#half-arsed background

[pink-key]

POV: You make eyecontact with the ticcing weirdo in your class. For real, 15 year old Tobs was death sentence to teenage me I am weak for black turtleneck clothes, gosh darn that's illegal.

[crescenthistory]

can u do a remus x reader where they are best friends and remus has been in love with reader forever, and reader is kind of a player because she also loves remus but didnt know that the feeling was reciprocated

i did a bit of a different take on this, hope you enjoy it babe

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: suggestive references and themes (talk of shagging, etc.), drinking and partying in hogwarts, fem!reader, use of y/n, sirius' pov for half then your pov (with all the mental tirades that includes), partier!reader more so than player, you have snogged james and mary (in the past), platonic!sirius but borderline fwb at one point, platonic!wolfstar, pining!remus, secretly pining!reader, no slutshaming, background jegulily, confessions, happy ending ofc

Sirius was in a bit of a difficult situation.

On the one hand, he had a beautiful girl all but crawling into his lap in the middle of an admittedly good party and he knew she would be a hell of a great time.

On the other hand, he was absolutely certain that his best friend was in love with her, despite his many denials, and he was not sure if she herself knew yet.

She had to, right? You had to know that Remus was in love with you with how he had been making puppy eyes at you more or less since first year. The two of you were the best of friends and went everywhere together – it was simply impossible that you had not had a conversation or two about it. But then again, Sirius and Remus were also the best of friends and he had not heard so much as a squeak about any such conversation taking place, let alone him admitting his feelings.

Could you truly be so oblivious? You had to know, and are choosing to live your life as you wanted regardless, as is your right. Would Sirius be an arse if he rejected your current casual advances because of Remus? If he was, would he be an arse for telling you about Remus' feelings or for dictating how a woman conducts herself based on the feelings of a man?

Sirius was way too drunk to be thinking any of these thoughts.

Yet, immediate action was required in order to handle the situation at hand. You and Sirius had been sitting beside one another for a while now, your leg thrown over in between his thighs, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your hand on his chest. The music was absolutely blaring, the alcohol was flowing freely through your bodies, making the places where you touch that much hotter, in all semblances of the word. Sirius knew that if he was to tilt his head down to look at you, your lips would surely smash together.

It was not uncommon for you to shag some lucky bastard at these parties. You were carefree and fun in that way that made you fit seamlessly into your group of friends when Remus introduced you. It was never serious or deep on either front, Sirius knew as much – you and Mary had an arrangement of mutual fun going on for a while and you had even snogged James once before he got with Regulus and Lily.

Sirius participated equally as enthusiastically and the two of you were good friends, so really, it made sense that you ended up in this situation at last.

Still, sirens were flaring in his head screaming "BAD FRIEND, BAD FRIEND" the longer he sat with you like this. Because whenever you did find someone to hook up with at a party, you always left Remus' side to do so, as you were otherwise attached at the hip. And Sirius was the one left to watch him struggle to keep his face from crumbling every time. He was also always the one to poke the bear – or the wolf, if you please – by confronting Remus about his feelings for you constantly, both in a playful and serious manner.

As the designated campaigner for "Remus get your shit together and kiss her yourself", he should not be making that more difficult for his best mate.

He also should not get involved in whatever delicate situation you two had going on, but when his eyes flicked across the room, terrified to make eye contact with Remus wherever he was, determination grew in his chest. Something had to be done.

"Are you good, Siri?" you asked from beside him, words slurred just enough for him to know you were tipsy but not so much that he was concerned.

He took a deep breath. "Actually. Can we talk? Alone?"

Your body grew a bit tense against his, enough that he knew you understood this was not some scheme to get you alone. "Sure," you said wearily, already detangling your body from his.

The two of you got up and hastily made for the portrait hole. Sirius hoped that the cool stone walls outside would help him sober up enough to be able to communicate effectively.

His heart sank just a little bit when he caught sight of familiar tawny hair leaning against the wall by the exit. He knew all too well how this looked. Remus' eyes lit up when they landed on you, his mouth opening to make some sort of greeting when the words died on his tongue at the sight of a guilty Sirius trailing behind you.

You seemed nonplussed. "Oh, hi Rem," you said brightly, almost giggling around your words from the alcohol. You stepped off your path for a second to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling softly at him. "You having fun?"

Remus' face seemed strained, but he kept his smile up, even if just for you. "Yes, dovey. Are you?"

You nodded and squeezed his hand before taking a few steps back and away from him. "Very much so. We're just heading out for a quick chat."

He looked quickly between you and Sirius, never quite meeting his eyes, and Sirius felt as if he was being incriminated just by standing there with his hair slightly tousled from you playing with it. The hurt he could see play across his best mate's face was exactly the type of thing he was hoping to avoid by the awkward conversation he was about to have.

Remus' smile grew more thin-lipped than before as his gaze settled somewhere on your cheek. "Great. Have fun."

You just nodded once more before turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door, seemingly unaware of what just transpired between the three of you. Sirius stalled for a moment, wondering if he should say something, but decided against it in case Remus tried to stop him once he realised what the chat actually will be about.

It didn't much matter, though, because Remus stalked off without ever meeting his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius hurried over to the door to the common room that you were holding open from the outside, smiling back at him. You truly were such a lovely girl, and he hoped to Merlin he was not fucking anything up for you right now.

Stepping through the portrait, he let the Fat Lady slam shut behind him, cringing at the sudden silence that enveloped the two of you. Though, the air was as much of a welcome reprieve as he had expected it to be, and he breathed in a huge chunk of it to steal his nerves.

"Listen, Sirius, if things got too touchy in there then I'm sor–" you tried to begin, but he all but threw his hands up between you in a display of innocence.

"No, no, dollface, don't you worry about that one bit," he laughed out nervously. "I was very much enjoying myself. I just realised– fuck how do I say this?"

He tried to think clearly and find a way to communicate what he knew in his heart to be true.

"No swearing in my halls!" The shrill voice he knew to belong to the portrait that had tortured him for seven years sounded behind him.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said rather petulantly and held out his hand for you to take so that he could lead you down the hall and away from her. He also hoped you read it as the display of well-meaning and friendship that it was.

You accepted his hand gracefully and his heart did calm down just the slightest from it.

The two of you hurried down the hallway, feeling every bit the teenagers that you were, settling down in a corner just far enough away for privacy. The cool stone did marvels for his overheating, and Sirius took full advantage of it by leaning his head back against them.

"What did you realise?" you asked then.

"Huh?" he answered, admittedly quite dumbly.

You had the decency to laugh at him instead of mock him. "Earlier. You said I didn't do anything wrong, but that you realised something."

Sirius heaved a deep breath. "Right, right," he murmured before clearing his throat. Was he overstepping? Possibly. Would he be ripping the bandaid off anyway? Absolutely. "See, I was having fun earlier and saw it as what it was – just two friends having fun, yeah? But I fear not everyone feels the same."

"I swear to Godrick, if you accuse me of having feelings for you, Black, I will chuck you off the Astronomy Tower," you said through a laugh.

"I'm thankfully not that conceited, babe. But it wasn't you I was referring to."

You looked at him as if to say who, then?

"I think– or no, I actually know for certain, even if the stupid sod won't admit it. Erm, okay, so. Wow, how do I explain that? He's my best mate, you know, and I–"

"Sirius, you are making no sense right now."

"Remus is in love with you."

You had opened your mouth to volley back, clearly expecting him to still be stumbling over his words, but now it was just left hanging open as you stared at him, baffled. The two of you sat in silence for much longer than Sirius could have expected, or perhaps that was just his nerves dragging out the moment. You seemed to be fighting for breath.

"Excuse me, what?!" you breathed out, voice increasing in crescendo throughout your sentence. The what ricocheted down the hall; Sirius grimaced.

"So, you didn't know," he surmises, having answered his mental tirade from earlier. "I honestly don't know how you haven't seen it, that boy has literally been mooning for you for years. I'm surprised we haven't had to keep the actual Moony from tracking you down and wagging his tail at you once a month."

Your face told him that this was not a time for jokes, yet somehow you still laughed at that. Sirius realised with horror that your laugh sounded rather wet and saw you aggressively wiping at your face, as if you were about to start crying. "I'm so confused," you whispered.

Sirius sat there rather dumbly, unsure how to make it any more clear. "I don't know what to tell you, babe. He has feelings for you, always has. I don't blame you if you don't return them and I'm sure neither will he – but, yeah no, I figured you should know. And while I totally respect you shagging whoever you want, I just don't think he could handle it if it were me. So I have to back out."

Miraculously you nodded in understanding, despite his ramblings. Your movements were slow, as if you were trying to let his words settle in your bones, processing years of misinterpreting in a matter of seconds.

Sirius wanted to help. "I've tried to get him to tell you himself, but he hasn't even admitted it out loud yet."

That seemed to snap your attention back to him, a fierce look growing rapidly in your eyes. "He hasn't told you? Then how do you know?!" You waved your hands between the two of you to emphasise his point.

Not quite what he expected, Sirius found himself scrambling for words. "Everyone knows! It's literally written all over his face whenever you're near!"

"I've been looking at that same face a lot and I haven't seen that?" you question then, wielding your argument as if you were about to disagree with him.

"Y/N. Baby." Sirius tried to articulate his words clearly. "Remus has feelings for you. I swear on my life. You don't have to do anything with that information, I just had to tell you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, seemingly scrutinising every inch of his face. "If this is a prank, you're dead, Black."

"It's not a prank. I swear on Effie and Monty Potter, the absolute angels they are." He held his hands over his heart for emphasis.

"You could be wrong."

"I'm not though."

You hummed in consideration, still not letting him out from the hold of your inspecting eyes. "I have to go find out." You said it as if it was plain and simple, and before Sirius knew it, you were standing above him.

"What?" he said, again dumbly. He should never drink again.

"Thank you, Siri, I'll see you later," you called as you were already moving down the hallway at an impressive speed, given you had been shocked still mere seconds ago.

Sirius remained sitting on the floor letting his head drop back against the stone and his eyes fall shut. He has either taken one for the team or massively fucked up – the best part is that he still had no idea which one it would be.

This was bound to be an eventful evening.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your heart was resounding through your entire body and you could barely feel the tips of your fingers – not at all because of the alcohol, you were actually quite certain you had more or less sobered up by now.

No, it was because Remus loved you. Remus Lupin, the best friend you could ask for, the unrequited, unattainable love of your life, for some unidentified reason loved you.

According to Sirius, at least.

Merlin, how you would skin him alive, should he be wrong.

