#pure and unadulterated fluff

[g1rld1ary]

Hey!! I saw you write for lockwood & co, so I've been summoned ✨

May I request an Anthony Lockwood x reader where it's basically like the deleted scene where Lucy is in a towel and compliments Lockwood's pajamas, and Lockwood (probably panicking) says he likes her towel and he has this face of instant regret

Basically that but with reader and maybe they're already dating? Thank you so much!!

nice towel - anthony lockwood x reader

wc: 922

cw: r gets caught in just a towel, kissing (slightlyyyy suggestive content maybe??), swearing

thank u so much for this request sweetheart!! i know it took so long but it was so fun to write -- i know i took it in a little different direction but i hope u enjoy & i did ur req justice!!!! lots of love xoxo

It wasn’t always easy living with your coworkers. Especially when your coworkers were all teenagers your age, including your very new boyfriend. Having four people in relatively cramped quarters was bound to bring uncomfortable situations, but you all tried to handle it like the adults you weren’t yet.

The aforementioned uncomfortable situations happened most often surrounding the bathroom. One bathroom between four people wasn’t the worst arrangement in the world, but with four people with such irregular schedules, it was inevitable that sometimes your visits would coincide.

Usually it wasn’t so bad; two people sharing the sink as they brushed their teeth, you sitting in the shower (clothed, of course) shaving your legs as George did his hair. Life was mostly peaceful.

You were taking a Sunday night everything shower, washing your hair and using the fancy exfoliator and body wash you got as a birthday gift. Your body was smooth, you felt glowing and you were wrapped in a fluffy warm towel, painting your toes as you sat on the toilet. You were the last to shower so you had no inclination to rush, knowing there wasn’t a great chance of anyone bursting in with any urgency.

Except, of course, Lockwood and Co. never did what you expected. A loud banging came through the door and you jumped, swiping the nail polish over your skin instead of the nail.

You jumped up regardless, clutching your towel tightly across your chest as you opened the door. George, Lucy and Lockwood stood on the other side, all in their pyjamas and panting slightly. You stared at them, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“What do you remember about the Jefferson House ghost?” George asked, catching you off guard.

“Huh?”

“Jefferson House ghost. The poison case. I was visiting family, Lucy wasn’t part of the company yet and Lockwood is useless at remembering research. What do you remember?” You were still struggling to understand the purpose of this question, but shrugged and answered anyway, rattling off whatever you could remember about the house, the ghost and the case.

“You’re so much more useful than Lockwood,” Lucy said, shooting you both a teasing smile. Lockwood rolled his eyes, but amusement shone through underneath.

“Right. Well, I’d like to get back to my night, uh,” You caught a glance of Lockwood’s matching pink set of pyjamas, “Nice pyjamas.” Lockwood glanced down at his outfit and you swore you saw him blush, a rosy colour similar to his shirt. Lucy and George watched between you.

“Thanks,” He said, eyes giving you a once over, “Nice… towel.” You could actually see the regret seeping into his bones, mortified cringe screwing up his features. You bit your lip, an awkward giggle escaping as all four of you stood, slightly unsure of what to do.

You took the initiative, slowly backing away from the group, pressing the door closed as you heard Lucy’s deadpan: “Lockwood, what the fuck?” and his panicked reply.

“I panicked!”

You had a total physical reaction, the tangible awkwardness of the moment permeating through the bathroom. You did an embarrassing wriggle-shake-expelling of discomfort and immediately felt better, going so far as to laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

You and Lockwood had only been dating for a few months, trying to take things slow and ensure you weren’t compromising the state of the company. Therefore, you hadn’t spent the night in his room yet. So you’d never seen Lockwood in his adorable matching set of flannels and he’d never seen you less than fully clothed (with the exception of him patching you up a few times where you looked so unsexy).

Later that night, you knocked softly on Lockwood’s door, pushing it open gently. Only the lamp was still on, Lockwood reading in his bed, still dressed in the pink pyjamas. He looked up when you entered, surprised but not at all disappointed.

Your usual rule was that you spent time together in the library at night; private but not at risk of crossing lines that might make George or Lucy uncomfortable — the company was both of your priorities.

“I am so sorry for before,” Lockwood begged for forgiveness, smile both embarrassed and entertained. You shook your head, dismissing the apology.

“It’s ok, I laughed.” He relaxed immediately, megawatt smile back out for you to admire. He patted the spot beside him and you all but dove in next to him, giddy at the feeling of being in his bed. “Your pyjamas are really cute, by the way.” He blushed again, putting his arm around you and pulling you close. You hoped he couldn’t feel your racing heart.

“Yeah?” His eyes glinted with mischief, “You looked pretty cute in the towel too.”

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help the girlish giggle that escaped you, looking up at him through your lashes in a way you knew he liked.

“Yeah.” He swooped down and stole a kiss, triumphant when he pulled away until you grabbed the back of his neck, connecting your lips deeper. He let out a startled noise before he melted into it, adjusting you to a more comfortable position underneath him.

Lockwood pulled away to admire the view.

“Maybe we need to rethink our rules,” He murmured, playing with a strand of your hair absentmindedly.

“Anthony, I swear to God, if you don’t keep kissing me —”

You didn’t have to finish the sentence.

[yallthemwitches]

“Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile. He chuckles, hand still sliding against her cheek. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.”

Rated T. Read under cut or on AO3

“Evans–now this is getting ridiculous.”

She clenches her eyes even more shut, keeping her body curled into a tight ball in the squashy arm chair. 

“Go away—I’m fine. Just…resting.” The effort to speak makes her head ring. “Shouldn’t you be in class anyway?”

She hears the dampened sound of footsteps and opens her eyes. James stands in front of her, tugging at his tie until it comes loose around his neck, his bag abandoned on the ground. 

“Peter told me you were up here looking like a shriveled up flobberworm,” he says plainly, “Can’t have my friends looking that bad.”

“Well, remind me to tell Peter exactly what I think he looks like next time he comes around,” she huffs, a frown too painful to muster.

It gets a smile out of him and for a moment she can look past the utter embarrassment of probably actually looking like a flobberworm. Through her pounding temples, his use of the word friend rattles around, taunting her in a way that she doesn’t have the energy nor desire to focus on. They are friends— that is a good thing. So why does it feel like a knife to her frontal lobe everytime he says it?

Her eyes blink open again to see him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, tie now lost and the top buttons undone in a carelessly disheveled look. 

Oh, that’s why. 

“You should at least go to the hospital wing,” he chides. The good advice sounds foreign from his mouth. 

“No hospital wing,” she croaks out. “Honestly, it's just a cold. I need to just sleep it off…”

A sharp chill runs through her chest and she shudders her body closer, burrowing her face into her knees. The fire next to her crackles warmly, but it’s like someone has put a shielding charm on it— all she can feel is the cold hollowness of the castle. 

“Alright, suit yourself.”

Something resembling warmth slides under her and pulls her up out of the chair. Body going into panic mode, she begins to squirm in his arms, trying and failing to push against his chest and back into the chair.

“James, put me down. I’m disgusting–my nose is running.” 

“Nah, you’re not disgusting,” he says with full sincerity, “just sick.” His arms tighten around her and she abandons all hope to be released, taking advantage of the opportunity to be cradled against him. 

“We both know you won’t make it even two steps up to the girls dorm anyhow,” she adds, weakly. Playing a battle of wits with him on a normal day was exhausting enough, but with a fever it seemed downright unfair.

“Good thing I’m not going to the girls' dorm then.”

He turns his body in the other direction and starts climbing the steps to the boys’ dorm, having a far too easy time managing to carry her up such a cramped, spiral staircase. On the landing, he kicks open the door to the dorm room, all the boy’s bed curtains open and vacant besides leftover candy wrappers and bits of parchment. 

“The lads are out in classes until at least dinner,” he sets her down on her feet but she holds onto his arm for balance, woozy from the blood rushing back to her body. “--and even so, I’ll tell them to shove off if they happen to try to skive off a class.”

Still holding onto his arm, he leads her over to his bedside. It’s not a place she hasn’t seen before: since fifth Remus would sometimes invite her up to listen to records and now in more recent months she would come up to join in whatever antics they were up to—but to get in his bed? If her body had the leftover energy to make her cheeks burn, she would have been on fire. 

“You want me to sleep here?” She whispers, eyes darting around his space. None of the boys other than Remus had made their beds and looking down at the pulled back duvet she could imagine him clearly —sitting up with impossibly messy hair and eyes still full of sleep, stretching his arms over his head and yawning with some t-shirt on—or no shirt at all…

Suddenly everything went from freezing to blazing hot. 

James blinks, brow crinkling. “Well, I guess you could sleep in someone else’s bed but I think it would be better to ask–”

Her head jerks up to find his face dangerously close. Too close when she’s probably pale as a ghost and full of mucus and just a friend.

