#the character relationships are different

[sparrowlucero]

this radicalized me to the bechdel test being bad back in like 2014...

[beholdthelastparagraph]

Thinking about how Palamedes tells Pash that they "are conversant with the concept of family in the Houses" in Nona....because, like, are they? Are they really?

Palamedes calls his own mother by her full name or job title more than he calls her 'mother'. Their relationship is COLLEGIAL at best. The Sixth raise their children in some kind of communal academic system, from what we can see in canon. Meanwhile, on the Second, it's all about that sweet sweet military command structure. On the Seventh, your parents literally try to pass super cancer onto you, and probably die of it themselves before you reach puberty. The Eighth is a monastic order where EVERYONE calls each other 'brother' or 'sister', regardless of family relationship. From everything we hear, the Tridentarius' parents are fucked-up in some way. The Ninth is....the Ninth, and on the Fourth, parents just tend to be dead.

So, like, are they really 'conversant with the idea of family'? Everything about the system John has set up discourages real family relationships. There is no socially acceptable way to share a family name with your spouse, parent, or sibling - the arithmonyms encourage you to identify with your HOUSE, not your family, and every time characters share an arithmonym, that is considered 'weird' (see the Tridentarii). John's system demands allegiance to the EMPIRE, not any individual family units.

This dissolution of family has the side effect of also dissolving (unjust) gendered roles, but it is also VERY effective at creating the existential, deep loneliness that so many of these characters experience and that John's system then uses to fuel their loyalty to him as God. It's this dissolution of family that creates the codependent structures you see in so many cav-necro relationships (Cam and Pal above all else), because WHERE ELSE but in this (fundamentally militaristic) relationship that was originally intended to serve the Empire could you find the closeness family often provides.

And, like, every time characters prioritise their chosen or blood family over the values of the Empire, it's transgressive. Any relationship that emphasises the individual - as a spouse, friend, lover, sibling, child, parent - over the 'imperial role' of cav, necro, soldier, or servant, is transgressive in the world of TLT. Magnus and Abigail are transgressive for that. Gideon and Harrow are. Even the Tridentarii have something going on that seems to go against imperial power structures, even if it's a different kind of fucked-up. Cam and Pal are such a complex case because they DO earnestly love each other outside of their role as necro and cav, but are so fundamentally alienated from healthy relationship dynamics because of their absurd upbringing that they immediately become *like that*, to the point of doing ye olde soul-merger. Still - they fundamentally hold allegiance to each other as family of some sort, whether romantic or platonic.

Which, I think, is why it's so perfect and messed-up and appropriate that Juno Zeta, Palamedes' literal mother, spends the last few minutes of her son's earthly existence as an individual quizzing We Suffer about her family structure. Rather than. Y'know. Talking to her son. Who is about to eradicate himself as an individual within the one relationship that ever transgressed that enforced, non-familial distance.

Camilla, meanwhile, does not let her fathers watch her death/ascension at all.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

LAP IT UP

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: tweezing your boyfriend’s eyebrows is a totally valid excuse to make him come in his pants, right? warnings | an: dry-humping, power play, dom-ish reader / sub-ish hotch, hotch jizzes in his pants, hotch is a munch and a simp because it’s simply not possible for me to write anything else other than hotchypoo worshipping the ground u walk on!!!established relationship, mentions of sugar baby/daddy dynamic word count: 2.2k

✧ masterlist

“Can I do yours?” you asked, not bothering to shift the mirror as you cleaned up the stray hairs around your left brow.

There was a pause of silence, followed by the rustle of paperwork. Not nearly a sufficient response, so you gently kicked Aaron’s thigh in protest.

“Do my what?”

“Your eyebrows,” you answered, tilting your head as you inspected your reflection, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight streaming through the window. One brow was cooperating. The other looked like it had wandered off and joined a different face entirely.

“They’re not twins,” you muttered. “Barely sisters. Maybe even distant, resentful cousins.”

He made a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. “And what exactly are you implying about mine?”

“They could use a little TLC,” you argued lightly, leaning back to look at him over the mirror in your hand. “When was the last time you did them?”

He looked up from his files, one brow lifting—ironically. “I don’t make a habit of grooming my eyebrows.”

“Yeah…I can tell.”

That earned you the famous Hotchner scowl, though it had stopped working on you several scowls ago—right around the time you realised he was all bark and no bite. Or, at least, never with you.

Without another word, you dropped the mirror onto the coffee table and swung one leg over his, settling into his lap like it was your favourite seat…because it was. He stilled beneath you, body going just a little tense, like he wasn’t entirely sure where this was heading, but had no intention of stopping it.

“You’re not serious.”

“Deadly,” you replied, fingers already threading through the front of his hair. You tugged just enough to guide, making sure his head tipped back against the couch cushion. “Oof. Would you look at that, Hotchner, I think you’re starting to grow a monobrow.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“She needs to go. Quickly.” You leaned in, squinting like you were about to perform life-saving surgery and plucked a hair right from the middle of his brow before he had a chance to respond.

He flinched.

“Baby,” you teased, barely bothering to hide the laugh building in your throat. “You’re fine.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Obviously. I’m in your lap, holding tweezers, and making you nervous. This is my peak.” Just as you plucked another hair, you felt his hands tighten slightly at your hips.

“Just be quick,” he muttered.

Yeah. There was just one small problem with that. Quick wasn’t in your plans tonight. Aaron might be the boss at work, but at home, it was you who got your way. Always had. And truthfully? You didn’t care all that much about his eyebrows. Or yours, for that matter.

You just really, really wanted to be in his lap.

You let the tweezers hover his face again as you pretended to search for another target.

“Hm…nope, that one’s got character. Can’t lose it.”

He huffed. “You’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am,” you insisted, all sickly-sweet innocence as you adjusted your grip on his shoulders, letting your fingers toy with the collar of his polo. “Just want to make sure they’re perfect.”

He cracked one eye open. “Mh-hm.”

“What? You want me to do a half-assed job? You want uneven arches, Aaron?”

“You’ve got two minutes left.”

Silly man. As if you were on his clock.

You said nothing, just hummed like the consummate professional you clearly were, smoothing out his right brow with the pad of your finger. And then—because comfort was key, obviously—you shifted. Absolutely not intentionally aligning yourself with the zipper of his jeans.

You caught the half-shaky exhale he tried to hide and decided it still didn’t feel quite right.

Goldilocks might’ve had a point.

So you adjusted again, this time with a little more pressure. For once, you were grateful for the humidity that made you choose a dress—and the skimpiest, thinnest pair of underwear you owned.

All, of course, in the name of practicality.

His hands twitched at your waist, fingers flexing like he was stuck between wanting to grip you tighter or stay neutral. (Spoiler: he was failing at staying neutral.)

“This all part of the grooming experience?”

“Me taking my time? Absolutely. You know I give a hundred percent to everything I do, baby.”

"I know, honey," he drawled. "You've called me baby twice in the last three minutes. That's usually when you want something."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smiled—subtle, smug, and, annoyingly, entirely correct. Because, yes, okay, you did want something. Just... nothing that came with a price tag. This time.

"What is it?" he asked, utterly unbothered because he was synced up to you in that way that meant nothing you said, did, or asked of him could really surprise him anymore. "Vacation days? Shoes? I told you, you don't have to ask. The wallet's in the drawer."

You gave his hair another tug, guiding his head back to the couch cushions like you were placing something delicate. “You know there’s actually a government term for what you’re implying right now.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes drifted closed again, and he looked so… soft. Almost unarmoured. Breakable in the gentlest way. The tension that usually lived in his jaw, his brow, his posture—gone. Off choosing a different victim for the day.

Lit by the delicate setting sun, he looked—

Angelic.

Almost too pure for what you had planned.

Because while he was just trying to finish a stack of paperwork, you were trying to survive the throb between your legs. And your dress, as helpful as it was in theory, wasn’t offering enough friction to solve anything. So you decided to do what any self-respecting sinner would.

You were going to drag him down a little closer to your level.

Make him less divine, and a little more yours.

“Sugar baby,” you blurted, remembering you were mid-conversation and should probably at least pretend you were behaving. “That’s the term. Is that what you’re implying I am?”

He grinned.

And then he was the one to adjust—lifting his hips just as his hands pressed you down harder against him, guiding you into him.

You clamped your mouth shut, eyes fluttering as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.

He opened his eyes then, and you did your best to keep a straight face. (Spoiler: you were the one failing this time.)

“You think I’d reduce you to that?”

You reached for the tweezers again, if only for something to do, dragging a lazy finger across his brow like you were still pretending to care about symmetry. “You did say the wallet’s in the drawer.”

“I did.” His grip tightened just enough at your waist to make your thighs instinctively clench around him, something you knew he felt. “But that’s because I’d give you anything you ever wanted without expecting anything in return.”

You pouted, feeling the buttons of his polo brush against your nipples, because, yes, humidity had also declared it a no-bra day, and yes, you were prepared to weaponize it. “So you don’t want my sugar?”

“I want all of you,” he corrected.  “Every part.”

