#map was mine first idea

[hl-obsessed]

Happy Birthday Louis.

I hope you still think Christmas lights are specifically for you, cuz now so many of them are. If we could turn the rest of the lights on the world, just for a little while, and show you how many are up just specifically for you, they would light up map of the world anyway.

There is so much love for you in all the corners of the earth.

It's challenge not to love you and fell safe and like home in space that you created for us.

Thank you for everything. World is so much better place with everything you are giving it.

The happiest birthday and everything what's the best.

[goldensunset]

‘the children yearn for the mines’ is a little too real to me bc when i was a kid and my older siblings were trying to get me into pokémon i really never cared to try playing. BUT. i was obsessed with the underground mining minigame in dppt. i used to beg my sister to let me take a turn playing and set it up for me bc i didn’t know how to so i could go mine for gems nonstop until i cleared that entire cave section of glittering wall spots which always made me so sad bc i was having such a great time. i didn’t even understand the significance of what i was doing but 7 year old me was high off of it

[sysig]

Just Desserts continental northern map made using this method! :D (Patreon)

[7frogsspeaks]

If you've never worked in a big corporate office you are missing out on half of Severance

Everyone seems to be talking about the setting of this show like it's a big mystery we're waiting on answers for, and I keep having to remind myself that this is the Unemployed Website because every single aspect of the severed floor is a direct parody of corporate office work. Some of it is pretty obvious to anyone (being a totally different person at work than you are at home, excessive surveillance, etc), but unless you've worked in one of these places there's a ton you're probably missing.

So, for those of you who (luckily) lack corporate office experience, here is a non-exhaustive list of real phenomenon Severence is referencing:

- Having absolutely no clue where anything is other than your department. A large corporate office truly feels like working in a brightly-lit, featureless labyrinth. You get lost so easily, and the number of turns and hallways in the opening scene is not that much more extreme than how I had to get to my department (which was over a 5-minute walk from the main entrance). It's common to draw new employees a map.

- Cult-like worship and constant quoting of the company's founder/founding family and core operating principles. Long-time employees will genuinely treat it like religious doctrine. It's scary.

- The relationship between departments. The different cultures, outrageous rumors, distrust, compete lack of understanding of who they are, how many of them there are, where they work, what they do, and generally treating them like a foreign country is barely even a parody. It's just really like that. Going to another department and seeing their equipment and work area (and being stared at by a bunch of people who don't expect a stranger to be there) might as well be walking into a room that's a hill with intimidating goat farmers.

- Other people's jobs being utterly incomprehensible. The department that had a room behind a wall next to mine apparently used it for filling backpacks with weights until the straps broke. Another department had someone whose job was to shine different lights onto pieces of fabric and record the color difference. One of my positions was measuring various pants 20 different ways and then taking notes while a specific person tried them on. Apparently a guy somewhere occasionally got paid to make watercolors of birds. Some people did finance. You get the idea.

- Only ever hearing from upper management (who are treated like a group of fickle, wrathful gods) through a nervous secretary and never hearing their voices/seeing their faces. You might know their names.

- Weird, uncomfortable, often ritualesque events that are treated like a big deal. The company I worked for, for example, would announce the employees of the year by having a committee of people with noisemakers and silly hats parade around the buildings until they got to the person's desk, and then take their photo to hang on the wall. People were not warned beforehand, it was a ~surprise~. This happened daily at random times for over a week each year, and long-standing employees got really into it.

- People genuinely fighting over all those meaningless, patronizing rewards like pizza parties, fancy pens, etc. Having an "employee of the month" mug, for example, is treated as an enviable status symbol. Presumably this is why corporations think this stuff will also work in the service industry (it doesn't because service workers are normal).

- Ridiculous conspiracy theories about the building, management, coworkers, or company history, peddled like gossip.

- New employees having a rough adjustment period where it feels like you're adapting to an alternate universe. Office culture is nothing like real life though it's closer if you live in white suburbia and have an HOA, so during most people's first time working in one they bump up against a lot of unspoken rules, weird taboos, and general culture shock. Most of this involves navigating strictly-enforced social hierarchies, verbal adherence to company ideals, and using only specific types of communication, and being chastised when you mess up. It 100% feels like being indoctrinated into a cult.

- Not understanding the purpose of the work you're doing, and only receiving vague answers, that it's "important", and that there's a big exciting deadline. No single department has access to the big picture for how everyone's jobs fit together to accomplish something, you'd have to work in all of them or in upper management to figure it out. The inner machinations and goals of the company are generally treated like a mysterious secret.

- Never seeing the sky. Window offices are a prized commodity since the buildings are so big, so unless you're a high-up manager or the company has gone to great lengths to add access to widows (most don't because it's really expensive) you likely won't see daylight until you leave, even if you travel around the building during the day.

And for the Lifetime Unemployment crowd, some more general job phenomenon:

- So. Many. Acronyms. And being expected to say them all with a straight face, even if they sound really silly.

- Coworkers effectively ceasing to exist the moment they leave the company, with zero explanation given for why they're suddenly gone unless there's a retirement party.

- Management giving ridiculously nit-picky feedback as a form of hazing/power play, especially to marginalized people.

- Upper management making sudden, drastic changes to your job expectations, physical workplace, or management structure with zero notice and penalizing you if you can't adapt immediately.

- The entire vibe of your job being dictated by who your manager is.

- Your coworkers acting like what happens at work is their entire life, and treating their home lives as something extra they do on the side.

- Having no clue who your coworkers are outside of work, and that information being largely treated as taboo.

- Being effectively locked in a sealed space with zero access to the outside world for the entirety of your workday, and being told that that's not weird or a problem– it's a benefit that helps you focus on your job.

Basically: There's no big mystery to the structure and culture of Lumon/the severed floor. Most of it is never going to get a canon "explanation" because the target audience already has one. It's all a parody.

EDIT: Reblogged with more office-specific ones and some photo evidence

[satrs]

In TOOOO Deep!

SYNOPSIS. Trapped and even thinner patience, neither can escape the heat, or each other. One question remains: who will break first?

FEAT. Xavier. Zayne. Rafayel. Sylus. Caleb. xfem!reader

TAGS. 18+ CONTENT! MDNI! smeggual content. Forced proximity. unprotected intercourse. dörty talk. size k!ink. refering to yer' püüsy as 'her'. doggy. slight exhibitionism. sylus & zayne are married to reader. fingering, cunnilingus in calebs. slight roleplay in calebs. heavyyy praise in sylus. kinda soft seggs in sylus.

✎ A/N; I CAN'T ESCAPE THESE GUYS PLEASE RELEASE MEEEEE! (please don't I'm jolly as hell in my gooner cave) Much love and happy reading! <3

XAVIER ꩜ Caught In Heat!

Who knew that a duo mission with your fellow hunter would end up like this? You and him trapped in a random rundown motel somewhere in nirvana with an angry storm brewing outside?

Well, shit happens.

The power flickers, casting deep shadows across the room, and the air smells like rain-soaked pavement and dust. The shitty heater barely works, leaving the cold to settle in your bones, but the real reason you’re shivering isn’t the temperature.

It’s him.

The lights flicker again, barely holding, and the air is damp with humidity. Rain pounds against the windows, a relentless, violent rhythm. You should be resting, saving your strength for whatever waits beyond this storm. But instead, you’re here, standing at the edge of the bed, pulse pounding, your body drawn tight with something far more dangerous than the mission itself.

Across the room, Xavier watches you, bright eyes sharp even in the dim light. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you. Calculating. Assessing. Like he already knows what you want before you do.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice cool, measured.

You swallow, shifting under his gaze. “So are you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. “I always watch what's mine.”

The words send a pulse of heat straight to your cunt.

You take a step toward him, testing. “Then take it.”

The shift in his expression is instant. A spark of something dark, something starving, flashes in his eyes.

Xavier moves fast. One second he’s across the room, the next he’s got you pinned against the wall, braced hand beside your head. His body presses into yours, solid and unyielding, his warmth seeping into you through the layers of damp clothing.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” His voice is low, dangerous, the barest hint of a growl curling around the words, ghosting over your lips.

You tilt your chin up, refusing to back down. “Then show me.”

is lips crush against yours at that with a force that steals your breath, his fingers sliding down to grip your throat, holding you still as he claims you completely. The hand is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing into yours.

Your fingers tangle in his uniform, tugging, desperate for more. He growls against your mouth, then suddenly spins you, shoving you onto the bed in one swift motion.

“On your knees, angel.” he commands, his tone sharp, controlled.

You obey, pulse hammering as you brace yourself on the mattress. The air shifts behind you, and then his hands are on your waist. His fingers press into your skin, mapping every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

“You want me?” His voice is right at your ear now, his breath hot against your skin, as he swats a teasing clasp to your ass. “Right here? Now?”

Your hands fist in the sheets. “M-mhmm.”

His fingers trail down, slipping between your legs, finding you already soaked. He lets out a sharp breath, his control fracturing at the edges.

“What a mess” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, “Bet you've been like this the whole mission.”

You whimper, pushing back against his touch, but he pulls away, leaving you aching.

Then, your breath catches at the sound of a zipper before Xavier grips your hips aligning his mushroomy tip to your clenchin entrance, and slams into you in one brutal thrust.

Your vision whites out, your entire body arching as you stretch around him, the sheer size of him stealing the air from your lungs. A ragged gasp rips from your throat as he sinks deep, so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Too much?” His voice is taunting, but caring, something needy behind it. You shake your head, nails digging into the sheets. “Wan' more.”

A dark chuckle rings your ear. “Greedy.”

Xavier doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts are sharp, precise, calculated—like he knows exactly how to break you apart, how to leave you gasping and shaking beneath him. Each snap of his hips punches a sound from your throat, his pace relentless, merciless.

“Arch that damn back f' me,” he mutters, voice thick with something raw. You comply, arching further into the matress as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Jussssst like that.”

A sharp slap! lands on your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. You cry out, but he only tightens his grip, yanking you back onto him harder, needier.

“This what you wanted?” He leans down, his teeth grazing your ear, hand clasping around your neck to push you flush against his chest. “Letting me fuck you like this during a mission? Tsk, Tsk, what a unreliable hunter.”

You’re beyond words now, lost in the way his damned cock hits the bulls-eye in your insides over and over again, poor cunt gushing with each prod at your cervix, only able to nod weakly.

“You could've just asked. Would never deny my sweet princess.” he whispers again, but his voice wavers, his own restraint unraveling. His hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you upright, forcing your spine to arch as he fucks into you deeper.

"Xavvvv'! Fuck!"

His lips graze your throat, his breath ragged. “Say my name again.”

You do—gasping, moaning, begging for him to — you don't even know what for at this point.

Xavier groans, his pace faltering for a split second before he regains control, thrusting harder, pushing you closer to that edge.

“Gonna cum, huh?” His fingers slide between your legs, finding your most sensitive button and circling just right. “C'mon.”

The order snaps something inside you, and you shatter around him, a broken sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes over you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes, muscles tensing as he fucks you through it.

Xavier curses, his grip bruising as he thrusts once, twice more, then he himself falls apart.

A deep, shuddering groan spills from his lips as he buries himself to the hilt emptying his heavy load into you, his body trembling against yours. You feel the heat of him spilling deep inside you, his breath ragged against your ear.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The storm still rages outside, but in here, it’s just your gasps, his heartbeat hammering against your back, no worries whatsoever.

Finally, he pulls away just enough to press a slow, almost lazy kiss to your shoulder. His voice is lower now, rough with spent desire.

Then, he lets out a rough chuckle, his grip on you finally loosening. “That’s one way to pass the time.” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

Your groan echoing in response, smacking the arm wraped around your body weakly. “Shut up.”

Xavier just smirks, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him.

“No promises.”

ZAYNE ꩜ Locked In!

The soft click of the door echoes through the dimly lit office.

Zayne exhales, rubbing his temple, his eyes glinting under the sterile glow of the desk lamp. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You go to jiggle the handle, confirming what you both already know. “The janitor must’ve locked up without noticing us.”

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, just watches you with that unnerving, unreadable gaze—the one that makes your pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with being locked in.

He leans back against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression smooth, controlled. But you don’t miss the flicker of something darker beneath the surface.

Annoyance? Amusement?

Neither.

Something else entirely.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice rich with amusement, “looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “Could be worse, I guess.”

A smirk tugs at his lips that you fail to notice. Dangerous.

He tilts his head, studying you like a patient on his table. Slow. Intrigued. Almost predatory.

“Why don’t we kill some time, then?”

The air shifts—subtle, but still sufforcating.

Before you can respond, he’s behind you, his movements so swift, so effortless, you barely register them before his hands are on your waist, firm and unyielding.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns against your stomach before sliding upward, guiding you to his desk only to shove the papers on there to the side, brushing over your ribs, teasing the edge of your collarbone.

Then his lips find your ear, his breath a ghost of heat against your skin.

“There's not much to do anyway,” he growls, voice like silk laced with steel. His grip tightens as he presses his straining cock against you, the warmth of his body sinking into yours. “Might aswell use the time before the janitor comes back.”

“Zayne, we’re in your office,” you manage, breath shuddering, but the protest is weak, meaningless.

A quiet chuckle vibrates against your neck before he continues to plaster your collar with teasing kisses. “And?”

Then he’s turning you, guiding you back until your hips hit the edge of his desk. His golden eyes bore into yours—intense, unwavering—as he nudges your legs apart, stepping between them like he belongs there.

“You always talk about spicing things up,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your waistband, toying with the fabric in slow, torturous strokes. “And we've never tried having fun in here.” His jaw tightens. “There's no hurt in trying.”

A shiver rolls through you as he commands you to turn around, your palms bracing against the cool surface of his desk. The heat of his presence lingers behind you, his breath featherlight against the back of your neck.

His hands drag down your back, low, teasing, before gripping your waistband and yanking your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. The cool air hits you as you cage your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes sending him a teasing glare.

Zayne exhales, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass before sliding between your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint.

A sharp gasp escapes as his fingers glide through your slick folds, parting them, exploring. He groans, the sound low and possessive.

“Already so soaked,” he muses, voice dark with satisfaction. “You like this, don't you? A naughty wife I see.”

Your hips jerk as he presses two firm fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

“Zayne, please—”

He hums approvingly, his movements controlled—like he’s testing you, studying the way your body reacts under his touch. His fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, but never quite dipping in.

“So desperate,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your spine.