The party had picked up its pace in the few minutes you and Sirius spent outside in the hallway. Someone had conjured up a light fog to roll around on the floor, allegedly to help with the atmosphere but no doubt it was really because the floor was becoming too filthy to look at directly. Warm bodies pressed into each other everywhere and there was a smell of sweat and drinks that on another day might have been enticing. Right now, you only had one focus.

"Where's Remus?" Your words were rushed as you latched onto the nearest arm you could find, grinning brightly when the familiar face of James came into view.

"Hiya, love," he greeted merrily, his other arm wrapped protectively around Lily. "What's up?"

"Remus. Where is he?" you repeated, albeit a bit more abashedly as you saw Lily glance at James sideways.

"Oh," James said and furrowed his brows, as if he was thinking. Then, he turned his head down to look at Lily who was already regarding him. "Where do we think Moony is, darling?"

Lily shifted her gaze between the two of you while biting her lip. She seemed to be making a quick appraisal. "I believe he headed up to the dorm early. Something about feeling tired?"

Nothing got past Lily, and you could tell from her somewhat smug yet concerned expression that she knew something you did not. Or, perhaps you did.

You let out a quick breath. "Oh." You couldn't help the slight guilt that settled in your stomach – even though you still couldn't know for certain that it was because of you. "I'll go find him, then."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked. "He might want to just sleep it off."

Sleep it off?

You nodded, confidence in your choice growing with every second. "I'm sure, yeah, but thanks Lils."

There was not a speck of judgement in her eyes, though her smile remained apprehensive. "I mean, he always wants to be with you, so it should be fine." She winked at you and suddenly your stomach was dropping because did everyone but you know?

Well, perhaps not James because he looked between you and Lily, entertained confusion written all over his face. "Okay, then. Great? See ya later, yeah?"

You squeezed both of their forearms in thanks before stepping backwards away from them, almost knocking into two people on the way. God, this place was packed. You threw some general sound of agreement that hopefully sounded as warm as you intended it before all but running towards the stairs to the boys' dormitory. On the way, you swear you almost lost your life twice, tripping over feet that grew invisible in the fog.

By the time your steps landed on the stairs, you were able to squeeze into the stone wall and quickly run up while avoiding those hanging over the railing. Truly hazardous, these Gryffindors.

The trek down the hall to the dorm Remus had shared with his friends for all seven years of your friendship was as practiced as it was easy. Yet, as your mind was replaying your conversations with Sirius and Lily over and over at record speed, it felt like it stretched on for miles, your own road to Calvary.

Your fingers acted off of instinct as they reached up to quietly rap on the door with two knuckles.

"Sod off," you heard Remus' muffled voice call through the door. You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face.

You cracked the door open just enough to poke your head through and catch sight of him sprawled out on his bed, face down. Your smile widened. "Me too?"

It was as if his body was a push poppet that suddenly had its strings drawn taut again – his spine straightened and his head whipped around to look at you wide-eyed. He clearly had not expected you. He made some sounds that could probably classify as guffawing before he snapped his mouth shut to sit up and collect himself. The whole process was barely a few seconds, but the syrupy effect on time from the hallway seemed to have joined you into his dorm. Relief washed through your body when he smiled at you, even if it seemed somewhat strained.

"Of course not dove, sorry."

You slipped the rest of your body in through the door and shut it quietly behind you. The silence in this dorm had never felt so complete before.

In your rush to get to him, you hadn't once thought to think of what to say to him. How could you ever possibly breach the topic? It seemed like he could sense your hesitation because he sat more comfortably on the edge of his bed, wool sock-clad feet planted firmly against the floor. He had an inquisitive yet somewhat nervous look on his face.

He beat you to it. "You alright? Shouldn't you be out there, having fun?"

You couldn't help reading some judgement in that, knowing what you now maybe know. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, not quite able to hide the potential hurt in your voice.

Remus could pick up on your every mood and his eyes widened comically and he raised his hand as if he was about to talk to a scared wild animal. "Nothing! No, not like that, I just meant – it's a party. You love parties. Did someone hurt you?" His voice grew small by the end of his sentence. You feared someone was referring to Sirius, the only reason he could imagine you leaving a gathering to go be alone with him. You hated the idea.

There were probably a hundred better ways to go about this, but your mind felt muddy with the overwhelming feelings, your earlier drinks and the damn fog that somehow had made its way into your lungs. And you just could not believe any of it.

You were not proud of what you said next.

"Remus, are you in love with me?"

If it had been quiet before, there were no words for the shift in atmosphere after that question. It was like you were alone in a black hole, just the two of you.

Remus' head actually reared back from shock, both from your suddenness and the question itself. His pretty mouth hung slightly open, bottom lip making a slight jerky movement you could only describe as quivering.

"I– what?" He let out, it was somewhere between a gasp and an exclamation.

You took a few steps closer, so that you were standing in front of him, feeling the sudden need to be near, to hear, to know. "Sirius told me."

Remus jerked up too, suddenly standing within arm reach. His eyes were fluttering and his mouth opening and closing in a way that almost confirmed it on its own. "Y/N, I–"

"Remus." You interrupted quietly, sensing his continued shock and oncoming fib. "Don't lie, please."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered then, eyes growing glossy as they flicked all over your face. "I– I'm sorry."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his pained expression. "I don't understand?" you said weakly. Why was he apologising? "Remus, are you in love with me?"

He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side. Your fears were confirmed when he brought up a hand to wipe at the part of his face you couldn't see. "Please," he begged. "Don't."

Don't make me say it.

You have to.

"Remus." Your tone matched his despairing one – his name was your plea.

He turned his head back to you and met your eyes head on with his own red-rimmed ones. A slow sigh was let out through his nose, the sound of defeat, giving in to you as he always did.

Gods, he always did.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered then. Clearly, without any hint at insecurity or deceit.

You took one small step closer, bringing your trembling fingers up to lightly ghost over his cheeks – not quite holding his face, but almost, millimetres apart. You were sure you looked half-crazed as you stood there in silent shock, studying his face in a flurry.

There was no contempt in his face at your stupor. Just guilt and sorrow.

"Why?" you breathed out.

"I'm sorry," was all he offered, once more.

"No, no, don't say that," you insisted, voice suddenly growing stronger. More certain. Your hands made proper contact with his cheeks, and you could feel him deflate beneath your touch. "Please don't be sorry."

At last some confusion drifted into his eyes as he regarded you. "Don't tell me not to apologise; that just makes me want to apologise for apologising." There was light humour in his tone, a smidge of hope. Hope that you wouldn't believe him awful for falling in love with you.

He was in love with you.

You laughed then, not just at his poor attempt at a joke but at the situation, at the prospect.

"You love me?" There was no hiding the absolute awe in your voice.

The guilt was still there, but it made room for softness as he gave you the smallest, saddest smile. "Of course, dove."

You breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to kiss his smile into a happy one.

Remus’ body immediately stiffened beneath your touch, shock radiating through him. Then, beautifully, you felt him soften once more beneath you, felt his eyelashes brush your cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut, felt him blow the air from his lungs through his nose in a long sigh, breath warm and inviting against you. Slowly, you parted your lips and brought his between yours, deepening the kiss. Unlike your movements earlier, there was no urgency, there was just him in your hands, him against your lips, his tongue against yours.

You let one of your hands travel to the nape of his neck where you played with his shorter strands of hair, breaking the kiss to lean your forehead against his. Your eyes remained closed as you soaked up up the moment, but you could feel his own burn through your skin. Could hear him guffawing again. A smile settled permanently onto your lips.

“You love me?” you repeated, knowing the answer, but wanting to feel the words on your tongue once more, mixing with him.

He nodded fervently against you, jostling your head slightly to which you let out a soft giggle.

“You– I–” he began, cutting himself off. “Do you…?” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“I love you,” you whispered, in awe at getting to say the words aloud in this context. “I’m so in love with you, sweet boy.”

His body disconnected from yours briefly, forcing you to open your eyes and support your own weight, as he leaned back to stare at you incredulously, confused, shocked. His eyebrows were furrowed almost as if he were mad, but you knew in your heart that he was not.

“I– no, that makes no sense,” he whispered almost to himself, shaking his head as he tried to process your words. You fought not to laugh at that – because it would seem like you were laughing at him and that was not nice. You would have more than enough time to be not nice later, for now he needed your patience. “You? Love me?”

You nodded with a smile. His body was still close to yours and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his waist, interlocking your fingers at the small of his back.

There was so much emotion and vulnerability swimming in his eyes, you would almost feel bad if you weren’t so unbelievably happy.

“I never thought you could have feelings for me,” you confessed breathlessly, grinning wickedly despite the pain you were sharing. “Here I’ve been, running around thinking the greatest love I had ever felt was wholly unreciprocated.”

This only seemed to confuse him further, though he was relaxing beneath your touch. “You… This whole time?”

“I suppose so,” you mused. “I only realised two years ago, though.”

Remus let out a groan and a laugh at the same time and then – thanks to any and every god – he leaned his forehead on your shoulder, burying his face in you. “I cannot believe I’ve been torturing myself and you’ve been… in love with me too. This whole time.”

You dared to kiss the side of his head from where he was leaning against you and tightened your hold on him. Something you had done a thousand times over as his friend, yet this sent entirely new sparks through you.

As if he just thought of something, he lifted his head suddenly to furrow his brows at you. “Why would you ever think I couldn't love you?”

You tilted your head at him. “How many times have you not brushed Sirius off when he makes jokes about us? Or said you would never want to be in a relationship? I thought you might view me as a sister by now.” Despite your teasing, residue hurt still clung to your words.

The grimace was instant and Remus shook his head as if that is the worst thing he has ever heard. “Gods, no, I sure do hope not.” 

You both laughed quietly, carefully. His hands were slow as they went up to hold your jaw, fingers brushing the side of your neck in reverence. “I’m sorry I made you think that, dovey.”

“Don’t be. Then I have to be sorry for snogging our friends in front of you.”

Remus flushed slightly at your words, but the awed affection plastered all over his every feature did not waver. “I don’t want you to be,” he murmured while still caressing you carefully. “I just… I just want you. Will you be mine, dovey?”

Your face inched closer and closer to his, your grins growing mirrored against each other. “I am yours,” you whispered against his lips before closing the distance once more.

The most heavenly kisses you ever shared would be those with your lovely Remus.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“Oi! Pads!”

Sirius flinched with his whole body, looking over his shoulder with a sheepish smile to face his inevitable death in the form of one Remus Lupin. He had been waiting for it all night as he partied with James, and had managed to get halfway through his second game of butterbeer pong before it was time for his execution.

Reaching out for James’ hand, he shook it firmly and matter-of-factly. “Lovely knowing you mate, take good care of my brother, yeah?”