Of course he was still angelic about it—still saying all the right things, still making it a priority to remind you of your worth, even while you were actively plotting how to make him finish in his jeans.

Rude.

But also righteous.

And still better than you deserved…which will only make this all the more satisfying.

You blinked down at him, lips parted, a slow breath pulling into your lungs as the weight of his words landed somewhere deep between your legs.

“You’re really not going to let me be shallow for five minutes, huh?” Your fingers slipped from his brow to his throat, thumb brushing his pulse just to feel how not calm he actually was.

“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “You’re not shallow. Just a little needy.”

You hummed like that wasn’t already obvious, like the need hadn’t soaked straight through your panties and probably left a trail somewhere along your thigh by now. Still, for the sake of appearances you brought the tweezers to his brow again.

“Hold still,” you murmured, right as you bucked your hips into him.

You felt his hands slip beneath your dress, rough and warm against bare skin as they roamed—up your thigh, your lower back, your spine.

“I said hold still,” you repeated, the smile in your voice completely ruining the authority you hoped to fake.

He did the opposite.

His hands kept traveling up your back, and you dropped the tweezers altogether, your hands settling on his shoulders as you forced yourself to grind against him, feeling not just the zipper, but the outline of his hard cock, straining like a sin he hadn’t meant to commit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the word breaking apart in your throat like glass.

Your lips latched onto the skin beneath his jaw, feeling his skittish pulse beneath your tongue as you sucked and smoothed over the sting. Aaron’s grip on your neck tightened—a weak, almost pathetic attempt to tame you, to reel you back in, just so he could reclaim a fraction of the control you had stolen.

“This was never about my eyebrows, was it?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t care to. Instead, your teeth scraped lightly over the hickey you were hoping would linger, hips working against him like the truth being unveiled—not the sweet thing he thought you were, but a wicked woman who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

“You’re not even listening,” he said again, a breathless laugh ghosting across your temple, cut off by the groan that followed when your hips met his just right. “Too busy getting yourself off.”

“Pretty and smart,” you mumbled lazily, the friction turning sharper, your clit throbbing now with every slow drag over the rough fabric of his pants.

His hands slipped under the neckline of your dress, tugging the top down with the sort of confidence that didn’t match his frantic breathing or the way his hips were stuttering into yours.

You pulled back from the crook of his neck, only because now it was his turn.

Aaron’s eyes dropped, and for a moment, he just stared like he couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Then he leaned in, mouth closing around your nipple, lips warm, tongue flicking once, then again, until you gasped and arched into him.

You were close. So close. Though truthfully, most of the build-up hadn’t been physical—it was all mental. The way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, something good. In the way he still hadn’t figured it out, even when you’d pranced past him with the tweezers and the mirror, settling beside him on the couch, legs draped up, spreading just enough to make sure he saw exactly what was on offer.

You could’ve asked. Told him exactly what you wanted and he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. You knew that. He loved to take care of you. He always had.

But where was the thrill in asking, when it was so much sweeter to watch him give in?

And you began to pick up on just that.

The way his breath caught against your nipple, the scrape of his teeth getting less careful.

The way his hands clutched tighter at every piece of skin he could reach. The way he started meeting your hips with his own. Slow at first, then harder, like this had been his idea to begin with.

You kept moving and so did he, the friction messy and desperate between you. His head dropped forward, breath stuttering out against your collarbone, his hands squeezing your waist.

Then his hips jerked up into yours, your name falling from his lips in a voice he almost never used. His body tensed one last time, and then you felt it—the heat flooding between you, a groan torn from his throat as he came.

Your greed had been satisfied.

And with one more roll of your hips—feeling his release spread beneath you, mixing with your own slickness—that was all it took to tip you over the edge. Your body locked down, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hit, splintering and all-consuming.

You didn’t move from him immediately, hands now toying with the collar of his polo as you caught your breath.

“Happy?” he mumbled against your skin, voice still rough around the edges.

You lifted your head, the curve of your smile slow and smug. “Very.”

You expected him to stay soft beneath you—to let you linger, revel in the mess you’d made of him.

But instead, his hands slid to your hips again, and before you could react, he was lifting you off his lap in one fluid motion, placing you down in his seat as he stood over you.

Your legs dangled off the edge, dress still bunched around your waist, thighs glistening with wetness. You pushed yourself up slightly, elbows braced behind you for balance, about to ask what he was doing, pausing just long enough to admire the wet patch on his jeans.

But your confusion melted into a shit-eating grin as you watched him lower himself to his knees in front of you. Though something told you that whatever he was about to do wouldn’t be for your sake, but for his.

And that control you were so desperate to keep?

It was practically nonexistent now—crumbling at a breathtaking pace, resting in the same hands that were sliding your soaked panties down your thighs.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[theravenzvolute]

I LOVE CHARACTERS WHO ARE NOT ACE BUT ARE ARO. I LOVE CHARACTERS THAT CAN FIND JOY AND PASSION IN INTERCOURSE/SEXUAL THINGS BUT HATE ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS AND FEEL ZEROOO ATTRACTION. FREE THE AROS! FREE THEM ALL

THE FACT THAT AROMANTISM IS JUST UNDER THE UMBRELLA OF ACE SICKENS ME. THEY ARE NOT THE SAME! DO NOT TREAT THEM AS SUCH! ROMANCE AND SEXUAL ATTRACTION ARE TWO VASTLY DIFFERENT POOLS. GROWLING. SNARLING EVEN

starts punching and tearing at everything in a blind rage. i want AROMANTIC characters i want characters with not an OUNCE of romance about them i don't JUST want aroace characters i want AROMANTIC characters that AREN'T ASEXUAL i want people to headcanon characters as AROMANTIC not just aroace i want fandom to treat AROMANTICISM as AROMANTICISM, and not a SUBCATEGORY OF ASEXUALITY. RRRAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH

[ID: banner reading "don't tag as ace or aroace"]

[knifearo]

i don't hear many people talk about the intersection between gender and sexuality when it comes to aspec identities but personally i feel that my aromanticism is a distinct aspect of my gender identity and presentation and it's one of my favorite things about myself. the truth about the constructs of gender and sexuality is that they are inextricably intertwined at nearly all stages. the expectation of a relationship, the expectation of wanting others and being wanted in return, is baked into how you interact with others, and therefore how you present yourself. gay people present themselves differently than straight people because they are doing the performance of gender for a different audience. we access our own personal constructions of gender primarily through how we interact with others, how we compare and contrast with others' genders, and so much of gendered interactions is built around heteronormativity or going against heteronormativity that our own personal constructs of sexuality and attraction are woven through it all as well. and exempting myself from the expectations of sexuality and attraction—eliminating the audience from my performance of gender—is kind of. crazy. i'm transsexual in the way that i have no connection to either gender in ANY way. the binary means nothing to me because i neither belong to nor desire any aspect of either gender. for me this means that i get to pick and choose whatever aspects i think are sexiest from either expectation and put on the best damn talent show this town has ever seen (i have no desire to engage in any kind of romantic or sexual activities, but i find it entertaining to be desirable and unattainable), which is both extremely freeing (hell yeah. opened up all of the customization options on the character design menu) and fucking FUN. it's a performance and i'm getting the oscar in categories they haven't even invented yet. it's a competition and i'm fucking winning. it doesn't matter what people want or expect from me because i don't want them and i don't want to be like them. there's a huge gorgeous world out there and i am the most beautiful thing in it. truly one of the most fantastic and fascinating things about being aro to me

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x reader, established relationship, Fluff (maybe some NSFW)

Imagine Remmick and reader enjoying each other’s company while laying together. Soft kisses, nails lightly raking through hair, and soothing touches.

Perhaps teasingly reader lightly bites Remmick’s neck, since he always does this to reader they wanted some payback. Might or might not have known that it would rile him up.

(Would love to see some feral softness from Remmick if that makes sense lol)

Gender neutral pronouns please :)!

Have a great day/night!

P.s glad to see my request/asks are enjoyed! Love your work :D

Drunk on you||Remmick x GN!reader

Summary— reader and Remmick are obsessed with each other.

Word count-1180

Warnings-Explicit sexual content Mutual masturbation (gender neutral reader x male character) Bloodplay-adjacent themes (post-feeding cleanup, references to blood) Vampirism (turned!vampire reader) Established relationship Oral teasing and heavy kissing Soft domination tones (gentle aftercare, power dynamics rooted in emotional trust)Reader is described with fem anatomy Semi-public setting (clearing in the woods, but secluded)

A/n — this can be read as male,female and gender neutral.

A/n#2– oh yes anon I love it when you’re in my inbox!!!

The forest still thrummed faintly with the echoes of the hunt moonlight threading through the trees, the air rich with the scent of blood and pine. The adrenaline had faded, but a different kind of hunger lingered in its wake.

You leaned against a moss-covered boulder, cheeks flushed, laughter bubbling out of you in lazy bursts. The blood was still tacky at the corner of your mouth, but you didn’t care. You felt wild. Sated. In love.