Suddenly, he withdraws. The loss is unbearable, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Quit the teasing, he can't take it anymore.

Your hips wiggle in excitement as his heft length slaps against the valley of your ass, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your hole, thick and teasing, dragging through your wetness with maddening patience.

“C'monnn,” you whine, pushing back against him, tip just barely sliding insde you, and you greedily catch! his angry tip, desperatly trying to suck him int further.

With one sharp exhale he thrusts in, sinking into you in one long, unyielding stroke, knocking the air out of your lungs almost imediently.

A choked cry escapes yyou as he stretches you wide, fills you to the brim, the sheer size of him forcing every nerve in your body to light up, as a prolonged moan slips from your lips, head slamming against the desk at the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. “Always so tight and ready for me.”

He stills for a moment, buried deep, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths against your back to compose himself. Then, just as you begin to adjust to his massive girth, just as the pleasure starts to settle—

He moves.

The first thrust is deep, calculated. The second is sharper, quicker, even. By the third, he’s pounding into you, loosing himself at your contracting greedy walls, each deep stroke sliding your body further onto the cold desk, whole furniture shaking and you could even think the legs of the chair might collapse.

The office is filled with the filthy sounds of skin meeting skin, the wetness between your thighs only adding to the obscene rhythm of his movements.

“Not so loudddd, darlin'” he teases, voice rough and hungry. “Wouldn't want anyone to hear, hm?”

His fingers slide between your legs, pressing against your clit yet in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, your mouth agape as drool dripps down onto some godforsaken document both of you could give less of a fjuck about right now.

“Zayne—oh. my. fuck!” Words coming out in punctured huffs, your vision blurs, whole body tightening as each push of his hip would surely send you flying if you didn't hold on.

He groans breathlessly, pace unwavering. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch. “Take it, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coiling tighter, hotter, until you’re right at the edge—

"Be a good wife and cum all over your husbands cock, pretty please."

With that you break, body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you with force, a strangled cry leaves your lips, hole clenching him tight, leaving your legs shaking, giving out on you.

Zayne curses, his movements stuttering, struggling against the unyielding grip of your spasming cunt.

With a final, deep thrust, he plundges his entire cock inside you, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as his own release crashes over him. Heaty cum fills you, his grip on your hips tightening as he rutts against your ass, his breath ragged, uneven.

The haze of pleasure still clings to you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you slump limplessly against the desk. Zayne’s hands remain on your hips, his grip possessive, his chest rising and falling behind you as he catches his breath.

Then,

The unmistakable sound of keys jingling.

“Hello?” A rough voice cuts through the heavy air and your heart stops. “Thought I heard somethin’ in here—”

Zayne doesn’t move. He stays buried inside you, still hard, still throbbing. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, you feel his smirk against your skin before he finally pulls out, his fingers dipping between your thighs to push his release back deep inside you.

“Messy,” he murmurs, so low only you can hear, “This is all thanks to her", his eyes glued to your talkative hole, amusement evident on his face.

You glare at him, but before you can open your mouth, the janitor sighs from behind the door.

“Damn pipes,” the old man mutters. “Always makin’ weird noises.”

The jingle of keys fades, footsteps retreating.

Thankfully, the door never opens.

Then, silence.

“You are noisy,” he muses, fixing his tie, completely unbothered.

You whirl on him, mortified, hurriedly yanking your pants back into place. “And you’re impossible!”

He grins, utterly shameless, dragging you back into his arms. His fingers are already creeping under your waistband again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, golden eyes gleaming.

“We’re not done yet.”

RAFAYEL ꩜ (7 Minutes) In Heaven!

Rafayel has been avoiding Thomas all day.

You know it, Thomas knows it, and judging by how Rafayel is nowhere to be found, he knows you are onto him.

“If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,” Thomas sighs, rubbing his temple, frustrated. “It’s important.”

You nod, catching an inkling of Rafayel’s intention. “Of course, I’ll let him know.”

The moment Thomas walks away toward the kitchen in search of the artist in god-knows-where, you turn on your heel, heading straight for Rafayel’s room. If he isn’t anywhere else, you have a good guess where he is hiding.

You push open the door, stepping inside. Silence meets you, but the air feels charged, like someone was here just moments before.

Then, your gaze drifts to the walk-in closet.

Bingo.

Suspicious, you make your way over and pull the door open only to find Rafayel, lounging against the shelves like he belongs there, arms crossed over his chest, pout streching his features.

“I knew it,” you accuse, raising an eyebrow. “Hiding now, are we?”

He doesn’t even look the slightest bit guilty. Instead, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t call it hiding. More like, avoiding unnecessary stress.”

You huff. “Thomas is looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” he says smoothly, then reaches forward and before you can react, he tugs you inside and shuts the door behind you.

The sound of the lock clicking into place sends a shiver down your spine.

“Rafayel,” you warn, pressing a hand against his chest. “We can’t just—” He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “We can.”

The space is small, the air thick with his scent—clean, expensive, so damn intoxicating. His presence surrounds you, and it is impossible to focus on anything but him. Well, the rock-hard buldge of his might be a competition.

“You came looking for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers tracing down your spine. “So stay.”

You swallow hard. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His hands slide lower, resting on your hips. “Or are you putting on the tought girl act right now?”

Your breath hitches as he presses you against the shelves, his body warm and firm against yours.

“Rafayel—”

“Hmmm?” His voice is a purr, full of dark amusement.

“You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, fingers sneaking to your pants, tugging at the fabric teasingly. “And you love it.”

You don’t get a chance to argue, not when he captures your lips in a heated kiss, not when he pushes you so impossibly close and surely not when he's rutting his needy cock against your clothed core.

It is slow at first, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. His lips move against yours expertly, coaxing you open, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

His hands are everywhere, roaming up your back, sliding beneath your shirt, exploring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat pools in your stomach at his words. The thought of being caught, of Thomas standing just outside, completely unaware of what is happening behind the locked door, it only makes you want him more.

He turns you around, pressing your front against the shelves. His hands roam over your curves, his breath hot against your neck.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you all day,” he murmurs, his fingers teasing between your thighs. You gasp, your body arching into his touch.

“Already so wet,” he muses, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All for me.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he replaces his fingers with the head of his bulky cock head, teasingly rubbing it against your slick, glisterning folds.

“Tell me you want this,” his voice is low, dark and lustful.

“P-please—”

That is all he needs.

With one percise thrust, he buries himself inside you, a choked moan escapes your lips as he stretches you to your limits, filling you completely. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he sets a rythmic pace.

“So tight,” he groans, his breath ragged. “You feel incredible.”

You clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

His pace quickens, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the closet, along with the quiet, breathy moans you can’t hold back.

“Nghhh— good, sooo good!”

“Shh,” he murmurs, though the smirk in his voice is undeniable. “You don’t want Thomas knocking on the door, do you?”

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Just as you are about to answer, you hear the faint sound of footsteps outside—too close. Thomas’s voice echoes down the hallway, rattling the doorknob faintly. “Rafayel?”

Rafayel’s hands tighten on your hips, his movements slowing as if he can feel the tension in your body. The door handle turns again, then stops. The footsteps retreat, but they are still too close.

He smirks, his breath hot against your neck. His thrusts deepen, pressing you harder against the shelves, the sound of his body against yours echoing in the small space, shelf shaking with it's contents. He moves with deliberate slowness now, each thrust calculated, as if daring you to make a sound.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Not a word.”

His fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Every movement feels heightened, the danger of being caught making every sensation sharper, more intense.

You' re already close— so damn close, your breath catching with each thrust of his, tip bullying the entrance of your womb meanly.

With one last commanding push, he groans, burying himsel in so deep, his hot sticky cum shoots right into your womb, the fullness of it all making your jump over the edge, cumming so hard you can barely breathe.

Then, the door rattles— again.

You and him simuntaniously freeze, staring at the door, listening to the muffled sound of Thomas’s voice growing frustrated on the other side.

“Okay, you two, this is getting ridiculous. I know you’re in there! I don’t care what’s going on, just come out already!”

Rafayel’s smirk deepens, though you can feel his body tense slightly as the sound of Thomas’s exasperation fills the air.

You chuckle breathlessly but hushed, still trembling, mind racing with the absurdity of the situation. “Wanna go out of hiding?”

Rafayel chuckles low in your ear, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “He’ll live.”

The sound of Thomas sighing and muttering something unintelligible echoes through the door as he walks away, still clearly annoyed.

You exhale a shaky breath, your body still humming with tension. Rafayel doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to. You both know what this is, and somehow, the chaos of almost getting caught only makes it more thrilling.

“I think we should really get out of here before he comes back,” you say with a shaky laugh, though you aren’t quite ready to leave yet.

Rafayel pulls you closer, brushing his lips against your ear once more. “Noooo,” he complains with a whiny voice, thick with annoyance.

“Just one more, pleaseee?”

SYLUS ꩜ Bound to You!

“This is ridiculous,” you huff, holding up your wrist to emphasize the glowing cuff binding you to your husband.

Sylus chuckles, utterly unbothered as he examines the energy linkage with a lazy smirk. “You say that, but I think fate just enjoys tying us together.”

You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat. This isn’t the first time the protocore’s strange energy has done something like this, though back then, you weren’t married. Now, the situation feels even more absurd.

“We’re literally handcuffed together,” you deadpan.

He tilts his head, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, I did vow to stay by your side, didn’t I?”

You groan, tugging at the glowing chain connecting your wrists. It doesn’t budge. “I just wanna go to bed.”

Sylus hums, stepping closer—so close you can feel the warmth of his body. “Oh we'll go to bed, alright.”

His voice dips, rich and smooth, the way it always does when he’s teasing you, something you’ve grown used to over the years.

You narrow your eyes. “Sy'.”

He grins, giving the chain a light tug so that you stumble forward, right into his chest. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Or,” he murmurs, “we could make the best of it.”

Your pulse skips.

His fingers brush your hip, and even through the thin fabric of your nightwear, his touch sends warmth curling low in your stomach.

“This again?” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Oh, come now.” He lifts your bound wrists, kissing your knuckles before meeting your gaze. His ruby orbs gleam with something dark. “Don’t tell me you don’t love this just a little.”

You swallow, unable to deny because he's right. He always was.

He strokes slow, soothing patterns against your bare thigh, watching you through half-lidded, satisfied eyes. “We’re married now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it?”

You exhale shakily as he guides you toward the bed, his movements slow, as if savoring every second.

The moment your back hits the mattress, Sylus is above you, his free hand splayed against your side, fingers flexing like he’s resisting the urge to grab you harder.

His gaze softens as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. “My darling wife,” he purls, voice thick with affection. “Would love to be cuffed with you forever.”

He kisses you, moving like he has all the time in the world, deepening the kiss only when you sigh against him, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl, head spinning.

The chain between you clinks softly as he adjusts, pressing closer, his thigh slotting between yours.

His touch is everywhere—skimming your waist, teasing over your ribs, sliding beneath your shirt with aching slowness.

He pulls back slightly, golden eyes searching yours. “Breathtaking,” he breathes, voice reverent. “And you’re all mine.”

Heat pools in your stomach as he kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin, free hand slipping beneath your waistband to tease his pads onto your swolled clit, you gasp, arching into his touch.

Sylus groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “Ohh, she's an eager one,” he breathes, his fingers dipping between your folds, sliding along them. “All ready for me.”

The slow, careful movements turn teasing, his fingers circling your clit, stroking you with just enough pressure to drive you mad.

Suddenly, one finger teases your neglected entrance, sloooowly entering, searching it's way through your cavity.

You whimper, bound wrist jerking slightly as you try to grasp onto something—anything—but all you can do is grip his hand, fingers tangling with his.

“Perfect,” he whispers, firm, kissing along your jaw. “Every part of you.”

A second finger follows suit, curling upward, bumping against you gushy walls, loud sounds clouding his mind in lust.

You shudder, body tightening under his praise. “P-please, Sy'—”

He hushes you with another kiss, fingers slipping inside you with ease, fingers curling right into the spot he memorized throuout the years, smirking against your lips at your broken shriek.

And fuck, he’s grinding into you like he’s losing his mind, hips bucking wildly, precum smearing across his briefs, desperate for even a sliver of relief.

He’s groaning against your lips like he might fall apart first, cock so achingly hard it twitches helplessly with every snap of his hips, every slick flick of his wrist.

You can feel it, how far gone he’s let himself get, and it pushes you closer and closer, sharp heat building unbearably low in your belly.

Your grip tightens in his hair again, tugging harder, forcing his mouth impossibly closer to your mouth as you gasp into him, voice breaking. “Fuck, Sy', don’t stop, don’t—”

He answers only with a deep, wrecked moan, fingers curling further, moving faster, scraping against your walls with the single-minded intent to see you coming undone.

The lewd slap of his wrist against your core echoing alongside the wet, obscene sounds of the breathless kiss you cage him in, your hips bucking up further into his touch, so impossibly close to release.

Thighs starting to shake uncontrollably, every nerve on fire, your body arching, bowstring-tight as he drives you over the edge without mercy. The combination of his filthy mouth, the desperate, hungry sounds spilling from his mouth snaps something inside you.

His words push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around his fingers, back arching into his chest as a broken moan slips from your lips.

Only when you're spent body slumps against the sheets, chest heaving, does he finally pull away, dark pupils blown wide.

Sylus groans, his expression caught between awe and pure hunger.

Before you can fully come down, he’s freeing himself from his boxers, guiding his free hand around his cock, lining himself up with you.

“Goooood job,” he murmurs, voice soft yet sharp. “Now lets repeat this mess on my cock, yes?”

You barely have time to respond before he presses forward, sinking into you with a deep, slow thrust, a gasp tears from your lips as he stretches you in the most perfect way, like you're made for him. Because you are.

Sylus lets out a shaky breath, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he groans. “You feel unreal, sweetie.”

He stays still for a moment, savoring the way your body wraps around him. Then, he pulls back and thrusts in again, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

The chain between your wrists clinks softly with every movement, a constant reminder of how intimately you’re connected.

Sylus takes his time, each thrust measured, his hands roaming your body, his lips pressing lingering kisses against your skin.

“My wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with devotion. “You’re everything to me.”

The way he moves, the way he worships you with every touch, every word—it sends you spiraling closer to the edge again.

Sylus feels it, his rhythm faltering slightly. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasps, his free hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit.

Your breath catches, pleasure surging through you like fire. “Mhmm! Gonna cum again, Sy'!—”

“That’s it,” he whispers, his pace quickening. “Cum with me.”