James seemed entirely nonchalant to the whole ordeal, shaking his hand in return. “Yeah, sure, safe travels Padfoot.”

Sirius then turned to Remus who was descending the stairs from the dormitory, holding his hands up in defence. “Okay, hear me out–” he begins but he was cut off.

He was cut off by a hug. 

Remus borderline slams into him, locking his arms over his shoulders and dragging him close to his chest. Awkwardly, Sirius returns the favour, patting him on the back and making what the fuck eyes at Mary over Remus’ shoulder.

“You’re a meddling bloody bastard,” Remus said into his ear. 

Here we go.

“But thank you.”

Oh. Oh.

He reared his head back so that he could see Remus and the shy yet pleased smile he wore, and Sirius’ whole face split into a painful, beaming smile. “It worked?” he asked giddily, jostling Remus where he was still trapped in the hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus mumbled, though his grin grew.

The victorious, screeching holler Sirius let out was so loud it could be heard down to the dungeons.

[tastytofusoup]

The FF8 ‘remaster’ looks dogshit btw.

“Let’s just stretch the original pre-rendered art so it looks like blurry garbage, then add really high res new character models! They won’t look horribly out of place at all!”

I don’t even upscale the PlayStation Final Fantasies very much on an emulator, because even then then 3D models end up contrasting too much with the scenery.

The games absolutely look better if it’s all a similar level of pixely resolution, otherwise everyone looks like they’re running over the 2D image that they are, rather than actually being part of the world.

Just emulate it with DuckStation and (under Enhancements in the settings) set the internal resolution scale to 3x (or even 2x), and texture filtering to ‘nearest-neighbor’ to preserve the pixelation of the backgrounds. If you want to add a light blur to the backgrounds so they’re not as pixely, set Downsampling to Adaptive. It then looks like this:

Higher res than PlayStation native, but the characters convincingly match the world.

Without the downsampling, 2x really makes the models fit the background well, but 3x helps to bring out facial features better. So it’s a subtle, personal preference toss-up, but seriously don’t go higher than that. With the downsampling, they basically both look the same. The choice between downsampling or not is just whether you want the whole game to look more crisp, or a smoother, original PS look, like the above images. The other texture filter options give the game more of a smudged look, the blur looks better if a smoother look’s what you’d prefer.

The backgrounds are fairly tiny, static images for a PlayStation game from 1999, if you want to actually remaster it and add new character models, either redraw every single background from scratch in high resolution, or don’t bother at all. I don’t know how they thought slapping high res, modern models in there in such a half-arsed way would be a good idea. They did the same with FF9, which also looks bad. Likewise, don’t pay for that either, just emulate it with the same settings and it looks nice.

[ashlynniis-bracketeers]

Y'know, I find it really interesting (and hilarious) that somebody can Corrode into something that looks even freakier (or at least weirder) than the E.G.O's source Abnormality. I have to wonder if they could freak/weird-out their matching Abnormalities lmao.

Putting a bunch of text under the cut.

Using the E.G.Os/Abnos in the images as examples:

The Rose Hunter is at least arsed to look vaguely like a normal dude 90% of the time (discounting his thorny stem/root lower half as seen in the E.G.O splash art background for Hong Lu's version of Lasso). Corroded Lasso Faust is similar. Corroded Lasso Hong Lu, however, is basically a rose with two long stems tied into lassos and his "lower body" connected directly to the horse, with only part of his ponytail left. Not even getting into the fact that both his "torso" and the horse's abdomen are "bleeding" rose petals and the fact that the horse's rein is tied around Hong Lu's neck akin to a noose. He actually reminds me a bit of a Nuckelavee with the really long arms and being directly connected to the horse.

The Heavenly Executioner's Scribe is a pretty simple statue-looking thing. Meur's Corrosion is a bit funky with the little hands on his wings, his floating hands, and funky mask... But his Corrosion is nothing compared to whatever the hell Corroded Pursuance Rodion has going on lmao. She's got chains and she seems to have eyes on her eyes. Eyes for days.

Der Fluchschütze is a variant of Der Freischütz but red, basically. Pretty simple design, nothing fancy. Both of the Fell Bullet Corrosions are pretty goddamn weird compared to Der Fluchschütze's design, with Heathcliff's version turning him into a giant heart filled with guns while Yi Sang's version turns him into a sentient reflection stuck in a jury-rigged mirror+gun setup, but Yi Sang's version of Fell Bullet isn't in the game yet, so we do not have the sprite, so I just put Heathcliff's Fell Bullet Corrosion there. To be fair, it deserves to be here. Der Fluchschütze would definitely be confused as to how it could cause... that.

The Dreaming Electric Sheep is... Well, it's a sheep alright. With really long, clawed legs and a bunch of spikes sticking out of its wool, but it's a sheep alright. Meur Corrodes into this E.G.O hard. Compared to Don's Corrosion, he goes full Sheep. Which just makes me wonder why he's got that weird Demogorgon-looking meat-flower-flap face in his attack, while the Dreaming Electric Sheep's version of the "Electric Screaming" attack does not have that. Sheep Meur, y u have weird meat flower face. His head is also inside the wool 90% of the time for some reason...

[ugotcooneycrossed]

let you break my heart again • alessia russo

part 2 of 'keep pretending pretty girl'

w/c: ~1.5k

a/n: sorry this took longer than planned my pookies but i hope its worth it🫶

------------------------------------------------------------

you make some half-arsed excuse to leave the table- an ‘emergency’ of sorts that you have to see to.

an excuse that has the girl sitting across from you rolling her eyes, and huffing out a breath- she stands to leave and you grimace at her retreating form.

apologise to lotte later you tell yourself.

each step towards the toilets your resolve disappears a little more- your dignity all but vanishes, and the ever-nagging thought that this is a bad, very bad idea fades into an afterthought.

your heart beats a little faster; nerves, excitement- or the sheer embarrassment of never being able to deny alessia what she wants, you aren’t exactly sure.

you’re the first to arrive- the walk from your table since her text, an embarrassingly short amount of time. ducking down to check each stall, making sure no one else would be there to witness.

the door swings open loudly- and your head shoots to the newcomer, your heart pumping impossibly faster- but a stranger walks through instead, shooting you a strange look at your dishevelled appearance and heaving chest.  

clearing your throat you avert your eyes- pretending to occupy yourself with washing your hands. and when the stranger leaves, you check your phone- five minutes have definitely passed, yet no sign of her.

it’s embarrassing how much you wish she would walk through that door right now. you huff out a frustrated breath- the tight feeling in your chest, coiling down into your stomach, and sitting heavily in your heart once again.

you turn to leave- barely making it out the door before a hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you back in.

a familiar voice questions you.

“where are you going?”

alessia.

“home?”

you reply- and alessia rolls her eyes at you- trapping you in between the sinks and herself.

“who was that?”

she questions you again- moving her head to catch your eyes when you avert them.

“no one less.”

her eyes narrow- moving impossibly closer to you- and your breath hitches in your throat, alessia opens her mouth to speak- but loud voices from just outside the door interrupt. instead, she grabs your hand- pulling you into a stall with her, just as a horde of women pile into the room.  

you’re pressed up against each other in the small space- alessia’s breath fanning your neck, her perfume thick and enveloping all your senses.

the chatter from outside the stall fades into the background- muffled voices talking about something that you can’t quite comprehend at the moment.

not when alessia is looking down at you with those eyes, and her hands are resting on your hips- squeezing ever so slightly.

she’s got a gentle smile on her face now- one that has your heart melting a little, one that makes you crumble all over again, one that makes you think she finally will tell you she wants you.

the toilets empty finally- and you take the opportunity to shove the door open, practically tumbling out of the cramped space- desperate to get away from the blonde girl.

“(y/n) wait!”

you turn to look at her- waiting for her to say something, anything.

and yet, she doesn’t.

typical.

“shouldn’t you get back to your boyfriend less?”

she doesn’t respond to that- cringing and taking a step away from you instead.

“i don’t want you to see her again.”

she whispers it- and if you weren’t so in tune with her you would’ve missed it.

“sorry?”

“i don’t want you to see her again- i don’t want you to see anyone again.”

“but you right? ‘cause you just want me all to yourself? but it’s only when you want to see me- only when your boyfriend starts to bore you- only when you’re so pissed drunk you can’t even see straight- literally. and you want to know something alessia- you want to know the saddest, most pathetic part of it all? i’d let you break my heart over, and over again.”

you don’t know what’s come over you- you don’t know where this sudden rage is coming from, but when you see alessia shrink back- you can’t stand to be in the same room any more. cause you know the moment she speaks- the moment she reaches out, and holds your hand softly, the moment she whispers that she loves you; you’ll crumble and forgive her all over again.

-

you ignore her for days after that night- not that she has the nerve to say anything to you anyway, and you avoid her at training, going as far as to complain about a non-existent tweak in your knee to be allowed to skip training and stay in the gym.

leah shoots you strange looks over laura’s head- the girl too bust talking your ear off about how cute myle is to notice anything else.

kyra questions your sudden disappearance- poking you at lunch relentlessly, until you throw a chocolate bar in another direction, the younger girl chasing after it.

lotte catches you at lunch a few days later- grabbing your elbow and yanking you into an empty conference room.

“what happened?”

her tone is gentle but her hands holding you in place, not letting you escape- tell another story.

“nothing.”

lotte’s eyebrows raise- gripping your arm tighter when you try to leave.

“i talked to alessia.”

you hum at that- shrugging your shoulders.

“what’d she say?”

“just that you were upset with her- and well grace told me and I quote ‘some jealous blonde crashed our date and your friend basically malfunctioned on the spot.’”

“yeah- that’s some way to put it. she was there, even came up to out table. we talked. that’s all.”

-

the arsenal christmas party serves a great place to get drunk- a couple weeks after ‘the great disaster’- the new name of your date gone wrong.

lotte gives you a disapproving look at the amount of vodka you’ve poured and you send her a thumbs up and a cheeky smile.

you’re a little warm- buzzing from the alcohol, and the stupid sweater katie wrangled over your head when you stepped through the door- some obscure christmas reference you don’t know.

there’s a sea of people to navigate through- most you know, friends and family of your teammates that you’ve known for years now.

the crown from the bon bon you won against kyra slips a little- the small tear in the back, a result of kyra’s displeasure at losing- your poor green, paper crown a casualty in her mission to steal the stupid knickknacks inside. momentarily blinding you, you push it up, coming face-to-face with alessia’s ugly mug of a boyfriend.

“hey, you seen less?’

you hold in your grimace at his annoying voice, swallowing down and shrugging your shoulders.

