#his bite is definitely worse than his bark

[malifiquemakes]

Little guy, big attitude.

[mylifesjustacarousel]

sleeping beauty

pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested!)

summary: you and book have kept your relationship a secret for quite some time, or at least you think… what happens when a certain someone finds out?

type: fluff, then angst, then fluff

CW: suggestive moments

WC: 1.9K

requests are open!

“What if someone sees us, James?”

“Don’t worry, no one ever comes over here this late at night, my love.” he whispered, leading you over to a small patch of grass to sit down. The Enchanted Lake was your not-so-secret, secret meeting spot. It was busy during the day with students swimming and lounging around, but it was like a graveyard at night. Hook sat down on the ground, grabbing your hand and pulling you down onto his lap.

You grinned, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Okay, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

He put his hand to his heart, a dramatically pained look on his face. “Ouch, hurtful. I thought you loved me.” You rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you beyond words, J.”

Hook rest his forehead against yours, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

The two of you had been dating for a few months, but nobody knew about it. He was a villain, you were a royal. Your relationship was the definition of a bad idea. So, it was safer, mostly for you, if the two of you kept your relationship a secret. If the rest of the VKs found out, they would make your life absolutely miserable. You didn’t mind keeping a secret, but there were definitely days where you wished that you could be with him in public.

“I missed you today, darling.”

“You wouldn’t have to miss me if we didn’t have to keep hiding around. We could be together, whenever we wanted…” You pressed gentle kisses to his neck, trying to be convincing. It worked… sometimes.

“And let Uli make your life awful? I don’t think so. I love my friends, but I love you more.”

You huffed, pulling away from him. “She doesn’t scare me, James. Her bark is much worse than her bite.”

“Listen, y/n.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close enough to him that your chests were pressed together. “You know how much I love you, and I would love nothing more than to show my girl off. But, she would kill you if she had the choice, and I would not be able to forgive myself if something bad happened to you. Okay?”

Unfortunately, he did have a point. No matter how frustrated or upset you got, you knew that he was trying to be protective. “Okay, okay. Fine.” you mumbled, “But, someone is going to find out eventually.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, my beauty.”

“Uli is going to love this.” Maleficent smirked, looking at the two boys, Hades and Morgie, standing behind her. They had followed Hook to the Enchanted Lake after noticing that Hook disappeared at the same time almost every single night for the past few months. “Do we have to tell Uliana? I have Honors Enchanting with y/n, she’s really nice-”

“Morgie, honey, shut up.” she growled, nudging him with her shoulder. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s go, boys.” She snapped her fingers, walking away with the two boys following behind her.

Uliana was sat in her lair when the group of three walked in. She sat up, “So? What did you find out?”

“He’s dating y/n! That one royal who hangs out with the nice cupcake girl!” Morgie exclaimed, earning a shove from Maleficent. “They go to the Enchanted Lake. It’s sickening, seeing them be all… lovey dovey.”

“Hey!” Hades grumbled.

“I didn’t say that we’re sickening. Why do you always have to-”

“Shut up!” Uliana got up, going over to them. “Thank you, Morgie. You.” She pointed to Maleficent. “Do you still have that spell book? I need you to conjure up something for Hook’s little beauty.”

“Like what? Turn her into a monster? Make birds peck her eyes out? Ooh, prick her with a thousand thorns?”

Uliana’s eyes lit up. “That’s it. Hook wants a beauty? We’ll give him one. A sleeping beauty.”

“I’ve got just the thing. She won’t know what hit her.”

“Bye, Bridget! Let’s get together tomorrow to study, yeah?” you asked. “You’ve got it. Hey! Do you wanna come over tonight and help me bake?”

“I would love to, B, but I have a date-” you froze. No one can know. “I have a date with my textbooks! You know how hard those Enchanting exams are.” you laughed nervously, hoping she wouldn’t catch your fault.

Bridget just gave you a smile, unaware of your slip up. “Yeah, of course! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” She gave you a tight squeeze before parting ways.

You started to walk to your dorm building to get ready for your date with Hook that was later that evening. When you arrived to your room, there was a note waiting for you on your bed, along with a single red rose. You picked up the note to read it.

For you, my beauty. I can’t wait to see you tonight - J

You picked up the rose, cursing to yourself as you pricked your finger on one of the many thorns. Within seconds, your body felt heavy and your eyelids were begging for you to shut them. You hesitated before laying down on your bed, and within seconds you were sound asleep, unaware of anything happening around you.

Hook was waiting for you at the Enchanted Lake. Ten minutes went by, then half an hour. He started to get worried, pacing around nervously. It wasn’t like you to be late, in fact, you were the type to always arrive early because “being on time is being late.”

When an hour went by and you still weren’t there, Hook went off to go find you. Thoughts were racing through his head, and they weren’t good ones. He made his way to your dorm room and banged on your door. “Y/n? Are you there?”

No response.

He huffed, looking around to make sure that no one saw him before going into your room. Hook let out a sigh of relief when he saw you peacefully sleeping on your bed. You must’ve been tired and just… fell asleep.

“Baby girl?” He whispered. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he gently shook your shoulder. “You know I’m not upset, right?”

No response.

Hook shook your shoulder harder. “Darling, this isn’t funny anymore.” He looked around, seeing a piece of paper at the end of your bed. He picked it up, and suddenly all of the puzzle pieces came together.

Uliana.

He tossed the note aside, storming out of your room. How did she find out? You two had been beyond careful. “I’m going to kill her.” Hook grumbled.

“You think this is some silly little joke, Uli?” Hook shouted as he stormed into the lair. Uliana cackled. “Oh, Hook, did you think I wouldn’t find out? Who do you think you are? Sneaking off with a royal every night? You’re pathetic!”

“I’m pathetic? You put a spell on my girlfriend because you don’t like when other people are happy!”

“Actually the spell was me.” Maleficent said, joining the two. “Yeah, I caught you two on one of your little dates. How about next time, you pick somewhere a little more secretive, genius?”

He lunged at Maleficent. “I’m going to kill you, you witch!”

Uliana rolled her eyes, pushing him back easily with her tentacle. “Come on, James-y, we’re just having some fun. You used to love terrorizing people. She ruined you.”

“No, I think she actually changed me, and for the better. I love her, more than your cold heart could ever comprehend. Why are you so afraid of love?” he asked.

“Afraid of love? Oh please,” she scoffed, “I don’t need love when everyone fears me, Hook.”

“How do I fix it? How? How do I break the spell?” he asked, almost begging.

Maleficent snickered. “You love her sooo much, you’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

“Now, shoo. You’re no longer needed here. Oh, by the way, this isn’t over.” Uliana said.

Hook made his way back to your dorm, silently racking his brain on how to break the spell. He wasn’t the smartest, but he had to figure out something. “Stupid Uliana, stupid Mali…” he grumbled.

“Hook? James Hook? What’re you doing here?” a voice asked. He turned around, locking eyes with Bridget. “What do you want?” he sneered.

“Um, I went to y/n’s room to see how her studying was doing? She said she had a date with…” She trailed off, mentally putting the pieces together. “She had a date with you! You two are together? That’s sweet!”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay! Yes, we are together. Yes, it is sweet. But, it doesn’t really matter, because she was put under a sleeping spell and I don’t know how to break it-” he rambled on. Bridget giggled a bit, watching him pace around.

“Do you think this is funny, you prissy pink princess?” he snapped, getting in her face.

“No, no! You don’t know how to break a sleeping spell?” she asked.

“You don’t know how to break a sleeping spell?” he mocked, “Of course I don’t know how to break a sleeping spell! Who do I look like?”

Bridget giggled again, taking his arm and leading him back to your room, where you were still peacefully asleep. “True loves kiss. Everybody knows that. Okay, um, I’ll leave you to it. Tell her to meet up with me tomorrow.” She gave him a wave before skipping off.

He sighed, sitting down next to you. “If this doesn’t work, I’m killing that girl,” he mumbled, referring to Bridget. He moved your hair out of your face, just admiring your soft features for a few seconds. He truly thought that you were the most perfect girl ever.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a wave of nervousness hitting him as he pulled away. What if it didn’t work? What if he wasn’t your one true love? He sat there, his heart dropping into his stomach when you still were asleep after a few seconds.

You suddenly sat up, your eyes shooting open. “What happened?” you asked, looking around with confusion. Hook tackled you in a hug, peppering kisses all over your face. “Oh my god, I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“Where did I go?” You leaned into his touch, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s a long story. I’m just… I love you so much, darling, and I don’t want to hide you anymore. I love you. I love you. I love you. You are my true love, and I am so sorry for ever taking you for granted.”

“Did I die or something?” you joked, looking up at him. There was nothing but sincerity in his deep brown eyes. “I love you too, J… Does this mean that you’ll finally wear the sweater that I made for you?”

“No, but I’ll tell people that you made a sweater for me.”

“I’ll take it!” You kissed him sweetly, running your fingers through his hair.

“By the way, Bridget told me to tell you to meet up with her tomorrow.” he mumbled against your lips. You pulled away, your brow raised. “You talked to Bridget? Are you okay? Do you have a fever?” You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead.

Hook rolled his eyes, slapping your hand away. “Like I said, it’s a long story. Now, where were we?” He pulled you into another kiss, reaching over to turn your lamp off that was sitting on your nightstand.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i’m sorry if it seemed really rushed, i was racking my brain trying to figure out the plot

[jolapeno]

see me in a vest

cod ghost x f!reader | ghost masterlist

Summary: “You gonna keep lurking in the corner like a ghoul?” Straightening his spine, he lets his narrowed eyes cut into you. Gliding them up and down your face—from the top of your hairline to your arched brow, to the lips twisted up into a smirk. “Hilarious.”

Warnings: Brief mentions of smut. Mentions of a wound, blood (Ghost's but he's obv fine). Flirting. Feelings. FWB to something - they're a mess, but yeah. And, maybe unedited writing? AN: I don't know if I'm on the Ghost train again, but I'm at the station. Wordcount: 3k (this was meant to be 500 words).

Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. God, so lovely — Hedonist Poet

It’s a sight watching you laugh, how it blooms like wildflowers in a wasteland. Your lips are parting around the sound—neck exposed. He can faintly spot the sight of bruises from when his hand last became your necklace.

He shouldn’t be looking your way. Most definitely not be thinking about how he wishes to press your cheek against the tiles of his shower. Ghost really can’t be considering how to ask you to come to his room tonight.

Even if it’s all he thinks.

His fingers brushing against his thumb, rolling and rolling as he tries not to grind his teeth or glare with any more intention.

All about to move his glare, try to find a spot on the table or the wall, but his eyes latch with yours.

The room silences, pausing. Just the two of you, breathing, living—blinking. Or, it feels like it does. Like some poetic bullshit from some film, a scene he’s sure you’ve tried to explain to him when you’ve attempted to fill the silence.

He thinks you smile. The edges of your lips twist further into your cheeks. But it never quite lands, never sticks.

Ghost shouldn’t be thinking about you. But all he does is think about you.

In another life, where he wasn’t dressed in scars or his belief in happiness and thereafter’s hadn’t been stripped from his remaining soul, Ghost suspects you’d be the one he’d want to keep around.

It’s the only reason he clenches his fist, watching you through the outer rim of his mask’s eye sockets and always watching, never intervening. Not even when soldiers below your rank let their eyes drift to your rear—or worse, from your face to your chest.

He lets them.

Allows them to ogle you because he knows they won’t ever be fortunate to see any more. Not just because he’d have their heads but because you’d turn them inside out before you’d even let them touch you. Plus, you ridicule them enough when you catch them—tongue all poison and razor sharp, a thing not to be messed with, something which barks as bad as it bites.

“You gonna keep lurking in the corner like a ghoul?”

Straightening his spine, he lets his narrowed eyes cut into you. Gliding them up and down your face—from the top of your hairline to your arched brow, to the lips twisted up into a smirk.

“Hilarious.”

Sighing, you roll your lips. “You gonna keep boiling everyone alive with your eyes whenever they talk to me?”

“I’m not.”

“For someone who has likely been required to lie for their work, your pretty awful at it.”

Grinding his teeth, he bites the inside of his cheek. Not wanting to rise, to give in—to fucking begin this tedious game of bickering. Instead, he allows a heavy breath to escape through his nose, long and slow, pushing the fabric out before it clings back to the tip of his nose.

Hoping you hear it, take note of it.

But from how you shift your stance, playing with your water bottle—crunching it in your grip—as you tap your boot against the floor, he doubts you have.

“You think too highly of yourself, princess.”

”Princess, ay?” you grin, far too wickedly to be innocent. “Thought you preferred seeing me in a vest, than a crown.”

Clamping his mouth shut, you take a sip of your water—letting the droplets hang on your lip, only wiping them from your chin at the last moment—a knowing look, all telling and haunted with lust and something else.

“Let’s walk.”

