#one day i will draw something that isn't two men looking at each other i prommyyyyy

[monstroso]

Traintober Day 3: Twins

Donald and Douglas cosplaying as The Twins from Bullet Train. Double the train content.

[manikas-whims]

Love and Deepspace men when the two of you get 0% score on an online compatibility test

ZAYNE

❄️ Doesn’t take it seriously at all. Exaggeratedly raises eyebrows. “You don't actually believe in such nonsense, do you?”

❄️ You do know these are just silly tests made to lure couples and you wouldn't have cared but 0% is too much! And his lack of reaction annoys you. “You should be a little disappointed! Maybe you don't love me as much as you claim! Hmph!” 😤

❄️ Seeing you childishly fold your arms and puff out your cheeks, makes him smile. He pats your head and lowers his head to your face’s level so you're unable to avoid his gaze.

❄️ “Then..let me make it up by doing things that will raise our score.” He suggests. “How about a date? Or a kiss? Or..” His hand slips down your head, fingers leaving a cold trail along your cheek and neck, and come to rest upon your collarbone.

❄️ Your lips part at the gesture. And he tugs at the neckline of your shirt, his voice an octave lower. “Or we can do something more stimulating for a higher score..”

❄️ The compatibility test is long forgotten after that as you get busy with “more stimulating” things.

XAVIER

⭐ Takes it way too seriously. Narrows his brows, practically glares at the test score on your phone’s screen, and pouts. “It shouldn't be that low.”

⭐ You're the one trying to remind him it's just a silly poll on the internet and that it doesn't define the relationship you two share or diminish the love you have for each other. But he just won't be swayed so easily. He’ll try to shoulder all the blame upon himself for that 0% score. “Don’t worry. I’m not blaming you. Maybe it's me.”

⭐ “No way!” You try to be playful about it to cheer him up. “Maybe it's my fault!”

⭐ He’ll give a firm shake of his head to deny your claim. “You give me everything I could ask for and more. It’s definitely because of me.”

⭐ Over the days he becomes more and more loving, looking out for you during missions more than necessary, initiating skinship and romantic gestures whenever he can. So you grab his arm and draw him closer. “If you wanna improve that score so badly, then..” You lick your lips and lower your lashes.

⭐ He immediately gets the hint, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink at the suggestion, and he smiles as he lets his hand run along your thighs. “I can do that.”

RAFAYEL

🌊 He says he doesn't give a fuck but he's watching the results from the corner of his eyes. And he's NOT PLEASED about that 0% score.

🌊 He's gonna be petty about it and blame you for it. And of course, even though you know it’s just an online score, the minute he blames you, you lash back at him. And now you two are just bickering.

🌊 “You go out on missions and don't even text any updates! Leave me worried and distracted for hours! Do you even know how much that affects the creativity of an artist!?” He accuses.

“If you actually loved me, you'd know I'm capable enough to handle myself!” You fire back.

“Oh I'm sorry for giving a damn!” He dramatically throws his hands in the air.

You roll your eyes. “Now don't apologise for caring!”

“Well then stop making me worry!” He whines in exasperation.

🌊 The long argument ends with the two of you puffing your cheeks at each other, only to end up laughing and making up. You two realise how childish you were being over a silly online compatibility test of all.

🌊 He takes hold of your palm and places a kiss on it's back. “Let’s fix that score with dinner at your favourite place. And, ” He winks mischievously and adds, “..breakfast in my bed.”

SYLUS

🐦‍⬛ He knows all these compatibility tests are a scam. But whenever he sees you being excited about something, he indulges. And indulge he will. By taking it a lil seriously.

🐦‍⬛ Will lower his head to peek at your smartphone’s screen and frown at that 0%.

🐦‍⬛ “Well this isn't a surprise.” He states calmly with a shrug. “Thanks to your job, you don't stop by the N109 Zone as often as you used to, kitten. And my schedule keeps me far too occupied for anything else.”

🐦‍⬛ He tucks a hand under his chin and looks thoughtfully. “How about I take my bike and you request your boss for a leave? Then we can head out for a week-long vacation to wherever you want.” He lowers his head then, lips moving along your ear. “And do whatever you want.”

🐦‍⬛ You smack his chest lightly in hopes of hiding your blush at his dirty implications. “You have it all planned out, huh?”

🐦‍⬛ “Only when it comes to you, sweetie.”

i just realized i have so many of these reaction headcanons in my drafts so i’m trying to clean up..gonna try to post more of these again..need to get my head back into writing 🤞

» MASTERLIST «

[satellite-evans]

Drunk in love

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: When their wives get drunk, it is up to the Bridgerton brothers to take care of them ;)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Kate and reader are drunk lol, just pure fluff

A/N:

this is just something silly I had in my mind lol enjoy

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The Bridgerton household was steeped in the soft glow of the evening, and in the library, two brothers sat comfortably. Benedict Bridgerton leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened to Anthony's latest tirade about the complexities of running the family estate. The occasional crackle of the fire punctuated Anthony’s words, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

"It's all well and good for you, Benedict," Anthony was saying, "to prance about with your paints and canvases. But someone has to keep this family afloat."

Benedict chuckled, shaking his head. "You take life far too seriously, Anthony. One day, you'll realize there's more to it than ledgers and land."

Before Anthony could retort, a burst of laughter erupted from the drawing room, loud enough to make both men pause. They exchanged curious glances, and without a word, rose to investigate the source of the commotion.

As they approached the drawing room, the laughter grew louder and more infectious. Pushing the door open, they were met with a sight that brought simultaneous smiles and sighs to their faces. There, amidst a sea of discarded shawls and half-empty wine glasses, were their wives: Y/N and Kate, draped over the settee in fits of giggles.

"My love," Benedict began, striding over to Y/N, who looked up at him with sparkling, mischievous eyes.

"Ben!" Y/N exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "Have you come to join our party?"

Anthony moved to Kate, who was similarly animated, her cheeks flushed with wine. "What on earth is going on here?" he asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.

"We were just... having a bit of fun," Kate replied, her words slightly slurred. "Isn't that right, Y/N?"

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, her grip on Benedict tightening. "Yes! And you should have been here, Benedict. We were planning all sorts of adventures!"

Benedict exchanged a knowing look with Anthony. "It's getting late," he said gently. "Perhaps it's time to retire for the night before we wake the whole household."

"But we’re not tired!" Kate protested, though she yawned right after.

"Yes!" Y/N said eagerly. " We have work to do. We need to save the pirates!"

Benedict looked at Anthony with a confused look on his face, not understanding a word his wife is saying.

"The pirates? What pirates?" He asked his wife.

"Silly Benedict, the pirates that got captured of course! If we don't help them they will die or worse, catch a cold." Kate said to her brother-in-law while slurring the words, indicating that the night was surely over for the 2 ladies.

With a mixture of gentle coaxing and persuasive charm, Benedict and Anthony managed to guide their wives towards the staircase, their efforts accompanied by more giggles and shushing noises. Y/N and Kate were like a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, clutching each other for support as they swayed precariously.

"Shhh, we must be quiet!" Kate whispered loudly, her finger pressed to Y/N's lips.

"Yes, shhh!" Y/N echoed, though her laughter threatened to spill over.

Benedict exchanged an amused glance with Anthony. "Easier said than done," he muttered, placing a steadying hand on Y/N's waist.

The trek upstairs was a comedic parade of whispered laughter and shuffling feet. Y/N, in her drunken state, decided it was a brilliant idea to try walking on her tiptoes to avoid making noise. She stumbled, her giggles turning into a high-pitched squeal as Benedict caught her just in time.

"My hero," she declared, leaning heavily against him.

"Always," Benedict replied, his voice filled with warmth.

Meanwhile, Anthony had his hands full with Kate, who seemed determined to recount an elaborate and entirely fictitious tale about their latest adventure. "And then the pirate said, 'No, it's my treasure!' and I told him, 'You can have it, but only if you dance a jig!'"

Anthony shook his head, suppressing his laughter. "Let's get you to bed, love. You can tell me the rest of the story tomorrow."

As they finally reached the top of the stairs, the brothers carefully navigated their wives down the hall to their respective bedrooms. Y/N clung to Benedict, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.

"Do you know what we should do, Ben?" she whispered, her voice conspiratorial. "We should have our own little party. Just you and me."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that so?"

Y/N nodded, her movements exaggerated by the effects of the wine. "Yes. And I have... ideas." She bit her lip, trying to look sexy for her husband but failing miserably.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh softly at her earnest expression. "I'm sure you do, darling. But I think you might regret them in the morning."

She pouted, leaning in closer. "You're laughing at me," she accused, though her own lips twitched upwards.

"Never," Benedict said, kissing her forehead. "I just find you utterly adorable."

Y/N’s pout deepened. "I’m trying to seduce you, Benedict Bridgerton, and you’re laughing."

Benedict wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "And I love you for it," he murmured. "But you’re far too drunk to remember this tomorrow."

Y/N huffed, but her eyelids were already drooping. "Fine. But you owe me, mister."

"I’ll gladly pay my dues," he promised, tucking her under the covers, making sure she was comfortable.

Once the bedroom doors softly clicked shut behind them, Benedict and Anthony exchanged amused glances, their expressions a mix of fond exasperation and lingering mirth.

Anthony let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Well, that was certainly an eventful evening."

Benedict grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Indeed. I never knew Y/N had such a penchant for dramatic declarations."

"And Kate," Anthony added with a raised eyebrow, "tyring to save pirates? I wonder where she comes up with these ideas."

Benedict chuckled softly, moving to pour himself a glass of water. "It’s all part of their charm, I suppose. Makes life interesting."

Anthony nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the dresser. "Indeed it does. They certainly keep us on our toes."

Silence settled between them for a moment, the sounds of the quiet house filling the space. Benedict took a sip of water, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at Anthony. "At least they provided us with some entertainment."

Anthony grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To our adventurous wives and the mornings after."

Benedict laughed, clinking his glass against Anthony's. "May we always be prepared for their antics."

The next morning, the dining room was a scene of quiet activity as the Bridgerton family gathered for breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the table laden with a variety of morning fare. Benedict and Anthony were already seated, exchanging knowing glances as they sipped their coffee.

"Good morning," Anthony greeted with a wry smile, his voice a bit too cheerful as Kate and Y/N finally made their way downstairs. The two women looked thoroughly sheepish, their faces pale and their movements slow, battling clear signs of a hangover.

Kate, with a hand on her throbbing head, groaned softly as she took her seat. "Please. Not so loud, Anthony," she muttered, reaching for a slice of toast but ultimately settling for a glass of water.

Y/N, trailing slightly behind, sat down next to Benedict, doing her best to avoid his amused gaze. "Good morning," she mumbled, her voice hoarse, reaching for a cup of tea as if it were a lifeline.

Benedict leaned over, a smirk playing on his lips as he whispered in her ear, "How’s your head, my love?"

