#but I’m a lazy bastard <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[askhospilabnovela]

YO

ITS YA BOI THE GOBLIN

Anyway

Candy is such a great partner for this blog- (especially since they’ve done all of the art so far lmao) so uuuh- YEAH THEYRE REALLY COOL

I’ll make art eventually- one day

I SWEAR

That’s all

Just wanted to prove I’m alive

— @confusedgoblin (your favorite goblin man <3)

[writer-freak]

A piece of you between my teeth| Leona x Gn reader

Kinktober week 3 - Marking, cockwarming and lazy sex

Words: 2k

Warning: NSFW, gn reader, no genital description, one bed trope, lots of biting, english isn't my first language

A/n: I really struggled with writing lazy sex and I finished this fic early and started a little extra Kinktober fic for Leon Kennedy

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Savanaclaw had never been your first choice for accommodations, but somehow, here you were. Spending the night at Savanaclaw was supposed to be simple—a practical solution since you couldn’t return to Ramshackle. But, as expected, there was only one bed in Leona's room, and he was far too lazy to offer sleeping elsewhere.

“Guess you’ll have to share the bed with me,” Leona drawled, barely glancing up from where he was lounging, sprawled out with his arms behind his head.

“You can’t be serious,” you muttered, looking over at the massive bed. “What, too scared to sleep next to me?” His voice was a low purr, and there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes as he smirked up at you. “Just lie down already. I don’t bite. Unless you ask.”

You sighed, knowing there wasn’t much of a choice. It wasn’t like Leona was going to let you take the floor, and you were too tired to argue further. So, reluctantly, you slipped into the bed beside him, making sure to keep some distance.

You felt the heat radiating from his body almost immediately. He was close—closer than you were comfortable with—and you could feel your pulse quicken. Still, you told yourself to focus on sleep, to ignore the lion’s presence beside you.

But Leona had other plans. “Relax,” he muttered, his voice a lazy rumble. “You’re all stiff. Makes it harder to sleep.”

“It’s hard to relax when you’re this close,” you shot back, trying to adjust your position without getting too close.

“Tch. You act like I’m gonna pounce on you.” He rolled onto his side, his face closer now, his breath brushing your skin. “Unless… you want me to.” His lips curved into a slow, deliberate grin that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You turned your head, but Leona’s presence, his scent, the heat coming off his body—all of it was making it impossible to ignore him.

Minutes passed in silence, the tension between you almost tangible. You could feel Leona’s gaze on you, his breathing steady and calm, while yours felt erratic. And then, without warning, his hand slid across your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Leona—what the hell are you doing?” you whispered, but you made no move to stop him.

“Getting comfortable,” he said smoothly, his lips grazing your ear. “And don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.” His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something darker in it, a knowing edge that made your skin tingle.

You turned to face him, your breath catching as your eyes locked. His gaze was intense, unwavering, and the closeness between you now felt almost suffocating. Without thinking, your lips met his in a heated, desperate kiss.

Leona responded immediately, his hand tightening on your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His tongue slipped past your lips, tasting and teasing as his fingers trailed down your back, sending sparks of electricity through you.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough as his hands roamed your body. “I can feel it… the way your body’s reacting.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you let your hands wander, exploring the hard lines of his chest, tracing the muscles that flexed under your touch. His skin was warm, almost hot to the touch, and the way he responded to your every movement only fueled the fire building inside you.

“Cocky bastard,” you whispered, biting down on his bottom lip, just hard enough to draw a low growl from him.

Leona grinned, his canines flashing. “You like that, don’t you?” His hands slid lower, slipping under your clothes to cup your ass, pulling you even closer as he ground lazily against you. “I knew you’d like this… you’re so easy to read.”

Before you could respond, he shifted, rolling you onto your back as he settled between your legs. His lips were everywhere your jaw, your neck, your collarbone leaving a trail of bites and bruises in his wake. Each nip of his teeth was deliberate, marking you as his, and every time you whimpered or gasped, he responded with a smug chuckle. “Such a perfect little prey,” he murmured, his voice deep and velvety as his teeth scraped along your skin. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you.”

And he did. His mouth was relentless, biting, sucking, leaving dark, purple bruises in his wake. Each bite was followed by a soothing lap of his tongue as if he was savoring the taste of your skin. It was overwhelming, the mixture of pleasure and pain sending shivers through your entire body.

“Leona… ah—” You arched your back, your hands tangling in his hair as his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

“You’re making the cutest sounds,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid under your clothes, tugging them off slowly. “And I’ve barely even started.”

Once your clothes were discarded, Leona wasted no time. His hand slid between your legs, finding your arousal with ease. “So ready for me… I knew you’d be like this.” His tone was teasing, almost mocking, but the way he was touching you left no room for argument. You let out a soft whimper, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He smirked, clearly enjoying the sight of you squirming beneath him. “Patience,” he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.

Despite his teasing, Leona’s pace remained unhurried. His clothes joined yours on the floor, and he slid back between your thighs, his body warm and heavy. He didn’t rush, pressing the tip of his cock against you, teasingly slow. “Gonna take it nice and slow tonight.” With a long, deliberate thrust, Leona eased inside, stretching you with a lazy groan. He didn’t rush his movements were languid, almost unbothered as he bottomed out and stayed there, relishing the feeling of your body wrapped around him.

“Mmh… you’re so tight like this,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Leona didn’t move at first, simply enjoying the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

When he started he moved slow, unrushed, as if he had all the time in the world. His hips rolled into yours at a languid pace, his breathing steady and relaxed, contrasting with the heat between you two. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed down at you.

His lips found your neck again, biting down as his hips began to move, slow and lazy, but with an intensity that left you breathless. “Just relax, herbivore,” he muttered, his lips brushing your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

You could barely form words, overwhelmed by the slow build of pleasure. His rhythm was steady, each thrust filling you completely before withdrawing just as slowly. The lazy pace was intoxicating, drawing out every sensation until you were trembling beneath him. Leona’s hands roamed over your body, his touch firm yet gentle, as though savoring every inch of you.

His lips never stopped moving against your skin, planting soft kisses between lazy bites that continuously sent sparks through your body.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against your skin, his teeth sinking in just enough to make you shiver. His voice was rough as his hips ground into you, his thrusts slow but deep. “I’m going to make sure everyone knows it… no one else gets to touch you like this.”

The intimacy of the moment, the steady, possessive weight of his body, the languid way he moved inside you, it all felt overwhelming in the best way. His pace never quickened, just kept that lazy, deep rhythm, his cock buried inside you as his teeth left marks across your skin.

By now his pace was almost torturous, each thrust deliberate as he continued marking your body with his teeth and tongue. You could feel the bruises forming, each bite sending you closer to that sweet release, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

“You like that, don’t you?” Leona’s voice was low and thick with desire as he bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp. “I can feel how tight you’re getting… you love being marked by me.”

You could barely form a coherent response, your mind clouded with pleasure as his cock filled you over and over, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. All you could do was cling to him, your body trembling as you gave yourself over to the sensation.

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice rougher as his hips snapped against yours, harder and faster now. “Let me hear you scream my name.”

And you did. Finally, after what felt like hours of that slow, torturous pleasure, you felt the tension building inside you snap. Leona groaned low in his throat, his grip tightening on you as your body clenched around him.

Your body tensed, your vision going white as pleasure washed over you in waves, and Leona followed soon after, his thrusts growing heavier as he stopped with a deep, satisfied growl.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms faded. Leona stayed inside you, his body heavy on top of yours as he nuzzled into your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he settled against you, his cock still buried deep inside. “You’re going to stay right here, with me.”

And that’s exactly what you did. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, the heat of his body enveloping you as you lay tangled together.

Leona shifted slightly, his cock still semi-hard and warm inside you, twitching with every small movement. You tried to adjust, but he let out a low growl, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t move,” he warned, his voice heavy with the lingering threat of more. “Just keep me warm, herbivore.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body sinking into the mattress, still trembling from the aftermath. The sensation of him still inside you, even after both of you had reached your limits, was overwhelming. It was a slow burn a intimate kind of torment, his cock nestled deep within you, pulsing every so often barely reminding you of its presence.

You squirmed just a little, testing him, and his grip on you tightened, pulling you even closer. “I said don’t move,” he repeated, his lips brushing against your ear nibbling slightly on it, his tone making it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to retake control if you didn’t listen. You huffed softly, but there was no real fight left in you.

You could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the weight of his body keeping you grounded as sleep tugged at the edges of your mind. Leona’s breathing had already slowed, his body warm and relaxed against yours as he drifted off.

Just as your eyes fluttered closed, you heard him murmur one last thing against your skin, his voice soft and low, almost tender. “You’re mine now… no one else. Remember that.”

With a soft hum of acknowledgment, you let yourself relax completely.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

[chuuyascumsock]

Hop On That Delulu Train Bestie || Minors DNI

Summary: HOOOLY S H I T. WHY. DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF? May you all find peace one day and cure your chronic horniness and delusions for men who would never want you irl <3 (Just like me fr). Anyways, this has been sitting and gathering cobwebs for weeks now, but I’ve decided to finish it in honor of chapter 109. Keep being delulu babe.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, Female reader, Soft Dom Dazai, Fingering, Cunnilingus (Why Is That Such A Silly Word), Pussy IS Therapy Ig, He Just Seems Like An Avid Pussy Eater Idk, Would Definitely Use Your Thighs As Earmuffs, Sorry Y’all Don’t Get The Dick <3, I Was Too Lazy To Turn This Into A Full Smut.

The quiet hum of a low light lamp buzzes through your ears as your eyes flicker over the words to the page mindlessly. Reading was boring, watching television was boring, everything was boring.

You look over to the clock on your nightstand and let out a loud sigh. Nearly midnight and he had still yet to walk through the door as he usually does and smother you with sweet nothings and soft kisses. Your gaze falls back onto your book, the romance novel glaring back with the most dull descriptions and irritating plot. You shut the book, tossing it aside as you groan and knock your head back against the headboard of your bed.

Picking up your phone that sits on the nightstand dresser, you note the empty screen with no obnoxious texts from a certain brunette. It was almost worrying not seeing his name on your lock screen with a bunch of random emojis spammed next to it. Unlocking your phone, you re-read your last text sent to him nearly two hours ago— asking when he’d be home.

You start to wonder if he’s late because of another failed suicide attempt, but you quickly let the thought pass when you finally hear the front door open. It closes almost silently, muffled footsteps growing closer to your room. Your eyes focus on your door frame as Dazai finally steps in, his clothes disheveled and hair messy.

“ ‘Samu…” You murmur, slightly taken aback at his appearance.

His warm brown eyes travel over to the bed where you lay and a small smile curls onto his lips as he shuffles over and climbs onto your side of the bed, his face and upper body planting atop of your legs. He heavily inhales before exhaling, his hot breath blowing against the skin of your thighs. Subconsciously, one of your hands makes its way into his hair and begins to comb through his tangled tresses. His arms wrap around under your legs and lock them in place.

“My love…” He whispers back, his body relaxing on you as his feet hang over the bottom edge of the bed. He kicks his shoes off and allows them to thump to the ground.

“You didn’t answer my text, something happen?” Your brows scrunch together in concern.

Dazai sighs, pressing a light kiss against your thigh, “My phone was in my pocket during a shoot out and it was sadly destroyed.”

You wait for him to make a joke about wishing the bullet went through his skull instead, but it never comes to your surprise. “Oh… Well, I guess we can go look for a new one tomorrow then.” You finish unknotting his hair with your fingers as a moment of silence settles over the both of you before you add, “I’m guessing today was rough then?”

He hums in return, enjoying the way your hand runs through his hair affectionately. “Kunikida made me do my paperwork,” He pouts, his chin coming to rest on your thighs to look up at you.

You briefly laugh, patting his head before speaking with a mock-sympathetic tone, “Aw, my poor baby…”

He huffs, burying his face back into the plush of your thighs, “You don’t sound very genuine, that’s very mean you know… He’s always bullying me around.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well that whatever shit Kunikida gives Dazai— he deserves every bit of it for his shenanigans. You’ve only met him a few times as well as Dazai’s other co-workers, but it was safe to say that if anyone was being bullied— it was that poor bastard, Kunikida. “Oh, really? And you don’t bother the hell out of him until he loses his shit?” You stop running your hand through his hair.

Dazai gasps, overdramatically, of course, “I would never! Kunikida is my respectable co-worker who I value and treat with the utmost—“

“Then why do I get calls from him begging me: “For the love of God, please come get your terrorizing bastard of a boyfriend, I can’t do it anymore.” Huh?”

Cue another gasp, “You’re talking to other men?! Kunikida no less!?”

You roll your eyes, “It was originally because he called me to come get you every time you decided to take a dip in the canal, now it’s a complaint hotline for you.” You poke an index finger against his forehead firmly.

“Owie…” He brings a hand up to rub his forehead, bottom lip jutting out.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” You grumble, staring down at him, “I deserve a medal for putting up with your shenanigans.”

“Isn’t my love enough?” Dazai whines, making puppy eyes at you.

A sigh leaves your lips, “Yeah… You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His lips quirk up back into a smile and he nuzzles his face back against your skin, placing small kisses to your thighs.You don’t really keep count, but it takes a few pecks until he gently nips at your thigh.

