaps you could do the very same to him, and he would let you.

“You don’t have to.”

“You mean…”

“I’ll go with you.”

His smile rivals the sun. “You won’t regret it.”

You might. But you can’t quite bring yourself to care.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 03 || USEFUL OCCUPATIONS AND DECEPTIONS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“He can’t marry a fifteen-year-old girl to … to … that! And without even asking her!” “Oh, I expect he can,” Jamie said, with infuriating calmness. “In any case, Sassenach, it isna your affair.” He took me firmly by both arms and gave me a little shake. “D’ye hear me? I know it’s strange to ye, but that’s how matters are. After all”—the long mouth curled up at one corner—“you, were made to wed against your will. Reconciled yourself to it yet, have ye?” “Sometimes I wonder!” I yanked, trying to pull my arms free, but he merely gathered me in, laughing, and kissed me. After a moment, I gave up fighting. I relaxed into his embrace, admitting surrender, if only temporarily. I would meet with Mary Hawkins, I thought, and we’d see just what she thought about this proposed marriage. If she didn’t want to see her name on a marriage contract, linked with the Vicomte Marigny, then … Suddenly I stiffened, pushing away from Jamie’s embrace. “What is it?” he looked alarmed. “Are ye ill, lass? You’ve gone all white!” And little wonder if I had. For I had suddenly remembered where I had seen the name of Mary Hawkins. Jamie was wrong. This was my affair. For I had seen the name, written in a copperplate hand at the top of a genealogy chart, the ink old and faded by time to a sepia brown.

Mary Hawkins was not meant to be the wife of the decrepit Vicomte Marigny. She was to marry Jonathan Randall, in the year of our Lord 1745. “Well, she can’t, can she?” Jamie said. “Jack Randall is dead.” He finished pouring the glass of brandy, and held it out to me. His hand was steady on the crystal stem, but the line of his mouth was set and his voice clipped the word “dead,” giving it a vicious finality. “Put your feet up, Sassenach,” he said. “You’re still pale.” At his motion, I obediently pulled up my feet and stretched out on the sofa. Jamie sat down near my head, and absently rested a hand on my shoulder. His fingers felt warm and strong, gently massaging the small hollow of the joint. “Marcus MacRannoch told me he’d seen Randall trampled to death by cattle in the dungeons of Wentworth Prison,” he said again, as though seeking to reassure himself by repetition. “A ‘rag doll, rolled in blood.’ That’s what Sir Marcus said. He was verra sure about it.” “Yes.” I sipped my brandy, feeling the warmth come back into my cheeks. “He told me that, too. No, you’re right, Captain Randall is dead. It just gave me a turn, suddenly remembering about Mary Hawkins. Because of Frank.” I glanced down at my left hand, resting on my stomach. There was a small fire burning on the hearth, and the light of it caught the smooth gold band of my first wedding ring. Jamie’s ring, of Scottish silver, circled the fourth finger of my other hand. “Ah.” Jamie’s touch on my shoulder stilled. His head was bent, but he glanced up to meet my gaze. We had not spoken of Frank since I had rescued Jamie from Wentworth, nor had Jonathan Randall’s death been mentioned between us. At the time it had seemed of little importance, except insofar as it meant that no more danger menaced us from that direction. And since then, I had been reluctant to bring back any memory of Wentworth to Jamie. “You know he is dead, do ye not, mo duinne?” Jamie spoke softly, his fingers resting on my wrist, and I knew he spoke of Frank, not Jonathan. “Maybe not,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the ring. I raised my hand, so the metal gleamed in the fading afternoon light. “If he’s dead, Jamie—if he won’t exist, because Jonathan is dead—then why do I still have the ring he gave me?” He stared at the ring, and I saw a small muscle twitch near his mouth. His face was pale, too, I saw. I didn’t know whether it would do him harm to think of Jonathan Randall now, but there seemed little choice. “You’re sure that Randall had no children before he died?” he asked. “That would be an answer.”