She shot him a sideways glance, her cheeks coloring. "Let’s not talk about it," she replied, taking a tentative sip of her tea.

"But you were quite the charming seductress last night," Benedict teased gently, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning softly. "I’m never drinking that much again."

At the other end of the table, Kate was having a similar conversation with Anthony. "Honestly, I can't remember the last time I felt this awful," she confessed, gingerly rubbing her temples.

Anthony chuckled, passing her a plate of fruit. "Perhaps next time you’ll heed my warnings about overindulgence."

Kate shot him a baleful look, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "Don’t be smug, Anthony. It’s not becoming."

"Who, me? Never," Anthony replied with a wink, earning a soft laugh from Kate despite her discomfort.

As the morning continued, the initial awkwardness began to fade, replaced by the comforting normalcy of family life. Eloise and Colin entered the room, their curiosity piqued by the unusual quietness of their typically lively sisters-in-law.

"Good morning," Eloise said brightly, her keen eyes darting between Kate and Y/N. "You two look like you’ve been through the wars."

"Something like that," Y/N muttered, managing a small, embarrassed smile.

Colin, always one for humor, grinned broadly. "Did we miss an adventure last night?"

"Let’s just say it was a night to remember," Benedict replied, his eyes meeting Y/N’s with a tender affection that spoke volumes.

Eloise raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do tell."

"Another time, perhaps," Y/N said quickly, the color rising in her cheeks again.

As the conversation flowed around the table, the bonds of love and laughter only grew stronger. Despite their mortification, Y/N and Kate couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for their husbands’ gentle teasing and unwavering support.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Benedict asked Y/N, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. "Bits and pieces," she admitted. "I remember laughing a lot. And I think I tried to..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.

Benedict chuckled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "You were very determined to have a private party," he said, his eyes twinkling. "It was quite the spectacle."

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I’m so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Benedict said softly, leaning closer. "I love seeing every side of you, even the tipsy, adventurous one."

At the other end of the table, Kate was facing a similar interrogation. "So, what exactly were you and Y/N plotting in the drawing room?" Anthony asked, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Kate looked mortified, her face pale except for the flush of her cheeks. "I think we were planning an expedition to find some pirate treasure," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or something equally ridiculous."

Anthony laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You certainly had quite the adventure in mind. Perhaps we should consider a career change?"

"Very funny," Kate muttered, though she couldn’t help but smile at his good-natured teasing.

The rest of the family, picking up on the mood, joined in the light-hearted banter. Colin leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "It seems our sisters-in-law have a penchant for late-night escapades. We'll have to keep an eye on them."

Eloise, never one to miss a chance to tease, added, "I think it’s wonderful. We could use more excitement around here. Perhaps next time, I'll join in the fun."

"Absolutely not," Anthony interjected firmly, though his smile betrayed his true feelings. "Two tipsy adventurers are quite enough."

Amidst the laughter and teasing, the lingering embarrassment began to fade. Y/N and Kate, though still feeling the effects of their overindulgence, found themselves relaxing, their initial mortification replaced by a growing sense of comfort. The warmth and acceptance from their family wrapped around them like a cozy blanket, reinforcing the love that bound them all together.

[choerypetal]

Secret Admirer / Regulus Black

Summary: Regulus had always harbored a soft spot for a particular member of the Potter family. This individual stood in stark contrast to James, and being a Slytherin only seemed to fuel Regulus's obsession with the sibling who exuded a delicate scent of orchids.

P.S : English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any minor grammar errors. Enjoy!

Regulus had no intention in falling in love. Or was it all in his head? 

God forbid he would need an excuse to glance in your direction or steal a look every now and then. The young man wasn't about to let you slip out of his sight so effortlessly. First, he had to admire every inch of your body, from head to toe. You were now his target, his prey.

He was well aware that this endeavor wouldn't be a simple one, especially considering you were the notorious sibling of James Potter himself.

Understanding your brother's protective nature, being associated with the Potter name wasn't exactly favorable, particularly from an ethical standpoint. Being a Slytherin only intensified matters, as it made you a target for Dark Wizards, much to James' dismay. For Regulus, this meant that even initiating a conversation with you posed a significant challenge.

Regulus remembered the very first time he had met you. Like every love cliché stories, it was during your first day at Hogwarts when your brother had been the light of everyone interest and Regulus had the chance to see your beautiful face exit the train and your hair seemingly blending itself with the wind. It was in that very moment that Regulus knew what falling in love was like. 

Being a Black meant enduring Sirius's teasing at his whim, and with his family's significant legacy, observing his close rapport with the Potters, one might have considered themselves fortunate to easily encounter you during Potions class. You were slightly smaller than your brother, inviting mockery from him and his friends when reaching for higher objects, coupled with a persistent plea until the class's final moments. However, one time, Regulus seized the opportunity to intercept them before you. It was also the moment when both of you heard each other's voices. Your small “Thank you” and the smile you bestowed upon him were enough to stir butterflies in his stomach, followed by inevitable teasing from Sirius later that evening, as it became evident that your brother's attention was on the two of you. 

After the initial encounter between Regulus and you in Potions class, James couldn't help but notice you two’s interactions. To his surprise, he found himself growing increasingly concerned as rumors circulated about Regulus's association with the Death Eaters, and perhaps even darker affiliations. As your brother, naturally, he wanted the best for you, but witnessing the potential dangers of Slytherin influence, it pained him to imagine you being ensnared by such influences. Little did he know, he was mistaken from the outset. 

Regulus was undeniably a good person, a fact known to everyone. Yet, there was something about him that intrigued you even more. You couldn't help but notice from the outset the subtle glances he stole in your direction during class. Your friends occasionally teased about someone showing interest in you, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe it, especially with your brother's constant reminders about keeping your distance from men, especially Slytherins like Regulus. Despite all this, Regulus was keenly aware that you were conscious of his attention towards you.

Despite your efforts to maintain complete innocence regarding your brother's request, you couldn't deny the temptation or the inevitable encounter with Regulus. Which meant, he couldn't resist drawing your full attention to him, resorting to leaving notes in specific places where you frequented. With his signature R.A.B.

As a result, you couldn't help but become somewhat frantic, eager to uncover the identity of your secret admirer. This lead to an interesting investigation between the two of you. 

This though first was brought up during lunch at the Dinning Hall. While he was away in his book, he couldn’t help but to notice and hear clearly his name being whispered from your own mouth. From this very moment, he couldn’t stop but to think— think about the endless dreams longing to hear your voice murmuring his name, begging to hear it, before it vanishes in echoes completely. How he would hold your hand seemingly, wondering off away from Hogsmeade to deep in the forbidden forest to admire the beautiful beasts you long wanted to discover amidst admitting it during class one time. Something he had not forget and it was these little details Regulus made sure of when the possibility of a real encounter. 

The encounter unfolded within the confines of the Library. As you embarked on your quest to locate a book recommended by your teacher, one that aligned with your fascination for magical beasts, fortune smiled upon you as remnants of the coveted tome remained available. Despite its widespread popularity for research purposes. Your satisfaction was tinged with frustration as the book eluded your grasp, just beyond your reach. Regulus, perhaps guided by destiny, seized the opportunity to intersect your paths. As he reached for the book he sought, a familiar fragrance enveloping him—the scent of fresh orchids that had captivated him since your initial meeting. “Perhaps a little assistance is in order.” He remarked, his voice resonating with familiarity, reminiscent of your encounters in Potion class.

However, on this occasion, instead of flashing your customary smile, your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected presence of the boy who might be your clandestine paramour. Despite the initial shock, you swiftly pushed aside such thoughts and donned your smile. Yet, your cheeks betrayed a different sentiment, flushing with warmth at the tender touch of his cold yet inviting fingers intertwining with yours. It had been an eternity since you had been in such close proximity to Regulus. Despite your inner turmoil and unspoken desires, you couldn't deny the longing for his company, and the warmth of his attentiveness towards you.

“Thank you…” Your voice, gentle and familiar, whispered to his ear, betraying your unmistakable affection for him. Regulus returned your smile with confidence, yet beneath the facade, a sly smirk danced across his lips as he handed you the book, placing it securely in your grasp. With a casual glance at the title, he feigned surprise, though inwardly he had anticipated your newfound research interest. “A fan of magical beasts as well?” He inquired, his tone softened, a deliberate effort to win the approval of your brother, something he knew he must secure to further his intentions.

“Yes.” You affirmed, though the realization of once again finding yourselves drawn together in such close quarters was a surprise even to you. Despite the shared space, your presence seemed merely a distraction to him, your brother's attention firmly fixed on Lily Evans. Nonetheless, Regulus seized every chance to revel in the pleasure of your company, carving out moments for just the two of you. The burgeoning attraction between you was becoming increasingly apparent. “Looks like we always meet in times when I am deed.” You confessed, acknowledging the truth of your words, yet Regulus finding this statement to be nearly impossible to resist the allure of such intense desire, passion. And intimacy with a man who embodied all these qualities. 

As tempted as you were to acknowledge those thoughts, and even to acknowledge Regulus's correctness, you merely shrugged with feigned innocence. It was a quality that had captivated Regulus from the moment he first laid eyes on you. He longed to possess you entirely, to the extent that he would endure your brother's fury or the sight of the Potter girl tangled in Slytherin affairs. Regardless, his sole focus was to ensure that you belonged to him and him alone. 

And much to his liking, James being in the same room just a few tables from afar your study had take knowledge of Regulus’s presence. How his thumb would be casually caressing your chin and lifting up slightly to have a the opportunity to feel his lips against yours. Just this once, and perhaps even more. 

“You know…” His voice deepened, his warm breath grazing against your skin. In that moment, you realized you had been momentarily blinded by his actions, yet a stirring within you suggested that perhaps, like him, you were in love. In love with a man who sought justice and, undoubtedly, someone to cherish—a person with whom he could find solace and belonging. Regardless of your brother's approval, he remained unconcerned. “A little bird informed me that you've been receiving letters from a secret admirer. I couldn't help but be curious about their identity.” He confessed, his tone betraying a mix of intrigue and oblivious.

His voice, smooth as butter, dripped with both passion and curiosity, eager to uncover whether you knew the identity behind the mysterious letters. Despite harboring your own suspicions, you simply shrugged, a casual yet teasing smile playing on your lips. As he reciprocated with a gentle touch, his thumb grazing your chin, you sensed the tension radiating from your brother, torn between throwing a punch or holding back. Simultaneously, you were aware of your brother's intense gaze fixed upon you, even though your back was turned to him. In that moment, it was clear that he faced a choice: intervene or allow Regulus to kiss you.

“Don't,” Sirius mouthed the words silently, fully aware of Regulus's capabilities. If there was one thing he couldn't deny about his family’s qualities, it was the sincerity of Regulus’s feelings and intentions, especially when it came to the person he loved. Despite the complex dynamics between the Blacks and the Potters, whether as friends or foes, James couldn't bear to witness his sibling's sadness and envy once more. And so, with a resigned sigh, he chose to let it be. “Fine, but if he dares to break her heart. I won’t hesitate.”