“Hey—“ You squeak, pushing at his head which causes him to chuckle, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

The kisses on your thighs grow sloppy before he moves his arms from around your legs to nudge them apart, his body fitting between your legs. He quickly maneuvers your thighs until the backs of your thighs press against the tops of his shoulders, arms wrapping around your legs to keep you against him. “What? I’m just getting comfortable, my love.” He plays off innocently, his cheek squishing against one of your thighs as he looks up at you.

Your brows furrow, heat crawling up your neck as you glare back suspiciously, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And is it a bad thing?” He chimes back, going back to kissing your thighs.

You shiver, feeling his wet lips leave a trail of saliva to air along the insides of your thighs, “You know I’m—“

“Sensitive? Yeah,” He trails off with a noise that sounds like a groan mixed with a hum.

At this point, you feel a tingle crawl up your spine and warmth spread across your face. A fuzziness begins to form in your mind as his lips grow closer to the edge of your sleep shorts.

He pauses when he gets to your shorts, his face pulling away and his hands coming to tug at the hem of your shorts. “Want these off,” He mumbles, pulling at them.

You’re quick to lift your hips and slip your shorts down your legs, Dazai’s hands fumbling along yours to throw them to the side. He buries his face between your legs once more to press his lips along your inner thighs until he reaches your underwear. His face pushes forward until his lips press against your cunt and nose nudges your clit through the thin fabric.

A strangled moan passes your lips as he meets your flustered gaze, and although you can’t see his mouth with it pressed against you— you can tell he’s smirking through his eyes.

He softly breathes in before placing a searing kiss against your clothed pussy, causing your thigh to slightly twitch in his grasp. “I missed this pretty little pussy— haven’t tasted it in days,” He groans before bringing a finger to pull your underwear aside and reveal your glossy folds to him. His gaze is greedy as he parts your folds with two fingers, mouth watering at your slicked insides.

“Don’t stare…”

“Awe, but I can’t help it— looks so good,” Dazai breathes out before leaning forward to slip his tongue flat between your spread folds, licking up to your clit to collect your taste on his tongue. “Tastes good too…” He groans, lapping his tongue through for a second time, “I could spend the whole day eating this pussy out until you’re quivering and begging for me to stop.”

A strung-out whimper escapes your throat as you watch him. Heat burns the nape of your neck, the dizzy feeling hitting you twice as hard as your eyelids lull.

Dazai is shameless in his sucking and slurping of lips and tongue against your dripping cunt as loudly as possible. He doesn’t hold back any of his needy groans and muffled whimpers as he tastes every drop of arousal you have to offer. He strains painfully against the confines of his pants as he holds back the urge to fold you in half and fuck you on his cock until your drooling cunt is filled to the brim with his cum.

His tongue delves into your tight hole, the warm muscle wriggling against your clenching walls before sliding out. After repeating the process a few times, he moves to suck at your throbbing clit, sighing at the way it pulses against his tongue. There’s a small ‘pop’ when he pulls away reluctantly to replace his mouth with his lengthy, thin fingers.

“I love the way you squirm under my touch— drives me crazy— you know that?” Dazai grins before sinking a finger into your wet hole.

An airy gasp leaves your lips as you try to move away from him in surprise, only to have his grip tighten around your thigh with his free hand. “ ‘Samu, I—“ Your fingers clench into the sheets on the bed.

“I know, my love— feel good?” He borderline coos, eyes glued to the way you sucked his finger back in with every pump. “I bet it does, your fingers just don’t reach like mine, do they?” He adds a second finger, his digits curving into your gummy sweet spot.

Your hips involuntarily buck in to meet his thrusting fingers, your pussy squelching around his lithe digits. He leers at the obscene image of your sweet cunt swallowing his fingers down to the knuckle with a lewd moan.

“Good girl, keep fucking yourself on my fingers like that,” He croons, leaning forward to suck at your puffy clit again.

Surges of pleasure rampage within you as you clamp your shaking thighs around his head, grinding your aching pussy against his mouth and fingers. “M’gonna come, s’too much—“ You whimper.

“Come on my tongue— wanna feel that pussy clench around my fingers,” Dazai muffles a groan against your sensitive clit which has you coming undone and vehemently shivering from the feeling of your climax.

Dazai slides his fingers out of your pulsing hole and presses his tongue against your drenched pussy as you ride out your orgasm— his tongue not missing a single drip of arousal. He sighs quietly when he’s finished and pulls away, your bare sex covered in merely his spit now.

With your chest heaving from the aftermath, your head weakly shifts to watch Dazai sit up on his knees and hover over. “ ‘S-Samu…”

“Shh, I know, my love,” He laughs softly— and you think he’s going to redress you before cuddling into you like he usually does, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand trails down to unzip his pants, the tip of his pre-cum leaking cock peeking out of his waistband. He pushes both his pants and boxers to his mid thighs before stroking his hard cock.

“You’re tired, so why don’t you just lay back and let me fuck that pretty pussy to sleep, hm?”

[ragingbookdragon]

Someday We'll Be All That We Need

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I made a new friend so I made that friend a fic. @temeyes <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Other than the shivering, Simon doesn’t so much as twitch in the corner they’re huddled in. She’s cold herself, but nothing feels as terrifying as losing the man wedged in between her thighs, head resting against her chest. The bleeding has stopped though, the bullet wound plugged well enough that him exsanguinating is the least of her worries—it’s the ever-dropping temperature and the broken-down cabin that scares her.

It was thirty degrees Fahrenheit when the mission started; the last reading was ten and dropping. The cabin they’d taken shelter in was worn down, broken windows and missing ceiling allowing streams of frigid winter air and snow to fall in and continue to chill their bones. Simon had sealed his wound and managed to stay awake but with the blood loss he’d suffered and the stress, fatigue had set in, and that’s when she’d found herself curled up in the corner with the emergency blanket from her kit wrapped around his torso, his body wedged up against hers, trying to conserve energy and heat.

The comms had gone down, Simon’s radio busted in a skirmish of hand to hand with an enemy, and she had only managed to get one SOS out before the line cut off. They were alone in the middle of enemy territory, in a temperature-dropping environment, wounded and unable to call for help. Her worst fears were coming alive.

She swallowed thickly, shaking the thoughts away, and readjusted her grip on Simon, jostling him awake in the process. “Alrigh’, love?” he murmured lowly, tongue lazy and slow; he only called her love when they were alone and serious.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “You?”

“Back’s killin’ me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I bet it is. You’re folded like a pretzel.”

Simon shifted, or tried to, and rested his head on her shoulder. “How long’s it been since I feel asleep?”

“Maybe an hour?” she blinked, looking around the room; snow was beginning to pile up where the holes in the ceiling dropped to the floor. “I haven’t really been paying attention to the time.”

“Hmm.” He breathed into her neck. “I can’t feel my toes.”

Her eyes shifted to his feet, and she let out a breath, a mixture of shock and fear. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” he admitted. “‘s bad, love. Spreading up.”

“Motherfucker,” she laughed in disbelief and wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Price heard the SOS. He’s coming, okay? Just…just keep it together until then.”

Simon swallowed thickly; his eyes still shut as he nudged her neck with his mask-covered nose. “Got a safety deposit box back in Manchester,” he muttered. “Key’s in my nightstand back at base.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Got ‘bout five-hundred thousand pounds in’it.” He shifted again as if trying to get into her skin to be warmer. “Deed to a property in Herefordshire. Got it a few years ago when I was staying with Price.”

“Simon, stop,” she warned—she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Want you to get out and go live there. You’ve served long enough to get pension. You’ll be set for the rest of your life out there.”

“No. Not without you I won’t.”

He shook his head. “I don’ think I’m comin’ back, love. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” she stressed, turning her face to his. “They’re coming. We’ll be okay.”

Simon didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Want you to buy one of those big black Corso’s. Name her Morrigan. Let her take care of you and the land.”

Tears began to gather in her eyes. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered. “Quit it.”

“I want you to listen. I want you to be taken care of. I want—”

“I want you alive,” she cut off. “Now shut up and save some energy.”

Simon cracked an eye open and simply gazed at her. “I love you. I know I didn’ say it enough. ‘m sorry, love.”

She clenched her jaw against the wave eating her chest inside out and inhaled deeply. “Simon, stop and rest. I won’t say it again.”

He let his eyes close and laid his head back down. “Alright, love.”

***

It was at least another two hours before noise echoed outside, and it drew her from a slumber she hadn’t realized she was in; she jolted up, Simon jostling with her. “Simon,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” He didn’t respond to her, and she pulled away, looking at him. “Simon?” he was asleep, unresponsive to any of the stimuli around him. “Fuck, Simon?” the noise outside grew louder, and she pushed past her fear and shifted from under him, tucking him against the wall as she grabbed her gun and rose to her feet.

Kneeling down, she put a hand against his face. “I’ll be back, okay? I promise.” She swallowed. “I’m coming right back, Simon.”

She rose again and headed for the door, cracking it open and slipping outside as a vehicle pulled up; tucking behind the railing, she breathed deeply and lifted her head, catching sight of a few men exiting.

Before she could even raise her weapon, she heard, “Contact!”

Ducking again, she cocked her rifle and listened as the others did the same, obviously hiding behind shelter themselves. It had to be the rest of that enemy squad that she failed to take out when Simon got injured. Fuck, she only had one mag left and she was running on fumes herself. She had to be quick. She had to be careful. She had—

“Identify yourself, or we will shoot!”

Wait, that sounded like—

“I will not say it again! Identify yourself or—”

“Price!” she called and peeked over the railing. “Price, it’s me! It’s me!”

Soap and Gaz appeared on the other side of the SUV. “Athena?”

She felt tears gather in her eyes as she stood up and lowered her gun. “Holy shit, I’ve never been so glad to see you guys.”

Price stopped in front of her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Good to see you. Where’s Simon?”

Simon.

Her heart dropped. “Fuck.” She turned on her heel and sprinted back into the cabin and to the corner, the men on her heels; she got to him first and dropped to her knees, shaking him. “Simon! Simon, wake up!”

He didn’t move.

“Simon!” she called again, lifting her cold fingers to his neck. Whether it was her own anxiety or him, she couldn’t feel a thing and she started panicking. “I can’t get a pulse!” she turned to them. “I can’t wake him up!”

Soap pulled her back as Price and Gaz got to work and she thrashed in his arms. “LET GO!”

“Lass, calm down!”

“LET GO! SIMON!” she screamed, her own vision beginning to haze, exhaustion weighing taking its toll.

“We’ve gotta start compressions,” she heard Gaz say and he looked at Price. “He’s not going to make it back if we don’t do something now.”

Price looked back. “Soap, get her in the SUV, we’ll prep Simon for transport.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said and hefted her up against her thrashing.

“NO! I’M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND! LET GO OF ME GODDAMNIT!”

“Lass, you can’t help him even if you wanted to.”

Her body felt like lead and she felt her limbs going numb as her breathing kicked into a wildness, head light and heavy all at the same time. She kept trying to get out of his arms when Price tossed a syringe his way, and a prick to her arm drew blackness into all sides of her gaze, the last thing she saw was Gaz yanking open Simon’s gear to press his hands to his chest.

***

There was an impossibly annoying beeping going off on the side of Simon’s bed and she had half a mind to kick him in his hip and gripe at him to turn it off; she managed to mumble something akin to it but when the beeping didn’t stop, she managed with great effort to crack her eyes open, only to be met with the sterile walls of a medical room.

It all came back in an instant and she sat up straight, yanking the IV out of arm, the oxygen tube from her nose, rolling from the bed. Her knees kissed the floor and pain seared up her legs as she scrambled for the door, only to fall again, but she crawled on her hands and knees to the handle. Lifting herself, she pulled the door open and leaned heavily on the wall of the hallway as she stumbled down, looking in every room for her lover.

“Simon!” she called weakly; the mission had taken its toll on her. She was weak, far beyond her own capacity and she was barely standing as it was. “Simon!” she yelled again, and Soap stuck his head out from a door about five doors down.

“Athena? Holy shite, you shouldn’t be up!” he made it to her, trying to help her, but she pushed past him.

“Where’s Simon?”

“Love, you need to go back to—”

“WHERE IS HE!”

Soap recoiled and recovered, gently wrapping his arm around her. “He’s down here. Still asleep.” His grip was steel. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I can—”

“You either let me help or I take you back to your room.”

She fell silent and let him, that was until she turned the corner of Simon’s room, and darted from his arms, barely managing to avoid face-planting into the hospital bed railing as she clambered onto the bed with the man.

“Simon?” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands; he was so warm now. Tears seeped down her cheeks. “Simon, sweetheart?” she said again, pressing her head to his chest to feel his steady heartbeat thumping beneath; a choked sound of happiness escaped her, and she looked at Soap. “He’s alive.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, love, he’s alive.”

“He’s okay?”

“Eh, we’re a little worried about his toes, but so far yeah.”

She buried her face in Simon’s chest, crying into the gown he wore, and grabbed one of his hands; she squeezed it tightly, relief flooding her as his fingers tightened around hers in his sleep.

