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eowynstwin · 1 month ago

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peristalsis - i.

selkie!soap x reader. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

When your mother asks you if you’re planning to kill yourself, you have to lie to her.

To be fair to you, it’s a half-lie. You have no plans. Courage, you find, is as slippery as an eel in gloved palms—you don’t actually think you could do it if you tried. You’re deeply averse to pain of the bloody sort, and doing the deed would take a will and an energy you don’t really have.

But still. You’ve stopped looking both ways when crossing a street. You forget the stove is on, hot oil in the pan popping like the report of a handgun. The sound of shattering glass is the only thing that makes your heart sit calm in your chest, and the only thing that can make you fall asleep anymore is the notion that when you die, the earth will welcome the molecules of your body back into its folds.

So a half-lie is not the truth. You sit in the terminal, the afternoon smell of airport coffee in your nose as you swear to your mother that you’re not looking for a cliff to jump off of, or a convenient wave to pull you under. You’ve always wanted to visit Scotland, remember?

You can’t tell if she believes you. Probably not. People not planning to kill themselves don’t blow their savings on a first class ticket over the Atlantic with no scheduled return flight.

Especially not after quitting their job.

The flight over the Atlantic is uneventful. Quiet as money can buy. You sip champagne at your window seat, recline as far back as you can go, and watch the ocean, far, far below. Its depths exceed, you remember, the heights at which humanity can fly—but you can’t really tell, looking at it from so far above. It looks like nothing less than a thin veneer stretched overtop the crust of the earth. A puddle that could barely cover the soles of your feet.

There’s not a single murmur of turbulence across the fifteen hours you’re in the air. Much that you might’ve welcomed it.

Your connecting trip to the Hebrides is much shorter. The massive sprawl of Glasgow shrinks and recedes as you leave it behind, replaced not long after by a spit of an island chain that, from a distance, hardly looks worth populating.

You land on Barra, on a sandy stretch of beach still wet and compact from the receding tide. There’s a cottage here with your name on the rental agreement for the next month, and your mind is already there ahead of you, thinking about arranging your toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom counter and sitting and listening to nothing but cold island wind in the grass. The cottage’s owner has graciously agreed to drive you there.

When you step off the plane, you miss him at first. You’re expecting someone completely different—an older man in cable knit, perhaps more mustache than face, and the morose demeanor of someone for whom sunlight is as common on the island as veins of gold. So your eyes skip over the younger man, even despite the sign he’s holding with your name on it.

But then you look again. Because with a man like him, you can’t not look again.

He’s wearing a sweater, sure. But he also looks like a rugby team maverick—burly and tall, rugged, tattooed, flaunting a dumb haircut because he’s handsome enough to get away with it.

He stands out from the few people in the airport as if the whole world has adjusted its lens to bring him into focus, sharpening his image such that anything in his periphery is too blurry to notice. He does not in the slightest look like he rents out an old fisher’s croft in the least popular place in Scotland.

But then you catch your name. Do a double take. Clutch your suitcase handle a little tighter, because when you approach, the man’s eyes widen, look you up and down, and then crease with a too-confident smile.

“Bonnie!” he exclaims when you introduce yourself. He has a deep, rough voice, burred and low. More still, he’s kilted, plaid hanging at muscular knees, with an odd speckled pelt slung around his hips.

You’ve never seen that before—maybe it’s an islander thing.

“You must be Mr. John MacTavish,” you say. Up close, there’s a weathered look to him, as if buffeted by the salt in the wind.

“Johnny’s fine,” he says, winking. His eyes are a lively, vibrant blue. The color of the ocean in some place much nicer than this one. “Welcome to Scotland!”

Then, incredibly, “Johnny” pulls you into a hug before you even realize what’s happening, brawny arms closing around you like the noose of a snare. You go rigid—what the hell?—but this man, whom you have met only just now, doesn’t seem to notice, compressing you against the blazing pillar of his body in an embrace that flattens your lungs behind your ribs.

“Um,” you manage. He smells like axe body spray and diesel fuel, and cold ocean wind. It wipes the forefront of your mind blank, like sweeping an arm across drawings etched in sand.

After at least five whiplashed beats of your heart, Johnny pats your back several times and lets you go, grinning.

“Sorry, bonnie. Scots are huggers.”

Then without warning, he reaches for the handle of your suitcase, warm hand nudging aside your own. “Let’s get you down there ‘fore the tide comes in. Canny wait t’show you the place, I fixed it up m’self.”

You let him take your luggage and follow; he sets off at an energetic clip that you struggle to keep up with. He gestures with his free hand as he talks, motions rising and falling with the tenor of his voice.

“You know you’re m’first guest? Was startin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to sell the place, no one seemed all that interested. Guess I can see why, no internet, barely any signal. Me, I think that’s a good thing, people spend too much time on their phones, y’know?”

You make a noncommittal noise.

Were you this cold before he let go of you?

“But it’s a great little place to get away, I promise you, nice and quiet, and I updated everything m’self. Radiator in the bedroom and everything!”

Another noise from you.

Thankfully, you reach his car—a small truck, older than the both of you, with only one row of seats and what looks like large spools of rope in the bed. Johnny pauses briefly to secure your suitcase beside them with a couple of bungee cords, and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in.

“It’s not too far from town too,” he continues as he slides into the driver’s seat. You attach your seat belt. He does not. “You got your essentials there. A supermarket—think you call ‘em grocery stores? There’s that and a cafe and a pub. No bank though, so let’s get cash now if you need it.”

“I have some.” You’d exchanged for a few hundred pounds in Glasgow.

“Good! You want to stop by the store? Took the liberty of filling up the fridge too, but if there’s somethin’ you want—”

“No,” you say.

“Alrigh,’” says Johnny.

You feel his eyes on you—when you look at him, he’s smiling again. You are not pleased to find, through the benefit of close proximity, that he has dimples.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothin,’” he says.

Johnny drives you across the causeway from Barra to Vatersay, the latter of which, he helpfully informs you, is populated by less than a hundred people.

“More wildlife than anything,” he comments, as the ocean outside the window passes by. The water is dull and gray, hidden from the sun by an overcast sky. “That’s what the tourists come for. You here to see the seals?”

“Seals?” you ask.

“Aye,” Johnny says, grinning. “They come here for breeding season.”

You ignore the quirk of his eyebrows.

The cottage stands alone, a ways out from the island’s main village at the top of a modest hillock. Island grasses sway along the dirt road as Johnny directs the truck upwards, coming to a stop a few meters away from the house proper.

It’s quaint. Thatch roof, cobbled walls. A generator hooked up on one side. There are flower boxes flanking the front door, although nothing’s in bloom; it’s the wrong season for it. The window frames are unpainted, and the glass panes, despite looking recently cleaned, are crusted with salt at the corners.

And it’s smaller than it looked in the pictures online. Even close up to it, the blue-grey sky overhead, swimming with dun-colored clouds, swallows it up.

You exit the truck into a cold breeze that tugs at the collar of your fleecy sweater. You’d read online that this time of year was the last gasp of summer into the autumn months in the Hebrides—it hardly feels that way, with the chill that drags its fingers across your hairline.

“It’s on a septic tank so y’ve got alright plumbing,” Johnny goes on, hefting your suitcase over one brawny shoulder. “Canny say much for the water pressure in the shower, but other than tha’ it’s alright. Matters more that it’s hot, ‘f you ask me—and it is! Come on, I’ll give y’the tour.”

The cottage is not big enough to warrant one. Johnny shows you the four rooms—kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom—in under five minutes. It ends with him leaned up against the counter, arms folded genially across his plush chest, grinning at you like he knows some embarrassing secret of yours.

“Was thinkin,’” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw with one thumbnail, “this’d be kind of a honeymoon thing, y’know? That woman with the time travel show, lots a’folks been comin’ here lately ‘cause a’her.”

“Is there anything else to do here besides look at seals?” you ask.

Soap gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. “I dinnae think you leave the bedroom much on a honeymoon, do you?”

You flush. “I never really thought about it.”

“So you’re no’ married, then?”