As Regulus observed your eyes flickering from his gaze to his lips, he sensed a spark igniting between you. The way he spoke to you, the words conveyed on paper—it all pointed to one undeniable truth: your secret lover was none other than Regulus himself. A delicate smile accompanied by a soft chuckle escaped your lips, leaving Regulus slightly bewildered, prompting him to tilt his head in curiosity. “Though I may want to play the part of the suspicious and oblivious recipient of secret admirer letters, I believe I've unraveled the mystery.” You confessed with a hint of amusement.

Your confession alone was convincing, but it was Regulus's sigh that truly affirmed the man standing before you. He was undeniably your secret lover, unafraid to show his affection openly, even in the presence of your own brother. Regardless of family legacy or expectations, he cared not. As he drew near, the library eerily empty, his eyes never straying from yours, you felt the gentle brush of his lips before they melded into a long-awaited kiss—a kiss you both had yearned for, dreamed of, and finally shared.

Before you could even catch your breath, your fingers tenderly cupped his face, softly stroking his cheeks as he savored every moment of affection, his eyelids drifting shut. Then, your voice, sweet and longing, broke the silence. “Kiss me. Forever.”

Without hesitation, Regulus complied, pressing his lips to yours once again, unwilling to pull away until he sensed your brother's disdainful gaze. From that day forward, you became Regulus's other half, bound together by love and defiance.

[whisperofwonder]

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Parenting with various Haikyuu men - sometimes you're the good cop, sometimes you're the bad cop.

Featuring: Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader, Oikawa Tooru x reader, Tsukishima Kei x reader (okay, you're both kind of the bad cop in this one), Hinata Shouyou x reader

(Reader is referred to as Mom in Tsukishima's, the rest are gender neutral)

Ushijima Wakatoshi

You've just gotten home from the grocery store, and are attempting to put the groceries away while simultaneously preventing an all-out fist fight in the middle of the kitchen over the box of applesauce pouches. It's just the kind of day it's been.

Another shriek splits the air, and you massage your aching temples wearily. Normally, your son and daughter get along pretty well, but today is one of those days when neither of them is in a very good mood, and they've been taking it out on each other all day. Refereeing has become exhausting, and the headache pounding in your skull isn't making things any easier. The sound of the door latch has never been more welcome.

"What is all the yelling about?" The sound of your husband's deep voice immediately silences the squabble, your two children suddenly blinking up at him with the box still clutched between them. Oh, you are so jealous of this ability Wakatoshi has. "Applesauce?" He asks incredulously, plucking the box from their fingers and looking down at them with a frown.

"Sorry, Dad," They chorus meekly.

"Why don't you go to your rooms?" He suggests, in a voice that doesn't invite any arguments. "Start thinking about your actions today, because we'll be having a discussion about it later." They glance at each other before silently turning to do as they're told.

You sigh at the sound of their bedroom doors closing. "Tough day?" Wakatoshi asks, voice turning soft in a way that's only ever reserved for you and the kids. He cups your cheek in his hand, and you nod against it, leaning into his touch.

"Just what I said in the text," You murmur, referring to the exasperated message you'd sent him earlier that afternoon. "They've been at each other's throats all day. I wish I could manage them like you do."

"You do just fine," He runs his hand down your arm comfortingly. "I know they respect you and love you very much."

You nod again, though you're struggling to believe it right at the moment. "I just don't have your gift," You shrug, managing a small smile now that he's home and doing this with you.

"That's why we're a team," He says matter of factly, finally drawing you to him and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I'll get you some pain pills for that headache. After they kick in, we'll have a talk with them together."

"Thank you," You say softly, leaning in for one more kiss. You truly can't imagine doing this with anyone else.

Oikawa Tooru

You've just finished cutting the second apple and put the slices on the plate when your husband dances into the kitchen, your daughters bobbing behind.

"Okay," He sticks his head in the freezer, rummaging around a bit before pulling something out. "Who wants fudge ripple?" He holds up the carton of ice cream as your daughters bounce on their toes.

"Me! Me!" They wave their hands excitedly.

"Tooru," You say his name quietly, gesturing to the apples you'd just finished plating. "We're having apples for a snack tonight," You announce more loudly, plucking the box from your husband's fingers and tucking it back in the freezer.

"But Daddy said we could have ice cream!" The oldest pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Did he?" You ask lightly, quirking an eyebrow at your husband, who shrugs sheepishly. "Did you happen to tell him that we had ice cream this afternoon after we went to the park?"

Suddenly very interested in her toes, she murmurs, "No."

"Oops," He says quietly, shrugging and mouthing a sorry over the tops of their heads. You shake your head with a sigh.

"Sounds like we're having apples tonight, my loves," He says quickly, corralling them to the table to have a seat as you set down the plate of apples. "Why don't you tell me about what kind of ice cream you got this afternoon?" They sulk, but by the time they're tucked in bed, the incident seems mostly forgotten.

"Sorry about the ice cream thing," He apologizes after you've tucked yourself on the couch next to him. "They're sneaky!"

"They certainly are," You huff a soft chuckle, "I wonder where they got it from?" You muse, elbowing him gently in the side.

"Hey," He pouts, a mirror of your girls' pouting faces from earlier. "I won't be tricked next time." He slides an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"We'll see about that," You murmur, knowing your daughters too well to be convinced, but too comfortable pressed against Tooru to care.

Tsukishima Kei

"It's just not fair!" Your son huffs, stomping louder than necessary through the kitchen. "You said Kaito could come over this afternoon, but now all of a sudden he can't?" He's glaring at you across the room.

"I said he could come over if you cleaned your room," You correct, "And you obviously haven't."

"What if I clean it now? Really quick?" He begs, "Then I don't have to tell him you lied to me."

You open your mouth, trying to formulate a response to that twisted logic, when Kei's office door opens.

"No," He says firmly, and your son turns to him, but can't get a word in before he continues. "Kaito is not coming over today, especially after the way you just spoke to your mother. I know you're smarter than that."

"But-" He says weakly, snapping his mouth shut when your husband's lips press into a thin line.

"I know you're not talking back to me as well." He says icily. "First, apologize to Mom. Then you can go clean your room from top to bottom. I want to hear the vacuum running."

Your son nods slowly. "Okay." He turns dutifully and looks at you. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Thank you," You accept his apology with a nod, and that quickly he's off to his room. You close your eyes for a few moments, trying to quiet your exasperation.

"Sorry I butted in," Kei speaks from beside you though you hadn't heard him move across the room. "I just couldn't stop myself after what he said." His hand goes to the back of your neck, gently massaging the tense muscles there.

"It's fine," You sigh, "It was kind of getting away from me," You admit with a wry smile.

"Sometimes I wonder if this some sort of punishment for what an asshole I was as a kid," He says with a smile pulling at his lips, and you can't help the laughter that bubbles out.

"Well, I'm not sure what I did to deserve it, because I was a perfect angel," You reply smugly, pressing in to kiss him before he can argue.

Hinata Shouyou

You've been hearing slightly suspicious sounds for the last few minutes, but a sudden crash is finally enough to make you put down the shirt you're folding and follow the sound, dreading what you'll find.

"It didn't break!" Your daughter is saying, setting one of the lamps back up on the end table. A volleyball rolls to a stop at your feet, and you look from it to your daughter and your husband.

"Please tell me this isn't what it looks like," You say in a measured voice, "Because it looks like you were playing volleyball in my house." It's hard to say which of them looks more frightened.

"We weren't playing volleyball!" She pipes up nervously, "Dad was just showing me how to dig a spike like the one Bokuto-san made in yesterday's match."

"Oh?" You turn to your husband, who looks like he'd willingly jump in a hole if it were to open up in the floor. "Shouyou," Your voice is still even, which seems to make him squirm even more. "Can you tell me why, for even a moment, that seemed like something to do in the living room?"

"I, uh, didn't think about it?" He releases a nervous chuckle. "It wasn't her idea at all, I swear. It was all me." He valiantly takes the blame.

"My darling," You turn your attention to your daughter, "You should know better than to listen to your dad sometimes." You sigh. "Just take this back to the garage, okay?" She grabs the ball and dashes away, glad to be free from your disproving glare.

"I'm really, really sorry, baby!" Your husband immediately gushes, "I know it was stupid! It was, but she asked about it and I was just so excited to show her, I didn't think about it." You're trying hard, but it's almost impossible not to soften at the anguished look on his face.

"Feels like I have two kids sometimes," You can't help a small smile as you step toward him, letting him take your hands.

"I'm really sorry," He repeats, genuinely. "It won't happen again. Volleyballs belong outside," He repeats what has become your mantra.

"Very good," You smile a little wider, unable to resist pressing a small kiss to his lips.

[sant-riley]

Yeah but like what if one day Gaz walked into a room and saw Y/N FNAF lore dumping to Ghost

[Infodumping the boys]

(Mostly Platonic tf141 x gen neutral! reader, hints at Ghost bc it’s me and I’m biased.)

Summary: Teddy aka You, decide to gather the gang and tell them about five nights at Freddy’s before the movie comes out.

Word count: 800 ish

Warnings: Possibly of for the boys (idrc tho lmao), Teddy is this readers callsign, reader is implied to be at least early 20’s, I can’t think of anything else tbh but lmk if this does need something tagged!

It wasn't uncommon for you to infodump your teammates, they're all older than you and have significantly less screen time than you (it ties into being older). Most of the information you give them is something they take as fact, this is no different.

Gaz of all people knows your interests best, you two being the closest in age means you both realistically grew up with the internet and its most popular series.

The last thing he expected walking into one of the many meeting rooms on base, was you at the front of the room, your laptop hooked up to the projector and Price and Soap sitting down, dutifully listening with varying degrees of attention.

Price is to your left, staring down at mission documents that no doubt need to be turned in by tomorrow. A glass of some liquor next to his stack, a cigar box that's propped open right by it as well.

To anyone else, it would seem like Price isn't listening and he's just here to keep you from bothering him to come but Gaz can see the Captain's eye flick up every so often, his eyes softening when his gaze falls on yours, listening for a few beats, a miniscule upturn of his lips until he's looking back down again, grabbing a pen to make a correction.

Soap on the other hand is sitting next to Cap, a hand resting under his chin, the other flipping around a pen in his hands. He's nodding and asking questions as you flick through. Below him is a notebook that seems to have scribbled in it, if Gaz walked in further he could see little drawings of Monty Gator and Soap himself, a Venn diagram with a large red writing saying "Mohawk!!"

Ghost being there probably should be a shock but it isn't. The man is known to follow you around like a shadow, he humors you arguably the most out of the four men, letting you drag him to and from places with minimal complaint. He bets Ghost is gonna be the one to take you to the five nights at Freddys movie premiere.