[suguru-getos]

fractures // geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 4

links: part 1 / part 2 / part 3

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: only five more days left to finally be able to leave the geto estate, however with an environment so brutal & scathing… the reader is slowly losing her will to keep going, and her hopes with it.

warnings: depressed reader, geto is being a cunty bitch as always (but hes softened a teensy bit if you squint), trying to provide the resder comfort in his own way. degradation. not beta’d by me i’m a lazy ass bitch :33

you sat lonesome, devastated & absolutely crushed below the shower. the way the cold water drenched your hair, every hit of it against your skin reminding you of the fact that you were alive, still alive unfortunately. and will be alive, until geto suguru gets what he’s promised. the money. its been close to an hour and your skin has started to wrinkle apart, you are so lost in your thoughts that your mind forgets to register how cold you feel with the shivering. the white marble flooring of the bathroom against your bare bottom & the soles of your feet a constant reminder of the coldness.

“y/n.” a voice echoed from outside the expensive glassed sliding door of the bathroom. it sounds like a fake echo amidst the stormy thoughts you’re battling.

“Y/N!” the voice snapped louder, and you jerked at the shocking bellow. flinching and getting pulled from your mind to what’s real. “yes?” you answered meekly, getting up on your now wobbly feet with how long you had been sitting the same and twisting the shower nozzle to stop.

“just checking if you had died.” manami’s voice scoffs from outside the door, footsteps walking away from you and sounding delightfully fainter.

you want to kill everyone & yourself. these people were so beyond powerful that you didn’t know humans could… do that.

begrudgingly, passionately hatefully, you got up and wandered to wear clothes and apply any cream that could soothe your now dry & angry skin. that’s when you see the girls.

mimiko & nanako, peeking through the door and humming. “you are pretty.” one of them smiles, “shame you’re nothing but a monkey.” she pouted, the one with brown, whiskey-kin hair. you blink, unsure how to respond to something that sounded awfully unclear. “what do you mean when you say monkey?” you asked, sighing.

the girls invited themselves in, putting your food beside you. “geto sama wants you to eat.” the raven haired little girl numbly reiterated. you nodded, unsure why they respected the monster so much. then again, you also think he is insanely kind to everyone but you. oh how fun.

“funny he didn’t bring me an animal bowl since he called me a mutt.” you scoffed, you know the life within you brimming and enflamed could one day kill you. maybe it should. oh no… you’re starting to feel depressed. why else do you think so frequently that you should rather fucking die?

“mimiko, nanako, you both are excused.” the velvety hum of geto’s voice from the entrance of your door echoed. it sent instant chill in your spine, the color of blood & fear mingled into the reminding dark red that oozed from the word ‘monkey’. the girls listened to him as if he was all they ever had. conflicting, the tender tone he used for those teenagers was conflicting.

he walks in, hands in front with the gojo-gesa making him look even more majestic than he is. he is tall, bigger than you, and his cologne is perfect. you wondered if he dresses like this to hide the real him. the rotten, unemotional, sadistic bastard.

“did you like sleeping on the floor yesterday?” he hums, clearly in a mood to stab your barely healed psyche wounds. “yes, it was comfortable. i’m sure sleeping on the bed must have been quite uncomfortable.” your sarcasm is biting, you haven’t had a good sleep thanks to him. “get used to it, little mutt.” he shrugs, “get used to it until your pathetic parents can gather the money they are demanded.”

you sigh, right. money… “i am.” the fight within you is flickery, and you never know what might rub geto the wrong way & suddenly your whole body is chopped up. “you clean up bearable.” geto hums again, his eyes flickering towards how devastatingly gorgeous you look post shower.

“i know.” you respond again, waiting, bracing. he is here to hurt you anyway. he’s doing that everyday ever since you’re here. “the girls brought you food, eat.” he sounds demanding suddenly, breaking the chain of your vile overthinking.

“is it poisoned?” you snarkily replied. rolling your eyes. you have come to the delusional conclusion that this “geto” person wouldn’t kill you. until he has the money that is… that is the sole reason why your mouth hasn’t stopped.

suguru’s gaze almost softens, you look pale, having lost a lot of blood. he remembers how bruised your skin looked, and you look like you have easily lost a few pounds. he has come to a conclusion that he doesn’t like damaged goods. even when he’s returning them. that is a much better explaination than the other one that meekly whispers to his heart: he has a soft spot for a fucking monkey!

“it’s not. i am fully capable of stuffing that useless mouth full.” he answers, equal bite to his tone. oh his words scathe and burn you, but they do the same to him. they feel like branding on his skin. especially when the light in your eyes fades a little more at his sentences. you hesitantly take a bite, then another… and another. you didn’t know you were ‘this’ hungry, because you could swear the plates are finished in a few minutes. suguru feels a motherly joy upon seeing you like this, before he forcibly snaps himself out. “five more days, then you’re a free girl.” he hums, wanting to see the excitement in your eyes of finally ridding yourself off of him. to his surprise, there was none.

“if i am alive by then.” you hummed, there was no malice in your words, no ill-intent, no insight to piss him off. that’s what HURTS him. it feels like the wrath of a thousand suns is coming for him. you actually… feel that you wouldn’t survive.

for you, its because you want to give up. maybe kill yourself, maybe let him kill you. the idea of a ‘life’ after this whole ordeal seems draining. it would take so much to heal from it; and you’re becoming more and more unsure with every passing day.

suguru gets up, glancing your way once more. you are torturing him just by breathing. “if you had one last wish, what would it be?” he asks, partially to see any emotion apart from the numb on your face. be it fear.

you looked at him, “that you don’t tell my parents i’m dead. tell them i escaped & wouldn’t return.”

he widens his eyes, the frog in his throat unbearably tight. he clears his throat to sound the same distinct monotonous, unkind tone. “they should be happy their daughter is dead if you were to… stop… breathing.” he has to strain the last two words out of him. his jaw tightening.

“a-after all, what use are you to them? you are giving them stress while they try to collect money for you. to save you. and here you are, so okay with your demise.” there is a questionable vigor in his tone. as if he’s trying his best to stop you from killing yourself. “the only reason you’re still alive is because they promised the money.” and… not because suguru can’t bring himself to kill you. yeah, that’s it.

tears sting your eyes, your heart feels heavy. you don’t want to die either… you’re just tired god damn it! “what’s your full name?” you asked him, trying to deviate from the topic.

suguru is taken aback at that change, why do you want to know more about him? “geto suguru.” he hums, responding rather conceited.

“during sunset.” he begins again, unsure why he’s saying what he’s about to say. kicking himself for it. “the gardens… look exceptionally beautiful.”

you raised a brow, curiosity brinming within your bones. “if you don’t wish to die even one bit, a walk might help.” he gets up with that, leaving for the exit. before doing so, he stands at the entrance, “should you want to be a good daughter who is at least breathing when she meets her parents, i would be there in the gardens too. an unwelcomed and imposed company.”

you don’t have an answer to that. except a sigh of relief when he leaves, he didn’t hurt you today… until now. how relieving…

what you don’t know is geto is leaned against that very door, replaying this conversation over and over in his head like a stuck tape-recorder. almost choking at the way you were. maybe he needs to get back at it, killing annoying monkeys. that… should help?

[star2fishmeg]

Can I get a SCENARIO #121 with Jack Hughes please? CONGRATS ON UR CELLY!!!

Thank you for requesting <3

SCENARIO #121 Seven minutes in heaven

📞 dialling…

Jack closed the bedroom door behind them, taking her hand and spinning her around so her back hit the door, the music from the other room muffled as she folded her arms over her chest. He smirked, stepping closer, with barely any room between them and relishing in the moment, he finally had her alone, in seven minutes in heaven of all situations. He’d been trying all night to get her to himself, but someone just had to get in his way, specifically that random guy who hovered around y/n like a fly.

His hands gently settled on her hips, eyes scanning over her face. As much as she tried to give him a deadpan, her half-lidded eyes burning into his gave her away too much.

“Isn’t this a sign from the universe, princess.” He said playfully, his voice husky. 

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, a small part of her disappointed that the chase was over, and he’d caught her, trapping her between his body and the door for the next seven minutes. She wasn’t disappointed it was him though, out of anyone at the party, she’d rather it be him.

“Mmm yeah, a warning sign. I’m such a lucky girl to be in a bedroom with Jack Rowden Hughes.” She replied, a tinge of sarcasm lacing her tone as she gave a lazy smirk and unfolded her arms, looping them around his neck, fingers toying with his hair. She loved seeing it grown out, and for once, it didn’t look too bad all fluffy and cut to have shape. Easier to run her fingers through and tug on to keep him in line. 

He pushed his hips into hers, bringing their bodies closer with breaths tangling and noses brushing, “Well, your boyfriend must be real excited right now, he looked like he was gonna kill me.”

“Ha ha, he’s not my boyfriend, I don’t even know his name.” Y/n gave him a sarcastic laugh followed by a smirk, eyes meeting his with a sultry gaze and she knew what he was thinking, she always knew what Jack was thinking, it was one reason why he was captivated by her. 

He brought one hand to her jaw, gently cupping it and stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, pressure like a feather, like she was the most precious thing he’d ever grasped in his hands.

“So, he’d be okay if I did this?” he leaned in, closing that miniscule gap between them as their lips touched into a warm, beer flavoured kiss. Her fingers curled around his nape, holding him close for those few seconds before they withdrew slowly, attention still fixed on each other without a care of how many minutes they had left in that room before someone would come hauling them out.

“No, no he wouldn’t,” she let out an airy giggle, “but I am.” 

Y/n pulled him back in, but for a longer, adrenaline sparking kiss that had Jack’s hand pawing at her hip, the hand on her cheek gliding down to her waist and she bit his bottom lip. Opening his mouth, their tongues met passionately into a rhythm, lapping into each other with moans creeping out their throats, his hips bucking into hers as her back bumped the door and fingers carded through his hair, a frenzied heat rushing between her legs. He didn’t need to explain how he’d been waiting all night for this, the way he desperately refused to let either of them breathe spoke volumes. 

His hands rode under her top, hiking the fabric up to her breasts with a reverberating groan from his chest as his fingertips traced over the lace of her bra. She felt the cocky smile smear across his lips the more heated and hornier they became. He toyed with the clasp, pulling it back, seconds away from undoing the metal until a hefty fist pounded on the door. Y/n and Jack abruptly pulled away with wide eyes, his arms winding around her waist and holding her close into his chest on instinct.

“Times up, you horny bastards! And we even gave you an extra three minutes!” Trevor’s voice yelled from the other side, and they knew exactly how cocky his grin was.

[teecupangel]

Hi teecup, I hope ur having a great day/noon/night!

Forgive me if the things i'm about to say don't make much sense. It's been a vey, very, very, difficult time for me and my countrymen here, and my ability to make coherent sentences have declined drastically. So, yeah... BUT! That doesn't matter haha.

Anyways, I had a thought. And i'm not even sure how or why i got it but.... hear me out now...

Our boy, Desmond, gets thrown back in time as usual, same old same old, right? Exept, this time he doesn't end up in the Big Three™'s time-line. He ends up in Al-Mualim's time. *insert mind-blown emoji here cuz i can't find it rn*

And ik that i'm not a certified AC Expert like u and many others, and i haven't really finished any of the AC games yet (i've only seen bits of AC III and have only started AC 2, I also haven't finished AC 1)

But I do know that he wasn't really that creepy and evil in his youth/ b4 he became The Old Man of the Moutain, so i was thinking maybe Desmond ends up in that era of Al Mualim or is it Rashid al-Din Sinan? I know that he's based on a real historical figure but i'm not so sure if he's called that in-game?

And knowing Desmond, he'd probably get the urge to kill Rashid (i hope i'm using the name correctly) the time he figures shit out and connect that dots. But he would end up not doing that, cuz u know, it might fuck up the time-line and Altaïr might end up not being born, creating a domino-effect.

I want Desmond to meet Rashid before he starts to becom the Al Mualim we know today, so that Desmond can see how he was b4 the evants of AC 1.

Maybe Rashid's an arrogant ass, or a nerdy loser, or a popular assassin- who knows! The possibilites are endless!! (or maybe he's an obsessive bastard who gets obsessed with Desmond cuz he's just full of mysteries and wonders :Dc )

And blah blah blah, plot here, plot there, Isu-bullshit this, time shenanigans that, and BOOM they meet.

And romance ensues? :3 (romace wil absolutely ensue :}}} )

NOW, BEFORE- BEFORE YOU TIE ME TO A STAKE AND BURN ME ALIVE FOR THIS- i think it'd be a cute idea, and who knows? maybe Rashid was hot in his prime *insert lenny face cuz even after all these years i still don't know how to type it and is too lazy to cop paste it* and maybe he liked to solve mysteries and had a thing for the unexplainable. And Desmond is the most unexplainable, most bizarre thing to have graced the earth :33333.

Now that i've got this idea out of my system i'm gonna go pray for the down fall of my coutry's shit for brain, good for nothing military government/hj.

bye! *evaporates*

I hope you’re doing alright and I’m sorry that it took two months before I could answer your ask TTATT

As far as I know, he was only called Al Mualim because of legal reasons but Rashid ad-Din Sinan was the leader of the Assassins in Masyaf during 1191 so it’s safe to assume Al Mualim is AC’s version of Rashid (historically he died in 1193, not 1191.

.

Okay. We can make this work.

We put Desmond at around the same time he’s the recruit and we make it hard for him to realize he’s Al Mualim until it’s too late by doing one simple thing:

Desmond doesn’t know Al Mualim’s real name.

He always knew it as Al Mualim. As far as he knew, Al Mualim was his actual name.

Then he remembered that Al Mualim can mean mentor and bangs his head on the nearest flat surface.

His mission has been clear from the start.

Become an Assassin, take out Al Mualim before he does shit, find Umar and adopt him then play matchmaker so Altaïr would be born.