“dunno man- sorry.”

he rolls his eyes at you.

shoving past more people to look for the blonde- and with his back turned, you flip him off, mocking him, and pulling faces.

with the last bit of your drink gone- and the sudden need to pee the only thing on your mind. you wonder over to the toilets.

you stand in front of the mirror for a while after- putting your cold hands on your flushed cheeks to cool them down.

and finally, fully satisfied with your full proof method to cool down- you open the door to leave- alessia appearing right on the other side.

“(y/n)! i’ve been looking for you! i missed you sooo much!”

you don’t know whether the alcohol is coming from her, or yourself- regardless the blonde crashes into you- and you melt at her familiar hold.

“i missed you too less.”

“please, please- just one kiss, i missed my girl.”

she puckers her lips expectantly- her strong arms still wrapped around you, and the fight in your head to not kiss her, doesn’t last more than a second, before you connect your lips.

you try to pull away after a second, but alessia grabs you tighter, chasing after your lips.

you separate- heaving chests, and matching slightly swollen lips.  

“i love you so much (y/n)- i don’t ever want to go back to not talking.”

“i love you too lessi, i just-“

“there you are less!”

alessia’s boyfriend interrupts before you can say anything else- he pulls her away from you and you roll your eyes as they kiss.

he pulls away- sparing you one glance and trying to get alessia’s attention.  

“head home now?”

he questions.

“mmh you can- might crash at (y/n)’s.”

alessia is only looking at you- waving off her boyfriend. and he leaves without another thought.

“what we’re you saying?”

“nothing- don’t worry about it less.”

“tell me- please.”

“don’t leave if you do come back- stay, please.”

-

you wake to the sound of your front door closing- shooting up in bed.

the beds empty- because of course it is, and you fall back into the sheets with a sigh.

there’s no training anymore with christmas break- no need to ignore you and fuss over the phone with her boyfriend. no texts, no calls- she doesn’t even like your instagram photos.

not that you’ve been hanging out for a notification from her or anything.

then a few days before you’re set to start training- you get a notification.

lessi  to ‘you’

-> i miss you, i'm sorry for leaving- can we talk?

[lagerloutfic]

hot rookie slagsss rides again! 'tis the season to have normal thots about your co-workers. thank you to @ctimenefic and @latecomersprivilege for making this one billion times better.

read part one - alex albon and his foot thing

Lando has no idea where he is. Couldn’t tell you the time for a million quid. He might be in a completely different country. There’s been a bottle in his hand since he stepped onto the podium. Champagne, beer, shots. 

A bottle of water was thrust at him at some point but Party in the USA blasted over the speakers so he poured it over Andrea making him squeal. 

He’s drunk. He’ll admit it. Probably passed drunk a few miles back. Totally hammered, as promised. He’s not the only one.

Everyone around him is grinning like mad. Hands clap him on the back so often he’s sure he’ll be bruised between his shoulder blades come morning. He doesn’t know who half the people are but it doesn’t matter. It’s all love tonight, everyone high as kites from topping the Constructors and whatever else is getting passed around.

It’s a good feeling. One of the best he’s ever had. It makes him really – 

Horny.

Like, disturbingly so. 

Disturbing because when he spots Oscar in the corner – looming over Lily with her back to the wall, one hand braced beside her head as she pulls him in by the collar to snog the pants off him – everything else shuts down apart from the klaxon in his brain screaming: I want, I want I want. 

It’s confusing. It doesn’t make sense. 

It’s – really hot how Lily doesn’t stop snogging Oscar as she turns his cap around, hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer. Really gives it to him with both barrels. Oscar’s hand creeps around to her waist, holding her close. Lando is glad the music is so loud so no one can hear him moan. 

Lando pulls out his phone. The background is super blurry, battery on a precarious 3%. He has to squint one eye as he peers down, tongue between his teeth as he opens Hot Rookie Slagsss. 

Lando: how do u ask some1 4 a 3some

George: Oh good, you’re alive

George: Don’t bother replying to any of the other fifty messages

Alex: who are you asking

Lando: no one

George: just a hypothetical question at 4 in the morning

Lando: dont use big words

Alex: imagine you’re asking us

Lando: u and russell?

George: Surely Alex means us and our girlfriends

Alex: surely

Lando thinks about asking the boys and their fit girlfriends for a threesome and, yeah. Obviously that’s a nice thought. There are so many nice thoughts flooding Lando’s brain right now he feels a little sick.

Lando: alex do u & lily wanna have 3some

George: Oh, of course you ask Alex and not me. Typical. 

Alex: now, now Georgie, don’t be jealous

George: Unbelievable. 

Alex: Lily says you’re too short

Lando: im a NORMAL HEIGHT

George: Whatever Frodo

Lando: ever think u 2 r freakishly tall

Alex: no

Lando is distracted from the bickering in his phone by the way Lily’s hands are moving down the back of Oscar’s ugly too-long shorts to cup his arse. Lando wants to be in the middle of it, to feel their hands roam over him, to let himself float in space as two sets of lips press against his neck. 

Oscar’s being so sloppy, licking along Lily’s jaw, sharp teeth biting down before thrusting his tongue back in her mouth. Jesus Christ. 

Lando: guys im dying here

George: in my experience, one simply waits to be asked

Lando: thats not gonna happen

George: Maybe for you…

Lando: wait

Lando: who did u have a 3some with

Lando: WHO

Lando: alex who was it

George: Alexander don’t you dare

Lando: WHOWHOWHOWHO

Alex: as discussed, Lily likes tall men

Lando: omgggggg

George: You’d best count your days Albon because you are so fucking dead

Alex: Lily wants to know what hotel you’re at

George: can we please take this to the other chat

Lando: WHAT other chat

Alex: secret threesome chat

George: I could do a murder and no one would blame me

Lando watches the three dots showing Alex typing and then his screen goes blank. He presses the power button furiously, willing the phone to light up but it’s dead. 

Lando considers flinging it across the room. Would be happy to never hear from his so-called friends again. The nerve, having secret threesomes willy-nilly behind his back. Absolute fuckers, the lot of them. 

There are cheers across the room. One of the mechanics has unearthed another magnum of champagne (where on earth do they keep finding these things) and is uncorking it, urging Oscar to tip his head back. 

It takes two of the mechanics to hoist it into the air. Oscar has to crouch, practically on his knees, mouth open wide as the fizz sloshes over his cheeks, foaming down his neck, soaking his shirt. Lando grips the sticky table in front of him, crotch pressed to the corner, his entire body throbbing in time to the music. 

Lily stands to the side, hand over her mouth, hair all mussed up from where Oscar’s been clutching it. She catches Lando’s eye and gestures at Oscar, silently asking him to get a load of this guy. 

Lando’s got a load of it alright. A big one. 

Lando doesn’t know how it happens but one second he’s humping the table and the next he’s on his knees next to Oscar, lukewarm champagne stinging his eyes for the hundredth time that day. 

It splashes all over Lily’s shoes and Lando follows the long line of her legs, her hips, tilting his head back to look at her face. She’s beaming down at him, totally unbothered by the sloshing between her toes. 

Everything is so wet.

“How do you feel about short blokes?” Lando slurs and she bends down, one hand on his shoulder.

“How short are we talking about?” 

Lando looks over helplessly at Oscar, two arms wrapped around some of the front office guys, wet t-shirt clinging to his chest. From this angle he can see the sharp grooves of Oscar’s abs, can count every single muscle straining as he laughs. 

Not that anyone cares, but him and Lando are literally the same height. 

Lily shrugs. “Reckon that’s ideal.”

George’s stupid fucking voice rings in Lando’s ears: One simply waits to be asked. 

He’s going to rub this in their handsome faces.

[slytherinslut0]

Mattheo Riddle with reader doing a striptease?

ok this one is fun ���� 18+?

perhaps it’s late at night, perhaps you’ve been drinking with the boys and pansy, everyone equally as sloshed as the other. the lot of you start playing truth or dare, and inevitably you get hit with a dare to do a striptease.

now, you were given the option to keep your top or bottoms on, should you feel more comfortable that way, but with the liquor coursing through your system and your newfound motivation, you couldn’t really give two fucks.

you and mattheo had been in this tension filled back and forth for quite some time, everyone knows the two of you have been messing around, though the stubborn arse doesn’t seem to wanna’ put aside his goddamn pride and admit that he wants you, exclusively.

you knew this was your perfect chance.

accepting the dare you stand up, somehow managing to swallow your laughter as you lock eyes with mattheo, his brooding browns glued to you with a clear challenge as he’s thinking to himself there’s no goddamn way she’s going to actually do this. strip in front of all your friends? no way.

oh, mattheo. you foolish fuck.

you know damn well that mattheo is the possessive type, but strangely enough he isn’t protesting this. he’s just simply watching you. you know this is just as much a dare from him as it is from the group. a dare to test him. a dare to play with fire. to fuck around and find out.

unfortunately for you, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, holding his stare and start by reaching behind your head to slowly let your hair out of your ponytail, allowing its length to sway as it falls and cascades around your face. you notice mattheo’s eye twitch, almost imperceptibly, before he begins adjusting his seated stance slightly, manspreading his legs just a little bit wider.

you choke back a giggle. though you know he noticed.

for a brief second you let your eyes traverse the room, glimpsing enzo and theo and blaise, all hawk eyes and parted lips, not wanting to miss a goddamn thing. you don’t feel too much about this as you know they’ve all seen you dozens of times in a bikini while swimming or tanning--underwear and bra really wasn’t much different. was it?

regathering your focus you shake off the thoughts of potential implications as your hands move to the base of your jumper, fingertips tracing the edge before slowly peeling it up your torso, the draft of the cool room igniting goosebumps on your skin. you pull it up further, spinning around to show them your backside as you tug it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor at your feet.

pansy whistles, giggling and urging you on as you sway your hips slightly to the faint hum of music playing in the background, undeniably lost in the fun of it all as the other boys cheer you on, too, clapping and howling in an absurd way to pump you up. at this point, you’re in damn near hysteria from laughing so hard.

collecting yourself, you tease the band of your leggings while bending at the hips, peering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of mattheo’s expressions as you begin to slowly peel them down your thighs, your ass in clear view.

mattheo looks like a fucking trainwreck, his hair tousled like his hand had plowed through it, his knuckles pale from gripping his cup so hard you were almost certain it was about to shatter within his palm. his jaw was clenched, so tight it almost looked painful, his eyes the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. you couldn’t tell if he was enjoying this, or utterly fucking hating it.

and as though he could read your mind, it was but a mere few seconds later before he gave you the answer.

you got your leggings about half way down your thighs when he stood up abruptly, interrupting the show and standing behind you to block your ass from the view of the other guys. when they all started grumbling and asking him wtf he was doing, he’d simply tell them to shut up and pick their jaws off the floor before they catch flies.

he’d yank your leggings back up, his lips pressed to your ear as he’d growl. “you win, you little fucking brat.”

you’d shrug, pretending you have no damn idea what he’s on about, and he’d reply with a calm, “yeah whatever you say princess, now let’s go back to my dorm so you can do this again for me in private.”

