#like nah man it’s not that rigid

[ronanceautistic]

Sidenote related to lrb but autism and ocd combo is brutal sometimes bc a big part of OCD is the idea that there has to be certain rules that have to be followed at all times, and a big part of autism is the urge to follow and create rules. I swear so much of ocd therapy is just realising shit is the way it is and not a single part of my brain wants that.

[linguenuvolose]

I applied for a new job today 😩

[hoshifighting]

Pls give me never-jealous nonchalant bf! woozi getting triggered over y/n complimenting some other flirty man's voice at a party so they ended up having bathroom fun. Pls pls pls

nonchalant bf!woozi getting jealous and fucking you in the club

PREVIEW: “you think his voice’s pretty, huh?” he growled against your mouth. “wait till i’m moaning in your ear. bet you won’t think about his voice then.” you swear you almost blacked out right there. WARNINGS: smut, explicit language, degradation, rage sex, dirty talk, jealousy, penetrative sex, jihoon moaning, body fluids (cum), a bit of after care,

you didn’t think twice when the bartender slid both drinks across the counter, his smile a little too wide and his voice dripping in that syrupy charm that bartenders seemed to have on tap. he’d just finished explaining the entire menu to you like you were clueless—which, okay, you kinda were, but you could’ve done without the unnecessary flirting. whatever. you were polite, thanked him, and took your drinks to find jihoon.

the second you slid his glass onto the sticky table, you mentioned it casually. “the bartender’s got a pretty voice,” you said, not even sparing him a glance as you adjusted your skirt.

jihoon’s shoulders went rigid under his thin-ass shirt, so translucent it might as well be a goddamn window. his jaw ticked, and his eyebrows furrowed in that way that screamed i’m not jealous, but i’m absolutely fucking jealous. you could see it so clearly, like a red-hot thermometer climbing from his sneakers to the tips of his ears.

you kept talking like nothing happened, but internally, you were screaming. this wasn’t new—jihoon getting all worked up was practically a bi-weekly event—but every time he let his emotions slip? it was game over for you.

“babe,” he cut you off sharp as he grabbed your wrist, his palm burning against your skin. before you could even register what was happening, he was weaving you through the crowd, dragging you along like a man on a mission. his grip softened slightly when he remembered your ridiculous high heels, but he didn’t stop until he’d hauled you into the dingy club bathroom.

the second the door slammed shut, his lips were on yours, hot and furious. he kissed like he was trying to brand you, his hands greedy as they gripped your waist, then slid down to squeeze your ass.

“you think his voice’s pretty, huh?” he growled against your mouth. “wait till i’m moaning in your ear. bet you won’t think about his voice then.” you swear you almost blacked out right there.

“babe—”

his hand tangled in your hair, tugging it harshly enough to make your head tilt back. “nah, don’t stop now. keep talkin’ about other guys while i’m right here.”

your lipstick was completely fucked, smeared all over your mouth and probably his too. his other hand found your chest, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. you were melting, your panties already a lost cause.

“you’re so fucking easy, one kiss, and you’re dripping, hm? bet you’d let me fuck you right here if i wanted.”

before you could even catch your breath, his thigh slid between yours, pressing right on your cunt, making the wet panties slide uncomfortably through your folds. his grip on your hips was firm grounding you down against him.

“ride it.” his voice cutting through the haze clouding your brain.

your head snapped up, eyes wide in disbelief.

jihoon almost laughed at your stunned expression, the corner of his mouth twitching, but his grip on your hair tightened, yanking your face closer to his. “did i fucking stutter?” he bit out, his eyes blazing. “i said, ride. it.”

a shaky breath escaped you as you tried to move, but the friction was almost nothing. his thigh was solid beneath you, unyielding, and the way he watched you like he was eating every little reaction, made you almost embarrassed.

“that’s it,” he encouraged, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. “show me how bad you want it.”

you whimpered, head falling against his shoulder, the dirty bathroom and the muffled bass of the club fading into the background. jihoon leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “you’re suck a needy whore. getting off on my thigh like a desperate little thing. bet you’re soakingmy jeans right now.”

you couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped, loud and shameless, and jihoon groaned, his grip tightening. “yeah, that’s it. don’t hold back now. let everyone hear who’s making you feel this good.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, desperate and trembling, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. his reaction was immediate—his hands shot up to grab your wrists, pinning them against the edge of the sink, his grip firm but not cruel.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his chest pressing hard against yours as you arched into him, helpless and needy.

“jihoon,” you whimpered, your voice cracking as your face scrunched, tears threatening to spill. “i—i can’t—”

he paused, his jaw clenching as his eyes searched your face. “you can’t what?”

your lip quivered, your breath hitching as you choked out, “i need you. so bad, jihoon, it hurts.”

his expression shifted, his grip on your wrists loosening just slightly as he turned you around, pressing your chest against the sink. his hand slid down your back, as he kicked your legs apart. the panties were roughly pulled to the side. “then stop fucking whining and take it.”

the first thrust was brutal, and you cried out, your hands flying to grip the edge of the sink as the tears finally spilled over as your pussy couldn't even clench with the sudden penetration, your ears getting stuffed. jihoon groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he set a punishing pace.

“crying already? don’t tell me it’s too much.”

you sobbed when your mind came back, he yanked your hair, pulling your head back so he could see your face in the mirror. he watched the tears stream down your cheeks. “so fucking pretty when you cry.”

“hoon—!”

his teeth scraped against your ear cartilage, adn he bit down just hard enough to make you whimper, and then he exhaled—a low, shaky sound that turned into a soft moan, right in your ear.

his grip on your hair faltered for half a second, his strength stuttering, but he didn’t let go. instead, his moans got louder, the pitch rising with every thrust. they weren’t loud, but they were wrecked, so wrecked—whiny and breathless, like he was struggling to keep himself together.

“taking me so good—ah—fuck.”

you were gone. your vision blurred, spiraling in and out as the alcohol and pure lust made your knees buckle. every single one of his whiny, broken ah-ah’s sent a fresh wave of heat through your belly, clenching so hard around him it felt like you might snap.

his lips brushed your ear again, warm and damp, and he groaned—this high-pitched, desperate sound that had you dripping, the slickness already making a mess of your thighs. your breathing was ragged, chest heaving against the sink, and your legs were barely holding you up. if it weren’t for jihoon’s insane strength—his arm locked tight around your waist—you would’ve collapsed already.

“jihoon—” you sobbed, your voice weak, breaking apart at the edges. “i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled, but then he moaned again, and it wasn’t just a sound. it was a melody—needy, and drawn out, his voice cracking in the middle like he couldn’t take it either.

you whimpered, your vision tunneling as the orgasm built, white-hot and relentless. your body trembled violently, your nails clawing at the edge of the sink.

“fuck, i can feel you,” he gasped, his voice strangled. “you’re so fucking close, aren’t you? you’re squeezing me so tight—shit—gonna come?”

and then he whined—the most broken, helpless sound you’d ever heard, right against your ear—and you completely fell apart. your body seized, a sob ripping from your throat as the orgasm crashed into your.

jihoon groaned, his voice cracking as he followed you, his thrusts erratic and desperate, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he panted and moaned, completely destroyed by the way you fell apart for him.

cleaning up was almost comedic, if you weren’t both still reeling from the mess you’d made of each other. jihoon tried to reach for the shitty paper dispenser, one arm still holding your waist to keep you from sliding off the sink. your upper body was basically draped over the cold marble, your legs trembling so much you couldn’t stand without him.

“can you—shit—can you move?” his hand smoothed over your rumpled skirt, trying to fix it, but it was pointless.

you groaned, your cheek smushed against the your arm. “i literally can’t. my legs are fucking noodles.”

jihoon huffed a laugh, his breath still uneven. “guess you’ll just have to stay like that.”

someone knocked on the door, hard and impatient, and jihoon’s head snapped up, his brows furrowing. “occupied!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to make whoever it was pause. when the knocking didn’t stop, he rolled his eyes and snapped, “shut the fuck up! we’ll be out when we’re out.”

you let out a weak laugh, still sprawled over the sink. “god, you’re so aggressive.”

“yeah, well, they’re annoying...” he sulked.

finally, when your legs felt a little less like jelly, you managed to push yourself up, leaning heavily on him for support. jihoon grumbled under his breath, reaching for the paper again, and this time, he managed to grab a handful.

he crouched slightly, his hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your thighs clean, his lips quirking into a smirk when you flinched. “still sensitive, hmm?”

“shut up,” you mumbled, swatting weakly at his shoulder.

once he’d done his best with the paper towels—which, honestly, wasn’t much—he stood up, brushing your skirt down and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “you good?”

you nodded, still a little dazed but steady enough to manage. “yeah. i think.”

he hummed, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip as he opened the bathroom door, ignoring the dirty looks from the small line that had formed outside. “what?” he snapped, his glare daring anyone to say a word.

[occamstfs]

In The Rink: Dunks

After moving far away from home Duncan seeks to find new community with the local hockey team. Little does he know that the Captain sees the potential for him to be a new star player.

My little reward for HairyJockTf went a little long so I broke it up into two stories haha! Hope you enjoy this ode to hair growth, jock stink, and hockey! -Occam

The sound of a puck sailing across the ice echoes through the freezing stadium, accompanied by the sound of the massive men racing to catch it. Skates on their massive feet send flurries of shaved ice up in their wake as they zip and turn in shocking displays of brutish grace. When bodies start to collide and fists start to fly in what Duncan Worthy thought was just a fun little scrimmage game he imagines how quickly he would be laid out in such a brawl and begins to hunt for the nearest exit. 

Almost as swiftly as the fight broke out however, coaches call their men to heel and the teams separate. After a second longer of posting up, all return to the game and seem almost playful in the wake of what seemed like genuine violence. Suddenly realizing this is far more a bloodsport than he was aware, Duncan starts backing away sheepishly. Though he was looking for a team sport to find prepackaged community after his move from the south, clearly ice hockey was not the move.

Unfortunately for the suddenly shy Duncan, his attendance today was initiated by him reaching out to one of the players soaring down the ice, Matt King, the team captain. As the burly player turns to see Duncan begin to skulk away he calls his coach to pause the practice and less than a moment later Matt skates to the edge of the rink and begins shouting for Duncan’s attention, “YO! Worthy!” His impressive arms seem even bulkier covered in the thick obscenely large uniform he’s wearing. Duncan audibly gulps, though thankfully he’s far enough away from the athlete that he could scarcely hear.

Duncan isn’t sure why he’s frozen in place, seemingly trapped by Matt’s attention. The skater rolls his eyes as he calls out once more, “Hey kid! Are you coming or what?!” Despite himself he starts walking down rinkside. It’s not like he’s not athletic, Duncan’s healthy, he prides himself on staying fit, lithe. But as he nears Matt it just becomes clear that he bit off far more than he could chew. Even without skates the captain stands well over a head taller than him. Duncan struggles to speak while everything in him begs him to leave with his tail between his legs and never come back. Realizing that Matt is staring down at him expectantly, demanding a response, he speaks up unprepared as he may be, “Well, uhm Matt-”

“Nah nah, call me Kinger, bud. So youse think you’re ready to hop on the ice eh?” Duncan feels his bones turn to jelly as every neuron struggles to heed his flight response. There is simply no recourse but to escape, he’s too small, they’re too intimidating, they’ll break him in half completely accidentally. But he remains firmly rooted in the captain’s gaze. Kinger whistles to the equipment manager to summon some skates for Duncan and the sound forces the fearful man to attention. His shaky hands grow rigid as the older man approaches with a pair of skates. “See ya out on the rink Worthy!” 

Kinger turns and gets back to the game. Duncan’s preylike instincts are overpowered by the man’s words. Though from any reasonable angle it’s just a phrase in parting, they sear into his mind like programming. See ya out on the rink. Pausing to watch the game resume, the desire to leave wanes as he sees the men grind against each other after the puck. Certainly looks like they’re having fun right? Wearing all that protection, how bad could it be? How bad could he be? Sitting down he changes into the smallest pair of skates the team had for him, even still his toes have about an extra inch of wiggle room. Neglecting to take that as yet another sign to back out, Duncan hops up on the wall and then he’s on the ice.

Still finding his bearings he slides along and sticks to the wall. The manager tosses him a stick and the coach implores he get used to moving around on the ice. Duncan sighs and, despite his limited experience skating, finds himself immediately moving with intuitive familiarity. Faster than he can comprehend it becomes second nature, allowing his attention return to the burly men on the far side of the rink going at it. Soon enough he can’t even remember what he was so scared of, excitement begins to build in his chest as he begins to follow the puck from afar. 

From his vantage point he races with a fluidity alien to himself, as if the skates have imbued him with a lifetime of experience skating. Chewing his lip he has a stray thought wondering about wearing a mouthguard which he promptly discards, lest it interfere with his keeping up with the puck. Eagerness to properly join in the fray with the crew of men who outsize him before even accounting for their bulky pads continues to burn within him, he scratches at his chest and finds his tee hugging his torso in a distinctly odd manner. And man, beyond whatever butterflies hide in his chest, his skin is itchy enough that he should be concerned about an allergic reaction. 