And no.

Desmond wasn’t going to think about the whole “can you truly be sure that the person who will be born will be Altaïr if you change the circumstances of his conception?”

Yeah.

His head hurts just thinking about it so he won’t.

For now, he’ll focus on his training while keeping a look out for anyone who gives of Al Mualim vibes.

What’s the Al Mualim vibes?

Manipulative old man vibes.

The problem is…

Rashid is one of the recruits in the same batch as Desmond and he becomes Desmond’s closest friend.

And there was no way Desmond would ever be friends with a future power hungry asshole like Al Mualim.

No way.

.

The way their relationship becomes romantic really depends on the kind of personality young Rashid would have.

A nerdy loser who starts making a name for himself because of his intelligence and tactical mind would start off as the kid Desmond sorta looks after. When he starts to show that his strength lies in making plans and quick judgments, he becomes the man whispering on Desmond’s ear. Providing plans and suggestions while giving Desmond a heads up on the less savory words people say about him. Desmond would never think this Rashid is Al Mualim because he’s nice and truly do want to help Desmond. This is also how Rashid would show his love for Desmond and, really, Desmond would think they’re bros and when he realizes that Rashid actually loves him, he’d think “oh, I am Ezio’s descendant”

An arrogant ass Rashid would butt heads with Desmond but Desmond would find himself fond of the man because he reminds him of AC1 Altaïr. This is the Rashid who would definitely be counted as a tsundere and their relationship would start when Rashid just flatout tells Desmond that he wants to do unspeakable things to him while they’re arguing. Desmond is offended because “tugging on my pigtails doesn’t work in real life, dumbass!” and Rashid is just “???” because what the fuck are pigtails??? Lots of awkwardness until Desmond realize that butting heads with Rashid is really how they flirt.

Now. Popular Assassin Rashid is more on the side of polite but is absolutely Desmond’s rival. Whatever it is, the two of them are always competing. Unlike the arrogant ass version, this Rashid is always nice to Desmond. The whole “no hard feelings” and pure competitiveness are what drives their relationship. This is the one where the two of them spar privately one time and things happen. They would try to distant themselves from one another for a bit until they finally talk it out. Rashid honestly didn’t think he loved Desmond until the whole ‘after-sparring’ thing.

Whichever you pick as Rashid’s background, he will become obsessed with Desmond but it’s more on the side of “I will do everything to make Desmond happy” which is good for Desmond but not really good for anyone against him.

.

Desmond is the one who adopts Umar in this one and Umar imprints on him like a baby duckling to a mama duckling. Everyone actually assumed Umar is his bastard son. Desmond ignores it even though he’s only like… a decade and a half older than Umar.

Rashid definitely treats him like Desmond’s son. He’s Umar’s favorite of all of Desmond’s friends.

And really, Desmond should have seen that as a hint of Rashid’s ‘future’.

Speaking of the future.

He’s been looking for Al Mualim this entire time and he has his suspects (Rashid, however, is not on the list) but honestly?

He’s just waiting for the person who would be picked as the one to lead the expansion to Masyaf since that would be Al Mualim.

Desmond has, unfortunately, fucked up the timeline so badly that the person chosen to lead the expansion?

It was Desmond.

.

Sidebar: Faheem would be that cute younger brother who turns grumpy when he grows up. Desmond will forever grieve the lost of little cute Faheem. Faheem is always embarrassed when Desmond talked about his ‘past’.

[deadghosy]

If I was in Hazbin hotel:

Author insert x Hazbin Hotel

Prompt: an author is bored as they decided to jump into their favorite fandom at this very moment.

Honestly I’m bored asf rn lmao.

Will, the blogger in tumblr known as Deadghosy was bored in his room as he listens to jay aka kub scoutz 😍 playing lil guardsman. Being even more bored they opened their palm as a digital portal opens-

OKAY STOP…at first I was gonna do that story ass shit but let me be real. I died by not getting enough sleep and I popped into hell for not liking those Jesus posts😭

I’d honestly be in the sloth ring for being lazy asf and being tired most of the time. But also be in the gluttony ring as well. A BIG BITCH GOTTA EATTTT😭

But I would probably still be able to go into the pride ring because of my pride in not needing help from people. 😭 I hate asking for damn help irl.

I actually have very sharp canine teeth and bottom rows, I might as well be mistaken for a humanoid demon lol/j

But if did have a demon form, it’s a bear since I eat and sleep all day lmao.

Alastor wouldn’t “hate hate” me but find me annoying. I would try to get on his good side and never do deals with him obviously cause I like my soul 😍. But dead ass I’m showing him lingo of gen z ☝🏾💀 cause ain’t no way ima hear this deer man yap in a way I can’t understand. This is not no new broadcast from the old times dude. “Salutations!-” HAVIN ASS😕

Friendship level: 5/10

Sir Pentious, I’m teaching this bitch how to do the whip and nae nae 😄. I love him personally cause he so silly sometimes. I would just pop up as he works on weapons but not help him lol. I think personally our friendship would be the kind to talk to each other for a little and stop and repeat😕

Friendship level: 4.5/10

Charlie would like me because of my hyperactive personality sometimes. Like if I’m fixating on something, she would listen and probably tell her father. But mostly i wouldn’t do the trust exercises, she’ll have to drag my black ass to do them 💀

Friendship level: 6/10

Lucifer and I would be so chill dead ass. He’s probably adopt me if I’m gonna be honest cause I also have a duck toy in my room as we speak 😭LITERALLY I MIGHT AS WELL BE A MINI HIM WITH HIM HAVING HYPER FIXATIONS.

Friendship level: 10/10

Vaggie and me, idk she’s chill but short tempered. But I don’t think she would hate me but only he suspicious at first, but then just be chill with me. I would try to help her around but procrastinate lmao

Friendship level: 5.5//10

Husk would probably be chill but not have an opinion on me honestly. It will depend on me just going to talk to him or being nervous to talk to him. I hate being awkward so I would just wave or sit by his bar and chill with him as I draw.

Friendship level: it’s probably between 3/10 and 5/10

Angel and me, idk I feel like I would be a small friend of his to help. He wouldn’t trauma dump that much on me cause I’m just a kid so it would be like “oh my work is shit but my boss is even more shit.” So I would just nod acting like I don’t know what’s going on. Plus, I would probably try to make him something with the help of Lucifer

Friendship level: ima be honest…it’s probably a 4/10 cause I’m a minor and he has problems he need it overcome. He doesn’t need a minor to yap his ear off 😕

The Vee’s…😕ain’t no way ima talk to them front to front if I’m actually gonna be their friends dead ass. I would probably mostly be friends with Velvette to hook me up on outfits😍

Friendship level: -1000/10

Valentino…HAH YOU WOULD HAVE TO CATCH MY BLACK ASS ACTUALLY DEAD IF IM GONNA CHILL WITH THIS BASTARD 😂 I’m burning his whole studio down in a cool ass pyro tf2 mask. Fuck that bitch, all my homies hate Valentino 🤭

ENEMY LEVEL: 10000000/10🖕🏾

Vox, I’m begging him to try to advance my phone so I can prank call heaven and hell at the same time. I’m using so much evil ass shit🦆 like dead ass ima say “I heard your high school bully is in heaven” to an angel so they would go crazy trying to find their bully lmao. But Vox would hate my ass cause..I’m me? Idk lol

Enemy level: 8.5/10

Velvette, eh I feel like we would be mutuals but not too friendly. More like a hook up just so i can get free outfits and she can get a quick teen model and I can leave with the fit fr 😍 no money, free outfit‼️

Friendship level: 4.5/10

Adam and me..we throwin hands. Full on fist to fist. He probably would try to cheat but nahhh, you gettin kicked in the manhood bitch 😄‼️ but yeah me and him, enemies for life. He’s funny I’ll admit, but be honest having him beside you irl💀

Enemy level: he better keep one eye open.

Sera…yeah she not letting me in heaven lmao 😭 that’s all ima say LMAOO

Friendship level: -0/10

Lute will 100% percent kill me for my mouth 😭. I’d probably say GYATT to her for funnies only to get stab. But I would just be quiet and try to be on her good side lmao

Friendship level: 2/10

Emily would like me but would be the type of person to keep me in check with my mouth and vulgar language as I just chill eating all the food in heaven. She def givin me good tours.

Friendship level: a good 7.5/10

That’s all I have lmao

[xoxopuffsz]

Ayo your stuff are so good, they give me more delulu but I can't complain 😩 honestly, I've been thinking for a long time about Floyd Leech himself just fucking reader on one of mostro lounges couches when no one is around, since it gives him the kick. This bastard is probably often horny change my mind.

Sorry Azul, I don't feel ashamed for doing it on YOUR couch of YOUR workplace while YOUR probably in the next room while YOUR friend and coworker gives me the time of my life💅

AN: teehee pookie bear yk yall always give me the freaky ones but this one is just perfect 🤭 and Azul’s pretty and all, but Floyd is just mm mmm MMM 😼 enjoy !!!! this is a f!reader fyi, if u want male, tell me!

you sit on one of the mostró lounge’s couches with a sigh, you agreed to help the Leech brothers with the cafe, but the moment Azul pulled out a paper for you to sign, you knew it was a bad idea. Of course, in all your ego, you decided against the little voice in your head that you’d help them, and holy shit was is tiring. You turn over to your side, seeing as Floyd approaches you. “Hey little shrimpy,” He says in a passive voice, he seems to he over worked as well. “How ya holding up?” He asks, sitting beside you. “I’m okay, thanks for asking, but I can’t seem to fall asleep or anything, I gotta lose some more energy.” You tell him, you have to lose the remaining bolts of energy coursing through your body.

He’s on top of you now.

“I have a solution for that.”

—��—————————————————————

“faster..” you tell him, you feel it deep in your stomach, the urge for the tip of his cock to touch your cervix. “deeper!” you whine out, your mind in-between your thighs and hole, surrounded by heat and lust. “Give it time little shrimpy, this little hole is a bit too tight today..” he lets out a giggle, this maniac.. this.. pleasure causing maniac who’s ramming his hips into yours, oh so good is all that fills your mind. Juices covering your cunt and his member in a surprising amount, so good, so deep, and he groans gutturally with the way your warm and sticky walls press onto him.

“Hitting my limit.. hitting.. my limit..” he whispers out through gritted teeth, your moans and whines for him to go faster is music to his ears, hitting the finish mark with a final thrust as your walls go from pink to white from his cum.

“Azul’s gonna get on our ass if we don’t clean the couch.” He laughs.

a/n: hey guys, sorry for leaving for like 3 months i was lazy to write things 🔥 anyways im BACK and i got horny (and my bf cant always text me so like) i got one question chat id this w or L rizz chat 😼

[agentrouka-blog]

Saw an old ask you answered about Mya and had to ask your thoughts on Myranda Royce. Like, she’s the character I’m the most curious about re: the winds of winter. We know from Dumb and Dumber that the Vale plotting for Sansa won’t actually be very long (I’m assuming she gets out of there right after the tourney and leaves for the wall /possibly with the help of Brienne and or Brynden/maybe after some shenanigans from the mountain clans) but from what we can assume Bronze Yohn will be on Sansa‘s side and help her out (like in the show). Now, Myranda's Nestor dad is indebted to LF (and friends with him!) and I find it unlikely that she would pick her father’s cousins side over her dads? With her being lady of the gates too. And at this point everyone is in agreement that Myranda knows that Alayne is Sansa (very obviously highborn, educated, not interested in the new high septon despite allegedly training to be a septa, knows Ned starks bastards name, LOOKS like Catelyn Tully whom she has met not even 2 years before). IMO what’s pointing towards Myranda actually being on our girls side is 1) LF warning Alayne about her, 2) Myranda herself introducing herself as wanting to be wicked, 3) the fact that Myranda being just another Margaery would be lazy and boring, 4) The failed Myranda/Harry betrothal being revealed almost immediately by her, so it can’t actually be a major point of contention for her, right? I don’t want to put too much stock in what the show did but them naming their annoying evil fucked up Ramsay–simp Myranda Royce does sometimes make me hesitate in putting my faith behind Myranda. Ultimately I think she will look out for herself most of all but I feel like her interests aline with Sansa and it will be a net positive. I mainly just want Sansa to have actual allies! Do you think the two branches of the Royce family could end up in agreement/be scheming against LF? After all, besides Bronze Yohn's friendship with NedCat, the Royces share blood with the Starks and their house motto is "We Remember“!

I think you hit the nail on the head with the concept of aligning interests.

Nestor, I don't think he's that good of an actor to be actively fooling Littlefinger himself while appearing to be flattered into complicity, but Myranda is sharp as a knife and clearly not quite satisfied with her lot in life of marrying old men her father picks out for her. But she seems too invested in Sweetrobin to really care that much about marrying Harry for his potential title, as opposed to simply a handsome dolt her own age. So whatever she cares about, it's not in opposition to either Sansa or Sweetrobin. She's capable of subtly interrogating Sansa without her even realizing it, and she has sat on this information for months now without making a move yet. Littlefinger considers her a threat, which is the greatest compliment imaginable, and he wouldn't do that if he thought she was easily manipulated or had goals he could easily assist her with.

If the show paid lip-service to Sansa's Vale plot by naming Ramsay's invented lover after her, I don't imagine it's because Myranda herself is secretly evil, but because she's one of the key figures in the Vale arc.