[laswells-ashtray]

Sleepy 141 and co?

Instead of writing it as like a story, I'm just describing each of them at their sleepiest because it offers me more descriptiveness.

Price is always tired, to him the sheer weight of being alive is exhausting. But genuinely sleepy John becomes very quiet and he wishes everyone around him would do the fucking same. He'll sit filling out paperwork and when the blinks start to become the gateway into an involuntary nap he'll put on music to try and keep him awake with the noise. Around 40 minutes later Nikolai walks into his office to find John's face smushed into what is undoubtedly an important document as he snores and Nine Inch Nail's wax poetic about obsession in the horniest way possible in the background.

Ghost is used to being tired on missions but something about being back on base acts as a fucked up sense of comfort that turns him into a sleepy kitten. He just wants to find someone close to him, headbutt their chest and fall asleep. The 141 have their own little downtime room, Price claimed it under the guise of using it for important/ classified "no one can see" nonsense and they use it as a glorified living room. If Soap, Gaz or even Price is in there and sitting on the couch then he will just lie on their chest and conk the fuck out. Soap will just nap under him, Gaz will use his shoulders to rest his phone as he watches a YouTube video and Price will just rest the mug of the coffee he's probably drinking on Ghost's back. To be napped on by Ghost is an honour.

Soap is a sleep anywhere typa guy, if he's tired and can't be fucked walking all the way back to his room then he will just sit at a table with his head in his arms and nap. It hurts his back, it hurts his neck and it leaves his arms numb. He will not stop doing it. If you're sitting at the table with him talking then he will just wait for a break in the conversation to tell you he's going to nap and then get comfy before you can respond. Shameless napper. Also if you catch him at his sleepiest then his words are indecipherable.

Gaz is an "I'm not that tired" followed by an accidental 7-hour nap person. He never actually feels tired but if he closes his eyes then it's over. If they're in the heli coming back from a mission, he'll make a comment about how he's feeling surprisingly awake and then four and a half minutes later he's asleep like one of those babies that's soothed by being in the back of a car. He actually was one of those babies, if you wanted to get Kyle to sleep from birth to the age of six then you just put him in the back of a car and went on a ten-minute drive.

Nikolai, as I have said and stand by, is a cat. He's tired? Sorry, John is busy. Then he's nuzzling his face into that Englishman's chest until he's asleep. He's one sleepy day away from purring. He's naturally affectionate but when he's tired he's so close to John that you'd think that separating them would require surgery. John makes the mistake of trying to get up? Nuh uh, just because he's mostly unconscious it doesn't mean that he isn't just as strong. The captain isn't moving his pale English arse until Nik feels like it.

Laswell can function well while tired, plays it off almost expertly or so she thinks. She does not, she is so easily irritable when she's sleepy. If you aren't her wife, you're an enemy. She will kill. Even Shepard learned that there are limits to how much Kate will take when she's sleep-deprived. He got too snippy with her one time and she asked how his wife had been doing. He was newly divorced and Kate knew. But with her wife? She comes home while sleepy and finds her wife in the kitchen, by the time her wife is done cooking Kate is almost asleep standing against her back with her arms around her wife's waist. By the time her wife hauls her into bed, Kate is out of it. She gets her head on her wife's chest? She's out like a light.

Alejandro is so much more likely to agree to something while tired. He's less likely to get annoyed at rookies for mistakes, he'll just wave them away without a second thought. If you need him to say yes to something, ask when he's tired. Rudy is like two days away from getting him to sleepily agree to get a cat. He's also less likely to remember any conversation he has after a certain point of tiredness. Will agree to an entire day's worth of activities and only remember the next day when he's shown proof, a video where he does in fact agree to these things. Damn it.

Rudy's vocabulary is reduced to uh huh and vague grunts of agreement when he's tired. It's a language that only Alejandro truly understands. Soap asks him a question once when he's tired and Rudy just makes a noise back. Alejandro, without so much as looking up from his phone, translates. "Not tomorrow, he's doing one-on-one training with someone who's just back after being off with an injury but he can do it after three the next day." Rudy is a big fan of just smashing his face into a pillow and blocking out the world around him when tired but unsurprisingly he ends up asleep almost every time.

[biblical-chronicles]

Ms. Lennon

______________________________________

where Liam's brain short-circuits after meeting the daughter of a Beatle.

______________________________________

“Another bloody farce,” Liam muttered, half to himself and half to Bonehead, who stood beside him nursing a beer at the award show pre-party.

Bonehead chuckled. “Every year, mate. You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

Liam was about to retort when something caught his attention across the room. His words died in his throat, his grip on his pint tightening slightly.

You’d just walked in, chatting casually with someone, your laughter reaching his ears even over the din. You weren’t doing anything particularly dramatic—just brushing a hand over your hair and looking around—but Liam couldn’t seem to look away.

He froze, his mouth slightly open, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background.

Noel quickly noticed the sudden shift in his brother’s demeanor. He frowned, glancing at Liam’s face to then follow his gaze. It didn’t take long for him to spot you, and when he did, his expression split into a wide, mischievous grin.

“Christ almighty,” Noel said, nudging Liam’s arm. “It’s her, innit?”

Liam blinked, snapping out of his daze. “What’re you on about?”

Noel rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. I’ve seen that look before. You’re starin’ at her like a teenager in a record shop.”

“Shut up, Noel,” Liam muttered, turning back toward his pint like it could shield him from the conversation.

But Noel wasn’t about to let it drop. “How long’s this been goin’ on, then? A few weeks? Months? Don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since... well, ever.”

Liam scowled. “Piss off, yeah?”

“Ah, this is brilliant,” Noel said, laughing as he leaned closer. “You’re properly smitten. Who’d have thought?”

“I already told ya, go play in traffic,” Liam muttered, trying to seem unfased, but the red creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Noel wasn’t done yet. “You gonna stand here all night gawping at her, or are you actually gonna do summat about it?”

Liam tensed, gripping his pint harder. “It’s not like that.”

Noel raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Not like what? You’re practically droolin’, mate. You want me to go over, introduce meself, maybe mention you while I’m at it?”

Before Liam could respond, Noel made a show of taking a step toward you.

“Noel!” Liam snapped, grabbing his brother’s arm and yanking him back with more force than necessary.

Noel laughed, delighted. “Bloody hell, you’re proper wound up! What’s the matter? Worried I’ll charm her before you’ve had a chance?”

Liam glared at him, his jaw tight. “You don’t get it, alright?”

Noel cocked his head, still grinning. “What’s there to get? She’s fit, you fancy her, end of story. Grow a pair and go talk to her.”

Liam shook his head, glancing at you again. “It’s not that simple.”

Noel frowned, finally catching on to the seriousness in his brother’s tone. “Why? What’s the deal?”

Liam hesitated, looking at his pint for a long moment before finally muttering, “That’s Lennon’s family.”

Noel blinked, then let out a low whistle. “As in John Lennon?”

Liam nodded, his expression guarded.

Noel let out a disbelieving laugh. “Well, that explains a lot. You’re not just shittin’ yourself ‘cause she’s fit, you’re shittin’ yourself ‘cause she’s related to your celebrity crush number two. Christ, Liam, you’re a right mess.”

“Shut it,” Liam muttered, but there was no heat in his voice.

Noel shook his head, still grinning. “You’re actin’ like she’s got a crown on her head or summat, she’s just a person mate. A person you clearly fancy the arse off, but still.”

“Leave it, Noel,” Liam said, his voice low and tense.

Noel shrugged, taking a step back. “Alright, fine, your funeral. But don’t come cryin’ to me when someone else gets there first.”

With that, Noel wandered off, leaving Liam standing there with his pint and his thoughts. He glanced at you again, his chest tightening as you laughed at something someone said, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “What am I even doin’?”

When he looked back in your direction you were suddenly walking—no, gliding, it felt like—straight towards him.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, glancing quickly over his shoulder as if to confirm there was someone else behind him. But no, it was him. You were coming toward him.

His heart did a little flip, and he forced himself to look the other way, pretending not to notice. Maybe if he looked bored enough, you’d change your mind, or someone else would intercept you.

But then, there you were, standing right in front of him, and his name fell from your lips like you’d known him for years. “Liam.”

He froze, his brain short-circuiting for a second before he looked at you, wide-eyed. “Oh, fuck, you know my name?” he blurted out, his voice almost a squeak.

You laughed softly, “Of course, I know your name. I’m a big fan. Been listening to you for a while now, would love to catch one of your gigs sometime.”

Liam blinked, then swore under his breath. “Oh, God, I said that out loud, didn’t I? Shit. Sorry, it’s just—I’m a big fan too. Of you. And your dad, obviously, but you—bloody hell, you’re brilliant too, not just your dad of course-.”

The words tumbled out of him in a rushed, jumbled mess, and by the end, he felt his cheeks burning. You just tilted your head, a little amused, a smile playing on your lips.

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “I get it, I do. I just wanted to come over and say hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to recover some bits of cool. “Right, yeah, hi.”

You took a half-step closer, your confidence catching him off guard. “You know,” you said, your tone light but with a flirtatious edge, “you’re even cuter in person.”

At that point Liam's brain almost shut off completely. “Cuter?” he echoed, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, your gaze locking onto his.

He stood there, stunned into silence for a beat too long, and you took some pity on him. “So,” you said, brushing your hair back casually, “are you free after the award show?”

“Fuck yes,” Liam answered immediately, far too quickly. The words shot out of him like a reflex, and he winced at himself.

You laughed, a bright, easy laugh that only made him feel warmer under his collar. “I’m glad,” you said, stepping even closer.

Before he could say anything else—before his brain could catch up with what was happening—you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His breath hitched, and as you pulled back, your eyes lingered on his for just a moment longer than necessary. The air between you felt electric, and before he could process it, you leaned forward again, brushing your lips lightly over his.

It was barely a kiss, more a whisper of one, but it left him completely undone.

You stepped back, your smile soft and knowing. “See you near the front door in a few, yeah sweetheart?”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there awkwardly, his cheeks flushed red.

His hand flew to his lips as he watched you disappear into the crowd, and before he could stop himself, he whispered under his breath, “Well, fuck me sideways.”