Simon's dressed down to just his hoodie and his balaclava mask, attentively watching you as you speak passionately about each character and their role in the series. his dark eyes flicking around to stare at the drawings you inserted so everyone could see what the animatronics and others looked like.

You would've thought this was a mission debrief with how focused he was on your words.

Gaz lets out a fake cough, announcing himself to the room and he watches as your eyes immediately latch onto him, he ignores how his heart skips a beat when he sees the crinkles of your eyes, seeing you shoot a glowing smile his way.

You always look at him like that but he never tires of it.

"Gaz! Finally, you're here!"

Rushing over to him, you grab at his hand, quickly intertwining fingers, and start dragging him to the seat next to Ghost. He sits down with a huff, amusement swimming around his eyes. You move to go back to the front of the room, gleefully rocking on the balls of your feet as you look at them.

"What's all this about?" He questions, after getting nods in acknowledgment from the other 3 men in the room.

"Teddy here is tellin' us about five nights at…Frankies?"

"It's Freddy's, Johnny." You roll your eyes playfully.

"No shot you're making Ghost and Cap listen to this."

"I'm not making them do anything, they're here of their own free will, thank you very much." Sticking out your tongue, moving to click to the next slide.

"Is that true Cap?"

"It's background noise," John murmurs with a shrug, taking a swig out of his glass. He leans back in his seat, seemingly taking a momentary break as he looks around at the table.

"Got nothin' better else to do," Simon answers easily, looking at Gaz from the corner of his eye.

"You ain't gonna ask me, Garrick?"

"Nah, you of all people would enjoy it."

"What's tha-"

"Boys! Shut it! We're getting to the good part!" You clap your hands together and Soap immediately cuts himself off, looking back at you.

With all the boys' eyes on you, you clear your throat and push a button, there, from when Gaz remembers, is Michael Afton in all his purple nasty body glory.

"Fucks wrong with him? Why does he look like that?" Simon remarks, an eyebrow shooting up.

"I'm so glad you asked, you know actually the more I think about it, You and Michael actually have a lot in common.”

"How so?"

"Asshole dad, the oldest brother, daddy issues, I can keep going if you want."

Ghost just grunts in acknowledgment, raising a hand to his head and rubbing at his temples.

Price chokes on his liquor, coughing as it goes down the wrong pipe.

Soap audibly drops an "oh."

And Gaz just stares, truth be told, yeah. Yeah, he can see the resemblance.

[blossom-hwa]

last night | y.jh, j.ww

pairing: Jeonghan x gender neutral!reader x Wonwoo genre: angst, god!au (?) warnings: implied sex (nothing graphic, but it's kind of obvious what happened) word count: 1.8k notes: — inspired by the title track for jeonghan/wonwoo's new album, 'last night' :) — rn this is mostly just vibes with a semblance of plot, but I hope to develop it at some point into something bigger! please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your theories about this and the mv <3 Two gods walk in your dreams, and invite you to dance.

Seventeen Masterlist

I appeared in your dream last night I sang in your dream last night Sweetly, at times passionately I carefully knock on your door

.

That night, the moment your head touches your pillow, you dream.

The room is dark, filled with the humid musk of sweat. People chatter unintelligibly over music filtering from the stage, a guitar melody over a Latin beat that sounds hauntingly familiar. Everyone seems to be dancing, but no one turns as you push through the crowd, looking for someone you don't yet know.

A hand tugs your wrist and you turn around, coming face to face with the man you fell asleep next to. Jeonghan's eyes glint with mischief as he pulls you to him, spinning you into the figures of a dance. There's no space in this dark room but he leads you with impossible ease, weaving in and out of the other couples on the floor, his chest almost pressed to yours as you spins you under his arm, round and round as your loose pants spiral out around you—

A different hand catches your waist. Dips you gently, then pulls you into frame before you even have time to catch your breath. And you don't catch it. Because it isn't Jeonghan who holds your hand now, leading you to the melody of this haunting guitar, but Wonwoo, who holds you with a softer grip, his palms rough against your skin but nothing short of gentle as he draws you close, close like he's afraid the crowd will swallow you away.

It doesn't. But he sends you out in a spin, your arms raised above your head, and when you stop whirling around it's Jeonghan who has caught you again, Wonwoo's face morphing into his.

Dark hair shortens and lengthens, turns darker and lighter under the room's neon glow. Rough skin grows smooth, sliding like silk against your waist and neck, and breath pants hot against your face and skin as you dance with two men and two gods, full lips and dark eyes almost meeting yours when—

"Got you now."

Jeonghan smirks, his thin lips curved teasingly as he pulls you flush against him. One arm snakes around your waist and with the other, he grabs your hand. "That was fun, wasn't it?" he murmurs. He spins you under an arm before you can answer, catching you in a dip that shouldn't be possible in this dark room of sweat and dance, but the crowd seems to have parted just for you in the center of the floor.

"Tell me," he whispers silky smooth into your ear. "Tell me you like me more than that upright, uptight, annoying truth-teller of a god."

You match his smirk. "I could tell you that," you reply softly. "Do you really want me to?"

"Depends." His smile widens. "Would it be a truth, or a lie?"

Laughing the way you know he likes, you wrap your arms around his neck. "Now where would be the fun in telling you that?" you croon.

He laughs, then—not his usual mischievous giggle, but a full-bodied laugh that sounds at once so much more innocent and so much more dangerous. "No wonder I like you so much," he says, and for a moment, you think he'll pull you up. Instead, though, he dips you lower, letting his hair dangle over your face. For a moment, you stay there, staring at each other, as the guitar sings soulfully from the stage.

His free hand rises, brushing softly against your face. "Why don't you stay with me?" he whispers, and you're not sure if it's his voice or his fingers that caress your cheek, wind soft, butterfly light, silk smooth. "All day, all night—I'll love you, you know. You'll never want for anything in your life." He leans in, those eyes cast down to your lips.

Your arms tighten around his neck.

The ghost of a smile curves his mouth. You shiver in his hold, precarious, stable, safe and dangerous and threatening—he will never let you go, it's true, but if he does, he'll push you into a void with a laugh and you will

never

stop

falling.

Fae eyes, so disarmingly gentle like the silk sheets that swallowed you as he took you last night, dark hair falling over his face when he finally collapsed next to you on the bed, panting into your skin as you whispered his name into the bare curve of his throat. He'd held you, then. Held you like you were everything he ever wanted. Everything he ever needed.

The girl's words from earlier suddenly flicker through your mind. Who wouldn't want to go with him?

But even in that hold, you still knew that you could fall.

His voice shivers across your skin, lips just brushing against yours. "I'll make all of your dreams come true," he whispers.

For a moment, you almost believe that he's telling the truth.

You allow yourself to smile, one hand dragging along his smooth neck, tugging through his hair before coming to rest on his cheek. "Jeonghan," you murmur, and his eyes flutter—like that one word weakens him, his name from your lips.

The room, dark with sweat, dark with lust, dark with memories forgotten in the fog of dance and drink, blurs in your vision. You press your forehead against his and gaze into those fae eyes always looking, always searching for something and someone you will never know, and he will never find.

You whisper, "You yourself don't even know what you want to find."

He is beautiful, even in his sorrow, in his anger, in his fury—fire burning in his eyes and in the pale skin smooth against your gentle palm. "And do you?" he asks, each quiet word a gunshot against your ear.

You don't have an answer.

His smile widens. And it continues to widen as it meets yours in a soft kiss, lips pressing against yours with a deliberate gentleness. Light as the wind. Warm as a fire. A man’s promise, and a god’s threat.

His lips taste salty. Like the oceans he crossed to find you, only to learn that your face was one he could no longer recognize.

"Damn." He frowns suddenly, pulling away. You blink in confusion as mock disappointment writes itself lightly across his face. "It looks like I've been found. Such a shame." In a moment he's pulled you up out of the dip, spun you around to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. "I'll be waiting for you, my little bird," he murmurs against your ear. He smells of the sea, the sun shimmering on its placid surface. "Treat that as a promise."

"A promise, or a threat?"

You hear his smile even if you don't see it. "Whichever one you'd like."

Something rips him away, then. A gust of wind slashes your face and suddenly you're on a rooftop, facing a very different man. Jeonghan is nowhere to be found.

Wonwoo gazes at you, his expression impassive as always. Hair frames his eyes, dark as night, and in the pale glow of the moon, he looks exhausted.

"Wonwoo." His name slips off your tongue. It feels so right, coming from your voice. The problem is, Jeonghan's also feels right, but in such a different way.

He looks at you, and you see it in his eyes. He knows. Knows what you did last night, knows whose arms you fell asleep in, knows who kissed you just now, even in a dream—

Knows who you let through your walls, even for a moment, in a way you have never allowed him in.

You tilt your head, looking into Wonwoo's dark eyes. Despite the shadows that follow him, he seems softer than Jeonghan, an impression only furthered by the fullness of his lips.

You've kissed Jeonghan. You wonder what it would be like to kiss Wonwoo instead.

"Y/N." Wonwoo's voice rasps your name, low and gravelly and achingly gentle. His arms slip out of his long, dark coat, and as the wind whips your skin he steps forward, draping it around your shivering shoulders.

You remember him earlier in the club, spinning you across the floor. You remember your hand in his, effortlessly leading you around other dancers to the beat. You remember the roughness of his palm compared to the softness of Jeonghan's, and you remember how he looked at you, a strange longing etched into every line of his face before Jeonghan took his place again and kept him away.

Wonwoo doesn't shiver despite the lack of a coat. But when he collapses into your chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like the lifeline of a drowning man, he feels so cold, like not even the sun could ever hope to warm him.

You hold him close, because you are not the sun, and you won't give up even when hope disappears.

Jeonghan lies. It is in his blood. He does it well, and you indulge him, because he is charming, he is handsome, and he is an old god who believes you are his.

You have never been Wonwoo's, however, by his word or yours. What some don’t understand is that you are no one’s to give or take. Nor is he.

"Y/N," he whispers again, like a prayer on his tongue. Like your name is his truth.

"Wonwoo," you murmur in reply, because to you, a mortal, his name is your truth.

He pulls away quietly but takes your hand. You look at your clasped palms, then back up at him. "It's time, isn't it?" you ask, a tear prickling your eye, lips almost curved in a smile.

That hand in yours lets go, and rises to your cheek. Wonwoo's fingers are cold but they begin to warm against your skin. "I'm sorry," he says, and there are tears in the rasp of his voice. He doesn't smell like salt, though. He smells like rain in a storm, grey clouds pouring clean and cold on the ground.

(A storm is what it is, but the sea always hides threats under its skin.)

"It's okay," you whisper as he leans in. "It's always okay."

His lips meet your forehead, as though in benediction. You close your eyes. The night sky disappears and so does he.

You wake up tangled in silk sheets, alone, your clothes tossed on the floor.