Remmick watched you from a few paces away, one hand braced on his hip, the other dragging a cloth slowly over his jaw. There was something dangerous and stupidly tender in the way he looked at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. Like the sight of you drunk on blood and moonlight knocked the wind out of him.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you teased, eyes half-lidded as you sauntered toward him, hips swaying lazily.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured. “Like you just remembered how much you love chaos.”

You laughed and slipped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. “No, not chaos. Just you.”

His breath caught as your lips brushed against his blood-slick and soft and your body pressed flush to his. “You made me. Isn’t that the same thing?”

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t let go, his hands settling on your waist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Drunk,” you corrected with a sleepy smile. “On you.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue slipping against his with a faint metallic tang still lingering. He groaned into it, fingers tightening just enough to make you whimper.

Eventually, he pulled back. “Come here,” he said softly, guiding you to the old blanket spread near the fire he’d built. “You’re still a mess.”

You sat down without protest, your body humming, eyes glassy and soft. Remmick knelt in front of you with the cloth again, warm now with water from his flask.

His touch was almost reverent as he cleaned your blood from your jaw, your collarbone, the smear on your neck. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face.

“You always do this,” you murmured. “Clean me up like I’m something precious.”

“Because you are,” he said simply, voice rough. “Because I remember what it was like right after I turned you. You were fire. You were fury. I didn’t know if I’d get you back.”

You cupped his face gently, thumb tracing over his lips. “But you did. I came back. I chose you.”

He kissed your palm, then your wrist, slow and deliberate.

The tension shifted between you then not urgent, not frenzied. Just heat and safety, blooming slow and low.

You pushed him gently back until he was sitting against the base of a tree, and you crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. The kiss that followed was softer, your fingers threading into his hair, hips rocking forward just enough to make you both gasp.

“Touch yourself,” you whispered against his mouth. “Wanna watch you.”

His eyes darkened. “Only if you do too.”

You nodded, lips parted as you reached between your legs, hiking your skirt just enough to slip your hand beneath. He did the same, dragging his belt loose with a soft groan, pants undone just far enough for his cock to spring free already hard, leaking at the tip.

You both moved slowly at first, hands buried beneath fabric, matching pace and rhythm. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the fire crackling nearby, the trees your only witnesses.

Watching each other, teasing touches, shared gasps there was something sacred in the act, something unspoken and deeply yours. His eyes never left yours as you rubbed lazy, wet circles over your clit, back arching, while his fist tightened around himself, hips stuttering.

You leaned your forehead to his, breath ragged. “Love you. So much it hurts.”

His other hand gripped your waist, steadying you as he groaned your name. “You’re mine,” he rasped. “Always.”

You both came within seconds of each other soft cries swallowed in kisses, bodies trembling, breaths shallow and fast.

Afterward, you stayed curled up in his lap, limbs tangled, your cheek against his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest.

“You gonna clean me up again?” you mumbled, half-asleep.

He huffed a laugh, already reaching for the cloth again. “Yeah, sweetheart. Always.”

[bakuhve]

royal treatment

leona kingscholar x reader smut

after a hectic week, you’re exhausted and missing your boyfriend. one late night text from him changes everything, and he’s ready to remind you just how much you mean to him, in every way possible.

warnings/tags: NSFW, established relationship, soft dom! leona, praise kink, worship kink, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f. receiving), spit play, breeding kink, mating press, possessive behavior, aftercare

your shoes scuffed against the dirt trail as you trudged toward ramshackle dorm, each step heavier than the last. the moon hung low and silvery above night raven college, casting eerie shadows over the gnarled trees. it was late, too late for anyone to be wandering the grounds, but this had become your normal.

you sighed, breath visible in the chilly air. this week had been chaos. grim nearly set the alchemy lab on fire, ace and deuce dragged you into another disciplinary hearing, and crowley- bless his useless heart- had unloaded another week’s worth of chores onto your lap with that infuriating “it builds character” grin.

and through all of it you hadn’t seen your boyfriend, leona, once. not really.

a passing glance in the hallway. a gruff text that you didn’t have time to respond to until hours later. you were too busy. too needed. running yourself ragged like some glorified campus babysitter while your boyfriend lounged somewhere in savanaclaw, probably napping under the sun with no idea how badly you missed him.

your hand reached for ramshackle’s rusty doorknob, heart aching for rest- and maybe a bit of affection that hadn’t been possible all week.

that’s when your phone buzzed.

[leona:] Come to Savanaclaw.

no explanation. just a command.

you stood there for a second, half of you wanting to crawl into bed and pass out for the rest of the night, the other half already moving on instinct. you knew that tone- even in writing. he wasn’t just calling you over for company. this was different. he’d been quiet all week, letting you run around campus like a glorified errand girl. he hadn’t complained, hadn’t whined or dragged you away, hadn’t even sent his usual “you’re doing too much” texts.

this was his way of saying he’d had enough.

you didn’t even bother texting back. he wouldn’t need it. he’d know the second you stepped inside.

by the time you slipped through the savanaclaw mirror, your steps quickened. the dorm was dim inside, lit only by a few flickering orange lanterns. most of the students were asleep- except you knew exactly which room wouldn’t be.

you stopped in front of it, taking a deep breath before opening the door. you didn’t knock, you never had to.

inside, the room smelled like sun-warmed sheets, dry grass, and faint traces of something wild and rich and unmistakably leona. he was sprawled on the bed, shirtless, one arm beneath his head, the other resting lazily on his stomach. loose sleep pants clung low to his hips, his tail swaying in a slow and idle rhythm behind him. his eyes were low and heavy-lidded, but there was no teasing smile waiting for you. just a slow, unreadable stare that pinned you in place.

“shut the door.”

his voice was quiet. rough with sleep- or restraint.

you obeyed before you even realized you were moving, with a soft click of the latch echoing the stillness between you.

his piercing eyes stayed on you, unblinking. not predatory- something deeper. like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, standing there at his door in the dead of night with exhaustion hanging off your shoulders.

“c’mere, herbivore.”

you walked to him, slowly. not because you were unsure, but because something about the way he spoke made your chest ache. it wasn’t the usual lazy drawl he used when he wanted attention. it was quieter and rougher, like he’d been holding this in. like if he said too much, too fast, he’d crack.

when you reached the edge of the bed, he sat up- fluid and slow, all coiled strength and golden heat. his hand reached out, brushing your waist. then he looked up to you, his thumb grazing just under the hem of your shirt, not asking to take it off- just touching. just grounding himself in the feel of you.

“you’ve been running yourself to the ground,” he muttered. his hands rose to your hips, settling there like he was afraid you might tip over if he let go. “doing everyone’s job but your own. all that weight on your shoulders… and not a single dumbass thinks to carry it for you.”

he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to your stomach. one hand moved to the back of your thigh, the other pulling you closer by the curve of your hip. when he spoke again, it vibrated against your skin.

“let me take care of you tonight. no fightin’ me on it.” his voice was a low growl as his hands slid up your sides, warm and rough palms that somehow felt like they were tracing the very soul of you. his gaze was dark and hungry.

he gently guided you onto the bed with an unexpected slow care. his hands worked under your shirt, lifting it over your head, but he never rushed. never pulled you too quickly, even though the need in his eyes was unmistakable.

you could feel the heat radiating off him as you let him undress you. “leona…” you murmured softly, letting out a slow breath as you met his eyes. “i’ve missed you.” the words slipped out, your exhaustion from the week catching up with the overwhelming pull of his presence.

leona’s emerald eyes softened at that, his lips curling into something more tender than you’d expected. “yeah? been missin’ you, too.” he pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing a little heavier now as he let his hands roam over your skin. “been workin’ yourself too hard. not gonna let you keep going like this.”

you couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped as he kissed your collarbone, his lips gentle but insistent as he slowly worked his way down, exploring the bare skin beneath his fingers.

“let me make you feel good,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “don’t have to do a damn thing but let me.”

your fingers curled into the sheets as you tried to push aside the fatigue and let him, to let go like he was asking. you let your head fall back against the pillow, a shiver running through your body as his hands slid down your hips, gently guiding you closer to him. “you always know how to make me feel better.”

leona gave a low chuckle, his lips brushing over your neck as he kissed you there, slow and reverent. “that’s ‘cause you deserve to feel good. my pretty little herbivore, always takin’ care of everyone else.”

his lips found your shoulder, and this kiss felt like an anchor- soft and reassuring. his hands were slow and careful as he slid your pants down, lifting you just enough.

“i’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin.

you couldn’t help but let out a breath, your body already reacting to the slow, deliberate pace. “i trust you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but it felt like the most honest thing you could say.

leona’s eyes darkened, his chest pressing against yours as he kissed you deeply, almost hungrily now- but still in that caring way. “good,” he rumbled. “now let me show you just how much i need you.”