The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, then you shatter. Your orgasm tears through you, body tightening, back arching, pleasure consuming every nerve.

Sylus groans, his own release following as he thrusts into you one final time, his body trembling as he spills his hot spurts of cum inside you.

Suddenly, the glow around your wrists flickers.

With a soft shimmer, the energy linkage disappears entirely, the cuffs vanishing as if they were never there to begin with.

Sylus lets out a breathless laugh, collapsing beside you. “Huh. Looks like we found the key.” You groan, smacking his chest weakly. “You would say that.”

He grins, gathering you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Hope you aren't planning on sleeping now, sweetheart," he muses, mischief dancing in his crimson gaze. His fingers trail down, dipping between your thighs to catch his leaking cum, only to pluck it in again.

"Because I wouldn’t count on getting any rest tonight."

CALEB ꩜ Going... Down?!

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, the lights flickering once before stabilizing into a dim glow.

Well, how fucking great.

You groan, pressing the emergency button, but nothing happens. “Of course,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Caleb leans back against the wall, completely unbothered, arms folded over his broad chest, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “Well, looks like we’re stuck.”

You glance at him. “No shit.”

He chuckles, tilting his head at you, hat slightly shifting. “No need to sound so grumpy, sweets. Think of it as quality time, hm?”

You huff, but your irritation barely lasts under his lazy, amused gaze.

A few moments pass in silence before Caleb shifts, stepping closer. His presence alone makes the air feel heavier, warmer.

Your eyes meet his, and the way he looks at you sends heat straight to your core.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “You’re tense.”

You swallow as he reaches out, his fingers brushing over your wrist before trailing down, ghosting over your hip.

“Caleb—”

“Mm?” His smirk widens, but his touch stays gentle, coaxing, teasing. “I'm just tryin' ta help.”

Your breath hitches as his hand slides lower, fingers toying with your uniform pants.

“Here?” you whisper, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Why not?” His fingers slip past the fabric, brushing over your panties. “No one’s comin' anytime soon.”

The way he says it so casually, careless, makes your stomach tighten, your legs pressing together involuntarily.

Caleb snickers, his fingers pressing against your clit through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. “You like the risk, don’t you?”

You bite your lip, body already betraying you before your mouth can even try to.

He hums, clearly pleased, before slipping his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers finding your wetness.

A sharp inhale leaves you as he traces slow circles over your clit, his other hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“She’s always so damn wet,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction.

Your head falls back against the cool metal as he slides a finger inside you, the stretch teasing, not nearly enough.

“M-more,” you whisper.

Caleb groans, mouth brushing over your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

He adds another finger, curling them just right, his pace slow and deliberate. The quiet slick of your arousal fills the small space, making your cheeks burn. His lips ghost over your ear. “Yer' gonna have ta' be quiet, sweets.”

Your breath hitches as he presses his thumb to your clit, his movements intensifying. Your free hand clutches at his unrelenting wrist, body trembling. “Nghh— r-right there! Ouuuhh!”

“Shhhhh,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t want anyone knowing how good I’m making you feel, do you?”

His pace doesn’t falter, his fingers fucking you with precision, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your walls clenching around his fingers, your body tensing as waves of pleasure roll over you.

Caleb groans, watching you come undone, his fingers soaked in your spurting release, and ohhh— he’s nowhere near done yet.

He takes off his commanding hat, placing it onto your head, then sinks to his knees in an instant, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right above the fabric of your pants. “Will ya’ let me get a taste, colonel?”

You gasp as he hooks his fingers into your waistband and drags your uniform pants down, exposing your trembling legs.

“M-mhmm—”

He shoots you a wicked grin before pressing his mouth against your soaked panties, the heat of his tongue searing even through the fabric. He inhales deeply, humming in approval. “Ya smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your fingers tangle into his dark strands, your other hand clawing at something, anything, as he pulls the damp material aside and licks a slow, teasing stripe over your swollen clit.

Your knees buckle, but he catches you, one strong arm locking around your waist, keeping you upright as he works his tongue over you—circling, flicking, sucking—with a patience that makes your head spin.

“C-Caleb—!”

“Yeahhh, I know,” he growls, dragging his tongue lower, teasing your entrance before dipping inside, his nose brushing against your clit.

The combination of his fingers and his mouth is overwhelming. Heat pools in your core again, another orgasm creeping up on you too soon.

He feels it, senses it, and doubles down—sucking harder, his tongue pressing in deep. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you wide open for him as he feasts.

Your breath hitches, thighs quivering around his head, his hat sliding slightly over your eyes as you tilt your head down, and then—

White-hot pleasure bursts through you, your hands flying to his hair, moans muffled as you bite down on your lip to keep from screaming his name.

Caleb groans against you, lapping up every bit of your sweet juices, his own arousal pressing painfully against his pants.

Just as your body sags against the cool metal wall, the elevator lets out a soft ding.

Your eyes snap open just as the doors begin to slide apart. Panic shoots through you as you scramble to pull up your pants, your legs still shaking.

This absolute bastard just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirk lazy and completely unrepentant.

A fleet officer peers in, eyebrows raised.

“Everything alright in here?”

Caleb shoots you a smirk, taking his hat from you before ruffling your hair teasingly, turning back to the officer. “Oh, we’re doing fine. Time flew by. Am I right, pips'?”

Your breath is still uneven, your mind still clouded from your second orgasm. You struggle to find a normal response, forcing out a weak, “Y-yeah. Time flew.”

The officer gives you an odd look but ultimately shrugs. “Alright then.”

As you step out, still flustered, Caleb leans in, his breath red and heated against your ear.

“Let’s do this again once we’re home,” he whispers, his voice dripping with promise,

“But this time, you squirt on my dick.”

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[ozsvessalius]

watching hps (championship finalist) work on aping the full ver of intense voice on append. actual horror game, y'all. the map has over 4k notes (i think 4.5k exactly) & WILD patterns & at least a couple speed changes. they chose violence when they made this new difficulty fr

[wasyago]

Falls in, i would love to hear about this decked out/failed cave exploration au pls pls pls already i am Bewitched

hehehe [in tango's voice] sighh i suppose...

really im very tempted to just let it sit and not tell anything, because it's so fun seeing people theorize and point out details in the notes. but yeah i guess i shouldn't gatekeep it, its a fun au!

i do want to state in the beginning that it was a one-off thing and i have no plans on continuing it or drawing more for it. if you do tho? feel free! (not asking for fanart by any means, but giving the green light if anyone was wondering)

well

-------

Pet crew were a group of cave explorers. They're no experts by any means but they were no amateurs either! (ignore the fact that they're not wearing any PPE, i didn't want to draw it, ok--) And recently they've been excited about mapping out a new cave system they found, completely unexplored according to their research.

Tango, always a big lover of his plans and spreadsheets, presumably decided to go in alone ahead of time to sketch out at least a rough draft for a map, so they had an idea of what they're going to be dealing with.

But see, this cave is not an ordinary cave, no matter how pristine and untouched it looked. It is one gigantic organism of unknown origin, and a hunrgy one at that, the air inside it is filled with little cells or spores that, when inhaled enough, start taking over the body and corroding it to the cave's will. Killing the host in the process.

So, obviously, after spending some time in the cave by himself, Tango did get some cells in him. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to give him a headstart on the corruption when the group went in for a proper dive some days later.

The first symptoms of undergoing the change are pretty standard: light fever, weakness, dizziness — easy to mistake for a flu.

Which is exactly what Tango did. Of course, going caving with a flu is not a smart thing to do either, but the group has been planning this trip for so long, delaying it even more because someone was slightly under the weather would've been foolish!

The cave started off with a big drop, requiring a rope to be set up, and then sprawled into a system of tunnels. Tango and Pearl were very excited to find an entrance to some ancient tombs a couple of hours into the dive. There were stairs leading even deeper underground, which turned out to be an entrance to a bigger cave system, with a huge frozen lake in the middle and an entrance to abandoned mines.

Further symptoms include skin turning pale, graying hair, eyes starting to shift color to red. Previous symptoms remain and intensify.

Tango had always been pale, he had blond hair too, and in the dark it was hard to notice the white streaks in them. The pink cheeks were easily passed as a result of being in the cold. Pearl did express some concerns about Tango's well-being when he started to fall back a bit, but he dismissed it as just him getting tired. By that point Pearl seemed to also have some "frost" in her hair.

After the hair have fully turned white, the tips start to switch color to an unnatural blue. Skin eventually loses color completely, turning gray. Fever intensifies as body desperately tries to fight the infection.

At that point it was impossible to deny that something was wrong with Tango. There are no mirrors underground though, so to him it was just his flu getting out of hand. Guilty of hiding his illness, yes, but nothing critical. The blue hair however were not normal, and the other two were freaking out a bit more than Tango would've hoped for.

They had an argument.

Etho snapped and hit Tango to beat some sense into his stupid head.

By that point Pearl was clearly looking bad too, and Etho's own hair were apparently turning white. They were all feeling terrible, physically and mentally. They decided to head home.

As previously stated, the cave is in fact alive and can sense when something that belongs to it is trying to escape. In an effort to stop it, the whole cave system comes to life. Old animal carcasses rise and start walking, small screeching creatures begin patrolling the tombs, the ice melts and the cave blooms in dangerous ways.

When the crew exited the mines into the second level of the cave system, it was apparent that the way back would be a lot harder. By that point Tango was struggling to stand and Etho had to drop his equipment to carry him. But the fever and the dizziness were making it hard to move fast, the changed layout of the cave was difficult to navigate even with their map, and the way to the surface was still very and very long. It was obvious they couldn't make it out....

Unless they were willing to make some sacrifices.

Etho isn't proud of his decision, but leaving Tango was their only option! He and Pearl still had a chance to escape if they moved quickly, but Tango was just too far gone, he couldn't-- Etho couldn't carry him to the exit, he was getting too tired, and if they all stuck together it would get all three of them killed! Was it not better for at least two of them to survive instead of-

They had another argument.

Pearl stubbornly insisted on taking Tango, so Etho had to lie to her and say that they will come back once they scout out the way. Etho couldn't force himself to look at Tango though, if he did he would be met with this knowing look and he just couldn't bear it. Tango cried when they were leaving.

After the body succumbs to the fever it stays dead for a short period of time, while the rest of the changes set in.

It took a miracle for both Etho and Pearl to reach the tombs, but the hard part came after. Etho did everything in his power to convince Pearl to leave with him, he said they will come back later when they're better prepared, he said it was too late to help Tango, he said it was Tango's own fault, he said many bad things, none of which were enough to change Pearl's mind. She turned back and Etho didn't follow her.

He ran through the tombs and the caves alone, losing his eye to a monster he saw all too late. It was painful and it was disorienting, Etho doesn't even remember how he got to the initial drop they went down, he was panicking and only moving forward because of adrenaline and instinct. The ascend was a fever dream, Etho doesn't know how he didn't fall to his death then.

Through the rush of blood in his head, Etho heard the faint sound of Tango's voice. Too cheery for his feverish condition, and much, much closer, a lot closer than the place they left him to die in. He did not hear Pearl. The sound stopped when it was right under him, and he felt a light tug on the rope he was hanging of. And nothing else happened...

Etho emerged from the cave into the cold night, stumbling over his own feet, too tired to run. Their van was parked over by the entrance and Gem was already waiting for him. Him — shaking, bloody and alone.

...

The body reanimates again, now obedient to the cave's will. It is no longer alive but it is not dead either, frozen, stalking through the tunnels in a mindless haze.

[inkskinned]

i have spent a few days listening to the music you like. you have a tattoo of the band's logo on your ribs. you got it when you were still kind of a kid. my first tattoo was a bird instead. i did the math - we got our first tattoos in the same calendar year. isn't that kind of cool.

my mom loves hallmark movies, so i grew up thinking love would look like a firework. it feels like one, after all. it's just that my house wasn't safe. i thought love was a weapon, could be pointed at your eyes. could lose a finger to it, or teeth. my father used to say passion is everything. i thought that meant constant fighting was a good thing. i thought that meant love looked like a week of bickering, because it was worth the the weekend's boombox apology. i thought quiet love was boring. i thought love had to blot out everything, compel the body and the mind like puppetry. i thought love looks like ruining your own dinner table - but at least you set a feast.

but love looks like a scarf. your hands smoothing it down my chest, being sure each of the edges are tucked in, worried about my asthma attacks being cold-activated. i race you while i'm wearing heels, you hold my hand to guide me downhill while walking my dog. we dance in my living room to waltz of the flowers, i show you how to hold your arms in proper ballet port de bras. you write a song about looking out of my window while the snow falls. i ask you to text my friends back while i'm driving. you play dj in the front seat. somewhere on route 93, we start murmuring about secret things.

oh. there is a difference between peace and dispassion. it was never that i feared quiet, it's that i didn't know what safe felt like. i liked the chaos because it was familiar, not because it was kind. i think i used to fear the word wife. i didn't like the idea of long, lonely days and being yelled at for small things. i didn't like the idea of sacrificing my one beautiful life.

you meet my friends and make a point to learn things about them. we both get excited about the other person's passions. you read my book for hours, squinting at the small words. i try to understand basic guitar information. we talk for four hours on the phone while i string together a garland. we talk for six hours while you write a poem. i save a pintrest tip for the summer about making paper kites. i plan us a week-long trip to maine, map out my favorite places for an eventual hike. you fall asleep on the ride home, and i turn down the radio so it won't wake you up. your quiet hands fold over mine.

when i look up, the stars are brighter. how carefully you've woven gold into the corners of my life. when i move, i feel some part of my soul reflected back onto you.

oh, love is not a net. it's a blanket.

[bvrnesher]

❝ Jealous headcanons ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: nsfw/sfw content.

— ✦ pairing: Jason grace ! reader.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

Jason doesn’t know what to do with his jealousy. He was trained to lead, to protect, to stay composed. So when he feels that sharp, ugly twist in his gut because someone else touched you, looked at you, laughed too long at your joke? He just… shuts down. Goes quiet. Withdraws.

He’s not loud about it—he’s intense. His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. He watches you with that controlled Roman stillness, eyes like a brewing storm. When you ask what’s wrong? He lies. “Nothing.” But his hands are clenched into fists and he keeps checking where you are in the room.