“No–sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to be some kind of goldilocks…”

“Goldi—what?”

Suddenly, succumbing to sickness seemed awfully appealing. “Nothing, I’m delirious.”

“Right.” His brow furrows and his eyes scan over her face for a moment. “Is this ok then? It’s just that you said you didn’t want to go to the hospital wing and–”

“It’s fine. Really. It’s honestly too kind of you.” She means it, though she doesn’t have the energy to imbue her words with exactly how much. 

His face softens, a triumphant smile breaking onto his face. “It’s nothing. You can use my bed anytime—now, off you go.”

He leads her to sit and contemplate the most loaded statement she’s ever heard. 

Acting as though offering his sleeping quarters is as natural as sharing a quill, he goes over to his wardrobe and starts pulling out drawers, hands fishing through pieces of fabric.

“So what will it be? Socks I presume? Maybe something more comfortable to sleep in?”

She can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or not. The room starts to go fuzzy again and she wishes she still had his arm to hold onto. 

“Er–I have socks thanks.”

He turns around, holding thick, Gryffindor socks that are three sizes too big for her. 

“Yeah, but do you have quidditch grade, comfy, wool socks?” He tosses them in her direction and she just barely makes the catch. 

“Really, you’re doing too much I’m fine with—”

He pulls out a shirt and holds it up to inspect. She immediately recognizes it as his quidditch jersey from last year, the words quidditch captain not yet emblazoned on the front, but his name still written in gold lettering across the chest. It happens so quick she could have dreamed it, but his eyes shift from the jersey to her, a smattering of red starting to appear on his cheeks. 

“Ah, maybe…something else.” He mutters to himself, quickly stowing it away back into the drawer. Moments later, he pulls out a Montrose Magpie t-shirt and gives it a once over before walking it over to her in outstretched arms. 

“Here you are. Can’t say I have the coziest of things, but it’s better than wearing a bloody tie.”

She takes it with a quiet thanks. The burning feeling of being in his room now gone, the unbearable chill from downstairs starts to creep back into her bones. Wanting desperately to be horizontal and under covers as soon as possible, she starts shucking off her tie and unbuttoning her shirt without care, only one button in before she realizes that James’ eyes are zeroed in on the act, completely blown out and frozen on her fingers. 

“Uhm,” she murmurs and he snaps out of it, turning his body so fast that she would have surely fallen over if their roles were reversed. 

“Ah sorry!” He calls, now facing the wall. “I er–just wasn’t expecting that.” He continues to stare away from her, hands on his hips and leaning forward slightly as though he might be in pain. She continues to change, taking off her uniform and pulling the oversized shirt over her head. It’s long enough to cover down to her upper thigh, but she climbs under the covers anyway before letting him know the coast is clear. When he turns around again, he looks bashful—a full bloom of red covering his cheeks as his eyes naturally fall to the pile of her clothes on the floor.

“Feels better, thanks,” she calls out.

“Yeah…’course.”

With her head on a pillow, her body gets taken over by illness. The aches, the booming feeling in her head, the shivering cold all working together to make her want to disappear from the world entirely. From beyond the screen of her fever, she feels the edge of the bed dip from weight and can just barely make out the sound of his voice, talking low with someone else. 

“Yeah—she’s really unwell ...found her in the common room and she refused to go to Poppy…no, just tell everyone else to give her some space and maybe if you pass by pick up something for her to eat when she wakes—otherwise I’ll go in a bit….”

She hears the garbled responses of another voice, but they sound distant, as though coming from a telephone receiver. 

“...don’t be disgusting mate, she’s sick,” she hears James say, his voice flustered. “I’d do it for you too y’know….”

She misses the final exchanges, feeling the lull of sleep attempting to beat out the frigid feeling that continues to circle her like her own private blizzard. 

The loss of his weight on the bed rouses her again as he gets up. Her body reacts immediately, an endless chant of no no no spiraling through her. 

“Stay,” she calls out. From across the room his movement stalls. 

“It’s so bloody cold—I can’t stand it. Can you please just stay,” she tries again in earnest. There’s no response other than a padding of feet towards the bed, then the press of his weight now next to her. 

“You’re cold?” He murmurs, concerned. “ I have the fire running, but I can get more blankets—just give me…”

“No,” she says harder than before. She must be delirious, completely absolutely mental. There’s no other explanation for it, but the words bubble out anyhow.

“Can you just–come here?”

She scoots herself over on the bed, making just enough room to make her intention clear. She hears him swallow hard and the sound of his glasses landing on the bedside table before feeling something solid and warm press flush against her back. 

“Of course,” he says softly and arms wrap around her. She grabs onto them to hold them even tighter, wishing she could just melt into him where evidently all the warmth in the whole world has been hiding from her. His heart hammers at her back and she hears herself give a soft shhh to it–acting as though he is the one needing the comfort rather than her. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers. His lips are so close to her ear that his breath tickles her skin, but she is already drifting away, the sharp pain of cold subsiding and being filled with a delightful, encompassing warmth. The constant ache in her bones calming to just a dull memory as the room becomes darker and darker.

“Yes–you're perfect.” She thinks she hears a response but it's so far away it gets lost entirely. Pushing herself even closer to him, the calming wave of his breath and the smell of his clothes lull her deeper and deeper, until everything disappears entirely. 

* * * * *

It’s no longer warm—it's burning. Her eyes flutter open and outside the window the sun is ducking behind the mountains, taking the last of the daylight with it. Her t-shirt sticks to her, covered with sweat as she turns her body, only to freeze when something warm and heavy skims across her hip. 

An arm—and not hers. 

“Your fever broke about an hour ago,” a voice says softly behind her, a bit gruff with sleep. “I got you some wet washcloths for your head—you should probably drink something, you’ve been sweating for a while now.”

She twists around to see James’ eyes staring back with concern but not making any further movements to untangle himself. Instead, he reaches an arm behind him onto the bedside table and procures a white fabric that drips slightly onto the comforter. Without her permission, he begins dabbing at her face, eyes following his movements with precision as he softly presses the cloth into her hairline. She settles onto her back, the feel of the cold doing wonders to her skin and he pulls himself up to hover over her slightly, a hand holding at her waist while the other continues to work up and down her face and neck. 

If she lets herself ruminate on it for even a millisecond, it will become too much. 

“Better?” He whispers, hand stalling against her cheek. With the fever gone, she is all too aware of how close he is and has been for the past few hours. His shirt, his socks, his bed, him swallowing her like some James Potter vortex that, if she is being honest, would seem like a pretty spectacular place to be—if they weren’t just friends.

“Lots–thanks,” she murmurs. His hand moves to the other cheek and presses soft circles there. She leans into it, finally able to bask in the feel of his body against hers and the way his breath softly falls over her. 

“Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile. 

He chuckles, hand still working against her skin. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.”

Her heart clangs against her chest and she knows he can feel it. He stops again, dropping the rag by her side and going back to cup her chin. 

“What else do you need?”

It’s a far too dangerous question given the circumstances, but her hand moves on its own accord, wrapping around him to hold him there as though he might disappear if she lets go. 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” she musters out, “You’ve already done so much.”

“Then let me do more,” he says simply, eyes searching hers, the hand on her waist giving a soft squeeze.

“I want—” she begins, voice faltering. He hangs on her every word, eyes glittering from above her. There’s a thousand ways she could answer that sentence, each more true and raw than the last, but to say them now—now that they are finally getting along, finally mates— is a gamble she isn’t willing to make. 

“--I want you to stay here.”

His mouth goes into a straight line, then forms into a soft, eager smile. “Of course, Evans. Of course, no problem.” 

He settles back down next to her, a hand still cupping the side of her face and her eyes close, sleep already coming to take her away again. Even falling away, she can feel his eyes on her and pictures them clearly through the fog: gleaming and willing and unmistakably kind. She wonders if he can sense the double meaning in her words or if she is going to wake up again and find him gone, back to being just mates who talk and laugh and do nothing more. 

“Lily?” His voice cuts through the quiet, breath hot at her neck.

“Hm?” 

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want you to get better?” His voice sounds small but firm. “Is it selfish to say…I like having you here.”

It’s a bright, healing feeling that pulls him closer to her. 

“Not at all,” she whispers. Suddenly, she’s feeling a lot better now–maybe better than she ever has before. 

“It might even be the best thing for us.”

[bewarethewolfarmy]

St. Valentines Day

(THAT'S RIGHT MY BOYS AND GIRLS OF THE FANDOM: I'M BACK!

I just wrote this in the span of an hour and a half just for you, because it's Valentines Day and that means romance. I feel it's not my best work but I tried and I love Erik and I love you and so Happy Valentines Day my songbirds, here's our favorite pathetic man trying his best X3

Also yes i did notice people liked Music so i might be thinking on the sequel to it....)