“you’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, while his hands found the clasp of your bra. with a quick, practiced motion, he freed you from the fabric. his fingers traced the curves of your body, feeling the soft swell of your breasts before leaning down to press a kiss between them.

you gasped, arching your back just slightly as you felt his hands gently cup your breasts, squeezing softly, and you moaned at the sensation.

leona’s eyes locked onto you, his gaze dark with hunger and admiration, he lowered himself even further, his lips brushing over the soft flesh of your chest, tasting and worshipping each inch of you as if he couldn’t get enough. “you don’t know how much i’ve wanted this all week,” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “to have you, to take care of you like you deserve.”

his mouth found your nipple, teasing it with soft kisses before he finally wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently. you arched your chest further into him, your fingers threading into his hair as a shiver ran through you.

leona let out a soft groan, his grip tightening as he lavished attention to the other breast, his hands kneading and massaging, making you squirm beneath him in pleasure. “so fucking perfect,” he muttered against your skin.

you could feel the tension burning in your core, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. his lips moved between your breasts, trailing kisses along your skin as his hands slid lower, brushing against your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

he pulled away just long enough to look down at you, his eyes heavy with desire. “tell me how you feel,” he demanded, his voice soft but firm. “i need to hear it.”

“feels so good,” you breathed, voice shaky. “so good, leona…”

a low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest at your answer. “yeah?” he murmured, lips brushing against your navel now. “i’m just gettin’ started, herbivore.”

his thumbs hooked under your panties, and he dragged them down slow like he wanted to savor the moment. like unwrapping something precious. he dropped them to the floor, then nudged your thighs apart, settling between them as if he belonged there. as if this was where he should be.

“been thinkin’ about this all week,” he muttered, voice thick with restraint. “thinkin’ about how sweet you’d taste when you’ve been workin’ yourself ragged.”

and then he leaned in, brushing his mouth against your inner thigh first- featherlight kisses that had your hips twitching. his tongue flicked out to taste the soft skin there, and you gasped, already breathless before he even touched where you needed him most.

when he finally kissed your clit, slow and deliberate, it made you jerk. he didn’t tease- not this time. he latched on gently with his lips and sucked, firm and controlled, like he was easing you into it.

you moaned, fingers fisting the sheets as your thighs tried to close on instinct. but his hands were already there, holding them open, thumbs stroking softly along your skin to calm you.

“sensitive little thing,” he murmured against you with a grin in his voice, kissing your clit again. “you always get like this when i haven’t touched you in a while.”

you whimpered in response, your hips arching, chasing the heat of his mouth. he licked a long, slow stripe up your folds, savoring the taste with a groan, before burying his face against you more firmly. his tongue worked in slow, practiced motions- deep, unhurried, worshipful.

and when he slid two fingers into you, it made your back arch off the mattress. he curled them just right, the pads of his fingers stroking that sweet, spongy spot with devastating precision as his mouth stayed glued to your clit, licking and sucking in rhythm with each thrust.

“that’s it,” he cooed between licks.

you cried out, legs trembling as your body tightened around his fingers, the pleasure already coiling fast in your belly. it was overwhelming how he touched you- so thorough, so attentive, like he didn’t want to miss a single reaction.

and all the while, he kept whispering praises between strokes of his tongue.

“tastin’ even sweeter than i remember…” he nipped at your clit.

“this cute little pussy missed me, huh?” he increased his pace.

“you always clench around my fingers like this?” his half-lidded eyes opened to peer up at you, taking in every reaction.

“that’s it baby… fall apart for me.”

the orgasm hit hard, sharp and blinding, your back arching off the bed as you cried out his name.

“leona-!”

but he didn’t stop.

even as your body trembled beneath him, even as your thighs shook and your muscles clenched around his fingers, he kept going. his tongue stayed firmly on your clit, flicking and sucking through every wave that rolled through you, dragging your high out mercilessly.

“that’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice like velvet and fire. “give it all to me.”

you whimpered, half-begging, half-moan, your hips twitching from the sensitivity. but his fingers stayed buried deep inside you, still stroking that tender spot while his mouth worked you over with maddening skill.

it was too much. too sharp. too good.

your legs instinctively tried to close again, but leona growled low in his throat and held them open with ease.

“nuh-uh,” he muttered, lips slick against your folds. “you don’t get to run now, herbivore. not after you’ve been makin’ me wait all week.”

you squirmed beneath him, your voice breaking. “leona- please, i can’t-”

he looked up at you, eyes heavy-lidded but warm, a smug softness in his smirk that made your stomach flutter.

“you can,” he said, kissing your inner thigh again before going right back to your swollen clit. “you’re gonna give me another. you’re not done yet.”

his tongue and fingers were relentless now, coaxing every bit of pleasure from your overstimulated pussy.

your voice cracked again as the pressure built, even sharper than before, your legs shaking uncontrollably.

“fuck- leona-”

“come on, sweetheart,” he whispered, lifting his head just enough to speak against your core. “give your lion one more. be my good girl.”

and with that- one firm flick of his tongue, one perfectly angled stroke of his fingers, you shattered again.

the second orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming. you sobbed out his name as your vision blurred, your whole body trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

“that’s it,” he growled softly, finally slowing his pace, though his fingers still stayed inside you, coaxing you through the aftershocks. “did so good for me.”

your chest heaved as you blinked through the haze, your body limp, dazed, and trembling under his hands. he gently withdrew his fingers, and you whimpered at the emptiness, even through the lingering sensitivity.

leona leaned up over you, licking his fingers clean in a way that made your core flutter all over again. then his hands braced on either side of your head as he hovered above you, his green eyes searching your face, softer now.

“you still with me?” he asked, like this part mattered most.

you gave him a shaky nod, your voice breathless. “yeah… yeah, i’m with you.”

his lips curved faintly. “good.” he kissed you deep and slow, letting you feel the way his body trembled now too. “need to be inside you, baby. need to feel you for real.”

you whimpered against his mouth, nodding, already reaching down to tug his boxers down. he helped you, shrugging them off with a low groan, his cock springing free- thick, flushed, and aching for you. he gripped it at the base, giving himself a slow stroke as he settled himself between your thighs, lining himself up.

“tell me you want this,” he said again, voice husky and firm.

“i want you,” you whispered, gazing up at him. “need you, leona.”

he pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky breath like he’d been holding it in for hours.

“that’s my girl.”

with one slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he pushed in.

your breath caught, your nails digging into his arms as he filled you inch by inch- stretching you perfectly, deeply, until he was seated fully inside, his pelvis flush with yours.

a strained groan tore from his throat, and his head dropped to your shoulder as he stilled, just for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself.

“shit,” he breathed, “you feel like heaven…”

he kissed your collarbone, your jaw, your lips- soothing, adoring- as he began to move. slow, deep thrusts that made you feel every inch of him, the warmth of his body covering yours like a blanket, anchoring you to the bed.

“been wantin’ this all damn week,” he rasped into your ear. “thinkin’ about how tight you’d be… how pretty you’d sound when i finally got back inside you.”

you moaned, arms wrapped tight around his back, drawing him in even closer as your hips rolled to meet his rhythm.

“leona…”

“i got you,” he murmured, “gonna take care of you, baby. gonna make it all better.”

leona kept his pace steady, grinding his hips just right, hitting all the perfect spots with every roll of his body. his eyes were lidded but focused, devouring you with every flutter of your lashes, every broken moan you gave him in return.

“c’mon,” he whispered, brushing your hair back with one hand. “lemme feel you cum on me. you can do that for me, right?”

your breath hitched, the pressure in your core pulling tight, trembling.

“leona- ah, i’m-”

he kissed you hard just as your body snapped again, your orgasm crashing into you like a wave. you gasped into his mouth, nails raking down his back as your walls clenched around him, milking him with desperate need.

he didn’t stop, just growled- low and wrecked- then shifted.

in one fluid motion, he sat up on his knees and lifted your legs, folding them back near your chest. his hands gripped the back of your knees, locking you into place as he drove back into you in one deep and hungry thrust.

“fuck-” you whimpered, the new angle punching the breath out of your lungs.

“that’s it,” leona groaned, watching the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your eyes glazed from overstimulation. “gonna keep you like this… take all of me. just like that.”

your moans pitched higher, body already too sensitive- but it didn’t matter. not when he was looking at you like that. not when he was hitting so deep it felt like you could feel him in your stomach.

“you’re squeezin’ me so tight, pretty thing…” he growled, sweat beading on his brow. “like your body’s beggin’ me to fill you up.”

he bent over you, still pressing your legs back, mouth brushing against your jaw as he picked up the pace- harder now, rougher. the bed creaked beneath you, and you couldn’t focus on anything except him. the way he filled you so completely it blurred the edges of your thoughts.

leona’s gaze dropped to your lips, then your eyes, and something possessive flashed behind emerald.

“open up for me,” he rasped, his voice wrecked and low.

you obeyed without thinking, lips parting, tongue just barely peeking out in anticipation.

he leaned in, just enough to let a slow string of spit drip from his mouth to yours- hot, thick, deliberate. it landed on your tongue in a warm line, and you whimpered at the sheer intimacy of it, your body clenching around him.

leona watched you swallow it with a low, throaty groan, his eyes blazing.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours again, possessive and fond all at once. “takin’ everything i give you so good, herbivore.”

then he kissed you again- messy, breathless, claiming- before rutting back into you with renewed hunger.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he growled against your mouth. “you’re mine.”

your answer was a whimper, your fingers curling into the sheets as he drove deeper into you, like he was carving the feeling of him into your very core.

then his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit. he rubbed it in firm circles, making your hips jerk beneath him.