“No. Not—not interested.”

Johnny lifts one brow. “In marriage?”

“In anything.”

He keeps fucking smiling. You have a barely controllable urge to smack him; you settle for wringing the hem of your sweater, imagining it could be his neck.

“So what brings y’here, then?” he asks, tilting his head like a cat playing with its food. “If no’ a honeymoon?”

You frown.

The truth is, of course, that nothing brought you here. Vatersay, nor the Hebrides, nor Scotland itself were actually of any consequence. You’re ambivalent about the ocean, and you certainly don’t care about seals.

You just hadn’t been able to think of anything you wanted when you asked yourself that perennial question. You wanted nothing.

You wanted nothing.

So you found as much nothing as you could and bought the soonest first class ticket heading toward it.

Your only stipulation had been no language barrier—so here you are now, cursing the lack of such, because it means this man, who belongs on this island no more than you do, is bothering to try and talk to you.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” is what you decide to say.

“Needed a change, aye?” Johnny nods sagely, as if understanding. “I did too, when I came here. Was in the army. Special forces.”

“O-okay,” you say, because you hadn’t asked.

“Didnae plan to stay,” he continues.

He turns his head to look out the kitchen window; on one temple is the ghost of a scar. A starburst-ripple in the shaved side of his dark hair—nothing more.

But something about it suggests that the wound it closed around was a horror to behold.

Then he turns back to you, the corners of his mouth quirked. “But somethin’ about this place is hard to leave.” The quirk turns into another smarmy grin “Bet when your month’s up, you’ll know what I mean.”

It seems rude to say probably not. “Maybe.”

The radiator in the kitchen breathes a swell of warm air through the room, blooming with Johnny’s diesel-and-ocean scent. There’s very little space between you, him against the counter, you across from him at the sink. Johnny’s bulk claims what little room there is to maneuver, and if you tried to move away, it would require first moving closer.

“So,” you begin.

“Here,” he intercedes. “Wanna show you somethin.’”

The only reason you comply is because he leads you outside, which is a step closer to him finally leaving you alone. Johnny circles around the cottage, revealing a footpath that leads down the hill. The ground transitions from soil to sand as you both walk; the wind picks up as the sound of waves grows. Eventually you reach what turns out to be a small cove, hidden by the curve of the island, flanked on both sides by cliffs of only middling height.

The tide is only now making its way in; probably why you hadn’t realized it was here earlier. You think you’ll be able to hear the waves when you go to sleep tonight.

“Oh,” you say, unable to hide that it’s impressed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, smug. “All yours. Come down whenever you like. Dinna recommend skinny dippin’ this time a’year, though.”

You look at him, intending some sort of flat response, but what you see stops your words up in the chamber of your throat.

There’s something…different about him. There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A dangerous cant to the angle of his grin. He suddenly feels very real to you—

Like standing in front of a wild animal.

Realizing, at the same time it does, that there is no barrier between it and you.

He looks you up and down. He doesn’t even try to hide it; too-blue eyes jaunt from yours down to your throat, the span of your shoulders, lingering on your chest before drifting down your stomach and hips. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, shoulders lifting as his chest expands, and you get the strange sense that he’s trying to smell you.

The ice that slithers through your veins, drips down the rigid column of your spine, wars with the spike of heat that breaks across your face. You feel here. You feel very present, your heart pumping wet in your chest, electrical wisps zipping to every nerve ending and back up your cerebellum to remind your brain of every part of your existing body.

Suddenly you are in Scotland, thousands of miles away from home, freezing fucking cold, only half of all the money you have in the world left in your bank account. Tomorrow stretching out in front of you. The next day after it.

Panic, which you thought buried, turns over in your belly, grave-dirt too light to keep it down. Hard earth is beneath your feet. A light drizzle is starting overhead. You begin to shiver, your nervous system’s effort to warm your hairless mammal body up, to save you from the cold and the wet and the fucking predator standing two paces away from you while gazing at you like it can’t wait to break your bones open for the marrow inside.

“Okay,” you finally snap, though you’re unable to keep your voice from quivering. “I really appreciate you driving me, Johnny, but—”

His eyes flash. The ocean-depths of them shift with an awareness beyond your ken, the dark edges deepening, the vivid blue swirling. The expression on his face transmutes into something unknowable—like the difference between the look on a pet dog’s face and a wolf’s.

Something isn’t there that should be, and what is in its place is entirely unfamiliar.

What is in its place is something your species evolved long past being able to understand.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the flash is gone. Johnny is human again, as if he had always been in the first place. The thin crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he gives you what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile.

He doesn’t seem able, or perhaps willing to hide how amused he is, though.

“Long flight, I know,” he croons, meeting your gaze again. “Dinna worry, bonnie, I’ll let you get your rest.”

Whatever you were about to say dies. Your mouth hangs open. Johnny backs away from you, hands casually in his pockets.

“I’ll take you to see the seals tomorrow!” he calls to you before he turns away. A sudden gust ruffles the pelt hanging around his hips. “I know all the best spots.”

He throws you a casual wave, and then disappears over the rise.

You do hear the waves that evening, when you lay down to sleep. The covers are soft over you, cozy and warm even as the ocean wind hums outside.

You can’t stop shivering.

a/n: last fic of the year (probably)! i'm so into this one tbh. i figured out the ending a while ago and i'm so dang excited to get to it.

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #how the hell is his last name even spelled #mwritessoap #madi writes

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sourszt · 3 months ago

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𝟏:𝟓𝟓 𝐚𝐦 | 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — art the clown x gn!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 — fluff, art meets someone who isn’t scared of him, art goes to kill u but alas you are … autistic!reader, nonverbal!reader, lowkey a projection of me and how i regress/how art makes me regress lol, also a little theory as to how art gains strength/why he kills so relentlessly as a demon, not proofread!

a demon must feed off of fear. it’s how it gains strength and power. art was no different.

it was his luck that his appearance alone usually struck the fear of god into people. tall but lean in a black and white clown suit, sometimes stained with a strange red substance. face painted white, black outlining an eerily smiling mouth and wide blue eyes. at least, sometimes they were blue.

when he was knee deep into brutally slaughtering people, his eyes would go pitch black from excitement and because his strength was slowly doubling.

everyone who had the misfortune of knowing of his presence feared even his name. all except one.

he’d encountered many who feigned tolerance towards him, some even daring to embrace him before meeting the same fate as everybody else. because they reeked of the same fear as the rest. he could tell in the way they tried to steady their shaking hands, the way their eyes glazed over as they realized they had lost the fight.

but you. you.

you were different. he’d tracked you down after watching you walk home from a little neighborhood party, and he observed you for a couple of days. you lived alone, hardly touched your phone, typed and typed away on your computer with your glasses hanging onto the edge of your nose. completely indifferent to the rest of the world outside.

nobody would miss you. nobody even turned their heads towards your house as they walked by it.

so obviously nobody noticed when he slipped into your house that night. the inside was drab. nicely decorated but it still felt empty. perhaps you’d just moved in not too long ago.

when he found you in your bedroom, comfortably sleeping, he found that wasn’t quite the case. all of the decor, if you could call it that, was stuffed up in here. merchandise from several franchises were nailed, taped, displayed on every surface of your bedroom. sonic, ninja turtles, spiderman.

art stared at it. then at you. you were swarmed by stuffed animals, arms wrapped tightly around a particularly huge fuzzy stuffed sonic plush. the side of your face squished into it and you hummed in your sleep.

he set the garbage bag he had slung over his shoulder down and began searching for something to dismantle you with. the metallic clinks echoed in the room and seemed to wake you up when your muffled grunts became clearer and you began to stretch out your curled limbs.

it took you a while to notice him, but when you did you only blinked. art figured it was a shock response and gave you a taunting smile, baring ugly teeth. your eyebrows knitted together while you sat up, but still you said nothing. not even a scream.

art rose to his feet, towering over you even on your hip-high mattress. in his hand, he had a hefty tool that glinted in the moonlight. fear should have been radiating off of you by now, but that rush he was expecting never came. perhaps you thought you were dreaming.