But no, no time. He’s gotta keep his mental. The puck goes long and flies towards him. Both teams follow the puck hungrily with their eyes before it nears the man who holds a hockey stick for the first time. He doesn't think as he moves, he doesn’t need to. It’s as if he were made for this. The sound of his stick making contact sends a crack through the stadium that echoes louder than a gunshot. The puck shoots past the men who now stand with mouths agape. He stands tall with pride, seemingly taller than he’s ever stood before. Must be the skates he thinks with a newfound cocky smirk across his face, but as his midriff is clearly exposed, the few hairs compromising his meager treasure trail fluttering in the aircon, it is clear something has changed in the man.

Practice is cut short soon after and Duncan has an immediate meeting with the Captain and Coach. Off the ice the confidence that filled Duncan begins to seep away, certainly not helped by the fact that he apparently threw on a shirt a couple sizes too small. He blushes as the older coach puts his hand out for a shake and his arm goes an embarrassing length past his sleeve. The coach simply smiles and nods though, and before Kinger even gets a chance to vouch for the newbie he’s already on the team. Duncan doesn’t notice as his shoes have apparently inched to fill the skates that were a size too large as his head begins to swim with the excitement of being out there with the boys. 

His shirt hugs his chest even tighter as Kinger pats him on the back, “Welcome to the team Worthy!” Duncan smiles looking up at his captain and while struggling to get his shoes to fit he speaks up only to hear the first voice crack he’s had in a decade, “Ah well, then yoOu- Ah!” His mouth slams hard enough it seems to be welded shut as he clears his throat. Kinger smirks and ruffles the newbie’s hair laughing, “Howsabout you go shave up and take a shower. Wear that tarp any longer you’ll have to peel ‘er off, hah!” 

With that he leaves Duncan behind and heads off to the locker room leaving his new teammate behind to take in his words. Shave? He scratches his cheek and tilts his head as he finds more stubble than he thought he left the house with. Guess it must have been a week since he shaved he guesses. Putting it on the todo list he then sniffs himself and grimaces as he finds himself muskier than he’s been after his sweatiest workout. There’s an audible sound as he pulls his sticky shirt from his skin which convinces him to expedite his time out of here. Still unable to get his shoes off he finds a pair of tennis shoes left with the equipment given to him and throws them on.

It takes a few steps for him to get used to them, despite his complaints to the equipment manager these tennis shoes are even larger than the skates he was given. Though feeling cramped in every other piece of clothing he finds himself not quite minding the room. Hopping in his car to drive home he furrows his brow as he finds himself needing to adjust all his mirrors. His new odor rapidly fills the car, overpowering the smell of his pristine equipment with ease as he speeds off to clean off the stink of his first practice. 

Storming into his apartment he struggles to tear his clothes off en route to the bath. His sweaty shirt gets stuck on his shoulders as he tries to yank it upward, exposing a core thicker, his waist seemingly filled out from the hourglass figure he has unintentionally maintained. Beyond that his treasure trail seems to be claiming far more real estate as it flourishes upwards and outwards, curls as thick and long as his pubes begin an ascent above his waistline as they begin to shade the whole of his lower stomach. 

No time for inspection however as he starts the shower going as soon as he gets the shirt off, grimacing at the clear tearing sounds of fabric giving way. Arms still upraised he quickly turns away from his steaming pits, quick enough that he notices not how his few curls have begun to multiply. Instead he leans in close to see the stubble that Kinger called out. He twists his jaw to get a good look at every angle and rolls his eyes as he finds it as patchy as ever. His eyes glaze over and his jaw slackens as he finds himself briefly distracted by a thought, or no, a memory? 

The rink always brings out a rookie’s stubble Matt- It’ll just grow back. Why shave when that’s time you can spend on the ice?

He comes to before he even notices he was out, his thicker hand scratching at stubble that is thicker, darker than it was seemingly seconds earlier. Duncan certainly doesn’t mind though, seeing his beard fill in more, becoming stubble he can be proud of fills him with a surge of pride, and below the belt something else begins to surge. He smirks as he contemplates whether he should masturbate before or after taking a shower, grasping at his cock and finding it weightier than usual he quickly makes up his mind. What the hell, why wait.

Then his phone rings, a message from his Captain. His cock twitches as he focuses in on the message, “yo worthy sry for not askin earlier- oilers v flyers 2nite, u down 2 come over” Without a thought or second of hesitation he replies “ya” and he begins getting ready to go. Turning off the shower before even stepping inside he remembers he still stinks and bathes himself in cologne, smirking as he stares at his body in the mirror, proud as he sees his paltry patch of chest hair seems larger, thicker than he remembers it being. He pokes at a new weight on his chest and fights the urge to flex his barely existent muscle as every movement seems to have a bit more force behind it.

Duncan pointedly avoids questioning new idiosyncrasies as they begin to pop up. Surely he didn’t just douse himself in Axe instead of showering? Why does he know where Kinger lives? When he goes to his wardrobe he finds most of his clothes simply do not fit right. Button ups struggle to close across his chest and thicker waist. He struggles to move his arms in tees and sweaters as they hug his shoulders. Nothing without an elastic waistband seems to be able to manage stretching around his ass. Throwing on his new tennis shoes as they seem to be the only ones that fit he finds them almost snug? 

Every roadblock causes micro-headaches. Questioning them only exacerbates the issue, while acceptance ameliorates. Throwing on sweatpants and the baggiest shirt he could find, Duncan doesn’t even give himself a once over before he’s out the door. On the road once more he only keeps one hand on the wheel while the other mindlessly feels himself up. His stomach is tighter for sure, with an alluring amount of give. New pecs pop out just far enough for his hand to push up on them, which allows him realize that any amount of excitement will cause his larger bulge to show in his sweatpants. No time to debate how he’ll conceal that from the Captain he wanders up to the front door and prepares himself.

As if Kinger knew he was standing there, the door swings open and the Captain’s thrown his arms around Duncan’s wider shoulders. His thick palms slam into the newbie’s back with enough force to send him falling on his face. Presently each slam only sends more pleasure into Duncan. Feeling his player’s package unmistakable poking into his own waist at the embrace, Kinger clicks his tongue, “Ah excited to see me eh? Hah! Be sure not to lose control bud, need all of youse out on the rink.” Released from the bro-hug Duncan gulps and blushes as he is less than certain he will be able to go long at all without giving in to desire burning stronger than ever. 

Seeing doubt in his expression Kinger’s friendly eyes switch to something far more commanding and Duncan stands rigid. Gotta listen to the Captain. Watching stubble thicken and the once baggy shirt tighten even further on his broad shoulders, Kinger returns to joviality and points to a stack of pizzas on the coffee table, “You hungry bud?” Duncan suddenly feels an emptiness in his stomach and wonders when the last time he ate even was as he feels a hunger more ravenous than he could understand overtake him. His mouth waters like a drooling dog as he mindlessly goes to tear open a box. Already stuffing his face he takes in the number of boxes and asks, with uncharacteristic slovenliness, “Scho, uhhh is more of the team coming or wha?” 

Kinger smirks and stands behind the smaller man, massaging his shoulders, “Nono those are just for us, didja forget how much food youse demolish bud?” Looking at the stack he knows that can’t be right, he’s never even had the need to exercise moderation. The idea of eating more than four slices is anathema, and yet less than a minute into the game he’s already starting his fifth and his stomach demands more yet. Kinger watches the man feast, knowing his newest teammate needs all the calories he can get as his body struggles to put on pounds at a speed eldritch. Shoulders broadening enough to be shoulder pads themselves as chest hair begins to bloom far beyond the small patch that has long made its home in the center of his chest.

Spreading out like a fungus, follicles neglected by puberty go into overdrive as his greasy hands funnel food into him, getting grease over stubble that begins to crest its way into a solid beard. Duncan is unaware as he demolishes the first box of pizza by himself as he is completely absorbed into the game on TV. Reacting to each play as if he were in the actual stadium. His legs bounce with anxiety as the players race across the rink, each time shooting up with more force as they bulk up. His expanding jungle of pubes, discontent from spreading upwards alone, send dense curls to shade his inner thighs before shooting down to cover his calves.  

Kinger moves to sit on the couch, attention solely focused on his team’s growing asset. His eyes struggle to keep up with the changes simultaneously rocketing across his body. Already he hears the elastic waistband of his sweatpants straining, Duncan’s, or rather Dunks’, butt filling out to the size needed to maneuver such an otherwise powerful form on the ice. The most powerful ass in the MLB has nothing on the monumental pair of cheeks that are a moment away from sending a tear through his sweats. Making an uncomfortable face Duncan kicks off his shoes before they begin to tear. Glancing down, Kinger finds he doesn't have the care to finish the job and remove socks that have similarly begun to turn to tatters. Curls spreading down from his meaty calves poke through the expanding holes on his tearing socks. His feet rapidly become hairy fins that would fit on any number of fantastic bestial men, toes surging through the front of his socks as he flexes his feet without thought.

The Captain jumps in shock as Dunks stands with a start and shouts at the ref, his voice clearly deeper, rougher, as spit flies from his mouth in a rage. Beard thickening as his neck similarly expands with his deluge of expletives at the man in stripes. Kinger puts a hand on Dunks’ arm to calm him down, “Hey hey bud, save it for your own penalties eh?” Clenching his jaw the newbie looks down and at the Captain’s words crosses his arms and barely stilling his anger at Kinger’s request. The man’s hand still resting on Dunks’ arm, both men turn to see the growing package not at all hidden in Dunks’ sweatpants as the sound of it tearing through his briefs resounds in the small living room.

Scratching at his meatier pecs he sits down and after a moment of hungrily staring at his Captain he rolls his eyes and returns to the game. His biceps are suddenly constricted by his sleeves so he does what any rational mind would and rips them off. Kinger’s mouth is ajar as he watches the increasingly brutish man toss the torn sleeves to the floor before scratching deep into his pits and sniffing. The Captain doesn’t pay much attention to the jungle of hair spreading out from Dunks’ pits, after all that doesn’t bring anything to the rink, but he would need to lose a few of his five senses to not notice how potent the changes are there. 

Patches of sweat appear all over the shirt that now hugs his burgeoning torso like lycra. But nowhere so prominent as under the still-expanding jungle of hair under his arms, musk thick enough to warrant stink lines, enough to knock a lesser man unconscious spills from his freed underarms. Eyes glancing over to see his Captain cover his nose in shock, Dunc smirks as he realizes how much power he holds. He grunts in his new barbaric voice as his pecs can no longer be hidden by his ratty shirt. Unwilling to hide his pride under a bushel, just as he removed his sleeves he wrenches his shirt off. This was of course made easier by the litany of tears sundered across it by his expanding torso. 

His breath catches in his chest as his pecs burst larger into the open air. Thick strands drip with sweat as they spread dense enough to be a pelt across his upper body. Moaning as he leans back on the couch, hair rapidly covers every inch of real estate it can find, connecting every disparate patch from pubes, to pits, to the scratchy underside of his neck. Expanding shoulders similarly aren’t safe as curls bound across them to meet with the itchy forest spreading up the small of his back. He shifts uncomfortably as thick strands similarly cover his ass, though somewhere in between slamming pizzas and screaming at referees he lost the shame to scratch such an itch in front of his Captain, and so he does. 

Kinger struggles to hide the grin on his face as the man in front of him becomes the enforcer he’s always dreamed of having on his team. He watches as the changes in his mind finally begin to show on his face. His brow thickens to hang over eyes that grow dull to anything but hockey. His iron jaw hardens over a beard that should have taken years to grow while his nose becomes one that has clearly taken more than a punch or two. It’s unclear how many of his front teeth or real or inserts, though something in the minds of both men makes it clear that they’ve seen his own teeth scatter across the ice on a handful of occasions, though not nearly as much as those of his opponents.

Kinger’s chest flutters with excitement as he imagines being on the pitch with Dunks. His own eye twitches as years of playing together begins to fill his mind. He’s always dreamed about having a teammate as committed to the game as he is and finally he’s got a brute enough to carry them to the trophy. Seeing the behemoth taking heaving breaths on his couch, torn clothing scattered around him, Kinger can’t quite help but feel there is some vital piece of the puzzle missing. The burly man’s hands trail to his crotch as every muscle in his body feels the need to give into lusts that control him but Kinger whistles and Dunks immediately halts his giving in, “Not yet bud, not yet. Gotta hit the rink first.”

Dunks’ mind fractures and remakes itself in a moment. Memories of over a decade playing surges into his mind. He remembers starting out a waif, as he was in reality this morning. He remembers hardening over the years alongside his captain, alongside Kinger. Becoming a man on the rink, becoming an unstoppable titan. Maturing into an athlete the likes of which his team's never seen, and with each leap forward in ability so to does he become more masculine, more virile, more of a man. No, more of a beast, higher function giving way to instinct and physicality. Kinger couldn’t be prouder, and until another reason presents itself he can think of no higher goal.