And, somehow, against all better judgement, he follows.

The first time it happened, your eyes had been shimmering. A softness to your features aided by alcohol bought by Price in celebration. It allows him to see his reflection in them—finding he’s all cold eyes. Around that though, he’s confronted with something stitched, carved, into the usually hardened expression he’d come to respect. Then it all shifted. A sound, one that was similar to how droplets of watercolour change a plain piece of paper, fills the air. It spreading shades in front of him that filled the scenery—the one the two of you were admiring as the others continued to be loud inside. Ghost can’t recall what he said, but he remembers what you’d said the moment you’d laughter had died: You’re funny for a skeleton. It was stupid. Foolish. Barely funny—in the grand scheme of things. But then, the building next to them had begun counting down, and you were looking at him—stars shimmering above the tips of the Siberian cypresses. There was just you, and him, and a crack of amber light across crisp, disturbed white snow. “Be rude to not kiss at New Year, wouldn’t it, Ghost?” ”Suppose so.”

You didn’t ask for his jacket immediately.

Even if he’d spotted you fighting off a shiver in your two’s awkward ‘walk’. No, you wait until the two of you are far past your usual building, and even then, you don’t ask. As usual, you pulled—tugged, and practically dragged it down his arms—until he surrendered it.

It was easier to bite back a groan. To look at you. Stick his pupils into your unbothered appearance. Allowing, instead, for his displeasure at your insistent but silent demand to show through his body language.

Not that you fucking care.

Chin all tipped up, meeting his stare boldly. Practically egging him on, pushing him, goading him.

Because you do that well. You like to push—not for a reaction, but to crack him.

Cause a break in him that you can slide through and make yourself at home. Somehow, against his better judgement—and usual practice—he lets you.

Each and every time.

Because even if he’d never admit it, he would—and could—go as far as to say he likes that you’re wrapping his jacket around your arms, head tilting up to look at the sky—observing how the stars are flickering. Because he rather enjoys seeing you coated in something of his.

Not possessively. Not because he needs some unhealthy confirmation that you want to be in something of his over anyone else. But because it's nice. A niceness he won’t ever admit. A confession that’ll never be spilt, not even under the most difficult of tortures. Not even if you sunk down on him, buried him inside you and refused to move until he did.

His resolve was stronger than that, something you’d learnt.

“Love it when the sky is clear,” you mumble.

Blinking, he looks up, realising the night looks so similar to the night in that small Canadian town.

When you’d offered to kiss him over his mask but eventually retrieved his lips—front sitting just under his nose, hands splayed across your lower back, pinning you flush to him. Because if he only had one chance to do it, he was going to milk it. Not that it was ever just that once, hence this—the two of you outside, close to an abandoned barrack under a flurry of stars and a half-gleaming moon.

He’s aware of the parallels.

How you’d been wearing his jacket that night, too. Albeit then because he’d given it to you when you’d come looking for him, rather than yanking it from his arms and burying yourself in it.

Ghost should mind.

Should find the idea unbearable, just like he should find you intolerable.

You sigh, not softly or sweetly, but difficulty and loud. “I don’t belong to you, Ghost.”

Ghost. Not the name you called him a few days ago when his fingers were curled inside you—his breath hot on your throat. Your pulse hammering against his tongue.

In a way, he thinks he should find you annoying, insufferable. Instead, he just finds you’re odd.

Odd in the sense that you stick around—not questioning his mannerisms or demands. That you fight everyone out there when sand tries to find places it shouldn’t, snow makes you shiver and blood stains skin—including him, on occasion.

But, when it’s the two of you, you bend so easily—all submissive, desperate. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, tongue swirling, before he’s so much as touched you.

It is why he snorts—and for a multitude of reasons.

Finger and thumb stroking his bare jaw, letting his eyes cast to the ground before looking in your direction. “Bet if I stick my fingers in your knickers, your cunt will say something different.”

You stare. Blank. Unreadable.

Something which makes his jaw tense, and his spine straighten. Because there aren’t many expressions he finds unbearable about you, except the unreadable one—the one you’re so skilled at pulling out across your face, hiding your thoughts and opinions.

He watches as you unfold your arms, displaying the hardest, squinted stare imaginable as your nose scrunched and your lips thin out. Leaving it there, hanging between the two of you—it not swaying as the seconds tick on, to the point he wonders if you genuinely expect him to be the one that cracks.

Then, you shift. You allow the lightest smirk to spread across your mouth into your perfect, soft, unscarred cheek. “Most likely. But, then again, on a base with a bunch of men, my underwear doesn’t tend to be dry.”

He has no retort, no initial thing to say.

So he says nothing.

Because everything he could say wouldn’t land in jest, would likely have his jacket thrown back in his face. And, the one good thing he has waiting (but not waiting) for him when he comes back—from fuck knows where—would be gone, vanished.

Not that he ever wanted this. Never mind needed it.

“Guessing that wasn’t the answer you wanted, Lieutenant?”

Keeping his mouth clamped, he remains silent. Lets it smother, wrap itself around the two of you and embed itself into the silence. Because no, that wasn’t the fucking answer he wanted.

There hadn’t been a reason as to why he knocked on your door, or why he had stuffed a nicer loo roll under his arm and brought you a bowl of soup. He could ration that you were a good solider, a solid member of his team. A reliable force that would get the job done. Someone who questioned and also obeyed. If needed, he could likely list a bunch more reasons why you were integral to whatever operation he was next sent on. But even he knew that wasn’t why he was outside your door. Why he turned the handle when you coughed and spluttered a weak ‘come in’. Whatever sight he’d expected, wasn’t close to what he saw. Your door closing behind him, your hand trying to cover your chapped lips as you splutter half a lung up, allowing him the chance to take in the rest of you. How your eyes were hollowed out by tiredness, your skin tacky and shining in the low light from a cracked curtain. ”D-did I miss a meeting or ‘sumthing?” Shaking his head, he placed the soup down by your bed—using the bowl to nudge several used tissues from its path, as he manoeuvred the roll from under his arm to hand it to you. Your eyes lighting, ever so slightly, by the softer—more nose-kind tissue. ”Jus’ came to check on you.” Blowing your nose, you offer a half smile. ”Because my aim is better than MacTavish’s?” Smirking, he watches as you shuffle over on your bed—allowing him room, something he takes without thought. In the same way he doesn’t need to think about lifting his mask now, how you’ve seen him—bruised, bloody, broken and so much more. An answer in itself as to why he’s here. One he could say with relative ease if the words would form. Instead, he throws his legs up—feels your eyes take him in as you try to clear your throat. “’cause you’re sick.” ”Oh.” And because I care. The latter not leaving his tongue, never mind his lips. Instead, he slides his arm around you, pulling you to lie in the crook of his arm and chest. Hoping that said enough. Explained it adequately. Incase it didn’t, he offered: ”Brought you soup, too.” ”Tomato?” Snorting, he rolled his eyes. “Chicken.” ”Guess that’ll do.” Your head tilting, staring up at him—and he hoped you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was hammering. Because even if this is what he wanted—to be there for you. To have you curled against him for reasons he couldn’t articulate, he hadn’t expected it. Even less the whispered, simple, ‘thank you, Simon’. Never mind that you barely finish the soup before you’re asleep against him.

Kicking at the ground, it’s a stone which pays the price for your annoyance with him. It rolls off, grating against gravel and grass before it came to a sad stop.

“What I was going to say,” you continue, huffing—in that way you do when you’re interrupted by lesser people and idiotic souls. “I don’t belong to you, but you don’t need to worry about every person who makes me laugh. I’m yours. Have been for a while.

“And before your strategic, get-out-alive brain begins firing on all fucking cylinders, I don’t… don’t need a declaration—didn’t need a menial question being asked to certify it. Don’t need you to tell me shit. I’m just telling you that I don’t—well—fuck around lightly.”

Lifting your arms, gesturing to you in his jacket—his clothing. Face pulling into an expression that makes him feel like he’s got a fucking egg on his face. As though he’s a fool, a fucking imbecile for not seeing what it was in front of him.

Maybe, he is.

Which is why he steps closer. Boots crunching gravel in the quiet, you stare at him—gazing through the cutouts and scorching your glare into him, scratching another line on his soul. Marking him. Like you have been doing since the first time he lost himself in your iris’s as your tongue curled out his name.

“I don’t… I don’t do this with others. What we do—is just what we do, Gh—”

“Simon,” he interrupts.

All sharp, like he’s stabbing you with his name, rather than handing it to you. Even if you’ve called it him before—you never have out here. Outside the confines of four walls, with your skin bare and his mouth latched to some part of your body.

“Jus’ mean, if y’gonna talk to me about it just being you and me, should at least call me my name.”

Slowly, you lower your arms, lips spreading into a line before they slide into a smile. “Simon. I don’t do this with other people.” Your eyes look up as you sigh. “Mainly because I don’t think anyone has a bigger cock than you.”

He brings you flush with him in one tug, watching your lips purse—a smirk attempting to grow behind it.

It’s more a grunt than a murmur how he tells you to ‘behave’, gloved fingers in the loops of your belt—a warped noise from the back of his throat beckoning to come out when your hand presses against his abdomen. Right against the clotted scarring of an old bullet wound—the one you’d pressed your palms into when he’d earned it—vermillion staining, clinging to your fingers and arm. Tears hanging from your lashes that you’d attempted to blink away, staring anywhere but at him.

Don’t die on me, Ghost. We’ve not done the wheelbarrow just yet.

When he’d been stitched and released, he finds your hand always goes there. A place you always seek, always find. You never touch his heart—never the thing that beats. You choose the pain embedded in tissue, the one he wonders if you hope to heal whenever you get the chance to brush your touch against it.

Rising on your toes, you roll your lips, softening your smirk into a smile. “It’s just you.”

“Because of my cock?”

He grips you tightly, not allowing you to descend to flat-footedness or move from being against him.

“Oh, a hundred percent. But you’re also a lot funnier than most people we meet, and I really like a man who makes me laugh.”

He pinches lightly—right on your side as you tip your head. “Y’know, don’t you?”

Ghost watches, waiting. Flicking from one of your eyes to the other.

And then you nod. “I know. Don’t worry, won’t make you tell me that you love my company as much as you do my tits just yet.”

He’s close enough for you to kiss the edge of his chin if he doesn’t move. But he does. Squeezing your hips, dropping his head enough, allowing your mouth to brush over his mask-covered lips.

It's enough for now, as you lower back to the ground. Feeling you turn in his hold—back to his chest and stomach as you wrap his jacket around you tighter.

Because he’ll kiss you better later.

A promise he makes silently, feeling your fingers take his, tugging his arm around you. He doesn’t need to see you to see that you’re smirking.

He can sense it.

AN: huge thank you to G. this wouldn't be possible without you nudging me, and making me accountable. dedicated to @theashfallx because she says she'll devour more of this man if I write it, so i had to finish it for her too.

[tiniedemon]

— ♡

dating headcanons

main 4 + butters

— ♡

stan

— definitely the type to bully you but loves you to death

— constantly posting you on social media

— you need him? he’s already there actually he’s been hiding in your walls

— gets super in his head a lot, requires a lot of reassurance & affection

— SUPER FUCKING PROTECTIVE

— some dude’s making you uncomfortable? his hand’s on your shoulder and he’s ready to beat the shit out of him

— the silent but deadly type

— basically no one fucks w his s/o

— but super duper soft

— sticky as fuck

— you thought kenny was a physical touch kinda guy? stan is 10 times worse

— constantly holding your hand or lacing your pinkies together

— prefers quiet nights in over nights out 100%

— movie nights are his absolute fav he loves the cliche holding hands in popcorn thing

— a bit of an alcoholic but never an angry drunk, he’ll be constantly up your ass blubbering about how much he loves you

— “your eyes are so pretty and your face is so pretty and i love your hair like that and how do you smell so good”

kyle

— if he were an anime character he’d be a tsundere for sure

— dislikes pda but in private he has no problem being affectionate

— is super awkward around you, doesn’t really know how to talk to you or how to act

— also prefers quiet nights in but in a totally different way

— would much rather read a book with your legs in his lap than watch a movie

— one phone call away tho don’t get him wrong

— if you need him he’s immediately on his way no questions asked

— very very very very protective

— also the type to hover behind you but the second you give him the go ahead he’s running his mouth

— all bark but also a super gnarly bite

— also super jealous and kind of insecure

— you’re his first real relationship so he’s always scared someone’s gonna steal you away

— the type to give you massages and ask you about your day

— domestic housewife fs, always cooking for you and making sure your house is clean

— always leaves sweet notes for you to wake up to but will never acknowledge them

— overall such a sweetheart, would do anything for you but is a stickler on saying the l word

— thinks it loses its sparkle if it’s said too much

kenny

— sticky horny bastard

— always cuddled up to you or holding your hand or kissing you

— big fan of pda

— if he’s not touching you and he’s in your presence someone’s getting hurt

— loves partying but also loves quality time with you

— would totally go out if you wanted but also would curl up in bed with you if you weren’t feeling it