Erik had never had a Valentine before though of course he was aware of the tradition and no insignificant part of him had not always dreamed of the day he could celebrate the day with someone precious to him. For a long while that someone had been Christine of course but disaster after disaster had rendered that impossible and his own self confidence issues stopped him from ever taking the plunge to even try to ask. He resigned himself then, as he resigned himself in many things, to an lonely unwanted existence and thus did his best to avoid going out even more on that day for the pain of seeing others in love and happy while he was alone and unwanted was far too much.

But then was you. Beautiful, wonderful, kind, loving you.

His heart fluttered with nervousness and uncertainty as he prepared; as with everything with you, he wanted everything perfect, he needed everything perfect. He made a bouquet of only the most perfect roses and had composed for you a love song that though incapable of expressing even a fraction of his bottomless devotion and love for you, he wished to believe could at least let you know he did love you dearly. A romantic dinner for the two of you, always just the two of you, was ready and before going up to the operahouse he made sure to put on his best suit and mask; this was his first Valentines day with you and absolutely nothing could be unseemly or less than beautiful. Well except for maybe himself but he could not change his face and he would simply live with the fact that your valentine this year would be a ghastly ghoul such as him. Still he knew you were kind and warm and loved Erik despite this.

The trip up was never so nervewracking for him and he felt his palms sweat as he went through his secret passages, snuck about the operahouse, listening as he went. Others were plotting for their Valentines day, choosing and sneaking off themselves for rendevouses of their own; some of the men even whispered of asking you, you of all people, and it took all Erik's self control to hold back from killing them. That would ruin your day and he couldn't possibly do that to you, he could never make his sweet songbird sad! But he did glare and silently growl at their audacity, as if they could possibly deserve a chance with someone as wonderous as you. Erik counted himself lucky, undeniably so, in that your smiles and words of love and affection were ever directed at him but they were absolutely not worthy of the same. To save you from being disappointed and upset with him he quickened his pace, as not to be tempted more by the wish to harm those fools who dared even speak your name.

You were, as always, waiting in your usual spot and his breath caught as he looked upon you. Aw you were radiant on any day to him but today was extra special. You noticed him as you always did and smiled, so warm to him he nearly burst into tears in that very moment. You always seemed to know when he was having one of Those Moments and thus chuckled lightly before reaching out and touching his cheek, “Oh Erik...”

He put his hand over yours, leaning into your touch with all the desperation and longing of a man dying of thirst in the desert finding water at last. You couldn't help but think how sweet and cute he was and want to kiss him, as you often wanted to kiss him. But to do so here would surely break the dam and you'd have a crying phantom on your hands, making it harder to hide. So instead you held back and spoke again, “Shall we go?”

He nodded enthusiastically, reminding you now of a puppy. Oh how sweet your Erik could be. He took your hand and lead you away, through passages you knew by heart, through the secret entrance to the lake that you'd gone through so many times, across the lake itself. He looked at you repeatedly and in his eyes was nervousness and shyness; it occurred to you that every time something big was happening, even just in his mind, he became as timid as a schoolboy with his first crush. You never could decide which you preferred: the confident Phantom or this sweet child in a man's body. It was likely you liked them both equally and just as much.

The sight of the roses that filled his living space made you smile and as he rushed to the organ to play for you, filling the air was that angelic music that only he seemed capable of creating, your heart soared and you felt that surely you were in paradise. You could see in all his preparations that he was diligent and devoted, that to him you were the most precious flower, the most beautiful thing. You could not help but twirl and dance as he played, wearing of course the dress he'd given you for your birthday; it seemed only right to do so today. You added words to his song, whatever came to mind, and his heart swelled too to hear you sing for him, his songbird, his beloved.

When the song was done he looked at you with expectation and you smiled at him again. “That was beautiful, Erik, thank you. I've never had such a wonderful gift for St. Valentines Day.”

The way his face lit up made you again wish to cup his face in your hands and kiss him with even just a fraction of the love you felt welling up when he looked so sweet. His heart swelled with delight and happiness and he himself could not help but move to go to you, unwilling to stay apart much longer, before kissing you himself. It was the kind of kiss that could only be had by those who loved each other dearly and it was so wonderful to you whenever he, your shy scared Erik, was willing to initiate.

You both hesitated to pull away but air was necessary even for a phantom and a songbird. But the love in both of your eyes seemed none the dimmer for the action; you giggled, delighted as always to see the way his face flushed whenever you kissed, then stepped away. A small whine escaped him but you reached out, plucking a rose from the massive collection, you suspected he stole every perfect rose in Paris just for you. Returning to him you slipped it into his suit and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “How lucky am I to have such a perfect angel as mine this St. Valentines.”

Oh there were the tears, they always came, and Erik clung to you, holding his precious songbird close. “Erik is no perfect angel, Erik wanted to kill those men who thought they could be close to Erik's songbird, Erik has killed and hurt people before. He's just lucky and blessed that such a wonderful, kind soul would want Erik and be willing to be his on a day such as this. Erik is so grateful, Erik loves his songbird so very much!”

You sighed fondly, lovingly. You reached up and stroked his hair, soothing him best you could. “You didn't kill them though and that's a good thing. I'm glad you didn't; it would make me sad but you knew that and you resisted. You're such a good man, Erik, you really are, and I'm the one whose thankful that I get to be loved and love such a wonderfully sweet person such as you. Now please dry those tears, this is supposed to be a happy romantic day. Let's dance and sing and enjoy each others company instead, hm?”

He sniffled and looked at you all teary eyed and in awe. Sometimes it could be overwhelming, how much he loved you, how much he adored you, but you loved him too, so very very much. You kissed his cheek then a light peck again upon his lips; he hesitated but he released you and with a sniffle he nodded. You were right of course, this was supposed to be a happy day and wouldn't it far better to enjoy it than to cry and feel miserable over how much he felt unworthy? You continued to smile at him and he managed to smile in return; you took his hand and tugged lightly and he led you to the dining room so that you could enjoy the feast he prepared for you two.

Erik was just so thankful that you, you were his Valentine.

[laolafi]

The Predicament of Lady Mary Villiers, Duchess of Crowborough, Chapter 10, is now up.

And the current predicament is that the future Duke of Crowborough needs a name. The future Duke of Crowborough needs his father (and his grandmother too) to drive safely so they can meet him in time. And the future Duke of Crowborough needs three fatherly figures and three big sisters to grow up into a decent man. And most of all, he needs to be born male.

How hard can it be?

Enjoy :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62756602/chapters/164699770

(Why is that linky thing still not working for me?)

[luna-the-cretar]

I feel like I should talk about what happened to Whumptober, bc I realized I brought it up a couple times, but then never again, really???

So, I only got a third of the chapters posted during October. To be fair, this—counting the two Frostbek oneshots I posted this month—was genuinely the most I’ve ever written in a single month in the past couple of years, so I’m gonna call that a win in its own right. I probably would’ve gotten at least halfway through the challenge, however, it’s been a VERY busy month, and I’ve barely had time to sleep or eat, let alone write.

I will try and finish the challenge before the end of the year, but I make no promises—especially since none of the remaining prompts are making my brain tick the same way the prompts I’ve already written have. Rather’d write what I enjoy rather than write what I don’t, ya know?

Here’s what I have so far, if you’re curious. Chapter 6 and onward are all out of order because of time constraints

[mistresslrigtar]

I don't have my next challenger one-shot ready yet, so I'm bringing back the bard a day early. You can thank me later ��

Excerpt:

She flipped through the thick, 3-ring binder she kept tucked under her arm. Pulling out a piece of paper, she scanned it quickly before flicking hard red eyes back at him. “Did you or did you not say in your application that you could play guitar and had been in several musical productions at your school?”

Link tried not to flinch when she shoved the paper at him

“Did I say that?” 

[bitchin-beskar]

Fake fic title ask game

"This took 5 tries(It could have been one)"

based on this ask game

marcus pike x fem!reader

rated: t

"I am so sorry."

You smiled softly at the sweet man across from you, your heart thumping at the genuine heartbreak on his face as he tucked his phone back into his pocket and signaled for the waiter.

"I understand, Marcus."

He shook his head, reaching across the table and placing his hand on top of yours. His hand was warm, and you flipped your hand over so you could feel his palm against yours.

"You deserve an uninterrupted date, sweetheart. You deserve someone who can afford to give you their full attention and not constantly be fielding work calls."

You curled your fingers around his hand, trying to make sure he was listening.

"I don't care. I want to go on dates with you. I understand that your job comes first, Marcus, and I'm never going to begrudge you for that."

His dark eyes sparkled with wonder, tinged with a small amount of disbelief. "How on this earth did I manage to get lucky enough to find you?"

Before you could answer, the waiter arrived with the check, and Marcus reluctantly pulled away to pay the bill.

You pulled out your phone to order an Uber, when Marcus suddenly stopped you.

"Absolutely not. At the very least I can drive you home."