The press of Wonwoo's lips on your forehead still lingers softly on your skin.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[malk1ns]

Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

-

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet��Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

-

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his nose into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

-

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

[drvirgus]

Protecting (my heart)

Idol! Minji X bodyguard! Reader

Description: getting a new job as NewJeans bodyguard isn't really something Y/n thought would happen to her. What exactly happens when she suddenly felt attracted to one of the NewJeans members? Can Y/n stay professional or are her feelings for Minji too much to handle?

Warnings: stalking; harassment; kys jokes; suggestive language; death threats; mention of abuse; mention of murder;

Chapter: I’m waiting (half-written)

Masterlist

———————————————————————————

Smiling, I looked at Hanni as I held the tongs in my hand. The smell of grilled meat wafted under my nose as I patiently waited. Hanni had her drink in hand and was telling one of her stories, which brought a smile to my face.

Chuckling, I turned the meat over to cook the other side. Beside me, Minji nodded, also giving Hanni her full attention, a small smile on her lips. As individual pieces of meat were ready, I placed them on Hanni's and Minji's plates. Both of them immediately thanked me as I put more meat on the grill.

I watched as Hanni and Minji ate, which made me smile. "We shouldn't eat too much," Hanni sighed. "I heard some complaints about us gaining weight," she explained when she noticed my questioning gaze.

I looked a bit more serious and rolled my eyes. "Eat as much as you want. Screw what others think," I said, taking a deep breath. My jaw was slightly tense. "You both. All of you have perfect figures," I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. "So don't force yourselves and just live. That's how life is more fun," I added, laughing lightly, which Minji immediately agreed with.

So I kept putting meat on their plates until Minji leaned closer to me. "You eat too," she said, holding out the salad with kimchi and meat to me. I smiled and opened my mouth, allowing Minji to feed me.

I smiled, which made Minji smile too. Hanni watched the whole thing and started giggling as she filled our shot glasses with soju. She raised her glass, and we followed suit, clinking our glasses together before downing the drinks.

My eyes scanned the empty store. Unfortunately, it had to be this way. After all, I was here with two very famous idols. "By the way, I'm leaving for two days tomorrow," Minji said, looking at me.

"At what time? I'll drive you," I immediately replied. Hanni chuckled when she noticed how familiar Minji and I already were with each other. She seemed to be watching us closely, but I didn't really notice.

Minji smiled at me immediately as she sighed. Her head rested on my shoulder. "The flight is at 10," she said, and I nodded immediately. I hummed a little as I continued to check the meat and turned it. "Then I'll pick you up around 7? We could have breakfast before you fly," I said, and Minji lifted her head from my shoulder with a wide smile on her lips as she nodded eagerly.

I smiled and nodded back. Now I set the tongs aside. "I'll just go to the bathroom for a moment," I said, looking at Minji and then Hanni before I stood up and made my way to the restroom.

Unaware of the conversation Hanni and Minji were having, which I naturally wasn't supposed to know about, I returned to the table with still slightly damp hands that I shook off along the way. Unfortunately, I noticed two tall, visibly drunk men standing at the table, apparently conversing with the two idols.

With a furrowed brow, I approached the table. My eyes immediately scanned the two men as I scrutinized them for any signs of a camera, phone, or even a weapon.

"I'm sorry. This is a private event," I said, putting on a friendly smile and drawing the attention of the men towards me.

I was an idiot for forgetting to lock the door...

"Why though? It's boring just being with three people," one of the men said, and the slightly shorter one nodded with a grin on his face. The smaller one, who was still taller than all of us, leaned towards me.

"Let us join. I promise we'll have a lot of fun," he said, his breath smelling of alcohol, which immediately gave me an uncomfortable feeling. I sighed, but I stood my ground. "Please leave the premises," I reiterated, this time with an even more serious tone and no smile on my face.

The drunk friend just chuckled as he suddenly grabbed Hanni's arm. With a quick movement, I grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back, my other hand on his shoulder.

He screamed in pain, "Damn bitch, let me go!" he demanded, but I simply dragged him towards the door, his smaller friend watching with his mouth hanging open.

With a shove, I threw the man out of the store. I could see him rubbing his wrist in pain. "I could easily beat you up," he threatened me, but he didn't move an inch.

I ignored him and turned to his drunk friend. "Are you leaving voluntarily, or do I have to do the same with you?" I asked calmly, causing him to nervously smile. As he walked away, he bowed repeatedly to the idols and me. "I've only had my arm broken recently. I don't want any trouble," he slurred as he voluntarily left the store.

"Damn. That slut lied," I heard one of the drunk men mutter as I simply closed and locked the door. With a sigh, I returned to the table where Minji and Hanni were looking at me with wide eyes.

I cleared my throat as I settled properly into my seat, my eyes focused on Hanni. "Did he hurt you?" I asked, visibly concerned, but Hanni shook her head in response. Annoyed, I sighed again. "I'm sorry. That was my mistake. I forgot to lock the door," I explained, but neither of them reacted.

Questioningly, I looked first at Hanni and then at Minji. "What's wrong?" I asked casually as I took the tongs once again and placed new meat on the grill. The sizzling sound could be heard clearly throughout the room.

"How can you be so casual about it? You just kicked them out without any problem," Hanni said, leaning forward slightly with her mouth open. I laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of my neck.

"Well, I'm not your bodyguard for nothing," I replied with a smile, feeling my cheeks flush slightly. Hanni laughed in response, which made Minji laugh too.

Surprised by the loud sound Minji made, I raised my eyebrows and looked at her. Hanni refilled our glasses again. "That's how she always laughs," Hanni said. My eyes still on Minji as I simply smiled. I could feel my face relaxing completely.

My heartbeat quickened.

[lady-maracas]

Hello! I have juicy angsty request for you! It's angel dust x !male reader and it goes like this:

Reader and angel lived in the same period and used to work in the mafia where they met eachother and eventually fell in love with eachother (in a secret relationship), after some time both reader and angel die in shootouts with other gangs and the cops.

They both assume that their partner went to heaven and go many years in hell alone. Until by pure luck Reader finds angel wasted behind a bar and decides to help this random twink he found (they don't recognize eachother because angel is a spider demon dude now and thus pretty different visuallg compared to his living self, same goes for reader), after angel becomes sober and understands that reader isn't someone who will take advantage of him the 2 start having some small talk which eventually leads to them both thinking "HOLY SHIT ARE YOU ANGEL/READER?!!?", after which they cry tears of joy after finally finding their soulmate after decades spent alone

Angst prompts are 17, 22, 30 and 40

Also it's the first time that i write a request with a prompt system so sorry if i messed it up and of course feel free to modify my request however you like if you need to.

Thanks for reading!

Memories

Pairing: AngelDust X M!Reader

Word count: 2k words

Warnings: Swearing, Angst with a happy ending.

Masterlist

I’ll be using angst prompts:

#17, “I lost myself the day I lost you.”

#22, “I’d take our relationship back in a heartbeat.”

#30, “You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

#40, “You know I still love you, right?”

It had been a cold night. A bad feeling was in the air, as if everyone knew we’d never make it out alive. It was one of those days, working for the mafia, fulfilling your destiny, as they say. If I had the choice, I wouldn’t have done any of this—the killing, the fighting, the running away. I would have had a beautiful life and a better family. I would’ve been happy. Unfortunately, I had to work with my family, kill for them, fight for them, and be unhappy for them.

It was a cold night indeed. We could hear the bugs singing and fireflies lighting up the dark night. There was fog, if I remember correctly. Yes, there was. I was surrounded by my family and the rest of our mafia members. The ten of us stood around our enemies shelter, their house, hidden in the middle of the woods. We had found them a couple of days prior, deciding we needed to attack them first.

I remember walking slowly towards the house, crouching behind tall herbs. It was quiet; the only sound we could hear was our steps in the wet grass. I looked to my right, and I remember seeing him.

Oh, my dear Anthony, the light of my life. His blonde hair stood out in the dark, and his blue eyes looked right back at me. We had met a couple of years ago, when he joined my family’s team. Just like me, he was following his relatives orders, not liking the line of work we were bound to. I remember the first time I saw him and how mesmerized I was. His fluffy blonde hair, his deep blue eyes, his rosy cheeks—everything about him made me immediately fall in love. He was a bit taller than I was, making me look up at him like he was a god. He was beautiful.

Over the next few years, we got to know each other better. He spent our days together, followed our families together, comforted each other through hard times, and we were attached at the hip. I would lie if I said I didn’t fall madly in love with him. Unfortunately, the 40s weren’t swell enough to accept us, two men, being in love with each other. So we never said so. It was obvious, though; he cared for me as much as I cared for him.

So that night, that damned night, when our oh-so genius plan failed, when the enemies attacked us before we even had the time to draw our weapons, I knew I had to say something to him. I remember trying to make my way up to him through the bullet rain. That is when it hit me. Right through the spine and the stomach. Fuck.

I saw Anthony’s eyes widening as I fell into the tall grass. It all happened in slow motion. He threw himself down and made his way up to me, cradling me in his arms, tears threatening to fall on his cheeks. He was afraid.

“It’s okay.” I tried to lift my hand to his cheek. I think I did. “You don’t have to hide your tears from me, it’s alright.” I gave him a weak smile, and so did he, his tears staining his cheeks.

And everything went black, as black as the night sky.

That’s what happened; well, that’s how I remember it happening. My death. It was a lifetime ago, but sometimes it still felt like yesterday. I remember his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my arm, trying to make my death as painless as possible. I am forever glad the last thing I saw was his beautiful face.

I hope he lived a beautiful life after my passing. Or, well, at least I hope he lived. I have no idea when, how, or where he died. I don’t know if he’s in hell or in heaven. I hope he is in heaven, living his afterlife in peace, but a part of me wished he’d be down here in hell.

I got used to living alone in this shithole; I had to anyway. I spent most of my days working, trying my best to earn money to survive. I often spent that money on drinks, trying to solve all my problems by forgetting them for a short while. Tonight was no different; I was sitting at the bar of a shitty club. The music was awful, I cursed whoever chose to play some of these tasteless tracks. I stared at the bottom of my drink, silently hoping the creepy bartender, who has been giving me weird looks since I arrived, didn’t spike my drink.

I had very few friends down here in hell. Most of them have families and important duties to take care of. None of them knew just how much I was struggling to live here, to be happy, and to have a good afterlife. I was desperate, I needed a good friend, or at least someone who would understand me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a loud, crashing noise right beside me. I turned my head just in time to see a pink figure jump across the bar to tackle the bartender.

“Did you fucking spike my drink?” I heard the pink figure shout about two inches from the bartender’s face, holding his collar with his right hand, or more like one of his four hands. “You fucking…drugged me!” His speech was slurred. He definitely was not sober, and if he told the truth, he was drugged too.

The bartender pushed him away, making him stumble back. “I did not!” The bartender gestured, almost knocking on my drink in the process. I grabbed the glass, finishing its contents in one swift sip.