— always eager to please you

— he’s like a dog, at your beck and call, awaiting your orders

— but don’t touch his s/o or he’ll go nuts

— not really the jealous type but definitely the possessive type

— like he doesn’t get worked up about someone hitting on you, he knows you’re fine as fuck, but the second someone tries to touch you his arms are around you and he’s kissing you

— very much a gentleman

— he makes very misogynistic comments about your body but ultimately you’re a queen and you should never have to lift a finger

— always worshipping the ground you walk on

— definitely a stoner

— giggles at everything you do when he’s high and 100% smokes you out every chance he gets

— he just loves you so much he’d literally combust

eric

— isn’t really one for affection, private or public

— definitely runs his mouth to you

— but the second you get upset he’s crying begging you to stop being mad rubbing your feet

— a messy bitch for sure

— always stirring up drama in the friend group and sitting back watching it all go down with you

— would definitely scheme with you about starting beef

— views you as his queen but treats you as an equal (which is huge for him because everyone is below him)

— hates seeing you cry and would easily tell off whichever son of a bitch did it

— but also wouldn’t hesitate to bully you to the verge of tears

— makes up for it by offering you some of his cheesy poofs

— unspoken acts of affection for sure

— hates going out

— he’d much rather watch a comedy movie and shit on the plot with you

— the type to act like he hates you around his friends but the second you’re in a private setting he’s reminding you that he loves you

— possessive, jealous, protective, the big 3

— kind of like a chihuahua, all bark no bite

— probably also low key an alcoholic but never drunk to the point of being a lovey dovey bitch

butters

— the sweetest boyfriend ever

— panics every time you cry or are upset in any way

— even if he’s grounded he’ll still find a way to talk to you

— if there’s a screen there’s a way

— doesn’t really fall into any category

— kind of just exists, way too happy that you’re dating him to notice anything else

— the type to post you on every social media platform he has

— would shout from the rooftops about how much he loves you

— very acts of service

— would do anything you asked as long as you were happy

— gives you back rubs every night

— sleeps with his head on your chest because he loves to listen to your heartbeat

— physical touch too

— loves holding your hand and caressing your cheeks

— stares at you for hours like “wow i can’t believe my s/o is this perfect”

— makes sure your needs are taken care of before his

— constantly texting you to remind you that he loves you and that you’re perfect in every way

— good morning and goodnight paragraphs even if you live together

— loves you to the moon and back and wants everyone to know it

[inoreuct]

been thinking about asura zoro lately.

possibly a prince sanji au where sora’s kicked her shitstain of an ex-husband out of the kingdom and his siblings are going through behavioural therapy,,,

at any rate, sanji’s wandering across the grounds one afternoon and he sees someone sitting beneath his favourite apple tree in the middle of the field. he thinks it’s yonji at first, but no— the hair’s too short and the wrong shade of green. less neon than his brother’s electric lime and more like… moss.

the man has one leg propped up with his arm resting on his knee, an apple clutched loosely in his hand. he turns as the grass rustles with sanji’s steps and sanji notes the vertical scar over his left eye that cuts through his brow and down his cheek. “you’re in my spot.”

“hm,” the man says, completely unbothered. he lifts the apple to take a bite and his open robe shifts with the wind, the hilts of the three swords tucked into his sash knocking gently against each other.

sanji narrows his eyes. “move.”

a slow, lazy grin. “no.”

“you—!” the prince is just about ready to boot this guy in the ass. “you do realise who i am, don’t you?”

“no,” the man repeats, shrugging a shoulder and peering down at his apple before taking another bite.

that gives sanji pause. everybody knows who he is. it’s inescapable— queen sora’s kindest son, with the golden hair and a heart to match. ocean eyes and the hands of a chef and legs steadier than any sailor’s. he has a duty to fulfil and an image to uphold, and it’s—

well. it’s just that sometimes, he thinks that he wasn’t made for this life at all— that he was meant to be out there, on the ocean, skipping over the waves with the wind in his hair and the sun on his brow, feeling the grit of sand between his teeth. he has satisfied himself with the comforts of royal life, with the orchards and the kitchens, but something pulls at him still. it tugs his heart towards the coast and whispers for him to shed the courtly graces he wears as tangibly as the cloak over his shoulders.

sanji is quiet as he reaches up, swallowing over the soft click of the clasp before red velvet falls into his hand. he drops it to the grass and lets it pool, puts one palm on the ground before settling against worn, rough bark and letting the pattern press into the skin of his spine.

“it’s peaceful here.” the man’s voice is low, slipping beneath the soft sigh of wind. “quiet.”

“it hadn’t always been,” sanji says, before he can stop himself. he has no reason to be doing this— to be saying anything at all, much less sitting down. he should be yelling for the guards and then taking this guy out himself. he’s a stranger who’d somehow made it onto royal grounds, through the extensive defences they had; one with three swords and scars, sanji reminds himself as he eyes the gnarly line of pearly tissue running diagonally down the man’s chest. he’s, by all definitions, a threat.

and yet, sanji hasn’t felt anything at all. no hostility, no fear— just… stillness, if he had to put a word to it. a sort of calm.

“the king… he was cruel,” he continues softly. “he treated my siblings and i like lab rats to be used. my mother was nothing more than a pretty thing to fill a space beside him. this palace, this kingdom used to be filled with war and pain and noise.” sanji chances a glance up to find the man already looking at him, and he quickly looks away. “sometimes, he’d come back from war stinking of blood and death. even worse was when he’d bring my siblings with him. he forced them to fight, see— didn’t even give them a choice, because of his experiments.”

the words are bitter as he spits them out, and sanji feels his hair bunch when he tilts his head back against the tree and blows out a breath. “i was always the failure.” the grass is damp with dew as he rubs a few blades between his fingers. “the weak one. the useless one. and i was the one who dragged him outside the city gates and told him that if i ever saw him again i’d take his head.”

he’s no longer as angry about it, he thinks. sanji has spent enough of his life being angry. the thought just carries a muted tone now, satisfied and a little victorious but also resigned— sometimes he looks at fathers in the squares and the markets, carrying their children on their shoulders and indulging them in the smallest of things, overpriced candy and tag on the dusty cobblestones, and his eyes burn. he should have had that. he never did, and he never will.

sanji lets his eyebrows flash up, swallowing against the tightness in his chest. “i don’t know why i’m telling you all this, anyway,” he says with a light, forced laugh. “i don’t even know who the hell you are.”

“nobody important,” the man hums. “not yet. but one day i’ll be the greatest swordsman in the world.”

the prince believes it. he feels something now, at least— a presence of sorts, like pressure from all sides, present but not pushing. just there. “i think… i want to get out of here.”

again, he doesn’t know why he says it. he has the urge to slap a hand over his mouth as soon as he does, in fact. because everything’s fine now, everything’s finally going well; judge is gone, his siblings are safe, his mother is safe, and he should be happy. he is happy. he gets to cook all he wants and he’s—

he’s not. he’s not happy. he wants to go, wants to— to grab a boat and disappear, sail to the edge of the horizon and then beyond. it aches in his chest like someone’s squeezing his heart, fingertips digging into tough muscle, and he rubs the heel of his hand through the fine weave of his shirt.

the man bites into his apple again, and the crisp crunch cuts through the still air. sanji lets his eyes slip shut.

“where do you want to go?” the man asks.

sanji laughs, a soundless exhale. “the all blue. it’s an ocean with every kind of fish you could imagine and then some. i want to open a restaurant. a place of my own where nobody will ever go hungry.”

a pause, and then the man turns to look at him. “do you know why i’m here?”

“no.” sanji cracks an eye open, sighing impatiently. “why?”

“the change. all this place has known for years was turmoil and war and chaos. and then suddenly… it all went silent.” he eyes sanji unreadably. “somebody took notice.”

somebody, huh? if sanji’s dealing with a religious nutcase, he might just burst into laughter. or knock this guy out. maybe both. “you believe in god, then?”

“no,” the man says flatly. “and even if one did exist, they didn’t help you then. they won’t help you now.”

the blonds’s eyes narrow as he sits up straight and slowly raises an eyebrow. “if that’s supposed to be a threat, mosshead, i’m not scared of you.”

“mosshead?!” the other splutters, the first sign of real human emotion sanji’s seen on him, and sanji laughs.

“it fits!”

“it’s—”

“blasphemous? disrespectful?” sanji teases, somehow more at ease than he’s felt in ages. he doesn’t know who this man is, and who he is doesn’t matter— he’s free to run his mouth, and he damn well will.

“you should be scared of me, you know,” the man says, voice gritty, and sanji smirks.

“why so?”

and— oh.

that presence from before increases exponentially, until he feels sweat bead beneath his collar. dirt gathers beneath his fingernails as he scrabbles backwards, instinctive, throat bobbing as he counts three, four, six arms, and three heads, and three grey eyes glinting like watered steel. wind whips through the clearing, shaking the branches of the tree— sanji reminds himself to close his mouth as he sits beneath the rustling, as black tendrils of shadow snake through the air, swelling around the man’s silhouette, silky and molten. it’s not just that overwhelming, omnipresent aura; he’s got to be two heads taller than a normal man at least.

sanji’s breath is stuck in his throat. and then he looks down; that half-eaten apple is still there, shiny and red. the man’s swords — nine of them, now — clatter gently by his hips, and his earrings jingle with something that almost sounds like gentle laughter, and his hair is still impossibly green.

“…is this supposed to be intimidating?” he offers, climbing to his feet with a bored cock of his hip. “i mean, it’s impressive and all, mossy, don’t get me wrong, but—”

the man’s form snaps back to normal in an instant, leaving him with an almost comical look of disbelief on his face. “you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“i’m traumatised,” sanji corrects, cackling. “after my bastard of a sperm donor, i doubt i could be scared of much else. besides, you haven’t done anything but talk to me. that’s a lot more kindness than most people can say they’ve shown.”

he watches the emotions flash across the man’s face like a play-by-play until his strong features finally settle on something not dissimilar to determination. “we’re going.”

“huh?” the sudden subject change throws him. “where?”

“the all blue,” is the impatient answer as the stranger crosses his arms. “didn’t you say you wanted to go?”

“yes, but—” sanji makes a series of exasperated noises as he tries to find his words. “i can’t just— go! i have responsibilities, i need to—”

“you need to be free,” the man grunts, and sanji stops short. “can’t keep a bird caged and expect it to be happy.”

the prince bites his lip, heart pounding. this is crazy. this is insane, it’s how kidnappings happen, he shouldn’t even he considering this. “…if, even if we were to go— how would we get there? how would we even find it?”

“we’ll figure it out?” the man pins him with a look that says duh, like it’s no big deal. “i know a witch who’s a navigator, she owes me a favour. and a guy who works in a shipyard. it’ll work.” he looks like he’s about to start tapping his foot, but then his expression softens. “one day,” he says, eyes skating across sanji’s face. “we go for one day, sunrise to sundown, and if you don’t like it i’ll bring you right back.”

sanji’s chest aches. his breath trembles against his teeth. “why?”

his stranger swallows, gaze tilting down as his fingers drift to the hilt of the white sword by his side, like it’s a comfort. “you aren’t scared of me.” his eye is a flash of silver as he looks up again, bottled starlight and iron. “maybe that’s more kindness than i’m usually shown, too.”

maybe sanji’s losing his mind. maybe he’d lost it a long time ago. because he finds himself nodding slowly and breathing, “okay.”

a sharp, sure nod. “we leave tomorrow. settle your affairs and meet me down by the beach at dawn.”

“alright.”

sanji watches the man turn and amble away, in no apparent, rush, before a thought strikes him. “wait!”

green hair shifts in the sunlight as he twists back around, one scarred palm by his ear. “hah?”

“what’s your name?” sanji yells across the clearing, and the smile that’s sent his way is blinding.

“meet me and i’ll tell you, curls!” the man yells back, and then he’s gone. just— disappears, like he’d been a figment of imagination.

an apple core tips against sanji’s ankle, pale and clean.

(sora takes one look at his face when he asks and lets him go.

“you’d always been restless,” she tells him gently, as she helps him pack his things into a burlap satchel and sets his spice tins carefully into their case. she says he’d been loud even as a baby, wailing right out of the womb with eyes the blue of cornflowers and summer skies and the water, riotous and gentle and vast like his heart.

she sends him off with a kiss to his forehead, hands cupping his face as she smiles against his skin, and this time sanji welcomes the burn in his eyes.

he finds zoro by the beach like something out of a fairytale, skin bronzed in the light of a new day, glowing with the orange dancing off the waves. he has a boat waiting, barely big enough for two, wrist draped over his sword hilts as he yawns and scratches at his head, and sanji grins so hard his face hurts.

his palms on the lip of sealed wood have his heart pounding hard enough to feel it against his ribs, his shoes sinking into the sand as they push the dinghy out to sea and jump on, and he shoves his hand in the water just because he can.