but as your eyes scanned him from top to bottom, you seemed to accept it as reality. even as you reached out and gingerly tapped his bloodied, gloved hand with the tip of your finger. you didn’t question it.

art hesitated. but only because he doubted he would be strong enough to take your head off with one clean swipe. he wasn’t even close to half of his full strength yet. why was this taking so long?

you turned to the side, searching for something in the sea of stuffies you were haloed with just moments earlier. plucking a smaller one out of the heap, you offered it to the mysterious clown at the side of your bed. it was one of your lesser favorites because you didn’t want him to get it dirty with his white-stained-red gloves. a little fuzzy bee you got from a museum years back.

art pointed at himself, and you nodded with a gentle smile. you half thought that was what he wanted. some strange stuffed animal reaper.

he reached for it, and the cleaver in his hand hit the ground with a thud that made you flinch and cover your ears. almost instinctively, you leaned towards him.

you weren’t scared of the knife itself but the loud noise. art was baffled that somebody could look to him for protection. had you any idea who he was? the miles county clown, was the name every tv within a 50 mile radius was echoing daily because of him.

well, you probably actually didn’t. in the days he watched you, you neglected to turn on the news or scroll through social media. was that why you weren’t scared of him?

either way, his palm found the top of your head, awkwardly patting it with a force that told you he was also trying to push you away. you peered up at him with a straight lipped smile, and gently grabbed the wrist of the hand on your head. he tensed, shocked, but allowed you to flip his palm upwards, watching as you ran your finger over his red stained glove.

you spelled out your name, letter by letter, and pointed to yourself. you also couldn’t speak. or you couldn’t at the moment.

art could only tilt his head at you, genuinely frowning because his presence wasn’t scaring you shitless. he was more confused than anything else.

you gestured towards him and handed him your own palm. he was to etch his name onto your skin.

it took him a second to do it, letting his hand cradle yours while he dragged his finger across your palm. A-R-T.

registering the name, you nodded up at him. it was quite fitting for him, you thought.

the clown grinned and waved your own stuffed animal in front of your face before booping your nose with it. he found he liked the sound of your giggle, which brought him both comfort and unease.

you were sad when he left so quickly, dropping your stuffed bee into your lap and grabbing his garbage bag. he put a finger to his lips and wagged his fingers at you before retreating back into your hallway. the sound of your comforter shuffling made him pause and he found you bent over, picking his cleaver up off of your floor.

you sheepishly held the heavy handle out to him.

you were quite tall. still significantly shorter than him, but taller than he was expecting. wearing a slim fitting tank top and some athletic shorts. you even had some tattoos on your arms and on your thighs. things he hadn’t seen past your sweaters and jeans.

he took the cleaver and prepared to take his leave, but was stunned when you suddenly wrapped your arms around him. for a moment, he was the scared one. but he soon realized that you were only hugging him.

“thank you,” you whispered, so softly and shakily he almost missed it over the buzz of your electric fan. still, you held no fear of him.

you smiled when his arms briefly closed around you.

and then he was gone.

i love him sm 😞😞

#terrifier #art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #slashers #terrifier art #terrifier art the clown #terrifier fluff #art the clown fluff #drabble #fluff

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scealaiscoite · 4 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

#enjoy my prettiessss #another instalment of trio prompts on the way!!#prompts #paired prompts #aesthetic prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #otp prompts #soft prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #drabble prompts #drabble meme #writing inspiration #writing inspo

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froggerland · 19 days ago

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I made a pattern for the terror gloves!!

Please note I'm not a professional and this is just for funsies, sorry for my clunky english but knitting terminology is a whole other beast lmao

I hope you can make some sense of this

Full tutorial under the cut

Terror Gloves Tutorial

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional and I’ve never written a knitting pattern before, I just made this up as I went tbh, basing it on a german tutorial I used for regular fingerless gloves I had made a couple of times already, the fingers I made up on my own. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to make another pair to document the process for you as of right now, so you’ll have to work off of the pattern alone. Sorry for all the weird terminology, translating german knitting vocab to english fried my brain real good lads.

I’d say this is a beginner to intermediate level project, you should know how to purl and knit and how to make left leaning and right leaning increases. For the latter one I’ve linked a tutorial on YouTube at the part where it comes up in the pattern.

All that being said: I hope you enjoy making these gloves! Feel free to @ me on tumblr if you’d like to show them off :D

What you need:

- Yarn that requires you to use size 4 needles (3,5mm in the german/european system, the UK doesn’t carry the equivalent of this size for some reason, so use a size 10 or 9 depending on how tight you’re knitting); the color is obviously up to you, I used a grey close to the one most of the boys are sporting. I also used a 100% wool yarn, but I know those can be pricy so feel to use whatever is available to you :) I used about 50g, maybe a little more for my pair

-> Please note that I didn’t make a test swatch since I’ve used the base pattern of these gloves before and know that this size of needle works for me. I’d say I my tension when knitting is normal – tight so if you knit more loosely maybe choose smaller needles

- Size 4 double pointed needles (3,5 german/european, 10/9 UK)

- Safety pins

- Darning needle to weave in the ends

- Scissors

Tutorial:

- Cast on 11 stitches on four of your five double pointed needles

-> If you have smaller hands you might need to start with 10 instead of 11 stiches on each needle

- Join in the round and start the pattern for the ribbing that will make the glove a little tighter around your wrist, which means purl 2, knit 2, until the end of the row

- Repeat the purl – knit pattern for 20 rows

- Knit 10 regular rounds

- Now for the thumb: Knit 1, pick up 1 new stitch (it doesn’t matter if it’s left or right leaning), knit 1, place a safety pins on the needle behind that stitch so you can keep track of your increase section (tutorial for increases)

- Knit the rest of the round normally, as well as the round that follows

- Knit 1, make 1 left leaning increase, knit 1, make 1 right leaning increase, knit 1, slide the safety pin over

- Knit the rest of the round normally, as well as the round that follows; from now on the pattern will be one row with increases, one row without increases

- So in the next round with increases you will knit 2, make 1 left leaning increase, knit 1, make 1 right leaning increase, knit 2, slide the safety pin over

- Continue with this for 14 rounds (7 with and 7 without increases) until you have 15 stitches in the section framed by the safety pin

-> If you have small hands you might need to stop before reaching 14 rounds, your work should just about cover the first bone (going upward from the base) in your thumb. Maybe stop at 10 or 12 rounds, make sure you end on one without any increases

- After your last “no increases” round, before you start with the next round put the 15 stitches for the thumb on hold by sliding 7 of the stitches onto one safety pin, the other 8 onto another; you will not continue to work with these stitches (for now)

- Continue like normal and start knitting the rest of the stitches on the needle, making sure to join tightly to avoid a gap and finish the round

- Knit 11 regular rounds or until you reach the base of your pinky finger; you should have 42 stitches on all of your four needles right now

- We will start by knitting the pinky finger: For this knit normal until you’re at the second needle and have 5 stitches left on it

- Put all but 10 stitches (the ones on the second needle and the first 5 on the third needle) on hold by placing them ideally on two big safety pins or several smaller ones

- Knit normally until you reach the end of the second needle; here you will take a third needle and pick up 2 more stitches, one from the side the second needle is on, one from the side the first needle is on, so ideally, you’re keeping the gap that’s going to form between the fingers as small as possible

-> If you have small hands, you might only have to pick up 1 stitch or none at all; if you find that that’s the case split the 10 stitches onto three needles so they’re easier to work with and continue as written down below

- This was the first round; knit 9 more or until your work almost reaches the second bone in your pinky finger or just until you decide that it’s enough (feel free to try the gloves on as you go!), cast off and cut the yarn

- For the ring finger, pick up 10 stitches from the ones you put on hold, once again two needles with 5 stitches

- Join the yarn in the same place you started with the pinky finger

- Knit the first needle, then pick up 2 stitches on a new needle as I described it for the pinky finger

- Knit the 5 stitches on the second needle, then use yet another needle to once again pick up 2 stitches. You now have 14 stitches on 4 needles