It festers. And later, alone with you, it snaps. His fingers wrap around your waist harder than usual. His kisses are hungrier, rougher—uncharacteristically so. His voice is low when he says “Mine, okay? You’re… you’re mine.” And he hates how desperate he sounds.

He’s not used to feeling this out of control. So when he finally pushes you against the wall, panting, rutting against you like he’s trying to claim every inch—you realize: he’s embarrassed by how much he wants you. By how easily you make him fall apart.

He’s still Jason, though. He still asks. Even when he’s jealous, even when he’s already inside you—he pauses. Whispers, breathless, “Tell me you want this.” Because he has to hear it. He needs to know you’re choosing him. Not just because he’s strong or golden or “praetor.” But because he’s Jason.

You notice he gets more vocal in bed when he’s jealous. Not dirty talk—reassurance. He calls you “baby,” “sweetheart,” “mine.” He moans your name like a mantra, like he's trying to bury it in your skin with every thrust. His forehead presses to yours, lightning humming under his skin, and he begs: “Stay with me. Please.”

He holds you tighter. Kisses you deeper. After he comes—usually deep inside you, as close as he can get—he doesn’t move. He stays on top of you, arms wrapped around you like he’s scared you’ll slip away the second he lets go. His heart thunders against your chest.

And later, in the dark? He admits it. Not easily. Not without guilt. But you hear him whisper, raw and ashamed: “I got jealous. I know it’s stupid. I trust you. I just—” His voice breaks. “I want you so much it hurts.”

It’s not dominance with Jason—it’s devotion. He doesn’t fuck you because he’s possessive. He fucks you because he loves you too much and doesn’t know how else to cope. You make him feel—and that terrifies him. But gods, he wants more.

He kisses like he’s drowning. When the jealousy’s fresh in his chest, when he’s still shaken from the idea of losing you, Jason doesn’t ease into the moment—he dives. Mouth hot and open against yours, tongue sliding in with a soft groan, like he needs to prove something. His fingers thread into your hair. His chest is heaving. He doesn’t come up for air until he’s breathless and dazed.

His hands roam like he’s mapping your body. Every dip, every scar, every place you gasp when he touches it. He presses kisses to your sternum, trails them down your stomach. He pauses at your hips—just holding them for a second like he’s grounding himself—before pulling your underwear down slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

Jason eats you out like it’s redemption. Face buried between your thighs, arms wrapped under your legs to keep you close. He licks slow at first, savoring every moan you make like it’s permission. But when you tug his hair or roll your hips against his face? He groans low, tongue stroking deeper, more desperate. You come with your thighs trembling around his ears, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps going like he wants to prove you belong to him—through pleasure.

He gets painfully hard from giving. When he’s focused on you—kissing you open, feeling you writhe under his mouth—his cock aches untouched against the bed, leaking into his boxers. He ruts into the sheets a little, barely aware he’s doing it, because the sound of you falling apart is enough to push him right to the edge.

He makes the softest, filthiest sounds when he’s inside you. Not cocky. Not performative. Just breathy, vulnerable little gasps every time you tighten around him. His voice cracks when he moans. His fingers shake where they’re tangled with yours. When you whisper his name, he chokes on a curse and thrusts deeper, like his whole body is pleading—don’t let go.

Jason fucks like he’s making love even when he’s jealous. Especially when he’s jealous. He’s not trying to prove he’s better than anyone. He’s trying to show you that no one else would care this much. His thrusts are slow but hard, grinding deep with every movement, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing, hands clinging like he can’t stand an inch of space between you.

He loves when you touch his chest while he’s inside you. Fingertips brushing his collarbone, nails dragging lightly down his stomach. You call him beautiful, and he blushes so hard it hits his ears, hips stuttering while he presses deeper into you, like he needs to feel all of you in return.

He falls apart when you squeeze around him. You clench, whisper how good he feels, and Jason breaks. He groans into your neck, thrusts turning messy, his whole body trembling with the effort of not coming. “I-I can’t—” he gasps, voice wrecked, burying himself deep one last time as he spills, pulsing inside you with a strangled cry.

He loves to stay inside you after. He softens slowly, but he doesn’t pull out. Not right away. He kisses your cheeks, your jaw, your chest. Whispers how much he loves you. You feel him twitch every time you clench around him again—sensitive, overstimulated, but so content to be as close as possible.

He wants to mark you—but gently. He won’t leave bruises unless you ask. But he’ll suck kisses into your inner thighs. He’ll bite lightly at your shoulder while you ride him. His fingers will linger on the curve of your hips where he gripped you during the worst of his jealousy, eyes locked on the faint red marks with a possessive sort of awe.

Jason gets the most intense afterglow when he’s worked up. He’s floaty. Warm. Smiling in that dazed, lovesick way while he pulls you to his chest. He’ll stroke your hair, kiss your temples, whisper “Thank you” over and over because he’s not used to being allowed to need this much. To be jealous. To feel everything.

He gets a little shy about how desperate he was. Once he’s calmed down, he buries his face in your neck and groans. “I don’t know what got into me.” You tell him you liked it, and he flushes all over again—grinning, but a little overwhelmed that you want him like this. Still.

He’ll go down on you again if he’s still feeling insecure. You tease him, say he doesn’t have to. But he insists, kissing his way between your legs, eyes soft and burning with love. “I just want to take care of you.” And he does. Slowly, with tongue and fingers, until you’re begging, shaking, pulling him up for a kiss as you fall apart.

Jason is feral for praise in the moment. Not dominance—praise. Tell him he’s making you feel good. That no one else could ever touch you like this. That you love how deep he is, how gentle, how intense. His eyes flutter shut, his pace falters, and he whispers something like “I love you so much” just as he starts to come again—hard, full-body spasms, head thrown back, moaning into your name like it’s grace.

He doesn’t want to be your only—he wants to be your favorite. That’s where the jealousy lives. Not in control, but in fear. And when you let him love you through it? When you show him that he is enough, with your hands and your moans and your body trembling under his? That’s when he truly, finally believes it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

He tries to be the "good guy" about it. Jason’s first instinct when he’s jealous is to keep it together, to act like it doesn’t bother him. He’s used to being the leader, the protector—the one who’s supposed to have his emotions in check. But if someone else gets too close to you, it eats at him. He might stay quiet, but you can tell he’s a little more tense, a little more rigid.

Internal conflict: He wants to trust, but it’s hard. Jason is a natural protector, and his jealousy often comes from a place of wanting to make sure you're safe and cared for. He doesn’t want to doubt you, but when someone else makes a move, it stirs up that feeling of not being enough. He can’t help but wonder, What if they’re better for you? This internal battle is what causes the most strain on him. He wants to be the hero, but he doesn’t always feel like he’s your hero.

Subtle actions to “claim” you. When Jason’s jealous, he might not say much, but he becomes possessive in small ways. He’ll wrap his arm around your waist when someone else is getting too close, or his hand will rest on the small of your back—almost like he’s trying to anchor you to him without saying a word. His touch is subtle, but the meaning behind it is clear: You’re mine.

He becomes quieter. When jealousy strikes, Jason tends to withdraw a little. He might not snap at the person who’s making him uncomfortable, but he’ll give short answers or focus on something else, like the task at hand. His mind is racing, and he’s trying to push those thoughts down, but they always come bubbling up. You’ll notice the sudden shift in his demeanor: the way he zones out or his quick, clipped responses.

He’s hard on himself. Jason’s jealousy triggers feelings of inadequacy. He’s constantly questioning himself: Am I enough for you? Do I measure up to the other heroes around you? This self-doubt can cause him to retreat into himself, especially if he feels like someone else is offering something he can’t. He won’t admit it easily, but it’s there—the constant battle in his mind.

Protective, but not overbearing. Jason’s protective nature comes out more intensely when he’s jealous. If someone flirts with you or makes a comment about how great you are, he might find an excuse to put himself between you two. He won’t start a fight, but his presence becomes like a shield. His stance will shift—more rigid, more authoritative—making it clear that he’s the one who gets to be close to you.

He tries to hide it, but the little things give him away. Jason’s not one to show his jealousy outwardly, but you can tell by his body language. He might look at you a little too long when someone else is talking to you, or his gaze will flicker to the other person before returning to you, almost like he’s making sure he has your attention. He might fidget with his sword or tap his fingers against his thigh, a sign that his mind is racing.

He needs reassurance, but he won’t ask for it directly. After a jealous moment, Jason will likely withdraw, not wanting to admit his feelings. But he’ll need you to remind him that he’s your choice. He won’t say it outright, but you’ll notice him seeking small moments of closeness—lingering touches, quiet words, a soft look that says more than he’s willing to say aloud. He needs to hear that you chose him.

He’ll confront it, but only when it’s overwhelming. If his jealousy goes unchecked for too long, Jason’s emotions might come to a boiling point. He won’t get angry or yell, but he’ll pull you aside and quietly tell you that he’s feeling a little insecure, not knowing if he’s measuring up to what you need. It’s not a confrontation; it’s a vulnerable confession. He’s asking for reassurance without demanding it, and he’s trusting you to help him work through it.

His jealousy isn’t about control—it’s about fear of loss. Unlike like Leo, whose jealousy often comes from his own insecurities and need for validation, Jason’s jealousy is more about the fear of losing you. He doesn’t want to control you, but the thought of someone else stealing your attention, making you feel seen in ways he can't, hurts him deeply. He doesn’t want to be possessive, but sometimes the fear of losing you overrides his rational thoughts.

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Heart On The Map ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : Harry’s secret affection for you quite literally glows, and a certain map reveals more than just footsteps. It's cozy, romantic, and sprinkled with the perfect amount of mischief.

warnings : Extreme fluff (like heart-squeezing, kiss-you-softly fluff), Secondhand embarrassment (Harry being adorably awkward), Teasing from friends (Ron and Hermione’s chaos), Magical PDA (glowing hearts on enchanted maps 💘), Slight possessiveness (in the “you’re mine and I worship you” way), Uncontrollable grinning and swooning may occur (reader beware). Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 1.1k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @saradika-graphics

There were many things Harry Potter kept secret.

Like how he added double sugar to his tea when Hermione wasn’t looking. Like how he practiced his “relaxed, totally cool” smile in the mirror every time he passed you in the corridor. And most sacred of all—more than the passwords to Dumbledore’s office or the secret of the Chamber—was the Marauder’s Map.

But not for the reason you might think.

You see, somewhere between sixth year’s chaos and seventh’s slow-burning hush, Harry Potter had done something rather... sentimental. And completely irrational, if you asked Ron (which Harry never did).

He’d charmed a heart—small and shimmering—onto the very parchment the Marauders created, and it glowed, ever so softly, around one specific dot. Yours.

Not Ginny. Not Cho. You. The girl who laughed like a spell misfiring. The girl who once beat Malfoy at chess and made it look like art. The girl who borrowed his quill and returned it with tiny daisies drawn all over the feather.

And worst of all—or best, depending on how you looked at it—the girl who had no idea.

── .✦

It started on a Thursday.

A rainy, sleepy sort of Thursday, where the windows of the common room wept soft silver trails and the fire crackled with just enough drama to be comforting.

You flopped beside Harry on the couch with a groan that could’ve summoned a Healer.

“I’ve written ‘henceforth’ six times in this essay. Is that even legal?”

Harry laughed, setting the map aside (too quickly, if anyone were watching).

“You could say 'thus' instead,” he offered, but you shook your head.

“No. I’m reclaiming henceforth. It’s powerful. It’s poetic. It’s—” You paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait… was that the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry went rigid, like someone had hit him with a mild Petrificus Totalus. “Um. No?”

You arched a brow.

He sighed. “Yes.”

And before he could think—before his brain could outrun his heart—you were leaning over him, plucking the parchment off the cushion like it owed you answers.

It opened easily in your hands, revealing the winding paths and pulsing names. You blinked.

“Wait. Is that… a heart?”

Silence. A heartbeat. A single crack from the fire.

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Light, Slayer of Serpents and Secrets, turned beet red.

“I—it’s just… it’s not a big—okay, yes, it’s a heart,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s dumb, I know. I can remove it—”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly soft.

He peeked at you through his fingers.

You were staring at the heart-shaped glow, your own name twinkling in its center like stardust caught in moonlight.

“It’s cute,” you whispered. Then smirked. “Slightly stalker-ish. But cute.”

He groaned, flopping backward dramatically, his glasses askew.

“Why am I like this?”

You leaned closer, your hair brushing his shoulder, voice low and warm.

“Because you’re completely whipped for me, Potter.”

He made a strangled noise. “I am not whipped.”

You gently tapped his chest. “Then explain the heart on the ancient, priceless magical document.”

“I just… like knowing where you are,” he muttered. “So I can walk you to class. Or sit near you at lunch. Or save you a seat in the library.”

You bit your lip, your heart doing acrobatics. “That’s… very sweet. And sort of terrifying. But mostly sweet.”

Harry looked up at you then, every ounce of Gryffindor bravery burning in his stupidly green eyes.

“I like you, you know,” he said, breathless. “Really like you. Possibly dangerously. You make me forget how to speak in complete sentences sometimes.”

You smiled, slow and blooming.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I like you, too.”

And then, in the hush of the firelight and the steady tap of rain, you leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Honest. Like a promise and a poem had collided into lips.

Somewhere beneath the couch, the Marauder’s Map pulsed. The heart glowed brighter.

Harry Potter, for once, didn’t care who saw.

── .✦

It had been three days since the Marauder’s Map incident.

Three days since Harry had declared his undying affection with a magical glowing heart. Three days since you’d kissed him and made his brain short-circuit like a faulty Remembrall. Three days of absolute, uninterrupted, lovesick bliss.

Unfortunately, three days was also about as long as it took Ron Weasley to notice anything.

── .✦

"What's that glowing on the map?"

It happened during a perfectly innocent evening in the common room. You were working on homework. Harry had pulled out the map for “patrolling purposes” (translation: to check where you were every seven minutes). And Ron, bless his nosy soul, had leaned over his shoulder mid-yawn.

Harry froze. The map, sprawled open across his lap, was very clearly displaying your name, outlined in the shape of a fluttering, glowing, pulsating heart.

“Oh,” Ron said. “Oh. Oh?”

Harry panicked.

“That’s—nothing. A bug. A map bug. One of those… cartographical hexes.”

“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “There is a literal love heart glowing around her name. What sort of maps have bugs shaped like affection?”

Hermione, already suspicious, looked up from her book. “What love heart?”

Ron grabbed the parchment and pointed like he’d discovered Atlantis.