I imagine she is part of a larger conspiracy connecting her to Bronze Yohn and Anya Waynwood. She would be ideally placed to be a spy for them, and they have the resources she lacks to act on her own behalf and without her father's knowledge. A Myranda who assists the Lords Declarant in removing Littlefinger from power (the mark of a true patriot, honestly) is a Myranda who may yet be rewarded with a better marital match than Harry The Obsolete Heir. (Roland, the Waynwood heir? Andar, the Royce heir?)

[ram-bam-writes]

The Highlight and The Shadow pt. 1 [Graves x NB Reader]

A/N: This is for the Graves Series I've started working on. Pt.1 is the background, the rest will be more 'interactive', per se. No real posting schedule, just whenever I feel like it. So feel free to ask to be tagged! Dm, request box, or comment/tag will work :>

Summary: Phillip Graves is a lonely man. He had no intention to be. So when his Chief Finance Officer gives him a golden nugget, he runs with the plan. Too excited to question CFO Henley, Phillip rents out part of his house to a snake and music loving college kid. What could happen?

CW: Graves being a desperate baby and Henley (oc, not reader) being a sneaky bastard, no beta we die like soap. [CW's will change as each part is uploaded]

Word Count: 1256 words

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Phillip Graves is a man of many things. He’s a hard worker, he’s a protective boss, and he’s a relaxed soul. He cares deeply for his Shadows and he does everything in his power to keep them safe. He works hard to get after what he wants and never lets things deter him — that’s how he started the PMC in the first place. 

One thing Phillip Graves is not, however, is a family man. 

It wasn’t always like this. He’d had the classic American dream of a partner and a few little Graves running around, maybe a kitten and a puppy to consistently separate. But with his love for his job and his soldiers, it just… didn’t work out.

He’s 41 now, and he can’t imagine putting the stress of a family on top of his work, let alone any potential lovers. He’s tried dating apps, looking for people who have children that lack the other parent. But he couldn’t do that to them. He can’t. At any given moment, he might drop from a bullet to the head.

But he isn’t fond of coming home to an empty house.

Sure, it’s grand. He makes a lot of money from Shadow Co., how could he not invest in a beautiful house? Especially when he can house a few of his Shadows who might be a little more anxious or jittery than normal. But they aren’t consistent. Sometimes it’ll be weeks before he’s coaxed a Shadow through his doors. He doesn’t mean to pressure them. He’s just… lonely. 

One of his Chiefs, specifically his Financial Officer, had figured this little quirk of his out. He decided to drop the restless CEO a little tip.

“Y’know, Graves…” Henley started, eyes glancing over at the CEO with an amused expression. “You could always rent out part of your house.”

Graves stared at his Chief of Finances for a moment, eyes glazing over as he blinks. Then, those bright blue eyes narrowed, and he gave a low look at the man typing away at his computer. 

“Now son, what the hell does that—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. “Miller said you practically threw him into one of the guest rooms last time he so much as exhaled.”

Graves’ jaw would tense, and he’d work his tongue in his mouth. Is he really being that obvious?

“And… theoretically… how would… how would one do that…?” 

The conversation lasted almost two full hours, with Graves’ excitement filling up more and more. He can house a person or two, make Shadow Co. a bit more cash, and be less restless at home. 

The next few days, however, would be spent with Henley desperately trying to ease the Commander’s nerves. No one has applied for the house despite its beauty, and Graves was getting far too anxious. 

He paces around the room, eyes flicking left and right, up and down.

“Hen, what if no one— what if no one takes it? What if I get a tenant that’s just… ungodly annoying?” Graves’ mind was spinning a hundred miles a minute, and Henley was starting to get just as desperate as the commander.

Mostly because he’d like to go back to his job as the Finance Officer. But also to get his Commander to shut the fuck up and be less pushy when the others so much as shiver after a mission. 

“Sir.” Henley’s voice is filled with a comforting kind of exasperation, a lazy grin on his face. “Give it time. I’m sure by tomorrow night, someone will apply. And I’m sure they’ll be just what you need.”

Graves wants to argue, he does. But there’s a look in Henly’s eyes that tells him everything will be okay. It’s the same look that he got from the man last time they needed to scrape up the money for a new Blackhawk. Somehow the man had found enough money to pay for two, and Graves was too scared to ask where he got it from. 

Henley had always been a mystery to him, but he trusted the man with his life. So he takes a breath and nods, giving himself room to slow his mind down.

“Alright… If y’say so…”

——

Ping.

Graves nearly shot out of his chair when not even an hour later, a message had pulled through.

Is this still out for rent…?

Graves couldn’t breathe when he read the message, eyes sparkling perhaps a little too bright.

And, is it pet friendly?

His thumbs worked quickly on the screen, so fast he hit send but nothing went through. He grit his teeth, quickly ripping off his tactical gloves before trying again.

Yes! And, yes, as long as it doesn’t make much of a mess. :)

He exhales slowly, eyes burning into the screen of his phone. He watches the bubbles as the potential tenant — from the looks of the profile a younger individual — continues to text.

And… how are you with snakes…?

The Commander freezes. Snakes? Snakes. Snakes? But he wants this tenant. He wants anyone, damnit.

Is it going to poison me in my sleep?

The teasing route, he decides, is the best way to approach this. He doesn’t want to scare the tenant away.

No.

He sighs in relief.

But it is venomous :> And likes to chew

The Commander wants to be irritated, but he beams something bright. 

Name, species, and a photo. I want to know my hitman.

——

He soon discovers that there is three of them. Two hognose snakes and one corn snake. One arctic morph, one lavender morph, and one opal morph. In that order, he learns their names are Fehttuchini (or Fetta), Tulip, and Tequila (or Tiki), and all three are sweet and loving boys who love to snuggle. 

He also learns that his potential tenant is an artist on the side, being both part-time in college and part-time in work. They’ve promised to not bring trouble, expressing that they have a few close friends that are mostly relaxed. He made them promise to just alert him when people will be over, as well as to not throw any parties. Graves also explained his role in the military, albeit ambiguously for OPSEC purposes. 

Henley took over the paperwork for Graves, stating that the Commander had enough paperwork already from Shadow Co. Graves was too excited to really care who did the paperwork, he’s just excited to have a tenant. 

And within three weeks, he’s got three snakes he’s already decided are his, too, now, and a relatively tame tenant that switches consistently from being shy to bold. And within two months, he’s already got their schedule down, habitually takes care of the snakes, and knows every little quirk to know about his tenant. Even down to being capable of knowing when they needed a home cooked southern meal or a bath and tea when right when they get home.

So sue his lonely ass if he starts to daydream about his tenant at work. And sue Henley for keeping an entertained eye on his boss, a devious little glimmer in his eyes as he listens to his Commander ramble and gush about the sweet tenant.

After all, the CFO was a sneaky little bastard that knew what his Commander needed. And that’s a sweet tenant with a burning temper and three little snakes that just so happen to have the last name of Henley. But Graves doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Not when he’s too excited to check the paperwork. That’s what Henley’s for, right? 

[lathalea]

The White Raven 6/9

Yes, it's happening, I'm back with a fresh new chapter of this fic, and I'm so nervous! It took me a while to get here but I hope you'll like the next part of Thorin and Carra's story.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being an amazing and insightful beta reader and helping me out with Very Important Things Like Commas and Temporal Issues In Middle Earth😍🤣 Extra special thanks to @legolasbadass (yes, again, OMG, you're so popular! 🤣) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and very deep discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚 Thank you everyone who showed their support for this story, you motivated me to continue writing 💙 You are the best readers in the world 🤩🤩🤩

Khuzdul: Lulkh - fool Yasthûnê - my wife ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam - [the] greatest sacrifice Adad - father Tharkûn - Gandalf

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ...

Thorin did not know how much time had passed. A few heartbeats? An hour? An eternity? Vaguely familiar shapes circled the darkening sky above him. Ravens? Eagles? He did not know that either. Thinking did not come easily any longer. His thoughts were muddled. His wound pulsed in pain with the rapidity of trickling blood. And he could not move. His foe’s blade had  pierced his body. Some unknown solid weight pressed him to the cold, unforgiving surface. It was difficult to breathe. His nostrils filled with the stench of Orc blood. The icy chill spread through his limbs. 

He opened his mouth, but only a whisper came out before Thorin lost the internal battle with his own body.

“Carra…”

Silence. Bird-shaped clouds in the sky. Snowflakes on his cheeks. Or perhaps tears. He could not keep his eyes open any longer. His mind slowly drifted off into the darkness.

***

“Uncle! Uncle Thorin!” A faraway voice invaded Thorin’s mind, stirring it awake. This voice sounded familiar. But he was tired. Too tired. The darkness beckoned, offering the comfort of oblivion. He needed to rest. Sleep.

“Look! Kili! He is here!” another voice replied, slightly deeper than the previous one. “Under that Orc carcass?” the first voice asked.

“There is so much blood… Isn’t that Azog?”

“Aye! Or what’s left of ‘im,” a third voice joined in. Older. Raspier. 

“Look at his back!” 

“Either that’s Orcrist’s tip or I’m the Goblin Queen! That son of a goat did it! Quickly now, lads, help me take that beast off Thorin. Fili, on my mark, pull!”

There was movement. More voices. Piercing pain. A dull grunt filled Thorin’s ears. Was it his own voice?

“He’s alive!”

“Thank Mahal! Uncle Thorin, can you hear me?”

“He’s unconscious, you lulkh!” “We need to get rid of that filthy Orc blade first. It’s stuck in ice.”

“Slowly now!” A sea of pain washed over Thorin, his whole body stiffening with each wave. But the darkness patiently waited for him and took him in its merciful arms once more.

***

“He’s still breathing!”

“Thorin, wake up! Wake up, ye lazy bastard!” someone growled straight into his ear. “Damn it!”

“Dwalin, look, we stopped the bleeding.”

Those voices again. Pulling Thorin back into consciousness. Into the pain and emptiness.

“Let’s finish dressing his wound and then we’ll take ‘im to Oín,” the growling one said. 

“What’s that, Fili?” the young, familiar voice said. “Where?” “Over there, by that pointy rock on the other side of the river.” 

“Looks like a dead Warg to me,” the one very close to him rasped out. A pair of hands kept on doing something to his chest. It hurt. He wanted it to stop. 

“Too small for a Warg, Dwalin. It’s… by Mahal’s beard!”

“Where are you going, Fili? Wait for me!” The first voice sounded irritated.

A sound of hurried footsteps. Iron-heeled boots against ice. 

“Those two can’t sit in one place in peace if their life depended on…” the raspily-sounding one grunted. “I tell ya, Thorin, when ye’re better, we’ll send them on guard duty. First morning shift for a month. That’ll teach ‘em!”

Somehow, it made Thorin want to smile. But now, even smiling hurt.

“It’s a raven! So big! Look at its wings! Why are you staring, Fili?” the youthful voice reached his ears again.

“I think it’s… the White Raven.”

“What?! It’s just a fairy tale!” “I’ve seen this raven before, Kili,” confidence rang in the second voice. “I think it followed us on the way to Erebor. It helped me fight off a Warg-rider in the Misties just before the eagles came.”

Thorin took a reluctant breath. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. 

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. There is so much blood… Is it dead, Fili?” “Let me see… That’s a nasty wound.”

Thorin’s muscles tensed. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to speak. But his body didn't want to obey.

And then he heard two gasps at the same time.

“What’s happening?”

“Do you see it too, Fili?”

“It’s… it’s magic!”

“No, it’s a shapeshifter!”

“Look! Look!”

“A woman?!”

Both voices intermingled in Thorin’s exhausted mind, making less and less sense. He needed to act. He needed to… He breathed in. The air smelled like snowdrops.

“Thorin! Ye’re back! And here I was thinkin’…” A tattooed forehead and a bushy moustache appeared before his eyes. “Stop squeezing my hand so hard!”

“Carra…” Thorin managed to rasp out. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“What are ye sayin’?” Dwalin demanded.

“Help…. her…” He tried again. “She is…” “What? I can barely hear ye.”

 The last wisps of strength were leaving him. He could feel the darkness beckoning to him once again. “Yasthûnê…” Thorin articulated slowly. “My… wife.”

***

Warm rays of sun gently caress Carra’s cheek, and she enjoys the sensation for a short while before opening her eyes. It takes her a moment to adjust to the bright light. She lays on soft ground, the strands of her silver-white hair interlacing with the lush green blades of grass. A multitude of colourful flowers adorns the meadow around her, their sweet fragrance wafting through the air, intertwining with the lazy buzz of bees. She rolls onto her back and stares at the perfectly clear blue sky above. Then she takes a deep breath. A distant echo of pain rings out in her mind, but there are no bruises or wounds on her body. 

When a puffy white cloud drifts into her blurred field of vision, Carra wipes off the wetness from her cheeks, stands up, and looks around. The endless meadow seems to stretch for miles in every direction. A soft breeze kisses her face, bringing the faint sound of water lapping against a distant shore. She follows it, and soon, a sparse grove of trees appears in front of her. Beyond it, she sees a stream, its silvery current sparkling in the sun. For a brief moment, an orange butterfly dances just above her nose and then flies off towards the meadow behind her. Carra’s eyes follow its flight when a curious harmony of sounds draws her attention back to the stream.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

It seems to be coming from across the stream, and Carra decides to find its source.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

As she walks through the grove, she encounters a young doe nibbling on a nearby shrub. It glances at her curiously and then trots away, as if deciding that Carra’s presence is disturbing its meal. 