-> If you have small hands, you might only have to pick up 1 stitch per new needle or just one stitch on one new needle

- Knit 14 more rows like this or until your work almost reaches the second bone in your ring finger or once again until you decide that it’s enough, cast off and cut the yarn

- The middle finger works exactly the same: Pick up 10 stitches from the safety pins, pick up 4 new stitches on two new needles, knit 15 rounds or however many, cast off and cut the yarn

- For the pointer finger you should have 12 stitches left since we started off with 42 in total (30 already “used” leaves 12) which means we only need to pick up 2 new stitches on one new needle (whether you pick them up on the side facing the thumb or the one facing the other fingers is up to you; I picked the one facing the thumb but picking the other one will probably look better)

-> If you have small hands, you might only have to pick up 1 stitch or none at all

- Knit 14 rounds or however many, cast off and cut the yarn

- Now to finish off the thumb: Put the stitches back onto your needles, 7 on one needle, 8 on another; now taking up a third needle slide the last stitch on the second needle onto it, pick up 2 new stiches around the base to make sure there’s minimal gaping, then pick up the first stitch on the first needle. You should now have a total of 17 stitches, split on three needles (6, 7 and 4 stitches) forming a triangle

- For the first round, join the yarn into the first stitch on the first needle; knit normally until you reach the third needle: Here you knit the first 2 and the last 2 stitches together, leaving you with 2 stitches on that needle

- Repeat this for the next round and knit the remaining 2 stitches on the third needle together, leaving you with 1 stitch on that needle (it can be finicky handling this third needle but it makes working the rounds a lot easier)

- Knit 5 rounds or until your work reaches over the second bone in your thumb, cast off and cut the yarn

- Weave in the ends; you might have to go back in with extra yarn if the holes between the fingers are too big for your liking

Yay!!! You finished it, congrats!! :D

#the terror #the terror amc

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months ago

Note

Helloo how are you? Can you write Jacaerys Velaryon and the female Snow reader? The reader may be Cregan's (older or not) sister. Thank you in advance 🌸

I started this one when the first images of Jacaerys from season 2 came out... I apologize for taking so long, but it's 3.5k words, so it should make up for the wait

Warnings: nudity (skinny dipping), implied cheating

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The visit of a prince in the North was unusual, but necessary. The new-crowned Queen needed to know if the Lord of Winterfell — Cregan Stark — was supporting her claim. So, she sent her eldest son, Jacaerys, as messenger.

Without surprise, the northmen were a little shaken when they saw the prince arriving on Vermax. Most of them had never seen a dragon. Some were afraid, others intrigued by the ‘large beast’, as they called it. The name made Jacaerys laugh. Vermax was nothing to be scared of in size, there were much bigger dragons.

Ones they should be scared of.

The day of his arrival, Cregan kindly showed the prince around Winterfell — the courtyards, the horses. However, the visit ended rather quickly as he noticed Jacaerys was getting cold walking around in his riding clothes. The leather was thick enough to keep him warm through the winds when on dragonback, but not for the dry cold and snow.

‘’Let’s continue the visit in the morrow,’’ Cregan suggested. ‘’We have a chamber prepared for you. I imagine you would like to retire and warm up before we gather for dinner. I hope you like boar. My men and I hunted this one only days ago. It’s not everyday a prince graces us with his presence!’’

Jacaerys nodded appreciatively, trying to suppress his shivers. ‘’Thank you, Lord Stark. I will let the Queen know of your warm welcome when I return.’’

Cregan chuckled. ‘’Speaking of warmth. I’ll have someone bring you warmer clothes — a cloak and gloves — to your chamber so you won’t lose a finger or two during your stay.’’

‘’That’s very kind of you,’’ the prince replied, smiling at Cregan’s humor. His breath formed small clouds in the cold air as he spoke.

The Nortman walked him to his chamber, then left Jacaerys to himself. Looking around the room, he noticed how small and dark it was compared to the ones at the Red Keep or on Dragonstone. There was a large hearth already ablaze with a roaring fire, and the bed was draped in thick furs, promising a warm night’s rest.

Before he could sit by the fire to catch some warmth, there was a knock at the door.

It must be the clothes Cregan offered for him.

‘’Come in!’’

The door creaked open, and you stepped in, the heavy wooden frame groaning in protest. The warmth of the fire hit you as you entered the chamber, holding a dark cloak lined with a fur collar. ‘’Prince Jacaerys,’’ you greeted, dipping your head respectfully. ‘’Here are the clothes my brother promised you.’’

Jacaerys turned, surprise flickering across his face. Brother? He didn’t know Lord Cregan had a sister.

He thanked you and took the clothes from you, your fingers brushing slightly, then set them down on the bed behind him. He’ll look at them later.

‘’How do you like Winterfell so far?’’ you asked, trying to make conversation, and mask the sudden flush on your cheeks. You couldn’t deny, the prince was handsome. He also didn’t look much like a Targaryen with his dark curls and eyes, but you didn’t comment on that.

‘’I have never seen snow before,’’ he admitted, glancing towards the frost-covered window.

You chuckled softly, his answer common from someone from the south. ‘’It must be cold up there for a boy of the south.’’

Jacaerys nodded, rubbing his hands together. ‘’Dragons don’t like the cold.’’

‘’I heard my brother has planned a visit to the Wall. I suggest you double up on the layers and wear knit under your clothes,’’ you advised.

The fire crackled in the hearth, echoing in the small room, slowly warming up Jacaerys. He forced a smile, honestly not looking forward to this trip to the wall. To an even colder climate. ‘’I appreciate the advice. I'll make sure to stay warm.’’

‘’Don’t be afraid to ask for more. We wouldn’t like to be held responsible for a prince’s frostbites.’’

During dinner, politics were not discussed. Instead, Cregan bragged about the boar you were eating, which he himself hunted a couple of days ago.

‘’Have you ever been hunting, Prince Jacaerys?’’

Jacaerys shook his head. He heard of the royal hunt, but never participated himself. He found it barbarous. ‘’I have not, Lord Stark,’’ he replied, his voice steady but polite.

He didn’t want to sound privileged, but all meat was bought and brought to Dragonstone. There was no need to learn how to hunt when you were born in royalty.

Cregan raised an eyebrow. ‘’All men should know how to hunt!’’ he stated firmly, slapping the table for emphasis. ‘’My father took me on my first boar hunt at fourteen. There's something primal about the hunt. The chase, the kill...it's in our blood. It’s part of becoming a man.’’

Jacaerys paused, taking a sip of his wine. ‘’We don’t hunt in the south, but my father taught me how to wield a sword.’’

On his first night, sleep turned out to be difficult to find. Jacaerys tossed and turned under the soft fur blankets, the crackling fire nearby providing warmth but no comfort. Frustrated, he slipped out of his bed, deciding that a walk might help clear his restless mind.

As he wandered through the quiet corridors of the castle, the cool night air coming through the windows brushing against his skin, he noticed someone else up and about, leaning against the banister. Jacaerys assumed it was a woman working for the Starks — a maid, perhaps —, but as he got closer, he recognized you.

‘’Couldn't sleep either?’’ Jacaerys asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the night.

You jumped, pulling your cloak tighter around you. ‘’Prince Jacaerys.’’ Your heart was beating fast in your chest, startled by the prince. No one was ever up at this hour of the night.

‘’I apologize, Miss Stark. I did not mean to scare you.’’

‘’All is well,’’ you assured, offering a small smile. ‘’Is the bed not comfortable enough for a prince?’’

Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’Nothing wrong with the bed, sleep just won't come,’’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘’You have not answered my question?’’

You exhaled a deep breath and sat on the bench overlooking the courtyard. ‘’Too much on my mind.’’

Jacaerys joined you on the bench, the cool night air brushing against your faces as you asked him about Vermax. You had seen him flying over the hills a few minutes ago, but had since gone to sleep somewhere close to the castle. Your curiosity surprised Jacaerys, but he was happy to tell you all about Vermax. How he hatched, how they bonded, and even his first ever ride.