“There’s no need to fight, gentlemen.” I spoke up, trying to break the tension between the two. I put my hand on the pink man’s shoulder; he was much taller than me. “Come on, I’ll get you some help.” I tried to reason with him, obviously, he was scared. He glared at me, his eyes staring at mine, one white, one black. I took one of his arms and led him through the front door. “Where do you live? I’ll help you home.” I asked.

“You’re the one who…asked him to spike my drink, huh? If you wanted to take advantage of me, you could’ve just asked.” He brushed his fluffy bangs out of his face. I looked back at him with a soothing smile on my face. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you…uh” I hesitated; I didn’t know his name. “My name is Angel.” His speech was slurred. “Alright then, Angel, if you want me to, I’ll help you home.” I offered him my hand, to which he clung, to steady his sloppy steps. We walked for a bit to where I assumed was his home, all the while exchanging small talk.

I noticed Angel had been leading me to the famous Hazin Hotel. Oh Lord, please don’t tell me he lives there. “You’re staying at the hotel?” I asked, a bit hesitant. “Yeah, yeah, I was forced to; my friend, Charlie, thinks I can rehabilitate my soul. Ha!” He laughed at the thought. “You don’t think you can redeem your soul?” I laughed with him. “Absolutely not!” He crossed all four arms. “This body was made for sex, Toots! There is no way I’ll ever be a sweet angel!” He stumbled a bit due to the alcohol in his system. “Steady, we’re almost there!” I encouraged him by giving him my hand for him to grab again. He was definitely a funny guy.

We made our way up to the hotel, the path seeming endless. He waddled in, keeping the door open for me, but when I didn’t enter, he turned around, giving me a puzzled look. “You’re sure you want me to come in? I don’t want to bother you.” I fidget with my hands. I definitely wanted to help him, but I did not want to deal with everyone else who might stay at this hotel. “Oh, come on, you’re no bother! Everyone else is probably asleep by now.” He let go of the door when I stepped in. I noticed his Italian accent, and I loved that…

He walked up the stairs, holding the railing with both his right hands to steady himself. I stayed behind him in case he stumbled down. When we arrived in front of his room, he opened the door, and I hesitated again, not wanting to overstep. His room was decent, even nice. I barely had the time to process my surroundings when I heard the tap water in the bathroom sink. Angel leaned over the sink to try and drink. “Don’t you have a glass somewhere you can use?” I giggled a bit at the funny situation. “Nope!” He replied, sending water down his face. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Mh! That was good!” He mumbled a bit under his breath.

“I like your accent! Is it Italian?” My mouth asked before my brain even had the time to approve. He gave me a funny look before answering. “Yeah, my family was Italian. My real family, I mean.” He sat down on his bed, resting his arms on his thighs. “I miss my life, y’know. Wait, no, actually, I don’t. I used to work for my family, which sucked.” ‘Same…’ I wanted to answer, but I didn’t. “I wish I had lived longer, but when I really think about it, I had no reason to live…” He continued. ‘Oh, this was going to be a deep conversation’, I thought. “You know, my life was pretty much like yours; I’m afraid I used to work for my family too.” I tried to reassure him. He laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I guess you weren’t working for the fucking Mafia…” He sighed.

What? I had been looking away, but when I heard him, I turned slowly back to him. This couldn’t be right…I had to be dreaming, or maybe I misunderstood him. “When did you die?” I asked under my breath, fearing the answer. “1947, why?” He looked at me as if I were crazy.

My breath got caught in my throat. I wanted to cry, to laugh, and to jump into his arms. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. “Anthony?!” I barely let out, wishing my eyes weren’t deceiving me. I saw his face become numb, all emotion leaving his face in the span of a second. “Y/N?” He returned.

I let out a breathy sob, tuning into his arms. He had gotten up, ready to cradle me in his arms, just like he did the day I died. I had finally found him—my love, my light, my everything. We cried for what felt like hours. I finally pulled back to look at his face. He did look different, but after all, he was still my Anthony.

“Oh, Y/N, you don’t know how I missed you; I lost myself when I lost you.” He smiled through his tears. Oh, how I love him. “I still love you, you know? All these years in hell, I tried to find myself, but I was never able to, not without you by my side. It turns out I died only a couple of weeks after you.” I didn’t hesitate this time; not afraid to cross any boundaries, I pressed my lips to his, stepping on my tiptoes. He returned my kiss eagerly, which sent butterflies through my stomach. I loved him. I pulled back a bit, leaning my forehead against his. “I’d take our relationship back in a heartbeat, if you’d let me.” I wiped the tears that fell down on my cheeks, to which he laughed. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He said.

At last, I had found my home.

///

Heya readers! Again, thank you for the request, @4ndr3ax10 , I hope you like it!

Just a reminder, I can write for multiple characters from multiple fandoms, you can find that info on my prompt list! Thank you!

[brotherblaze]

JAILBAIT —simon 'ghost' riley

▹ simon 'ghost' riley/gn!reader

▹ part 2 | part 3 | part 4

▹ synopsis: There's a bar at the edge of the town the base is situated by and the regulars are familiar. Except you. You step in, ask for Ghost, and—there's something almost intimate between you, in the way you move around each other.

▹ cw: n/a

▹ wc: 2k

There's a bar at the edge of the town the base is situated by.

The faces in the bar are somewhat familiar; if not soldiers from the base, then just the same old faces day in and day out. There are a few locals, too, like the nice lady that runs a small pizza kiosk that offers a discount to the troops stationed in the area. They're regulars; their presence is predictable.

Yours isn't.

You step inside, gaze sweeping its habitants, first landing on the group of college-aged women at the pool table being entertained by a few men and their shoddy excuse of teaching pool. There's a middle-aged man sitting on one of the barstools, the bartender pouring from a bottle of golden liquid. You make note of the groups.

The way you're eyeing people, it's like you're looking for someone.

Finally, you approach the group of young men closest to you (sitting at the table next to Soap's). You're all dark eyeshadow and sultry eyes, glittering lips stretched into a smile. You stop in front of the group of rookies.

"Do y'all know the one who religiously wears the black balaclava?" There are a few nods from the group and your smile widens, eyes shining. (Soap finds himself calling you pretty in his head.) "Is he comin' tonight too?"

Soap narrows his eyes at your question.

One of the rookies, baby fat still clinging to his face, speaks up, "I can show you a much better time." He winks, the corner of his lips curled up into a smirk. His friends whistle and holler; one of them even pats him on the back.

Your face turns sour and you throw him a disgusted look. "I like my seat warm and shaved; rugburn's one nasty bitch." And you leave, practically skipping towards the bar, and hop onto the first open barstool.

The rookie's friends are laughing at his expense now, throwing jabs at him. Soap rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his beer. Just when he's starting to regret coming in so early, he spots Price and Gaz step in. He waves them over, asks where Ghost is, and points to you sitting at the bar, idly tapping your fingers against the countertop.

Both of them shrug and jot your insistence of Ghost's presence as some weird kink.

You're engaging in a conversation with the lady who runs the pizza kiosk when Ghost steps into the bar. He's menacing even in civvies as he stalks through the room towards his companions, doesn't even say hi, just sinks into the plush seat next to Soap. 

Soap motions towards you. "Bonnie at the bar was asking for ya."

Ghost gives him a look and Soap shrugs, turning back to his discussion with Gaz and Pierce. But he glances at Ghost from the corner of his eye when he hears his low hum. Ghost is staring at the bar, at you.

He doesn't move until your discussion with the pizza kiosk lady has seemingly tapered off, then he stands, and stalks over to you in large strides.

He leans against the bar, right next to you, so close your elbows might be brushing, and holds up two fingers. Ghost's attention turns to you and a smile lights up your face, lashes fluttering. You offer the now-empty barstool next to you and Ghost accepts.

You're bold, Soap will give you that; he watches you place a hand on the Lieutenant's thigh, leaning in close to whisper something into his ear, glittering lips curled into a grin. When you draw back after a few moments, Ghost is looking at you intently, razor-sharp focus on you.

Your drinks arrive—two shotglasses of clear liquid—and you down yours immediately. Like a snake unhinging its jaw to swallow prey whole. Then, you point to Ghost's glass, which he pushes towards you. It's gone as quickly as its companion. Ghost's hand strays to your face, to the corner of your mouth, thumb sliding along the width of your lower lip to bring the drop of vodka into your mouth. You place a kiss against the pad of his thumb.

Soap feels like he's looking at something intimate. He looks away.

Sometimes they bring girls back to the base for a good time, that's just how it is.

And yet, annoyance seeps into his tone when he speaks. "People really dig the balaclava, huh?"

Price and Gaz only shrug.

Soap sees you hanging around the base in the morning.

You're wearing a black t-shirt way too large to be your own, tucked into the waistband of your shorts. Your thighs are littered with bruises. Dark circles hang under your eyes. There's a mug in your hand—Ghost's mug—when you step into the room for whatever briefing Price had called for. 

Soap is sitting in the one dark corner he could find, nursing a throbbing hangover. The new recruits' loud chatter is only making it worse.

You pause at the door, tired eyes raking over the room as you hold the mug to your lips. There are very few seats left. All eyes are on you and you frown into the mug of cocoa. The lights are too bright.

One of the rookies from yesterday, now with a clean-shaven face, whistles loudly to get your attention. He's tapping his chin with a toothy grin. "Saved you a seat right here."

More whistles, probably from the same group as last night. Soap wants to strangle them for making the little pickaxe-wielding man knock harder against his skull. 

"No, I like my men lookin' tired, borderline deceased from not sleeping. Also, you're ugly."

The rookie's friends howl with laughter like a pack of hyenas, and Soap debates the ethics of ripping out a vocal chord or two.

"Who's offering a seat?"

The room falls silent all at once.

He's told you he's a different man on the field, you know this, but there's a strange chill sinking into your bones when you hear Simon's voice. This is Ghost, no doubt about it, this is the thing he keeps out of your home, your life, your time spent with him. You don't turn to look at him, just step to the side to allow him entrance into the room.

His footsteps are heavy as he approaches and the silence that takes over when he stops next to the recruit pestering you, is deafening. (This might be the first time in your life you'd actually hear a pin drop, you think.)

"Repeat yourself, rookie."

"Sir, I—"

"If you said it to Jailbait, you'll say it to my face."

The rookie stammers something. You can see his hands shaking, palms pressing against his cargo pants. You bring the mug to your lips, lest you let the cocoa run cold.

"Speak up, rook!"

You almost jump at the volume of his voice, the tone has you on high alert, like prey in front of a predator, staring into the eyes of certain death. Your spine straightens; your throat feels tight. You think you see the recruit's eyes shining with tears.

"I see you've met Jailbait."

Price steps into the room, calm as can be. Your eyes jump from Ghost to Price, back to Ghost, and to the rookie for good measure. Yeah, he's definitely going to cry about this later tonight.

"Jailbait," Price calls and you look at him, licking the cocoa off your top lip, "wait outside with Ghost and Soap, I'll walk you to where you need to be once I'm done here." You give him a quick thumbs-up and exit the room. Two pairs of footfalls follow, the door almost slamming shut behind them.