______________________________________

proper love the idea of Liam being shy and his brain short-circuiting over owt to be honest, so thank you me lovely anon for the request, hope you like it !!

(it honestly stresses me out when anons request like did you get to read it? did you like it? was it okay? love you still)

and ofc hope all you lovely lot enjoyed it as well xx

Noel version inspired by this one here

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Random Soap MacTavish headcanons {2}

sfw and nsfw

pairing: sgt. Soap MacTavish x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, fem!reader, smut, creampie, oral kink, groping, fingering, twt links (straight up porn)

a/n: if I have not seen the scene when Soap floats to he Scottish Highlands, it haven't happened. yes I'm in denial and will re-watch the mw2 campaign religiously, while living in my bubble, I shall feed all of those who wants to join me

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish MASTERLIST

sfw

-god this man chews gum a.fucking.lot, Soap always have a pack of gum in his pocket or bag

-sometimes you send him a look when he starts chewing with the front of his teeth and the sound gets just a tad bit too obnoxious, he always notices but there's two ways he reacts

-either he gives you a bashful smile and shrug before going back to whatever he's doing, mindful to not disturb you again

-or, he simply meets your gaze with arched brows, white gum on full display between his teeth as he offers you a boyish smile, that reaction always precedes his playful mood of teasing you with his chewing, a sharp pop sounding every now and then as he somehow manages to create little bubbles with a simple

-although Soap may be the shortest out of 141, this man is far from small, just put him in a setting where everyone isn't Ghost and he towers over most and it just so happens that you get reminded of it while almost every time you catch him working out

-you just throw him a glance and get kinda stunned when seeing the way your hulking powerhouse of a boyfriend beats the punching bag or throw around weights as if they weight absolutely nothing

-he loves swimming and water

-like, this man wants to go to any body of water at least once on his leave, sometimes just to sit and watch the wave crash against the beach, or the soft clucking of a lake

-sometimes he even takes a quick dip despite being in Scotland and the water impossibly is above 11

-you just watch him in disbelief as he strip and wades into the water until it reaches the middle of his thighs and he submerges himself, you blame it on the military for frying his cold-receptors, but he argues he's been likes this since being a wee lad

nsfw under the cut

-this mf is nasty, Soap loves to see his cum drip out of you and if you’ll let him, he’ll never want to prove his pull-out game is as strong as he boasts about

-sometimes, he is so in his head that he can’t rid himself of his boner until he can shoot his load inside you, jerks himself off with his tip resting just inside your pretty cunt

-ohmygod I just imagined Soap having an oral kink, but more so watching your lips wrap round things, your tongue running over whatever is sealed within your mouth

-of course he loves when you give him oral, having you sink to your knees before him with a football game in the background after a stressful day, he can see heaven the way his head cranes backwards

-but, it doesn't even need to be anything sexual, you can be licking an ice cream, a lollipop, Jesus Christ your fucking fingers from the sauce when you cook, he can't take his eyes off of you

-Soap is sweat in the bedroom, adores making you feel good and reach your high enough times until you push his hands away and lay there with a drunk smile, limbs slack, eyes half-lidded as they meet his adoringly

-however, sometimes he touches you because he wants to play

-you can be laying in bed, short tank top and panties on as he relaxes in joggers, and his fingers just starts running up and down your scantily clad bottom half

-it starts with Soap just running his hands over your arse, lower spine, until they dip again and he toys with your underwear, fingers occasionally slipping over your clothed pussy, pressing into the seam of your cunt before going back to groping your cheeks

-then he pushes it further, dipping his fingers beneath your panties to toy with your cunt, only to take your panties off altogether to lazily finger you

-he plays for a long time, feeling how you grew wetter and squirm all the more, in the end breathing a desperate pleading 'Johnny' and he knows it'll come because he never stops until it does, just wanting to see for how long you'll let him run his hands over you before getting to needy

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

pls give adhd tips that have worked for you 🤲

Oh I do not think we can say that ANY of the way I live this life is recommended, but:

✨ Attitude ✨

I blamed myself a lot for not 'bucking up' or "buckling down" or "just doing it"

It never improved anything and it makes me sad. I stopped doing that and I achieve the same about of shit but I'm happier

💩 Boring tasks 💩

It is simply not a choice between "get it done properly right now" and "get it done half arsed at a weird time while wearing a silly little hat, singing a silly little song and rewarding yourself with a silly little sticker"

Its either half arsed or it's not done, so I'm half arsing it. My apologies that your task is boring as shit, I did what I could to make it bearable and you'll be thankful that I did that (me to me about the dishes)

🔊 Sound 🔊

I have a bell in my keys so when I think 'do I have my keys tho' for the 50th time I can just shoggle my jacket and know they're in there

I set a 30min audiobook timer, I can tidy because I can't watch anything because someone's talking, when it ends I can guilt free stop or I can ego boost keep going, but doing it often enough means sometimes I finish BEFORE THE TIMER (unmatched smugness)

I sing the "got my (something) got my (that thing) got my (thiiiing)" song while pating important things like dog lead poop bags headphones before I leave the house

Work video conferencing filters out background music, you can just play tunes all day and it makes 'tell me when you can see my screen" silences bearable

🦄 One little thing 🦄

Every work day I set myself one task I WILL do today, it needs to be no more than 20mins with no pre work

No matter what happens that day I can take 15 and achieve one actual small useful thing and if I do I put a little "good job" sticker on my to do list notepad.

I am both the struggling student and the teacher cheering her on. I have the power to buy £1 unicorn rainbow motivational stickers and by God I will use that power to email Ken from statistics

[toomuchracket]

stress relief (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

first george fic, who cheered?! day 8 of promptober. a weird little (well, long) fluffy end of high school moment about exam stress, and hitting things and smoking weed and kissing your new boyfriend to make you feel better. i've absolutely not a clue what came over me while i wrote this. but i think it's fun. and i hope you lot do too! <3

you're stomping down the street towards your house when your phone rings. digging it out of your bag, your grumpiness ebbs slightly when you see it's george on the other end of the line. "hiya."

"hi, baby," comes the gravelly reply. george's voice is enough to send you into a fit of enamoured giggles anyway, but hearing him address you with the pet name - a recent development, a free add-on that came with the "girlfriend" title during the summer - has you practically skipping down the street. "how'd it go?"

the reminder of the horrible mock exam almost threatens to block out the enjoyment of talking to george, a black cloud over the sun. "fucking awful."

"doubt that," george replies. there's a shuffling sound in the background on his end; you know, even without seeing him, that he's moved to lean his elbow on something so he can adjust the phone and listen to you better. "but tell me all about it."

"it was just… bad. the questions were all worded so weirdly. felt so fucking thick trying to read them, g," you sigh, kicking at a stone on the pavement. "so obviously i've no idea if i answered anything correctly, because i couldn't fucking understand what they were actually asking, and if i don't pass this then i don't get to sit the actual exam, and then i've got no bloody chance of getting into uni."

your voice breaks on the final word, and so does the invisible dam keeping your tears in. despite doing your best to keep any sobs at bay, george immediately clocks that you're crying and goes into reassurance mode. "baby…"

"it's fine, i'm fine," you sniffle. "sorry, i know i'm being silly. how are you?"

"worried about you, angel. i don't like how stressed out this exam's made you feel, recently," george admits. "and i'm not letting you dwell on it from this point on, alright?"

"babe…"

"you answered every question, i take it?"

you frown. "i mean, yeah, but-"

"no buts, baby," george's voice is firm; it does something weird to your brain. that's new. "you answered every question in the paper to the best of your ability. don't try and argue with me on that one, angel. i know you did, because you never half-arse anything, and it's one of the things i lo-like most about you. and there's nothing more you can do about the exam, so there's no point dwelling on it, even if it was as shit as you say. yeah?"

you sigh. "yeah. you're right."

"i know i am," george's voice is smug, but it softens as he continues. "wish i was there to give you a hug right now, though, make you feel better."

"me too," you say wistfully, unlocking your front door and shrugging off your jacket before heading upstairs. "but i'll get one off you at the party tonight. or several. actually, i might not even let go of you the whole time."

you flop onto your bed, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs in the air as george laughs and says "i'm not gonna complain about that, babe. speaking of the party, what d'you want? matty's picking up in a bit."

"are you smoking?"

"was gonna, yeah. want some?"

"please."

"sweet. he says he's already got wine if you want it, too, but he'll get you vodka if you'd rather have that."

"no, wine's good," you say. "thank him for me, please, and tell him i'll pay him back later."

george laughs. "i've got you covered, babe."

you facepalm. "george."

"what? you've had a hard day. let me treat you."

there’s silence for a brief moment, as you ponder and then decide against debating with your boyfriend (even thinking about calling george that makes you smile); as stubborn as you are, george is ten times worse. if this was an in-person debate, a strategically-timed pout would give you the upper hand, but you'll never wear him down via phone.

"fine," you sigh dramatically. "thank you, babe. but you have to accept petrol money from me tonight."

"not a fucking chance. i have to drive past your house to get to matty's, anyway. he should be the one paying me."

you laugh. "if you're sure, babe. i'll get you back sometime, though."

"actually, there is something you could do for me tonight, if you wouldn't mind," george says slowly, voice deepening even more than usual. it sends goosebumps down your arms, and any and all sanity out of your head. "you could wear that top you bought at the weekend."

"the black one?"

"yeah," george's voice changes again; you can hear him blushing. "you looked really beautiful in it."

(his reaction when you'd opened the fitting room door last week had made you aware of that thought of his, but it's far nicer hearing him say it.)

"consider it done," you smile. "what time should i be ready for?"

"six? then we have time to get a maccies on the way."

"you do know the way to a girl's heart, george daniel."

george laughs. your heart flutters. "alright, baby. i'll see you in a couple of hours."

"looking forward to it," you smile, clicking your phone off. the goodbye feels unfinished, you think; the three other words you're too nervous to say to george seem to linger expectantly in your throat every time you talk to him, just waiting to be released from your lips to his ears. it's only been three months since you started labelling the relationship, but there were three of "dating" beforehand (following a two-sided drunken confession at matty's eighteenth), and another eight of crushing and pining preceding that - you know exactly how you feel about him. you just don't know when to tell him.

you nearly do, though, when he picks you up for the party later that night. after chucking your overnight bag in the backseat, you climb into the passenger seat and are immediately pulled into an absolute head-melter of a kiss.

george smiles as he pulls back from you. "hi, baby. you wore the top, i see."

"course i did," you grin in response. "have to keep up with you, don't i, gorgeous?"