‘’Just because my parents are dragon riders doesn’t mean I wasn’t terrified on my first flight. Trust is important when riding a dragon. There are possibilities of falling off and dying. But I trusted Vermax,’’ Jacaerys explained.

You could sense the bond between him and Vermax was more than just rider and dragon. It was a deep, unspoken connection.

‘’How does it feel like?’’

Jacaerys' face brightened. ‘’Nothing compares to the feeling of riding a dragon. The sky is the best place in the world. It's a thrill and freeing at the same time. I could take you on a ride before I return to Dragonstone,’’ he suggested, a playful glint in his eyes. ‘’If you desire.’’

‘’I’ll hold you to that.’’

In the morning, Cregan Stark took Jacaerys on a full tour of Winterfell, showing him every corner of his ancestral home. They started with the horse stables, where the horses nickered softly in their stalls, then moved to the godswood, the ancient heart tree standing solemn and silent. They explored the crypt, with its long lines of statues of the Stark ancestors, before finally arriving in the courtyard.

As they walked into the courtyard, Jacaerys saw you sparring with one of the trainers of the castle guard. He paused, taken aback by the fluidity and force of your movements. He had never seen a woman wield a sword with such skill and confidence. Your strikes were precise, each motion flowing seamlessly into the next, and the determination in your eyes was unmistakable.

‘’My sister was born holding a sword,’’ Cregan said with amusement, following Jacaerys’ line of sight. ‘’She is more skilled than some of our knights in training.’’

A smile curled on the prince’s lips, watching you with amazement. His uncle Aemond would eat dirt if he were to duel with you in a tourney.

Cregan snapped Jacaerys from his staring. ‘’Ready for some training?’’ he asked, a playful challenge in his eyes as he took out his sword from his belt. ‘’Let’s see if Leanor Velaryon taught you well.’’

When he said his father taught him to wield a sword, Jacaerys meant Harwin Strong, not Leanor. But correcting Cregan would feed the bastard rumors about him and his brothers, so he kept his mouth shut.

The following day was the dreaded visit to the Wall. Although the place sounded fascinating, Jacaerys was not looking forward to colder weather. He doubled on the layers as you advised him, and got on horseback with Cregan and a small group of men. They should be back in three days.

As always, Winterfell would be in your charge during Cregan’s absence.

‘’Is Vermax going to the Wall?’’ you asked, noticing Jacaerys struggling to secure his bag to the saddle.

‘’Yes. He will follow us. I could never leave Vermax behind. He goes wherever I go,’’ Jacaerys said, watching your smaller fingers deftly tie a knot to secure everything. ‘’Thank you for the help, Miss Stark.’’ His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

‘’Your welcome, Prince Jacaerys.’’

Everyone got on their horses, ready to leave.

As Cregan ordered the gates to be opened, Jacaerys looked down at you, his breath visible in the chilly air. ‘’I hope it is not as cold as you made it sound.’’

‘’Have a safe travel,’’ you wished, your eyes meeting his. "And never take your gloves off outside. You’ll lose a finger."

Jacaerys chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eye. "I'll try to remember," he said, before nudging his horse forward, leaving you with a lingering smile as they rode off.

Although you enjoyed being in charge of Winterfell, you counted the days until the men would return from the Wall. It had been difficult admitting it to yourself, but you had fallen for the prince’s charm and were impatient to see a green and red dragon in the sky.

He had promised to take you on a ride before leaving the North, and you will be holding him up to that when he returns from the wall. You had seen him talk to a few of the women around Winterfell, but Jacaerys hadn’t offered anyone else a dragon ride. Only you. It made you feel a little special.

Every time you passed the banister where you had spoken that night, you could almost hear his laughter and feel the warmth of his presence. The anticipation of seeing him again was a constant flutter in your chest.

You wondered if he thought of you while he was away.

Your question was answered when he seeked for you after lunch. You had been getting ready to train in the courtyard when you heard a knock on your door. Jacaerys had a nervous smile on his face, silently praying you would still be on board with that dragon ride.

‘’How was Castle Black?’’

‘’Nothing like I expected. The Wall is very impressive. I have never seen anything this tall before.’’

‘’It was built by Brandon the Builder of House Stark about 800 years ago, with assistance from Giants,’’ you said, proud of your family history. ‘’But Cregan has probably already told you all about the Wall…’’

He had, but Jacaerys didn’t mind hearing it all again from you.

Dragons were impressive when you were standing next to them. Very impressive.

You stayed behind as Jacaerys approached Vermax, speaking to him in High Valyrian as it was the language used to train and command dragons. A small bubble of fear rose within you, knowing dragons only allowed their riders to get close. Would Vermax try to kill you if you got too near?

‘’Come,’’ Jacaerys encouraged, extending his hand to you. ‘’He won’t hurt you.’’ He was standing by Vermax’s face, introducing him to you. ‘’He’s been eating less since we arrived. It’s his way of saying he is unhappy. I don’t know if you have noticed, but Vermax doesn’t like the North. Dragons can tolerate the cold, but they prefer warm temperatures.’’

Jacaerys’s hand rested over yours as you gently touched Vermax's scaly skin. ‘’I apologize for our cold weather, Vermax,’’ you said, your voice soft as you addressed the dragon.

Vermax’s eyes, large and intense, regarded you with a curious intelligence. You felt a shiver run down your spine, but not from the cold. Jacaerys’s reassuring presence gave you the courage to stand your ground. You trusted that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

‘’He’s magnificent,’’ you whispered, marveling at the dragon's sheer size and power.

With a confident gesture, Jacaerys climbed onto Vermax’s back, then extended his hand to help you up. You settled in behind him, and he placed your hands securely around his middle.

‘’Hold on tight,’’ he said, his own hands gripping the handles of the saddle as Vermax spread his massive wings.

With a powerful leap, the dragon launched into the sky, the ground rapidly falling away beneath you. The cold wind whipped past, making you cling onto the prince.

As Vermax soared higher, the place you always called home transformed into a breathtaking panorama of gray stones, snow-covered vales and distant mountains. The exhilaration of flight was overwhelming, filling you with a sense of freedom unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Jacaerys grinned and leaned forward, making Vermax dive as you approached a forest and hover over the trees. His feet brushed the tip of the trees, shaking off the snow covering them, before going up again with a powerful flap of his wings.

You gasped and held onto Jacaerys tighter, the mix of fear and excitement making your heart race. ‘’Are you trying to make my heart burst?’’ you shouted, laughing despite the rush of adrenaline.

Jacaerys laughed, his voice carried away by the wind. ‘’I’m only giving you a true experience.’’

Vermax continued to glide through the sky, and you savored every moment — the rush of the wind, the closeness of Jacaerys, and the incredible feeling of soaring above the world.

An idea sparked in your mind as the scenery below began to look familiar. ‘’How do we land?’’ you asked.

‘’Ilagon,’’ Jacaerys commanded, and Vermax dived down again.

You climbed down from the dragon, your feet sinking into the marshmallow-like softness of the virgin snow. ‘’Follow me,’’ you said, glancing back at Jacaerys.

He was right on your heels as you led him to a cave. He was confused about what you were doing inside a cave, but let you lead the path. You’ve grown in the North, you must know where you were going. Right?

‘’Where are we going?’’

‘’You said dragons don't like the cold.’’

The further you ventured inside the cave, the more you began to feel a gentle warmth emanating from deeper within.

‘’So I’m keeping my prince warm,’’ you teased with a smile. You took another turn and then came to a halt. ‘’After your visit to the Wall, I figured you’d like to warm up.’’ You stepped aside, revealing a hidden hot spring, steam rising invitingly from the water.

Jacaerys's eyes widened in surprise and delight. ‘’This is incredible,’’ he said, his voice filled with awe. ‘’How did you know about this place?’’

‘’I got lost a few years ago during a hunt. The snow had turned into a blizzard and I could not find my way back to the campment. I was missing for hours. My father found me and took me here until the blizzard calmed down. My little hands and feet were almost frozen.’’

‘’You should not have left campment.’’

‘’I was a rebellious child.’’

Jacaerys shook his head with a smile.