The three of you pause just outside the door, watching Price talk. He seems exhausted and you wince when you think of the bumpy cot you slept on; if it has your neck in seventeen different knots, you wonder how Price is even surviving on it at his age.

Life goes on around you.

"What do ya reckon he's tellin' 'em?" Soap asks, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the scene on the other side of the glass. Price notices your inquisitive stares from your so-called banishment and closes the blinds.

"Rule one: don't touch Jailbait, rule two: don't say stupid shit to Jailbait." Ghost's voice is rough, broad arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his own flesh. His jaw is tense and you want to reach out, run your fingers down the long scar on his jawline, and remind him not to grit his teeth so hard.

You settle for a smartass remark.

"Could've called me Ghost Rider; would've been so much funnier. And clearer." At your words, some of the tension eases from Ghost's shoulders, his stance less painfully rigid. Though, he's still wound, tightly like a toy whose spring is about to give. "Hey, Si, could I paint your nails? Pretty please?"

Ghost sinks into a nearby office chair with a low groan. He parts his legs and pats his thick thigh invitingly. Dark eyes bore into you and there's that chill again. You shake it away and approach with a grin plastered onto your face.

"Should I file this under jealousy or possessiveness?" You seat yourself on his knees, facing him.

"File it under whatever the fuck you like." He pulls his glove off while you reach into his hoodie pocket for the bottle of black nail polish you remember slipping in there this morning. You find it.

"Language," you gently reprimand as you take his hand. His other rests on your thigh, thumb drawing gentle circles into your bare flesh.

"Sorry, love." You crack the nail polish open, handing the open bottle to him, and grab his free hand.

"Wait, so, you two know each other?" Soap asks and you hum an affirmative, intently focusing on painting Ghost's nails. The black polish leaves behind a nice opaque trail and you try not to get it on his fingers.

"He's my sugar daddy."

Ghost exhales a sigh that sounds slightly like a laugh and you flash him a quick smile. His mouth moves under the balaclava and you know his eyes well enough to know he's smiling when the corners crinkle like that.

"I pay for your expensive-ass fancy university degree." He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"My second Bachelor's degree," you emphasize, holding up two fingers. "You get something out of it too; I bake sometimes." You look at Soap. "We're friends, MacTavish, that's all—he talks about you a lot, by the way, says you're besties."

Ghost gives your thigh a harsh squeeze and you almost yelp from the sudden force of his grip. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"You... talk about me?" Soap asks, a finger pointed at himself. His mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to make sense of everything he's seen and heard in the past twelve hours. You, Ghost, the bar, the intimacy in your actions towards each other, everything's on the verge of coming together but it needs one last push.

"Man, for military men, y'all are gullible as hell." You chuckle to yourself and continue your quest of hopefully making black nail polish a permanent staple in Simon's life. "But I do have a Bachelor's in comp-sci, and now I'm working on a Bachelor's in English 'cause maybe I want to go into the translating field one day. Price called me over for a favor."

"You don't look over 18, though," Soap blurts.

Immediately, he wants to pull the words back into his mouth, to wish on a wishbone that he never spoke them when he meets Ghost's dark gaze. If a look could kill, Ghost would be shoveling his body towards the Earth's core right now.

"Simon here didn't believe me for over a year when I said I was 20 when we met." You look at him with a raised brow. "Something-something my high school graduation photo looking like it was from middle school. Right, Simon?"

Ghost grumbles something under his breath and looks away. You'd pry more if you were in a cruel mood.

Instead, you throw Soap a grin. "He's pouting 'cause he actually said that and I'm never letting him live it down."

[softspeirs]

hello! could i please request "remembering things they told them" for mota - dealer's choice on characters and/or ocs?💕 — @shoshiwrites

A/N: @shoshiwrites My gut said more John Egan so here we are. This follows this loosely but you don't need to have read it first.

two. dark skies (i remember)

Three cups of coffee the next morning is barely enough to get her out of bed and moving, but she's back in the pub bright and early. They don't do breakfast, but they open at noon, and she promised herself she'd try to put the day before out of her mind.

She's wiping down the bar when she hears the door open. "We're closed--" She stops when she sees Major Egan. He's twisting the brim of his hat in his hands and looking anywhere but at her. "Morning, Major." She says. "Unfortunately we're still closed... no matter how many of those shiny pins you have on your lapel."

His smile is small. "I just wanted to--" He sighs, looking skyward like he's trying to find the right words. "Look, I'm sorry I was an asshole last night."

He doesn't apologize for his language or look at her like she's going to be offended, which she appreciates.

She still doesn't like the look in his eyes. It's... blank. A bit of remorse there, but something else, too. Something dark and closed off, and she hates that she can tell. That she's spent enough time trying to guess what he's thinking that she can tell his moods apart.

"It's alright, Major."

"No it isn't." He's firm, but not unkind. From behind his back, he pulls out a small, small bouquet of flowers.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Major Egan look anything than confident, cocky, and sure of himself. But this look? She wishes she had a camera.

"I remember you said you like daisies," he says quietly, holding it out towards her, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

She's taken aback - the idea that he remembers anything she's said when they've been surrounded by everyone else is crazy to her. "That's-- no offense Major, but I thought you were three sheets to the wind when this conversation was going on."

A group of rowdy aviators, each one of them bragging about the nicest thing they ever did for a girl, and then the competition to see who could outdo the other... it ended with her chiming in from the bar that all she needed was a picnic and some daisies and she'd be happy, just like most other girls her age. No grand gestures necessary.

This feels like a grand gesture, sort of. Her heart rate kicks up when she takes the flowers from him, their fingertips brushing.

"Did you pick these from some unsuspecting housewife's garden?" She asks, narrowing her eyes.

His eyes light up with amused indignation. "Did I--" His voice is half laugh. "I'll have you know I gave some of my hard earned coin to Mrs. Henderson down the road for these."

"You didn't have to do that."

He shrugs. "I know-- I know you were just looking out for me when I came by here last night. You didn't deserve my... bad attitude."

She doesn't know what to say. She has no idea what he's going through. She has her own heartbreak every time she opens the door for business and sees fewer and fewer airmen walking through the door. But these men, his friends? How is he possibly handling that?

"You, uh... you let us in here night after night and have never kicked us out even when we deserved it. And I... I don't know." He shrugs. "Buck went down yesterday. And I'm angry as hell and all I wanted was to drown it."

She looks down. "I'm sorry I turned you away."

His eyes are clear when he meets her gaze. "Don't be. You were right." He rolls his eyes at himself. "But don't go tellin' anyone I said that."

"You're flying today." It's not a question.

"I have to--" He shakes his head. "It's my job." He straightens, drawing himself back to his full height. "Anyway. I just wanted to..." he trails off, gesturing to the flowers still in her hand. "I should go."

He turns, and she remembers him like that the night before, telling her she shouldn't get attached to any of them. She remembers, but suddenly she doesn't care.

It's too late anyway.

"Bucky." She says his nickname for the first time, and he turns faster than she expected, his eyes widening with-- hope? Surprise? "Take this. For luck."

She hands him a single daisy. Takes a deep breath, raises herself up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek.

It all happens in a second. A heartbeat.

And it's that second, that heartbeat that she plays over and over again in her mind later that night when Captain Rosenthal's plane comes back alone.

[sakasakiii]

Hi!

I love your work!! Your art is very pretty. Do you have a specific idea of how old everyone is ? Do you lean more towards canon or do you have your own dates in mind ? If don’t wanna a answer it’s ok!

Hope u have a nice day

(Remember to drink water!)

hiiii nonnie!!! thank you for checking in, and im happy u like the stuff i put out!! when it comes to ages, it's difficult to answer sometimes bc of the way professor tolkien's timeline is-- it makes gauging one singular place where most of the cast can be compared something that makes my tired brain go 😵🤧🤕 but i love the prompt youve given! and thus heres my attempt at it

with most of my tolkien stuff, i always try to stick to canon wherever possible emphasis is on try lmao and the topic of ages is one such place. i do make exceptions to the Professor's canon sometimes for a few reasons: 1) i like some of the scrapped ideas in his drafts, or 2) i just prefer other options. with ages, i think the only charas with canon-established ages i deviated from are fingolfin, finrod, turgon, and aredhel. i try to keep cases like these minimal tho, so i hope it doesn't bother anyone too much... 👉👈

anyways i figured just dropping a list of numbers would be kinda boring to look at so heres an illustrated guide to what the ~rough~ ages of the finweans are in my head whenever i write or draw. Y.T. 1495 (the year Finwe dies) is the controlled medium ive used to enable a fair comparison of the Finweans

note: "born Y.T. xxx" means this is the canon date of birth listed on Tolkien Gateway. "est. born [xxx]" means this is a noncanon estimate:

the First Age gets a lot more muddled from there due to the hullaballoo of everything going on, so ill only be including the doriathrim and a few other denizens of nargothrond:

it's mostly the older elves that are more undefined/vague with their ages (i.o.w. others like elwing, earendil, the peredhil twins, and most Men all have set dates of birth), so they're all i'll be doing for now. but it's that vagueness which makes hcing all the more enjoyable, isn't it! plus since we’re on this subject, under the cut are just a few headcanons and musings ive had that i wanted to put somewhere 😙

Finarfin and Earwen were born within months of each other! Finwe and Olwe made a Really Big Deal out of when they found out their wives were pregnant at the same time. As a result, the two were often sent on many playdates with each other to “bolster healthy relations” between the Noldor and the Teleri. It wasn’t an arranged marriage situation, but I like to think they were goofy for each other from the start… Resulting in the two eventually getting married as soon as they came of age, the fastest out of all of Finwe’s kids to do so. 

The reason the Ambarussa are significantly younger than the other Finweans (especially the Feanorians-- there’s a 100 Valian year gap between them and Curufin alone!) is because I imagine they were accidental babies that even Feanor didn’t expect to conceive. too bad morgoth said "its morgin time!" and started Messing Things Up shortly afterwards.....

Anaire was Lalwen's good friend long before she married Fingolfin; they met through Lalwen who wingmanned Fingolfin the whole time. i like think Anaire'd be the best out of all the wives at keeping good, healthy bonds with all the women of her family :DD

luthien's potential 姐姐/big sis dynamic with all the younger doriathrim elves is something i daydream about a lot 😌 but sometimes the fact that she's older than finarfin keeps me up at night

this has been really fun, so thanks again for asking-- annnd yessir, i am chugging water as i write this so you better be doing the same ❤️ have a great start to your week!

[yoinkschief]

Me when I men

Dog Teeth AU Tom Character Reference Sheet

WARNING: Slight NSFW - Mild, Non-Explicit Nudity under the cut

My other husband I love him so much let me kiss you on the lips volatile ball of angst and anger

My poor boy was cursed with his father's hairline and sress he cannot carry,,, to be fair that last bit was his own doing

I sure hope he looks nautical enough,, I mean I want him to nautical INSPIRED, not a member of the marine court, y'know?