“It would,” I said, “but no, I’m sure not. Frank”—my voice trembled a bit on the name, and Jamie’s grip on my wrist tightened—“Frank made quite a bit of the tragic circumstances of Jonathan Randall’s death. He said that he—Jack Randall—had died at Culloden Field, in the last battle of the Rising, and his son—that would be Frank’s five-times great-grandfather—was born a few months after his father’s death. His widow married again, a few years later. Even if there were an illegitimate child, it wouldn’t be in Frank’s line of descent.” Jamie’s forehead was creased, and a thin vertical line ran between his brows. “Could it be a mistake, then—that the child was not Randall’s at all? Frank may come only of Mary Hawkins’s line—for we know she still lives.” I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t see how. If you’d known Frank—but no, I suppose I’ve never told you. When I first met Jonathan Randall, I thought for the first moment that he was Frank—they weren’t the same, of course, but the resemblance was … startling. No, Jack Randall was Frank’s ancestor, all right.” “I see.” Jamie’s fingers had grown damp; he took them away and wiped them absently on his kilt. “Then … perhaps the ring means nothing, mo duinne,” he suggested gently. “Perhaps not.” I touched the metal, warm as my own flesh, then dropped my hand helplessly. “Oh, Jamie, I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” He rubbed his knuckles tiredly on the crease between his eyes. “Neither do I, Sassenach.” He dropped his hand and tried to smile at me. “There’s the one thing,” he said. “You said that Frank told you Jonathan Randall would die at Culloden?” “Yes. In fact, I told Jack Randall that myself, to scare him—at Wentworth, when he put me out in the snow, before … before going back to you.” His eyes and mouth clamped shut in sudden spasm, and I swung my feet down, alarmed. “Jamie! Are you all right?” I tried to put a hand on his head, but he pulled away from my touch, rising and going to the window. “No. Yes. It’s all right, Sassenach. I’ve been writing letters all the morning, and my head’s fit to burst. Dinna worry yourself.” He waved me away, pressing his forehead against the cold pane of the window, eyes tight closed. He went on speaking, as though to distract himself from the pain. “Then, if you—and Frank—knew that Jack Randall would die at Culloden, but we know that he shall not … then it can be done, Claire.” “What can be done?” I hovered anxiously, wanting to help, but not knowing what to do. Clearly he didn’t want to be touched.

“What you know will happen can be changed.” He raised his head from the window and smiled tiredly at me. His face was still white, but the traces of that momentary spasm were gone. “Jack Randall died before he ought, and Mary Hawkins will wed another man. Even if that means that your Frank wilna be born—or perhaps will be born some other way,” he added, to be comforting, “then it also means that we have a chance of succeeding in what we’ve set ourselves to do. Perhaps Jack Randall didna die at Culloden Field, because the battle there will never happen.”

8 UNLAID GHOSTS AND CROCODILES ~Dragonfly in amber

[conchcronch]

How and When They Say ‘I Love You’ for The First Time - Sanji

A/N: this is my first attempt at writing a headcanon, which I realize has turned a bit into a fic but here we are! I hope you all enjoy, I have a few more brewing!

WC: 627

Warnings: A bit of angst but that’s all

-He’s always been loud about his love, saying it at every chance he gets no matter who’s around or what the circumstances are.

-In those public moments however, you rarely say it back. Thinking his proclamations are merely his flirtatious self rather then actual confessions of love.

-It isn’t until you sit with him in the aquarium bar long after the crew has gone to bed on one of the rare nights Sanji is up late scribbling down his newest recipe in his personal cookbook that you know his confessionals are sincere.

-You had brought down a book with the intention of keeping yourself busy while he worked, but there was something about how level of focus that was fascinating to you. The way he held his bangs back so he could see clearly, how he would run his long, slender finger along his words so he could make sure they made sense before continuing. He hadn’t noticed the way you rested your cheek on your hand, eyes glued to him, a small smile on your lips.

-When he finally felt your eyes on him as he was reading over the recipe, he looking up and met your gaze.

-At first he was confused, why had you been staring at him. But all he could do was stare back, his gaze held by your stunning eyes.

-“God, I love you.” It’s not his first time saying it, but it’s the first time you really believed him. Not to say you didn’t believe him all the other times, but something about this time just felt so real.

-If you say it back, his entire face lights up. He shuts his tattered recipe book, capping his pen and pats the booth next to you “come here mon chou.” You slide your way around the velvet booth into his open arm. In the hundreds of times you had kissed Sanji, whether they were in your most intimate of moments or upon reuniting after an intense battle where you were just happy to see one another still standing, this kiss was by far the most passionate. His hands hold your face in place, as though he thought you might try to pull away before he had his fill. “Out of all the things I’m grateful for, meeting you is at the top of my list.”

-If you aren’t ready to say it back, he tries to mask his hurt. He knows how you feel for him, he can see it in your actions. But he can’t deny the stab in his chest at your inability to say it back when it’s just the two of you.

-You see the hurt in his eyes, the way he averts his gaze from you to avoid you seeing the way tears well along his waterline. He goes back his recipe book, acting like he’s writing something new, when in reality he’s going over words that were already there.

-He tries to shake it off, tries to start a new conversation but it falls flat.

-You try to apologize, explaining that you just need some time before you’re ready to say it. Whether it’s past relationships that have soured your meaning of the words, or there’s something holding you back from giving yourself fully over to this relationship it doesn’t ultimately matter.

-You excuse yourself from the table, pressing a long kiss to his forehead as you stand next to him and in that moment he can tell how you feel, that you do love him. The realization staves off his tears for the rest of the evening, but nothing can cure the pit in his stomach as he sits in the booth smoking a cigarette, and waiting until you’ve fallen asleep to come up to your shared cabin.