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

Carra walks on, her bare feet sinking into the silky soft moss, step after step, until she finds herself at the edge of the grove. The stream is only several steps ahead. Its murmuring waters bring a hum of voices.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Ta-tap. Ta-tap. Tap.

An irritated sigh.

“Another broken thread?” A warm, feminine voice asks. It makes Carra think of spring in full bloom.

“Too many of them. It seems like another busy day for my husband.” Another woman speaks, her voice as melodious as the nearby stream.

“And you? You have been weaving since dawn,” the first one says.

“This pattern grows ever more complicated. It changes much too often for my taste these days.” The other woman sighs again. “Tell me that at least your work bears fruit.” “Some of these seeds refuse to sprout. The taint is spreading. I feel it in the earth.”

“The Fallen One is regaining his strength,” a third voice joins in. Deep and resonant. “I see his traces beyond the veil.”

Carra takes a careful step forward and focuses all of her attention at the opposite side of the stream. There, a garden of breathtaking beauty blooms before her eyes. Within it, she notices three silhouettes, the owners of the voices she hears. At first, their appearance seems similar to Elves, but soon after, Carra quickly understands her error. They are taller, their posture and movements are even more graceful, and there seems to be an otherworldly glow about them. Whenever she tries to look up into their faces, Carra has to squint—not only because of their radiance but also because their features seem to be ever-changing, fluid, like water in a mountain stream. Each of these noble figures is clad in finely ornamented robes that sway slightly when the same gentle breeze that brought her here plays with their hems.  

One of the ladies kneels on the ground, ignoring the dirt stains on her garments. Their fabric is as green as her eyes. Her right hand rests over the brown, freshly turned soil and wisps of chestnut hair fall over her eyes. The other lady, her hair wavy and black as night, sits by a strangely-looking wooden frame with numerous threads attached to this elaborate contraption. Their colours form an intricate, multi-level pattern that seems to grow—bloom—in all directions in Carra’s eyes. She immediately feels dizzy and has to look away. Then her attention focuses on the third figure that  joined the others a mere moment ago. A strapping man, his aspect equally stunning as those of his two companions, strolls towards them, his movements measured and dignified. As far as she can discern, he is clean-shaven, unlike Dwarves, and his long, white hair flows freely down his shoulders. In his hands, there is a silver jug, its surface glistening in the sun.

“Even though you bring morbid news, you are a welcome sight, brother-in-law!” the black-haired lady says, clasping her hands and moving away from her loom. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He bows reverently to his companions, and before they respond, he fills three silver cups with the contents of the jug.

Carra licks her parched lips.

“The sweet water from your fount!” The Green Lady stands up graciously and takes one of the cups. 

“I know how fond you are of its taste.” The man’s hair dances in the wind as he speaks. An orange butterfly flutters among his flowing strands. “You come bearing gifts but it is not why you are here.” The Weaver looks into his eyes.

“I have simply come to admire your weaving skills,” he offers.

“Dear Dreamer, you are curious about my winged children, are you not?” The Green Lady gives him a nod.

“It is only natural,” he refills her cup. “Some of them bear our blessing, do they not?” “Indeed they do.” The Weaver approaches him with her cup and states, “How interesting that you chose today of all days.”

“My visions are blurred. Inconclusive.” He stills, gazing up into the sky, and then turning his attention back to the two women. “Tell me, have our gifts to them remained a blessing or have they rather turned into a curse?”

The Weaver sits back at her loom and looks closely at the glistening fabric; her fingers run along some part of the pattern hidden from Carra’s sight. “Your children have been fulfilling their duties well. Although the youngest one tends to make my work a tad more challenging.”

“The youngest one?” the man frowns.

“The one with  wings dusted with silver.” The Green Lady takes a sip from her cup, her features schooled in a neutral expression.

“Silver? That certainly explains quite a bit. Your husband and his experiments…” The Weaver shakes her head. “Why now? Why this one?”

“I truly cannot say.”The Green Lady gives her an enigmatic smile and takes another sip. “But perhaps you would rather see her for yourselves.”

“Perhaps we would.” The Weaver’s fingers hover above the countless threads of her loom while the man nods. The butterfly lands on his shoulder, folding its orange wings.

“Very well. She has been listening to us long enough,” the Green Lady says, taking a look at the dark patch of planting ground under her feet. “Come, child.”

It takes Carra a blink of an eye to realise that she is not standing in the grove any longer. She gasps and blinks twice, but her eyes do not deceive her. Now she faces three luminous beings—in their garden across the stream.

“Great Mother!” she whispers and falls on her knees in front of the lady clad in green, bowing her head. In the presence of these great figures, blinded by their magnificent splendour, she feels like a feeble, featherless fledgling that fell out from its nest.

“Rise, Carra,” the Green Lady addresses her softly, and Cara does what she is told. “Do you know why you are here, my child?”

“I…” she croaks faintly, unable to stop staring into Great Mother’s incandescent face. A kaleidoscope of images fills her mind. The freezing ice. Thorin’s face when he notices her and his widened blue eyes. The Pale Orc, his teeth bare, with his blade pointed at her mate. Her bloodied talons clawing at Azog’s face. And then—darkness.

“I have died.” She hears her own voice. 

In a blink of an eye, the images are gone, dispelled like a wisp of smoke on the wind. Only the orange butterfly swirls around her head.

“Do you know, child,” there is a frown on the Weaver's face when she turns to Carra from above her loom, “how thin these threads are? How delicate? Even the slightest whiff of wind can change the pattern—or destroy it as if it was a spider’s net.”

“I have only tried to protect the pattern,” Carra swallows, feeling three pairs of eyes on her.

“You have saved some vital parts of it, that is true, but I hear that you also left us with tangles in the weave,” now her life-giver speaks, her eyes glistening like emerald waters of a fathomless lake.

“Forgive me, Great Mother. The line of Durin had to stay unbroken. I did my best. But I have failed,” Carra hears her own trembling voice. “Darkness clouded my dreams…”

“And so you staked out your own path, Silver One,” the Weaver speaks as if to herself, patting her index finger against her lips in reverie. “Which left us with all those new thread combinations.”

Then she exchanges a glance with her companions, and the man called Dreamer speaks.

“See for yourself,” his eyes, grey like a wolf’s fur, rest on Carra. First, he raises his eyebrow but then motions her towards a small rock basin. She can swear that this object has not been there a moment ago. He takes the silver jug and fills the basin with a narrow, glistening stream of water. The orange butterfly dances above it and then rises above their heads. The water’s surface resembles a mirror, and Carra’s eyes are drawn to the movement she seems to see in its depths.

Countless veins of silver run through coarse stone walls of a cave, glittering like gossamer strands that cover foliage at dawn, but instead of dewdrops, tears flow down from a Dwarf-woman’s cheeks, following the crevices of her wrinkled face. She wears a crown of snow-white braided hair and a dark blue robe with golden ornaments. In her weatherworn hand, she holds a piece of parchment with a green, rectangular seal at the bottom. Beside her sits a slightly hunched elderly Dwarf with bushy, grey whiskers and rows of faded tattoos on his bald head.

“Now we are the last ones, Dwalin,” the Dwarf lady sobs. “My boys… My brothers… And then Balin… Dain and his son… Gone.”

“Aye,” the old warrior gently closes his hand over hers. “But they will not be forgotten.”

“Gone…” Carra’s lips tremble as she stops herself at the last moment from touching the water. As she moves her hand back, a curtain of ripples falls over the image, changing the scenery.

The image of the familiar green and black shape of the Great Gate of Erebor fills the rock basin. An army of Dwarves rides to battle on their war rams, led by the King Under the Mountain. Carra recognizes his blade at once. Orcrist. It is Thorin! She gasps. The Raven Crown graces his temples frosted with grey. And his beard has the same colouring as her feathers. Silver-white. As the events unfold, she recognizes them from her past dreams. The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills join forces with the Men of Dale. The battle is long and bloody, but the allied forces ultimately crush their enemies. At that moment, the vision changes. She does not recognize this new detail. An armour-clad warrior rides from Dale on a white war ram. As soon as Thorin sees him, he dismounts, and soon both men greet each other with a strong embrace.

“The city is safe, adad!” The young warrior grins, taking off his helmet. The wind plays with his entangled hair, which seems to glow in the setting sun.

“You did well, Thráin,” Thorin replies, his gaze softening. He presses his forehead against Thráin’s and whispers, “You made me proud, son.”

A faint whiff of wind kisses the water’s surface, transforming it into a flurry of silvery ripples.

By a gilded cradle sits a young Dwarf-woman. Her chestnut hair glints as if enchanted with fire, contrasting with the snow-white laces of her sleeping gown. The mithril beads in her braids clink when she takes her babe into her arms, and a smile brightens her heart-shaped face.

“You will be a king one day,” she whispers lovingly, kissing her little one on his forehead. Quietly humming a sweet lullaby, she adjusts the blanket her son is wrapped in. Carra notices that its hem is embroidered with little black and golden ravens.

A sudden wrinkle on the water disturbs its surface, making the water glitter like diamonds.

A cold, pale sheen illuminates the green marble walls when the King Under the Mountain ensconces on his throne. The source of this light comes from a jewel of unmatched beauty set over the king's head. The golden and obsidian crown rests on his raven-black hair. But the ruler of Erebor, Thorin II Oakenshield, is not smiling. A deep, menacing frown darkens his face. In his hand, he holds a wide dwarvish sword. Blood drips from its tip onto the cracked marble floor. There is no red-haired Dwarf queen beside him. There are no children playing at his feet. There is only deathly silence. And the shadow he casts is that of a dragon.

When the visions finally fade, Carra finds herself staring into the bottomless depths of a pair of grey eyes. She does not notice when the orange butterfly lands on the edge of the empty jug.  

***

“Carra…” her name sounded like a helpless croak. Thorin’s throat was parched.

It took him a while to regain all of his senses and open his eyes. He lay on a large cot in a spacious tent that looked suspiciously like a work of Elvish hands. He grunted. Every single part of his body seemed to hurt. Bandages covered most of his torso, and he could not move his arm without inducing even more pain. 

A louder groan left his lips when he tried to sit up and failed. Something in the nearest corner of the tent moved.

“Your Majesty…” A young Dwarf in a healer’s tunic appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “You are awake!”

“Where…” Thorin coughed. Even breathing drained his strength.

“All is well, my lord. Try not to speak, please. The enemy is defeated. Erebor is once again ours.”

“Is… my…” His attempt at speaking failed once more.

“Your kin and companions are alive and well, Your Majesty.” A mug was pressed against his lips, and Thorin greedily drank its contents. He welcomed the sweet taste of water on his tongue. It probably came from the spring at Ravenhill.

Ravenhill.

His heart sank.

“Carra…? Where…?” he whispered. Every word felt like a struggle.

“Forgive me, my lord, who?” the healer frowned.

Thorin did not respond. He was already asleep.

***

“The White Raven?” Dain Ironfoot’s brow furrowed as he clutched a tankard in his hand. “Here, in Erebor? Are ye drunk, Fili?”

“It’d take more than a mug of ale to make me drunk, Uncle!” the young dwarf protested. “I swear on Mahal’s beard. She fought the Pale Orc together with Uncle Thorin and…”

“She?” said Agnarr, one of Dain’s captains who sat on his left, raising his eyebrows, which resembled a thick, black caterpillar.

“Aye! I found her myself! And then Tharkûn said… well, he didn’t want to say anything about her at first, but I convinced him to tell me…” Kili started with a mischievous smirk, only to be interrupted by his brother.

“He followed the wizard day and night and bombarded him with questions, until Tharkûn had enough,” Fili whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards Dain.

“Well, I convinced him, didn’t I?” Kili huffed. “The wizard said that if not for her, Thorin’s fate would have been very different! You saw that wound of his.” “Aye, if that orc blade went in a bit lower, he’d be resting in the catacombs together with the kings of old,” Ironfoot muttered under his breath.

“Exactly. Besides, before he left, Tharkûn mentioned something about treasure, too!”

“A treasure?” Dain Ironfoot asked.

Kili shrugged in response, “I don’t think he meant the gold in our mountain…”

“Wizards and their riddles…” Dori sighed, pouring himself another mug of ale.

“So ye’re telling me,” Dain demanded, “that a creature straight from our legends appeared out of thin air and fought the Pale Orc with Thorin? And that the White Raven is a woman?”

“And a pretty one, too!” Bofur winked. “That hair of hers…! White as snow!”

“More like silver-white to me,” Fili puffed out a cloud of pipeweed smoke.

“Was she not supposed to be a great bird? Like the legends say?” Dain grunted.

“She is!” Kili nodded eagerly. “I mean, she was a bird, but then she turned into a woman, I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Now she looks more like a Dwarf,” Fili added.

“A raven looking like a Dwarf?” Vari, son of Nari, another of Dain’s soldiers, scratched his bald head.

“And a bit like an Elf, too,” Kili grinned and waved his hand in the air. “She has pointy ears, you know. Ouch, Fili, why did you kick me?”

Dain groaned, “Pointy ears…? By Mahal’s beard, I think I need another mug of ale.”

“Are ye drinkin’ without us, ye sewer rats?” Dwalin appeared by the table, followed by his brother.