“zoro,” the man says abruptly, two extra shadows framing him in the sunrise like a mirage, and sanji’s lips curl up at the edge. “that’s my name.”

“okay, mossy,” he sing-songs, and bites down a laughing scream when zoro rocks the boat so hard he nearly falls out.

he does tell zoro his name, when he decides that he’ll stay. they’re still on their little boat; it’s sunset now, and the green-haired man is taking up all the space in his other form, stretched out with his hands folded behind his head. “i’m sanji, by the way,” he offers, offhand, and watches zoro crack an eye open to grunt in acknowledgment.

he pretends not to see the soft smile that the other man flips over to hide. zoro hardly ends up using it anyway, the brute.

sanji really doesn’t mind.)

[giddyfenix]

Canines

Thing is, Etho had never been a dog person.

Dogs tended to be too loud, too clingy, too excitable—the tinier the worse. He didn't dislike them per se, except he kind of did.

He liked cats better. They were smarter, they knew themselves better, they had a level of spatial awareness even he couldn't comprehend. They were vigilant, but not obnoxious about it.

Where a dog would uselessly bark and go wild, a cat would sit and stare at the offender until it pissed itself. A dog would try hard, too hard, until its energy became useless in its overabundance. A cat would chase down a possible threat for fun, and it'd succeed.

Etho could appreciate cats and their values. The same could not be said for dogs.

Until Joel, that is.

He wasn’t trying to imply that Joel was a dog. Not necessarily. But the descriptors fitted and, for the first time, Etho found it all infuriatingly endearing. 

Maybe he was a bit more like a wolf, with sharper canines and predator instincts. Either that or a poodle. He just couldn’t seem to stay quiet. Or calm. Or content. At all.

“You suck,” Joel yelled at Bdubs.

Maybe closer to a poodle, Etho thought.

Joel turned to him. “Let’s go kill him,” he said.

Wolf. Maybe.

“We’re yellow, we can’t.”

“You’re no fun,” Joel whined.

Poodle. Definitely poodle.

He watched Joel huff and turn to leave and idly wondered if this was what dog owners felt, the thing that drove them to dogs in the first place.

He had never understood them, except he was starting to believe maybe he could, and that was both an interesting and concerning realization.

“Well, don't stay behind,” Joel said impatiently. He had stopped walking the second he realized Etho hadn't fallen into step behind him, almost like having him out of sight was an unfathomable problem rather than a minor inconvenience.

And look, he still wasn't trying to say Joel was a dog, but…

“Come on,” he said, tapping his foot. “Someone will touch you and I won't be around to bite them. Hurry up.” 

It was probably a joke, but his voice sounded just annoyed enough that Etho thought he should maybe believe him.

Etho just stared at Joel for a few seconds longer. He could perfectly picture Joel's bloodied teeth closed around someone's throat, and the sadistic grin that'd follow. So perhaps, and just perhaps, there was merit to the earlier wolf theory.

Joel walked back to Etho, scowling. “Come on,” he repeated, then proceeded to grab his wrist and pull him along.

He was a poodle that believed itself to be a wolf, Etho decided.

He let himself be pulled forward, and it was only when he saw Tango scurry away upon seeing them that it clicked.

No, he realized with dawning horror. Joel was a wolf with poodle tendencies. 

And Etho—proud cat person, proud of himself in general up to that very point in life—found that endearing. 

[doberbutts]

Hi! I've met three dobes in my life so far and I definitely see the protective aspect. The dobe belonging to a friend did the whole 'BARK BARK person in the house!' routine. But she was doing her 'job' and I respect that. I think people fail to realise not every breed is going to fit what they want in a dog, and investing in a protective, guarding breed comes with adjustments that if they can't make they shouldn't own that particular dog.

What's funny too is that Fenris is hideously friendly. Like. I joke that his breeder sent me a golden retriever in a doberman suit because he is sooooooo so so social. His suspicion and his sharpness are forever at odds with his desire to be friends with everyone. He's not even mad about the decoy, he's happy because he gets to play his favorite game (BITING YOU BITING YOU BITING YOU) with someone he likes that's proven to know how to play this game and make it extra fun and not complain when he bites too hard.

But then he reminds me that he is really a doberman, when he says BOW WOW WOW at someone who lunges at me as I walk by, or someone who comes running from across the parking lot at us. Suspicious and vaguely threatening behavior is Not Friendly and so he matches that energy.

Maybe it's not what Dobermann had in mind. But I think this is an easier dog to live with than my barky lungey Skoll who wanted to maul every last person he saw. And I think in today's world, Fenris is an asset (people who perform vaguely threatening behavior back up when dog barks at them) while Skoll is a liability (he WILL bite someone for no reason).

But anyway. This like I said it what frustrates me when people say purebred people only care about aesthetic. I'm a purebred people. I have exclusively purebred dogs right now. And I want my doberman to be protective. I think it's a worse opinion to state that every breed has to be the same companion-only temperament (because then that truly just turns breed into aesthetic) than it is to say that the breed should act like the breed they are.

So someone that responds with "I don't want a protective dog" - sorry, then what you want isn't a doberman. Because even my incredibly friendly and social dog is still protective. He's very safe for strangers to touch and interact with- and people at club are always delighted when he decides to hop into someone's lap to lick all over their face when released from a stay- but also he sees someone approach my front door and issues a challenge. The decoy hits me on the arm and he latches on to the man's leg with a roar.

[bloodweep]

Warning these are NSFW

I’m also a trans man that is a-okay with pussy/cunt - I mainly write character x male reader but headcanons they are for everyone

“Ma don’t do this to me”

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ After some time together ࿐ྂ

‗ ❍ He gets excited over you very easily, he normally did; but now it’s worse, your scent invades his senses all the time; torturing him slowly

‗ ❍ The hugs getting longer, tighter and clingier

‗ ❍ Chests pressed together, his nose behind your ears nuzzling, if you hear a low guttural sound leave him ignore it; it will make it worse

‗ ❍ his hands began to wander, no longer staying around your midsection, moving to your hips, so dangerously close to your ass

‗ ❍ eventually he would have you caged to a tree, his forearm pressing into the bark, ignoring the scratching form on his skin, his muscles bunching and flexing by your head - this would happen more often now, this position, caging you in, loaning over you, yet he didn’t force anything

‗ ❍ GODS I know he would have the biggest muscles of his brother, so fucking big and bulky

‗ ❍ in this position he would show his fangs more, his tail flicking lazily behind him

‗ ❍ UGH he would definitely lean over you, his head tilting down into your space to speak, whispering to you so your conversation can be private

‗ ❍ this position is what caused the first kiss, he was so close, you both were sharing each others breaths, he exhaled you inhaled; back and forth

‗ ❍ finally his eyes lidded he looked over you; waiting, he may be demanding, cocky, grabby but he wouldn’t force this

‗ ❍ once he’s gotten the okay he press his lips to yours, a low growl from his throat

‗ ❍ his free hand would grip your hip, yanking you flush against his hips grinding against you with each kiss

‗ ❍ you definitely gotten fucked against the tree more than once

‗ ❍ oh BOY is he a munch, can eat pussy for hours if you let him, face buried into your cunt, lapping and sucking, his fangs scrapping against your cunt

‗ ❍ he’s most certainly snarled and nipped at your direction when you pull him away before shoving his face back into your cunt

‗ ❍ would eat your pussy for breakfast , lunch and dinner and even dessert

‗ ❍ has definitely been yelled out for leaving a gang scratches on your cunt

‗ ❍ a giver more than a receiver

‗ ❍ loves doggy

‗ ❍ “oh mamas” is definitely what he growls out as he fucks into you

‗ ❍ will enjoy having your pussy juices coat his face and neck as he fucks you, will get grumpy and nippy if you try to clean it off, he wants to smell like you and feel claimed

‗ ❍ I can see this man LOVING anal, the first time he’s giving the okay he nearly combusts, he loves your ass so much and being able to fuck it sends him into space

‗ ❍ would love to eat your cunt while stretching your ass open

‗ ❍ enjoys to overstimulate you until you’re crying, he just wants to feel your legs around his head crushing

‗ �� reverse cowgirl position too so he can keep his hands all over your ass

‗ ❍ into biting, he wouldn’t know how to ask to mark you up, but once you’ve pulled his head into your neck, he would certainly leave little marks there - marks your thighs too

‗ ❍ loves scratches, he wants your mark on him all the time

‗ ❍ he’s SO into muzzles, muzzle him up and yank on it to control him

‗ ❍ he would definitely hold you up into the air and fuck into you, showing off how strong he is, how good of a mate he is to you

‗ ❍ wants you to squirt on his face and chest all the time, enjoys your scent and wants everyone to know that

‗ ❍ he’s broken many of his and your beds from fucking you so hard, but it never stopped him from making sure you finished before making you a new one - at this point you suggest to fuck on the floor but he wants to make sure you’re comfortable on the bed

‗ ❍ He’s the one to be fucking into you, reaching up and gripping the headboard - which the area would break off in his hand from how tight he is holding it

‗ ❍ he’s a fucking dirty clothes sniffer (you cannot tell me he would bury his nose into your underwear and inhale, that man is a fucking dog)

‗ ❍ Throatfucking, drives him crazy when he can fuck into your throat, his hand gripping around the bulge in your throat

‗ ❍ size difference, sends him wild when he can see his dick through your stomach

‗ ❍ Somnophilia - receiving, loves waking up to you riding him, or your sitting down on his face

‗ ❍ breath play - receiving, suffocate him with your thighs, cunt, gripping his neck when you ride him

━━━━━━━ ✦❘༻༺❘✦ ━━━━━━━

Tagging: @n3rdy247

I apologize they are so short, might add to them but this is all I could think of right now!

Added a gif I made because fuck him and his goggles does stuff to me

[bidisastersanji]

It's Sunday night so why not read part 3/3 of "Zoro gets lost because he uses the red string of fate like a compass" ? Part 1 here, part 2 here, ao3 here Hope you guys like it ;)

Sanji is being weird. Ever since that day on Thriller Bark, he’s definitely been avoiding him, only interacting with him when strictly necessary (to feed him), never making eye contact for too long, and leaving as quickly as he came. 

Shitty cook. What’s his fuckin’ deal? 

Zoro lets it sit for a couple of days, too injured to move out of the infirmary or to do anything about it anyways, before he comes up with a potential reason for the cook’s strange behaviour. It must be because of the self-sacrifice thing. It can’t be because of that... other thing, he muses. 

Back at the Baratie, when they’d first met, Zoro could immediately tell that Sanji didn’t know. The blonde couldn’t see it, or feel it...nothin’. It was painfully obvious. (It didn’t make him feel hollow at all!) So, he hadn’t said anything- what would’ve been the point? It wasn’t like it mattered to him either way: his goal was already fixed. Become the world’s greatest swordsman. Then, maybe look for the person tied to his soul. 

He didn’t expect to meet them so soon. 

He also didn’t expect for him to come aboard and join the crew. Sure, the ridiculous moron grew on him much faster than he expected, and he took great satisfaction from having someone of comparable strength look over their crew with him, someone who could handle him, his power, his ambition, his rough edges and biting words. He wouldn’t deny that. But he also hated how the proximity made his little...navigation problem way worse. 

Learning that Sanji grew up on a moving restaurant in the East Blue certainly explained why the thread moved around so much. Being on the same boat, however, brought the realisation that the closer they were to each other, the more the thread moved- and when living in such close quarters, stuck on a ship, the thread was constantly bobbing around as the cook moved around his kitchen, the pantry, the bridge, happily serving freshly prepared meals and snacks to his crewmates. 

If there was one good use that he got out of this, it's that he could always find the best time to sneak some booze from the kitchen- the red string a reliable indicator of Sanji being busy elsewhere. The downside was, of course, all the teasing his nakama, especially that witch Nami, made him endure. And it’s not like he could even reciprocate the teasing the day her tattoo turned the exact shade of a certain Miss Wednesday’s hair. He couldn’t risk his debt going up. 

Even when off the ship, Zoro’s sense of direction had never been as comically bad before. Using the red thread to move around was like breathing to him, and it constantly caught his eye, getting him lost- even in the midst of battle- going up the wrong stairs, running off in the wrong direction, finding himself in the most unlikely of places because the damn cook wouldn’t. stop. moving. Around. (Somewhere in his mind, Zoro was aware that he couldn’t expect Sanji to not move- he just was oh so tired of getting lost.) 

He noticed that Sanji never had problems finding him. Zoro’s chest felt light whenever he did. He didn’t linger on it. 

His chest feels anything but light now that Sanji is avoiding him like the plague. 

Strong enough to stand after a few days’ rest, Zoro follows the red thread to the galley. He pushes the door open and catches the sweet smell of Sanji’s stress baking. Of course. 