"But it sounded urgent-"

Marcus shook his head decisively. "Not so urgent that I can't afford to drive my date home."

You found yourself falling a little bit more in love with the man in front of you. Even though this was the fifth date that had been interrupted by his job, he still made an effort to make you a priority as much as he was able. Late night phone calls, good morning texts, little memes and pictures sent throughout the day whenever he thought of you. You'd never felt so cherished, especially so early in a relationship.

The two of you leave the restaurant, Marcus carrying the takeout bags with the food you didn't get to finish and the dessert you didn't get to enjoy in one hand. He links the fingers of his free hand together with yours, and you feel a little giddy, like you're a schoolgirl with a crush, and not a grown woman with years of dating experience under your metaphorical belt.

It's easy, being with Marcus. Has been since the beginning. You'd both been hurt in previous relationships, and were looking for something casual, and low stakes.

But you were quickly falling hard for Marcus Pike, no matter how you tried to harden your heart against him. His soft smile, his dark eyes, the slight curls in his dark hair, the way he was respectful of your boundaries in every possible way. He was the kind of man you'd only read about in dime-store novels, utterly convinced there was no way a man like that could actually exist in real life.

Marcus shattered every illusion, made every past relationship pale in comparison.

He holds open the doors for you, helping you up into his government-issued SUV, every inch the perfect gentleman. The drive to your house is quiet, but not tense, and you keep your fingers linked with his, cradling his hand in your lap as he drives through the dimly lit streets.

Every so often you catch him glancing over at you, and it makes heat rise in your cheeks every time you see the look in his eyes.

The drive to your house is over unfortunately quick, the late hour making the drive much faster than it had been a few hours previously. Marcus insists on walking you to your door to make sure you get in safely, and you feel yourself melt just a little bit.

Standing on your front step, the dim yellow glow from your porch light casts a soft glow across his features. He has his hand gently cupping your elbow, and you can see the longing in his eyes.

"I'm sorry again," he says softly, and you can tell he really means it. "I swear I'll make it up to you."

You chuckle. "Maybe sixth time's the charm?"

He laughs as well, sheepishly handing over the bag with your food. He leans in and brushes a soft kiss against your cheek.

"Goodnight," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You respond with your own quiet "Goodnight," watching as he turns to walk back to his car.

Suddenly, an intense yearning grips you, and you know that you can't let him leave just yet.

"Marcus!" You call, setting your food down and rushing down your steps to where he'd paused in front of his car, turning back to you in confusion.

"Ye-mmph!"

He barely gets the word out before you reach him, launching forward and gripping the front of his jacket, going up on your tiptoes to press your lips firmly against his.

Despite his initial confusion, he quickly gets with the program, one arm wrapping around your waist to steady you as the other cups your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

You sigh into the kiss, relaxing in his arms as you loosen the tight grip you have on his jacket. You let your hands creep up to cup his face, feeling stubble under your palms as you try to press even closer.

He tilts your head just slightly, his lips sliding gently over yours as he kisses you back with just as much enthusiasm, the feeling of his solid body pressed against yours absolutely divine.

You wouldn't be exaggerating if you said it was the best kiss you'd ever had. You already know you could lose hours and hours of time just kissing Marcus, lost in the sensation of his lips on yours.

But, you know he has to go. There's a reason you're not still at the restaurant. Reluctantly, you pull back, but his arm around your waist stops you from going too far.

Your eyes flutter open, to see him staring at you with a wondrous look in his eyes.

"What was that for?" He asks, slightly breathless, which makes you prouder than you probably should be.

You bite your lip, debating on whether or not to share the entire story. But the look on Marcus' face is so earnest, you can't help it.

"I've had to stop myself from doing that every time. I didn't want to wait for date number six."

[waugh-bao]

Christmas fics: 16, Keith/Mick/Charlie. 33, Keith and Charlie, and not one on the prompt list but maybe a first Christmas as a married couple for Charlie/Shirley?

Fic for prompt 33: fluffy socks, here:

(Tagging @ohjohnnysblog in case they’re interested)

[missazurerose]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 6

Halcyon

It really had been that long. Gray was just starting to appear at Aymeric’s temples. A few wrinkles were becoming noticeable around Riona’s eyes. Their children were becoming adults faster than they could believe. And it was wonderful. The peace they had risked their lives for was more fulfilling than either of them could have ever imagined.

[gorekissed]

[  .⠀.⠀.  ] @thstrongest  rests  his  head  on  her  chest. 

A hum escaped her, low and delighted, a quiet testament to the peace that bloomed within her — her eyelids fluttered with contentment. The simple gesture, born out of the weight of a long, tiresome day and the irresistible urge to be close, was enough to send a jolt of warmth coursing through her body, the sensation warm and fluttery as it settled in her chest, a comfortable blanket that wrapped itself around the formerly isolated fortress of her heart.  

Driven by instinct and a surge of affection that took ahold of her, that rendered her defenseless in the face of the sheer intensity of what she felt, her fingers moved upwards, drawn to him by something instinctive, inevitable — like the tide to the shore. They settled softly on the side of his head, her fingertips gently threading through the white strands of his unruly hair, creating tender sensations with each soft rasp of nail against his scalp, a silent caress that spoke volumes beyond words. She felt a deep sense of connection, a link intensified through this simple act of touch. Each strand of his hair felt precious beneath her fingertips — each breath he drew while securely tugged against her chest a palpable reminder to the realness of the moment, of the life she got to share, to witness, to cherish.

❛ You know, my love... ❜ she mumbled softly, her voice a silken whisper as she leaned in closer, his hair slightly tingling against her cheek as she nuzzled his head gently, ❛ I’m really happy...  like this. ❜ The words were simple, quiet, almost childlike in their sincerity, in the inexperience with which they were spoken — yet, they carried the weight of unspoken gratitude for the sanctuary of their shared connection, for the profound contentment she felt in his presence. ❛ I never really thought I’d get to feel this way. It always seemed like something meant for other people. But now… I think I understand why people search for this. ❜

[rafesangelita]

♡ dilf!rafe loves to make his pretty bunny squirm..

warnings: use of the name ‘daddy’ (scroll if that’s not your thing), vibrator + overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, oral (f. receiving), crying, dumbification (?), multiple orgasms, reader is restrained, praise, soft aftercare, fluff

“no more, no more, no more— r-rafe!” you squealed, your eyes screwing shut as the man between your legs turned up the setting of the pink vibrator currently pressed against your poor, overstimulated clit. “shhh, you could keep going..” he reassured you, using his free hand to stroke your soft skin. the searing pleasure alone made you cry out, the overwhelming feeling building up in the pit of your tummy. moving your hips away from the buzzing device was deemed useless as your restraints kept you in place, your wrists and ankles sore from all of the tension.

rafe watched the way your body trembled beneath him, your eyes basically sparkling up at him as tear drops rollled down your cheeks. “tell daddy what’s going on in that empty fuckin’ head of yours.” he cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks together as you whimpered. he knew you didn’t have a single thought, your ability to think or speak a coherent sentence had since been long gone. “i asked you a question.” his voice reverberated in your ears, your eyebrows pinching together as you struggled to answer him. “w-want your fingers, please!” you sobbed, feeling empty despite having came four times already.

switching off the bunny vibrator, rafe shushed you as you gasped in relief, your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch a full breath. “you’re so pretty like this,” he cupped your tits, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers, “i love watching you turn into a desperate, brainless slut.” trailing a hand down between your legs, rafe ran a single digit up your folds, his jaw clenching as he felt just how soaked you were. watching your face carefully, rafe waited until he saw your eyelashes flutter closed before delivering a harsh smack to your cunt, a choked sob sounding out from you at the painful yet pleasurable sensation.

you didn’t have time to register what he had done before you felt his head dip between your thighs, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses along your skin. feeling his gentle ministrations allowed you to relax for the first time in an hour, your neck craning as you looked down and met rafe’s dark gaze. watching as he brought his hand up, you melted when you felt the delicious stretch of his digits, your eyes screwing shut once he curled them and hit that soft spot inside of you. clenching around the welcomed intrusion that was his fingers, rafe pressed a kiss to your folds before his tongue delved in between.

he groaned at the taste of you. “you’re so fuckin’ sweet,” rafe contined circling your clit, his cock straining painfully against the material of his pants, “just give me one more, babygirl.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his mouth so you couldn’t even attempt to move away from him. “oh, god..” you whimpered, wishing you could reach down and hold onto rafe’s hand while he made you lose yourself once again. you felt pure unadulterated pleasure lick your insides, the jolting euphoric feeling shooting through your body as your heart started beating in your ears.