Coach never expected Dunks to be nearly as much of an asset as he ended up being. The hairy brute was always looking out for his Captain’s back, truly a tank on the rink. Often he would struggle to control his urges, on and off the ice, but a look from Kinger would always snap him back in line and empower him to come back even stronger, sometimes seemingly literally so. He never took more than two trips to the penalty box a game despite his ever-present urges to truly dominate his opponents. 

After months of success on the rink it becomes clear that Dunks’ virility is making him a bit of a loose cannon. Lucky for the both of them Kinger has an idea. When an old friend of Duncan’s reaches out to the team to inquire of Worthy, Kinger implores him to visit. While it would be unbecoming for the Captain to have a relationship with a member of the team it was clear that Dunks’ has long been in need of some manly relief.

As he’s drafting a letter with a one way plane ticket to Dunks’ once-friend he wryly smiles as he realizes exactly what the missing piece was all along, their team could use exactly one more player and if this Remy Woods ends up being even a fraction of his friend, there is no way for them to lose.   

Continue Reading with In The Rink: Woodie!

[imababblekat]

Accidental Eavesdropping?

Anon request, "Hey!!! Love your blog and your writing style, it’s amazing and so detailed!!! Can I request Bayverse TMNT Spider-man Au, where the turtles and spider-y/n are in a battle with Bepop and rocksteady. And in the last moments of the battle, spider -y/n saves the turtles but gets unmasked in the process. (They live) If you don’t want to do that idea! You can either delete this OR A moment where the turtles start talking about y/n and they don’t even realize that they’re talking TO THEM!!! This was funny to me for some reason lol 😂"

A/N: Aw thank you, anon! ;v; I went with the second prompt, btw. Leans towards Raphael x reader, but it's mentioned/hinted that the other turts also got the feels for reader. Any who's, I hope you enjoy! <3

◌(s,p) = spider persona◌

~xXx~

You're swinging over traffic, indulging in a rather quiet night despite the sounds of honking vehicles and other night life, when a sudden warm fuzzy feeling beams from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It's not your spidey sense per say, but something akin to it, all you know is that it's a good sense and you follow it with glee. It doesn't take long before the feeling is buzzing and you see the source of the feeling chilling atop a pizza parlor. Well, more like sources. You let out a small giggle, noticing that the four ninja turtle brothers seem to be in some sort of deep conversation or debate.

"Hey guy's, what's going on?!", you greeted, swinging in next to a steaming Raphael.

"Oh you know, just the daily sibling teasing while we wait for our pizza to be made.", Donnie shrugged, watching as you and Mikey did your secret handshake.

"Yeah? Let me guess. . ."

The eyes of your mask squinted as you pretended to skeptically look at all brothers before looking at the glaring gaze of Raphael next to you.

"Is Raphie suppressing his emotions again?", you chaffed.

Said turtle rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to one side as he growled.

"Great, just what I need. And don't call me that."

"Come on, I'm sure I can help! What's up this time big guy?"

Leo chuckled, gaining your attention while Raphael sent him a warning glare from behind you.

"Raph's got a crush on our friend."

At this your eyes widened, a small gasp escaping you as you looked between the two eldest brothers in excitement.

"No way! Who?!"

You're question went ignored as Raph threw his arms up, cheeks flushing a light hue of embarrassment.

"All I said was they smelled nice, and y'all chuckle heads suddenly think I've been struck by cupid or some mushy crap!"

"You complimented them, Raph.", came Leo's retort.

"I compliment people all the time!"

Everyone remained silent, giving the hot headed turtle deadpanned expressions.

"What? I do. Right (s,p)?", he asked turning to look down at you.

You merely shrugged.

"Sarcastically maybe."

Raph huffed, leaning back against the buildings ledge, you hoping up to sit next to him.

"So is anyone gonna tell me who this mysterious person is or nah? Come on people, I want the tea."

Mikey, idly spinning his nun-chucks, grinned widely.

"It's our friend, (y,n)!"

You sat rigid, mask eyes wide once more.

". . .Who now?"

"Oh you haven't met them.", Donnie waved off, checking his turtle made watch to see the remaining wait time on their order.

Raphael clicked his tongue, still slightly aggravated about his brothers earlier teasing. Meanwhile, you still sat frozen beside him, staring into the abyss with a racing heart.

"I still don't have a crush on them.", he muttered.

"You complimented them on their perfume!", Leo loudly pointed out once more.

"Why is that so weird?!"

The two started to banter once more, Mikey enjoying the show while Donnie threw in a few matter of facts to weigh in on Leo's side. You, however, felt never more thankful than in that moment that you wore a full face mask. If it wasn't for the coverage, surely the ninja brothers would see just how closely the color of your face matched Raphaels mask right now.

Raphael growled, fed up with his brothers ganging up on him and his definitely non-existent crush on you. If they were going to call him out, then he would do the same to them.

"Maybe you guys should get off my shell and jump on yours first! I ain't the only one whose been makin' googly eyes at (y,n)."

You just about fell off the side of the building, hands gripping the edge of where you sat, knuckles definitely white beneath your suit. What is happening right now, is all you could terrifyingly but blushingly think.

Leonardo and Donatello were quick to look anywhere but at Raph, trying their hardest to not blush themselves at their brother's call out.

"I seen the way you put on the macho charm, Leo, bowing extra deep and all your swooning romance book crap when they come over. And you, Donnie, sputtering and dropping shit when they try to help you with projects and their hand accidentally brushes against yours. And Mikey. . ."

All eyes focused in on the youngest of the bunch who sat ready and waiting to hear Raph's jest.

"Actually, Mikey you're not that surprising. You think anyone who gives you food is a gift from heaven."

"Hey, it's not my fault their cinnamon rolls are so good!.", Mikey pouted, bottom lip jutting out adorably.

Leonardo shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning towards you.

"What do you think, (s,p)? Are we over analyzing or are we right?"

The boys eagerly waited for your answer, for your input. Surely someone from the outside would be able to better determine the situation the brothers found themselves in. Well. . .should have been able to more like, as the response you gave was not what they were expecting.

A rushed, "Igotgo!!!", was all they got before watching you thwip away at the speed of light, leaving the turtles to look at each other confused and quizzically.

". . .Wait, so you guys don't have a crush on (y,n) too??", Mikey questioned with furrowed brows, innocently confused by how they could not.

Raphael groaned loudly as he and his brothers devilled into another childish debate on why they totally didn't have feelings for you, a familiar smell that had sparked the argument coincidentally wafting lightly into their senses upon the wind in the direction of which you swung off.

~xXx~

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 11

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Fair warning: I didn't have much time this week so this was a bit rushed and definitely not my best piece of work, but I really wanted to do at least *something* for the holidays!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: New Years Eve party, banter, fluff fluff fluff

WC: ~2300

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So,” Bradley starts slowly, drawing out a suspenseful silence with a smirk as he butters his toast. “I met study group guy.”

You look up from your plate in alarm, your fork halfway to your mouth, and awkwardly meet your brother’s gaze.

Jake, who’s just set his food down to your left, picks his coffee back up, ready to make a quick exit.

“Uh, where?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you’re so nervous that your voice wavers.

“Here,” Bradley replies with a grin as he makes his way to the table. “He came by to see how your exam went.”

“Oh?” You gulp anxiously.

“How considerate of him,” Jake notes moodily, setting his coffee back down and giving you a look.

“I agree.” Bradley sits down. “I think he wanted to compare study strategies,” he continues, then clears his throat. “Since the two of you didn’t end up studying together.”

Jake’s eyes go wide as he lets out a feigned gasp. “You didn’t?”

You give Jake an annoyed look and then glance back at your brother who is watching you with a pair of raised eyebrows. “Yeah,” you nod, “about that. Umm, the thing is…”

“You lied?” Jake brings a hand to his chest as though this revelation continues to shock him.

You glare at him irritably. “Partly.”

“Which part?” Bradley enquires, biting into his toast.

You sigh. “The part about study group guy.”

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, finally taking a seat. “Why?”

“Because I obviously made the wrong decision studying at home,” you retort, eyeing Jake bitterly. “And I just needed somebody to blame.”

Jake watches you cautiously, likely wondering if you indeed think you’ve made a mistake. Good.

“So, you bombed your midterm, big deal.” Bradley waves a hand. “We wouldn’t judge you. Guess that means he won’t be attending tonight’s party.”

You purse your lips. “Nope,” you confirm. “I’ll be all alone.”

Jake tries to catch your gaze as you rise from the table. “We’ll be here.”

“Aren’t you gonna bring your girl?” Bradley asks.

“Nah.” Jake waves a hand.

“Why not?”

Jake eyes you pointedly. “Not really sure where we stand, to be honest.”

You gasp theatrically. “Oh dear! Trouble in paradise?”

Jake throws you a flat look and grumbles, “Well, she’s sort of hard to read at times.”

“Because you’re illiterate?” you retort.

Bradley snorts while Jake scoffs in offence. “Dump her!” Bradley cries as you bring your dishes to the sink. “Life’s too short for mysteries.”

Jake sighs. “She does love to keep me guessing.”

Bradley shakes his head in disapproval after taking his last bite. “She’s playing games with you, man. It’s not worth it.” He gets up and follows you to the sink. “How ‘bout you? You need a date for tonight?”

“Huh?” you say in surprise, having been under the impression that your turn under the microscope was over.

“Remember that dude you met at the Hard Deck last summer? The one you said was ‘so hot’” – Bradley visibly shudders – “I just found out that he’s into you.”

“What dude?” Jake asks abruptly, his posture instantly going rigid.

“The one from 22,” Bradley clarifies. “The backseater. Forgot his name.”

“The douche from Michigan?” Jake makes a face and quickly rises from the table. “You think he’s hot?” he asks you incredulously.

Before you have a chance to respond, Bradley continues. “Apparently he ran into you last week at the café?”

You blink between Bradley and Jake as the latter approaches. While it’s true that you saw one of Bradley’s colleagues the previous week, you’ve since forgotten all about that encounter, because the very next day was when Jake had finally made his move. You start to back out of the kitchen but both Bradley and Jake follow you out. “I have some errands to run,” you say quickly.

“Nothing’s open,” Jake reminds you.

“Do you want me to invite him tonight or not?” Bradley asks, already scrolling through his contacts.

Jake elbows Bradley aggressively. “You’re seriously trying to get your sister laid?”

Bradley cringes. “Dude! Don’t go there!”

Jake stares at Bradley. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

You scoff at Jake incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Jake turns to look at you and places his hands on his hips with an impatient exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just don’t want her to be alone on New Years!” Bradley exclaims, still looking down at his phone.

“She’s not gonna be!” Jake cries desperately.

“I don’t want the date, Bradley,” you say, putting on your shoes despite having absolutely nowhere to go.

“Why not?” Bradley enquires.

“I just don’t. I’m fine with being alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Jake repeats, the frustration in his voice noticeably mounting.

“I thought you liked him,” Bradley says, slightly deflated. Clearly, he assumed that he was doing you a favor.

“I don’t even know him,” you say. “I just thought he was good-looking, that’s all.”

Jake makes a face. “He’s not.”

You roll your eyes. “Appearance is subjective.”

Jake stubbornly shakes his head but makes no further comment.

“Okay, so why not give him a chance?” Bradley presses. “It’s not like you’re seeing someone. Right?”

You give Jake a quick glance before conducting a thorough examination of your own shoes. “Well, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Jake asks, slightly panicked.

You continue studying your feet. “I think.”

“Who is he? What’s he like?” Bradley asks.

“Uh,” you stall, “he’s alright.”

Jake lets out a muffled cry. “Alright?” he asks and you try not to wince at his utterly obvious outrage.

Meanwhile, Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Wow,” he says wryly. “Sounds promising.”

“What else?” Jake says quickly.

You look up at him in disbelief. “Occasionally aggravating.”

Bradley appears puzzled. “Why are you with this guy?”

Jake squares his shoulders. “He must be extremely handsome.”

Bradley looks back at you. “Is he?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s cute.”

“Cute?!” Jake exclaims.

Bradley laughs. “I really think you should give my guy a try.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and stands up taller. “I’m sure there’s more to this guy than just… his looks.” He’s blatantly searching your face now, as if Bradley isn’t even present.

You start to nervously fix your hair in the mirror at the front door. “I’m not interested in your guy, Bradley.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You sigh resignedly while Jake watches your reflection. “I… I like my guy.”

Jake stares at your face in the mirror as if this is news to him. Then, his mouth slips momentarily into a smile before he sucks in his cheeks to hide it.

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Because, he’s…” another reluctant sigh, “…he’s a good guy.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Jake comments, still trying to suppress a grin.

You shoot him a glare while Bradley chuckles. Then, he says, “Alright, fine. Maybe in a couple of weeks when you’re single again.”

Jake looks at Bradley sharply. “Why would she be single again?”

“Come on, when was the last time my sister liked a guy enough to stay with him long-term? She finds something wrong with everyone she dates.”

Jake shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Maybe this one will stick.”

“Doubt it.” Bradley shrugs.