“I’m not giving you booze, marimo.” Sanji doesn’t look up from behind the counter, hands meticulously working to decorate whatever baked goods he’s whipped up today. 

“’m not here for booze, cook.” 

“Then get the hell out of my kitchen, it’s not lunchtime yet.” 

Zoro regards him cooly, standing between the counter and the dining table, and waits for him to look up. He has time. 

“...You gonna stand here all day, shithead?” 

“Mn.” 

Sanji sighs and meets his gaze with an affronted look, hands finally stilling in his decorating. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Zoro’s not one to beat around the bush. “Is this about what happened with Kuma?” 

Sanji stays silent, absentmindedly worrying his lower lip. 

“Look, I’m never gonna apologise for knockin’ you out and doing what I did- especially since everything turned out ok in the end. The crew couldn’t lose you, curls. This was my burden to bear. How can we move past this-” 

His blue eyes look furious, like burning ice. “We can’t,” he bites out. Sanji reaches for his cigarettes, soothing himself with the familiar motion of placing it between his lips. It wobbles as he speaks. “And the fuck do you even mean, they couldn’t lose me- they can’t lose you, dumbass. You still have to beat Mihawk and become the greatest, right?” 

Zoro sighs, tuning the cook out a bit as he nags him. Why Sanji can never see his own value, his importance to the crew, to him, he doesn’t know. He knows it’s not something he can fix with just a few words. 

“Why would you even,” Sanji starts losing his words from his frustration. His thumb and forefinger pinch his cigarette and he waves it around angrily. “you silly moss- I can’t understand you!” 

“That’s my line. Why did you try to take my place? Spoutin’ all that bullshit about finding another cook, huh?” 

Sanji blanches, mouthing silent words as he looks for a way to answer Zoro’s question. His visible eye flits to Zoro’s hand on his chest. The swordsman notices. 

“Y-you wouldn’t understand...” his face contorts painfully, brow furrowed. 

Zoro takes it all in. Where he’s looking, the way he’s been acting strange...it was more than what happened on Thriller Bark, then. “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“All right. Then why don’t I let you in on a little secret.”  

Zoro’s face is impassible as ever, and the cook seems intrigued.  

“...sure, why the hell not.” Then, to break the tension, “You gonna tell me the secret to your ridiculous hair colour?” 

“Better. ‘m gonna tell you why I get lost all the time.” 

“...so you are self-aware. Good job, marimo. Maybe next you’ll figure out basic hygiene.” Sanji’s jeer doesn’t mask how intently he’s waiting for Zoro to reveal his secret. 

The swordsman comes closer to the counter, placing his forearms and hands on the cool granite. Sanji’s eye follows the movement and seems to linger on the thread before returning to meet his own. This helps steel the swordsman in his decision. 

“You see, the reason I get turned around and lost is ‘cause I don’t navigate like most folk do. Growing up, I relied on my inner compass, and it worked just fine- I could always tell where North was, back then. No matter where I was.” 

“What changed?” 

“My north started movin’ around,” he huffs. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yeah, didn’t make sense to me either. But then my friend told me that the red string on my finger wasn’t a compass.” 

From how close they’re standing; Zoro hears Sanji’s breath hitch. He grins and brings his hand up from the counter, wiggling his pinky. 

“Y-you can see it?” Sanji’s face is twisted with shock and confusion. 

“Always have.” 

“But then why- why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Could tell that you didn’t see it too. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.”  

Sanji’s mouth opens on an inhale- ready to retort, but Zoro cuts him off before he gets the chance. “Think, cook. How would’ve you had reacted if I’d told you?” 

That shuts him up. Head slightly hanging, his unlit cigarette is in pieces, wrung out by his nervous hands. 

Always a contrarian, Zoro feels calm, his chest now warm and light like bread fresh from the oven. He can feel his lips stretch into a lazy smile despite himself. The shitty cook can see it. He can see the thread. It’s a start. 

“Sanji.” 

His blue eyes are cloudy, distant, deep in thought, and it takes him a few seconds to realise that swordsman said his name. His actual name. Zoro’s chest feels a little tight at the cute blush that dusts his cheeks, spreading to his ears. Tempers the urge to tease him about it, watch it deepen. He should probably say the important stuff first, do what he came here to do in the first place. 

“I won’t apologise for Thriller Bark because I'm selfish. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Zoro prefers to speak with actions, not words, and he hopes that this action was loud enough. 

Listen, cook. Please listen. 

Sanji ponders his words for a moment, eyes searching his face with an intensity that keeps Zoro rooted to the spot. Under his crisp white button up, his chest rises and falls with a deep, deep sigh. He seems to come to a decision, and Zoro can’t deny his sweaty palms are itching to fidget with his earrings as he watches Sanji join him on his side of the counter. His footsteps suddenly feel quite loud, the light a bit too bright- but Zoro keeps his face schooled in a neutral expression and turns to face his crewmate. 

The thread is short, now, their bodies, close.  

“You won’t apologise.” 

Zoro shakes his head no. 

“Then you better be ready to make it up to me your whole life, you shitty marimo.” 

I hear you. 

Zoro’s heart beats like war drums, victorious and bold and indomitable, blood racing, making his body sizzle with restless energy. He watches in awe as Sanji’s hand- the one with a delicately corded red rope tied to the pinky- reaches for his own, interlocking their hands between them. It looks nice, the red string bright and proud against their skins’ neutral tones. Evidence of their unique bond. 

His face must be saying something because Sanji looks handsomely mischievious, pearly whites peeking out from an idiotic grin. 

“So, you’re gonna kiss me or what?” 

Zoro doesn’t need to be asked twice, and for once, does as Sanji says. 

[deadghosy]

More platonic Sebastian but with male mc? Im dying for a brotherly bond. Mc owning a shop in hogsmead now and we need to know Seb’s and Ominis’s reactions.

PLATONIC SEBASTIAN X MALE MC HEADCANNONS

Brotherly hang outs at hogmeade. He makes sure you get your order correct before he orders his own food.

The type of brotherly friend to dust your cloaks before you head out of the dorm. He does not want his newest brother friend looking like he came out of a wild dumpster.

He teaches you spells his knows. He likes the feeling of him being a wonderful teacher while you are his student. Makes him feel prideful.

Protective as he would hold his chin up high when someone tries to aggravate you. He’s simply pushing them away, his bark is far more worse than his bite. But it could be level out in a nice balance.

Sebastian having his arm wrapped your shoulder in a friendly matter when he gets to see you after an exhausting class lecture. Hell, he even gives you head noogies. He finds it amusing when you scold him for messing up your hair.

Imagine this, imagine you are tired after a trial and come to the common room to only sleep on the couch. Sebastian walks in looking for you only to see that you are sleeping on the couch. His eyes soften, taking off his cloak he puts it on you. Softly kissing your forehead. “Goodnight Y/N..”

It’s a soft moment for him to show how much he cares for you. It doesn’t matter if you want to return his cloak, what matters is that you are with him with every step.

Playful teases if you are shorter than him. He calls you an elf everytime you try to reach for things. Ominis may try to stop him, but Sebastian can’t help but love the glare you give him.

Definitely always waits for you before entering the great hall. Ominis started to notice the attachment between you and him. Sebastian crosses his arms with knitted brows wondering where you are at only for you to show up minutes later. Sebastian smiles and puts his arm around your shoulder and guides you two to the Slytherin table. He’s ready to hear about your day.

But learning that you have a shop in hogmeade made Sebastian drop his jaw a bit before regaining his composure while Ominis seemed joyous and smiled at the fact you have a shop in the village. Sebastian would most definitely visit you there a lot to see how you are doing.

If you can’t handle a rude customer, don’t worry. Big brother Sebastian is ready to help you as he would be passive aggressive towards the person.

Say you got assigned into the same dorm as Ominis and Sebastian. Immediately Sebastian is running around in his mind inside. His favorite brother friend is staying in a dorm with him. He accidentally excluded Ominis in his mind as he helped you move in and told you small stories about the dormitories.

He most definitely tucks you in if you pass out on your bed.

He’s just a very affectionate person in secret. He’s cocky, sure. But he definitely has a soft spot for you mostly.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 4)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

4.4k words

Warnings: Language, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, no foreplay or lube (because it's fiction), mentions of being cheated on, pining and some angst, Keeley is determined to get Roy laid

@agentstarkid is always the best at letting me ramble and plan ❤️

Series Masterlist

Wednesday morning, Roy stood on the pitch, watching the Greyhounds amble out of the tunnel for training. He snuck a glance at his phone; still no new messages. He thought back to that morning in your bed. Yeah, he’d put in his number on your phone correctly, he was sure of it. You’d had a good time that night. You definitely came- multiple times, in fact. And you looked almost disappointed when he had to leave to be a responsible baby-sitter for his idiot team.

So why the fuck hadn’t you texted him?

“Mornin’, Coach!” Jamie chirped, his stupid pink headband giving Roy a headache. “Alright?”

Before Roy could open his mouth for some expletive-laced response, the mobile in his hand buzzed. Unable to help himself, he quickly opened the incoming message.

There you were.

Gorgeous as ever in a dark pair of leggings and a Ferrari t-shirt, you leaned against your beautiful car, cocky grin and mischievous eyes threatening to give Roy a hardon. The attached message made things worse:

She’s purring 😼

“Whoa there, Grandad.”

Realizing that Jamie was still over his shoulder, Roy stuffed his phone into his pocket with a scowl. “Go get warmed up, Tartt.”

Jamie’s eyes were bright with amusement. “You made her purr?” he scoffed. “The fuck did you do to her, Roy? And please, draw me a diagram or some shit.”

Roy’s face was bright red; whether from annoyance, embarrassment, or arousal he wasn’t quite sure. “Her fucking car,” he muttered.

“You fucked her in her racecar?” Jamie looked like a child who’d been visited by Father Christmas. “You are a god, Roy Kent-”

Roy threw his head back with a loud groan. “She’s talking about her car,” he barked. “Purring means it sounds good or whatever.” He pointed towards the pitch. “Now fucking go on before I have you tie a string around your prick again and give the other end to the mascot.”

With Jamie still laughing but finally gone, Roy snuck another glance at his phone, that horny little voice in his head telling him not to care if he popped a boner in front of the whole team. To his surprise, there was already another text waiting for him.

The car, I mean. You’ll have to make something else purr yourself, Kent.

Fuck. He bit his lip and tucked his phone away, wondering how the hell he was going to focus on training, or anything really, after reading that text.

You were going to be the death of him.

~

Eying Roy carefully over her salad, Keeley opened her mouth. “So how was your night with the Empress?” Her deepened, teasing voice had Roy scowling.

“Fuck are you on about?” He narrowed his eyes at the blonde who was perched on his desk after insisting they have lunch together. “I walked her to the hotel, apologized for the way the guys were all over, and went the fuck to bed. It was well past my bedtime.” He took a particularly aggressive bite of his own salad.

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Keeley pouted. “I think someone like you’d be good for her.”

Roy sighed and slammed his salad onto his desk. This conversation clearly wasn’t ending anytime soon. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

A moment passed in silence as Keeley pursed her lips and studied Roy’s sullen face. “Well… about a year ago she had this beautiful, vile boyfriend. A model. Built like a Greek god or something. They were very hot and heavy, very public, for about three years. Aaaaaand he cheated on her. Quite publicly.” Keeley’s expression was heavy with sympathy. “Ever since, she hasn’t been seen with the same guy for more than two weeks.”

Color flooded Roy’s face. “And why the fuck d’you think I’d be good for her or whatever?”

Keeley reached out and touched Roy’s cheek, smugly noting how unusually warm it felt. “You’re a good guy, Roy. A damn good boyfriend. Probably the best one I ever had.” She shrugged and withdrew her hand. “She could use some of that.”

Roy stared at his salad. No wonder you were keeping him at arm’s length, leaving things up in the air about seeing each other again. He was just another fun time you were using to help you get over some other prick.

He hated how badly he wanted to let you use him.

“Who the fuck did he cheat with anyway?” Roy spat, ignoring the knots in his stomach. “Liz Hurly in the 90s?” His mouth moved ahead of his brain. “Because I can’t think of anyone who’d be worth losing- I mean, she’s just so fucking badass and gorgeous-”

“That, that right there!” Keeley lit up, pointing at Roy’s red face with her fork. “That’s why I think you’d be so nice for her. Look at you, already gushing over her. It’s kind of cute.” She tilted her head, reminding Roy of the poodle his great-aunt Natalie used to keep. “And I think it’s mutual,” she added slowly. “The couple of times you two’ve been in the same room, it’s obvious. There’s an attraction there. And I mean, you’re both legends in your sport, you’re both fit, you’re both full of white-hot passion-”

Roy rolled his eyes. “You trying to set me up on a date, or are you trying to cast a commercial?”