-As much as he knows it will hurt every time, he vows to keep telling you how he feels in those quiet moments until you’re ready to say it back to him.

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x Fem!Reader

Laughing at every jokes he make

You find yourself on a romantic stroll with Remy LeBeau, where his playful jokes and charming demeanor lead to a deeper connection. As your laughter draws you closer, you both realize there's more than just flirtation between you, culminating in a tender and passionate moment.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of New Orleans, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the lively hum of jazz music in the distance. You found yourself walking alongside Remy LeBeau, your hand barely brushing against his as the two of you meandered through the quiet backstreets. The gentle breeze carried with it the rich smells of the city and a sense of anticipation you could feel in your bones, a feeling heightened whenever you were in his presence.

Remy had insisted on taking you out for a stroll, away from the chaos of your usual lives as X-Men, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. It was impossible to say no to that roguish smile of his, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world who could see through his devil-may-care attitude to the heart beneath. Today, though, Remy was especially playful, cracking jokes at every turn.

“Y’know,” he began, his deep Cajun accent weaving through his words like music, “if de X-Men ever decide t’fire me, I got a back-up career as a stand-up comedian.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and airy, though the joke itself was far from laugh-out-loud funny. “You sure about that? You might want to keep practicing.”

His grin widened, eyes flashing with a spark of mischief. “Practice? Chère, I’m already a master. Ain’t nobody got charm like Remy LeBeau.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, a little louder this time. There was something about the way he said things, like he didn’t care whether they were funny or not—he was confident you’d laugh anyway. And, of course, you did. It wasn’t just the jokes themselves, though. It was the way he carried himself, with a swagger that spoke volumes, and the way he’d glance at you, his red-and-black eyes lingering just a little too long, sending a shiver down your spine.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he leaned in closer. “Now you laughin’, but I know y’thinkin’ I got potential.”

“Potential to get booed off the stage, maybe,” you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder, your eyes crinkling at the corners from how hard you were smiling.

“Ah, chère, you wound me!” Remy dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, though his smirk gave him away. “Lucky for me, I got a beautiful girl like you t’keep me company. Long as you laughin’, dat’s all dat matters.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the casual compliment, even though you were used to his flirtations by now. Being called “beautiful” by Remy was like being told the sky was blue—he said it so often, you’d think it would lose its effect. But it never did. It always felt like a small flame igniting inside you every time the word passed his lips.

Your laughter faded into a quiet smile as you glanced up at him, watching the way the evening light softened his sharp features. Remy had a way of making everything feel light, like the weight of the world could fall away when you were with him. He was always making jokes, always teasing, and you always laughed, even when they weren’t all that funny. It wasn’t that his jokes were bad—they just didn’t always hit the mark. But the way he looked at you when he delivered them, with that lazy, confident grin, you couldn’t help but laugh. Because he was trying, and because, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his laughter became contagious, drawing your own out of you like a melody that was meant to be sung.

As the two of you continued walking, you noticed Remy glance at you out of the corner of his eye, the smile on his lips softening. There was something different in his expression now, something quieter and more thoughtful. He stopped suddenly, taking your hand in his without a word, guiding you toward a small, secluded park nestled between two rows of charming old houses.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you toward a bench shaded by a large oak tree. The branches above rustled gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet. Remy sat down, his hand still holding yours, and patted the spot next to him.

You sat, feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, your hand still tingling from his touch. The playful banter had died down now, replaced by a silence that felt… deeper, more intimate.

“Y’know,” Remy began after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious, and when he did, you knew it was important. “What’s on your mind?”

He looked at you, his red-on-black eyes meeting yours in a way that made your breath catch. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘Bout us.”

There was a pause, the words hanging in the air between you like the last note of a song waiting to fade. You weren’t sure what to say, so you waited, letting him find the words.

“You always laugh at my jokes,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even when they ain’t so funny. Why’s dat, chère?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. It seemed so simple, but the way he asked it—like it meant more than just the surface—made your heart stutter in your chest. You glanced away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, before looking back at him with a smile of your own.

“I guess… I just like hearing you talk,” you said, feeling the truth of it even as you spoke the words. “Doesn’t matter if the joke is funny or not. I like being around you, Remy. You make me feel… lighter. Happier.”

His expression softened at that, his smile turning more genuine, more tender. “Dat so?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, his voice low and smooth, like the soft rumble of thunder in the distance.

You nodded, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, it is. I don’t think I could stop laughing around you even if I tried.”

For a moment, Remy said nothing, just watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, without warning, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin longer than necessary. His touch sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Y’know,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am.”

“Lucky?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the world around you seeming to fade as the space between you and Remy grew smaller.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Lucky dat someone like you’d wanna spend time wit’ someone like me. Wit’ all my bad jokes an’ all.”