“This one’s different, Bradley,” you say quietly, turning to face them again.

Jake looks back at you. “He is?”

“How so?” Bradley asks.

You pause, hesitant to reveal the truth. “He… makes me feel…”

Bradley watches you dubiously. “Pretty?”

Jake also takes a stab: “Aroused?”

You let out a weary sigh and lock eyes with Jake. “Safe.”

He stares at you with a stunned expression while Bradley nods approvingly.

“Happy,” you continue.

This time, Jake doesn’t hide his smile, but Bradley raises his eyebrows as though your response has surprised him.

“Strong,” you say.

“Wow,” Bradley mutters.

Jake lowers his gaze with a grin, but you decide to add, “And aroused, I mean –”

“Oh god!” Bradley exclaims.

Jake chuckles, glancing up at you again.

Bradley shakes his head. “I get it, you’re in love. But, Seresin – I just remembered: I’ve got the perfect girl for you!” He holds up his phone, beaming.

…

Bradley decides to invite the perfect girl just in case because he can see how much his dear friend has suffered at the hands of his mysterious lover. And the perfect girl just happens to be Jake Seresin’s exact type. You try to ignore her flirtatious behavior while Bradley all but pushes Jake in her direction. Your brother seems so keen to set Jake up, you start to wonder what his vested interest might be.

There are enough people in attendance that you can watch Jake without worrying about anyone noticing that you’re staring. So, you pour yourself a fourth martini and head back into the living room to see what your brother’s best friend is up to. You barely make it past the couch, however, when someone you’ve only met once in your life takes your hand and starts encouraging you to spin under his arm.

You glance over at Jake, whose date is also trying to get him to dance. Taking a sizeable gulp of your drink, you follow through with the spin and smile uncomfortably at your new dance partner. The room is bustling because the ball is about to drop and everyone has gathered for the countdown, so you’re forced to crane your neck every so often in order to check on Jake.

He notices your new friend right away, locking eyes with you despite his own supposed date trying to monopolize his attention. You wish you could steal a moment with him when the new year arrives, but Bradley would notice his friend’s absence in a heartbeat considering he’s been tailing Jake all night, making sure that he was having a good time.

When the champagne flutes start making their rounds and the crowd erupts in an enthusiastic countdown, however, Jake separates from his friends and starts making his way through the bodies toward you. He nods his head in the direction of the hall before he’s even come near you, inviting you to join him. But you glance back at Bradley and see that he is already searching for Jake in the crowd that’s suddenly doubled in size as everyone has made their way into the living room.

You shake your head at Jake regrettably. The last thing you need is for the year to start with Bradley walking in on the two of you making out.

Jake gestures more vigorously with his head, urging you to follow and, when you refuse, he moves closer and reaches out to grab your hand. You don’t resist when he pulls you in and, before you can check to see if Bradley has finally given up his search, the clock strikes midnight, and Jake takes your face in his hands and kisses you right there in the middle of the living room amidst the explosion of cheers that welcome the new year.

You hope there is enough commotion in your vicinity to obscure the way Jake’s hands slide sensually down to your neck and then take your shoulders as he steers you through the crowd out of the room, his lips avidly devouring yours the entire time. Somehow, the two of you make it out without even looking up and, once you’re more or less alone, Jake mutters, “Your brother is getting real fucking annoying.”

You chuckle as he plants kisses along your jawline. The two of you are still moving through the house, into the darkness of the entry hall. “He’s been extra involved today,” you agree.

“He’s been fucking annoying,” Jake repeats, sucking on the side of your neck as you come to a halt in the foyer and he wraps his arms around you.

“He’s your best friend,” you remind him.

Jake presses you gently against the front door and licks your earlobe, whispering, “Who the fuck were you dancing with?” You giggle and feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, and you feel his tongue on your ear again. “You think it’s funny that I had to actively restrain myself from socking him?”

“What about you?” you say, still laughing. “You were with that girl all night!”

Jake whimpers into your neck and his hold on you tightens. “All I wanted was this.” You close your eyes when his mouth finds yours once more. “My new year’s resolution is that I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” he mutters between pecks to your lips.

You giggle again and then sigh, slightly pushing him away. “What are we going to do?”

“I just told you what I’m going to do,” he says, going in for another kiss.

You turn your head and he ends up kissing your cheek. “This is how we’re going to spend the new year? Sneaking around? Hiding in dark corners?”

Jake exhales slowly, resting his forehead on your temple. “I’m going to tell him,” he assures you.

“What are you going to tell him?” you ask, hoping that this question might lead Jake to reveal the nature of your relationship as he sees it.

He leans away from you and looks you in the eye. “That I make you feel aroused, of course.” Your jaw drops in outrage and you let out a yelp that quickly turns into a cackle. Jake is grinning widely, pleased with the effectiveness of his joke. Then, he draws you closer and his face changes shape. He squares his jaw and you see the evidence of a nervous gulp in the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m gonna tell him that you’re the girl I told him about,” he says, his tone low but steady. You gaze at him in silence, afraid to move a muscle lest he reconsider the sudden sincerity of his words. “The one I can’t stop talking about.” He swallows again. “The one I’ve been obsessing over.” He pauses to study your reaction as though he’s afraid he might be scaring you off. “The one that I – uh” – he takes a deep breath and then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. He takes your hands in his and weaves his fingers through yours, tugging you forward until his lips connect with the tip of your nose. “Oh god, Baby B,” he says, leaning into you affectionately. “I should probably stop talking now.”

*That's all folks! Happy New Year!*

Read Part 12

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@wkndwlff

@thefandomimagines

@lunamoonbby

@xoxabs88xox

@Elenavampire21

@desert-fern

@averyhotchner

@Topguncultleader

@teacupsandtopgun

@lilyevanswhore

@sarcasm-n-insomnia

@avengers-fixation

@malindacath

@maddievevo

@widemiffyhappy

@dempy

@djs8891

@pono-pura-vida

@phoenix1388

@teaminator

@rascallyrascals

@kmc1989

@drakelover78

@hangmanscoming

@topgun-imagines

@thedroneranger

@joaquinwhorres

@abaker74

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@mygyn

@leigh70

@marriinachoo

@delicatetrashtree

@kembry107

@sydneejean

@alana4610

@misconceptionmistress

@hookslove1592

@itsmytimetoodream

@grxcisxhy-wp

@oliviasph

@buckysteveloki-me

@theweekndhistorybook

@books-are-escapes

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@maeleeme

[synchodai]

When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

[nieceeee]

“WANNA BE”

Bestfriend!ony x reader

P/S: “Not trynna hear you tell nobody that I’m just a friend. Just trynna make sure I’m the body that you call your man…” Ony is your best friend and its been that way for years. He was your safe haven as much as you were his. You've always shared a connection with one another that many didn't understand. But recently Ony has been struggling with his feelings for you. Things that he used to feel don't quite feel the same anymore. And he's forced to come to terms with reality...

• fluffy fluff fluff •

A/N: Well… I’m back😂🫶🏾. I know I been gone. Don’t hate me.

Nighttime stood still, sounds of the city buzzed in the background as the neon lights of the fair flickered casting long shadows on the sidewalk. You and Ony walked through the parking lot, having just spent the entire night stuffing yourself with snacks and riding rides. You stood a bit closer to him than your normally do as your friends around you joked and pulled you into conversation. Ony walked next to you with his hands in his pockets, listening to the melodic sound of your laughter.

He glanced over at you. You. His safe haven. His best friend. The only person who truly could understand everything he thinks without him having to utter a word. The person who accepted every failure and flaw. You were his constant in a world of every changing cycles. But recently, he’s felt a shift. Every since that night.

He couldn’t pinpoint it. Was it your smile? Had it changed and become brighter in recent days. Or your touch. Soft as a feather yet strong enough to send a chill down his spine each time you gently pushed him or touched his face. Was it your eyes? How they widened when you were excited and seemed to glow with passion. There were so many things. Things he didn’t used to notice before and he couldn’t shake the feeling of the fact that something had changed.

“Oh Onybunny. I’m going to go ahead and ride with the girls and just meet yall at the apartment.” You say to him, breaking him from his thoughts. “Oh. Okay. That’s cool pretty girl.” You scrunch your nose at him sweetly and he couldn’t dent the beat skip that thrummed in his chest. It was a pit in his stomach that was only growing deeper.

You smile up at him and it feels as if the world halts on it's axis. He blinked a few times to collect himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. You tilt your head gently to the side. “You ok Ony?” You ask him, concern etched across your face.

He nodded his head, attempting to maintain the lie. He was fighting something inside, fighting the pull of something he wasn’t ready to face. Light reflections bounced off of the puddles near your feet, reflecting in your eyes. Swirls of color wrapping around your beautiful features entranced him.

“I’ll see you later?” you asked, your voice softer than usual.

And just like that, it hit him—hard. His breath caught in his throat. That wave of heat washed over him, spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He felt it—the rush in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the heat flooding his face. He stared at you, trying to process the overwhelming feeling.

And as you released him from your embrace, your eyes shifting up to meet his, he felt it again. That rapid thrumming in his ears. The heat that made his skin burn like it was on fire. His body was tense, rigid, like every nerve was on high alert.

He stared down at you, his pulse racing. Fuck. He thought to himself. Was this what he thought it was? Nah, that couldn’t be right. You were his best friend. That’s all. He couldn’t possibly be feeling this way…

“See you later?” You asked again, smiling at him like everything was normal. Like you weren’t ripping apart the small fraction of life as he knew it and birthing something new.

Unable to speak, he nodded, his throat tight, mind still processing the fuzzy, overwhelming feeling that clung to him. He stepped back, watching you as you walked away, still laughing with your friends. Your voice drifted back to him as you waved goodbye.

He watched you until you disappeared, frozen in time by your touch. His chest constricted and heart beat pounding against his ribs.

That feeling... it wasn’t something he could just ignore anymore. He had known, deep down, that something was changing between you two, but he couldn’t admit it. Not even to himself.

"Damn bro, you good?" Eren’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Ony shifted his gaze to his friend, who stood beside him, watching him with concern in his eyes.

Ony blinked, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts. He looked at Eren, then back at where you had just been. "Yo, Ony? What’s up, bro?" Eren asked again, slapping a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him from the coma like state.

Ony opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. He was trying to process it all—the weight of the realization, the sudden clarity. His heart hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for. The tears that stung the back of his eyes weren’t ones of sadness. Instead they built from the weight of something deeper, something more painful. A truth he couldn’t run from.

“I…” He swallowed, his voice rough. His mind screamed at him to keep it inside, to push it down. But it was like the words were clawing their way out of him, too loud to ignore.

“I’m... I’m in love with my best friend,” he whispered, barely able to hear his own voice over the pounding in his head.

Eren’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I’m in love with Y/N, Eren," Ony continued, his tone thick with a mixture of frustration and confusion. "I didn’t want to admit it, but I can’t stop it anymore. It’s... it’s driving me crazy." He ran his hands over his head and slipped them down his face, groaning aloud. "She’s taking over my mind. I’ve tried E. I’ve tried to ignore it but I can't. Eren. She’s my best friend bruh, what the fuck.”

Ony’s mind was spiraling and Eren stood next to him trying to process what to say.

“I mean this wouldn’t be the first time.” He says after a moment. Ony looks up at him in confusion. “You’re not the first person to fall for your friend. Trust me. I know.” He shrugged. “Yeah, but…” Ony paused before letting out a deep sigh. “What if I fuck it up? I can’t lose her Eren. Y/N is my world in human form.” His chest felt tight at the idea of not having you near. “Yeah, but you got to face that shit. You either try or you don’t. But if you don’t, you might actually lose her for real. Better safe than sorry.” Eren encouraged softly.

Ony stared off into the distance, his thoughts a whirlwind in his mind. Could he risk it? Could he put his heart on the line and confess what had been slowly eating away at him for months?

As hIs mind conjured visions of you again, his heart ached with the truth he couldn’t deny. Maybe the fear of losing you would never go away, but the fear of never knowing what could be between the two of you... that was the one thing he couldn’t live with.

With a deep breath, Ony made a decision. It wasn’t going to be easy. But he was done pretending. It was time to stop running from what he felt, and finally face the truth.

"Fuck, man. Ok," he muttered to himself, a faint but resolute smile crossing his face. "I’ll tell her."

And with that, Ony made the decision in his mind and his heart, finally setting on the path that would either change everything or shatter it forever.

[v6quewrlds]

Joe Burrow + Fluff/Angst ❤️‍🔥

imagine being joe's gf at ohio state.

In the dimly lit living room of a cramped college apartment, your laughter filled the air as you watched Joe and his friends engage in a heated round of Madden. The laughter of the girls contrasted with the cackling of the guys as they trashed talked each other's virtual football skills. You leaned back into Joe's warmth, your head resting comfortably on his broad shoulder. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place against him as he held his controller tightly, eyes glued to the TV screen.