for rafe nothing was more gratifying than seeing the way you writhed underneath him, your glossy lips pulled tightly between your teeth as you moaned. holding you with a death grip, it wasn’t until he heard you mutter a ‘gentle, please..’ before he let go and rubbed soothing circles into your side. you looked absolutely spent. with your eyes shutting in and out of consciousness and your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, rafe decided to give you one more kiss before undoing your restraints, your limbs falling like dead weight.

taking a seat against the headboard, rafe pulled you between his legs where he started leaving gentle kisses to your wrists, the raw skin already feeling better with his lips there. “hurts..” you whispered, burying your face in his chest as he hummed. “i know,” rafe spoke quietly, “you took it so good, ‘pretty, you know what that calls for?” he pulled your fluffy robe from where it sat on a nearby chair before covering you with it. “your credit card?” rafe laughed, thumbing your chin before pecking your lips.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Comatose Confessions

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 4k words

warnings/tags: fluff

Part two to this

He’s barely moved a single inch in the last hour

Though he blinks every so often, his eyes never once stray from where he’s held his gaze so steadily this entire time, as focused as any trained sniper could ever hope to be

Sat on his bed, back against the wall and stiff as a statue, he watches as the faint light creeping in under the crack of his door shifts every so often, the shadows outside refusing to stand still

He knows it’s you

As perfectly silent as you are, he can still see the shadow of your boots pacing back and forth, back and forth, again and again, just outside his room

You know he’s inside

And he knows that’s why you refuse to leave, annoyingly stubborn in your pursuit, determined in your efforts to get the man inside to put an end to his charades

He knows you won’t leave until you get what you want

And what you want, is for Ghost to stop avoiding you

He’s been very carefully, very intentionally avoiding having to speak to you

He can’t bring himself to do it

He just can’t

Not since he’s woken up

Not since his head felt worse than it had in a very long time, mind swimming through a heavy fog in an attempt to fight his way back to consciousness, his entire being had felt shaken to its core and thrown off its axis, his blood running cold with the unmistakable chill of pure, unadulterated fear, not too far off to how he’d once felt waking up with the taste of dirt in his mouth, buried six feet under ground

Only to be jolted into a startlingly opposite reality when he suddenly was able to smell that achingly familiar, enrapturing fragrance he’d come to associate with a certain someone, could somehow feel miraculously soft, gentle fingertips smoothing along his neck into his goddamn hair, an affectionate touch he’d only felt fleetingly as a young boy, and when he’d opened his eyes, he was certain he’d somehow snuck his way past the gates and into heaven

Because above him had been you, and though the light glowing around you burned his tired eyes, you remained a vision so beautiful to behold he could never dream of shutting his eyes ever again, could not help but to instinctually reach out to grasp you, should you vanish before him and he lose the chance to ever hold you, at least once

His brain was still pounding, insistently throbbing as it shocked itself back awake, fighting to take control back as his lips suddenly said the only thing that both his mind and heart could agree upon at this moment, looking up at you:

“Love.”

It was nearly an entire day later, following a flurry of you being whisked out of his room, doctors and nurses fussing over him, his mind and body slowly beginning to feel more like his own again, when Soap came to visit him and all too happily recounted to his Lieutenant what he’d supposedly said upon waking up from his days long coma

After the doctors released him from the med bay or rather accepted that the Lieutenant was going to leave when he wanted to whether they liked it or not, they’d given strict instructions for at least a fortnights rest, wanting to allow his brain enough time to truly recover, concerned that though everything else was checking out fine, that short bout of confusion upon waking could not be looked over when it came to head injuries

Confusion

Is that what they all thought it had been?

He couldn’t exactly blame them, he felt he’d done a more than phenomenal job of hiding the true nature of his feelings for you from anyone and everyone, making it appear as though he was nothing more than indifferent to your existence, far from someone he’d be relieved to see waking up in a hospital bed

No, he’d been far from confused when he’d insisted to anyone who would listen, not caring that anyone’s ears but your own would hear his words spoken with the utmost sincerity, when he called you his girl, his love

No, if anything that was the most honest Ghost had been in a long time

At least since you’d worked your way into his life and apparently his heart along the way

But now, nearly two weeks passed since he’d woken up and admitted to you in his vulnerable state of mind his true feelings for you, after months of carefully avoiding ever letting you know how he felt, months of keeping his distance in hopes of diminishing the gravitation pull he felt whenever you were near, and he couldn’t bring himself to face you

He can’t decide whether it’s a small mercy or not that in the fog of waking up and all the chaos that ensued, that he can’t recall seeing your reaction to his words, can’t remember seeing the look on your face when he admitted the words he would have preferred to have been buried with than to profess out loud to you

A blessing, in that he doesn’t know whether your face twisted up into a look of horror or disgust at his revelation, and a curse, in that he’s had days upon days holed up in his room, imagining every other possible reaction you might have had

Since his release from the med bay, you’ve come knocking at his door, he knows you’ve been asking around base for him, have tried to run into him during those few fleeting moments he trudges to the mess hall and back

Why you’re so determined to confront him, he can’t be sure

To laugh at him? Rub it in his face?

He doesn’t think so, it’s not something he believes you’d so, but then again he’s never had his entire heart held in a pretty birds hands before, especially when he’d never intended to hand the bloodied, somehow still beating thing over in the first place

Maybe you feel sorry for him, hope to let him down easy, or even pretend as though you never heard him in the first place, he’s not sure which would hurt him most if he’s honest-

None of those excuses feel right however, with the way you’ve been seeking him out so persistently, opposite to the neutrality the two of you had less than half a month ago, and so always more at ease in the certainty of his own misery, rather than the misery of uncertainty, he remains hidden from you

Fuck, he hopes you haven’t been speaking to Johnny too much

When he notices your steady back and forth pacing suddenly come to a halt with the shadows indicating you’re stood directly in front of his door, the only movement Ghost allows is the slightest quirk of his scarred eyebrow, gaze intent on where he imagines your form stands just beyond the thick plank of wood separating you

He’s holding his breath, wondering what your next move will be in this childish game of cat and mouse he’s roped you into, when he hears the slightest shuffling from outside, a crinkling sound accompanied by shadows moving about under the door, followed by the sound of your boots echoing away from him and down the hall

It takes him nearly another ten minutes before he dares to move again, already beginning to berate himself for the way he’s behaving like a frightened child, when his eyes lock in on the anomaly on his floor

The sun was just beginning to set when he’d dared to venture out to the mess hall and back to his room quickly, hoping it was the best time to avoid most everyone including you before they ran out of decently edible grub, only just slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him when he’d glanced down the hall and locked eyes with you turning the corner

Now more than an hour passed, the sun long gone and his food cold and untouched, he notices something that wasn’t there before

Slowly, Ghost approaches his door, bending down to a crouch to examine what’s been slipped so carefully underneath the thin seam of his door

A single cigarette

He huffs a silent approving hum, bringing the death stick up to his mask covered nose to smell the bad habit he hasn’t touched in a few days

In all his efforts to avoid running into you, he’d quickly gone through the packs he kept in his room, only daring to smoke them out of his own ajar window like a goddamn teenager hiding the smoke from their parents

He’d smoked his last one a handful of days ago, and had yet to pick up a new pack, his years long addiction to nicotine apparently coming second to his need to continue avoiding you, no matter the cravings he felt

Now however, holding the smoke between his calloused fingers, he finds himself too relieved to begin the logical train of thought that should accompany such a gift from you being slid under his door

Fetching his lighter out of his desk drawer, Ghost steps towards his window and cracks it ajar enough that he can lean his upper half out, prepared to enjoy his cig in peace

What he isn’t prepared for however, as he inches his balaclava up above his crooked nose and begins trying to spark the lighter to life, is for the flames to be reflected back at him through your very own eyes staring up at him, stood directly below his window

“Hi Ghost.” You whisper up to him with amusement, the faint quiver of your lip giving away the mischievous smirk threatening to push through the darkness of the late night hour

You’re quicker than he expects you to be, almost as though you anticipated what his next move would be, when you reach out to squeeze your hand between the window and the pane, just as Ghost hurries to shut it

“What the fuck do ye think you’re doin’?” The Lieutenant growls out, hoping to stall for time as he recomposes himself, internally shaking his head at himself for falling for your trick. Leaving him a damn cigarette like a taunt and waiting beneath his window for him to smoke it was purely childish on your part, but then again, he hasn’t exactly been the most level headed soldier on base recently either he supposes

“Apparently what I have to do to get you to acknowledge me.” You reply casually, refusing to budge your hand away from where it prevents the window from shutting you out. “How long are you planning on avoiding me? Hm?”

“You’re bloody mental if ye think tha’ I-” He cuts himself off with the sharp glance you throw his way, a look that easily reads ‘are you fucking kidding me’ even in the low light illuminated across your features. “Alrigh’, fine. You’ve got me. Your grand plan was to hide ou’ here, like some bloody lunatic, wait for me… and then what? You plannin’ on climbin’ in through the fuckin’ window next?”