You laughed, the sound soft and breathless, and Remy’s smile widened at the sound. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remy’s eyes darkened slightly at that, and you could feel the air between you shift, becoming charged with something unspoken. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the world narrowing to just the two of you, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Remy leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you, chère?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears as you nodded, unable to form words. The moment you did, Remy’s lips met yours, soft and warm, sending a surge of electricity through your entire body. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened as Remy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, every thought in your mind dissolving into the sensation of being this close to him. His lips were firm yet soft, his touch tender but possessive, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Remy rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in soft, shallow pants. He smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes, and your heart swelled in your chest.

“Now dat’s a punchline I can get behind,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

And just like that, you laughed again, not because the joke was funny, but because you were happy—truly, completely happy.

[shadowkoo]

I just needed to come here and vent for a moment. As a writer, I put a lot of time and thought into curating my ideas and outlining fics before I even begin writing. So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to a tumblr notification that someone had tagged me in a post titled “[My Fic Title] Part 2.”

Naturally, I was a bit shocked. After scrolling through it, I realized that this user had written a second part to one of my fanfics, and they tagged me to credit me for the original story.

While I won’t name the specific fic or the user (they did remove it per my request), I feel the need to address this publicly with a quick PSA.

My characters, storylines, cliffhangers, and everything in between are my intellectual property. Yes, the characters are inspired by real idols, and yes, some of my plots exist within established TV/film/book universes. But the ideas, twists, and execution are mine, and I’m the one who will decide how they unfold. (For clarity, the fic in question isn’t set in another media universe, but I wanted include this line since it is relevant for a couple of my other works).

I appreciate that this person enjoyed my fic enough to be inspired to write something themselves, but to be completely honest, I don’t think what they did was okay. I have some serious issues with this, and I want to share them to hopefully prevent this from happening to me—or anyone else—again.

First off, I find it incredibly rude that they didn’t reach out to ask my permission beforehand. Had they done so, I would’ve immediately told them not to go forward with it. Instead, I found out through a tag after the fic had already been posted, which felt like a slap in the face. To make matters worse, because of time zone differences, the post was live for hours while I was asleep, gaining traction.

I know that in the fanfic community, it’s somewhat common to write alternate endings or continuations for larger works from big-name authors or shows, but that’s not what’s happening here. I’m a hobby kpop fanfic writer. Writing a fanfic of my fanfic just feels out of line.

To be blunt, it felt like they were piggybacking off the success of my story, trying to steal some of the excitement I’d built for an upcoming second part. It also seemed like an attempt to siphon engagement, followers, and interactions from my readers—people who were already invested in the original work.

What bothers me even more is that I’ve publicly mentioned I’m already working on a second part. It left me with a bad taste, like this person was trying to rush out their version before I could post mine. That kind of move creates confusion for readers and, from where I stand, feels calculated and disrespectful.

So let me make this crystal clear: No one has my consent to rewrite my work, create additional parts to my fics whether they’re complete, on hiatus, or in-progress, whether or not i have mentioned that i'm writing another part, or to publish alternate endings, etc.

Thank you for understanding. - Raven

[ghouldtime]

Tomorrow. (An "Alone. Truly Alone." Drabble)

Wrote this because I was getting stumped on Chapter three. Have a little tiny Ghoap moment ;3

I love him so much look at him!! What a guy!! (Also being able to actually see him in motion has helped me so much trying to figure out how to write him)

Mwah I wanna kiss his face

CW: Mentions of blood, death and dying. Nothing too graphic but it's still very much there! It's angsty too

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Tomorrow.

Oh, how he loathed that one, single, simple wretched word uttered carelessly without as so much as a second thought by so many. How he hated tomorrow. 

Tomorrow stood as an uncertain promise held aloft every evening as the sands of time trickled through their limitless hourglass, slowly emptying into the chalice that soon would turn as the earth once again shone a different face to the sun. Tomorrow wasn’t something anyone could truly count on when the tides could shift in an instance, changing everything you knew. Simon Riley knew that better than anyone.

Serving years slaving away in arid deserts and frozen tundras alike with nothing but the weighty gear on his back and a gun in his hand meant he knew better than any other that tomorrow was a measure of time, nothing more. No matter how many times tomorrow had been said, promised, spoken so truly imbued with intent already plotted on its horizon, it didn’t change fate. It didn’t change whether you were going to make it to then or not. The world didn’t care if you made it through or to tomorrow. It only made tomorrow happen.

How many tomorrows had passed since he had been trapped in this washed-out, colorless hell surrounded by walls damning him to eternal solitary confinement with no promise of escape was something he couldn’t answer.  The sun had long since ceased warming him with its golden rays in the morning and the moon had made itself scarce, never showing when it hung in the twinkling night sky. A being damned to purgatory didn’t deserve such warmth or beauty. Every wall encasing him determined such a thing would be true as long as he lived in his unliving state. Cold and unfeeling, nothing he did could change the immovable fate that shackled him down and buried him alive in the cement cage.