One of the girls handed you the dwindling blunt and you took a slow drag. You could feel the tension building in Joe's shoulders as you balanced the blunt between your thumb and index finger, you knew he was getting ready to make a big play. The boys went quiet, anticipating the outcome, and then erupted in cheers and disappointed complaints as Joe scored a touchdown. He leaned back, smugly grinning, and kissed your cheek before turning his attention back to the game.

You smiled to yourself as you held the blunt up to Joe's mouth for him to take a hit. His eyes remained on the game, but his expression grew serious as he took it from you. He inhaled deeply, the tip glowing brightly before he released it from his mouth. The smoke curled around your friends, adding a layer of comfort to the already cozy atmosphere. You felt his shoulders relax slightly as his jaw unclenched, the smoke escaping through his lips like second nature.

“You want more?” you asked softly, turning a bit to look at Joe.

“Nah, I’m good for now.” He turned down another hit, his gaze still on the game. You handed the blunt off to the next eager participant and turned your attention back to Joe. His eyes flickered over to yours, and you saw the flicker of lowered inhibitions as his high began to set in.

The conversation grew louder as the game continued, and the topic of football inevitably shifted toward Joe's future at Ohio State. One of the guys, Shawn, a high-school friend of Joe's, brought the topic up with a nonchalance that drew a silent frown out of you. “Joe, you really think you're gonna stay?” he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Joe simply shrugged, his thumbs never faltering on the controller. “I don't know, man,” he replied, his voice thick with the smoke he'd just inhaled. “It's kind of up in the air right now.”

You sat up straighter. This was news to you. You thought the two of you had put the transfer talk to rest after his spring game last week. The last time you talked about it, Joe mentioned that it wasn't super realistic for him to start over at a new program with only two more years of eligibility left. But here he was, casually talking about it with his friends like it was something he was still seriously considering.

You held back the urge to press him on the matter right there. Instead, you reached for your phone to pretend you were scrolling through social media while your mind raced with questions. The others around you kept talking about it, asking Joe questions about the rumors, but you tried your best to keep your cool.

“What schools you lookin' at?” one of the other guys, Corey, asked, leaning back into the couch cushions.

Joe took a sip of his drink before answering. “Couple of options. Maybe UC or LSU. Gettin' a visit from Coach O soon, so we'll see what that's all about.”

You felt your stomach drop. The University of Cincinnati was still in Ohio, but LSU? That was a whole different world, a place where you would be a fourteen-hour drive away from him. You tried to keep your face neutral, not wanting to make a scene, but your body grew rigid against Joe's chest involuntarily. The conversation around you grew more animated as the guys threw out more names of schools with storied football programs. Your mind was racing, trying to understand what had changed since your last talk about his future.

As the conversation switched to a different topic, you couldn't help but feel a growing knot in your stomach. The room's chatter became a distant buzz as you processed the potential reality of Joe leaving Ohio State, and with it, the comfort of your relationship. You stared at the TV screen, watching the players run across the digital field, but your thoughts were a million miles away.

You released a breath before turning to whisper in Joe's ear, “Transferring is still on the table?” Your voice held a hint of accusation, but Joe's eyes remained on the game.

“Yeah, I know I said it wasn’t realistic, but things have changed a little,” Joe murmured, his eyes flicking to yours briefly before returning to the game. “My spring game put other schools on notice, and it’s not like Urban’s made a decision yet. Dwayne and J.T. are still in the mix, and I can’t just sit here and wait around, you know?”

You nodded, your throat tight. You knew Joe was a talented player who wanted - and deserved - more than just riding the bench, waiting in the wings for his big break. But you hadn't anticipated it would happen this way. Your heart was racing, and you took a sip of your drink to calm yourself. You didn’t want to argue in front of his friends, so you leaned back into his embrace, trying to keep your feelings in check. As if extending an olive branch, Joe's arms tightened around you, his chin coming to rest on the top of your head.

[tickettride]

Five minutes || J.D.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x f!reader

in which watching Brando on screen turns you on, and Johnny is there to help with a quickie on the couch. only for five minutes, though.

word count: 2,3k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), just smut for the sake of it, Johnny is a divorced man

In the quiet evening, with the light cascading across your living room, you had found a spot in the warm orange hue to curl up on the couch. Marlon Brando graced your TV, moving smoothly as though trying to impress you through the screen. Biting on the side of your thumb, you felt yourself smiling at the famous lines you’d learned by heart a couple of years before. All your friends were mad about him, and you weren’t indifferent either. There was something about his stance and the way he moved those lips. 

“What’s funny?”

Looking up from the screen, you met Johnny’s eyes, standing by the door. He was wearing the leather jacket he only wore when it got colder, a tiny scar adorning his nose. 

“Nothin’,” you replied, repressing a grin with a quiet cough. 

With heavy footsteps, Johnny came to look at the reason you were feeling so giddy. On the screen, the other man was now holding his sweetheart in his arms, a chaste kiss pressed on her coloured lips. 

“Looks like I’ve got a reason to be jealous,” Johnny commented, watching your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. 

God, he looked just the same. Just bigger, and even hotter. There was something so commanding about him that made you want to melt into a puddle every time he looked at you. You wondered how you hadn’t fallen into his bed the minute you had seen him. 

Desire pooled between your legs as his dry and knowing smile dimpled his cheeks.

“Not one reason,” you said, finally noticing the tension in his shoulders. You knew him by heart. “Rough day?”

That’s all it took for him to start talking, stepping farther into the room. Johnny used to be rigid and emotionally detached–and you guessed it was all because of the messy divorce with his late wife. It had been nearly impossible to get him to talk about his feelings. He would just bottle it up until he would explode, and the outcome was never pretty. Johnny was a man more accustomed to threats than to promises. 

But now, with enough patience and promises of loving him unconditionally, the words came easier for him. You were undoubtedly the only person he trusted now.

“Shitty day."

The room fell into silence for two seconds as Johnny came to sit beside you. 

“Two other guys told me they’re leavin’ town. That’s four men in a week. And I’m not blamin’ our fucking system, ‘cause they don’t even follow the system to begin with. They all act like they can leave whenever they want. Like the club doesn’t even mean anythin’.”

“That sucks,” you said softly, giving him a fleeting half smile. “They apologized?”

Johnny shook his head, eyes on the TV. You stroked his shoulder gently, following his gaze when you guessed he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. You felt almost guilty for drooling over another man when yours was so tired of one of the things he loved most in his life. Brando was slipping on his leather jacket, which made you look away. Once again, you cleared your throat and tried to ignore the burning between your legs.

“I’m supposed to meet everyone tonight,” Johnny’s rubbed his lips, unaware of how handsome he looked. “Set new rules they’ll follow only the first week."

“You don’t want to.”

“Nah.”

You almost smiled. He almost had no secrets for you anymore. 

“So you’re stayin’ with me?” you asked in that hopeful voice, your skin heating at the mere thought of what he might do to you. 

Johnny looked back at you, eyeing your lips for a second before sighing. “Can’t. Need to talk to them ‘bout somethin’ else."

“But you don’t want to,” you repeated, and he skimmed you for a moment. “I know that look.”

Your pretty dress, the perfumed hair falling upon your shoulders. It was meant to lure him in, wasn’t it? 

“It’s not a question of want, is it?” Johnny pressed his hand to your breastbone, and you followed the force of his palm until your back met the couch. 

Yes, your brain thought, already picturing him inside you. Yes.

“It is, actually,” you licked your lips, his dominance pouring over you. “What do you want?”

Johnny stared at you for a while before chuckling at your response, straightening again. He didn’t think you were being serious. 

No!

At least his hand remained on your stomach as he looked down at you, doing a poor job at concealing his amused smile. So you grasped his hand in yours, squeezing lightly as you made it slide to your breasts. 

“What’s five minutes?” 

“They’re gonna wait for me,” Johnny shook his hand, though he looked really drawn to the way you made him fondle you. 

You shifted quickly to adjust a cushion behind your head, letting out a small comfortable sigh as you stared up at his darkening gaze. 

“Can you go down on me, at least?” you asked, expelling any lingering remorse or embarrassment. “I’ve waited all day long, and I don’t even know when you’ll be back.”

“All day long?”

“Yes, all day long,” you sighed, because how could he not see this was a serious matter? “Now if you want to head out, I won’t wait for you.”

Johnny lowered himself to hover above your frame, his hands on either side of you. With his lips only inches away from yours, he made your breath quicken until your heartbeat thrummed in your ears.

“That’s called blackmail,” he said deeply, kissing you on the cheek so sensually you almost made a sound. “I know what you’re tryin’ to do to me. Keepin’ me home so you can have me all to yourself.”

Your legs curved around his waist, drawing him in as much as you wanted to. Johnny just let you lead the way. 

His contradictions made him dizzy, torn by lust and reason. Just like you. 

“That’s called want,” you retorted, voice fading slightly. “I’m really in the mood.”

Johnny let out a deep breath, eyeing your perfect body, almost as though inspecting what he would do to it. It was fucking hot. 

“Please?” you dared to ask, spreading your legs a little. 

Johnny often made the wrong decisions, but never when it came to you. 

“Five minutes,” he conceded, his eyes so fixated on yours, he might as well have been fucking you with them.

“Okay,” you breathed out, internally screaming in victory. 

Honestly, you would have given anything to feel his tongue or cock. You had felt on edge since eight in the morning, and he had already left for work anyway. Nothing would satisfy you the way he touched you. At this rate, he completely owned your body and soul.

As if he might slip through your fingers at any moment, you tried to hold his gaze to make sure he wasn’t a dream.

Leaning down to kiss you, Johnny took advantage of your surprised gasp to slip his tongue into your mouth. The aggressive, forceful kiss contained all the aching need he’d pretended he didn’t want. That liar.

Then, his mouth trailed to the pit of your ear, which made you shiver. “Five minutes.”

You hummed back, saying the two words back with ease because you knew he wouldn’t be able to leave without fucking you first, no matter what happened. 

“Do you want me to keep my dress on?” you panted as he removed his leather jacket, throwing it on the floor. He looked so tall and imposing from there.

“Keep it on,” he sniffled hard to contain his own arousal as you bunched your dress messily to your hips, twisting until the warm air smoothed over the lace.

His mission was to please you, not waste time taking off your pretty clothes. With ease, Johnny quickly pulled your panties off your ankles, throwing them over his jacket as he watched you for a second. 

Your breath hitched as he knelt between your legs, seizing your hips that rocked upwards. 

“Take a breath,” he said, a hand sliding up your chest to knead the soft flesh of your covered breasts. 

You couldn’t deny yourself what your body craved any longer. Now, because of him, you were so pent up that the seconds felt agonizingly slow, and a single touch made you moan. It was entirely his fault. 

“I’m trying. If you don’t hurry up–”

Your fingers scraped through his soft hair as he dropped to his elbows, slid his shoulders under your knees and started kissing your hot flesh. Heavy kisses dotted your inner thighs before his mouth found your core, and you swore the sound of relief you made could have woken up the whole neighborhood.

The next wet stroke of his tongue was punctuated by a rougher suck. You forced yourself to slow your breathing and relax your body, but it felt impossible. Johnny’s hands gripped you so tightly that his knuckles disappeared into your flesh. Mine, it said. Mine.

“Good news,” you moaned when he swirled his tongue around your clit for a sudden change of pace, making you roll your eyes back. “I’m not gonna last five minutes. Not… gonna make it."

Groaning in approval and maybe with a bit of pride, Johnny buried his face deeper into you. The mere sight nearly made you come. You wouldn’t make it past the next ten seconds at this rate. 

“Which means,” you shut your eyes, a string of incoherent mumbles leaving your lips as you tried to get a hold of yourself and brace one hand on the top of the couch, “we can… we’ve got four minutes left.”

Johnny pulled back just as pressure was starting to build up, which truly made you want to kill him on the spot. Irritation heated your belly, but he didn’t seem to notice, nor care.

“You wanna finish like that?” he asked, inhaling a breath. 

“Oh my God, yes,” you bit out, pushing his head down again. “Go on.”

Spurred on by your impatience and your confidence–something that turned him on so much–Johnny smiled wider. Your thighs tightened around his jaw as he grazed his fingertips over your lips, accompanying his hungry tongue, before driving two thick fingers into you.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” Johnny’s voice was the last thing you heard before the pressure erupted, flooding through your core and making you pant even harder. This. This was what you’d been wanting all day—to share his air and to feel your legs shaking all because of his face and his needy noises. You had never been so needy before. Not that much.

“I love you,” you moaned with barely concealed desire, shivering as his lips briefly came back to yours. 

“Love ya too.”

“You’ll still love me in four minutes?” you asked against his lips, whining at the loss of warmth when he pulled down his pants, kicking them off clumsily. 

Johnny first responded with a roll of his hips, before aligning his hardened cock with your entrance and driving so hard forward your back arched from the couch. Your other words disappeared when he inhaled sharply through his teeth, keeping still for a moment to feel you clench around him. 

“Oh, yesyesyes.”

“I’ll love ya in four minutes and all the years after that,” he thrusted deep and hard, building you to another peak in record time. “Every time ya need it. I’ll come home ‘n fuck ya however ya want.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you focused on his mouth over yours instead. Johnny swallowed down every whimper like they were his last meal, desperate to give you what you wanted and more for the night to come, not an inch left untouched. 