“one more for me,” he murmured, voice fraying at the edges. “c’mon, sweet girl. wanna feel you fall apart while i fill you up.”

your body was trembling, toes curling, every nerve alive and singing. the overstimulation was too much and not enough, and the way he was looking down at you like you were something sacred, something his- shoved you toward the final edge.

“l-leona-!”

“i know,” he cooed, fingers moving faster now, his thrusts growing more desperate. “gonna make you mine. gonna put it so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

your orgasm hit like lightning- white hot and overwhelming. you cried out, thighs shaking as your walls clamped down around him, squeezing tight and relentless.

leona snarled as you pulsed around him, his rhythm faltering just once before he drove in deep, hips flush to yours, cock buried to the hilt.

“fuck- take it,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he came with a shudder. “take all of it.”

you could feel the warmth of him flood inside you, thick and hot, his hips grinding lazily as if to make sure none of it went to waste. his fingers stayed on your clit, coaxing every last aftershock from you even as your body trembled beneath him.

his lips brushed against your cheek, panting. “that’s it, baby,” he whispered. “you did so fuckin’ good… all mine.”

you didn’t even remember when your legs were finally let go, only that the weight of leona collapsed beside you moments later- warm and solid, his arm sliding beneath your shoulders to pull you flush against his chest.

“easy now,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. his voice was rough, but the gentleness settled into your bones. “you still breathin’? need water?”

you managed a tired hum and a small shake of your head, your cheek resting against his shoulder. your body ached in the best way- every inch of you was humming with satisfaction.

leona’s palm smoothed over your back in lazy circles, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. you felt his tail curl around your leg loosely, more instinct than thought, and it made you smile sleepily.

“i love you…” you murmured, lips barely forming words.

he exhaled, the sound heavy but soft. “i know. i love you too.”

you felt the press of his lips- first to your hair, then your shoulder, then your cheek. a trail of kisses spoke louder than anything he could say aloud. his hands never left you, holding you securely, like he needed to keep feeling your warmth against him.

within minutes, your breathing slowed, evened out, your body fully relaxing in his arms. sleep pulled you under without resistance, safe and surrounded.

leona stayed awake a little longer, watching you. how peaceful you looked, no responsibilities dragging you down, no summons or tasks barking your name.

then he heard a buzz of your phone.

without moving much, he reached over and retrieved it from where it had fallen near the edge of the bed. the screen was lit with a message.

[crowley]: Need you in the main hall first thing in the morning- urgent errand. Sorry, prefect!

leona stared at it for a moment, green eyes narrowing.

“tch. not tonight.”

he swiped it away and deleted the message before you could ever see it.

[star-wars-stuff-1]

“I love what you talk about as well (Rosario to Hayden). Like this is an Anakin who is observing the fullness of his whole life very differently than he was in those particular moments. But this is a more abstract, surreal expression of the breath of this character, and this relationship.” —Rosario Dawson (when asked about Anakin & Ashoka’s relationship being featured for the first time in live-action & honoring it from the animated shows. An interview with Josh Horowitz, Hayden Christensen, Rosario Dawson, & Dave Filoni)

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN as ANAKIN SKYWALKER/DARTH VADER Ahsoka: Part 5 - Shadow Warrior (2023)

[anim-ttrpgs]

We’re changing the name of Death Bed from Death Bed: A Souls-like RPG to Death Bed: An Impenetrably Medieval Dungeon Game. It is quickly developing a similar level of “immersive sim” depth to Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy wherein yeah the PCs are exploring a dungeon and trying to come out with treasure but also their personalities and relationship to each other as well as the emotional stress of the situation have a mechanical effect. All of this and the characters you create will be medieval people not modern people, with rules and mechanics and information to encourage portraying them as such (and yes it is different and matters)

[charcoalowl]

So much mainstream interpretation I see of Miki talks about his "purity" in such a cut and dry way that kinda bugs me. Like yes innocence is a big part of character but it's different then say, how innocence is a big part of Utena's character or how Juri has such a distinct relationship with the concept of faith and the heavenly.

Miki's duel is titled Raison, something I had trouble understanding until I looked at it in the context of his duel song.

The Spira Mirabilis, or Fibonacci's spiral, plays a big role in music and musical harmony. It is the embodiment of perfection. It is another representation of the myth of the "eternal" that the show is trying so hard to deconstruct.

People seem to forget that Miki when first introduced he isn't characterized by his naivete. He is a prodigy. A genius not only for his musical sense but his knack for complex college level mathematics as well. The show makes a point to directly tie his dissatisfaction with his music to his frustration at having lost the subject of his nostalgic longing. He is logician trying to create the most mathematically perfect composition. He is a child trying to reconstruct his most perfect memory.

[guiltyasdave]

ivy

jackson!Joel Miller x original female character Ivy

series masterlist • a fic by @sizzlingcloudmentality & @guiltyasdave

daphne’s masterlist • jana’s masterlist

summary: Things are so different in Jackson. People don't fight over every scrap of food, doors stay unlocked at night, men don't expect to be repaid for favors. Ivy’s relationship with her partner Kyle looks much darker once she meets Joel Miller. As they get closer it becomes clear how much she needs Joel’s help.

tags/warnings: jackson! joel, angst, fluff, canon-typical violence, abusive relationship (not with joel), protective joel, sexual tension, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, forbidden romance

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates <3

part 1 - coming soon!

part 2

part 3

part 4

big thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

[lemonyinks]

Because they are on my mind, please accept one of my favorite Wangxian moments of all time.

Chapter 87

In my opinion, this is one of the most important Wangxian scenes in the whole novel. It is very special to me. It made me tear up when I was doing my read through.

Time and time again, Wei Wuxian has fallen, he's gotten hurt, people have failed him. The people who were supposed to be there for him have either left, he's lost them tragically, or they've betrayed him at some point in his life. His life has been one of loneliness and loss.

He has never had someone who he could rely on so heavily. He has never had a solid safety net before, someone on equal footing to him that he could fall back on and rely on. If anything he has spent his entire life being a safety net for other people. He has spent his whole life being strong for others.

Now, however, Lan Wangji is that safety net for him.

For the first time in his life, he has someone to truly catch him when he falls. He can let himself fall and still be safe. That "thank you" isn't just about Lan Wangji catching him after he fell from the tree, its about everything.

[badgerbl00d]

you've reached situationship central!

☆ characters: akagami no shanks (pt. 2)

☆ up next: TBA

☆ summary: being stuck in an on again off again (very indulgent) relationship with the notorious red haired shanks is not for the faint of heart..

☆ content: angsty, happy ending, nsfw, smut, complicated relationship drama, 18+ mdni

☆ a/n: hi my loves!!!! i am knee deep in midterms right now but as we all know, one piece smut is more important so here i am. will try to have another fic up next sunday <3

#i would tolerate a concerning amount of disrespect from this man wc: 5k oops 🙈

Never in his life had he so clearly felt jealousy. What was, an hour ago, a small, weak fire in his chest had grown into something more sinister– the thick, heavy heat spreading throughout his body. His mind was fogged by an onslaught of nauseating images- his hands on your waist, fingers digging into your plush, soft, forgiving flesh. His lips on your neck, placing light, arid kisses against your sensitive skin. Your pliant, charitable attention being focused on him, his face, his words, his touch, his authority. 

It was blinding, Shanks felt as though he was losing control of himself. He fought against his own wandering thoughts, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. The sickening sound of your gentle laughter filled his ears, you were so enraptured by the trivial, pointless conversation you found yourself caught in. The sound of your voice, of your focused occupation, your precious attention should be directed at Shanks and Shanks alone.

He pounded back the small cup filled with whiskey; never in his life had this kind of possessiveness taken him over so quickly. White hot jealousy wrapped its hands around him and he could not struggle out of its grasp. Of course, there had been moments with past flings and more-than-casual acquaintances that left him feeling a twinge of jealousy, a hint of what he now felt. He was always well aware of the nature of these relationships, they were meant to be fleeting, unsustained. Sweet, induglent moments in the otherwise chaotic uncertainty of his life. His reputation preceded him, in both bed and in battle he was ruthless, commanding, completely in control. To be rendered so weak, so desperate by the sweetest, most docile woman he’d ever met in his life was… he wasn’t sure what it was. Karmic? 

A degree of it, he supposed, was shame. Embarrassment at his own past actions as the realization dawned on him that he has most likely made countless others feel the same. He’d always brushed it off as the inevitable nature of these things– they were, at their core, impermanent, unserious. You weren’t any different, he’d supposed. 

Perhaps, he thought, he was incredibly naive. You were different– in every possible way! You weren’t only a lover but a member of his crew. He implicitly and absolutely trusted you with his life, the lives of Beckmann, Yasopp, Lucky, his family. You were family. 

Glimpses of your time spent together within the last few weeks flashes through his whiskey-addled mind: 

The way your cheeks squished against his chest when you obliged his requests to spend the night in his room, “I sleep better with you, sweetheart,” he’d explained. The softness of your voice in the morning, asking him, “Ten more minutes, Captain?”