That didn't stop him from etching the passage of everything he loosely guessed was a day into the walls. Keeping track of something, as minute as it may be, at least kept him saner than he would be with nothing else. Carving into the walls with the few tiny metallic medical tools that had been abandoned and left to rot, the same as him, stood as the only form of retribution against his prison that he could manage.

Each nick, dig, and mark struck against it stood in a silent testament to say that he lived despite death itself having clasped its frigid, clammy hands around his neck as it choked him out until his lifeforce faded. Every insignificantly significant tiny white line marring the concrete stood in testament that even if he was trapped, the bitter taste of defeat still remained foreign on his decaying tongues. His normal body may have long been forgotten and replaced with too many twisted limbs and cerberic heads, but he was still Simon; the very same Simon that would fight with all of his too many teeth and blackened nails until his true final breath.

Though his life had been forced from his mortal shell with the reaper's digging claws until it was pulled from his body, he still somehow lived. How fitting of an "end" for someone like Simon, someone who couldn't even catch a breath when the dark angel came calling his name, only to turn him back to the world as it took a part of him with it. True peace was never fitting for him, he supposed. When all of his life was spent dedicating to fighting, it's only expected he would go toe to toe with his own mortality too.

Yet this pathetic existence hardly classified as what he could call living. He breathed, yes, air filled his lungs but it served no function. Nor did the existence of his heart or any of his organs that were little more than placeholders these days. It was a blessing to be some form of alive and to still have his brain perfectly functioning, but being trapped in this shell stood as an eternal, tormenting curse. Punishment for escaping death one too many times, endlessly taunting it as he dodged all too many bullets, is often how it seemed.

Death would've been the preferable option than staying trapped in the decaying government facility alone and the body that held him prisoner to match.

How he wished he could be permanently buried in the dirt, his eyes closed in a true state of rest. The waking world was a poor imitation of what he hoped death's true embrace would feel like as it came calling his name once more and beckoned a single, crooked skeletal finger. Thin, yellowing sheets that covered the dusty hospital beds where he lay each night offered little comfort for the constant numbness surrounding him in a static void.

Every physical sensation that brushed against his poor-excuse for flesh drowned in the barrier of his unalive state before it could reach him. Heat, cold, pain, pleasure, hunger, thirst - none of those things mattered to a being who could no longer feel in such a corporeal sense.

The same couldn't be said for his feelings. Now that the pesky things such as normal human bodily needs abandoned his form, his heart and mind made up for their absence tenfold as they held him down and forced him to feel everything and anything in between in the murkiest depths of his soul. Like a twisting, red-hot blade they relentlessly engraved their grievances on chunks of his very essence, permanently scorching his soul as they scarred far deeper than any of the hundreds of weapons that had been turned against him ever could hope to.

Despite the stillness of his heart and the absence of what used to be a steady, rhythmic beat, his heart still burned as if it were thrown into the deepest depths of hell whenever he turned his gaze and locked eyes at the tiny picture on his nightstand of him and Soap together, blacked out in tactical gear. He should've thrown an arm around him and made their last picture together more memorable - but it was too late for that. Should've was already too late. He was too late.

The extra heads forced together by sinewy webbing never were much help when it came to focusing with his already clouded vision. Straining to look as he brought the picture closer to his faces, to truly see through all of his eyes, was minor inconvenience he could bare. For it meant that his eyes were graced with three sets, three times, the visage seared into his memory of the one who took on the world for him. The same one who fought for the world, his world, and so readily gave it up for him without a second of a hesitation. He deserved that at the very least - to be seen, recognized, admired. Johnny deserved that and the world itself.

Pouring pure alcohol into his veins and setting it alight would hurt less than the pang of primal agony that rippled through him, shredding his heart and spitting its venom into his soul, whenever he set the picture down and glanced at his left size where an arm - Johnny’s arm, lay fused to his own. Taught skin webbed between it and where his own original arm stood long before he became an abomination and a product of science going too far. The strong fingers that had cradled his hand so gently throughout some nights when the other thought he was asleep, the hand that strangled, shot, and killed for him - now usually clung to the tattoos that inked up his flesh as if afraid to let it go once more even in this harrowing state.

The single limb agonizingly sacrificed to him remained the only one didn’t have perfect control over. It never fully listened, much like the man it came from. No matter the orders he barked at the sergeant, he wasn't one to heed with his head alone. Sometimes that noble, brave heart of his that let him charge up the ranks so fast took the reigns before he could do anything about it.

Stand down, Johnny.

Get out of there, MacTavish.

Don't you dare, Johnny. It's not worth it. Not for me.

....

The longer he lived with the errant limb and dealt with the non-compliance, and the usual near constant grip on his forearm, in a twisted way, he didn’t want things to change. He didn't want it to listen. That wouldn't be Johnny's arm - that wouldn't be Johnny if it did. It wouldn't be the last solid reminder he had if it complied, even if it was connected to his consciousness now.