Without hesitation, you began to undress, unbuckling your cloak and peeling off your gloves. You pulled at the laces of your boots, freeing your feet from their confine, and moved to the front of your dress, loosening the laces until it slipped from your shoulders. That hot water was going to feel amazing on your cold skin.

‘’You need to undress before getting in the water, you know?’’ you teased, your eyes flickering to Jacaerys and seeing him still dressed.

His cheeks flushed slightly. ‘’Yeah, I… I’ll…’’

Slowly, he began to undress, his movements a bit tentative. His cloak fell to the ground along with his riding jacket and undershirt. You couldn't help but find his shyness endearing.

You continued with your dress and socks, until you stood bare in the soft glow of the cave. As you waited for Jacaerys to finish undressing, you found yourself peaking at his smooth and slightly defined chest. You wanted to feel it pressed against you.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped into the hot spring, the water swirling around from your movement. The spring was deeper than you expected, and soon the warm water was enveloping your breasts and shoulders. The heat was intense at first, almost too hot, but it felt incredible compared to the biting cold of the North. You were used to the cold, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t cold.

You let out a sigh of relief. The steaming water was blissful after being hit in the face by the cold air during the ride.

You glanced back at Jacaerys, who was finishing undressing, his bouncy curls moving around as he pulled off his socks. His back was to you, giving you a perfect view of his behind. You sank deeper into the water, trying to drown the inappropriate thoughts filling your mind.

‘’Careful, it’s hot,’’ you warned as Jacaerys was about to step in, standing naked at the edge of the spring, the steam rising around him.

He dismissed your warning and stepped in without a sound. ‘’I have Targaryen blood. We tolerate the heat better than others,’’ Jacaerys said, sinking down until the water covered up to his neck. ‘’This feels amazing. I wish I could come and swim here everyday.’’ He basked in the warm water, closing his eyes as he floated.

A soft smile grazed your lips.

The moment of calm was disrupted as Jacaerys swam closer to you, a boyish grin on his face before he splashed water at you. You gasped in shock, and splashed him back, laughing with child-like joy. Ultimately, Jacaerys was the one to give in, raising his arms up to surrender. Your laughter fades away with the wind, leaving you both in a comfortable silence. A silence that didn’t need to be filled, nor did you want it to be.

The two of you meet in the middle, a flutter of excitement filling your stomach. You felt his leg brush your tibia, the proximity making you acutely aware of your nakedness. The thought of sinking deeper into the water crossed your mind, but the clarity of the spring left little to the imagination. Your supple breasts and hard nipples were visible beneath the surface

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you spoke softly, your voice almost a whisper.

‘’Jace,’’ he corrected gently. ‘’You can call me Jace.’’ He reached out and tucked your wet hair behind your ear with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on your lips as you nodded. ‘’Jace?’’

His gaze dropped to your lips, battling his inner dilemma of kissing you or not. The chemistry between you was undeniable, a magnetic pull that neither of you could resist. Though he was a prince, the heir to the Iron Throne, he was still a boy first, and in this moment, all titles and duties seemed to melt away.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but Jacaerys leaned in, closing the distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You had fantasized about sharing this kiss on more than one occasion while he was away at the Wall. Now, his lips were moving over yours — for real — and your dreams had not done justice to the reality of him.

The heat of the spring seemed to intensify, wrapping around you as the kiss deepened, a mix of tenderness and passion. His hands caressed every spot of your body he could reach on you, your breasts pressing against his chest as you locked your arms around his neck and shoulders and wrapped your thighs around his waist.

You pulled back to catch your breaths, and looked at him, admiring him. His hair was slowly getting its curl pattern back, a smile looking back at you.

Jacaerys doubted that by ‘finding shared interests’ his mother meant falling for Lord Stark’s sister.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9

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#jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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rannadylin · 8 months ago

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Huzzah - the star fingertip is done!

#ranna knits #knitting #knitblr #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr crafts #double knitting #gloves of the reunited kingdom

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beanwaterontherocks · 8 months ago

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Stress relief

(Hoshina Soshiro)

Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x gn!Reader (they/them pronouns) Pt2 Pt3 Summary: You and your platoon were sent to Japan's third division base. You get along well with the vice captain, though sparring with him brings way more stress than it relieves. Warnings: Suggestive language and situations, Kissing, 18+ only My first language isn't english, so mistakes may occur. Word count: 1959

You’d heard stories of Japan’s Defense Force back at home and seeing it in person sure didn’t disappoint. Sixteen whole divisions spread over the country. The Tachikawa base, belonging to the Third Division, was a sight to see. A massive structure full of high-tech weapons and skilled officers. You’d been ordered to help out at the base as a show of goodwill. You and your platoon felt a bit out of place at first, coming from a country with less kaiju attacks and a smaller force. But you and your team were willing to help out in any way you could during missions.

You leaned against the balcony, listening to the happy chatter inside the building. It was good that both teams seemed to be getting along, no doubt helped by the casual ‘welcome party’ you’d been greeted with. You fiddled with your half-empty can of beer, as you let out a breath, maybe you shouldn’t be so nervous about this.

“There you are Commander, I was wonderin’ where you went off to”, a voice spoke and you turned to face Vice-Captain Hoshina. He smiled at you, an expression he seemed to wear a lot, you smiled back politely. “Are we boring ya?” He asked in a teasing tone. You’d pegged him as a more laid-back guy and you’d been right.

But looking closer, there was something enigmatic about him. His cheerful grin, charming as it was, didn’t always seem sincere. There was more to him than a joking personality. Your interest was definitely piqued.

“I just needed some fresh air, though I’m glad they’re all having fun”, you responded, watching as he moved to stand a few feet from you, leaning against the balcony too. “Thanks for the warm welcome, I’m glad you guys are more tight-knit like we are”, you spoke and took a sip of your now lukewarm beer. He looked at you for a moment, before glancing at the party through the window behind him.

“I guess you could say that, though you shouldn’t get too attached, y’know”, he commented and you hummed in agreement. That much was true, it was an unpredictable and dangerous job and anything could happen at any time. There was something you had to point out though, to get back at his teasing earlier.

“I think that’s a little hypocritical, Vice-Captain Hoshina”, you said, looking at him with a smile. He seemed a little taken back, crossing his arms. “You care a lot about your division, I can tell, otherwise you wouldn’t let them throw parties or even care to make fun of them”, you continued and finished off your drink. “Plus, it’s better to take the risks among friends than among strangers”, you said as you looked up towards the darkening sky. He tilted his head before opening his mouth and…bursting out laughing. You saw him double over and clutch his stomach as he chuckled.

“Ya sound like some kind of fantasy character, what’s with that?” He said as he continued to wheeze. Although his laugh was cute to listen to (something you felt embarrassed admitting) you still put a hand over your chest, in mock scandal. You were about to speak up when he looked at you, his smile softer than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up, probably just because of the alcohol. “I hope we can get along!”, he said as he straightened his posture, holding a gloved hand out to you. You took his hand, shaking it firmly as you smiled.

“Me too”, you responded and let go of his hand.

“So, I heard you use swords when fighting kaiju”, you spoke up, recalling the documents you’d read before coming here. “You don’t see that often, even though it’s pretty effective”, you said and Hoshina raised an eyebrow.

“You think so?” He asked, a hand resting on his chin. You nodded and explained how optimal it could be for smaller kaiju. There was a much less messy outcome than with guns and it gave more precision to exploit weak spots. Hoshina was silent for a moment before he simply grinned again.

“I heard you like different weapons too, ya use a staff right?” He said and you were a bit surprised, he’d read up on you too.

“Well, it’s more of a secondary weapon, but I’d really like to spar with you sometime”, you said and Hoshina hummed a bit before nodding.

“Sure, how about tomorrow night?” He asked, you chuckled in response but you were incredibly interested in seeing him in action.

“Eager, aren’t we? I’ll take you up on that offer”, you chuckled, this was your chance to see him in action. The two of you rejoined the party and you spent the evening getting to know the officers, occasionally feeling like someone was stealing glances at you.