The small, soft smiles you’d give him when you crossed paths on the ship.

Never had he felt so entitled to ownership of a person. 

The sound of your laughter once again caught his attention, and worsened his mood. Your friend was smiling with pride, clearly happy to have elicited such a sweet sound from you. It was his last straw. He quickly stood, leaving more than enough money on the counter to pay for his drinks, and walked over to you.

It was difficult to not notice when a man with Shanks’ energy was directing all of it toward one, unfortunate person. As he walked, he began drawing the attention of most of the other patrons in the bar. 

“Y/n,” he said, his voice more stern now than it had ever been with you, “Let’s head back. It’s late.”

Your lips parted in shock, and you slowly looked up at him. 

Ignoring the man in front of you was easy– child’s play. But ignoring the surprise and confusion on your face at his tone– not his words, but the harsh, indifferent manner in which he said them– was something he wished he’d never have to do again.

“So soon?” you asked, voice soft, “Benny said he’d let us know when he wanted us back–”

“Now.”

You sharply inhaled, and closed your mouth. Blinking up at him, taking a second to process whatever this sudden change in personality was. 

Your friend was silent, the evident awkwardness of the situation earning an uncomfortable pause in sound from the three of you.

“That’s alright, Y/n,” your friend said, “I was… just getting ready to head home myself.”

Shanks clenched his jaw, refusing to look at either of you. 

“Well, alright,” you said, gathering your coat and standing, “Thank you for the drinks, lovely to see you.”

He shook your hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of it– a soft pink hue began to color your cheeks.

“Write to me,” he said, putting on his coat before offering you a half-smile and leaving.

Shanks grabbed your arm, practically dragging you out of the bar into the cold of the night. Your breathing was fast, white clouds forming in the winter air with every exhale. He was walking quickly, his grip now firmly settled on your wrist– you were struggling to keep up, practically jogging as he half-dragged you behind him. 

“Shanks,” you yelped, “Slow down– Please!”

He ignored you, maintaining his pace. Your wrist was beginning to ache, “Shanks!”

Another pointless plea. Your frustration was increasing and had begun to boil into anger.

Though it took a lot to get a rise out of you, your Captain’s behavior was starting to seriously upset you.

Your wrist ached, badly now, and you were tired. Your body had not properly adjusted from the warmth of the bar, the dim yellow lighting and strong drinks had spread a soft heat throughout you and the sudden cold of the deep blue winter night you were now being dragged through was an unwelcome interruption. It was no later than half past nine and you knew that his excuse about it being late was complete bullshit. You couldn’t even count the number of times Shanks had come back from a night out at noon the following day. 

You came to a sudden stop, planting both of your feet firmly in the snow and yanking your hand out of his grip with a cry.

Shanks turned, taking a deep breath– the anger on his face only upsetting you further. 

“What is wrong with you?”

He laughed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, “With me? You were practically fucking that guy in front of me and you have the audacity to ask what’s wrong with me?”

Your eyes widened at the harshness of his words, completely taken aback by his attitude. Never had he spoken to you so obscenely. You gasped, partially from the shock of his speech, and tears welled in your eyes. 

It was overwhelming, to have a man of his size and notoriety talking to you in such a filthy, angry manner. But, after all this time, Shanks was an idiot to think you would crumble so easily to harsh language– you were, after all, one of the stronger members of the crew. 

“What did you just say?” you bit back, your tone just as venomous.

“You heard me,” Shanks scoffed, “Laughing at his jokes, accepting the drinks he bought you, promising to write him back? At this point just fuck him.”

You were completely infuriated. How dare Shanks– the most notorious womanizer on the ocean– reprimand you for flirting. Since when was your relationship a marriage?

You inhaled, carefully calculating what to say to piss him off even more, “Okay. I will, then.”

You turned and started walking quickly back the way you came, slightly unnerved when you didn’t hear his footsteps following behind you.

You ignored the absence of sound and held your head high as you walked back toward town.

“Y/n,” Shanks said your name once, a clear warning.

You ignored it and picked up your pace. Your vision was blurred with tears, and your nose bright red from the cold. You steeled yourself– now wasn’t the time to let your Captain know how badly his words hurt you, how shocking it was for him to speak to you so cruelly. 

You barely heard the flurry of his footsteps by the time he’d caught up to you, turning you around to face him.

You avoided making eye contact with him, not wanting to dignify his insults by showing the tears that resulted from them.

“Get off me,” you said, but your voice had significantly weakened.

Shanks’ grip on your arm loosened, an effect of guilt. He hadn’t expected you to cry.

“Fuck you,” you said, “Don’t act like we were ever exclusive.”

Shanks swallowed, you weren’t wrong. In the year you had been seeing one another he’d had multiple encounters with past and new flings– all less important than you of course, but your point remained. 

“Not once,” you continued, pushing through despite your wavering voice and sore throat, “Have I ever been with anyone since we started… this. But you?”

He let go of your arm, hoping now that you’d turn away. 

“You have forfeited any right to jealousy, Shanks. Don’t you dare fucking tell me who I can and can’t sleep with. Have I ever said anything to you about your dozens and dozens of partners in the past year?”

You emphasized your point with a harsh jab at his chest.

He was silent, guilt beginning to wrack through his quickly sobering mind.

“Well?” you insisted.

“Y/n,” he started.

“No,” you said, answering yourself, “I haven’t.

And do you think it was easy? To watch someone I cared about so much– Someone I love toss me to the side repeatedly over and over and over? Week after week, month after month, you’d use me and entertain me when it convenienced you just to put your hands, your lips on someone else the next day. Treat me like I was something to you, play the role of a husband, a lover, a friend and then do the same to another woman right after?”

“I didn’t realize–”

“Of course, not,” you choked out, “Of course you didn’t. Until I had a conversation, a fucking conversation with someone else. That’s all I had to do to finally get you to want me? Talk to someone? I wish I would have known that a year ago, you fucking asshole.”

Your tears flowed freely now, the cold not helping hide the emotion on your face. Your cheeks were a deep shape of pink, your lips puffy from the cold. 

Shanks was overcome with guilt and regret. He was an idiot, as you had so graciously confirmed. What could he do? What could he say? 

“You acted so indifferent,” he responded, “We’d spend a week in love and then… when I did start to entertain someone else, at a bar, or party, or wherever, you’d act so indifferent. Like you didn’t care at all.”

“What else could I do? What right do I have to you?”

“Every right,” he gasped, sinking to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hand firmly around yours. He looked up at you with a sort of reverence that momentarily took your breath away. But that was what he did, he treated you like a goddess, like a divine creature one moment, and like anyone else the next.

“They were all distractions from you. I thought that if you cared so little for me I might draw something out of you with them– jealousy, anger, hatred, anything.”

“You succeeded,” you whispered, sniffling.

“No, no I haven’t,” he said, “I’ve done the opposite. I’ve guaranteed your indifference now.”

You sighed, not even trying to fight the tears now, “I’ve tried, Shanks. I’ve tried to be indifferent. 

I tried, tonight, to spark up old affections for someone else. I used to be in love with him, you know? He’s a writer and a good man. And despite all of that, despite his intelligence and wit, despite his kindness, despite how handsome he is I found myself sitting in that wretched chair drinking and thinking about you. Your touch and your lips and your voice.”

You broke out into a sob, falling against Shanks who gently picked you up and started the walk back to the ship. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tucking your face into the crook of his neck placing a kiss against it. You were helpless, you’d realized. You were in love with Shanks. 

The walk was short, ten minutes at most. Shanks spent it half-delirious, cursing himself in every way possible for having done you such harm as he felt the crook of his neck getting more and more soaked with tears. 

For the first time in his life, he deeply wished that he were religious so that he might directly ask a higher power for forgiveness. You felt so light in his arm, your figure so perfectly wrapped around his that he realized, at the very least, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you. 

How many times had he flirted pointlessly with a girl at a bar, at a port, on an island leading her back to his room hoping to get a reaction out of you that would confirm your feelings for him just to be welcomed with your indifference and send her home anyway? 

If he’d doubted his love for you earlier it was undeniable now, pressing against his ribcage like a rabid caged animal– hungry and desperate, willing to cling on to anything offered to it. 

Your confession fed it, not enough, not even close, but enough to sate it for the time being. 

You loved him, Shanks reminded himself as he carried you on board the ship and started to walk toward your room. 

“Shanks,” you whispered, tugging at his collar, “Let me sleep in your room. It’s warmer.”

He redirected his path toward his own bedroom, quietly opening the door and placing you in his bed. He helped you take off your coat and shoes before removing his own and crawling into bed next to you. 

He racked his brain for the words with which to start his apology. 

You wouldn’t even look at him. 

“Y/n,” he said, “Please look at me. Talk to me.”

You slowly turned, scooting yourself closer to him.

“I’m tired.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he brought up a hand to your face, “Can I hold you?”

You paused for a moment and then gave him a small nod. He situated you on his lap, and slowly placed a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, as he finally conjured up the bravery to begin his apology.