“You’re so good,” your fingers curled on his shoulders as your eyes gradually lost focus, sending you to that point of no return. “Fuck. I needed you so bad.”

Johnny dropped his face into your neck and growled, reaching between your thighs to make you come faster. “I know, honey. I know.”

It was all too much. His smell, his closeness and the way he was so determined to give you a satisfying orgasm. The couch squeaked against the floorboard, but all you could hear was his voice praising you. 

“Come on," he purred. "Let’s have it before I leave, hmm?”

Writhing beneath him and not knowing if you were screaming his name or whispering, you finally reached that point and that flipped some primal switch inside of him. His hips moved in hard punches and his head tipped back in pleasure as he came inside you, groaning your name. 

None of you spoke for a while, minds still hazy from the sudden rush of adrenaline. You were definitely adding horny quickies to your mental list. And the way he looked down at you, his chest heaving with deep breaths. Five more minutes couldn’t be enough for all the things you’d do to him.

“Bad news, you’re late,” you teased, rubbing your eye tiredly. “They’re gonna wait for you.”

Johnny’s eyes studied you for a second, and he huffed a laugh that made you chuckle, your cheeks crimson.

“You’re killin’ me,” he muttered, stroking your thigh as affection flashed in his face. “Gonna drive me mad someday.”

“I know,” you agreed softly, stretching your arms in the air, which attracted his gaze down to your body again. “You’re leavin’ now?”

“You want me to?”

“No,” a small sigh involuntarily escaped your mouth. “But they need you, boss.”

You ran your thumb over his cheek, feeling the prickles of stubble beginning to form. 

“Call us if you need anythin’,” Johnny told you, his eyes too serious for the situation. “I mean it. You ask for me, and I’ll be home.”

With a nod, you tilted your head closer to his and smiled against his lips, pulling away when the kiss felt too intimate again. Time’s up, you had to remind yourself. 

“Okay,” you didn’t move as Johnny quickly slipped on his pants, casting you a glance as he walked out the door. "Be safe!"

[m0chisenpai]

Let's Play a Little Game

Post! Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

Obsessive!Prowler!Miles Morales x Spidergirl!Reader

Authors note: THIS READER IS 15. A CHILD. THERE IS NO SMUT. NADA, ZIP, NOTHING. I WILL NOT BE SPICY WRITING A SINGLE THING FOR ANYTHING INVOLVING MILES MORALES.

You’d fought villains twice your size. A crazy octopus with metal tentacles, a man double your size, covered in black spots. Petty criminals brandishing jagged knives. But why was this one so different? He was no different was he? 

He was gruff. His body was always rigid, his words were sharp. His eyes were sharp. But the one thing you took notice, how manipulative he was. How he could weasel into the mind, into the minds of men twice his age who did his most dirty work. 

You had to pretend. Pretend his syrupy sweet words were true till your hero came. Your lovebug. 

His eyes cut to yours as the record scratched to silence in the hideout. Your eyes crack open, he now crouched in front of you. His braids fell to the side. You braided them for him last night. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. His head lay back on your legs as you massaged his scalp. And for a moment your mind went dark as you held the thin sharp rat tooth comb.

One drive straight to the throat was all it took, then you could be free. But then he opened his eyes. And you couldn’t. Because even if he wasn’t your lovebug. He was an exact copy of him. You were in his world, if his men found it was you that took their leader out they would hunt you down. 

He stared in your eyes as if daring you, testing your new freedom. And so you carefully parted his hair down the middle. That night you passed the first test. 

And now as your sleepy eyes look into his, you remember it’s time. Time for another song and dance. Of playing the part. Another test. 

“Sleepy mi vida?”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up and offer him a tired nod as you curl more into the nook of the couch, the bright knitted blanket stands out like a sore thumb, as do you in all your brightness. A reminder how far from home you are.

“A little bit.” your voice is scratchy, you must have slept for an hour at best. The sun was diving into the horizon painting the sky a beautiful mix of oranges and yellows. You sit up stretching your arms above your head and scooch your body forward. 

“Nah, take your time amor. Didn’t mean to wake you up” his knuckles stroke down to rest under your chin and his thumb to gently pinch it as he looks up at you with that love sick gaze. He leans forward and you know to meet him halfway and press your lips to his.  

He moves back enough to whisper against your lips, “suit up in five, we got business to handle.”

And as he stands to walk to the old player. A soft beat fills the room, your veins as you force yourself to stand. To fight. Your movements are second hand as you don the suit behind a hung up white sheet. You don’t call it yours, Because it's not. Yours is back home. Here he’s created you a new one. 

You step out from behind the sheet and in his eyes he drinks you in as you adjust your web shooters. 

And in some sick way, maybe you had survived in this universe. Had you been bitten? This would have been your suit. It appealed to a different you, a different version of you buried away somewhere.

It was solid black with black webbings along the thighs and pink in the inner parts of the hood along with your jordans which you go to kneel and tie up but he stops you. He kneels before you and ties them. And just as he gazes up at you, you pull your mask down.

This is what keeps you sane. Because here you're free to sneer down at him as he looks up at you. He wears his own suit now. You hold your hand to him and he wraps his around you and pulls himself up, his hand is quick to reach and snake around you, pulling you flushed against him. 

“Deadly and beautiful. The perfect mix” he whispers leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he taps the side of his mask to conceal his face. 

He watches you as you leap from the building and send your webbing to a building swinging your body to kneel on top of a light pole. You  look up and catch his nod as he moves forward. And you follow. Swinging languidly through the cool of night.

You realize now as you swing into the dead of night why he’s unlike the villains, the criminals, the mad scientists. Because as he runs alongside you. As he leads you both into the night. His reflection dancing off the glass of a building. As he looks at you. For a moment you think that’s Miles, your Miles, your lovebug. But it’s not.

Instead, you look into the eyes of Miles, the prowler. Harbored on Earth-42. 

And it scares you, because as much as you fight each day, deep down. Somewhere in the dark parts of your heart. Your heart flutters, feels warm for a moment when he holds your gaze, and flashes you that smile. 

And you beg for Miles, Gwen, Miguel, Hobie, anyone to find you. Because you fear that somewhere along the line, you’re no longer going to be pretending. 

That you failed the ultimate test of love.

[darylsfavoritegirl]

It's very awkward to post after so long. This is not proofread so it probably has a lot of mistakes I'll edit after posting lol I just wanna put something out here. This has been on my drafts forever. There'll be a part 2!! (hopefully). I got me some ideas for this type of plot!!

Summary: Right after losing the prison, y/n loses her way and stumbles upon that jerky group daryl had to deal with. They unite and all.

Your hand went out to the unyielding fingers covering your mouth as you breathed harshly through your nose.

The guy behind you yanked your arm to your back, forcing you to stay still. There you were, trapped among a couple of men and even with Daryl, they outnumbered you.

Your heart's beating made you lightheaded. You were already hungry and the pit in your stomach grew more obstinate.

"Easy, Len." The chubby one shouted lightly with a half-grin tugged on the curls of his lips.

"Joe'll want her nice and neat." He leered through you with half-lidded eyes as if a starved bear. His body reeked with eagerness that turned your stomach upside down.

A minute passed as his men started looking around bewilderedly.

Your heart skipped a beat. He was leading them to your camp with Daryl. You shut your eyes screwed as Len's enthusiastic breathing tickled the back of your neck.

"Been watchin' this bitch. She's got a boyfriend somewhere 'round here."

Your eyes burned as he kept sniggering behind your ear. His pitiful friends started to laugh your ears off alongside him.

You yelped against his palm pressing harshly against your lips as you shook your arms, trying to free yourself.

"Oh, oh easy attagirl." He came close near your neck, whispering into your ear.

"Shut that little mouth for your sweetheart's dear life."

A tear slided down your cheek onto his knuckles. It was out of pure rage and how you couldn't do a thing about it.

"Seeing how she resisted us... Joe will want someone like her." Another man uttered as questions pondered your head. Who was this man?

"Yeah yeah yeah."

You could feel Len shaking his head in a fancy way as if mocking.

"But first, we'll have our fun.. am I right gentlemen?" He chuckled behind your ear as your vision darkened.

Your vein on your neck throbbed against your ear as their rigid laughs filled the air before they all turned around harshly.

Len forced you around aswell, and there he was, Daryl, his crossbow looking directly into Len's forehead as he spoke in a commanding voice. They could outnumber him, outpower him yet he was the one with his lethal weapon, catching them off guard.

"If ya lay hands on 'er, consider yerself a dead man."

Your eyes followed the chickened-out Len who-was-yet trying to stand his post like a devoted soldier. After all, he had the numbers.

"If you are a smart man, you'd drop that crossbow of yours to the ground." He demanded, his eyes peeking along his men as if seeking verbal support.

"We got your girl, don't we?" He forced a chuckle.

"Nah. Handling a whole bunch o' pricks ain't never been trouble." He whispered under his breath, not taking his eyes off of the man holding you hostage.

"You've got some balls, I'll give you that."

His mockery grew denser as Daryl was not acknowledging your presence yet your gaze never left his face and his firm stance.

"But see, you ain't gonna win this. You'd be-"

All of your heads turned to the sound of someone clicking their tongue in the middle of the woods behind some bush.

There appeared a man looking in his middle or late 50s with distinctive features bearing his face. You heard one of the men softly huff "Joe.." as you exchanged glances back and forth.

"That ain't very nice now is it Len?" He inquired, not masking his letdown filled with an uncanny stare.

"We- we were bringing these two right to you." He stuttered, you felt his grip loosening on your back. You heard his chapped lips forcing a smile, a smile without the eyes.

"Then why the hell that fella over there holding his crossbow at your skull point?" He smiled, trying to look inviting to you, nonetheless you wouldn't buy it.

"Got his baby-doll over here." He chuckled, putting on a confident manner.

The man they called Joe, smiled.

"Son o'va bitch is a chatter." Daryl said. You turned your head to him for a brief moment as he kept pogging Len with his dark-eyed stare.

"Let go of her." He shook his fingers at the two of you as you felt him letting go completely.

You massaged your wrists as you gazed at Daryl through your brows. If you were alone, you'd just bolt as fast as you could, only you weren't and you had no weapons whatsoever.

Joe came closer to him, only leaving a distance with the crossbow between them.

"You ain't very friendly." Joe expressed and yet again you felt that ear-offing, jambering on tone in his voice.

Daryl stayed silent, his solid gaze never left Joe's. Joe was inches away from death, even so, he kept making senseless, unnecessary comments.

"Well, can he talk?" He asked his men, chuckling at his own statement.

"Wer' leavin' " Daryl grunted as he didn't move or lower his crossbow.

Joe looked bewildered.

"Trust me, some of us are more hospitable."

Daryl finally lowered his crossbow.

"That ain't appealing ta me."

"Wer' goin' " He took a step ahead, Joe placing his arms on his ribs to stop him. Daryl initially glared down at his forearm then to his eyes, giving him a penetrating stare.

"No need for any o'us ta get hurt." Daryl glared at him obstinately

"See, that's right. So why don't you come with us? You don't seem like you got a group out there." He held out his hands extravangtly. He, then turned to you, his eyes sizing you up.

"Why don't you put some sense into your boyfriend over there?" He asked you as you sharpened your stare, then gaze at Daryl.

"I mean, trust me. You don't wanna die out there all alone." He chuckled loudly, vibrating the leaves and bushes all around you.

You stood there, mulling over your odds out there. It was just the two of you, plus both of you had no idea if any of your friends were even alive.

A part of you wanted to be part of someting greater. Safe to say, your prospects of surviving even with a gang like that were more favorable than it was with you two only.

The other part of you felt like you didn't have much of a say in this. Consequently this Joe guy was only asking you out of the little-to+none courtesy he persuaded he had in himself.

You'd spent your life with men like him. It was either with physical force or the presumed kindness and the virtue. Daryl had thought the same all along, you saw the little sparkles fade in his eyes when you looked up. This was the new world order.

Joe must've seen both of your features soothen that he clapped his hands dramatically and made a "Ha" sound.

You'd walked a few hours, exchanging secret glances with Daryl.

When you'd taken a break after walking for hours at an abandoned gas station was when Daryl embraced his arms all around you without saying a word as you were trying to figure at how to shatter a vending machine glass.

You were kneeling down, your palm was pressing your forehead as if trying to remember something long forgotten as your eyes were screwed shut.

It was like you'd totally forgot his presence, bearing you from walkers or more to say -something you both didn't wanna admit or had the heart to say it to eachother- bearing you from the gang of rural vigilantes you happened to join.

For a second, he knelt besides you, his crossbow still at hand with a brawny grip when you felt his arms go around you, followed by you getting up reflexively.

For a moment, you froze. Your eyes were stuck on a walker lurking around feets away you. Your hands stayed put, this had never happened before.

Then your heart melted into his. You noticed his heart beat going faster against your chest. You gulped, which made an out of the blue sound and you hoped he didn't notice. He didn't.