For now, it was something he could cling onto like a starving dog lapping up scraps of meat outside the back of a butcher shop. Deep down, he knew that he was feeding the delusions as he blindly clawed for anything he could cling onto as a reminder, but bringing himself to care enough to stop wasn't an option (as unhealthy as it might be). Living with the miniscule fantasy served as a balm to his gouged soul that bled out more and more as the seasons marched on and days tumbled forward into one another. It was enough for a man like him who would scavenge for anything his many hands could get ahold of, clinging to any threads as if they could carry him out of the abyss until they inevitably crumbled to dust under the crushing weight of him.

Some nights as he lay on the creaky hospital bed staring up at the same blank ceiling that matched the same gray that covered his senses in a blinding fog, he could almost pretend that Johnny was still here, still talking to him in the thick brogue that was so distinctly him, still smelling of the scotch he loved so much tinged with gunpowder from all the explosives he had set up.

If he closed all six of his milky eyes, the phantom sensation of Johnny's warm form beside him as he imagined him close once more nearly caused him to feel something along his sensationless form. Those deft fingers that worked along intricate wires of dangerous weapons never followed the same pattern twice as he traced his tattoos in the same routine he had many nights before as they lay near one another underneath a flimsy tarp deep in enemy territory, the uncertainty of their own mortal lives continuing for another sunrise strung along the stressful line of their work.

And sometimes if he truly shut off his brain, his mind could truly run wild as it conjured up the words he’d heard so many times before. The same point of contention uttered once more that Johnny always circled back to as he marveled the black lines marbling Simon's skin, “You really should let me color ‘em, LT.” He’d breathe, voice so quiet it could be lost on a breeze as he stared at them with the softest look he had seen on the sergeant’s face, a quiet contemplation written in the furrow of his brows.

If confronted, he knew it would be played off as a joke and nothing more. But the way the roughened pads of his fingers traced the whorls permanently etched into his skin spoke otherwise, echoing words and feelings that ran deep that neither dared to voice. Every moment he lay there alone in his new "life", regret sank its fangs into the vulnerable underbelly of his heart, the heavy feeling settling like molten lead in his stomach as he berated himself for not touching him back, even if it was a tentative hand smoothing a thumb over the back of his.

No matter how many nights and countless times Johnny fell into the routine of tracing his tattoos, Simon's dark gaze would fall right back over the other to trace the tired lines on the other's face and the stubble of his jaw with his eyes. His fingers always twitched restlessly as they lay folded on his chest, aching to feel something aside from the fabric underneath. Yet the ugly, grating voice of doubt pestered him until he hesitated, never letting him the courage to reach up and caress him, even for a second.

His turmoil was obvious to anyone who knew him like Johnny did. The tension in his body, the near constant movement of his fingers, the unblinking look in his eyes as he couldn't help but to stare. But Johnny was smart, significantly smarter than many gave him credit for. He knew better than to point it out with his voice alone but the small upward twitch of his lips spoke a thousand words as he shifted closer, closer.

“Add a little more color to your life. Things can’t always be black and white.” Johnny always insisted as he leaned further in, the weight of his body sinking in, nurturing the warmth blooming in his chest.

Breathing had never been harder as those blue eyes peered up at him through dark lashes. All air left his lungs in a flash, his heart halting as he stared into those eyes, helplessly held captive by those beautiful blues that would put the finest aquamarine gems to shame.

How he wished he listened.

What he wouldn't give to go back to that moment, if only for a fraction of a second, to get lost in those expressive pools of his newfound favorite color.

No amount of time nor disease would pry that memory from him as he lingered in the stagnant, abandoned base. The warmth he felt that night bloomed within his chest even now, even when hindered and reduced to nothing more than a faint fuzzy feeling tickling his chest.

Not even the fusion of the two heads on the side of his could even hope to gnaw it away with their own plaguing whispers and intrusive thoughts that bit through his skull as they tried to worm their way into his brain like the parasites that they were. But he wouldn’t let them. Nothing could.

No, nothing could make him forget Johnny. Not even the end of his world as he knew it. Death may have taken him temporarily into his clutches, dangling him between the precipice of life, but that wasn't enough. Because his world didn't end when he died, no. That was insignificant. His world ended not when he rasped his last breath, endless rivers of crimson spilling onto the operating table. It ended when he used the last of his energy to tilt his head to take one last look at Johnny, knowing that he would never see him again.

...

Endless amounts of tomorrows could add up in the gouges of more tally marks and scores into the wall, covering every nano angstrom of the base and he still would loathe them with all the contempt his heart could well up until it sat in a venomous soaked vat of his festering rage.

He hated tomorrows because each mark was another reminder of the tomorrow that wasn't to come, the tomorrow swiped from underneath his feet by fate's cruel hand, the tomorrow he promised, the tomorrow that would never be - the tomorrow with Johnny.