“We’re all celebratin’ our victory over the orcs and wargs!” Captain Agnarr pointed at the multiple groups of Dwarves gathered around them in one of the least ruined halls of the Lonely Mountain.

“There’s nothing better for a soldier’s morale than a few casks of the Iron Hills ale,” Balin sat beside him and poured two mugs—for himself and Dwalin. “What would you say about a toast?”

“To victory?” Ori proposed.

“We drank for that last time,” Vari shook his head. 

“If all you said is true, lads,” Drengi, a large dwarf, said, two golden teeth glinting in his mouth, “we should be toasting the White Raven.”

“To the White Raven!” strong voices echoed against the ceiling of the cavern as more dwarves joined the toast with their mugs raised into the air.

“To Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain!”

“To King Thorin!”

“To the Lonely Mountain!”

“To the Longbeards!”

In the growing racket, Balin turned to Fili and Kili.

“What did you tell them, lads?”

“Nothing much besides what we saw when we found Uncle Thorin after the battle,” Fili said.

“And that the White Raven helped us during the Quest,” added Kili. “Fili, I completely forgot! Remember what Uncle Thorin called her when we were taking him back to the Lonely Mountain?”

Fili nodded, but before he answered, Balin put his hand on Kili’s shoulder.

“That, my boy, is better left unsaid.”

“But Uncle Dain said that the King Under the Mountain will need a queen now and that he has a perfect candidate for Uncle Thorin. How can Uncle Thorin marry her if he…” Kili continued.

“This is the conversation that Thorin—and Thorin only—needs to have with Dain. Do you understand?” the elderly dwarf searched their faces solemnly.

“Aye, Uncle Balin, we do,” Fili reassured him.

***

“...since we moved his majesty into the Mountain. His fever has dropped and the wounds are healing well but he keeps on asking about someone named Carra.”

“Thank you, Nari, you were most helpful. Try to catch some sleep. I will stay with him now.” Words spoken in a soothing timbre of voice reached Thorin through the haze of dreams.

“Balin?” he blinked a few times, trying to chase the drowsiness away.

“I’m here, laddie,” a familiar silhouette in a burgundy robe stood before him. “You gave us a scare for a wee moment there.”

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling at the sight of the familiar face of his old mentor. As he attempted to sit up, an intense spike of pain ran through the left side of his body. The only thing he managed to do was lift his head slightly. At that moment, an additional pillow was placed beneath it. He grunted. At least the Dwarvish beds were much more comfortable than the Elvish ones.

“Carefully now, laddie. No sudden movements. Your foot needs time to heal properly. Your left shoulder and arm were badly injured too. The healers had to use a splint…” 

It was a challenge to focus on Balin’s words, but as the dizziness subsided, Thorin’s thoughts became more coherent. Various parts of his body ached, his left leg felt heavy, and he could not move his left arm—it was indeed encased in a splint, exactly like Balin said—but he was able to take a look around the room. Even if he did not recognize this particular place, he recognized its walls hewn from the same greenish rock as the walls of the old chambers he used to live in as a young prince. A lifetime ago. And now, he was home again. Home.

“Tell me everything. Is Erebor safe?” With a pained grunt, he turned towards Balin. 

“Aye. Worry not, the Mountain is well-protected. Dain is here with his warriors. We are working on making our home liveable again,” Balin replied, patting Thorin’s right hand, which lay on the bed. “You did well, laddie. The corridors and caverns are echoing with stories about the return of the King Under the Mountain who killed the Pale Orc and avenged his esteemed grandsire.”

Killed. He swallowed, attempting to ignore the memories of that fight that came back to him like an unstoppable flood—and of the price he paid to survive. Or rather, the price someone else paid for him. He lost her.

“King? Me? A Dwarf who succumbed to the curse that plagues his house? Who valued hoarded gold over…” With a sneer, Thorin looked away, his voice hollow. “I am not worthy of that title, Balin. Not any longer.”

“Do you remember that audience in the throne room when King Thrór met with the refugees from the White Mountains? You were still a prince at that time.”

“How could I forget? Not only did I break protocol, but also I interrupted Grandfather. I declared that if he would not send his troops, I would fight the Orcs who invaded their homes—on my own. Mother was truly ashamed of me on that day. And Father would not speak to me for a month.” “Ah, the impulsiveness of youth,” Balin nodded. “But you have always had your heart in the right place. Do you remember what I told you on that very day?”

“Life is like a battle. When you fall, you have to rise again and fight. Otherwise you lose,” Thorin said under his breath. He recalled the countless nights when he whispered those words to himself, lying on the hard ground, far from home, when the thought of retribution was the only thing that drove him forward.

 “We reclaimed our homeland thanks to you. You overcame the curse and led us to victory. You have fought and won this great battle, Thorin,” the elderly Dwarf spoke softly.

“I did not. Not alone,” Thorin admitted, unable to look Balin in the eye, his throat constricted. Something ached in his chest, and it was not his wound. “I had help.”

“Indeed. I saw the Pale Orc’s corpse. It bore marks of dwarven weapons… and others that bore resemblance to talons and a beak,” the older Dwarf said.

Thorin did not reply. Not because he chose not to speak but because the right words would not come to him.

After a pause, his mentor added, “Fili claims that he heard a deafening sound, like a large bird’s screech, only moments before they caught sight of you on the frozen river.”

“A screech…” Thorin repeated to himself. Something stirred in his mind; Azog’s hideous grimace, the ice beneath him reverberating with a strange sound that filled the air, and the moment when the tip of Orcrist’s blade plunged into the Orc’s chest. He blinked several times. His own words rang in his ears.

“Carra, no!”

He remembered the darkness that came afterwards. And pain.

 A life for a life.

It should have been him.

Balin’s voice seemed to come from far away.

“... I heard the guards retelling the old legends of the White Raven. And a new tale is spreading through Erebor: a story about a large, white-feathered raven that bravely fought by the King Under the Mountain’s side at Ravenhill,” he said.

Thorin remained silent, staring at the white sheets that covered him. White as ice on that day. White as the feathers in her wings. He felt cold.

Silence seemed to stretch between them like the bottomless chasm beneath the Mountain until Balin spoke again. 

“Help me understand this, laddie.” 

Reluctantly, Thorin’s fingers found the leather band strung around his neck and pulled it from under the blankets that covered him. His old friend’s eyes widened at the sight of a silver-white feather.

“The White Raven…” The words in Thorin’s mouth tasted like ash. “Carra. I have known her for most of my life. After Smaug's attack, she left her nest behind and followed me to the Blue Mountains.” Thorin met his mentor’s eyes. 

“The White Raven... The stuff of legend, eh?” Balin hummed, examining the feather with reverence.

“I am aware of what it must sound like. Legend or not, she is real. She was,” he corrected himself, swallowing hard. “At Ravenhill… Had she not intervened, Azog would have taken my life. She chose ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam and gave her life for me instead.”

“Thorin… By Mahal’s hammer, laddie, what are you saying?” The feather fell from his mentor’s hand onto the bed. “’Ugbalul ’uhaskhajam, the act of sacrificing one’s life in battle to protect another, is only performed by one’s kin!”

“Or a spouse,” explained Thorin flatly.

Balin looked down at the silver-white feather and then glanced towards the door before speaking again.

“Dwalin told me that you spoke of a wife,” the elderly Dwarf said. “We thought it might have been your feverish mind speaking, nothing more.”

“It was not. She is… Carra was my wife, Balin.” His own whisper sounded hollow.

Balin stayed silent for a few heartbeats and then cleared his throat, as if deciding on something.

“That certainly explains quite a bit—including a very curious occurrence. You see, Thorin, after the battle, we did not find any signs of this revered bird at Ravenhill. Instead, there is a strange woman of mysterious provenance in our infirmary, and the healers…”

“Here, in Erebor?! Alive?” Thorin grabbed Balin’s sleeve, seeing him nod. “Tell me, what colour is this woman’s hair?!”

“Her hair is like this feather: white, dusted with silver,” his mentor replied. “She lives and is under good care. We brought her into the Mountain together with you, but...”

“Thank Mahal!” Thorin rested on his right arm, lifting his upper body as much as he could. “Balin, take me to her at once!”

Swiftly, he moved to the side in an attempt to rise from the bed while a pang of pain shot through his body, sudden like lightning. He fell onto his pillows, taking deep breaths and fighting a wave of dizziness.

“I am afraid you are in no shape to walk, laddie,” Balin rested his hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You are on the mend, but the healers say that you will need time to…”

“Balin! By Mahal’s beard!” Thorin fisted his hand, trying to curb his temper and ignore the pain. “Do you not understand? I need to see her!”

“You are as stubborn as your grandfather,” the elderly Dwarf shook his head in defeat. “Let me talk with Nari and see what can be done. I will be back in a jiffy.”

Balin’s jiffy felt like an eternity to Thorin, but he waited, albeit impatiently.

Carra was alive.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟

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[fireflylitsky]

Here, have a pinned post

Hello and welcome to, uh, yeah whatever this hot mess is *gestures loosely to entire blog*.

I’m a novice writer, artist, and most importantly, far too lazy to have a bunch of organized sideblogs for separating out my own art/writing, reblogs, and shitposts, so welcome to my personalized serotonin dumpster—the gang’s all here. If you care to sift through its contents, this stuff below might help.

A lot of my posting is Naruto related—the akatsuki specifically—but you’ll find a mishmosh of Stuff n’ Things™ as I tend to hyper-fixate on whatever's clever for me at any given moment (but always return home to Naruto—idk what that says about me tbh, but I’ve accepted it and you should too).

I always tag characters and ships and sometimes add semi-intelligible thoughts that no one needs. Otherwise, here are some recurring tags:

#firefly art - My art

#firefly writing - My writing or talking about writing

#firefly snippets - Drabbles/small one-shots for prompt fills

#art for a fic - Art I’ve either drawn, been gifted, or commissioned specifically for a posted fic

#art commission - Art I’ve commissioned

#OC: Izumi - Art of my main Naruto OC, Izumi

#GIVE SAKURA KUBIKIRIBOCHO or #Sakura with a big sword - Art of Sakura with the executioner’s blade, Kubikiribocho. Why yes, it is my fetish, thank you for noticing.

Fic Masterlist:

I have some fics of varying length, completeness, and quality; with rare exception, you can count on them being Akatsuki-centric. In no particular order...

Chaptered Fics Naruto Fandom:

Oh Honey, There Goes Your Bastard (58/? chapters, 334k words) OC/Canon, OC/Itachi, OC/Hidan, Hidan/Itachi, OC/Hidan/Itachi / Canon Divergent AU / Explicit #Fic: oh honey there goes your bastard

Sweet Vertigo (6/? chapters, 29k words) KakuHida / Modern Omegaverse AU / Explicit #Fic: sweet vertigo

Please Mr. Postman (7/12 chapters, 25k words) KakuHida / Modern Masks as Dogs AU / Slice of Life Drama with Dark Themes / Mature #Fic: please mr postman

Yokai Sunset (7/? chapters, 40k words) KisaSaku / Canon Divergent Timeskip Post-apocalyptic Yokai AU / Horror/ Romance / Mature #Fic: yokai sunset

Come As You Are (1/3 chapters, 4.7k words) HidaObi / Modern Omegaverse Meet Ugly Modern AU / Mature/Explicit #Fic: come as you are

Issue Paper (6/12 chapters, 42.8k words) ObiKonan / Modern ETL Coffee Shop Holiday AU / Mature/Explicit #Fic: issue paper

One Shots Naruto:

Don’t You Cry, Don’t You Cry (4.8k words) KakuHida (T4T) / Canon compliant AU / Mature #Fic: don’t you cry don’t you cry

Alive With The Glory of Love (2.2k words) KakuHida (T4T) / Canon compliant AU / Explicit #Fic: alive with the glory of love

The Great Pumpkinshark (1.2k words) KakuHida & Fuu & cool Uncle Kisame / Modern AU / Mature #Fic: the great pumpkinshark

I Promise This Won’t Happen Again (1.5k words) KakuHida / Canon Divergent Kakuzu as a Reaper AU / Teen and Up #Fic: I promise this won’t happen again

Lost and Hopefully Not Found (2.6k words) KakuHida & Fuu / Canon Divergent AU / Teen and Up #Fic: lost and hopefully not found

Flawless Teamwork (1.3k words) KakuHida / Modern AU / Teen and Up #Fic: flawless teamwork

Yokai Sunset: One-shot (11.5k words) KisaSaku / Canon Divergent Timeskip AU / Explicit / Dubcon

One Shots Undead Unluck:

Middle of The Night (10.2k words) Anfuu / Canon compliant AU / Explicit#Fic: middle of the night

[star-dust-shark]

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers!!!

1. My boyfriend

2. My taste in men

3. My type of guys

4. The guy I’m dating

5. My choice in romantic relationships

I’ll tag cuz I’m lazy

@crowwolf8 @nobody-important-fuck-life @justagremlinoncaffeine @jarnshell @imasimpdealwithit @imqueerandadeer @four-leafed-queer-gal @aftonunknown5472 @37x3 @one-eye-bastard

[livwritesstuff]

couldn’t stop thinking about this, so here’s a followup :)

When Eddie does eventually get a tattoo for Steve, it’s on a whim.

Kind of on a whim.

He hadn’t forgotten about the idea by any means, but he had yet to come up with an idea that came even close to encapsulating the love Eddie had for Steve, so he waited.