Fighting for the upper hand in this situation, Ghost watches as you take a deep breath, eyes quickly scanning the length between the ground and the windowsill, where you’re struggling to keep your hold while stood on tip toes

“Well I was hoping you’d invite me in by now. But I’ll do what I have to.” You decide confidently, raising your chin up high as you hold his gaze, refusing to back down now that you’ve got him in front of you. You must see something in him that puts a slight dent in your resolve however, as he watches your eyes soften ever so slightly, and you begin to shift on your feet. “I just want to talk to you, Ghost. Can’t we at least just do that?”

He fights the urge to grind his teeth as he clenches his jaw, shifting his eyes away from you as he struggles to maintain his composure seeing you standing there bathed in moonlight, a look of genuine sincerity on your face as you plead with him to be reasonable

“Fucking fine. But you’re using the bloody door. Don’t need you causing a scene out ‘ere.” He relents, pulling his hand back from the window pane.

“You promise to let me in?” You ask, hesitating before you release your grip on the glass. He peers back down at you, taking his own steadying breath before he offers a curt but steady nod in your direction. “Good, because my next move was going to be to pull the fire alarm, and that would’ve just been so much more of a mess.”

With that little revelation, he watches your hand slip away from the glass as you tip toe along the edge of the barracks, finding your way back inside. He scoffs to himself as he shuts the windows firmly, shaking his head at your antics as he stares solemnly at the unlit cigarette still pinched between his fingers

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Your fist has barely finished its first knock on his door before he’s swinging it open, reaching a large hand out to grip you by the waist and pull you inside before he has the chance to change his mind about this whole thing. He peers his head quickly around the corridor to make sure no one caught sight of anything before shutting the door behind you both, sealing him in with the last person he thought he’d find himself with tonight

He releases his hold on you as quick as he can, taking a large step backwards to put space between you both, eyes raking in the sight of you pressed up against the back of his door, an image he’s pictured many times before in his head but never believed he’d truly ever lay his eyes upon

He watches your own gaze hesitantly sweep around the space quickly, taking in the sparseness of the room. What he wouldn’t do to be able to take a peek into your mind, especially right now

“How’s your head feel?” You ask quietly, eyes shifting back towards the masked man’s visage as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side. The only answer you get from him is a grunt you’ve heard from him often enough to know translates to ‘fine’. “Soap was telling me that if the docs clear you this weekend you’ll be able to start easing back into work.”

Ghost simply watches as you watch him, slowly lifting one foot before another, cautiously making your way over to his small desk and easing yourself down into the chair, all the while keeping him in your sight, as though he were a wild animal you might spook with one wrong move

“I’m sure they’ll pass you, but between you and me,” you add, leaning back slightly in the chair as a shadow of a smile crinkles in the corner of your lips. “I’d help you forge the docs signature if we had to. I’ve had my fair share of Soap, I’m ready to pass custody back over to you.”

At this, Ghost can’t help the soft chuckle that slips out, watching as the hesitant smile on your face forms into a full fledge smirk at the sound of his approval. With the tension in the room slowly beginning to dissipate already, he dares to allow himself to take his own atop his bed, opposite to you. Still though, he can’t completely let go of the nerves running through him, knowing you’re likely moments away from confronting him.

“You wanted to talk, let’s talk.” His deep voice rings out in the small space, hoping to cut straight to the chase, get this over with

“Right,” he watches you fidget in your seat, eyes leaving his for a moment as you begin to fiddle with your jacket pockets. “Listen Ghost, I- I realize that I might have heard something you didn’t necessarily want me to know.”

‘Yeah, that’s putting it fucking lightly’ he thinks to himself, but allows you to go on with whatever speech you’ve obviously prepare, hoping you’ll at least be quick in your rejection of him, and that this can soon all be a thing of the past

“And I figured if we were going to talk, it would really only be fair to level the playing field, so to speak.” He watches with veiled curiosity as you fish something out of your jacket. In your hands you hold a small, but clearly well loved notebook

“How’s that?” He questions, nodding towards the item in your grasp

“I don’t think I have to swear you to secrecy here but, I used to write in journals a lot, when I was little. Don’t really keep up with it as much anymore, you know how busy we are.” You mention, pulling the strap down from across the front cover and opening the book, fingers sifting through the pages covered in handwritten words of ink and lead. “Every once in a while I’ll write something down, if it’s memorable. But mostly I jot down my uh, well my more embarrassing stories.”

“Why would ye do tha’?” Ghost questions, eyebrows furrowing as he tries not to decipher any of the words he sees on in your book, unsure where this is all going

“Honestly,” you say with a small, airy chuckle. The Lieutenant ignores the sudden feeling in his chest cavity as he comes to the conclusion he’s never seen you smile so often, at least not so up close and personal. “Reading them back makes me feel better. They make me laugh. Especially after a long day or hard missions. Nice to come back to and remind myself not everything in life has to be so… serious, I guess.”

You offer a casual shrug, still thumbing between pages as Ghost takes in your words.

“Anyways, I just thought that, maybe you’d want to hear something I would usually never tell anyone. Make us a little more even?”

He narrows his eyes at you slightly, understanding now what it is you’re trying to do.

He slipped up that day when he woke up from the coma, accidentally made himself vulnerable in front of you and said something he wish he hadn’t, something he’s embarrassed about

And so here you are now, offering to be vulnerable in front of him instead, to grant him access to some of your embarrassing moments and thoughts, level the playing field as you had put it

Yeah, he’ll bite

Again, he offers you no more than a subtle nod in your direction to communicate his agreement, but the way your eyes lights up at this response, you’d think he would’ve just agreed to make you Captain for a day

“Thought maybe we’d start easy. How about the time I accidentally spit my gum out on my CO’s boots? Or when I peed myself during basic-”

Ghost isn’t sure how you’ve done it, whether you knew this was how your cunning plan would work out all along, or if you’ve just gotten incredibly lucky tonight, but as one embarrassing story on your part turns into two, and then three, and suddenly hours have gone by, the stoic Lieutenant finds himself smiling with you, laughing with you, fuck he even starts offering up his own carefully curated stories when you pull an almost full carton of cigs out of your other pocket and toss them to him, the two of you sharing remarks over a shared smoke, hunched over the same window he nearly slammed in your face earlier

“Oh man,” you choke out in small fit of giggles, your hand holding your sides as you pass the cigarette back to him. “We oughta put all your dad jokes down on paper one day, you know why? Because they’re tear-able.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes a deep inhale off the cig, pretending the corners of his mouth haven’t been lifted nearly all night.

“Tha’ was awful.” He mutters, sparing you a side glance before he adds, “A real pun-ishable offence you jus’ committed there.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk anymore when your giggles grow louder at that.

“Alright, alright. I suppose my pun-ishment then,” you say between breaths, casting him a glance to see if he approves of yet another one of your corny puns tonight. “Would be to read these last few pages.”

He watches as your fingers dance across the handful of pages making up the end of the journal, yet to be read aloud tonight, your movements appearing hesitant for the first time this entire interaction.

Part of him feels the urge to tell you whatever it is, it’s not necessary, that you don’t have to read anymore about yourself that you don’t want to

Another part however, is far too curious, far too intrigued to know more about you, having learned more tonight from your own lips than he has in all the months he’s known you

“Actually, maybe I’ll just have you read it this time.” You say, reaching the journal out towards him, allowing him that one final glimpse into your personal thoughts. With a calloused palm, he takes the book from your hand, careful not to linger too long on the soft touch of your digits against his rougher ones. Glancing down at the words written haphazardly across the lined paper, he reads:

‘First week with the 141 went by in a blur, don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much on a base before, those men sure know how to train’

‘Captain is nicer than any other CO I’ve had before, and the Sergeants are funny, very welcoming’

‘The Lieutenant is… different’

‘Not bad different (though he might not say the same for me), just different. Hoping to learn more about him soon’

‘One month on the team has flown by, almost can’t remember life before the 141’

‘The lads are great, but the Lieutenant still doesn’t seem keen on me being here. Which is a shame, his teammates speak so highly of him, and his work speaks for itself. Just wish he’d speak to me sometimes’

‘Almost half a year already, if you can believe it’

‘These men feel like family, all apart from the one who still won’t acknowledge me’

‘The lads say not to worry about it, that Ghost will come around eventually… I just hope they’re right. There’s something about him I can’t shake. I find myself thinking about him more than I should’

‘Mission went bad. Lieutenant got hurt and has yet to wake up from his coma’

‘For the lads sake, I hope he wakes up soon’

‘Ghost opened his eyes yesterday…’

‘I don’t know if he meant what he said, or if he even remembers it, but I know I’ll never be able to forget it’

‘This entire time I’ve just wanted him and I to be cordial, to work together, hell maybe even become friends… but ever since he’s said those words… I can’t shake the feeling … maybe friends isn’t quite the right word for us’

Ghost isn’t sure how many times his eyes scan that last entry over and over and over, willing his eyes to believe what he’s seeing right in front of him, not until your hand slowly slips over his own, still holding the journal open, does his gaze flicker up to meet your own vulnerable stare

“I’ll be honest I’m not sure how to- do this.” You say with a slightly awkward chuckle, the vulnerability of the situation clearly starting to get to you as your Lieutenant stares you down wordlessly. “But I wanted to be honest with you. Couldn’t have you wallowing away in here any longer without knowing - well I guess without knowing how I felt too. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to Ghost, we haven’t exactly given each other many chances to do so. But I’d really like to be your… friend.”