"oh, shush," george shakes his head, cheeks pink. "right, let's get you some nuggets."

you clap, and your boyfriend laughs, a sound that continues from both of you as you make your way through the drive-thru and then to matty's. in between giggles and singalongs to the blink-182 album in the cd player, you feed george chips and chicken nuggets, the friday evening traffic stopping the two of you from being able to park and eat your dinner and still make it to the party on time. the vibe is in total contrast to your frustrated tears from earlier; now, doing shitty tom delonge impressions with your favourite boy in the world, you're ridiculously happy.

after parking outside matty's house, george turns to you before either of you can get out of the car. "listen, baby," he says softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. "i know it's been a bit of a day for you, and i just want you to be alright - if you wanna go home at any point, tell me, yeah?"

your heart swells a little at his tenderness. you nod, pouting your lips slightly. "kiss?"

"gladly," george grins, lips on yours within seconds. like earlier, this kiss makes your head spin. 

unlike earlier, however, it isn't ended by either you or george pulling away; the two of you are so distracted by each other that you don't hear adam walking across the gravel towards the car. it isn't until he opens the passenger door that you pull away from george in fright, and then he speaks. "matty says no snogging in the driveway."

"tell him i'll do it in his fucking bedroom and see what he says then," george snaps. he kisses your hand. "sorry, baby."

"s'fine. hi, adam," you say, turning to your friend. "how are you?"

"betrayed, actually - you got a maccies and didn't ask if i wanted anything?"

"leave her alone, hann," george says, walking round to grab your bag and usher you out of the car. "she's had a stressful day."

"well, you're in luck, mate - oh, cheers," adam pulls you into a half hug as you pass him your final chicken nugget, and the boys lead you into the house. "matty found an unused piñata in the garage, so you can beat the shit out of that if it'll make you feel better."

"he just… found a piñata? just happened across it?" you ask, mildly bewildered (it's matty, after all), at the exact same time george ponders "what's he put in it?"

"he just found it, yeah. i don't know either," adam shrugs. "and he's literally put joints in it. no sweets. just weed."

interesting.

george nearly pisses himself laughing, while you, as is your wont, ask a sensible question. "won't the force of the hits knock the joints apart, though? like, genius idea to put them there in theory, but will it work?"

"only one way to find out, i s'pose, baby" george says. "here, let me put your bag upstairs. i'll meet you in the garden in a minute, yeah?"

your boyfriend kisses you quickly and hurries upstairs, while you follow adam out to the garden, stopping briefly to hug some of your friends hello. only ross and matty are outside, the former reaching up to attach a unicorn piñata to a tree branch while the latter shouts orders at him. "fucksake, ross, that's far too high!"

"he's right, unfortunately, ross," you chip in, wandering over towards them and slinging an arm round matty's shoulders. "do you really want either of us jumping with a potential weapon in our hands?"

"he already is a potential weapon," comes the grumbling from under the branch.

"taking that as a compliment, actually," matty shouts, steering you away from the tree and hugging you. "hi, darling. where's g?"

"stashing my handbag for me."

"ok, good, because i have news and you're the only person i can tell," matty spins to face you, inhaling deeply and clasping his hands together. "i think i'm in love."

"ok?" you put your hands on your hips, underwhelmed. "you've already told me this, remember? last month?"

"different person. that wasn't real, this is."

"right. and you're only telling me because…?"

"well, it's someone like you i think i'm in love with."

"a girl?" you smirk. "i guessed as much, mate."

"smartarse," matty huffs. "no. i mean, like, she's proper smart. and serious about it. she wants to study law at uni. i'm totally intimidated by her, but i fancy her so much."

he stares at you expectantly. you stare just as blankly back. "and?"

"and i need your help," matty all but wails. "how do i make her like me?"

bless him. you smile. "well, you're in a band. that helps."

"really? even for pulling geniuses like you and her?"

"not to be dramatic, but that day i walked into the music room to tell you lot to shut up and saw george drumming to brianstorm? life-changing," you blush. matty smiles, genuinely. "but also, just don't be a gobshite, yeah? you actually being quite sensitive is unexpected, and it's nice. really."

"ok. thanks, mate," matty pulls you into a quick hug. "i wish she was coming tonight. be a lot more fun."

"we literally have a weed-filled piñata. we're peaking with fun."

he laughs. "true. and i did only meet her today."

you raise your eyebrows. "wait - on the set of your mum's show? have you told denise?"

"do i look like an idiot? actually," matty shakes his head. "don't answer that. no need to tell me."

"tell you what?" george wanders over to the pair of you, hugging matty and pecking you on the lips. "what are you two gossiping about?"

"what we're buying you for christmas," you say smoothly. "and how amazing a gift i'm now obligated to get you, because you won't let me pay for my own bloody weed."

the boys laugh, and george kisses you on the head. "speaking of, ross thinks he's perfected the piñata height. fancy a bit of stress relief?"

"ew, george, not in my house," matty faux-retches, then grins. "kidding. come on, lovebirds, let's beat the shit out of a unicorn and get stoned."

"and other normal sentences he's said today," george murmurs in your ear, making you giggle as you follow your friend towards the tree.

as you near it, ross holds a cricket bat out to you. "heard you were feeling stressed. have at it, mate."

"thanks, ross," you take the wooden stick, turning it over in your hands before turning to look at the host incredulously. "who the fuck in your family plays cricket?"

"how should i know?" comes matty’s equally-incredulous reply. "just hit the horse, please, i need a fucking zoot."

"fine. here goes," you say. "actually, shouldn't we put something on the ground to catch the joints?"

"good point. here," george pulls off his hoodie and throws it on the grass; you're momentarily distracted by his biceps through his long-sleeved t-shirt. "give it hell, baby."

you smirk, closing your eyes and thinking of the awful exam paper from earlier. all the frustration and stress hits your nervous system like a tidal wave; practically vibrating with rage, you swing the bat and hit the papier-mache before you with a satisfying thwack, denting it. the boys cheer, and it spurs you on even more - within minutes, you've beaten the unicorn to a pulp, its contraband insides (mostly) intact on your boyfriend's hoodie, and your insides the most stress-free they've been in a long time.

breathless, you hand the bat back to a wide-eyed ross, who claps you on the back. "impressive, actually."

"thank you," you bow, the boys laughing as they scramble to pick up the joints. george grabs two for each of you and your hand simultaneously, leading you towards the cushioned loungers near the kitchen window.

he sits first, settling you gently on his lap before pulling a lighter from his pocket. you're suddenly extremely aware of the chilly october evening air, and shuffle around so you can half-lean against george's hard chest; you gaze up at him, all sharp jaw and heavy eyes with the joint between his lips. "is this ok?"

"s'perfect, baby," george smiles, hand tracing patterns against the outside of your thigh. he lifts it, though, to take the joint out of his mouth. "you wanna go first?"

you shake your head. george smoking is an incredibly sexy sight; you want a clear head the first time you see it tonight. the flickering flame sharpens his cheekbones in the most beautiful way as he lights the joint, and the way he draws them in as he inhales it is nothing short of stunning. but nothing compares to the way he exhales the smoke, head thrown back in pleasure and faint moans escaping his lips - your thighs clench ever so slightly as he does, which isn't helped by the way he looks at you as he passes you the weed.

he doesn't seem to fare any better while you smoke, though; your eyes close in contentment when the inhale hits your airways (and a little groan of satisfaction involuntarily leaves you), but you open them to find george biting his lip while he watches yours.

it gives you an idea. passing the joint back, you ask a favour of your boyfriend. "will you shotgun me, please?"

george hums happily. "absolutely, baby."

you shuffle so you're sitting directly on his lap, facing him. whether it's the crispness of the night or the weed or just george himself, you don't know, but you're more aware of this particular bodily position than ever before. there's an energy you can't quite describe crackling in the night air - anticipation, maybe.

whatever it is, you like it.

"ready?" george asks, joint halfway to his lips. you nod, loosely clasping your hands at the nape of his neck and leaning forward. he inhales, your mouth opens, he exhales, and you do your best to take in as much of the smoke as you can. 

even though you've been smoking properly for a little while now, the best highs are always the ones you share with george; he seems to intoxicate you more than the drug does. given how much longer he's been smoking, you'd be forgiven for thinking that he doesn't feel the same way, but the speed with which he quickly lays the joint in a nearby ashtray (thank fuck the healys are a family of smokers, by the way) and crashes his lips to yours suggests otherwise. the crackling in the air ceases, but seems to find a new home in your body; sparks seem to fly from your lips to your brain, overloading the organ until all you can think is george, george, george.

yeah, you love him all right.

[hannahssimblr]

“You know what I could be doing instead of this?” Joe says. “Lying out on the grass with a can of cold cider and a big, fat blunt.”

“Yeah? On the other hand, you could be getting the shit kicked out of you.”

“By who?”

I shove a sudsy plate into his hands, and he scrubs it half-heartedly with a damp towel. “By me. If you don't cooperate.”

He snickers, “I could take you, Turner.”

“Why does everyone say that to me?” I wonder, dunking another mug into the kitchen sink and scrubbing the crust off the bottom. “Lads always yap on to me about how they’d beat me in a fight.”

“It’s wishful thinking.” Shane pipes up, slapping a mop about the floor, and thrusting it under the furniture with about as much enthusiasm as a drive through worker. “Because of your size. Everyone wants to be the lad who took down the big guy.”

“Well, I’m a peaceful person.”

“Right.” 

“What’s all this for anyway?” Joe grumbles. “We were fine with the house the way it was. Like, cleaning is such a waste of time. A waste of summer.” 

“Get over yourself,” I advise him. “Wrong cupboard, by the way. The glasses go in the one on the end.”

“Oh, sorry Hitler.”

“It is for the girl,” Kasper says. He is tying up yet another bag of rubbish. It jangles with aluminium cans. “Butt shorts.”

I glance over my shoulder at him. “Butt shorts?”

“Yeah, man, that’s what we call your friend Evie,” says Joe. “It’s ‘cause she’s always got those shorts on, and you can kinda see the crease of her arse cheeks in them.”

“Bit of a fucked up way to refer to a girl, do you not think?” I take another mug from the precarious pile. 

“No. Why? It’s just facts.”

“Mm?”

“I’m not saying I don’t like the shorts, man. I think any girl who has a pair of legs like that ought to wear them. More girls should, as long as they have the body for it, you know?”

I fling the mug at him and he examines it. “You missed a bit there at the bottom.” I snatch it back. 

“Are you ridin’ her?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Evie, like. Are you ridin’ her?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Do you think you will ride her? Like, at some stage in the future?”

I’m aware of Shane’s judgemental mopping in the background. “Like I said, it’s not like that. I’m not interested.”