“In the past year,” he started, “The women, the girls, all of them were just to elicit a reaction out of you. When you’d ignore it, or act indifferent I’d just send them home. I never… slept with them.”

He felt pathetic, it was a humbling admission to say the least. 

You pulled him in for another gentle kiss. “I know,” you whispered against his lips, “I figured after I accidentally ran into one leaving just a few moments after you’d shown up on board with her. But it wasn’t just the sex that was hard, Shanks. It was having to watch you talk to them, charm them, and for them to all fall for it so easily. Like I did. Like I am right now.”

He nodded, wiping away the tear that had begun to make its way down your cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was all just a terrible way to try and… to get you to love me back, I suppose.”

“But I do! I do, Captain, I have since I first set foot on board this ship, from the moment our eyes met. I can’t even entertain the thought of anyone else. It makes me sick to think of anyone that isn’t you–”

He crashed his lips into yours, he could no longer bear the passion that had been slowly burning inside him. His hand came up to the base of your neck, tangling itself in your hair gently tugging your head backwards leaving your neck open to him.

He nipped at it, leaving small bites and sucking it– the warmth was addicting, inebriating.

You melted into his touch, your back arching into him– sweet moans pouring from your mouth.

“Mmmh,” you whined, nails digging into his shoulders, “Shanks, I need you. I need you.”

His lips found their way back to yours and he freed his hand from your neck, helping you take your shirt off, unclasping your bra. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, pouting when the cloth forced your lips to leave his. They quickly reattached, your mutual desperation increasing. 

He palmed your tits in his large hand. Your body was so warm, so soft and buttery, melting in his grip. His palms were still cold from the harsh temperature and the walk back home, the coolness earning him a gasp as he brushed his palm over your nipples. 

The heat between your thighs was increasing, your slick arousal beginning to dampen your panties. You moaned into the kiss, welcoming his eager tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on it as he teased your nipples, now pinching and flicking. 

“Mmmmm,” you moaned.

He pulled away, his hands never stopping their ministrations on your sensitive buds, a heart-stopping smirk on his handsome face, “What’s that?”

“More,” you panted, a small string of saliva hanging from your swollen bottom lip, “Please.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, an expression of desire and want settling on your face.

“I could never say no to you, sweetheart,” he said, running a finger under the band of your pants, “Let me make everything up to you. Please let me earn your forgiveness.”

You nodded, granting him the permission he so desperately sought. 

Shanks worked quickly, a man who greatly concerns himself with how you spend your time did not want to waste any of it.

Your pants are quickly removed and you lie back on his bed, left in only a pair of pink panties. 

He leaves his own pants on, and lies on his stomach pressing soft kisses to your feet. He started working his way up your body, giving equal attention to right and left sides, peppering you with kisses, gentle bites, and soft licks. He spent a frustrating amount of time on your inner thighs, biting hard enough to earn a yelp or two, leaving possessive marks in the shape of his teeth. He kissed the wet spot on your panties, that was now dripping onto his sheets, expertly avoiding the spot where you wanted to feel him so badly.

He gently sucked at the fabric, eyes shutting as he savored your taste, “This is for me?” 

“Y-yes,” you whimpered, “Shanks…”

You brought a hand to your pussy, to attempt to move your panties to the side.

“Tsk, tsk,” he warned, “Hands above your head.”

You were far too sensitive and pliant to disobey now.

Your hole throbbed, earning a kiss from your Captain, “Very cute. Stay still, sweetness.”

His tongue tucked itself beneath the side hem of your panties, and pushed them to the side. You gasped at the split second of contact his warm tongue made with your pulsing clit. His finger replaced his tongue to hold your panties out of the way, and quickly, without any kind of warning whatsoever, he began to ravish you.

His tongue expertly licked from your hole to your puffy clit, generously spreading your arousal over your pussy. He sucked and licked, he wasn’t just eating you out– he was making out with your pussy. You let out a soft cry and your hands found themselves tangled in his hair and your chest heaved with rapid, desperate breaths. Your moans filled his room, you were completely overcome by the sensation of his tongue against you. He was as close to eating you as he could be without hurting you. The sounds coming from his mouth against your pussy were disgustingly obscene, like a starved dog eats without second thought your Captain feasted on you– savoring the proof of your love and affection. 

Your eyes rolled back and your lips parted to form a perfect ‘O’ as he slipped a thick finger into you, and then another. 

Shanks had fucked you before, how many times exactly you had lost count of. You were more than familiar with each others’ bodies and, in truth, this was far from the first time that he had made you feel so good. But something was different this time. 

Knowing now that it was you that brought him down to this level of depravity allowed you to release completely– give him full control over you, your body, your thoughts. 

It felt sinful, wrong, terrible to reduce him to such a state of animalism. You felt as though you, minxlike and tempting, had corrupted a great man, led him to a point of such violent desperation that you were the only thing that could sate him. 

You gave him this illness and now, cruelly, were also the only person who could cure it. 

Your arousal coated his fingers completely and had started to drip down his hand. He pulled back, removing his fingers to bring his hand down to his own pants. His tongue’s assault on your pussy stopped, and was momentarily replaced by kisses and he removed his pants, and stroked his leaking cock a few times, coating it with your sweet, precious arousal. 

“Ohh,” you moaned, “Please, Captain, please.”

“Please what, hm?” A soft slap landed on your cheek, “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.”

Just as quickly as you had asked, Shanks had lined up the dark pink head against your slit and was rubbing it up and down your pussy, drawing small circles on your clit letting his precum leak out onto you. 

“Perfect pussy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “Looks so cute painted white.”

You whined, and he made eye contact with you. It nearly broke him, to see you so desperate, so open for him. He realized, now, that you were his in every sense. Your body, your mind, your emotions and feelings– all his. 

His head pushed into your hole, a tight fit at first, drawing some soft cries from you.

“Shhh, shh,” he said, “You’ll adjust.”

Once the head slipped past, the rest followed easily– Shanks had to hold himself back to avoid bottoming out in you at once. 

The stretch was the most delicious pain you’d ever felt– even now, a year after you and your Captain first spent a night together it took you a minute to adjust yourself to his girth. 

“I can take it,” you said, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek , “I can take all of you.”

He turned his head to kiss your hand, and lowered himself slowly onto you, kissing you with an unexpected restraint. He bottomed out in you, and your breath hitched.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.”

You took a breath, eyes shutting as he began to rock his hips slowly, sliding his full length in and out of you each time.

“Good girl, take me just like that,” he encouraged, “Look at me, bunny.” 

You blinked your eyes open, tears pooling in the corners and he smiled at you.

“I love you,” he kissed your forehead, “I love you.”

He repeated it over and over, kissing a different part of your face each time, his dick throbbing and pulsing inside you as a smile began to form on your face and your cheeks darkened.

“You’re mine,” he said, “Only mine.”

Your lips parted to moan as he began to thrust faster in you, still blessing you with his full length every time. His sticky, swollen tip kissed the deepest parts of you and you could feel him in your tummy. 

“Feels so full,” you muttered, “Don’t.. stop, please, daddy.”

Shanks groaned, you were addicting. He thanked the powers that be that you came to him as a human and not a siren for he would have not only fallen into your trap but willingly jumped to his death if it meant having you for even just a moment. 

His pace was intoxicating, he had rendered you unable to form even a simple thought. Your brain was filled with the sounds of thick, wet slaps echoing in the room and the sweet musical moans that fell from your lips and his. His lips were on your neck, biting and sucking– harshly, this time. You were both close, the tell-tale sign with Shanks was when he finally shut up. So used to his teasing and jokes and wit were you that it was obvious when he was finally silent.

“Close, baby?” you asked

His eyes were shut in ecstasy and he gave a small nod as he panted.

“Cum inside me,” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue along the edge. 

That was all it took. 

A simple, dirty request from you (one he had indulged in many times before). 

Almost on command, his hips began to stutter as he filled you with weeks’ worth of pent up sexual frustration. You moaned as you felt it dripping out of you before he had even pulled out. 

Shanks collapsed onto you, kissing your cheeks and petting your head, “Let me drain everything into you, sweetheart. It’s yours, all yours.”

You hummed and kissed his forehead, speckled with sweat. 

He lied there, on top of you for another few minutes, his cock twitching inside of you erratically. 

When he had fully spent himself inside you he got up, slowly pulling out– an expression of hunger settling on his face as he watched himself pouring out of you. 

It was almost as though you weren’t there, you felt like an intruder watching as he looked at your pussy, creamed and puffy. 

He joined your ankles together in one hand and lifted your legs up to your chest, bending his head down toward your pussy.

“Ah- Shanks,” you whined.

He ignored you completely, placing his lips onto your pussy, licking and sucking his cum out of your hole. The feeling was indescribably indulgent. He gathered his cum into his mouth and bringing his head up a foot or so away from your pussy he slowly spit it out onto you, the liquid landing with a plap on your clit. You moaned, it was the filthiest thing you’d ever seen him do. 

He let go of your legs, which you were now holding against your chest, and used his hand to slap your puffy, swollen pink pussy a few times, the cum making the slaps louder than usual. Smack, smack, smack. 