Keeley grinned. “Alright but think about how hot the two of you would look in a magazine- The Empress and the Greyhound.”

Pretending he didn’t love the sound of that, Roy picked a piece of shredded carrot out of his salad and tossed it at Keeley’s open mouth. “Eat your fucking lunch.”

~

You probably weren’t supposed to be in this hallway. You had promised to meet Keeley and Rebecca in the owner’s box, fully intent on drinking your weight in champagne while cheering on the Greyhounds. But you found yourself wandering down an empty hallway, wondering which way it was to the changing rooms, despite your inner voice scolding you about how you were getting far too comfortable with finding Roy Kent in your bed and reminding you not to start any bad habits with that gorgeous man who you had texted far too often this week.

“Oi.”

Heart skipping a beat, you turned around. All thoughts of not hooking up with Roy Kent again were immediately silenced when you caught sight of those trackpants, already starting to look tight as he quirked an eyebrow at you. It was kind of stupid of you to think you’d be able see him without your thoughts turning dirty, because there you were, face to face with the man and practically drooling in more ways than one.

“Roy Kent,” you greeted, at least appearing cool with your little smirk.

Roy’s eyes scanned your body slowly, unabashedly, taking in your tight red pants and low-cut tank top, all the way up to your Ferrari cap. Almost as if he knew you’d picked out this outfit hoping he’d see it. “Thought you were supposed to give me a heads up next time.”

You shrugged as you closed the distance between the two of you, barely resisting the urge to totally press your body to his. “Wasn’t sure if I’d see you this trip,” you admitted.

“What, already tired of sharing your hotel whiskey with me?” Despite his teasing voice, his furrowed eyebrows exposed his disappointment.

That sweet disappointment had you tugging at his open jacket with a little pout. “No hotel whiskey this time,” you purred. “Only here for the afternoon. I’m flying out after the match.”

“What’s with the quick turnaround?”

You smiled, wishing you could reach up and ease the wrinkle between his brows, instead choosing to use your grip on his jacket to tug him a smidge closer. “I was just here to meet with Rebecca. Keeley heard someone was selling a few shares, and Becca’s hoping I’ll scoop them up. She’s wining and dining me during the match today.”

His confidence returned, a smirk forming on those lips you wanted to feel on every inch of your body. “What, you think if you become an owner, you can boss me around?”

Completely ignoring that gnawing feeling deep in your gut telling you to turn around, to walk away from this beautiful man and find a less secluded hallway, you giggled and let one hand wander to his bicep. “Roy Kent, I don’t need to be an owner to tell you what to do.”

“Oh really?” His eyes darkened as he took another look up and down your body, lingering on all of his favorite parts. “Prove it.”

You stood on tiptoe, bringing your lips to his ear, savoring his shiver as you whispered, “Fuck me.”

In no time his hand was scandalously low on your back as he steered you to a nearby door, practically shoving you inside. Once the door was closed and locked behind you, Roy set to work making sure the boot room was empty- no Will Kitman hiding in some corner, too scared to move from his post- locking every door and shutting every set of blinds he could find. Roy Kent was a rather selfish man when it came to you; he wanted the delicious sounds of your moans and whimpers all to himself.

Satisfied that the two of you had the most privacy possible in a stadium packed with athletes, fans, and the press, Roy pulled you to himself, roughly pressing his mouth to yours, wasting no time before sliding his tongue inside. Somewhere in the kiss, your cap fell to the floor. Sighing into his open mouth, you wrapped your arms around his neck, wondering how you ever thought you’d be able to come to Nelson Road and resist him when he on his home turf.

He walked you backwards until your back hit a counter and let his hands wander down to the button of your red jeans. “Don’t have much time,” he mumbled, lips roving to your jaw. “Gotta be quick, alright?”

Eyes fluttering shut, you nodded, desperate for anything he’d give you. “Quick,” you breathed, already feeling yourself turn to putty under his rough hands.

Roy made quick work of your jeans, tugging them down your ankles, along with the pretty panties you’d picked just for him. Eyes on your glistening sex, he wiggled down his trackpants, revealing how hard he already was. Gripping your hips, he helped you hop onto the counter, where you spread your legs for him. He pressed his forehead to yours as he slowly slid himself into your entrance, bringing himself to a stop at the first whine that slipped past your lips.

“I know,” he cooed, bringing down one hand to soothingly rub your clit as he resumed inching into you. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well, taking me so fucking well.”

Your breath caught in your throat, this time from his words more than the burning feeling of his cock stretching you. Baby. You hated when men called you that, men who hadn’t been around long enough to call you such a sweet, gentle name. It was an instant turn-off. Too loving, too intimate.

But when Roy Kent said it? It sounded like heaven.

The feeling of him filling you up brought your thoughts back to the moment. He froze, letting you have a moment to get used to the sensation- as if you could ever get used to being fucked by Roy Kent.  You wrapped your legs around his waist and brought your lips to his, letting your rough kiss give him permission to move again.

He started with slow, dragging strokes, watching your face with an intense gaze as you gripped his arms. You threw your head back against the wall, the pain giving way to familiar pleasure, especially with the way Roy expertly massaged your clit.

Feeling the needy way your cunt clenched around him, Roy picked up his pace, roughly thrusting into you. When a loud moan escaped your lips, he instinctively brought his free hand to your mouth, shaking his head.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby,” he growled. He could practically feel your pussy throb at the word. “Think you could do that for me?” When you nodded, he removed his hand and brought it to your clothed breast, squeezing it roughly through your top. “Good girl.”

Fuck. Was he trying to make you moan again?

Desperate for something to occupy your mouth, you latched your lips to his jaw, pressing slobbery kisses there as Roy drove into you, biting his lower lip to hold in his own moans. When his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you, you whined against his skin and began sucking on the spot. Part of you scolded yourself; you were definitely going to leave a mark on his jaw. But the part of you that was drunk off of Roy’s cock hoped you left him with a reminder of this romp.

His garbled moan told you that he was close, so fucking close. Determined to be a gentleman, he quickened his strokes on your clit, bringing his free hand to your hip to attempt to hold you as still as possible so he could absolutely pound into you.

“Roy,” you whimpered against his jaw as that coil in your tummy wound tighter and tighter. You felt yourself start to spasm around his cock.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” he whispered, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “Come for me, baby. Fucking come for me. I need it. Need you.”

His words made you snap. You gripped his biceps as if your life depended on it, and your teeth sunk into that spot on his jaw you’d been sucking to muffle the moan you felt sure the entire building could hear. He fucked you through your orgasm, wishing more than anything that he had time to make you come over and over again instead of having to savor this one like the treasure it was.

Your body spasmed beautifully against his until you looked up at him through your eyelashes, eyes glossy, completely fucked out. The sight only had him pounding harder, determined to give you something to remember him by before the two of you parted ways.

“Fuck,” he hissed, releasing your clit so he could grab your face and tilt it towards his. “Want me to fucking come for you?”

All you could do was nod and capture his lips with yours, your kiss sloppy and wet, tongues wrestling, teeth knocking carelessly. Your legs pulled him deeper, your fucked out mind desperate for him to fill you up.

Finally regaining some control of your still very horny mind, you brought your lips to his ear. “Roy,” you cooed, giving a little nibble to his lobe. “Come for me, baby.”

That fucking did it.

Roy’s whole body jerked as his cock spasmed and emptied inside you, your name softly falling from his lips like it was the only word he knew. Your eyes rolled back at the overstimulation, grateful that you were sitting because your knees were beyond weak, even weaker than your resolve had been when you’d first laid eyes on Roy in the hallway.

It felt much too soon when the two of you collapsed in each other’s arms, panting quietly. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, intoxicated by the scent of sex and Roy; fuck you wished you were staying in Richmond tonight. But the part of you that knew you were starting to get needy for Roy Kent was grateful you were leaving as soon as the match ended. This was getting far too easy.

With a quiet groan, Roy pulled out of you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, almost as an apology for having to rush things. As much as he needed to be inside you, he regretted that it was so sloppy, so hasty. If there was anything he wanted to take his time with, it was you.

He offered you his hand and helped you off the counter, which you couldn’t bring yourself to look at, fearful that you’d left a puddle behind. The two of you quickly fixed yourselves, pulling up pants and fixing hair. Roy bent down and picked up your hat, handing it to you with an almost bashful look on his flushed face.

“That was…” He raised his eyebrows, question marks in his eyes.

You let out a breathy chuckle as you put your hat back on, grateful that it would hide some of the mess Roy had made of your hair. “Yeah.” You ran your hands down your body, smoothing out your clothes. Fuck, you felt ready to pass out. Or ready to ask Roy to fill you up again.

“C’mere.” Roy grabbed your hand and pulled you to himself, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You better stay overnight next time,” he murmured, his thumb stroking a small piece of your exposed skin. “Because I want to take my time with you, got it?” He kissed your lips deeply. “Fucking Empress deserves to be treated properly.”

If the fucking hadn’t weakened your knees, Roy’s words sure would have. All you could do was kiss him back, wishing you had more time and wishing that you weren’t wishing that. Roy Kent had a reputation. Models, actresses, an heiress or two. And now, thanks to you, he could add F1 Driver to his resumé. Back at Silverstone, you figured he’d be fun, another nice little distraction, good for the weekend and maybe another hookup in Richmond if you ever came to a match. You’d promised yourself you weren’t stupid enough to actually fall for the footballer whose Chelsea kit still hung in the back of your closet somewhere.

But you also weren’t expecting those brown eyes to have that look as he gazed down at you.

“I better go,” you murmured, equally desperate to stay and get as far away as possible. “Becca and Keeley’ll be sending a search party soon.”

“Right.” He pressed another kiss to your lips. “Enjoy the match, yeah?”

You offered him a ghost of a smile as you tiptoed out of the boot room, trying to look as if you were supposed to be there, not that you’d snuck in for a quick fuck with the manager.

As you strode down the hall, walking quickly to get to the owners’ box before the girls could begin to wonder where you were, it dawned on you. This being a quick trip, you had no change of clothes. Meaning you were now stuck with a soaking pair of panties that would slowly fill with everything Roy had just given you. As annoyed as part of you was, knowing it was going to be an uncomfortable as hell football match and flight, some dirty little part of you couldn’t help but feel turned on at the thought.

Fuck. You liked shagging Roy Kent a lot more than you should.

Taglist: @hotdoglamp @daydreamgoddess14 @klaine-92 @gibby31 @anonurs @taytaylala12 @unholyhuntress @thatonedogwithablog @seacactusplant @e-mmygrey @jane-dough

[afairytalestray]

OK so on Saturday I got to go to Milan to see the Cats Il Sistina tour and HOLY GOD IT WAS AWESOME. I'm glad I studied the character designs in advance because a lot of the costumes are really different. I'm not typically a huge fan of nonreplicas but Il Sistina may well change that!

I've compiled my thoughts on the show here! Nb, I do not speak Italian so I'm not sure how close to the original lyrics the translation is 😅

There were no green goggles, but the Cats did come in through the audience. I had an aisle seat and Cassandra walked right past me! She was right there and so beautiful omg.

I've gotta get in right at the start that Simone Ragozzino is my new all-time favourite Mungojerrie. The most ever! A little guy. He got most of the acrobatics that Tumblebrutus usually does - apparently Simone used to be an acrobat/gymnast so that makes sense. He and Rumpleteazer were sufficiently chaotic but also clearly valued and beloved members of the tribe. Idk man Simone just got it. Tumble-jerrie ftw. 

The cathedral from "round the cathedral" was changed to a Colosseum reference which I loved 😍

I'm obsessed with Demeter’s makeup from this tour actually. I'm personally not the biggest fan of cryptid-style makeup and looks in Cats in general, but I feel like Deme was balancing just on the edge and it really worked and I loved it. Maybe it was Viviana Salvo's acting as well - she was fabulous at toeing that line between stunning and unnerving!

Tugger and Munkustrap were super close! Munk was less annoyed by Tugger’s antics than normal and they did this thing at one point where Tugger was holding onto Munk who leant fully backwards off the edge of the stage - it was like a trust exercise and I was a fan. Their rendition of Old Deuteronomy was lovely and their voices worked so good together! Tugger was definitely Munkustrap’s second in command of the tribe. I wish Tugger was a bit more Tugger in appearance, he seemed very yellow with not a lot of detail on his costume, but the personality was hundo p present and accounted for. He did the "bite is worse than your bark" line in Jellicle Songs and legit barked at the end.

Jennyanydots was fabulous! Instead of a big coat she literally wore a giant ball of wool, and one of the props was giant knitting needles and the start of what might have been a giant scarf - it took 6 of the Cats to carry it. It actually worked super well for Milan, which is known for fashion and fabrics - there's even a giant sewing needle sculpture outside Cadorna Station! It was probably a happy coincidence but I enjoyed it!