[imaginesbymonika]

She's electric | Part 6

Pairing: Liam Gallagher x fem!bassist reader

Plot: Liam's hatred for Blur runs deep. However, no matter how much he hates them and their stupid music - he cannot seem to hate their bassist.

Last Part

Liam finds her standing outside, hiding from the rain underneath the extended rooftop. He didn’t even look for her, yet there he was: leaning against the brick wall while lighting up a cigarette, contemplating whether or not he should approach her. What a fucking stupid déjà vu. He scoffs while his heart beats violently against his ribcage. She always had this effect on him, there was no denying that.

He sighs, before eventually walking up to her:” You’re alright, Princess?”, he mutters while putting the coffin nail between his lips. He watches how she shakes her head:” Can’t believe you have the nerve to call me that.”

“Right, sorry.”, he mumbles, while he turns his head. He watches how big raindrops fall to the ground and disappear down the drain:” Force of habit, I guess.” Y/N however doesn’t answer, something is lingering in the air and neither one of them knows if it’s hatred or longing. Maybe both have always been the same.

The singer takes another step toward her, holding his breath while he waits for some reaction. But when she doesn’t move away, he inspects her features for any signs of softness. There have to be some left. “Look.”, he starts:” I- I am sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to act like a jealous dickhead. Seeing you again just brought back some memories, it’s-.”

“What memories?”

“Memories of us.”

Y/N closes her eyes and scoffs:” It’s been over twenty years, Liam.” Her voice is quiet and peaceful, but it sounds rather forced than anything else. The man in front of her takes an uneasy drag of his cigarette before answering:” I know. I know. It’s been such a long time and I know I shouldn’t care- but I do. Makes me wonder what could’ve been.”

Y/N furrows her eyebrows as she runs a hand through her hair:” This is unbelievable.” “What? Don’t have any feelings left for me? After everything we’ve been through you’re just apathetic like that?” At this point, he is almost a hundred percent sure that he’s going to suffer a heart attack- or possibly a stroke. Perhaps even both at the same time.

“How are the children?”, Y/N asks, tearing her gaze off the man. There’s a smile forming on his lips, and for a second he doesn’t care about the quick change in topic:” They’re good, yeah. All grown up now, can you believe that?” Y/N chuckles, while staring at her nails:” Happy for you.” Liam’s smile fades away when he suddenly remembers that she doesn’t have any of her own. Was that his fault? He can almost see the wall between the two of them; tall and thick.

“Can we talk? Properly?”

“About what?”, her voice is suddenly foreign and he catches a glimpse of how another brick is put on top of it. “About us.”, he replies and tosses the finished cigarette into a puddle, the rain consumes the grey smoke:” There’s just some stuff left unsaid- we need to sort that bullshit out.”

“Need to sort it out?”, she recites staring at him with wide eyes:” Now?! God, fuck, this is so pathetic!”, she laughs out loud but it sounds rather panicky. “Why is it so pathetic?!”, Liam retorts, he is putting his heart on a platter and she just throws it on the dirty ground all together:” You’re telling me you don’t regret a single thing?”

Y/N annoyingly blinks at him:” Of course, I have regrets, Liam. Fuck you! Remember how I tried to talk to you and you fucking ignored my calls?!” She shoves him away from her, while hot tears arise in her eyes:” Fuck you. Two months later you had your ex knocked up with your oldest. How do you think I felt when I read that in the papers?!”

Liam sighs and leans back against the wall, he crosses his arms and looks down at the woman he thought he’d marry one day. Everyone thought he would.

“You moved on like it was nothing, Liam.”, Y/N’s voice is unstable. She walks past him towards the exit and quickly opens the door:” Goodbye, Liam.”

“I didn’t.”

If the rain hadn’t stopped falling, she probably wouldn’t have heard him. She lets the door fall shut again:” What?” Her head twists in his direction and her eyes linger on his back. The green parka almost looks brown.

“I didn’t move on from you. Why do ya think all my relationships have failed?“, he scoffs:” I’ve tried everything to get over you; alcohol, drugs… women. You know… it never worked.” He lights himself a new cigarette:” Nothing ever worked.”

Y/N doesn’t answers she simply just stares.

“And I know I hurt you. It’s one of my biggest regrets in life. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I threw it away because at the end of the day i’m an angry and insecure twat.”

Y/N walks back to her original place in front of him, while holding her hand out. Liam follows her gaze and hands her the cigarette when he realizes what she’s asking for:” That’s it? No shouting?” “Do you want me to yell at you?”, she raises an eyebrow at him.

He scoffs, but there’s a bit of enjoyment to it:” No, of course not…No.” “You know, I do…I do still care about you.”, she suddenly says, feet kicking away a few small stones on the ground:” But I don’t know what mending things…talking about what happened would change. I am 46 and you’re 51.”