Then one of your arms started embracing his neck slowly while the other went over the back of his shoulders. You were sure you didn't go tighter with your hugging yet did it feel like you were suffocating him with your clutch.

His head fell to the crook of your neck, breathing lightly against your bare skin that goosebumps started swell.

" 'M jus' glad yer alright."

He, then broke the embrace, however your arms were still around his neck. You gazed deep into his eyes, aspiring to see something you'd never seen in those heavy, forever serious eyes.

"I'm fine, and you?" You tilted your head forward and gave him a begging stare through your lashes.

He let go of your waist and nod his head in agreement as he kept biting his bottom lip and eyeing you up and down.

You knelt down again, trying to look occupied incase any of them popped up infront of you.

Daryl was still standing, when you lifted your gaze to check him out was the time you were blinded with the sunny sun shine and his face wasn't visible. Too shadowed, too dark.

"What's wrong?" You asked as you kept working on the vending machine with an adjustable wrench.

He started speaking as if he was contemplating all along.

"If things go south, ya be the first one ta run off."

You furrowed your brows as you turned your head to his direction. There was the dazzling sunlight again, hence you shielded your eyes with your hands.

"And let them skin you alive?" You inquired. You knew the answer, yet you sensed to speak about it as to put sense into him.

He maintained his silence as you felt your rage run through you. You got up, the tool still in your hand and you squeezed it like you could break metal.

Your eyes cut right through him yet he stayed put.

"Daryl?"

He rested his body weight on one leg and kept staring at you.

"Those assholes kno' damn well how ta get a reaction outta someone." He lowered his eyelids.

"If sumthing goes down, I need ya gone."

"Right up."

"Ya hear me?"

Your eyes scanned him for a while with a wrinkly forehead. You didn't know which words to utter.

"I won't leave you." You said low as your eyes were trapped on the pavement 10 feets away from you.

You heard him letting out a sigh as you followed him with your eyes. You were beyond bewildered.

-End of Part One-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Clean Cut 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live with your tyrannical aunt and meet a man who can relate to your familial dejection.

Characters: Thor

This is a spinoff of Dirty Work

Note: I feel as if someone is crushing my uterus between two stones so needless to say today is gonna be the wooooorst. But hope y’all are well.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Thor loves thunder. Take care. 💖

The door of the bakery swings open before you can reach it. You stand back, given pause in the same moment by the ding of your phone. You keep the ringer on, knowing better than to miss a single message. You know who it is before you even look at the screen. There is only one person it could be. 

‘How long?’ Aunt Bonnie’s message is terse and to the point. You can hear her usual rigid tone through the text. 

You step back, out of the way of other pedestrians, and key in your reply. ‘At the bakery now.’ 

You don’t expect a response. She’d be disappointed if you were pulling into the driveway. The message alone tells you that you’re already late, even if you’re well ahead of schedule. 

You tuck your phone into your pocket and reach for the long bar across the bakery door. Before you can grip it, another hand wraps around the tarnished metal. You once more shy away as the tall man pulls open the door and stands back. 

“After you,” his deep timbre insists. 

You nod, chin straight, and thank him politely as you enter. You join the queue, your delay having you further back than you could’ve been. The bakery is even warmer than outside and adds to the sweat speckling along your nape. You tug at your high collar, not the best choice at the height of spring. Summer will be there soon and you don’t expect the stiff fabric will be any more forgiving. 

The man lines up behind you. Your mind reels with doubt. Should you offer him your spot? He did hold the door and technically would have been ahead of you. You sway in indecision; caught between what is proper and appeasing your aunt as quickly as you can. What’s a few more minutes? 

You turn and look up at the man as he rubs his eye socket and winces. You gasp at the sight of him, surprised by the purplish splotch that darkens nearly half his face. And the way he stands; as tall as he is, he hunches in one shoulder, his hand falling to cradle his ribs. 

“Oh my, what happened?” You ask before you can censor your curiosity. You pucker your lips guilty then flatten them to an apologetic smile, “sorry, I...” 

He clears his throat and shakes his head, “no matter, I am quite a mess.” He looks down at himself and shrugs, flinching as it no doubt pains his battered body. “I suppose you might chalk it up to a sibling rivalry.” 

You bat your lashes and nod, not sure of his meaning. You peer side to side, then back to him, recalling your original intent. You lift your chin to look up at him. He’s very big and blond and burly. 

“Um, I thought maybe... you were ahead of me,” you explain, “I’ve taken your spot, sir.” 

He considers you, eyes narrowing as his head tilts. He keeps his hand against his ribs and coughs, “nah, it is no issue. It’s only right to let a lady go first. My mother always said so.” 

“Oh, lady?” You echo in surprise, “I...” you look down at yourself. You’ve never been called a lady before, “thank you.” 

He hums and you turn back to move along with the queue. He shuffles behind you, looming. People don’t often notice you. It could be your clothing; plain, straight cut, muted, nothing special, just like you. As with anything in your life, you have only what Aunt Bonnie allows you to have. 

“The strawberry tarts are good,” the man suggests and you glance up over your shoulder at him, “pardon again, lady, I cannot read the specials board.” 

His left eye is swollen amid the blackened bruising. Another pang of sympathy tweaks in your chest. You look back to the count and read the small chalkboard by the till; “Earl Grey cookie, two for three, or apple blossoms, half off with a full pie or dozen muffins.” 

“Ah, think I’ll stick with the usual,” he mutters. “Do you have a favourite?” 

You’re surprised, and most unprepared, for his continued conversation. You dab your forehead with the back of your hand then drop it to tug at your stiff cuff. You push your shoulders up and rock back and forth, still facing the counter, “only here to grab an order for my aunt.” 

“Oh, that’s lovely. Very helpful of you. She must appreciate that,” he remarks. 

“Mm, yeah, I... try to help,” you answer and pick at your sleeve. 

“It is good to keep family close,” he exhales sonorously, “you never know...” he trails off and hisses. You peek back again as he daintily touches his cheek. “My mother loves this bakery but suppose she would throw anything I got her in my face these days.” 

You don’t know what to say. He looks worse for wear and sounds just as bad. Whatever happened can’t have been very nice. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, uncertain what other comfort you can offer the stranger. 

“Ah, but you know what they say,” he smiles bitterly, his cheek twitching, though you cannot tell if it is borne of pain or spite, “Walpurgisnacht is a new beginning. With it comes great change, eh?” 

“Walpurgisnacht?” You repeat, “yes, I... I suppose so...” 

“Did you not celebrate?” He wonders. 

You shake your head. You were not invited. That isn’t very unusual. You spent the night cleaning and when all was spotless, you hid in your room with a book. 

“Ah, I had it that everyone attended,” he says, “my mother did make sure to invite all within the county.” 

His mother? Your Aunt Bonnie mentioned that Frigga Odinson was sure to send an invitation to every household within a radius. She could not help but rant about the event, more envious than excited. You never went to any of the Odinson affairs, you were never included, though you never paid much mind to the fact. 

“Your mother is Frigga?” You ask as the customer ahead of you walks away with their order. 

“So she is, if she would still call herself as much,” he sniffs. 

“Pardon, sorry,” you apologise and scurry up to the counter, not wanting to make the clerk wait, “hi, er, I have an order number.”  

You unlock your phone, your notes app is already open with your list of to-dos. You read out the code and the man goes to retrieve the cake. You wait anxiously, bouncing on your heels. When he returns, you pay with the exact amount in cash as your aunt counted out and thank him. 

You take the box and turn, nearly colliding with the tall blond man. You move aside, penned in by those waiting for their order and the queue of new arrivals. He pays and sidles along close to you. 

“Party?” He asks as he looks at the box in your hands. 

“My cousin’s birthday,” you explain and look up at the clock on the wall, “I should go...” 

“Yes, you should. As I said, family is very important,” he insists glumly and looks around, “Oi, the lady needs through,” he says to the man crowding you from your other side, “move aside then.” 

The man looks over sharply but his glare dissolves quickly as he sees who bosses him around. He backs up enough for you to get through. The stranger, an Odinson as he claims, follows. 

“Before you go, lady,” he says, “might I have your name?” 

You turn back to him. You remember your aunt talking about Walpurgisnacht with your cousins. She said there was some trouble but you didn’t hear much more than that. She always caught you listening in so you do your best not to. 

You give your name as you connect the pieces, “and you’re Thor Odinson?” 

“You know me,” he smiles. 

“My cousins spoke of you. They were at Walpurgisnacht.” 

“Mm, a pity you were not,” he drawls as his lips curve slightly. 

“It was nice meeting you but I should go now,” you look over your shoulder, “my aunt is waiting on me.” 

“Better hurry then,” he says, “perhaps we might run into one another again.” 

“Er, maybe,” you agree thinly. It isn’t likely. You don’t go very many places, not without permission. “I hope things get better for you. Oh and I read that witch hazel works for bruises but I never tried it.” 

“Witch hazel?” He repeats and touches his split brow, “I shall try it. Thank you.” 

You turn to go and feel his gaze clinging to you. Thor Odinson. You’ve heard of him, as you’ve heard of the rest of his family. His mother has appeared at your aunt’s brunches on occasion and his father’s name is spoken often by your uncle. What you know is that they’re rich and that your aunt resents everything about them. You guess it’s why she tries so hard to be like them. 

All that doesn’t matter then. What matters is that you get home with the cake and everything else or you’ll spoil the whole party. Regardless, Aunt Bonnie will surely find some mistake to needle away at. 

🫧

You place the box on the counter as Aunt Bonnie orders around the chef. You don’t know why she didn’t have them also do the cake but you don’t dare ask. Before you can flee, she turns and catches you mid-step. She snaps her fingers and you stay. 

She goes to the deep box and lifts the lid. Her sigh fills you with dread. Her lashes flutter in exasperation and you frown. What is it now? 

“Are you serious right now? I asked for blush, not rose. Harriet will hate it.” She snarls and balls her fists as she tilts her face to the ceiling. “I told you to check. Have I not been working myself ragged to make today the absolute perfect day for my little girl? Hm, do you hate your cousin so much?” 

“No, Aunt Bonnie, I’m sorry. I did check. In the car. I thought--” 

“You have a poor eye. Or perhaps you are just like your mother. She always was jealous, she did all she could to sabotage me. She even pawned you off on me,” she sneers. 

You lower your eyes, “I can go back.” 

“And what do you think they would redo it for free? You left the store. I’ve dealt with those bakers before and they are a stingy lot. That Frigga swears by them and yet every time I go, I am disappointed.” She scoffs and wipes her hands. “Never to worry, I shall make sure at least that my part is adequate. Mm,” she pauses, “perhaps I am should not be disappointed in them. They’ve an excuse for their mistakes.” 

The look she gives you scalds. You stare at the shining tile floor. “Can I help--” 

“Yes, go set the table? Are you daft?” 

You acquiesce promptly. You take a tray to gather up the appropriate cutlery, you’ll be sure to fetch some of the monogrammed napkins as well to compliment the arrangement. The fine porcelain would be in order. 

“Make certain you polish it first,” Bonnie snips as you pass her by. 

“Yes, Aunt Bonnie,” you recite. 

“Yes, Aunt Bonnie,” she mocks derisively and waves you off as she turns to the chef. “Is that how you’re doing the lobster rolls? Those are going to fall apart.” 

That you are not the only one she reprimands hardly makes you feel better. You only feel bad for the chef. That’s the sixth chef she’s hired this year. The others have quit, along with several maids and even the gardener. You don’t have that choice. She’s family and you owe her. 

You rest the tray on a chair and go to grab a cloth to give a cursory wipe to the table. Then, you spread an ivory table cloth over the dark wood and smooth it out. With your canvas laid, you fetch the polish and a new cloth and polish each piece of silver before arranging it. 

As you make your way around the table, the smell of the polish making your head pound and your nose sting, your Aunt Bonnie stomps through the door. She has a vase of tall flowers in hand. She tuts and stops short, her nostrils rounding. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me? I said the blush cloth. To match the icing, thought it will not now. And--” 

She marches over and hugs the crystal vase to her side with one arm. She picks up a spoon, “there is a speck on this one. Are you so disrespectful? Are you doing this on purpose? Do you know who is coming to dinner?” 

“I’m sorry, Aunt--” 

“Your apologies mean nothing. Do better. I will not have you ending up like your mother. I wonder how we are even related,” she sniffs down her nose at you. “I want Frigga to see her reflection in each piece.” She throws the spoon at you and it hits your chin before you catch it. 

“Frigga? Odinson?” You sputter before you can censor yourself. 

“Huh? And what does it matter to you?” She plunks the vase down heavily so the water sloshes onto the cloth. “You won’t be meeting her. I can’t risk that humiliation.” 

She turns her chin up and struts away. You turn to look at the sodden fabric around the base of the crystal and frown. You should be happy to avoid the whole event. The few times you were included, it was only to pour the wine. 

[brewed-pangolin]

I'm sorry if I got you sick, I promise it ends at some point (maybe, probably).

For your brain chemistry pleasure, Captain Soap Mactavish would 100% act all stoic and emotionless most of the time.