Victoria's role was changed quite a bit, her solo was totally different and the pas de deux was gone. There also kinda just... wasn't the big small first touch Vic and Grizabella moment, which I was sad about, but if Griz's big moment wasn't "TOUCH MEEEEEE" in the translation, I'm not so bothered by it. I wish Vic had a bit bigger of a role because I love her, but she was killing it whenever she was on stage.

We are all stan pink Jemima, she had such a lovely voice too. Her and Alonzo were playing with a tennis ball during the interval and it was adorable.

My beloved Coricopat and Tantomile were lying in the Mouth of Truth prop after Moments of Happiness; they had their usual role of translating Old Doots through Jemima so I thought their placement here was deliberate! They weren't always fully in sync which I kinda liked, it was like they were allowed to be their own characters rather than just "the twins". I definitely got the impression that Tantomile was the older sister which hella backs up my hcs about her!

Gus was absolutely WILD. He comes in after Jellylorum has done her whole first part of the song in this raggedy old tradiotional Sherlock Holmes-style beige plaid coat instead of being there but kinda out of it the whole time. At first he wasnt keen on replaying any of his roles, but then all the others were like please please please and he relented. I think they were calling him (or his role) Romero? Idk if that's an Italian reference I just don't get? They did Pekes and Pollicles (one of the above had been changed to chihuahuas!) and then the bold Rumpus/Romero appeared... in a red satin bath robe and holding a sabre??? I need to look up this reference! Dude didn't just intimidate the pollicles, he straight up cut a couple of them down with his sword! Grandpa woke up and chose violence 😂

There was no trash train in Skimbleshanks 😭😭 there were giant glowstick things that changed colours though. Skimble and Bustopher were played by the same actor which is a combo I haven't seen before. Skimble was definitely still everyone's favourite train dad, all the characters were totally hyped for his song. HE DID TAP LIKE IN 2019. It was really cool how they did it, all the music stopped and he started a call and response tap dance with some of the other characters. The background showed an animated video of going through a train tunnel, like from the perspective of a train driver! The tap was gradually speeding up and became the sound effects of a train setting off and moving through the tunnel. I'm not explaining this super well but it was SO cool.

The Macavity Fight was quite different. There wasn't him disguised as Old Deuteronomy and then unmasked. What happened was he showed up and caused some shenanigans and then disappeared. There were about 4 of him around, so it looked like he was teleporting around the stage and audience! Bombalurina and Demeter performed his song which was absolutely fantastic (seriously how do these actresses actually manage to dance like that and sing at the same time?? Goddesses), after that he showed up again and the full cast was involved in the fight. Munkustrap still got the good choreography, but the whole tribe was involved trying to protect Old Deuteronomy. Tugger was definitely a protector in this production, he was very involved. Jerrie got KO'd a good few times, and Macavity absolutely destroyed poor Jenny! It felt like all of them were trying to protect their family and I really liked that. Despite that, Macavity was still able to win and successfully kidnap Old Doots!

"Mungojerrie, RUMPLETEAZER, Griddlebone" they let my girl do crime again!

Mistoffelees and Quaxo were besties, and Misto was REALLY enjoying Tugger's song I'm just saying. Delighted to announce Il Sistina Misto was a fruity little guy. He didn't get the terrible bore line, sad face, that went to Quaxo, but tbh idk how they translated that so it could be totally different! At one point Alonzo was holding him back at the start of Tugger’s song! We then saw a sponge-like Misto who picked up behaviours from the others around him, like he wasn't too sure of himself. This is actually one of my favourite Misto hcs so i was so chuffed to see it so clearly. He then helped Alonzo rein George (at least I think it was George!) in from going mental fanboy at Tugger. He was originally curious about Griz but then adjusted to hissing upon seeing the others. This fully went forward into his song. They did some big choreo changes. It was significantly less dance-heavy than traditional Misto performances and had a stronger focus on him being magic. There was a levitating box that they spent a lot of time with - Magician's Assistant Cass got in, but then she didn't disappear? She just popped back out again after the box had been rotated a few times. Some of the Kittens were waving their hands under the box to prove there was nothing holding it up and looking amazed which was adorable though. There was also a bit where Misto put some cards into a hat, the hat got passed down a line of Cats and then at the end they just sort of flew out? Like idk maybe they changed the lyrics where they're describing different magic tricks and it all makes sense! I THOUGHT THE CONJURING TURNS WERE GONE, but they were just moved to the very end of the song and cut down quite a bit.

Ok BUT LISTEN, à la 2019, the poor boy tried and failed twice to bring back Old Deuteronomy and then just sort of flopped in the corner all defeated but then BOYFRIEND TUGGER HELD HIS HANDS AND GOT RIGHT UP CLOSE AND WAS LIKE I BELIEVE IN YOU BABE and omg for real those actors knew EXACTLY what they were doing Tuggoff nation RISE. I'm always a red-sheet-turned-cape stan but I can definitely get behind the sparkly tail coat and playing card bowtie. He also had this handkerchief that he threw up in the air and it became a magic wand. I have no idea how and it was very silly so obviously I loved it. Although I wasn't massively into the choreo changes (ballet dancer Misto 5eva), Pierpaolo Scida was a magnificent Misto and I adored him - he was so cute! The little background actions and looks he did were so in character with how he interpreted Misto! Also he was beautiful you can't change my mind.

Malika was such an intense Grizabella - 10/10. She was proud but so vulnerable. She walked right past me when she first came in and lads, she did the whole show in these massive stilettos - absolute queen. At one point it literally rained on her on stage! During her first Memory, Old Deut was really watching her, and at the end of it he approached her, but she ran off when she saw him. I thought it was a super cool character moment, like she knew she wanted to be accepted, but wasn't quite ready for it. Even after the big Memory and Old Deuteronomy declared her the Jellicle Choice, Victoria approached her, but she was still too scared to let her, and it was Jemima who finally was able to reach her and bring her in. At the end she just kinda disappeared off stage - there were no flying tyres or magic stairs in the circus tent!

During the bit after the bows some of the cats were out in the audience and Tugger scared the absolute crap out of this one woman by poking his head in between her and the person sitting next to her. Iconic. Also during the latter part of the interval the audience was allowed to come up to the edge of the stage where some of the actors were goofing about in character. This mf pretended to cough up a hairball and now I have it on video. I also got some close ups of Teazer and the beautiful Bomba!

The Italian Junkyard was fabulous! It was mostly roman landmarks like Piazza Navona and Bocca della Verità, but there was also Michelangelo's David (which I'm pretty sure is in Florence) above the orchestra! There was also a giant marble foot, an Italian-style water fountain, and a broken column. My favourite prop was the bench, it's elevated at the back left of the stage and the cast were using it like a slide to enter the stage! Also it seemed to be Misto’s preferred location to lounge.

In conclusion, I will never get over this.

[legacyshenanigans]

Completely Random list of HC's..I dunno lol, just wanted to do this.

The Lads

Who runs the fastest?

Leander, believe it or not. He's taller than the other lads and has long legs, so he can actually run real fast.

The biggest eater?

Garreth, mans can put away an ungodly amount of food, to a point where it's freakishly concerning.

Who's got a good eye for decor?

Amit, amit has a really good eye for colour scheme and general feng shui, you want someone to help you redecorate? Amits ya boi.

Who's the most likely to marry a muggle?

Not that ANY of the lads have anything against muggles, but the most likely to end up with one is Everett, being a half blood himself he's more "in tune with that world" if you will.

Who's the most accident Prone?

Garreth, he's really clumsy and ditzy

Who's the strongest in regards to physical strength?

Sebastian, he's stocky and well built.

Who's the most emotional?

Ominis, mans extra in every emotion. It's not necessarily a bad thing, even good emotions like happiness he's extra in.

Who's got the shortest fuse?

Leander, it doesn't take a lot to piss Leander off.

Who's the most intelligent?

All the lads are intelligent in their own way. However, in general, Amit is the most intelligent.

Who's the bitchiest?

Ominis, he can be the sweetest bean, or an ABSOLUTE bitch, mans can and WILL make you cry with his bitchy attitude.

Who's the best flyer?

Everett is pretty keen on a broom. He knows all the tricks and he's fast, and if you need to get somewhere quickly, ask Everett to take you.

Most likely to sleep with someone on the first date?

Sebastian 🤣 I don't need to say much else.

Most likely to have kids first?

Garreth, 100%, by accident.

Dirtiest fighter?

Ominis actually, he's REALLY nasty in physical fights.

Swears the most?

Sebastian, he's always effin' and jeffin'

Most shy around crush?

Leander, he loses all sense of brain, and ends up saying dumb shit, as much as he hates it, he can't help himself.

Lightest sleeper?

Amit, a pin drop would wake him up.

Heaviest sleeper?

Garreth, a damn tornado wouldn't wake him.

The first one to fall asleep at a sleepover?

Everett, hands down.

The one who's still awake at like 3am?

Sebastian, 100%

The Sneakiest?

Ominis, he's incredibly light footed, mans a ghost, you won't know he's there until he shows himself.

The one who talks the most?

Garreth, man absolutely LOVES a chinwag.

The one who talks the least?

Amit, man a few words, would much rather listen to a conversation than be in one to be honest.

The ones who's bark is worse than their bite?

Leander, don't get me wrong, he can be tough, and handle himself fine, bit his words are nastier than his hits.

The most messy?

Garreth, definitely.

The most neat?

Though blind, Ominis. He makes a great effort to make sure his space is tidy and neat.

~

(May do another one of these at some point)

[piedpiperart]

Phantom of Gotham 9

Chapter 8

Jason wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. He was just coming by to drop off some case files and say hi to Alfred. It was just a coincidence that he would check on Danny when he got there. It just so happens that he was also here to drop off some of Danny’s stuff from the Pizzeria. Jason was not getting attached.

Danny had been through a lot the past few days, what with being homeless and dealing with winter only to be snatched by the big bad Red Hood and dropped off at a literal mansion. As a street kid himself, Jason knew the change could be a bit overwhelming and he didn’t want any of his brothers making anything worse. Tim and Damian were not the most helpful, and neither had been on the streets like Danny and Jason. So maybe he was worried and a bit attached to the snarky teen, but he definitely wasn’t staying at the manor longer than he had to. 

Climbing the stairs with a duffel bag of the kids' stuff, he made a beeline for the kitchen to hopefully sneak in some of Alfred’s breakfast platter. Imagine his surprise when he heard voices coming from the kitchen so early in the morning. 

Jason turned the corner to find the usual arrangement of breakfast foods on the counter, but with the demon child sitting petulantly by the counter with Danny on the opposite side, holding a spatula out to him menacingly. 

“It’s supposed to be a giraffe!” Danny exclaimed, exasperated. Jason could see he was in some of Tim's clothes, but more baffling was that he was… making pancakes… in Alfred’s kitchen. 

“This looks nothing like a giraffe, Folson,”Damian scowled at his plate. “You should stop making those and eat before it goes cold.”

“You just don’t appreciate art,”Danny sniffed playfully, turning back to the stove. 

Damian gaped indignantly, about to retort when Jason entered the room. “What’s all this about giraffes?” Jason asked. Danny turned to him, a bit surprised, but elated all the same. 

“Pancake art!” Danny exclaimed, turning to plop something on a plate and pushing it towards the counter. “I helped Alfred with breakfast, he’s going to wake the other people that uh, live here, but he’ll be back soon.”

“I would not call it art,” Damian grumbled. Jason snorted and sat down at the counter next to Damian, passing the duffel bag over the counter to Danny.

“Red Hood dropped off your stuff,”Jason explained when Danny raised an eyebrow at him. The kid perked up and took the bag to rummage through.”I’m Jason by the way, second oldest around here.”

“Ah, thanks for the stuff. I’m Danny,”Danny smiled. He eventually closed the bag and slid it to a corner that would be relatively in disturbed. Jason couldn’t help but wonder where he used to live, or if he had any family. Tim was supposedly doing a background check on the kid last night though, so Jason figured he’d get the information sooner or later. Meanwhile Jason looked at the plate he was handed, only to find what looked like a gingerbread man in pancake form and what was maybe a butterfly. Or a clover. 

Whatever. Jason shrugged, piling other things on his plate. He cut into the human pancake only for something red and squishy to come out of the middle. “What the fuck?” Jason frowned.

Danny looked up from where he was at the stove, confused before looking towards Jason’s plate. “Oh! The human pancake has strawberries inside, so when you cut them up it’s like guts.” Danny informed him.

Damian looked offended, and Jason barked out a laugh. “Why would you do such a thing?” Damian scowled. 

Danny shrugged. “Used to make pancakes with my sister. We got creative,”Danny smirked. “Besides, art is subjective. I can see why you wouldn’t appreciate such a masterpiece.”

“Yeah Damian. You wish you could have a pancake as cool as this.” Jason laughed, taking a bite of the surprisingly good strawberry pancake. He wondered what Bruce would think of the human pancake. Did this count as murder?