It went without saying that being in the Defense Force came with a lot of stress. Daily training regimes, missions, strategizing and, for you and Hoshina, keeping the officers in line. You had taken to sparring with Hoshina a few times a week to decompress and let it out. Sure, it was nice to relax and recommend books to each other but sparring was definitely the best way to relieve stress.

Or it would have been, if it wasn’t for how you were distracted by something else.

That something being Hoshina in that skin-tight compression shirt. The way his impressive muscles rippled with every move and how snugly it clung to his defined waist. Though it was hard to take your eyes off his torso, his face was also becoming a problem.

His jovial expression melted into something more serious when he first took a swing at you. His eyes seemed to open more, exposing that vibrant mauve hue that you wanted to look at even closer. You managed to move to the side and dodge his attack by a hair’s width. You kicked your leg out to throw him off his balance, but he dodged it. Typical, you couldn’t always land a hit on him barehanded, you thought back to earlier this week. You’d gotten your staff to Hoshina’s neck, pressing the wood against his skin and the look he’d given you…like he was daring you to do something. You still weren’t sure what that look meant, but it had been incredibly hot. Here you were thinking like this while he was trying to earnestly spar with you. You mentally slapped yourself as you backed up a bit.

“Hey, how about we make a wager? Whoever loses has to do a favor for the winner”, you suggested, thinking about the nice lunch that the vice-captain salary could get you. Just to think about anything else than the flex of his arms. Hoshina grinned as your match paused momentarily.

“Sure, that sounds fun”, he said teasingly, sending more blood to your face. Damn him.

You saw his gaze rake over you, preparing himself for whatever you might do. A part deep inside of you hoped that he was looking at you like you did him. But you instantly doubted it, your training clothes were an old t-shirt and biker shorts. You gestured for him to come towards you as you assumed a fighting stance,

Maybe you were extra distracted or maybe his movements were a bit slower as he lunged at you again. That move seemed way too predictable for Hoshina and you actually managed to catch his fist.

“Wow, Vice-Captain, is something throwing you off?” You asked, chuckling a bit before you saw his expression. It was that exact same look from before, the one that challenged you, made your heart race so much it thumped in your ears. You couldn’t look anywhere but his face and that led to your defeat.

He swept your legs out from under you, causing you to fall onto your back, hitting the training room floor. He got on his knees and pinned your wrists down

“I got ya now”, he said as he leaned over you, dark violet locks framing his face, which was now right in front of yours. He let go of your wrists after three seconds, but neither of you moved away. You tried to keep your gaze upwards, but it slowly drifted down to his lips. His mouth was open slightly, he was breathing heavily. You studied his pointed canines, wondering how they’d feel against your lips.

The match had been over for a hot minute, yet Hoshina was still this close. The two of you simply looked at each other, engaged in some kind of stalemate. What kind of move should you make? You didn’t want to mess up the steady friendship the two of you had. But you couldn’t ignore the heat radiating off his body or how his locked gaze made you shiver.

“So, what about that favor?” Hoshina asked, his hand raising, hovering just over the side of your face, like he wanted to cup your cheek. It couldn’t be, was he really having the same feelings? Maybe this was only your only chance to know for sure, without completely messing things up. You looked him in the eye, taking a breath before speaking:

“I’ll do you the favor of letting you kiss me”.

You waited, had you been wearing your suit, it would have warned you of a dangerously accelerated heart rate. If he didn’t feel the same way, you still had time to frame it as a joke, a cheeky remark like the ones you two always shared. There was no more time to nervously ponder. Because Hoshina leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

It was a feverous kiss, his hand went to hold your face as he pressed himself even closer. You felt relief wash over you as you kissed him back with matched passion. You wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your tongue across his bottom lip. Hoshina chuckled into the kiss before opening his mouth. Those sharpened canines felt just as good as you’d hoped. He nipped at your lips with them, though never hard enough to draw blood. Hoshina’s other hand went down to your thigh, snaking a finger under the hem of your shorts. He pulled the tight fabric and it snapped against your thigh, making you gasp.

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re wearin’ these”, he said breathlessly when he pulled away from your lips. You laughed and moved your arms from his neck to his waist, running your palms over his clothed, toned back with a satisfied sigh.

“I guess we’re even then”, you spoke, finding the hem of that godforsaken shirt. You were desperate to get it off and feel more of his skin, more of him.

But you both decided it’d be better to continue somewhere private. You leaned back on his bed, watching as he crawled towards you and caged your body in with his own. Wasting no time, you tugged at his shirt until he got the message and peeled it off. You felt heat between your legs as you pulled off your own shirt. He stared at you, a look like one he gave you when you were sparring. But there was something else in his gaze, a deep hunger, like he’d been holding it back for a while.

“We’re far enough away from the others, make as much noise as you wanna”, he said, so close that you could feel his breath on your neck. You put your palm on the back of his head and threaded your fingers into his dark violet locks. You pushed him closer and caught his lips, moving your leg between his. Just like your sparring matches, you’d give it all you had.

#kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no 8 x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #Hoshina #hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #Kaiju no 8 fic #x reader #gender neutral reader #monster no 8

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ferg0s · 2 months ago

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WRITE THE FREAKY BEASTARS FIC!!!!!!!

do I want my name and face attached to this? Employers looking at my info and seeing me, a potential employee, and wanting their brand attached to this?

Idgaf. (I lied I do I will delete this when I get my post fic clarity in the morning)

DISCLAIMER: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! I cannot stress that enough. Do not read if u can’t match my freak

Everyone at Cherrytone had their secrets. From minuscule, to down right life ending. It was engrained in the culture - and so was keeping your mouth shut. Some secrets kept you in on the people around you, showing their true form. Some explained the strange occurrences on campus…

But others were too precious to be spread. As per the law of supply and demand, more demand meant less supply. And no one was willing to waste even a drop of this. Literally.

Riz looked at the sheet of paper in his hands. The crumpled up page with barely legible chicken scratch of writing. He had to double check if he was at the right spot. The old sports club shed that hadn’t been used since the school built a new one. He didn’t even knew it existed until now, he guessed it served its purpose.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. The time did say 22:00, and it was exactly 22:00. He could feel the roll of cash in his pocket, creating an indent in his pocket he tired to cover by pulling down his shirt.

The door opened, just enough for the voice on the other side to come out. “This area is off limits-“ a female voice spoke up. He cleared this throat, finally being able to say the phrase he had been rehearsing since his walk to the old shed. “I just need to get my glove-“

He hopes he bad said it verbatim. There was a slight pause before the door opened. Revealing the person on the other side. He had seen her around campus, usually in a group of her own. There weren’t many humans on campus - only a few, and they seemed to be in a tight knit community. It was strange seeing her up close, the lack of fur or feathers - even scales - just bare skin. She sized him up, stepping out to look around before walking into the shed, and he followed suit.

He shut the door, noticing the lock on the door and immediately going to lock the door aswell. His heart was in his throat - he really was going this. It felt so wrong.

“Payment up front-“ the girl said sternly. He turned to her, realizing what she had said and fumbling to her the cash out of his pocket, holding the roll of money out towards her. She quickly grabbed the money and undid the rubber band around it, counting each note.

“Whatcha here for?”

He felt his throat dry up at the question. This was nerve wracking enough, and the sudden interrogation didn’t help.

“I heard it helps with the…” he trailed off, not sues how to word it.

“Side effects? Yeah I got a few who say it does-“ she replied as she finished up counting the money. “20 minutes.” She said as she turned around and walked further into the shed as she rolled the money back up, stopping infront of the bag to put the money in. He knew that. It was fucking expensive for the small slot of 20 minutes, but he had heard of others playing for 2 hours.

She turned around. “Lay down,” it came out like a demand. He nodded, slowly walking over and laying down on the dusty wooden floors of the shed. He knew that there would be no orientation, everything was already explained to him. She ran a tight ship from what he could tell.

He walked over him, standing on-top of him, feet on either aide of his torso, under his arms. “No-“ “biting or clawing.” He interrupted. He was too eager to wait for her to go over the rules. She scoffed. “Can’t be that bad that you’re in such a rush-“ she scoffed, her hands going to the waist band of her skirt as she pulled them up. “You have no idea-“ he muttered. Once hiked up, her hands went under her skirt, pulling down the panties she had on, tossing them to the side.