His eyes narrow in on the sweet but anxious smile you try to put on through your nerves, your earlier confidence diminishing now that you’ve truly laid your cards out and made yourself as vulnerable as you can before the man who still has yet to say anything.

Ghost takes a steadying breath, eyes never leaving yours as he tosses your journal onto his bed where it lands with a soft bounce.

Vulnerability like this, feelings like this… it’s a grey area Ghost usually tries to avoid at all costs, a field of land mines he’d rather not cross, knowing no one makes it out on the other side unscathed

But with everything you’ve done for him, everything you’ve revealed to him, in combination with the throbbing organ behind his ribs fighting to beat its way back to life since the moment he met you and decided he couldn’t fall for you, Ghost finally relents and says fuck it. You’ve shown more bravery tonight than he has in the last two weeks, avoiding you like you were the plague, and it’s about time he put on his big boy trousers and show some bravery of his own now

“Don’ know it the lads told ya, but I don’ really do friends.” He says, slowly lifting a single boot and cautiously stepping in your direction

“I- I’ve heard.” You mutter, trying not to show the defeat that threatens to come across your features at his words, fearing he’s about to let you down.

The large man takes another step, and another, until there’s suddenly less than an inch of space left between both your heaving chests, and you have to crane your neck upwards while his is tilted down to keep his eyes on yours. Your eyes widen as you watch one of Ghost’s large hands come up into view, sneaking towards the bottom of his balaclava, which has been rolled up with entire time as you both shared some smokes

His fingers pinch the fabric, pulling it up further above his mouth to rest on the crooked bridge of his nose, revealing more of his scarred lips to you just as they whisper:

“But you and I, my love, aren’t quite friends.”

With the way Ghost’s lips come crashing onto your own waiting mouth, you’re inclined to agree with him

Tag list:

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[ninikrumbs]

all mine

megumi fushiguro x femreader. pure fluff. aged up. jealous megumi

Megumi rarely shows his possessive side. He prided himself to be a calm and rational man. He knows what's his will always be his. That includes you, and no amount of pathetic boys ogling at you and trying to get your attention will change that.

So imagine his surprise as irritation and irrational anger simmers in his chest when he catches your ex staring at you from across the restaurant. The both of you were having dinner with your tightly knit group of friends in a modern and chic restaurant. You were having such a good time catching up with you friends that you failed to notice his souring mood.

To his dismay, your ex had a full view of your gorgeous face from where you were sitting. The asshole has the nerve to gape and grope at you like a fish with his eyes as if he wasn't sitting right next to you. His fist was just itching to meet his stupid face, maybe make him lose a teeth or two.

Huh, his violent thoughts startles him, huffing lightly at himself, amused that he loses all reason when he it comes to you. To the point that he considers standing and having a go at your ex unprovoked. Maybe, he'd get kicked out if the restaurant but it would be worth it if it meant he got to kick him.

But no.

no.

This wasn't like him and more importantly that would upset you, and the last thing he wants is to see you in distress because of him. Especially now when your smile practically brightens the room, eyes sparkling under the golden light. To him you look like you had little flecks of light around you, an angel in a sea of humans. And he never wants that light to dim.

Smiling softly, his puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his chest before planting a kiss on you hairline.

His sudden display of affection captures you attention, you peer up at him,"Gumi? something wrong?"

Your voice light and laced with affection. Your hand reaches to cup his cheek, tracing his strong jaw with you fingers. He rests his hand over yours, thumbing your pulse, lifting them a fraction before pressing small kisses on your fingertips. Its like you were in your own little bubble. Ignoring your friends teasing looks.

Even small ministrations like these made your heart race, and the tender look gracing his face as he answers didn't help either. "Nothings wrong, pretty girl. Just keep talking."

"Okay.." You open your mouth to question him some more but was cut off by your friend asking you something, immediately distracting you, dropping your clasped hands to his lap. You were talking animatedly, your mood sparking up again as you get lost in the conversation once more.

He breaths you in, your sweet scent enveloping his senses. the arm around your shoulders absentmindedly reaches out to twirl a lock of your soft hair with his fingers.

Despite calming down, Megumi couldn't stop himself from checking if the bastard was still looking at you.

And your ex apparently had a death wish. Unadulterated anger simmered in his veins, as your ex was walking towards your table right now. Megumi's hold on you tightened but not enough for you to notice, including the temperature in the room practically dropping to icy hell.

As if noticing him for the first time, your ex stops in his tracks under Megumi's death glare. A chill runs up his spine, every cell in his brain telling him to run. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under. Still twirling you hair between his fingers, he looked like a demon protecting his oblivious little angel.

The possesive edge underneath Megumi's seemingly calm exterior would ring alarm bells in anyone with a working brain. To your ex's luck, he thankfully had half a brain to walk away.

"Gumi..?"

"Megumi.."

The concern voice makes him snap back from his rage filled vision. Expression immediately softening at the sight of you. "Yeah?"

"Is there something wrong? You look tense."

He shakes his head, a small frown on his face, "Its nothing, just tired of people staring at whats mine."

Your eyebrows raise, surprise at his rare sign of possessiveness, before you break out into a huge grin. "Oh, gumi. you're so cute."

"I'm not cute." But the light blush dusting his cheeks make you think otherwise.

Leaning up, you kiss his cheek and whisper into his ear, "Im all yours, so they can stare all they want."

Huffing at your pleased expression, he pulls you closer by the waist, his head falling on your shoulder to hide his face from your teasing gaze as he mumbles beneath his breath, "All mine."

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Once more unto the breach. If it doesn't get a little love from other than my half dozen committed supporters, this experiment clearly failed.😔

She Wore Gardenias In Her Hair - chapter one

a Stephen Strange x Female Reader fan fic

summary: It’s an historic day for Stephen Strange, and those that know him best. His wedding day. It must’ve taken a very special woman to capture the heart of this Master of the Mystic Arts–let’s see if the day turns out as romantic as his fiancee is hoping for. And if this once very confirmed bachelor finds the sort of happiness he’d never dared to dream could someday be his.

characters: Stephen Strange, Female Reader/Y/N, Wong, Cloak of Levitation, more to follow in future chapters

genre: pure, unadulterated romance

rating: general…for now 😉

word count: 2.6k

Stephen hadn’t gotten quite the full night’s rest that he’d been hoping for. Well before midnight, he’d seen you to the door of the suite your parents and sisters had taken for the holiday weekend and had lingered as long as he could before kissing you goodnight–tasting your sweetness one last time before the vows to come, which would change both your lives forever. Then he had opted to walk several blocks downtown towards Bleecker Street, just to take the time to reflect upon the momentous step he was about to take. One which Stephen had never imagined actually taking place, either in his old or new life. But one he knew now was as wonderfully inevitable as the fate that had brought him to Kamar-Taj–a broken man who, by virtue of his once unbearable misfortune, had discovered that his true vocation was unselfish service to humanity. Well worth the price of the loss of both his hands’ utility as a surgeon par excellence—as well as the loss of most of his petty vanities.

When convenient, he’d ducked into an unlit alley and portaled the rest of the way back to the Sanctum. Cloak, along with Wong– who took his responsibilities as Best Man with dedicated relish– had been waiting up for Stephen in the small study attached to the Sanctum Master’s rooms. In lieu of a bachelor party—the groom had flatly rejected the idea of such an event at the very first mention of such—but knowing Stephen’s educated taste for bourbon, Wong had managed to purchase a seven-year old bottle of Maker’s Mark Weller Special Reserve (certainly with the proceeds from his Shanghai fight club wins, Strange assumed). “A toast to the bride, my friend,” his fellow master told him, cracking the seal on the bottle and pouring out into two antique crystal tumblers that had been part of a gift to the New York Sanctum from Benjamin Franklin–whom history failed to report, had dabbled in a bit of magic himself from time to time. 

“How you ever stumbled upon such a smart, gentle woman with a heart soft enough to tolerate your ego and overlook your usual rash behavior, remains a continual wonder to me,” he announced, and then chuckled warmly, slapping Stephen’s back for good measure, “But I’m damn glad you had wisdom enough to not look the Universe’s gift dumbly in the mouth, and took her up for all that she is worth!”