“This! Look! Look at it twinkling, Hermione. Twinkling! Like it’s in love!”

Hermione took one look and broke into the most insufferable smirk this side of the Black Lake.

“Harry,” she said sweetly, too sweetly. “Did you… customize the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it!”

“Oh my God,” Ron said, now thoroughly scandalized. “This is worse than when Fred used the map to track Angelina’s bathroom schedule.”

You, meanwhile, were trying (and failing) not to laugh. “So… I’m twinkling now?”

Hermione was grinning. “Darling, you’re radiant. You have a magical beacon of Harry Potter’s undying affection around your name.”

“UNDYING AFFECTION?!” Harry squeaked.

Ron looked personally betrayed. “You put a heart on the map and didn’t tell me? What happened to bro code?”

“Ron, you nearly hexed yourself trying to flirt with a portrait last week.”

“That portrait winked at me!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re both hopeless.”

You leaned into Harry’s shoulder, cheek pressed to his robe, and murmured, “You can keep the heart, by the way. It’s cute.”

Harry turned red. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Really,” you hummed. “Might make one for your name next time.”

Ron clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him with a Cupid’s arrow. “I swear, if I see two glowing hearts, I’m transferring to Durmstrang.”

“Can’t,” Hermione said without looking up. “They’d never survive your emotional constipation.”

“Oi!”

── .✦

The heart stayed on the map. You added a star next to his name the next day. Ron did, in fact, see it and screamed into a pillow. Hermione stole the map once just to annotate it with color-coded bookmarks.

And Harry?

He just looked at you every time it glowed, whispered “she’s mine”, and blushed so deeply even the Fat Lady giggled.

[littlelamy]

Rafe & Reader idea: He’s afraid of not being good enough for her and her realizing that she deserves better, so at a party, a guy talks to her (friendly) and he gets in his head not wanting to lose her. Not in a toxic way, but that night, he makes love to her to really show how much he loves her, being super clingy and needy, refusing to let go of her after

he can’t get the image out of his head.

you, smiling up at that guy. laughing, tucking your hair behind your ear in that way you always do when you’re a little nervous. it was nothing. he knows it was nothing. but the thought latches onto him, sinking deep, poisoning the edges of his mind.

he knows he’s not the best man. knows he’s rough around the edges, knows he’s not always as soft as he should be. and what if you wake up one day and realize you deserve better?

it terrifies him.

so now, back at home, in the quiet safety of your shared space, he’s gripping you like a man possessed. holding onto you like you might slip through his fingers if he lets go. his hands are hungry, dragging over your skin, mapping the familiar curves of you like he’s committing them to memory. his lips press over every inch of you, hot and desperate.

you feel the difference in him tonight—the urgency, the silent plea woven into every touch, every breath. his weight pins you beneath him, his broad frame caging you in, his thighs pressing yours apart with no room for protest. he buries his face in your neck as he pushes into you, stretching you open with one slow, aching thrust.

a choked gasp leaves your lips, your nails biting into his back. “God—”

he groans at the way you cling to him, the way your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him deeper like you were made for this, made for him. he doesn’t move right away, just stays there, filling you, stretching you, letting you feel every thick inch of him pressing deep inside.

“love you,” he whispers, over and over, like you might forget. like you might not know. “i love you so much—don’t wanna lose you.”

his hips roll, slow at first, teasing, dragging against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. but it isn’t enough. his need is raw, overwhelming, clawing at his chest, and soon, slow isn’t an option. he thrusts harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, each movement punctuated by the low, wrecked sounds leaving his throat.

you moan for him, gasping, your fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arch into him. “you won’t lose me,” you murmur, voice all honey and heat, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “never.”

but the thought still lingers, gnawing at the edges of his mind, so he fucks you harder, needing you to feel it, needing you to understand. his grip tightens, one hand sliding down to grab your thigh, wrenching it higher as he drives into you, each thrust deeper, rougher, more punishing.

you cry out, your body trembling, your slick making it easier for him to bury himself to the hilt with every snap of his hips. he’s relentless, fucking into you like he can stamp his name into your very bones, like he can brand himself into your soul with every inch he gives you.

“mine,” he growls against your throat, biting down, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “say it.”

you whimper, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure coursing through you in waves, leaving you breathless. “yours,” you gasp. “always.”

he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he picks up again, chasing the edge. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, pinning your wrists, cradling your jaw as he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing your moans.

you’re close. he can feel it in the way your body clenches around him, the way your moans break, turning into desperate little whimpers as he fucks you through it. he shifts, angling his hips just right, and you shatter, pleasure crashing over you so hard you nearly sob, your body locking up beneath him, walls spasming around his cock.

the tight, pulsing heat of you is too much, dragging him over the edge with a rough, broken groan. he buries himself deep, grinding against you as he spills inside, filling you with everything he has, everything he is.

even after, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. his arms stay locked around you, his breathing heavy, his heart hammering against yours.

and when you try to shift, to move, he just holds you tighter, murmuring, “stay. just stay like this.”

so you do. you let him cling to you, let him press messy kisses against your temple, let him hold you so close it feels like he’s trying to merge you into him.

“you’re everything,” he mumbles sleepily, fingers tracing circles against your back. “don’t need anything else. just you.”

you kiss his jaw, soft, sweet. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and finally, finally, he lets out a breath, his body melting into yours, his grip still tight but no longer desperate.

notes: thank you for sending a request! 💗

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

[brain4stew]

Sooo, I don’t write much for forsaken x reader, but a silly idea here from me, to other writers (possibly).

A reader that’s either sleepy 24/7 or could sleep 24/7, like a fucking hibernating bear.

• (In my case, it’d be both, so let me write for that rq.), (Only idea related, I guess??)

• If you’re a survivor, then damn, either you’re lucky to be the last one remaining, and the killer leaving you alone to win, due to you either sleeping, or being too sleepy to even stand. Or you could be unlucky as hell, and end up dead first, spotted first or attacked first.

• Other survivors worry about you dying first, or dying in general in rounds. (Especially Elliot, that guy gets some sort of heart attack.)

• Either you’re with a survivor you spawn together with, or you’re just, going to a corner of the map and just, either sitting there and wait the timer out, or you’re sleeping in the said corner.

• God forbid the killer is C00lkidd… He’ll probably go for you first, to “Get your energy back!” As he says it.

• On another note, if it is Mafioso, he’ll just scare and chase you in the dreamscapes… So you’ll basically have a nightmare of that.

• Thankfully, Jason, 1x1x1x1, John Doe, Azure, Noli and the other killers leave you be. (Maybe not 1x4 but… It’s possible they’ll leave you be.)

• If you’re a killer, then you’ll just be an event killer. You’ll spawn with another killer, and you’ll be able to either stand where you spawned, or sleep where you spawned. You’ll also be invincible for around 40 seconds within the start of the round. It could come back, but only if the killer companion of yours is close by you for 5 seconds.

• (It gives your fellow killer companion 20 more stamina, and gives survivors drowsiness 1 for the duration of the rounds you’re in it. Drowsiness means that the survivors visions will be outlined with a bit of black “smoke”, obscuring their visions. Not only that, but occasionally they will “blink” and yawn, which will be a problem for the survivors. If the survivor tends to yawn loudly, then your killer companion will be notified of the survivor.)

• Now, Mafioso paired with you, might be a very hard challenge for the survivors. For if you’re sleeping, or just staying by the killer spawn and probably fall asleep standing, Mafioso can actually get to where you are rather quickly. Thanks to the dreamscapes. (There’s a cooldown ofc, of 60 seconds.)

• Each survivor and killer have different opinions on you, whether you’re a killer or a survivor yourself. It varies on how it is to be around you, how you act and all of that.

• I have a feeling that the survivors do NOT trust you to be asleep, or even remotely close to Two Time, due to their past, and all that. The survivors might have a debate on whether they’ll allow 007n7 to be close to you or not however, due to his past actions.

• The killers all agree that 1x4, Mafioso and C00lkidd should NOT be near you. If you’re sleeping or not. Mainly because, 1x4 literally hates anyone and everything? Mafioso… Due to the dreamscapes and all of that… C00lkidd is pretty self explanatory. Hyper little kid.

• Jason, Azure and I think Guest 666 will be able to be around you, even if you’re asleep or just sleepy in general. Mainly because they won’t be too loud around you, and because they don’t do much, unless they’re in a round. (Jason legit can’t talk.)

• Out of every survivor, I’d assume that Taph, Dusekkar, Elliot, Guest 1337, Builderman and Noob will be the safest around you. Mainly Guest 1337 though, as he’s got quite high senses due to his past, and because he had to be on high alert for any enemies from war.

• Dusekkar would probably just put a noise canceling shield on you, so you’d be able to sleep without too much noise. Taph is naturally quiet, they only speak with emoji’s, so it’d probably be sign language. They’d also hold back on testing their subspace trip mine when you’re nearby.

• Noob would just be grateful that you even trust them enough to be sleepy, or even sleep near them. They feel like they have a “objective” to help you sleep. Elliot is also just glad you trust him enough to be sleepy or sleep around him, it also eases down his own stress levels.

• Builderman would make sure that you’re REALLY protected when you’re sleeping. He’d even build a sleeping dispenser nearby for you, quietly of course, just so you’ll get some ambience and fairly “fresh” air.

[bludhavents]

Professor Tavis

pairing: boyfriend!garrick tavis x reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: When hear about Garrick's new job from Xaden, you start to question why Garrick didn't tell you himself. He makes it up to you in the best way possible.

warnings: 18+ ONLY. smut. porn with plot. brief description of panic attack. professor kink tehe. unprotected p in v. fem!reader. ridoc being a protective best friend. super minor onyx storm spoiler.

Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.”

I can’t help but gape at the title given to my boyfriend. The title I am just now hearing for the first time. My head snaps up to gawk at him along with the rest of my squad. He winces, but slides by me on the steps and follows after Xaden without looking back. 

All of my friend’s eyes turn away from the men as they disappear and focus on me instead. 

“Professor?” Bodhi frowns. “Since when?”

I meet his round brown eyes and shrug my shoulders, turning back to face the map on the table. Apparently, I’m the only one who remembers that we’re trying to plan out our flight path. The rest of the group is murmuring around me now, gossiping about Professor Tavis. I try my best not to feel scuffed at the fact that I’m learning about my boyfriend’s new job along with the rest of my squad. Except, apparently, not all of them were so oblivious.

“He told me about it over breakfast. They just asked him to accept this morning,” Imogen says, and I straighten in my seat. She’s always been interested in my boyfriend, which is enough to make me jealous as is. Him confiding in her about his new status before telling me feels like a punch in the gut. Then, she piles on top of that feeling. “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird.”

The hair on my skin raises uncomfortably under my leathers. I swallow hard. 

“Shut up, Imogen.” Ridoc slaps her on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Let’s refocus,” Rhiannon supplies, drawing her finger from Basgiath to one of the isles on the map. I can’t make out which one it is through the unshed tears that are stinging in my eyes. “This route could work.”

The group argues again, all speaking over one another as they shove their fingers onto the paper and suggest their own ideas. My mind races as I sit amongst them, drifting through my recent memories with Garrick in an attempt to recall any reason why he’d have withheld this from me, but I come up with nothing. A small sigh leaves my mouth as I continue to stir over the pit in my stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Bodhi asks, looking up from the map.

“Nothing! I’m just tired.” I rub my eyes and blink hard, trying to force myself back into the moment to help my squadmates formulate the plan. Ridoc nods from next to me, leaning his head onto my shoulder with a dramatic yawn. 

“Me too. Can we break for nap time?” He smiles cheekily at our friends. Every single one of them rolls their eyes at his antics, but Rhiannon relents. 

“Yeah. We can come back after dinner and look at it with fresh eyes,” she says, folding the map up on the table and tucking it into her bag. We’d been here over an hour already. “I’m gonna head to the training room if anyone wants to spar.”

Violet, Sawyer, Aaric, and Sloane all break off with her. The rest of the group goes their own ways, and Ridoc stays with me as we head toward the dorm wing of the castle. His footsteps are wider than mine, his long legs guiding him easily down the corridor. 

“Never took you for a teacher’s pet,” he teases, looking down at me with a wide grin that shows all his teeth. I laugh, shaking my head. 

“Didn’t know I was one. Gods, I can’t believe he would tell Imogen before me. I mean Xaden, I get, but Cardulo? What in Malek’s name did I do to deserve that blow?” I let myself rant to him. Nobody else is in the hallway around us. There’s no reason to hide my disdain for my situation when I already know that he’s tuned into my agitation anyway. 

“I wanted to punch her in the mouth!” He shouts, throwing his hands up. “I mean if you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least have some tact about it.”

My heart twists and pounds in my chest. Homewrecker. The humor of the situation is abruptly drained from my body. My pulse quickens quickly, and my jacket suddenly fits too snugly. I grab his wrist and stop walking, turning to face him with hot cheeks. 

“You don’t really think…” My voice trails off, not wanting to think about the possibility of Garrick and Imogen having any sort of secret relationship. 

“No, no, gods, no,” he hurries out, quickly taking a step toward me and wrapping me into a tight hug. He speaks softly into my hair. “I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. You know that Garrick loves you more than anything. It’s pathetic and weird and I’m so jealous of it. He’d never do that to you. Gods know Imogen has tried, though.”

I relax a little at that, but I can’t help the sob that rips through my chest. The past hour has been utterly overwhelming, and it feels like I can’t breathe through the stress. Ridoc holds me tight, running a hand up and down my arm as I wet his leathers with my tears. 

It’s suddenly too hot. I fumble with the zipper of my jacket, trying desperately to get it off of my body as anxiety surges. Ridoc replaces my hands with his on the zipper, then quickly unbuttons the collar and slides my jacket off of my shoulders. He tucks it under his arm and takes a step back. My chest aches with the force of my sobs. After a minute passes and I show no signs of stopping, he sweeps my legs off of the ground and carries me bridal style toward the dorm hall. 

My face stays buried in his shoulder the entire way, uncontrollably wailing. I try wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my undershirt, but it’s no use. The floodgates have opened and the tears just keep coming. It’s a panic attack.

“It’s okay, we’re almost to your room,” he says sweetly, pushing open a set of double doors with his hip. He keeps walking. “Deep breaths. Almost there.”

“What the hell happened?” A familiar voice echoes through the hallway, and a new set of tears rises behind my eyes, spilling over quickly as I choke out a sob. Ridoc stiffens beneath me as I dig my fingers into him, holding myself close to him. 