“Right!” I pass Joe the mug and he polishes it thoughtfully. “Do you think she’d like me, then? Will you ask her?”

“No.”

“Aw, what? I thought if you didn’t fancy her, you’d at least set me up with her.”

“She wouldn’t like you.”

“She would! Girls love me, sure. Back in school they couldn’t get enough of my sexy bod.” He rolls his sleeve over his sunburned bicep and flexes it while Kasper wolf-whistles. Joe swings his hips in a circle while spinning the towel above his head to his friend's rapturous applause. I roll my eyes.

“You tell Evie that I know how to take care of a woman. She’d be a lucky girl to get a chance with Joe Roche.”

“Look, Joe–”

“A girl like that is wasted on someone like you. You think you can be picky, but you’re too picky for your own good. Well, I’ll tell you what I’d do to her…” 

He launches into a monologue, outlining things too vulgar to be said out loud around normal and respectable folk, but are somehow perfectly acceptable to say to me. He goes into specific detail about her legs, her lovely long legs, and the positions he’d like to put them while I scrub at a plate so hard that my hand starts cramping. 

“Jesus Christ, Joe.” I whirl on him, and the plate, still in my hands, slips, and shatters on the floor, sending shards of porcelain and blobs of soap flying in all directions. I falter, startled by the violence of it. He shuts up. The mop stops. The bin bags stop rustling. 

“Fuck sake, what is wrong with you? Why do you think everyone wants to hear your weird, perverted thoughts all of the time?”

He cowers against the draining board. “I thought you said you were a peaceful person.”

“Do you want to fight me?”

He makes a tiny sound, and I stomp further into his space. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Alright, then learn to shut the fuck up.” 

“Sorry.” 

“And don’t say that type of shit in front of me again.”

I spin back to the sink and scrub the cutlery at the bottom, hands trembling and shoes crunching on the shattered porcelain, while everyone completes their chores in complete silence. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[inkformyblood]

guess (COD Kinktober 2024 Day 14)

Canon Era, Soap x Ghost x Price x Gaz, (Poly141). Sex toys. Lime.

“Package for you, Cap. And one for you, Lieutenant.” Gaz’s arms are loaded high with the recent mail delivery; backlogged for three months with their recent spate of missions and Soap can barely remember half the items he’d ordered while he’d been on leave. Some fresh paints possibly, a new sketchbook given that he was starting to run out of space in his current one and layering fresh drawings over old. 

Gaz drops a handful of parcels onto the table in front of Soap, a few letters mixed in, and Soap grabs for them before Gaz’s words could register.

Between the five of them, Gaz receives the most mail — a combination of a larger family and a minor addiction to the late night shopping channels — then Soap — his own family fairly well-spread, if disorganised, and his artistic hobbies lending themselves to infrequent purchases — but Price almost never receives mail, same as Ghost.

“What did you get?” Soap leans forwards, his own mail abandoned and tips Ghost’s package towards himself, peering at the shipping label. He only gets a glimpse, simplistic text on a plain background, nothing more than a company name, before it’s pulled away, Ghost snapping his fingers in front of his face. 

Gaz nudges Soap back into his seat, dropping onto his lap with a sigh. He’s a solid weight, Soap’s arms falling to his hips then wrapping around Gaz’s belly and squeezing him tight as he presses his forehead to the back of Gaz’s neck. The other man smells like the cheap toiletries in the communal showers, a lingering hit of rich smoke from Price’s cigars, and Soap lifts his face to bite at Gaz’s shoulder, just for something else to do as his mind races. 

Gaz sinks further down, tips his head back to allow Soap better access to his skin. “Same parcel that Price has got,” he murmurs, his gaze darting between the other two men. There’s something brewing between them, the parcels opened just enough to slide the invoices free and they have swapped them, dragging their fingers over the small text. Price is holding his far enough away that it could be grabbed easily…

“Don’t even think about it, lad.”

Fair enough. 

Ghost glances over his invoice, his eyes dark, and a shiver rolls up Soap’s spine, his teeth tight in the fabric of Gaz’s shirt. “Might as well test them out now.” Ghost tears his parcel open without another thought and crooks his fingers at them both. “Doors locked so bend over the desk and you’ll see what we’ve got.”

There’s a strange thrill to being any degree of naked in the main areas of the base, Soap and Gaz folded over the meeting room table and their trousers drawn down to the ankles. 

“Opening scene to a porno ain’t we, Gaz.”

Gaz catches his eye, grins wide. “Have we been naughty boys, sirs?”

A broad hand smacks against Soap’s arse first, low enough to catch the meat of his thigh, and he yelps, jerking forward on the table. Gaz groans into the second impact, burying his face into his hands and raising his hips up. Something rests against Soap’s spine, cool but not metal, a slightly tacky sensation as he shivers and it moves. 

“Eyes front,” Price barks. “Got a surprise for you, lads. Couple of toys for you to test out, but.”

“But, sir?” Gaz asks, chewing over his lower lip, slightly shifting against Soap as he sways his arse, raised high in the air once more. 

“You’re going to guess the size of the toy we are fucking you with. At stake are bragging rights and you can pick the movie tonight.”

[literallytoogaytofunction]

"I don't think that's how you use the slider-"

✨ Wolfstar as that one photo of Bowie and Ronson ✨

✧₊⁺

(close-ups and full ((half-arsed)) background under cut)

[delta-pavonis]

more doctor/curator pleeeaaaase? xo @hardly-an-escape

Far be it from me to deny anyone of more of these two sweet little whores... (I really really like them and will be back to their unhinged shenanigans after the Bang). More under the cut in the middle because NSFW.

Hob is shocked they make it past the entryway after the door to his flat closes behind them. 

But, let's be clear, the only reason they do is because Dream sees the tapestry that hangs in the library that opens to the left of the foyer.

The room has no windows, bookshelves from floor to high ceilings on all vertical surfaces except for the rectangle of glass that encases the textile art in a climate-controlled space. 

“My God, Hob,” Dream is walking towards it like he is being pulled in by a tractor beam on some spaceship, floating and not of his own volition. “Is this real?”

He comes up behind Dream and wraps his arms around the curator. “Aye,” he rests his chin on a black-clad shoulder, “family heirloom, late 14th century. The story is that one of my ancestors learned tapestry weaving in Paris and brought it back to Kent, taught her children, and their children. Gadling-made work supposedly hung in most castles in southern Britain by the mid-15th century. But this one was kept by the family. Why this particular tapestry over others is lost to time.”

A giant white horse rears up across the silken surface, narrowly avoiding the wolves that attack and weave around its legs. In the forest other beasts watch: owls, foxes, deer, squirrels, songbirds. It is very clearly not a unicorn, which is fascinating because it loses the religious symbolism typical of the period. The sun is setting in the background, making the leaves glow with a burnished copper color. 

“It is exquisite,” Dream whispers, leaning back into Hob. “And explains your preference for the Middle Ages.”

“Got it in one,” Hob chuckles. He pushes his hands up the front of Dream's shirt, presses his palms to the flat of his abdomen and digs his fingertips into the trail of dark hair that runs down the center.

Dream sways into it, going pliant in Hob's embrace. “So what's your desired order of operations, doctor? Far be it from me to choose a schedule that might endanger the lives of others by leaving you short on sleep.” He grabs one of Hob's hands and slides it down into his pants, where his cock is sticky and half-hard already. “Also, I think I have a Christmas present I might request of you.” He presses his arse into Hob's groin with a rolling motion, arching his back and moaning obscenely loud when Hob's fingers find the frenum piercing.

Fucking hell this man is such a perfect whore.

“Oh?” Hob murmurs, far more focused on cataloging every little sound and twitch that different tugs and twists of the piercing bring about. Dream is rock hard again within seconds, practically writhing against him, yet he is also the one stringing sentences together.

“Oh yes,” he rocks forward into Hob's hand then back into his crotch. “I want to ride your face until I come with your tongue buried in my arse, then turn around and ride your cock until I come again.”

Hob shivers and groans and uses his free hand to open Dream's fly so he has the space to fondle his bollocks. “You want that before or after I put on my leathers and ride you?” 

Dream cries out again, a generous spurt of precum ending up on Hob's hand when he tugs and twists the piercing; apparently a touch of pain isn't bad for this little dove. “Oh, after. Then I'll be on your face longer, waiting for my dick to get back into the game.”

“Mmm, then you'll be riding me even longer after that, just like you want, you insatiable slut.” Hob sucks on the side of his neck, digs his teeth in to bring a bruise to bloom. Dream moans and bucks with the hardest presses of teeth. “Like some pain with your pleasure, dove?”

“Only in small doses.” His long arms swing up and behind Hob's head, tugging his mouth back to his neck. “You?”

Hob gets distracted by expanding the hickey so it flows down to the top of Dream's shoulder. “Not my jam, but I am more than happy to do just about anything that turns my partner on.”

Dream laughs, breathless and happy-sounding, “No wonder you get typecast as a service top.”

Frustrated with the obstacle, Hob pulls Dream's shirt off, flings it somewhere to the side, then continues to paint the skin of his shoulder red and purple with his teeth. “And does everyone assume you're the twinky bottom?” He strokes Dream's cock slowly and grinds his own arousal into that pert little arse.

A gasp interrupts Dream's continued laughing as he grinds back, so much harder than before. “I love surprising people. Upending their expectations. Watching them lose their minds as I expertly take them apart, piece by piece.”

“Expertly?” He can't help but ask.

“What do they say, ten thousand hours to master a skill?” Dream sounds like such a smug little shit and Hob is beyond feral about it.

He moves one hand up to play with the hair on Dream’s chest, to tweak a nipple and hear that lovely little gasp again. “And how much practice have you had, sweet thing?”

“You sure you want the honest answer to that?” He can hear Dream's raised eyebrow.

“Go ahead. Shock me.”

“I stopped counting at one hundred seventy nine different partners.” 

Hob freezes, a whine oozing out through his teeth. Bloody fuck. 

“Hob?”

“Yeah, give me a sec. If I don't dissociate for a minute I am gonna come in my pants because Christ that is hot. Also explains a lot. My God, how many of those were multiples at once?”

Dream's laugh this time is a deep, sensuous rumble. “Not as many as you might think. And I’ve only been gang banged once.” He turns in Hob's arms, dislodging Hob's hand from his prick and leaning in to speak against Hob's lips, “But that was a long time ago. Now I am more interested in exploring how many different sensations I can have with one partner.”

“Oh, so you plan on going full fluid bond with me, do you?”

The blush on Dream’s face is a gorgeous, deep rose red. “I…” he looks down and away for only a moment and then holds his chin up high, proud and perfect, “yes.”