But imagine the times when that shell breaks.

You two curled up in bed, you ranting about something mundane. Except it's a full body, "let me flail to show you just how annoyed I am" rant. He finds it endearing, cracks a small smile and cuddles you closer.

(And the "ITS NOT CUTE, IM BEING SERIOUS JONATHON")

I'm not gonna lie, I had a bit of fun with this one. Had to add a dash of brat taming at the end because it just felt right.

Hope you like it 💛

You had hit your wits end the moment your body sank into the bed.

Every stress, every snarky comment, every disgruntled maneuver that was thrown at you came bubbling up to the surface as the soft cushion of your mattress molded to your frame.

Leaning back into the array of pillows set around you and the strong arm of your John draped over your torso, you let loose. Released the levee of a pent-up rant as he laid silent and stoic as ever at your side.

"Today was awful, John. Just awful. The second I walked into the office, my boss was already breathing down my neck. Pressuring me with his usual bullshit, reminding me of the deadline like I can't see the calendar hanging behind my desk, and constantly interrupting my progress like he's got nothing better to do.."

You paused. Taking a much needed deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

John's arms tighten ever so slightly around your waist, and he leans in further, yet you pay no mind to his glacial encroachment.

The sudden air flow only fueled the fire of irritation as the demon inside took over once more and continued on with your raging tirade. Arms flailing, accentuating every syllable as your expression grew steadily more cantankerous.

"Then, when I was at the store, I asked an attendant where the baking section was because they clearly renovated and moved every aisle around. To which this disrespectful little twat waffle told me 'open my eyes and read the signs' like I'm some illiterate moron.."

Another breath. Stoke the embers. And release the demonic presence of aggravation within until fully cleansed.

John's eyes lit up at your relentless attack on the events of the day. A smile curling into the corners of his lips, running his fingers along the curve of your hip that you completely ignored as you continued with your verbal and seething regurgitation.

"And to top it all off, while on my way home, I got cut off by an absolute monstrosity of a truck that was clearly driven by a man making up for something. Nice truck, sorry about your dick and you drive like an ignoramus kind of man. And.."

You halted. Voice catching the cage of your throat as his hand gripped into the flesh of your hip.

Your eyes cast down to meet his bright and albeit boyish gaze as he stared up with endearing contentment.

"John. What are you doing?" You ask. Irritated bite to your bellowing bark.

"Ye so cute when ya let loose, m'lass. Cannae help but admire ya."

His soothing timbre at complete odds with the emotional blaze rippling off your tongue. Which only furthered your enraged fire, feeling is ripple beneath your skin and culminate within the depths of your lungs.

"I'm serious, John. Why are you being so obtuse. I'm-"

"Obtuse?" He interjects. Faltering your angered resolve with a single word.

His authoritative persona extinguishing the blaze within as he pulls you down into the bed, tearing an exasperated gasp from your chest as hemoves to cage you underneath his hulking frame.

"Perhaps yer in need of a little attitude adjustment, yeah? Need ta release tha' pent up demon a'yers in a different way, hm?"

"John, I-"

"Nah, m'lass. Not John-"

His rumbling voice traveled like a tremor through the thick density of your bones. And his eyes pierced your soul to easily pull back the rigid curtain of your fiery will.

"I'm yer Captain fer tonight. An' I'm gonnae tame tha' fiery beast a'yers. Understood?"

You nod in response. Finding comfort in his command underneath him as he tore your aggression away with every steely nuance to his words.

"Need ya t'say it, m'lass." He advised sternly. Settling himself between your legs, pulling the faintest whimper from between your lips.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now let yer Captain take care a'ya."

And thus began the taming of your fiery attitude that ended with a broken headboard and an overly satiated mouthy beast.

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Zayne)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Zayne. The reason is because you want an assured happy end for him before you could be with him. The man has no qualm in being cursed again and again the moment he stays by your side in every timeline.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

"Still can't open it?"

You sulked, "No."

"Have you report it."

"...No..."

"...You want to tell me why? Or am I going to guess?"

You sighed, "I'm afraid that the developer will clean ALL of my blood, sweat and tears, lots of tears, of Zayne's collection if I report it. You usually hear it too, right? Their game no longer having issue but there would be something else happening like level being reset to one. The interaction lost. SO! It could possibly erase all of Zayne's cards if I report it."

"You don't know that."

"If it did? Will they replace it?! No. No. I need to calm down. Yeah. This is much better. My mind is not so jumbled up now." You're craze eyes turning calm second later.

Your friend scooted a bit far from you.

"Again. Need only ONE creepy friend from the duo."

You breathed out heavily.

"Okay. Okay. I get it. How about you log in from another device? It might be that your device has low memory or storage."

You pondered, "That's a good solution. Let me borrow yours."

"Nah-uh. This one is my personal one. I'll lent you the other one."

You snorted, "Tech geek."

"Thank you for giving the creepy title to me again."

"You're not creepy. You're just a geek."

"Same difference."

You both laughed as she excused herself to her room. She handed you her extra device and helped you get used to the new phone.

+---------------+------------------+----------------+

You're standing near her house's front gate. Looking energized and bright in the night setting.

"If you need anything else just tell me. Now. Go and get your precious cards"

You cheered on her encouragement and went home. Ready to give it another go on getting the Myth pair. Zayne's Myth pair.

You immediately sat on your bed. Ignoring everything else. Your trial and error for the past few days in logging in the game has made your days on getting the limited Myth cards dwindle to two days. Tomorrow would be the last chance you had. You were glad your friend was able to come up with a simple solution than you trying to learn how to hack.

Anyway.

You've tried it at your friend's house. The game didn't crash on her phone. Your loaner phone.

Hearts beating anxiously. Still worried it would crash.

*Bling*

The familiar opening played. It's loading perfectly fine. You were all smiley when you could enter the game without any hitch.

Except.

The cafe's empty.

"Wow. It really is bugging. Well. I'll think about that later. What's important is the cards."

You tapped on the Wish icon. The screen flash.

You smile.

Then your smile become rigid.

The empty cafe.

You tapped the Wish icon again.

Same thing happened.

Your breath were ragged now. You exit the game. Uninstall it from the loaner phone. Hand clutched to your phone, about to call your friend that it didn't work and you want to return the phone to her tomorrow.

One tear.

Two tears.

Sobbing. Body shaking from you holding yourself together. Feeling incredulous that you were so sad over unrealistic material.

"Zayne~"

You couldn't help it.

Your frustration was legit.

That was real enough to cry over.

*Bling*

The familiar sound. You opened your bleary eyes.

Your finger automatically tapped Enter.

The cafe was still empty.

Trembling, your finger tapped the Wish icon.

It worked. Your focus was back. You bought the Golden Ticket as much as your Diamonds were able to. The pull began.

*Tring*

You gasped. You got the first one of the pair.

You pulled again. Feeling restless with how much your tickets were left now.

You slowed down. 33 pulls away to get the second one. Your tickets? Only one.

You prayed.

None.

You exhaled heavily but you still smile. At least you have one of the pair.

You went to the empty cafe and saw the NEW on Memories. You tapped on it to marvel at the one you got. There's a lot of red dots on other cards.

Your mind clicked. You immediately ranked up all those cards. Hope restored.

Your Golden Tickets? Six.

That would do.

You pulled one by one. Hearts thumping louder as the tickets count decreased steadily.

*Tring*

Your eyes couldn't believe it. He was there on the fifth pull. You were dancing with your phone.

Finally settling down on the bed. Laying, hugging the phone close to your chest. Grinning. A soft chuckle escaped more and more.

"Thank you." You whispered.

Then you pass out. Unnoticed. The built up stress and exhaustion from the past few days catching up. Tomorrow morning was gonna be a mess of confusion for you.

Your phone slid slowly to your side. It flashed briefly.

Zayne looking solemn.

"I never meant to hurt you like this. For that, I apologize, my dear."

The phone flashes again.

Another character replaced his spot.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&------+

[secretmellowblog]

One thing I feel people almost always overlook about Javert is that:

The book’s narrator is usually harsh/sarcastic towards Javert, and that harshness is why his character has pathos. Javert is able to be sympathetic because Victor Hugo has basically no respect for his beliefs. Javert is so pitiable because Hugo mocks and drags him on basically every page he appears.

I’ve mentioned before that the message of Les Mis is (paraphrasing) that ACAB— Javert is the best police officer it is possible to be, and he is terrible, because the laws he enforces are terrible. His law & order ideology is terrible. Everything he believes is fundamentally wrong, and so deeply wrong that it deserves no respect.

Yes, Hugo acknowledges that Javert occasionally has a misguided kind of nobility— the nobility of holding yourself honestly to a set of bad rules, the nobility of following a terrible moral code even when it hurts you. But Hugo has no respect for Javert’s bigotry, or his bootlicking, or his deranged obsessive worship of law and order. Hugo portrays the way that Javert martyrs himself for his ideology as strangely honorable— but the ideology itself is mocked and condemned. Hugo thinks martyrdom is cool, but that Javert is martyring himself for a terrible cause.

In his most sympathetic moments, Javert’s worldview is portrayed as pitiable…. not a worldview that’s worthy of true total genuine respect, but a worldview that’s deeply pathetic in its wrongness.

Without himself suspecting the fact, Javert in his formidable happiness was to be pitied, as is every ignorant man who triumphs.

This is part of why those old 2012-era les mis fanfics always threw me off, if anyone remembers the fandom trends at the time. XD People used to write Valjean and pre-barricades Javert having political debates, as if the two of them could make arguments about law that were equally valid and worthy of respect, and pre-barricades Javert had a worthwhile set of beliefs that Valjean could learn from. But to me it’s personally kinda like, no XD. Nah. The whole thing about pre-barricades Javert is that he does not have any valid points to make. He has nothing resembling a point. He is “ignorant” and determined to stay that way because he literally believes that thinking is evil. He is a violent authoritarian whose worldview is just “mindless self-destructive bootlicking and bigotry.” I joked about it in a previous post but if we want a character who offers a genuinely meaningful counterpoint to Valjean’s philosophy, who could debate him on politics, and who could represent justice while Valjean represents mercy— that character is Enjolras, not Javert.

Valjean has a fascinating complicated relationship with law and politics and violence, but Javert is just a deeply pitiable brainwashed creature who martyrs himself for Wrong things.

Hugo pities Javert, but he does not treat Javert’s worldview --‘authority is always right, rigid social hierarchies must always be enforced, human life has no intrinsic value, the police must violently suppress any kind of crime or rebellion’— as something that deserves to be genuinely respected. It is not something that’s even worthy of debate. It is wrong, it is nonsense, it is an incoherent cruel self-contradicting ideology, and Javert only believes it because (to quote Hugo’s sarcastic narration) “thought was something to which he was unused.” (Or to be more charitable, Javert believes these terrible things because he was born inside a prison and has been brainwashed from birth into internalizing a cruel carceral view of the world.)

And I think Hugo generally does a good job of walking that tightrope — having pity for Javert without portraying Javert’s ideology as something worthy of genuine admiration. He sympathizes with how rigidly Javert holds himself to his own moral code, while condemning the moral code itself for being idiotic. He has empathy with Javert’s sincere self-destructive dedication to what he believes in, while pointing out the things he believes in are all stupid. He pities Javert’s martyrdom, while condemning the nonsense that Javert martyrs himself for.

One of my Top Ten Favorite Pathetic Javert Moments is this one, when Javert recognizes Marius’s body after the barricades:

A spy of the first quality, who had observed everything, listened to everything, and taken in everything, even when he thought that he was to die; who had played the spy even in his agony, and who, with his elbows leaning on the first step of the sepulchre, had taken notes.

Because Javert martyrs himself so earnestly for this terrible cause! He “takes notes” even when he believes he’s going to die and the notes cannot possibly be of any use to anyone, simply because taking notes is the thing he has been ordered to do. He’s so self-destructively dedicated to performing these useless pointless tasks because he believes there is real ~dignity~ to his mindless bootlicking— when there isn’t.

That’s why Javert’s emotional breakdown and suicide hit so hard for me, in a way that it wouldn’t if the narration was forgiving towards his stupid belief system. The contrast between Javert’s sheer pathetic terror and the often harsh/sarcastic narration is just….wild. It makes Javert sympathetic without making his awful ideology seem good, reasonable, or valuable. (And while this is only adjacent to the point I’m making- the harsh narration in Derailed also emphasizes the way Javert has been trained to view his own thoughts/emotions with contempt.) Javert is deeply pitiable/sympathetic without his ideology being framed as correct. And the whole tragedy of his character comes from the fact that he is utterly entirely wrong.

If I were to summarize the pathos of Javert, I wouldn’t say “he’s sympathetic because he’s a noble anti-hero with good strong morals who makes some valuable points about the importance of law” or w/e. I’d say that you can feel sorry for him because he’s a wretched brainwashed creature who’s never done anything right even though he wants to, and is deeply ridiculously pathetic without ever realizing it.

As Hugo puts it: “without himself suspecting the fact, Javert (…) was to be pitied.”