The anxiety that’s running through my blood isn’t just about the thought of being cheated on, because I know deep down that Garrick would never do that to me. It’s just overwhelming to have Imogen’s snarky comment on top of the stress of planning our trip to the isles, and keeping Xaden’s secret safe from the others. It’s too much, and it’s all weighing on me now.

Ridoc’s steps slow, and he bends over at the waist, setting me back on my feet gently. I release my grip on him only after he places a hand on my upper back. Through my tears, I first see the wetness running down his leather jacket, racing from the collar down to his stomach. Then, I look away from him and see Garrick towering over us, right next to my door. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Ridoc moves a gentle hand to the back of my head before turning and shoving my jacket into Garrick’s chest, matching his mean scowl with one of his own. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m the one who brought her here, Professor.”

“Don’t start, Gamlyn,” he bites back. His knuckles are white where he’s holding my jacket.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you. It seems to be getting you in trouble a lot recently.” He crosses the hallway and steps into his room, slamming the door shut loudly behind him. Garrick’s lips are pressed together tightly, chest heaving with angry breaths. His eyes trail away from our friend and land back on me, softening as he rests a calloused palm on my wet cheek and tilts my chin up to face him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His tone is pleading, and hot tears keep falling down my face as I stare into his hazel eyes and search for my answers. If he was cheating on me, would I see it in his revealing eyes? I don’t notice anything different. When I look into him, I still see only my Garrick. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He opens my door with one hand, using the other to urge me in front of him. He guides me all the way to the edge of my bed and sets my leathers next to me as I take a seat there. His tall form shrinks to my height as he kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my hips. 

“Sweetheart, please talk to me,” he begs, squeezing my skin. 

“I’m just a little overwhelmed.” I drag my cold palms over my face to wipe away the drying tears and take a deep breath, willing them to stop falling. “Everyone was asking me questions about you becoming a professor, and I didn’t know anything about it, you never told me. Then Imogen starts answering all of them, and I just-- I don’t know. It really upset me, I think, to have her know more about what’s going on with you than I do. Then when we were walking back here, I started thinking that maybe there’s a reason you would tell her before telling me, and I just…”

Garrick flinches in front of me and moves his hands to cup my jaw. His hazel eyes burn into my skin and force me to meet his gaze. I see his lips parted in shock and a deep furrow between his thick brows. He opens his mouth as if to start talking, but hesitates, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits, running a thumb to catch a stray tear in the corner of my eye. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never ever meant to make you think that I was going behind your back. I promise you, with all of my heart, that you are the only person I’ve wanted to tell all day.”

“Why didn’t you?” My voice breaks, and I gnaw on the skin of my bottom lip. 

“I didn’t tell Imogen, first of all-- Xaden did. While we were eating breakfast, which was right after I’d gotten back from the meeting where they told me about the job offer.” He grasps my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin. I sigh, letting my free hand brush the hair above his ear. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. That’s just what she told everyone,” I apologize, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“Don’t apologize, I don’t blame you at all,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry that you heard it from someone else. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but you weren’t at breakfast, and then I got pulled into another meeting to discuss lesson plans, and then by the time I got out, everyone was working on the flight paths with you. I wanted to be able to sit down and have a discussion with you about it in private without everyone listening, and then fucking Riorson ruined that. I should’ve just asked you to come talk with me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”

I stare at the man in front of me, watching his chest rise and fall with slow breaths. A sweet smile graces his full lips as I hiccup, finally taking in my first full breath all day. His shaggy hair falls into his face as he bends over. I watch as his strong hands delicately untie my boots before sliding them off of my feet one at a time. It feels like I’ve been bathed in a pool of relief and his words are the water that cradles me.

“Come here,” I swing my legs onto the bed and pat the spot next to me. He removes his own shoes and lays in the empty spot, wrapping an arm around my body and tugging me into his side. Our eyes meet where we lay, and I press a kiss to his lips. My body melts into the taste of him, but I relent, pulling away. He groans in disapproval. 

“Why?” He whines. I giggle, feeling at ease here in his arms. He smirks down at me and leans in for another kiss, but I put my finger to his lips instead. 

“I want to hear about this job!” I prop myself up on my elbows, laying on my stomach as he narrows his eyes at me in disdain. Looking at the man in front of me, I wonder how I ever got myself so worked up. There’s nothing but concentrated love in his eyes right now, and it’s all for me.

“Later. Come kiss me right now, I’ve missed you.” He sits up, grasping my cheek and bringing his mouth to mine. I sigh into the kiss and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue through my parted lips. My hand on his chest pushes him back against the mattress, not breaking the kiss as I follow him down. 

We’re thinking the same thing, his fingers grabbing my hips to lift me onto his lap, but I’m already lifting my leg to straddle him. He pulls away from the kiss and attaches his lips to my jaw. I can feel his smile against my skin.

“Good, sweetheart,” he praises, “you know just what I need.”

I settle onto him, my thighs clenching either side of his hips. He uses his hold on my waist to push my body down harder onto him, a groan rising in the back of his throat as he rubs me over his clothed dick. Gripping me roughly, he drags me back and forth over and over. I press sloppy kisses up his neck and along his jaw, leaving one just below his ear before lightly grazing my teeth over his earlobe. 

Every part of him is solid beneath me. Solid arms, solid chest, solid stomach, and a solid dick working me just right. Garrick Tavis drives me crazy.

“I need you,” he says, stopping his movements and turning to stare into my eyes. His pupils are blown, revealing only the faintest sliver of hazel around them. I kiss him softly. Garrick has always been a tease. I appreciate getting to return the favor sometimes, and the perfect idea has presented itself. I kiss him again and he groans, bucking his hips up. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

“What do you need from me, Professor Tavis?” I fiend innocence, voice soft and low, looking at him with wide eyes that I’m certain are just as lust-blown as his. Garrick’s lips part and the next kiss he drags from my lips is feverish. His hands are gripping at my shirt, tearing it off of my body with no regard and discarding it to the floor carelessly. 

He grips my ass roughly, and I squeal as I’m suddenly lifted off of his lap and flipped onto my back, staring up at my boyfriend as he unzips his jacket and slides out of it easily. I sit up to help him with his shirt, but he pushes me back down.

“I’m a professor and you’re a cadet, our relationship is strictly off limits.” He slides his shirt over his head, and my pulse stutters. I reach a hand out to feel his packed muscle, trailing my fingers down the patch of hair that starts at his navel and dips below his waistband. He inhales sharply.

“Off limits?” I don’t look at him, instead I work on unfastening the belt around his waist. My gaze drifts below my hands, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth at the sight of the bulge straining against his pants. 

“Strictly. So I need you to be really quiet for me, sweetheart.” He rakes his hand through my hair, fisting it gently at the base of my neck and pulling so that I meet his eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Professor Tavis.” I nod quickly. He removes my hands from his crotch and steps off the bed. I frown, rolling to protest, but he’s quick to shut me up. 

“Take your pants off.” He’s already stepping out of his. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I don’t question him, the angry red tip of his stiff cock saying enough to prove that he’s being honest. My bottoms slide off quickly. I shove my panties off with them, baring myself to the desperate man in front of me.

“Bra.” Garrick’s voice is tight. He’s fisting himself, but not pumping at all. He’s waiting for me to follow his instructions. I unhook my bra and shrug it off. He hums in appraisal, bringing his eyes to my bare chest. I revel in the way his eyebrows knit together, like he’s physically pained by my beauty. This is what it felt like to be loved. 

“Professor Tavis?” I stand up from the bed, walking toward him slowly. He inhales sharply as I pause in front of him, nearly pressing my skin to his. “What should I do next?”

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.” He smoothes the hair at the top of my head as he commands me so sweetly. Seeing him like this, so affected by me, is driving me crazy. 

I lower myself to my knees in front of him, wetting my lips as I become eye level with his dick. Pre-cum is already leaking from the tip, and I open my mouth to lap it up, but he cradles my face and stops me gently. My eyes meet his as he towers above me, shaking his head softly. 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to put your hand between your legs.” My breath catches in my throat in surprise. We’re both so desperate, and he’s dragging this out for so long, but I can’t find it in myself to argue with him as his cock twitches when I lower my hand down my stomach and dip it between my legs. The moan that tumbles from my lips is immediate. Garrick’s foreplay made my clit swell, and it’s the most sensitive that I’ve felt as I begin to stroke myself with my fingers. Letting the noises of pleasure escape as I start grinding with my hips is uncontrollable. 

“Professor Tavis,” I moan loudly as my head falls back. “Please fuck me. Please make me cum.”

I’m shocked when one strong arm wraps around my waist and hoists me up, but I don’t hesitate to wrap my legs around his waist. All plans of sucking him off are abandoned. He holds me tightly to him, molding his mouth to mine so fiercely that our teeth bump. The head of his cock teases my entrance and I gasp at the sensation. It takes him only two steps to reach the bed, where he pulls his mouth away from mine and lays me out on my stomach. The loss of contact makes me whimper.

“You’ve gotta be quiet for me,” he coos. His rough hands are a sharp contrast to his saccharine voice as he lifts my ass into the air and kneads it. I groan, jutting my hips back, and he tsks. “What’d I say? Quiet for me baby. Don’t make me tell you again. Can you do that for me? Can you shut that pretty mouth while I fuck you?”

The moan that leaves my lips is unstoppable, and he laughs darkly behind me before pulling my hips back. My cheeks flush at his laugh. 

“I want to be good for you, Professor. Please let me try.” He inhales sharply and then aligns his tip at my entrance. I push my hips back slowly, and he’s the one who can’t keep to himself this time. 

“Oh, fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, grabbing my ass and pushing himself further into me. I gasp as he bottoms out inside of me, feeling overwhelmingly full. 

He leans down over me, leaving a trail of kisses up my spine. His lips pause at my neck, and he bites me softly. 

“You’re such a good girl for me. So fucking good. Thank you, sweetheart.” He straightens his spine and pulls his hips back so far that the tip of his dick is barely inside of me, before he slams into me. I whine, my walls stretched out by his thick cock, but he only pulls out again, leaving me to wait before he rams into me another time, cursing as he finds a steady pace. His cock is moving at the perfect speed. I moan as he hits a sweet spot, and I feel him focus as he hits it again, and again, and again. 

I cry out. “Oh gods. Just like that. Right there.”

He keeps his thrusts perfect and steady, pushing me closer to my edge. Once his fingers wrap around my front and find my swollen clit, I let out a shaky breath. He continues his punishing pace as his finger circles my clit once, then twice, and it’s the perfect combination. I’m shattering around him immediately, my legs shaking. 

“Professor Tavis!” Waves of pleasure ripple through me, my orgasm prolonged by him chasing his own now, his dick pushing into me roughly. I’m still squeezing him, wetness dripping down my legs as he hits the perfect spot. “Fuck!”

“Fuck, I love you so much, sweetheart,” he moans, pace quickening before he stills. I tighten at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of me, filling me up with his release. He exhales deeply, fanning my spine with hot air. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking dream.”

He places a firm hand on my ass as he starts to pull his dick out, but hisses with the motion, and then pushes himself back inside. I turn my head to look back at him, watching as he does it again, backing himself out almost all of the way and then sliding back in. His eyes are fixed on the point where he’s entering, watching with deep breaths as he repeats it one more time.

“Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. I don’t want to leave.” His voice is strained with pleasure, gaze trailing from where I’m wrapped around him up to my ass, then my back, and then he meets my face. The fire in his eyes is enough to melt me.

“So don’t. Stay inside and come lay with me,” I suggest, hoping that he does just that. He smirks and lowers himself onto the bed with me, holding me close to keep himself inside as he adjusts us so that we’re spooning now. I lay my head on his arm and sigh contentedly. 

“I love you, sweetheart. That was fucking hot.” He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I giggle, finding that I could really get used to this new job of his. 

[galaxy-stardust]

Task Force 141 x you

"Operation: Bunny Trail Bravo"

It started as a joke - your idea of fun, and a little chaos.

But when you brought it to Price, pulling him aside with that spark in your eye, he didn’t laugh it off.

He saw the potential. Not just to blow off steam, but to watch how his boys operated under pressure... even if that pressure came from neon-colored plastic eggs and booby-trapped bunny trails.

"You know what they’ll say when they find out this was your idea, right?" he muttered with a smirk as you both stared at the hand-sketched course map.

You grinned. “They’ll thank me. Eventually.”

Day of the Hunt

Soap was the first to arrive, arms folded, already suspicious. "Right. This isn’t a real op, is it? Because if I get shot chasing some glittery egg, I’m suing someone."

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Suing? Who you gonna call, mate? The Easter Bunny?”

Ghost stood quietly behind them, arms crossed, masked and unreadable. But you knew. You felt the faintest shift when his eyes flicked to you, caught your slight nod to the cameras, and knew you were watching.

And he knew you had something planned - for him.

Price laid it out like a mission briefing, full military tone.

“Find the eggs. Each one has a task, a clue. Some are solo challenges. Some need teamwork. There’s a golden egg. Only one. Win it, and... you’ll find out.”

“Great,” Gaz muttered. “Is it filled with chocolate or humiliation?”

The Hunt Begins

Soap tore off like a wild animal, slipping on a patch of mud, cursing you by name.

Gaz got stuck in a riddle that required basic Morse code. You watched from the monitors as he groaned, “She’s evil, Price. She’s actually evil.”

They all hit their limits.

A balance beam over muddy water. A sniper’s nest challenge.

A scavenger clue that led Soap directly into a patch of thorns.

And Ghost? Ghost didn’t rush. He was deliberate. His egg trails were harder - stealth-based, puzzle-heavy.

Price made sure of that. But one of the final eggs… was yours.

Ghost cracked it open behind a crumbled wall away from the others. Inside: a sleek black dog tag on a silver chain. No name. Just engraved initials - yours - and one tiny word on the back:

Mine.

Tucked beneath it, a scrap of folded paper.

“You know where to find me when it’s over. But you’d better come armed.”

He stared at it longer than necessary. Ran his thumb along the tag. Let it clink against his gloved palm. A sound only he heard. Then he slipped it under his shirt and walked off - wordless.

Price, watching from another monitor, murmured into his comms, “He found it.”

You smiled. “Told you he would.”

After the Hunt

Soap was soaked. Gaz was muddy. Price was smug.

And Simon? He didn’t say a word. Just walked straight past them, straight to you.