“I am not surprised that you came up with something so childish. The one you gave me definitely looks like something a child would do,”Damian stated flatly, busying himself with some eggs.

“I told you it’s a giraffe! Look, it’s got eyes and spots and everything!” Danny complained, gesturing with the spatula. Jason grinned, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the thing, and he could kind of see the resemblance. It looked more like a hippo with chocolate chip spots and a long neck with a head so small the two blueberry eyes barely fit on it. 

“Yep, looks like a giraffe to me,”Jason confirmed, smiling easily at the glare Damian returned. “Still not as cool as the human pancake, or this other one. Butterfly?”

“Exactly! See Damian, even Jason knows art,”Danny proclaimed. Seeing Damian getting worked up over pancake art was pretty funny, but Jason had to admit he was surprised Danny hadn’t been stabbed yet. “But it’s okay, I can teach you my secret pancake art making skills next time. Then we can make them together!”

Jason smirked as Danny’s offer halted the rage in Damian’s eyes. A glint of challenge lit up in the kids eye. “You would not need to teach me anything, I have no doubt I’d be better at it than you and your��� giraffe.” Damian scoffed.

Danny pursed his lips, turning mysteriously,”We shall see, young grasshopper. You may have much to learn from master pancakers like me.” He said sagely. 

“Stop that. Pancakers is not a word, idiot, and it can’t be that hard,”Damian frowned. Danny just hummed, and Damian sighed, seemingly given up on entertaining the conversation any longer. “Now stop making your abominations and eat already. There is enough food here and it’s getting cold.”

Danny sighed dramatically. “Alright,”he drawled, but abandoned the pancake station to grab a plate. Jason couldn’t tell what pancake he’d gotten, but it looked like a ghost from where he was sitting. “Hey Damian,”Danny whispered. 

Damian huffed, but turned to Danny sitting next to him and asked in a normal yet exasperated voice,”What?”

“What do ghosts eat?” Danny whispered, and Damian frowned. 

“What are you talking about?” Damian squinted. 

“Boo-berries,”Danny whispered, and  lifted his plate so Damian could see the ghost shaped pancake with blueberries for eyes. The teenager looked on with a satisfied smile as Damian got the joke.

Jason snorted when Damian gave him a flat stare in return. “How old are you?” Damian asked seriously. “I refuse to believe someone so childish is actually attending highschool.”

“Don’t let Dick hear you say that,”Jason smirked. 

“Grayson is worse than Danny,”Damian grunted. Danny blinked at the two of them, out of the loop a bit. “But at least he doesn’t look like a twelve year old in addition.”

“I know I’m short and all but I’m actually 16,” Danny complained. Jason frowned, seeing Danny had only put the single pancake on his plate. Was the kid not hungry? Jason wondered. 

Before Damian could say anything, Tim bounded around the corner, coffee in hand. “Jason, you would not believe what I just found out about- Danny!” Tim cut himself off to exclaim when he caught sight of the teen sitting next to Damian. Tim looked between the three, bewildered. “What uh, what are you doing here?”

“Tim?! Did you get kidnapped too?!” Danny exclaimed with wide eyes. How many people lived in this mansion, he thought incredulously.

“What? No, I um, I live here. What happened?” Tim asked, looking between the three of them. Jason just snorted, so Tim shot him a glare, knowing it was somehow Jason’s fault he was unaware about his friend. 

“Um. Well,”Danny started, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know the vigilante Red Hood? He kinda picked me up and brought me here last night, but I’m only staying until the weather lets up, and then I’ll go back home.”

The three of them frowned at the explanation. “Huh, okay, why would Red Hood kidnap you?” Tim asked, shooting Jason a look. 

“I dunno,” Danny shrugged. “I was fine on my own, but I think he thought I was ‘unprepared for winter’ or something like that.”

“I heard you were camped out in a building with no heat or water, so he brought you here so you wouldn’t freeze to death during the blizzard,”Jason scoffed. Danny shrugged again.

“Same thing,” Danny said, much to Jason’s exasperation. He glanced at Tim, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Sorry, this is probably really weird for you. I’m not staying long, I promise.”

Damian turned his frown on Tim, surprisingly, and Tim scrambled to reassure his friend. “What? No- no you can stay as long as you need to, I don’t mind. And you’re always welcome here.” Tim finished lamely.

“Yes, and I doubt anyone here would let you go back to being homeless when we have so many resources to help you,”Damian added. Danny’s face contorted to one of panic.

“I really don’t need help, promise,”Danny said hurriedly, glancing to his bag of stuff. Jason rolled his eyes at his siblings. They were obviously freaking the kid out. 

“Quiet down,”Jason said. He looked to Danny,”No one’s gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do. We just wanna make sure you’re okay, whatever your plan is.”

Danny paused, but nodded after a second. The table was quiet after that, mostly because Jason was glaring at the other two to shut up about it. He didn’t really understand why Damian was so adamant about Danny staying either, but it really wasn’t helping. “So,”Jason started. “Have you had the tour yet?”

“Oh- no,”Danny stammered,”I saw the library though. And a living room? I think?” 

Damian nodded. “He arrived late last night, but had cocoa with Alfred in the living room,”Damian reported. “I am not sure to when you visited the library though.”

Danny’s smile turned sheepish,”I uh, couldn’t sleep so I went to get some water. Ended up at the library and just, read for a while.”

Jason perked up at the mention of books, but didn’t get a chance to ask before Damian pointedly passed some fruit over to Danny. “You know there’s plenty of food. You don’t have to eat so little.”

“Uh, I’m not that hungry,”Danny said nonchalantly, but picked out some fruit anyways, if only to get Damian to stop staring. 

Tim startled at the comment, but soon picked up his own plate, piling food onto it and staring in confusion at the precarious pile of mishshapen pancakes. “Uh, what are these?”

“Pancake art!” Danny chirped, mood sufficiently brightened. Damian on the other hand, frowned at Tim. 

“Alfred and Danny cooked breakfast this morning,”Jason crowed. Tim’s eyes widened in awe when he looked to Danny.

“He let you cook?” Tim asked. Danny nodded, confused at the reaction. “He never lets anyone cook. Except Jason.”

“Really?” Danny asked, looking thoughtful. “It was fun. How come no one else can cook?”

“Because they suck at it,”Jason smirked, dodging the blueberry thrown at him by Damian. “Timbo’s only allowed to touch the coffee machine, but otherwise the rest of the family is banned from Alfred’s kitchen.”

“Cooking is a waste of time when Pennyworth is perfectly capable,”Damian reasoned. 

Danny sighed. “I guess you don’t want to learn the art of pancakes then,”He teased, making Damian freeze.

“I am sure I would be allowed in the kitchen to participate,” Damian stated, albeit hesitantly. 

“I’ll have to come by for breakfast tomorrow then to help judge,” Jason mused. 

“You could join us!” Danny exclaimed, then continued mischievously. “Tim and Damian can be on a team since they suck and we can be on the team of winners.” 

“Wha- that’s not fair,”Tim complained. “Why not split up the good cooks and bad cooks?”

“You saying you can’t beat us?” Jason wiggled an eyebrow challengingly.

“No,”Damian objected at the same time Tim said yes. They traded looks. 

“Alright then, Drake and I will prove to you we are superior at your weird pancake art. Even if Drake is unhelpful, we’ll still make better art than your human pancake.”

“Human what?” Tim asked. Jason snorted, but stabbed one from the pancake plate and plopped it onto Tim’s plate. 

“Try one,”Jason said, and the other two watched in anticipation as Tim warily cut into the pancake. 

“What the fuck?”

Chapter 10

[the-wayside]

I don't know whether I want to write a fic about it or a meta about it. Maybe both, so here we go.

Babe was raised with love by his father. He knows what unconditional love looks like, even in the darkest of days and hardest of times. I don't believe for one second that a man who did everything to keep his son happy while living on the streets would do anything less than try to give his son a better life. And a parent who loves like that wouldn't just disappear. Babe should have been able to find him as an adult so I think Tony did something.

Anyways.

He has this love that he holds in his heart from his father and he goes through this whole trauma of being raised like superpowered chattel and gets free but now he can't trust people. He can't get the love he so desperately craves and remembers. So he takes what he can get. He likes alphas because he likes to dominate but in a different way so he has to posture to keep the mask of being a "traditional" alpha with traditional aggressive traits. He can't get around the toxic smell of them that comes with these traditional traits.

Then comes Charlie who is essentially a blank slate. He's non-toxic, non-traditional, just...Charlie. And he's super into Babe. Hitting his walls like a battering ram. He doesn't disappear. He doesn't fuck Babe and consider it a notch in his bedpost. He wants to know Babe better. He can take the bark worse than his bite when Babe pushes him away. He's still soft and kind and Babe starts to relax. One kiss couldn't hurt.

What we've watched over the last six/seven episodes is Babe's unspooling of his armor that he built the day he lost his father. The day he stopped being whoever Babe was supposed to be if he hadn't endured all his hurts. Babe isn't any more or less of anything now. He's the most honest version of himself he's been in years. He wants love, he craves love because he knows exactly what he's missing. Each episode, he gives a bit more to Charlie and it's as much about him as it is about Charlie.

This person can love me, can accept me; I feel safe, I can let him in, I can love him. He's slowly feeding that part of himself that he's cut off for so long and it's beautiful and painful and sad. How sad it is that it has taken him this long, but beautiful because it's definitely with the person he's supposed to be with.

I just need y'all to know that Babe has so much love in him, he always did, but his life, his trauma, took that from him, made it feel impossible and unsafe but he's reclaiming it back by choosing Charlie, by choosing a future with love in it. He deserves only love from his bestest boy and I will accept no alternatives. Thank you.

[limbuscompanysituations]

Would love to hear how the sinners are when they are hungover?

(Totes not asking because I am nursing my own hangover rn)

~🦭

I hope you have healed from your hangover, raccoon pal!

Faust: she is never hungover, pft. What? You think a genius such as her would ever succumb to something as silly as a hangover? She knows her limits. She is definitely not hungover, she's only a little slower than usual because she's deep in thought about some complicated experiment. And those five aspirins she took in one go are also part of that experiment. Stop asking silly questions.

Yi Sang: He threw up the moment he woke up. He threw up after taking painkillers. He drank a little bit of water and threw up again. Right now his face is greenish pale. Maybe they should take him to a medical office... The others try their best to keep him hydrated so he can heal from that pesky hangover. It still takes him an entire day to go back to normal.

Don Quixote: She never wakes up hungover. She's as loud as ever and it kills the other sinners who are nursing their own headaches. Couple hours after she woke up it finally hits her and she collapses somewhere and sleeps for six hours straight. Then she wakes up as thirsty as a camel.

Ryoshu: She's prone to great violence at the smallest noise. Everybody's walking on eggshells the moment they see she has a hangover. She doesn't smoke for a couple hours and is much quieter than the usual.

Ishmael: She's miserable the whole day, even after her headache has gotten much better. Her upset stomach doesn't let her eat much. She takes it easy.

Heathcliff: He's cursing people left and right, and just like Ryoshu, he's prone to violence at the smallest noises. It's all bark and no bite though, picking up his bat makes his headache worse for some reason. Completely forgets he needs to hydrate so it gets better and ends up spending a whole day hungover.

Meursault: Knows he has to hydrate, takes painkillers and controls what meals he will have through the day. Heals in a matter of a couple hours and is back to being a productive member of society. Everybody is jealous of him.

Hong Lu: He said that you only get hungover if you stop drinking and tried to take a shot of liquor at breakfast. The other sinners stopped him and made him sit down, eat a light meal, take painkillers and keep hydrated. He pouted through it all but resigned himself to his fate. Secretly loving being pampered a little bit, even if everybody is annoyed at him.

Outis: She's so cranky she sounds like an old woman... wait, she is an old woman. Everybody is annoyed at her and wants her to quit yapping, but she will yap at the slightest mistake. The sinners are secretly waiting for Ryoshu to get annoyed at her enough to cut her tongue or something. Nobody wants things to turn to violence, of course, because it's always a bother when it happens. However, for this one case, they will make an exception.

Sinclair: As unexpected as it is, he doesn't really have much trouble with hangovers. An aspirin, a bottle of water and a little peace and quiet and he will be back to his anxious usual self.

Rodion: It takes a lot for her to be hungover. When she finally hits that limit, the next day she will be quieter than usual and will keep asking everybody to talk less. She will also complain about how loud the entire bus is, and even ask Charon to turn the engine off for a second. She will steal the nearest person's aspirins and water and justify it by saying she needs them more.

Gregor: Oh he's so miserable. He leans back on his seat with his eyes shut tight, occasionally groaning when the bus goes through a lump on the road. He's absolutely out of it. Don't even try to make him get into a fight. He's taking double aspirins every hour or so and hasn't touched a cig the whole day. The water bottle is his best friend right now.