Then, one day, around a year and a half after their initial conversation on the subject and when Steve and Eddie were enjoying a lazy morning arguing over the grocery list (Steve wants to try a new pasta salad recipe, the fancy bastard, and Eddie just wants him to make the same cheesy marinara pasta sauce he’s been fiending over for years), Steve gets called into the hospital.

His second-to-last clinical rotation for his psychology doctorate sent him to the psych floor of a nearby emergency room, which has meant, for the first time, Steve is on-call even when he’s not scheduled to be at the hospital.

Steve is miserable — the most miserable Eddie’s ever seen him when it comes to his psych program — and annoyed with the school for assigning it to him when there had apparently been others available that were closer to how he actually wants to use his doctorate when he finally earns it, but, like he tends to, he’s being a decent sport about it.

He’s on the phone with his C.I. affirming that he’ll be in as soon as he can when he picks up a pen, grabs Eddie’s wrist, and scribbles fresh mozzarella, penne, tomatoes, lemon juice on the underside of his forearm. Below that he writes love you, and below that he adds - S, followed by a heart, a sideways smiley face, and a star, like Eddie’s seen him do hundreds of times. It’s how he signs off every post-it note stuck to the fridge, every message swiped into the fogged-up bathroom mirror, every letter he folds up and mails to Robin or Nancy or both or some other member of the Party.

Eddie isn’t even totally sure Steve realizes he’s doing it, that maybe he just likes that first doodled heart so much he can’t help but keep going, but he loves it either way. It’s sweet and charming and cute and just so, so Steve that it almost hurts.

Steve presses a swift kiss onto Eddie’s lips before making a bee-line for the door, still on the phone with his C.I, and Eddie’s mind is moving so fast he can’t sit with it anymore, so he jumps to his feet, checks his wallet to see if he’s got cash (he does), and then he too is on his way out the door.

Thankfully, at eleven on a Tuesday morning, his tattoo artist is accepting walk-ins, and before his brain completely catches up to his beating heart, he’s got Steve’s words (minus the groceries, obviously) in his neat writing and his heart, smile, and star tattooed on his forearm and it’s fuckin’ perfect and Eddie couldn’t be happier.

Steve returns sooner than Eddie thought he would — before dinner, which is still late, but not as late as it usually is whenever he gets called into the hospital — and as he lets himself into their apartment, Eddie meets him at the door.

“Hey,” Steve says with a tired smile, “Hungry?”

“Look!” Eddie ignores him, holding out his arm so Steve can see the tattoo through the protecting plastic wrap.

Steve looks down blankly at it for a moment or two before the corner of his mouth upticks just slightly.

“You...you did this today? From the-the stupid thing I wrote?”

“Yeah,” Eddie grins, “Isn’t it great. i’m so fuckin’ thrilled with it, man. It’s just — it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s-” Steve shakes his head like he always does when he’s being bashful, “If you say so.”

He pulls Eddie into a tight hug, which Eddie immediately reciprocates, pressing his lips to Steve’s neck.

“I really love you,” Steve says.

“Love you too,” he replies, “in case that wasn’t clear.”

And Steve is pulling away, so Eddie catches the way he smiles as he shakes his head again. Steve’s eyes travel to the kitchen and then snap back to his own.

“Wait, so did you get the groceries?”

“Ah - fuck.”

part 3

[abby-the-druid]

Love Language 3

In which Naruto defends innocence.

“So, wait, have you, like, not done it before?” Sasuke’s voice was low, his hand was still kind of resting on her cheek from plucking a soft pink eyelash from her skin, the other was resting at the waistband of her jeans, fingers not so innocently pressing her skin underneath.

Sakura inhaled, glanced away from him, words on the tip of her tongue, when the front door slammed open.

“Honey! I’m home!” Naruto’s voice resonated through the kitchen, and at the sound Sakura felt her cheeks flush with warmth almost frantically pulling her legs off of Sasuke’s lap. “Oh! Sakura-chan’s shoes are here. Bastard you better not be tainting our lovely Sakura-chan!” the blond head of their best friend poked around the door, and in Sakura’s rush to meet his gaze with as much innocence as possible she mostly missed the dusting of pink on Sasuke’s cheeks and the removal of his hand from her hip.

Naruto’s blue eyes narrowed, darting from Sasuke’s hand still poised in the air near Sakura’s face, to the woman’s crimson cheeks, and finally noting the way their knees were touching on the orange couch.

“Bastard,” his eyes slipped to his friend, a single blond brow high on his forehead. “Why are you so close to Sakura-chan?”

Sakura’s green gaze flowed to Sasuke, and she was surprised to see that he had already fought the dusting of pink away, his face had fallen into a mask of neutrality as he lifted his hand in the air.

“She had an eyelash that was bothering her, so I removed it.” He shrugged and before Naruto could demand proof, Sasuke dropped his hand and wiped the lash onto his jeans.

“Ah,” Naruto’s face screwed up a little. “You never sit that close to me to examine my eyes when I have something in them.”

“Yea because you’re a loser.” Sasuke replied smoothly, shifting to stand, and shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I'm gonna do some studying, I’ll catch you guys later.” he said evenly, moving to leave the room.

“Uh, Sasuke!” Sakura peeped, the black-haired man stopped and looked at her from the periphery of his glasses. She both wanted Naruto to fuck right off so they could continue their conversation, so she could nuzzle back into his lap and his warmth, but she was also kind of terrified that once that particular conversation happened that maybe things wouldn’t be so easy between them.

Easy besides hiding their maybe kind of sort of definitely probably relationship from all of their friends and families.

“Thanks for getting that damn thing out of my eye.” She said lamely. He nodded and stepped out of the room.

Naruto’s blue eyes glazed over her, but whatever signs he was looking for Sakura wasn’t certain. He shifted so that his hands were knotted behind his head. “Don’t mind the bastard,” he said easily, smiling. “He’s always kind of weird like that. He takes after his dad.”

“I remember Fugaku,” Sakura said quietly, mind bringing forth images of an severely intense man.

“Oh yea, I forgot we were all in school together for fourth grade before you guys moved.” He chuckled. “Fugaku never changed.” Naruto seemed to contemplate something for a brief moment, before shaking his head and nodding towards the door. “Are we still on to go to the movies? Lazy Ass texted and said he and Temari were coming along too.”

She supposed Lazy Ass was another one of their odd friend names and shrugged. “Yea, I’m still down to go.” She tucked a few pieces of bubblegum pink hair behind her ear. “Did Sasuke not want to go too?”

“No idea,” Naruto said, shuffling into the kitchen. “He never comes along to these things anyways, so I kind of stopped asking him about it years ago.” He kept talking from the other room, and Sakura heard him rummaging through cupboards and the iconic pop of a top of instant ramen and the faucet running shortly thereafter. He stepped back into the room and leaned against the wall as the microwave hummed. “I suppose we could ask him though, if you want.” His blue eyes rested on her too clearly and then he grinned. “Though from what I remember he never did like romcoms anyway.”

“Is that what we’re going to see?”

“Yea, I think Hinata and Ino decided which one this time. There was talk of it maybe being a scifi flick, but I have no idea. I just like seeing her smile.” His face grew tender, a calm smile and almost wistful eyes, and Sakura’s heart squeezed a little at her friends' happiness. They were quiet until the microwave beeped, and before he walked away to get his food, he nodded towards the short hallway.

“Sasuke’s door is on the left, if you want to invite him. I’m gonna eat really quick, we’ve got maybe 30 minutes to get there.”

She nodded, and stood, stretching a little as she stepped towards the hallway. This was the first time she had been past the common areas of the apartment and her heart fluttered a little nervously in her chest.

She knocked delicately on the door, for some reason feeling quite anxious about maybe intruding on his personal space. Barely a heartbeat passed when she heard him mutter “come in” and she opened the door and hesitantly took a step inside.

The room wasn’t really what she expected it to be. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the walls which were covered in a collage of posters, band advertisements, comic book characters, shitty drawings that were drawn by his friends, and photography depicting said friends and nature. Sasuke was sitting at his desk, laptop and notes open, and his glasses were pushed on the top of his head while he rubbed at his eyes.

“What’s up?” he ended up yawning before wiping a final time at his face and situating his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

Sakura, who was still taking in the room, noting there were a few thriving pothos sitting on the ledge of the window his desk faced and another on a bookshelf that was near collapse from the sheer number of books, comics, and notebooks stuffed on its suffering shelves. She inhaled, a mix of salt water and pine filled her lungs, before she pasted on a smile. “We’re going to the movies; I didn't know if you wanted to come along or not.”

The young man swiveled in his chair to face his computer while waving a hand towards his bed before his fingers clacked on the keyboard. “What movie are you guys going to see?”

She gingerly sat down on the blood red duvet on his bed and eyed the pile of plush pillows stacked invitingly against the wall. “I’m not actually sure, I guess Hinata and Ino are picking, and Naruto said it’s some kind of romcom that might be a scifi crossover?”

“Is it that Astral Ocean movie?”

“I have no idea, but I guess we only have like 30 minutes to decide.”

He went ahead and googled the movie title, and seemingly satisfied with the synopsis to some capacity, simply shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I just have to change.”

Sakura shifted on the bed and Sasuke shook his head. “You’re fine.” She settled back into her original position and attempted not to stare dumbly at him when he stripped his black t-shirt off over his head and stepped over to a pile of clothes on his floor.

He stretched over, skin pulled taught along the edges of his shoulder blades, lifting a few different pieces of fabric to his nose, wrinkling it and tossing them into a different pile before finding one that passed his requirement and slipped the fabric on and hiding his soft, pale skin from her vision. Sakura swallowed and looked down at her fingers, picking at the skin in her nail beds.

The bed shifted beside her as Sasuke sat down. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet, the brief view of his skin had sent her heart throbbing in a way she didn’t quite know was possible. He reached out to her with tender hands and tilted her chin until she was looking at him. His touch was warm, breath fanning along her pinkening cheeks, as his eyes darted around her face. Looking into her eyes, her mouth, and her eyes again. He dipped closer, mouth slanting against hers, black fringe tickling along her nose and cheekbones. Her tongue had only just gained entrance to his mouth when:

“There’s absolutely no way you’re still plucking an eyelash off of her skin.”

Sasuke and Sakura jumped apart, hearts racing and flushing, necks snapping around to look at Naruto, who was leaning innocently enough against the open frame of Sasuke’s door. He had a playful smile on his mouth, a blond brow raised at them in a challenge.

“Loser,” Sasuke turned away from his roommate, lips pursed in an almost pout. “What d’you want?”

The blond laughed and bounded into the room, throwing himself in the sliver of space between Sasuke and Sakura. Before either of them could stop him, he reached out with both arms to tug them each into a one-armed hug.

“You’re not even going to deny it! You’re not even going to deny it!” Naruto sang, placing a kiss onto Sasuke’s temple and then another onto Sakura’s between laughs.

“I never denied it,” Sasuke shot back, trying but failing to hide his own smile.

Sakura squirmed a little in Naruto’s strong grasp and grumbled quietly at him “You didn’t even ask my opinion on what was happening earlier.”

“Oh, oh,” Naruto turned his megawatt smile on her. “What’s your opinion on what was happening earlier??” he let go of their necks and half-heartedly tickled her sides.

“Naruto!” She giggled and Sasuke sat up and pushed his hair back into some semblance of order. “We were totally making out dirty style.” She tried to employ some type of seriousness in her voice, but she was laughing too hard.

“Ew,” Naruto playfully pulled away from her. “How could you ever taint the innocence of our little bastard?” he turned to look at Sasuke, reaching out to him. “What has she done to you my sweet angel?”

“As if Sasuke is the innocent one here.” Sakura joked as Sasuke pushed Naruto’s hands away.

“Ahh you’re right I already ruined him when I gifted him my uncle’s Icha Icha series.”

“Wait you gifted him the series?” Sakura’s jaw dropped and eyes widened. “Wait, Jiraya is your uncle!? Can I meet-”

“No!” Sasuke and Naruto said simultaneously.

Sakura scowled and Naruto wrinkled his nose and made a face at Sakura that made her smile.

“Yea he’s totally a perv,” Naruto added, scratching at a whiskered cheek as he stretched out his legs. “Never in my life would I introduce you to him, he’ll get all handsy, and just blech.”

Sasuke stood, scooped a large grey striped hoodie from his floor, and stepped over to his computer, tapping on the mousepad before shifting around to look at Naruto. “Didn’t you say we only had like 30 minutes until the movie starts?”

“Shit, what time is it?” Naruto pulled out a battered cell phone, blue eyes growing wide. “Shit, yea, I’ll drive us!” The blond skittered out of the room to grab his wallet, keys, and shoes. A second later a thud sounded as he skidded into a wall. “Fuck, ouch.”

Sakura smiled shaking her head as Sasuke offered her his hand. “Is it okay that Naruto knows?” she asked tentatively, taking his digits and smoothing out her oversized sweater.

Sasuke brushed her hair out of her face, letting his fingers gently untangle some of the soft pink strands, eyes tracing along her skin. He shrugged. “He knows what Fugaku is like.” Both of his hands came up to cup her jaw, thumbs brushing over her earlobes. “He’ll keep quiet.”

She nodded at him, and he met her mouth again briefly.

“Jesus, guys, stop making out! We have to go!” Naruto called from the kitchen. The pair shared a smile with each other before separating and jogging after their friend.