Found you waiting in the gear room - quiet, dimly lit, alone. The door clicked shut behind him.

You barely had time to speak before he was in front of you, pulling the tag from under his shirt, letting it sway between you both.

“This,” he said, voice low, “was cruel.”

You tilted your head. “Was it?”

He stepped closer. “Because now I want the real thing.”

And when he kissed you - rough and slow, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins - it was like claiming territory. No chocolate egg could ever compare.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

NEED jonnhy and reader with a dynamic like "someone's gonna die 😐" "OF FUN! 😎" maybe she's the introvert he adopted back in highschool and they just, stayed together. maybe they're so different that it just ... works. (pretty sure he finds it funny because she reminds him of ghost sometimes, got that same dead stare)

Dead Stare, Loud Mouth

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, slow-burn tension, brief mention of combat sims, jealousy, friends-to-lovers tension, fluff, mutual pining, classic Soap chaos.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!

Summary: From high school shadows to military partners, you and Soap have always been a study in opposites—his loud mouth and your dead stare somehow making the perfect team. But years of banter and loyalty start to unravel something neither of you expected: deeper feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

NOW

“Alright, team,” Price started, his voice clipped and sharp. “This is a live sim. Keep your heads on straight.”

You were already eyeing the map, silent, calculating. Meanwhile, Johnny was bouncing on his heels like a kid on a sugar rush.

“This is gonna be so fun,” he grinned, practically vibrating.

You didn’t look up. “Someone’s gonna die.”

He gasped, offended. “OF FUN!”

Your eyes slid to him—slow, unamused, the stare of someone who has not once in her life enjoyed a game of laser tag, let alone a real-life combat exercise with proximity mines and a countdown timer.

Johnny elbowed you gently, grinning. “C’mon, Sprite. Not even a little excited?”

“There are actual landmines.”

“Which makes it a challenge,” he countered proudly, puffing his chest like a Scottish peacock.

“You’re going to break something.”

“My record for Most Heroic Idiot? Aye, probably.”

Ghost, standing nearby, made a small huffing noise—maybe a laugh. Maybe a sigh. Hard to tell with the mask.

“Tell me she doesn’t remind you of me,” he muttered to Ghost.

Ghost gave you a long glance—blank stare, stillness like a waiting blade. Then he nodded once.

Johnny beamed.

——

THEN — HIGH SCHOOL

He saw you for the first time sitting on the back steps behind the gym, hoodie up, earbuds in, reading some massive book that looked like it could knock a man out cold. You didn’t even glance up when the door creaked open and he stepped out.

You just turned the page.

“Hey,” he said, plopping down beside you without permission. “What’re you readin’?”

Silence.

“You always this social?”

Still nothing.

He leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the book cover. You tilted it slightly away from him. Cold. Icy.

He whistled. “Damn. That’s cold. I like it.”

That made you look at him. Just for a second. Eyes flat, unimpressed, utterly silent.

Johnny grinned wider. “I’m Johnny. You’re sittin’ in my usual spot, but I’ll allow it since you look like you’d kill me and bury the body before lunch period ends.”

You blinked. “That’s accurate.”

He laughed. Loud. Sharp. Genuine. “Aye, I knew I liked you.”

And just like that, you had a new shadow.

He stuck to you like a burr. Sat with you at lunch. Walked you to classes. Defended you when some mouthy jerk tried to get a rise out of you.

“You messin’ with her?” he barked one day in the hall, stepping between you and a jock twice his size. “Nah, mate. That’s a bad idea. She’ll curse your bloodline.”

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“You looked at her. With your ugly face.”

You didn’t need him to defend you. You never asked. But you also didn’t stop him.

Because Johnny was... a lot. Loud, chaotic, always smiling. But he never made you feel like a problem. Never asked you to be louder. Just liked you exactly how you were.

And eventually, you started answering when he talked.

Eventually, you called him “Soap,” just to see him smile.

Eventually, you followed him into the military, though you stayed out of the spotlight—quiet, efficient, deadly.

He told the 141 you were his “personal shadow.”

Ghost called you “the other grim reaper.”

You called him an idiot at least once a day.

He loved it.

——-

NOW

The training sim lasted 20 minutes. Johnny triggered two mines. Broke a smoke grenade. Lost a boot.

You made it through unscathed, dropped four targets, and only spoke once—to say “left corner” just before Gaz almost got lit up.

Afterward, you sat on the ground, sipping water, while Johnny flopped beside you like a sweaty retriever.

“You love me,” he panted.

“You’re a hazard.”

“Same thing, darling.”

You didn’t look at him. Just handed him your extra water bottle.

He took it with a grin, eyes twinkling. “You know, when we met, I thought you hated me.”

“I did.”

He blinked. “...Rude.”

You smirked.

Johnny watched you for a moment, softening. “You’ve saved my ass a hundred times over.”

“Because you’re stupid.”

“Nah. Because you care.”

You shrugged, sipping your water. “If you die, I’d have to train a replacement. I don’t like people.”

He chuckled. “Still the same stone-faced menace I found behind the gym.”

You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Still the same loud idiot who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

And in the warmth of the sun, with the others slowly gathering, he let the quiet sit there.

Comfortable.

Loyal.

Safe.

——

LATER THAT WEEK

The bar was too loud.

You never really liked places like this, but Johnny begged. Said the team needed a break, said you needed a break. And you had a hard time saying no to him when he looked at you with those damn puppy eyes.

Now he was two drinks in, laughing with the others, hair sticking up from where he kept running his fingers through it. You were off to the side, sipping your drink, arms crossed, watching him.

You always watched him.

You never thought about it too much—why your eyes always found him in a room, why your ears tuned to his voice like it was a lighthouse in the fog. It was just instinct. Habit.

Or maybe something else you weren’t ready to name.

Tonight, he looked too good in that black t-shirt. Smile too wide. Arms too veiny. Laugh too damn warm.

And then she walked up.

Tall. Pretty. Confident.

Civilian, definitely. She leaned against the bar beside him, touched his arm, laughed like she’d known him for years. And he—charming idiot that he was—laughed back.

Your chest felt tight.

Your drink suddenly tasted like ash.

Gaz nudged you, glancing toward the scene. “Think she’s got a chance?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t look away either.

Didn’t realize you were frowning until Price walked past and muttered, “Might wanna ease up on the murder stare, lass.”

You turned your head slowly.

Gaz snorted into his drink.

But Johnny noticed.

His eyes flicked to you, and even through the noise and crowd, he saw it. Something in your face—something rare. Not just blankness.

Irritation. Discomfort. Something that looked a little too close to—

Jealousy.

He excused himself from the woman, brushing her off with a quick joke and a charming apology. She looked confused. He didn’t care.

He made a beeline for you.

“Alright there, Sprite?” he asked, voice low, close to your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He leaned on the wall beside you. “You looked like you were about to throat-punch that poor girl.”

“She was annoying.”

“She said hi.”

“She giggled.”

Johnny smirked. “That’s illegal now?”

You took a long sip of your drink and didn’t answer.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You jealous?”

You glanced at him, unamused. “Of what?”

He gave you that look. The one he only saved for you—half playful, half serious, all heart. “Of her touching me.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“…She was loud,” you finally said, and it felt weak even to your own ears.

Johnny grinned. Not teasing. Just soft.

He reached over, casually tugged your sleeve. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

——

LATER — BASE, OUTSIDE HIS ROOM

The hallway was quiet. Lights low. Everything softer than the bar.

You followed him without a word, like always.

He sat on the edge of his bed, leaned back on his hands. Looked up at you.

You stood there, arms crossed again. Guarded. But not from him.

Never from him.

He patted the space beside him. “Sit, grump.”

You did.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It never was.

“You gonna tell me why that bothered you?” he asked, glancing sideways.

You didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure you could.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Voice quieter now. “You know, I used to think you were just this silent shadow that tolerated me. But you stayed.”

You frowned slightly. “Of course I stayed.”

“Aye. But why?”

You looked at him.

Really looked.

His lashes were thick. His brow furrowed. His hands fidgeted with the seam of his pants—nervous. Something raw in his expression.

And you knew. He wasn’t joking.

You swallowed. “Because you’re... my person.”

That startled him.

Not with shock. But with hope.

He turned slowly. “Say that again?”

You breathed in. Out. Quiet but steady. “You’re my person. You always have been. Since the first time you sat down and refused to leave.”

A beat passed.

Then two.

And then, softly:

“You’re the reason I made it through half my shit missions,” he said, eyes on the floor. “I was reckless, yeah. Still am. But I always came back. Always had something to come back to.”

You stayed still, heart thudding.

He lifted his eyes. “It’s you, Sprite.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in years, your voice trembled. “Johnny…”

He reached out, gently took your hand—his calloused fingers brushing yours.

“I love you,” he said. No hesitation. “Not just as my shadow. Not just as my best friend. I’m in love with you.”

You stared at him.

Not blank. Not dead-eyed.

Soft. Wide. Real.

“…I didn’t know I could feel like this,” you admitted.

“I did.” His smile was small, but real. “I just waited for you to catch up.”

Silence again.

Then you leaned in—forehead against his. Breathing the same air.

And you whispered, “Don’t make me say it.”

He chuckled. “I won’t. I already know.”

And he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not wild.

Just steady.

Like he’d been waiting for it forever.

Because he had.

——

THE NEXT MORNING

Waking up in Johnny’s bed was a surreal experience.

Not because you hadn’t crashed here before—God knows you had. After missions. During long nights of movies or waiting out storms. You’d fallen asleep on his couch, his floor, even once in the passenger seat of his truck with his jacket over your legs.

But this was different.

Because his arm was wrapped around your waist.

Because his face was buried in your shoulder, breath warm and steady against your skin.

Because when you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened with a sleepy groan and a gruff, “Nope. Stay.”

You blinked, watching the ceiling fan spin.

“Johnny.”

“Mmm?”

“You’re drooling on my shirt.”

“It’s my shirt,” he muttered, refusing to move.

“…Still gross.”

He chuckled and finally lifted his head. His hair was a wreck—worse than usual—and his eyes were barely open. But he looked like he’d slept for a hundred years.

And you? You felt… calm.

You never felt calm.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Good.”

You didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.

IN THE COMMON ROOM

You were halfway through your coffee when Gaz spotted the two of you walking in together.

Johnny was grinning. Practically bouncing. Again.

You were… well. You. But your hoodie had a familiar logo on it—his logo. And Johnny kept brushing his fingers against your back like he couldn’t help it.

Gaz blinked. “Wait.”

Johnny just kept smiling.

“No way.”

Price looked up from his paper. Raised a brow. Said nothing.

Soap dropped into his usual chair and grabbed a pastry off Gaz’s plate like it belonged to him. “Mornin’, lads.”

You sat beside him. Didn’t speak. Just sipped your coffee. But your hand stayed on the armrest—fingers loosely brushing his knee.

Gaz stared.

“You—did you finally—?”

Johnny just grinned wider. “Took her long enough, didn’t it?”

You sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

Gaz leaned back, jaw dropped. “I knew it! You’ve been moon-eyed for years, mate.”

“I have not—” you started.

“You have,” said Price flatly, still reading.

You glared at all of them.

Johnny just nudged your knee, smug and warm. “Welcome to hell, sweetheart.”

——

LATER — OUTSIDE, SMOKING AREA

You didn’t usually join Ghost out here. He smoked. You didn’t. But you’d wandered outside for a moment of quiet, only to find him leaning on the wall, mask up to his nose, cigarette between his fingers.

He glanced sideways at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “What.”

“You and MacTavish,” he said simply.

You blinked. “…What about it?”

“You’re together now.”

“Apparently.”

He took a long drag, exhaled smoke into the air. “So now there’s two of him.”

You snorted. “I’m nothing like him.”

Ghost gave you a long, slow stare.

You stared right back.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted.

“Mm.”

He flicked ash into the tray.

Then, without looking at you: “You make him better.”

That stopped you.

You turned slightly toward him.

Ghost took another drag and muttered, “Less reckless. More focused. He laughs more. Doesn't try to hide when he’s hurt.”

You blinked, surprised.

“…I’m not trying to fix him.”

Ghost glanced at you. “You’re not. That’s why it works.”

You looked down, hands in your pockets. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Thanks, Ghost.”

He shrugged. “Just don’t start matchin’ his energy. One of him is plenty.”

You snorted again. “No promises.”

——

BACK INSIDE — LATER THAT NIGHT

You were curled up on Johnny’s couch, blanket draped over your legs, your feet in his lap while he doodled something in a sketchpad. You couldn’t see it. He wouldn’t let you.

“You planning to show me eventually?”

“Nope.”

“Rude.”

He grinned. “You’re rude.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away.

He looked at you then—really looked. And you caught it. The softness. The affection. The whole damn universe in his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured, “I used to think I’d lose you.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Thought I’d push too hard. Be too loud. Thought you’d vanish one day. Fade away.”

You reached over, took his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

You nodded. “You’re my person, remember?”

He set the sketchpad down and leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.

And then your nose.

And then your mouth.

And for once, everything was quiet.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[munchhmm]

hey pookiee, was wondering if you could do a headcanon with a reader that fights with a super big sword expect the reader is a bit on the shorter side? Its okay if you don’t want to, I luveee your work :33

Blade and Banter

This is adorable and I had so much fun writing it! Thank you for being so kind!

The boys reacting to reader being a lil small with a big sword ✧

Pairings: Zoro, Ace, Law, Smoker, and Shanks x F!reader

Warnings: Mentions of weight/height in Laws for doctor stuffs ♡

Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers! first pic is mine

Word count: About 3.3k vv ace heavy hehe

Zoro ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

Genuinely doesn’t believe you can even hold the thing at first.

Teaches you how to clean and store it properly.

When he trains with you he’s really impressed but just shows it with a smirk.

Pats you on the head like a child and makes comments about your short frame.

“Thought I’d have to protect you more than this, seems I was wrong.”

Cool night air brushes through the open door of the training room, smelling of salt and slightly damp wood. You and Zoro have been practicing for three hours now, but you don’t want to let him know how tired you are.

Sweat coats both of your bodies, dripping to the floor with little sound. Zoro goes to wipe his face with a towel when he notices you’re breathing a bit more than normal. “Tsk, you can admit you need a break, ya know?” he says as he offers you another towel and takes your sword from you.