Liam moves closer, his eyes are scanning her features. They move over every wrinkle, yet he couldn’t imagine thinking anyone could ever be more beautiful. “I don’t care. And I know deep down you don’t care either. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here with me.” There’s some truth to that and Y/N is very much aware of it. Another thing she is painfully conscious of is how close the two of them are standing together. “No one.”, he mutters:” No one has ever come close to making me feel the way you did.”

Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat while she stares up at him through her lashes:” No one?”, she whispers. And he nods:” You can’t forget the love of your life like that, can ya?“

[diazheartsbuckley]

Since you’re on a roll… ⛪️⛪️⛪️ please? 🥺👉👈

Hi lovely!

Sorry that I just dipped off the face of the earth but I’m back with more for you 💕

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

Buck adjusts his seating position and tugs his jacket forward, the weight of his gun resting against his hip. He hasn’t brought it to the church since Eddie told him to not step foot inside with it, not wanting it underneath his roof. But this is different. He spent three days looking for Eddie, not knowing what he would encounter or whether he’d find Eddie dead or alive.

“This is a matter of your safety, Eddie. I’m not leaving it up to chance. Not again” Buck’s voice and body language tenses up and Eddie instantly matches that energy, leaning forward.

A scoff escapes Eddie’s lips faster than his brain has time to process it and he shakes his head a little. He knows that Buck is trying to protect him, to keep him out of harms way but he didn’t exactly spend eight years in prison because he thought it’d be a good time. “I don’t need your help, Evan. I can protect myself just fine. And this, this conversation is over” Eddie stands up a bit quicker than his body is fit to handle.

using this as my wip Thursday

tagged by @theotherbuckley @jesuisici33 @spotsandsocks and @tizniz 💗

no pressure tagging 💗 (lmk if you want to added or removed)

@watchyourbuck, @hippolotamus, @exhuastedpigeon, @honestlydarkprincess, @monsterrae1, @jeeyuns, @wildlife4life, @daffi-990, @dangerpronebuddie, @bidisasterevankinard, @thewolvesof1998, @actualalligator, @kitteneddiediaz, @butraura, @bucksbignaturals, @bucks-daddy-issues, @maurawrites, @epicbuddieficrecs, @ronordmann, @wikiangela, @pirrusstuff, @elvensorceress, @giddyupbuck, @loveyouanyway, @inell, @cal-daisies-and-briars

[jeonscatalyst]

Hi there. Thank you for your wonderful posts. I enjoy reading them.

I don't care if their relationship is platonic or not as long as Jungkook and Jimin are happy, but there's one thing that makes me think they might be more than just friends. It’s that they “don’t” talk about why they chose to enlist together. When it was announced that the two of them would be enlisting together, I had no doubts that there was some explanation for why they chose that. But, as you know, they never talked about why they chose to enlist together, at least directly. Of course, I don't think they have an obligation to explain to us the reasons for all their actions, and if they don't want to talk, that's fine too. I want them to do what they want to. But I think it’s natural that many people wonder why only two out of the seven chose to enlist together and they should’ve known we were wondering but they chose not to explain the reason to us. To me, NOT explaining seems like the answer in itself. Does what I'm saying make sense? If not, Sorry English is not my first language.

If they were just very close friends, I think they would have easily explained the reason. Like, it's reassuring to have friends nearby, or that being around each other helps calm anxiety, etc.

But they didn’t. The fact that they didn't give a reason leads me to believe that they simply didn't want to be apart from each other.

As I said at the beginning, I don't care whether they're more than friends or not, but if they want to be together, I hope that happens. Thank you for listening to my strange rumbling.

Hey anon,

I don’t think Jimin and Jungkook need to explain why they choose to enlist together regardless of whether they are a couple or not. Let’s normalize not getting explainations for everything the members decide to do and us not getting an explaination from them doesn’t necessarily mean that they are together. We might still get an explaination sometime but even if we don’t then that’s fine. I don’t care why they decided to enlist together, all that matters to me is that they are together and they are happy being together. We can speculate here and there about why they chose to do it but it doesn’t really matter and even if they did decide to one day tell us why they did it, do you think they would ever tell us they did it because they couldn’t bear to be apart from each other for 18 months? Absolutely not lol.

“If they were just very close friends, I think they would have easily explained the reason. Like, it's reassuring to have friends nearby, or that being around each other helps calm anxiety, etc.”

I think this is most likely the explaination we are going to get if we ever get one lol.

I get what you mean anon but I don’t necessarily think that the fact that they haven’t spoken about it means they are together. Maybe they don’t see the need to and tbf, I think Jimin might have mentioned something about it when he spoke of how relieved he is having Jungkook by his side to rely on. Maybe to them, that is explaination enough.

Just like you, i’m not crazy about if they are lovers or not, I believe they are but at the end of the day what I enjoy most about them is their beautiful bond and friendship and them possibly being lovers is just a added bonus.

Thanks anon💜