His glass still raised, Stephen nodded his head in unstinting accord. “I’ve never agreed with you more, Wong. As the most undeserving of men, I can only think I must have done something very right in my…” he framed his next few words in a one-handed air quote, “…‘in my youth or childhood’ to be given the mercy of her love. And I plan to give her every reason to stay by my side, every chance that I’m allotted.” He took a long quaff of the rich, amber fluid, enjoying the good burn as it went down.

“See that you do,” Wong grunted, before swallowing down his own.

Keep reading

[sttoru]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐋𝐃-𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘 !

⟣ sypnosis. you were curious if your boyfriend would pass a ‘loyalty test’ that you’ve seen on social media and you decide to see for yourself, only to discover something much more . . . heartwarming.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. mostly tooth rotting fluff. talks about cheating / a sprinkle of trust issues from reader. the rest is satoru just being lovesick.

⟣ note. uhhhh… idk just a random idea i got at three am on a saturday night after being woken up from a nightmare >_< enjoy .

you don’t think satoru would actually ever cheat on you. your curiosity just got the best of you when you saw that one girl do a ‘loyalty test’ on her boyfriend. it was quite simple—testing if your partner would hand you their phone without being suspiciously defensive.

therefore you walked into satoru’s room and spotted him laying on his side, his back facing the door. he didn’t have any earphones in so you could hear the sounds of a movie playing on the phone he held in his hands.

he seemed so peaceful and content that you were already feeling bad for disturbing him with your silly test. you moved to sit on the edge of the bed and cleared your throat, making your presence known as if the sorcerer hadn’t sensed it moments ago.

“are you cheating on me?”

blunt and straight to the point.

satoru pauses the show on his phone and looks at you like you had said the most outrageous thing there is (to him, you really did). he drops the device on the bed and turns his body to face yours; “well—hello to you too, baby.”

he runs a hand through his hair before sitting up against the headboard with a raised brow, one hand cautiously reaching out for you. satoru was thinking about all the things he has said or done previously that could’ve possibly make you think he was screwing around behind your back. his mind worked fast, though he couldn’t come up with any logical explanation.

“answer my question please, ‘toru.” you mumble, feeling slightly guilty for doing this to your lover. you could see the confusion plastered on his face.

“no, i am not.” satoru shakes his head whilst holding your hand in his, thumb brushing against the back of it, “what makes you think that?”

you weren’t about to say ‘oh nevermind then! just a dumb thing that i saw on tiktok’—no, there was still one thing left to do. even if you’re so super sure that your boyfriend was hiding nothing from you. maybe there was an one in a million chance that your intuition was wrong. or maybe it’s just your underlying trust issues speaking.

“uhh, just wanted.. to check.. i guess?” you clear your throat and take a deep inhale before putting your hand out to satoru, palm up.

the white-haired sorcerer looks from your hand to you, and back. he doesn’t know what that indicated, so he takes a simple guess; satoru places his chin on your palm, giving you an amused kind of grin. you raise an eyebrow as he rests his head on your hand—which wasn’t what you wanted to gain from your gesture.

but you couldn’t blame him. it was cute that that was the first thing he thought of doing.

“you’re always welcome to check. got nothin’ to hide anyway.” he shrugs, not offended by your accusation in the slightest. you see the way his blue eyes look up at you—in a way that shows his pure, unadulterated adoration for you.

you nod and scratch satoru under his chin, to which he smiles and closes his eyes, enjoying the tingling touch, “then can i .. look through your phone?”

without an ounce of hesitation, he had placed his phone unlocked in your hand. satoru doesn’t care much about privacy anyway—you’re his girlfriend, you’re the only one allowed to know every single thing about him, “of course, baby.”

your eyes land on the screen and your jaw drops as you see his home screen; a picture of you up close, sleeping with your cheek squished against his arm, own hands resting near your head and . . . is that drool trickling down your chin?

“oops, sorry, you were too cute not to take a picture of.” satoru chuckles as he sees your reaction. he lays back on his side, elbow propped on the pillow with his head resting against his hand—watching you go through his phone with a relaxed look.

you roll your eyes playfully before starting your search. your finger swiped across the screen and landed on the messenger app satoru uses. you click on it and scroll through his chats, but don’t find anything out of the ordinary. he recently talked to you, his first year students, nanami and shoko.

you curiously tap on his chat with shoko and don’t read anything interesting at first glance. you scroll up and take note of how satoru was the one who kept most of the conversation going. shoko’s replies were much shorter and curt—straight to the point.

but then your eyes land on a conversation from two weeks ago. satoru had showed shoko a bunch of selfies you had sent him that same day. he was telling her how ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’ you were, practically bragging about you being his girl.

you scroll up some more and see that he’s done the same many times before; sending shoko pictures of you and kind of rambling to her about how beautiful you are.

shoko—being the good friend she is—indulged into his little lovesick ramblings and agreed with every thing satoru said—even complimenting your looks herself. you begun to get embarrassed at this unexpected revelation.

when going through more of his chats with other people, you realise how much satoru loves to talk about you. you couldn’t possibly count the many times satoru had refused invitations from his students or other friends simply because he wanted to hang out with you instead.

you discovered that he even skipped two or three important meetings at the school to go spend the day with you—nanami scolding him via text each time he did so.

“damn..” you murmur and glance up at your lover after closing his messaging app. satoru was staring right back at you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him.

he wasn’t embarrassed about you reading some of those cheesy and sappy texts at all. in fact, he was happy. he wants you to know how much he loves you (as if he doesn’t show you exactly that every day of the week).

“go on, sweets.” satoru nods towards his phone, encouraging you to continue your inspection. your eyes dart back towards the screen and you shyly swipe and scroll some more, eventually ending up in his gallery.

the first things you noticed: two albums dedicated to you. all were filled with hundreds of pictures of you (and him). one was named ‘my love,’ the other ‘me&my love’ — both with a heart at the end. scrolling through them, you noticed many images you hadn’t even realised were ever taken.

many of those pictures were also favourited in his gallery.

you nibble on your bottom lip and leave the gallery app even more flustered than before. you aimlessly click around some more on his phone. what really surprised you most was that you were named in his reminder app.

there were tons—all added in one long list. some were so pure that you couldn’t contain the slight tears in your eyes;

‘bring gf gifts’, ‘remind gf that she’s amazing’, ‘bring gf lunch’, ‘send gf daily selfie’, ‘daily cuddles w gf (if she wants)’, ‘give gf big smooch (important!)’, ‘check up on gf when away on business’, — satoru doesn’t actually need to have those reminders on his phone. his mind is so full of you that he’ll automatically remember to do everything, almost on autopilot. he just has those there for… well, just in case he somehow ends up forgetting.

you lock his phone after seeing enough and give it back to your lover. you wordlessly crawl over to him on the bed and snuggle up to his body, head resting on his chest.

“sorry.” you quietly apologise. you knew he wasn’t hiding anything, but the fact that you still went ahead and tried out that ‘loyalty test’ on someone as loyal and loving as satoru makes your heart ache a bit. especially after discovering just how smitten he’s with you.

“dunno why you’re apologising—but please don’t.” satoru whispers and rubs your back in a soothing manner, kissing the top of your head and smiling against your scalp afterwards, “it’s fiiine.”

he’s entertained by the reactions to your discoveries, even if those are but mere indications to the actual unending and undying love he holds for you in his heart.

you lift your head up and look at satoru. your bottom lip stuck out, corners of your mouth twitching slightly whilst your eyes started to get a bit glassy. you really felt bad—yet you also felt appreciated on the other hand. if you didn’t go through with your curious idea, you wouldn’t have gotten to know about any of this.

“aww, my sweet, sweet girl.” satoru coos and places two kisses right below each eye, tapping your nose with a grin. he adores the way you look and if it wasn’t for his self control, he’d have nibbled on those cheeks of yours out of playful aggression.

it’s then that satoru remembers one of his daily tasks; one he hadn’t properly done today.

you were caught off guard once more as satoru’s lips crashed down onto yours—no warning given whatsoever. his big hands held onto your cheeks, thumb rubbing the skin there whilst his glossy lips moved against yours in a gentle yet much sloppy way.

“there,” the white-haired man hums in content as he pulls away, giggling once he sees a bit of his saliva coat your mouth. he wipes it away with his thumb, “your smooch of the day.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated cringy way satoru said the latter—your boyfriend laughing right alongside you afterwards.

satoru wasn’t done with you, however. he had many other daily tasks that were yet to be fulfilled.

[lalalenii]

Eigentlich ist Bob im Auftrag von Sax Sandler unterwegs um neue Musik aufzutreiben. In einem schummrigen Plattenladen findet Bob etwas viel interessanteres. Doch Elizabeth ist so schnell verschwunden, wie sie aufgetaucht ist. Nur in Bobs Gedanken spukt sie noch herum.

yes I write straight romance now