The scent hit him immediately. Blood therapy. A taboo practice used to elievate the symptoms of most carnivore medication, mostly muscle pain and headaches. Due to the low intensity of human blood, it was often the best source - but due ethics violations, the practice was banned a few decades ago. Publicly that is.

She towered herself down onto him, and by that time his senses had drowned out any rational thinking. She let out a gasp when she felt his tongue darting to her folds. The reaction was almost immediate. As soon as he got a taste, a single droplet, he was hooked. His tongue lapping like a man - bear - starved. He knew it was in his DNA to crave blood - his ancestral nature. He had dabbled in the occasional doping, but even then he could only get his hands on a quick sip if he was lucky. And rabbit blood didn’t hit quite the same. Too bland, he thought. His arms and locked around her thighs, as if pulling her closer would give him more.

He could hear the muffled moans, the gasps and pants coming from her. Her legs shaking as he moved around with no mercy. He felt her whole body tense up, her fingers locking onto the fur of his arm and squeezing it. He felt a few rip off, but he didn’t care. Her other hand went up to cover her mouth, trying to muffle the cries that managed to slip through the gaps of her fingers. Her body tensed up, and he felt her trying to get off but his arms locked her in place. He didn’t know if the ordeal was making her cry out from pain, but he didn’t care enough to stop. After all the safe word was “pineapple”. Or furious pounding on his arms, as he was told. The taste mixed with a salty, slimy substance, only for a minute when he felt her muscles wrap around his tongue.

It felt like it went on longer for 20 minutes. But then again, it wasn’t like he was counting. By the end of it, she stumbled on her feet, and he could see a thin layer of sweat over her face.

“Did I hurt you-“ he asked she he sat up, noticing that the headache had since that morning was no longer present. She shook her head, still heaving. “No.” She replied. She walked over to her bag again, opening and rummaging through it before haphazardly tossing him a packet of wet wipes. She wiped his face as he walked him to and sit on a chair near the bag, plopping down and panting. As if she had ran a marathon.

He felt better. No more aches, no more headaches. He felt more relaxed. “Thank you-“ he said shyly, not being able to look at her. “No - thank you, ” she chuckled.

He didn’t know what she meant by that. But he did notice when she started to charge him less, quarter less wasn’t a lot, but still a reduced price for those monthly visits.

( In dept nasty version if god doesn’t smite me down soon)

#ferg0s #beastars #riz beastars #beastars x reader #dddne #not beating the furry allegations

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lorasdolly · 20 days ago

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Hello! I hope you have a nice day :3

★Jinx meets tatto artista! Reader. She was just passing by until she saw the studio, then decided on the spot to do something spontaneous because she said "why not?". Reader is the complete opposite of Jinx, but they get along well as they talk. If possible if you can please use GN! Reader.

Take care!

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼𝗼!𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗷𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗲

(modern au? sort of. Also this is rushed i'm sorry to whoever requested 💔 you can always try again in my requests with any new ideas. I'm doing some other ones too for evb else who sent some in!)

Jinx was walking down the plaza, bored out of her mind. She and her sister had plans to go out, have a meal, catch up, but Vi canceled last minute claiming her wife had a bad fever.

Jinx huffed, watching as rain came down, only slightly wet since she found shelter quickly. It had been such a dreadful day.

She continued walking down the side walk of the plaza, looking through the window of every store till something caught her eye. She did a double take, slowly walking backwards to look through the window of a studio.

She squinted, focused on where you sat, legs crossed on a stool, concentrated on— Jinx's eyes glazed over the tattoos on your arm and down to what you were doing— a client.

She watched as the zoom-in glasses slid down your nose slightly, hair framing pieces of your face perfectly. Jinx was in some sort of trance, watching your leg bounce as you move the needle with precision.

Jinx's eyebrows knit together, forehead wrinkles an indicator of choosing whether or not she should go inside.

Her hand wraps around the door knob, pulling it open and trying to be as discrete as possible. Her eyes never left you, standing in a random spot of the studio waiting for the tattoo to be done.

You put your needle down, a slight smile gracing your lips as the client expresses their joys with the design. Jinx wondered how someone who seemed to have such a stressful job was so patient, sweet.

The client paid, walking out the door, giving a small smile to Jinx who never returned it.

You still hadn't noticed Jinx standing in a corner as you tidied up, you didn't even notice as she creeped up on you.

Only once she put both hands on your shoulder, slightly bouncing off, did you notice. Your eyes widened, nearly getting whiplash from how you turned your head.

When your eyes took in her sight, the way the braids she had reached down, tattoos on her arm, the act of innocence sparkling in her eyes, you nearly melted.

"Excuse me..?" You spoke, voice mellow.

"Hey—! You wanna tattoo me next?" Jinx spoke, a grin on her face as she sat where the previous client was at.

Your head turned once again, this time to the clock. "My next client gets here in... forty minutes." You stated, placing your glasses above your head.

Jinx shrugs, "That's good enough!" Her feet swung off the chair she was on, a smile still plastered on her face.

"You should tattoo right— here!" Jinx point at her forearm. "Your number!" She continued, exclaiming.

Your eyes widened, an eyebrow raising as you were putting on your gloves. "My.. what?" You started fiddling with the second glove in your hand, not knowing how to react to such advances.

"Your number? On your phone, silly."

You shake your head, "That's.. not appropriate." She giggles, her arms snaking around your neck childishly. "Awh, then how can i get you to give me it?" She says, a slight pout on her lips, no concept of personal space running through her head.

"I— I have a client in a few," Your hands touch the sides of her waist hesitantly, gently trying to push her off. She huffed, pulling away and looking down at you.

"We can go eat...? Just cancel on them!" Jinx was persistent, she wanted to get you to do something random, spontaneous.

You looked at the clock, still not fully convinced. You were reluctant, yet her invite was enticing.

"Let's make it quick."

It was stepping out of your comfort zone, but the time wasn't entirely wasted, maybe even well spent. Jinx spoke for most of the time and you listened, occasionally adding your input to the conversations.

The contrast was prominent, the calmness behind your actions and the severity behind hers. She'd often make passes at you and she would lengthen moments.

You lost track of time, missing the rest of your clients for the day. She giggled as your hand met your face stressfully, realizing you lost half a day of money.

She stood with you next to the immense water fountain, center of the plaza. The light reflected off her features, emphasizing the sparkle in her eyes, the grin on her face, and the occasional tiny scars scattered throughout her face.

Your eyes melted, lips slightly parted. She was different from yourself, chaotic, disoriented, it was a nice contrast though. One that could keep you on your toes yet nicely grounded.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, it didn't last very long when a thunderous noise came from the sky. You flinched, bounching lightly, making her chuckle.

"Ya' scared of some rain?" She commented, playfully mocking. You shook your head, awkwardly giggling back. "Uhm— no.." Another one striked, along with lightning, causing you to tumble a bit once again.

Her laughs were more consistent now, but you just stared at the way she looked.

Rain sprinkled, making you look up in suprised. "Oh— We should get you under a roof, you might get sick.." You spoke, grabbing her wrist and trying to tug her away as the rain got heavier.

She let you yet stopped in the middle of the street, rain still pouring over the both of you.

She looked hesitant for the first times you two met, her hands bringing you closer and pressing a firm kiss against your lips. You both grew drenched, hair soaked to the tip, but you didn't pull away.

Your hands went around her own neck, kissing softly, needily. She was more ardent with her motion but you were slow, taking time with her.

You could hardly feel the rain anymore, focused on the dance of tongues between you and Jinx. She pulled away first, you followed after her before finally removing your lips.

She took deep breaths, a smile painted onto her, basically permanently.

"Was the day off worth it?" She questioned giggling, staring at her lipstick smudged on your lip and corners.

You only hummed in agreement, pressing her body closer to yours.

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anmolsmsblog · 3 months ago

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bobardo · 5 months ago

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i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i’d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

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