A slight blush comes to your cheeks, but you hide it with the towel easily. He was so sweet. Suddenly you feel a soft but firm pressure on the top of your head. When you look away from the cloth covering your face, Zoro stands in front of you with his hand resting naturally over your hair, petting it slightly.

“Good job tonight, pipsqueak,” he says with a teasing tone. You instinctively roll your eyes. “I’m really not that short.” “Your sword is literally taller than you are.” “At least I can hold it!”

This playful banter continues for a few more minutes until Nami stomps in with an annoyed expression. “Can you just tell her you like her already and stop yelling like this every night?! Making these maps for us isn’t easy, you know!”

The green-haired man froze for a second at Nami’s comment before turning to face her. “Would you butt out? We weren’t even being loud,” he says gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever, just be quiet!” the redhead says angrily as she walks out of the room.

Zoro doesn’t turn to face you for a few seconds, but when he does, his ears are a little red. You thought it was adorable, though.

With a smile, you quickly change the subject, knowing Zoro wasn’t going to be able to handle this awkward situation well. “Wanna go grab something to eat?” you say while already gathering your things to leave the training room. “Yeah, food sounds good,” he says flatly and starts to follow behind you without another word.

Comfortable silence was common between you two; neither of you minded, though. Zoro thought about how he was stupid to not realize others could pick up on the way you guys talked—but it wasn’t flirting, right? The idea of finally one day not being teased anymore by Zoro was on your mind. But of course that would never happen. What if he really did like you? please he’s so flustered.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Ace (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Think’s you’re the most adorbs thing in the world.

Picks you up (If you let him) like he’s lifting weights.

Almost drops your sword when he first holds it because he didn’t expect you to be able to carry that.

Constantly asks jokingly how old you are and when your bedtime is.

Loves comparing his and yours height and brags about how he’s a lot taller than you. mamamoo reference hehe

While docked on a large, isolated island, you’d think the crew would’ve been a bit more cautious, but Whitebeard's people didn’t like to roll that way, though.

The brush was thick, and the vines stretched so far they seemed to never end. Best description would be a rainforest with abnormally large plants.

Ace liked to stick with you, to your annoyance at times. The teasing and comments never bothered you, but the way it makes your heart skip a beat does. Falling in love with a crewmate was inappropriate and you knew that, but you couldn’t help the feeling that spreads through you when he smiles your way.

After tripping over a root while Ace catches you, and screaming from the sudden appearance of a large beetle, you both finally make it to a large opening in the trees.

Hoping to find some way of getting a better view of the island, this was probably the best option. While you were bent down examining a strange plant, there was a sudden frenzied tap on your shoulder. “Woah, hey, Y/N? Do you see that thing too or is it just me?” Ace asks with a slightly startled tone.

You quickly look to where his gaze is, seeing a huge tricolored snake making its way toward both of you—and fast.

Without a second thought, and your sword in hand, you rush the slithering monster to attack it, defeating the beast with ease.

A chuckle can be heard from behind you as you stand for a moment to try and catch your breath. “Wow, look at the little mouse fighting back!” There it goes again. Why did you have to get flustered over something like this?

“It’s no big deal. It would’ve eaten us otherwise. You were no help, though.” A playful grin covering your face as you walk back over to the black-haired boy. “Nah, I knew you had it. But now you get to rest on me. I bet you used up all your tiny energy.” Ace quickly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder before you can protest.

Not that you actually minded, though. At least this way he can’t see how red your face is right now. “Ace! We still gotta look around to see if there are any other people here! We don’t have time for this!” you say with a slightly squeaky voice.

Words fell on deaf ears. Without even responding to your comment, Ace continues to search like nothing happened. When he turned to look down a hill, you could see from the other direction what looked to be a small man-made shack. “Ace, look—there’s a building over there. Let’s check that out.”

As soon as he turned to look where you were, he smiled, picking you up from his shoulder and holding you under your arms in front of him. “The baby is strong AND smart! Awesome, let’s go!” Ace again gently places you back onto his shoulder and quickly makes it to the shack.

At this point, your heart is doing backflips, but you don’t say anything other than a small grunt as he moves you.

The building was in ruins—small and clearly lived in. Whoever was here had been away for quite a while, though, as dust covered every surface inside. You sigh and sit on a chair that had the least amount of dirt on it. “This is where we’re gonna stay, I guess, until we can catch up with the others. It’s too dangerous outside and probably worse at night,” you say while grabbing things out of your bag to set up a makeshift sleeping spot.

“Yeah, it’s getting dark quick. There’s no point in risking going all the way back to the boat,” Ace adds, standing above you and watching with his arms folded. Always with that signature smile.

Wood flooring wasn’t the ideal choice to lay on, but you definitely weren’t risking getting on the old bed. You and Ace have an arm’s length distance between each other as you try and get some rest. He suddenly turns to face you, looking a little too long at your features. “What is it…?” you ask quietly, as if you were trying not to wake an imaginary person in the room. “You’re cute. I’ve never seen you sleeping,” he says softly, still watching closely.

A smile spreads across your face just as quickly as the blush. You laugh slightly and scoot a bit closer to him. “You’re cute when you tease me, and every other time.” The words slipped from your mouth without realizing it.

Ace just chuckles and wraps an arm around you lazily. “I’ll just have to do it more often, then,” he says with a smirk. You can feel his chest vibrate when he talks. “Is that even possible?”

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Law >⸝⸝⸝<

Doesn’t say anything about it till someone else points it out in front of him.

Thinks having such a big weapon is just inconvenient until he sees you fight.

Shocked at the way you can handle the sword with such ease.

Smirks when he looks at your height during checkups.

Secretly finds it cute when he has to glance down so far just to see you.

Echoes of footsteps and stainless steel tools clanking against metal trays were the only sounds that could be heard inside the exam room. Every few months, the whole crew has to get a health exam to make sure you’re all doing good. You loathed these days. The lights were too bright, the air was always cold, and worst of all, you knew everyone was going to ask if you had grown any since your last visit. Law always hides the actual numbers from you, knowing it makes you flustered. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with it, right? “Have you had any issues carrying your weapon recently? Any shoulder or forearm pain?” he asks flatly, looking down at his clipboard with pen in hand. You shake your head. Your sword has never been a true burden to carry, even if it was awkward to hold sometimes. After a few scribbles on the paper, Law motions for you to get on the weight and height scale. With a sigh, you make your way to the machine and stand on it, waiting for Law to write down the information. “Huh, you actually grew an inch.” His smirk could be heard through his words. “You’re messing with me. I’m an adult—I shouldn’t be getting any taller now,” you say with a slightly annoyed expression. A hand comes around to turn the small screen of the scale to where you can see it, showing that Law wasn’t lying. You really did gain an inch since the last visit. “Now you’re almost as tall as your sword. It’s progress,” he says while jotting down random notes. A small smile grows on your face. Even though this would probably just cause more teasing, it still gives you a bit of an ego boost. Once the exam is over, Law allows you to leave, but not before giving you a small piece of candy. “For being a good patient today,” he says while standing in front of the door. You pout playfully and look up at the tall doctor. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need a treat for doing well…” The sentence came out more like a murmur, causing Law to chuckle and press the candy into your hand. “No, but it does mean you didn’t complain about your height this time, which is a good improvement.”

Later that night, the captain finds you practicing quietly, keeping so much focus you don’t even notice him walking up to the doorframe. He watches your form, calculating how much pressure and stress your muscles are going through under the weight of the sword. Suddenly, his presence can be felt, causing you to turn quickly in the direction of the door with your sword pointed forward. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” Words almost so quiet they couldn’t be heard—you were flustered from being caught off guard. “And what if it were one of the other crew members? I guess they’d be in trouble,” he says with a small chuckle, pushing off the doorframe to walk closer. “You really should rest more often. I know you can handle it, but anyone can push themselves too far without realizing it until it’s too late.” The distance between you two is close. You can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and you’re melting under it. Standing with your sword, using it to steady yourself from the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I… I will. I won’t overdo it. Swear.” The blush that slowly makes its way to your cheeks makes you want to disappear into the floor. He smirks and gently puts a hand on your shoulder. “Good, because I don’t wanna see our smallest being harmed in any way.” God, how was he so smooth yet so annoying?

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Smoker (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

Silently worries about you constantly.

Attempts to get you to use any other weapon and offers to train you.

Feels like he’s gonna accidentally kill you by sitting on you one day or something. 

Wonders if you’re lying about your age so you could join the marines sooner.

When you insist you’re fine with your sword he sees you with a newfound respect.

There’s never a dull day on the Navy ship. Today was no different. Two groups of pirates decided they would have a better chance if they worked together, so here you were, fighting two enemies at once, coming from different sides. The sound of angry screams and blades colliding filled the deck — it was chaos everywhere.

When the attack had first started, you were asleep, being brought out of your dreams by the Vice-Admiral. His voice was stern but calm. “Y/N, get up and make yourself decent quickly. We have a problem on our hands.” You sit up fast and try to pull your thoughts together. Without much effort, you throw on some clothes and grab your sword.

Now that you fully understood the situation, it was go-time. Bodies flew off the ship as you made your way through the crowd, swiping anyone who wasn’t a part of your team like it was nothing.

It wasn’t too long before the scene had settled — crew members cleaning the mess while others went to the med bay to get checked out for small wounds. With a sigh, you look at the surrounding area. This wasn’t how you wanted to spend your morning.

Smoker comes up to you while you’re cleaning your sword, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You did good, kid. You always do,” he said with his usual gruff voice. A small smirk graced your face. “Thought you liked me better when I used those daggers you gave me?” you ask playfully.

He chuckles while looking down at you. “I just thought you’d be quicker with them. I was wrong. This is the right weapon for you.” Turning to face him while tilting your head slightly, Smoker takes a puff from his cigar. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he questions with an eyebrow raised.

“Why’d you think I’d be quicker with daggers?” Almost immediately, the Vice-Admiral lets out a loud and deep chuckle. “Because they aren’t half a head taller than you like that sword is. Hell, I’m surprised the thing isn't bigger than me.”

A slight blush comes to your face — never expecting someone like Smoker to pay that much attention to anyone, let alone you. With an awkward attempt at playing it cool, you roll your eyes and set your sword next to yourself as you stand. “You’re funny, but this thing isn’t even half my hei—”

The overwhelmingly tall man in front of you just smirks and crosses his arms. He knew the sentence you were about to finish was a lie. Even with the sword leaning against a nearby wall, it towered over you the same way Smoker did.

“Love the confidence though — you need it in a world like this,” he says teasingly while putting out his cigar. Another huff leaves your mouth as you cross your arms playfully. “Why do you always have something to say? I’ll just report you for bullying if you keep it up.”

All the Vice-Admiral did was slowly light another cigar, puffing smoke while making sure none of it reached your face. After a few seconds, he steps closer to you, practically breaking his neck just to meet your eyes. “Now why would you get someone like me in trouble? Thought you liked me.”

There were no words to describe how hard your heart was beating — it felt like at any moment it could burst. The smell of cologne and smoke clouded your brain to the point you couldn’t think of a response. Instead, you just stood looking up at him with a crimson face.

A smirk spreads across Smoker’s face as he backs up a bit to turn to the door, turning his head back before walking out. “I’m not worried, but don’t expect me to change.” Then silence.

You went to lay back down for a few more hours till your shift started, thinking about ways you could get him back for this.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Shanks (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Intrigued and makes it well known.

Shameless flirting constantly.

Makes a drinking game out of how many fights you win.

Drapes his clothes over your shoulders just to see how you get swallowed by them.

Holds the sword above your head so you can’t reach it, all while grinning.

Ting-Clash!! Clang! Clang! Sounds of metal, iron, and other various metals can be heard reverberating off of the cave walls. Simple dodges made by the enemy cause the rock around them to crumble as you crash your sword into it. This fight was getting annoying. Usually, you’re in a field, or at most surrounded by trees you could easily chop down. In a small space like this, it was a real challenge. Your captain stayed at the entrance, leaning against a huge boulder that indicated the opening of this stupid tunnel system. He knew you could handle it. He also knew it wouldn’t hurt to go and help you. But where was the fun in that? After about half an hour, you finally manage to make it through the last batch of people, taking a moment to breathe in the cold and damp air, listening to the water slowly dripping down onto the stone beneath your feet. Suddenly, you hear footsteps. In this current narrow section, it wasn’t a good idea to immediately turn around, sword drawn. So you wait a few moments while continuing to walk into a more spacious area before turning to fight. The water falling started to sound like it was matching your heartbeat. Although nothing had changed, your mind was still attempting to play games with you. When you make it to the wider area, the footsteps behind you stop.

ThumpThumpThump ThumpThumpThump

With shaky hands, you carefully turn around, sword pointed in front of you with a slight rattle. “Woah, easy there sweetheart. Am I really that scary?” It was Shanks?! Of course he would pull something like this. A large, relieved sigh leaves your mouth as you walk up to the tall red-haired man and punch his arm playfully. “Yeah, you are! I almost had a heart attack, you jerk!” The sounds of your scared yet annoyed voice echo through the entire system of tunnels. “Aw, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you then?” he says while taking his hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Hmm, let’s see… you could stop calling me a baby, stop scaring me, and stop taking my sword,” you say with a finger to your lips like you’re actually thinking deeply about his question. Shanks just chuckles and quickly swipes your sword from your hand, holding it above your head and shaking it lightly. Another sigh can be heard from you, this time frustrated. “What, you mean this? Is it because you can’t catch it?~” The smooth words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing, causing you to become even more flustered. “Ugh, you know I can’t reach it! You just do it to make me upset.” A fake pout plastering your face as you cross your arms. Shanks leans down, still keeping the sword out of reach, and gets close enough to your face that you can feel his breath on your lips. “I do it to see you like this, because it’s adorable. Not because I want a beautiful girl like you upset. I never would.” Your jaw drops slightly at the closeness and his words. He thought you were adorable? No words come out of your mouth for a moment. He takes this opportunity to lightly brush his lips against yours before standing back upright and handing you the sword with his signature smirk. “Look at that, I made the baby speechless. That’s even more precious,” he says while turning to walk back toward the entrance of the cave. You follow him, trying to think of something—anything—to say. Once outside, you finally blurt out, “Do you think I'm strong too?” Your own words immediately make you blush. “Of course I do. It’s not just your looks that made me fall for you, doll.” The walk back to the ship was quiet but comfortable, the usual flirting and games you were used to. But today, your captain changed the energy altogether. Secretly, though, you’re here for it.