My lover said "very Garp of him" and I think that's that One Piece Marine DILF guy so that's a plus :)

I also wanted his outfit to be a direct contrast to Tord's - I mean red and blue are already contrasts on the color wheel but kinda so is green so I wanted a little more driving force: white against Tord's blacker color palette

While white is supposed to represent purity, I assure you, Tom is anything but

It's more a reflection of how the characters see themselves: Tord KNOWS he's a piece of shit and happily flaunts it because no one can do anything about, he holds it with pride even

But Tom doesn't believe he's being an ass, he thinks he's genuinely doing the right thing or at the very least the lesser of the two evils he was forced into, and than on it's own has some merit but this is just to say Tom isn't exactly the "savior" of the story despite what the white palette may suggest

It certainly is what he wants to portray to the public, however

Mmmmm mann

I'm apparently really into sharp contrasts or something cause I keep shading with very bright colors against very dark shadows,,,, it's really fun actually so whateva

Also that cape thing Tom wears ? Worst thing ever, it's like a texture issues but instead of the texture bothering him it's the uneven amount of weight, like he's painfully aware it's on his left shoulder and not his right and it irks him so badly but "it carries his rebellion's symbol so he has to wear it in public" or whatever

He's really only seen wearing it during important or public matters, when it counts

Otherwise that thing's in the bin

Back in his OG style but with the horrible hairline and salt in his hair

He got a day off

He snuck out of the lime light

"Ohh I drew him naked to show off his tattoos and to talk about them"

No I didn't

I'm a liar

I drew him naked cause I wanted to draw his tits so I did, simple

But I will talk about his tattoos some more :)

First of all: That scar on his left shoulder is from the house rubble, that cut we see on his arm at the end of The End pt. 2, yeah that's where that comes from

As for his tattoos,,

I know I've explained these somewhere but I'm explaining them again cause I dunno if I explained it someone's DMs or not lol

The Harpoon tattoos are pretty self explanatory, and I also just wanted to show off colored tattoos on darker skin complexions cause that's the stupidest argument I've ever heard and black/dark skinned people should be able to get colored tattoos

The rest are kind of important to Tom and the story line,,,ish?:

the Shark Teeth tattoo comes from the time he visited Hawaii to find out more about his father and his Father's side of the family and their customs, traditions, his heritage, etc. etc.

To make a long story short: there's a reason his father doesn't talk about his side of the family often, but it didn't ruin his experience while visiting some lesser hostile family members in Hawaii like his cousins, and he even got to surf with them - which was when they decided to convince him to get the Shark Teeth tattoo

On top of Tom just being really obsessed with sharks and having infinite knowledge on all things shark related, it's supposed to represent strength, guidance and protection which I think is very fitting for Tom

The "Wolf" tattoo kinda stands out because Tom's Irish, not Scottish or any sort of Norse. So why the Nordic rune?

Well :)

Back when Tom and Tord lived together, they weren't always at each other's throats

I think I mentioned this in my Strip Mafia AU reference sheet for Tord ignore how I forgot to flesh out Tom's,,, I have it I just haven't cleaned it up yet but I'm gonna rehash it here really quick:

Tord gave everyone in the house a tattoo he thought best represented them, including himself (which was the Ouroboros tattoo seen on his character sheet) and Tom's was the rune for "wolf" and I think there are very obvious reasons behind it

Tom stays around his friends a lot, he's got more bite than bark, very unfriendly to outsiders, the list goes on really

It's so odd seeing Tom in so much white if I'm being honest

I'm so used to him being in like angst blacks and greys and I don't think he's adjusting any better himself LOL

[bluecatwriter]

⭐ Step into the Light, which deserves way more attention

Thanks so much for the ask! This is one of my fics I'm most proud of. :)

The fic in question: "Some scenes from Quincey Morris's and Jonathan Harker's complicated relationship, from their time in Varna to the end of the novel, told through their alternating points of view."

Spoilers ahead…

-I know that, like most of my fics, this one was inspired by a Tumblr discussion, but I can't remember who started it or exactly what it was about, other than something about being able to surmise a very interesting relationship between Quincey and Jonathan near the end of the book, culminating with Quincey dying in Jonathan's arms. There was just a lot to explore there, and the idea of doing a back-and-forth perspective switch came to mind.

-Figuring out which beats of the story would be from which perspective was a little tricky; this was one of the few fics where I created a rough outline, and some of the perspectives got shuffled one to the other in order to keep them alternating.

-I usually write in third person, but the idea of using first/second person, with Quincey and Jonathan referring to each other as "you" in their respective scenes, got stuck in my head. It gave the story such an interesting intimacy to it, showing how these events are causing their worlds to sort of revolve around each other. To lend a greater sense of immediacy, I made it present tense instead of my usual past tense.

-Writing Jonathan's scenes came fairly naturally, since I've written a lot from his perspective (albeit in third person) and my third-person voice for him isn't that different from his first-person speaking voice. 

-Quincey's scenes were much more of a challenge; I ended up drafting them in my "normal" narrative voice and then went back later to rewrite nearly every sentence, taking into consideration his speaking patterns. Although I don't know anyone from Texas very well, I drew a lot from my extended family who live in the South, trying to capture the vivid phrasing and storytelling sensibility that goes into a lot of their speech. 

-I always have a hard time coming up with titles (which is why half my fics are named things like "Two Men Talking" LOL). But I was pleased with the title from this one, alluding to the lines: "I feel you staring at us like a coyote outside the light of a campfire ring…I wish I could grab your hand the way you grabbed mine just days ago. Draw you into this ring of light, hold your hand till you know you're safe."

-I decided that I wasn't going to explicitly say whose perspective we were in during any given scene, relying on the line breaks and the different in dialect to get it across. I think I succeeded.

-My preferred headcanon of Jonathan during this time is actually a lot less bitter and standoffish, but it was interesting to explore this version of him in this fic. He's running on pure animal instinct at this point, and Quincey is (wisely) treating him as such.

-I got a bit obsessed with the dynamic of Quincey being fully aware that Jonathan would kill him if he ever tried to stake vampire Mina— and him being cool with that. They've each made their promises, and it's Quincey's job to make sure that this clash never has to happen (but to accept the consequences if it does).

-I had to throw in a lil Quincey pining over Jonathan (and vice versa) because I am a big sucker for Yeehawrker. :D

-I am still very happy with the lines, "You'd look good spattered in the blood of a fresh kill. You'd still look good, even if the blood was mine." (Foreshadowing babey)

-Had to let Jonathan have a good cry! I thought this was an important moment, too, because Jonathan being able to not only break down in front of Quincey, but accept his comfort, was a big turning point for the two of them. Live in the moment, Jonno. You got this.

-Originally Quincey's death scene was from Jonathan's perspective, which makes more sense than writing from a guy who's dead, but I actually really like that my back-and-forth formula ended with Quincey's view of his own death; I think it gives the scene an eerie, almost dreamlike feel, and nicely bookends the whole fic through Quincey's eyes. (Present tense to the rescue, too.)

-I decided to draw out Quincey's monologue a bit more, and give Jonathan a couple words, as well as tying back in the imagery of Jonathan covered in Quincey's blood. And of course, we gotta have the final image of Jonathan (metaphorically stepping) into the light, smiling in the light of the sunset. It was a nice image to end with.

I'm enjoying these Director's Commentaries a bit too much! ;) Thanks again for asking!

(Ask game here)

[ya-bug-boy]

Okay just read Self aware swap!Submas x reader. I need a part 2! I wanna know what happens next!!

Yaay i'm so happy you liked part one! I had a lot of fun writing it <3

Self aware reader x submas part 2

You were quite puzzled when the twins appeared before you, each character identical to one another in almost every way with the exception that one wore a white shirt and the other wore a black shirt. It didn't seem to help much that their immediate reaction was to run around you in circles like a happy bunny; you weren't quite sure what to make of this. But you at least knew their names since they were the main characters and hesitantly you try to talk to them. "Emmet...and Ingo?" Your eyes widen when you hear the elated shrieks of both men and realize that the voices are coming from the farmer players.

The twins themselves are unaware of what happened to you and instead think they came across a cutscene with you. Which is unexpected, your cutscenes are limited to when you first meet the twins and when you give them train rides. For them to see you in the village square is very unusual since there wasn't even a festival happening at all, those are the only days you don't work. You stood there, still baffled at the situation, leaving the impression that the cutscene was lagging. You could hear the whining protests of Emmet, "Nooo, Ingo the game is freezing." Game? Was this a game? What kind of sick game is this? You turn to see the other villager npcs and note that they don't react to you at all but only the twins do. Why are things like this? You didn't even know what a video game was! You try to talk to them again, to see what happens. "Hello boys, this is...rather unexpected, isn't it." Though you're talking, you're trying to directly talk to the voices behind the screen. "Oh, the cutscene continues. Bravo!" This voice comes from the player character Ingo. By now you've heard both the twins talk, but you didn't quite understand what they meant by the word "cutscene." Was that important?

You didn't want to draw any suspicion just yet, fearing that if they thought the "game" was broken, they'd take your sentience away. Which was conflicting, knowing now that what you knew, your whole life was simply some fabrication. You were a piece of a game, meant to entertain others. What did it mean if you stopped being entertaining? You stop and glance at the mountain, where your train station is and back to the twins. You felt so fatigued from all of this. "You'll have to excuse me boys, I'm afraid I only came down here to look for something." "I wonder what it was?" Ingo ponders out loud, to which you answer back. "I'm afraid I can't tell you just yet, it's much too dangerous of a secret. I'm worried you two won't react very well to it. Maybe in due time, you'll know." You sigh, not entirely certain of what you could do next. Maybe your dark tome would have the answers as to what happened? Or was this another curse subjected to you? You simply didn't know. "Aww, boo. Secrets," Emmet whines. You couldn't help but to let out a small laugh at that, to which the twins finally saw your smile for the first time. "He's so cute!" Ingo elates as his brother agrees. "Yes, secrets are necessary at times. I hope you'll forgive me." You knew for certain that the twins were your only connection, to whatever real world was out there. You were going to need to keep interacting with them to understand what was going on. You dug into your pockets and pulled out two train tickets. "The station will be closed today, there are some things I must investigate. But here, For your troubles." You gave a ticket to each twin and stepped back. "I'll be taking my leave now. Goodbye." You then began to walk away, but the twins began to follow you, talking loudly to each other, speculating what you could be investigating. You wish desperately you could just tell them already but it seemed too ridiculous to be real, you needed their trust. You entered inside your train station and locked the door. The twins never entered inside your home before, since there were limitations to the actual game, but you could once again hear Emmet booing in protest, gently yelling, "Let me in! Let me in!" You let out a breathy laugh through your nose and sat back down on your desk, to try and find a possible answer to all of this in your book of evil. It lead to your sentience and maybe, in due time, it could lead to your freedom as well.