Your body completely relaxed, entirely submissive to your Captain. You were his. 

Shanks’ tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers once again resuming their place from earlier. He slowly slipped in a third finger, shushing your (weak) protests. 

In seconds your orgasm was approaching, fast and hard. You barely had time to let out a cry when a gush of liquid squirted out from your pussy, dousing Shanks’ face and hair. He growled into your pussy and kept going, earning a series of slutty whines from you as you came around him, hips bucking into his face and chest heaving.

“Shanks, too much, too much!”

He laughed against your pussy and placed one more kiss on your clit before pulling away. 

His face was soaked, and you playfully pushed him away from you with your feet when he tried to kiss you. 

He grabbed your ankle and pulled you toward him, earning a series of giggles from you as he scooped you up and rubbed his face all over you.

“Gross!” you whined, “You’re like a wet dog.”

He wiped his face with your discarded shirt before snatching you back up and lying down with you, face to face. 

“You’re hard again, aren’t you.”

He chuckled, burning his face in your shoulder, “No.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Only with you,” he confessed, sitting up, “C’mere.”

He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently kissing you, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, okay? I promise.”

You cupped his face with your hands, scooting in on his lap closer to him, so your chests were touching, “I know. So am I. That guy… he doesn’t mean anything to me. I just wanted to make you jealous.”

“It worked,” he admitted, a sheepish smile settling on his face, “If I had drank any more I probably would have punched him.”

You smiled, surprising him, “Is it bad that I’d like to see you fight someone over me?”

He laughed, kissing you again, “No– and I will, if it ever comes to it.”

“So…” 

“Hm.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well,” he glanced at the clock on his bedside, “It’s only eleven. Got another round in ya?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve got at least two more in me, but I’m talking about us.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling, “Didn’t I tell you my plan?”

You shook your head.

“We’ll get married.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Why don’t you ask me to be your girlfriend first.”

“Mm,” he pretended to think about it, “Not good enough. You’re my wife.”

You sighed, his cock was rubbing up against your pussy and you were quite ready for a second round. 

“Alright,” you conceded, starting to grind your hips into his, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow morning.”

He caught onto your little game immediately, hands coming up to start groping at your tits, “Alright, sweetheart. Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. My bed.”

He winked at you and you smiled, your lips finding each other for the millionth time tonight. 

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

[pinkslipxox]

Reader and Billie are “rivals” in the industry and pretend to hate each other. However, they’re actually in a relationship, which ends up getting leaked.

of course, baby! Hope you like it, mwah ❤️🥰

——————————————————————————

The camera flashes and the stage lights are blinding, but you know exactly where to look. You’re standing on the red carpet, the air buzzing with anticipation. Across the way, surrounded by a whirlwind of reporters, is Billie. She’s wearing that signature oversized outfit, a smirk playing on her lips. You meet her gaze, and for a split second, the act drops. Her eyes soften, a silent message passing between you. Then, the cameras are on you, and you snap back into character.

“Y/N! Any thoughts on Billie Eilish’s latest album?” a reporter calls out, holding a microphone towards you.

You roll your eyes dramatically, a calculated scoff escaping your lips. “Oh, her? I haven’t had the time to listen to it. I’ve been too busy working on real music that people want to hear.”

A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd, and you see Billie’s smirk widen. It’s a game you play, a performance for the world. The “rivalry” is a storyline, a way to keep things interesting, to generate buzz. No one would ever suspect that behind the carefully crafted jabs and public displays of disdain, you’re completely and utterly in love.

Later that night, after the awards show, you’re back in your shared hotel suite. The door closes behind you, and the carefully constructed walls crumble. Billie is there, her arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. The scent of her perfume fills your senses, grounding you after the chaos of the night.

“You were amazing out there, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice soft against your ear. She nuzzles into your neck, and you feel a shiver of pleasure run down your spine.

“You weren’t so bad yourself, Eilish,” you tease, though your voice is thick with affection.

You spend the rest of the night in a bubble of intimacy, the world outside fading away. You talk about your days, your dreams, the silly little things that make you laugh. Billie is different when you’re alone, softer, more vulnerable. She rests her head in your lap, her eyes closed as you gently run your fingers through her hair.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I love you more,” you reply, bending down to kiss her forehead.

The next morning, you wake up to a flurry of notifications on your phone. You groan, reaching for it, and then you freeze. Your eyes widen, and a gasp escapes your lips. A picture of you and Billie, holding hands, is plastered across the screen. The headline screams: “Billie Eilish and Y/N: The Rivalry is a Lie?!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a cold dread washing over you. You scroll through the articles, the comments. The speculation is rampant, the accusations flying. Your carefully guarded secret is out.

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You didn’t want this. You weren’t ready for this.

Billie stirs beside you, her eyes fluttering open. She sees your distress, and her expression changes instantly. She sits up, pulling you into her arms.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.

You can’t speak, the sobs wracking your body. You hand her your phone, and she takes it, her brow furrowing as she reads the articles. Her jaw tightens, and you can feel her body tense beside you.

Then, she puts the phone down and pulls you closer, her arms wrapping around you like a shield. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers, her voice filled with tenderness. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

She holds you tightly, letting you cry into her shoulder. Her hand rubs soothing circles on your back, her touch gentle and comforting.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“I’m scared, Billie,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “What are people going to say? What are they going to do?”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze unwavering. “They can say whatever they want, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter.” She cups your face in her hands, her thumbs gently wiping away your tears. “What matters is us. What matters is that we love each other.”

Her eyes are filled with so much love, so much tenderness, that your breath catches in your throat. She leans in slowly, her lips brushing against yours. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, filled with reassurance and promise.

“I’ll protect you, Y/N,” she whispers against your lips. “I’ll always protect you. We’ll get through this, together.”

She kisses you again, deeper this time, a silent vow passing between you. In her arms, surrounded by her love, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright. You have Billie, and she has you, and that’s all that truly matters.

[andy-wm]

Jibooty Appreciation Society

I might be writing this but I'm not the main character here

I'm still living for the moment in AYS when Jimin said his butt was unbelievable, and now it's just believable.

He's honestly hilarious. And his butt is still unbelievable in my books.

I know I'm in a long queue of people admiring Jibooty. We all love it.

Its a national treasure.

But the person at the front of the line is our favourite muscle bunny.

He's been admiring that work of art up close for a long, long time.

In fact if you asked him about his Roman Empire...

I'm pretty sure he'd say its the cake he gets for his birthday every year.

Jibooty is a snack, and this boy is permanently starving

Yes, JK is the real expert on jibooty, and if anyone ever doubted his personal experience with that Delicious Derriere™ he makes it very clear in this episode of Run.

He's not relying on an imagined scenario, he's SEEN this and he KNOWS he's right. But he doesn't direct his comment to the whole group, he tells Jimin to go home and look in the mirror because it's Jimin's ass he's seen in this exact situation.

Proof once again of the authenticity of their relationship. Nobody in their right mind would script this.... but I digress.

Who can blame our golden boy for grabbing that perky handful every chance he gets.

Doing so in public is such a flex, too. Because it's one thing to be rubbing it like a magic lamp in the privacy of your own home. It's a different thing entirely when you squeeze it and smack it on a stage in front of 60 000 people.

And Jimin used to swat him away but these days, the way Jimin doesn't even break stride, you know JK probably walks around the house with one hand fastened to Jimin's ass like it's his personal fidget toy

... like its his happy place

... like its his emotional support

... like its his.

It's not that i think about jibooty an unhealthy amount, its just that it's so buoyant that it rises to the top of my mind all the time... like a big, round, delectable bubble of happiness.

And i find myself imagining the joy it must bring to all involved. And i find myself smiling about that.

Ah, yes, the simple happiness of a perfect bottom... and his magnificent peachy butt.

Sigh...

I would send one of these to Jimin if it wasn't so utterly WRONG in every respect...

Obviously the biggest problem with this, is he would NEVER wear something from Temu 🤣🤣

I jest. I'd never do any such thing

💛🍑🕺🏻👀💜

[peachessndreamss]

Home is You

Summery : Bob's home from a mission and he's got something he needs to share.

Characters : Robert "Bob" Floyd x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings : Mention of canon typical threat and injury

Word count : 1.6K

A/N : I watched Topgun Maverick because I was sad and then I found my old TGM google docs and, well, here we are. Also, pleased to see Lew getting so much love after Thunderbolts *

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

For the thousandth time that morning you checked your phone, sighing softly when there were no new notifications. With frustration, you flipped your phone over so you couldn't see the screen, hoping that would stop the constant anxious gnawing in your stomach. 

You weren't usually one to stare longingly at your phone but today was different. Bob was due home, but he'd, and the rest of the returning service personnel, were put on no contact until they arrived back on the base, meaning, although you knew he would be home soon you had no way of knowing when that would be, and if he was still in one piece. 

The minutes of that day seemed to crawl by as you waited, waited and waited some more to hear from him. Although you weren't in a romantic relationship with Bob he was still one of the most important people in your life. He was your best friend and your love for him was so deep that you never wanted to think of your life without him in it. 

The morning had quickly flowed into the afternoon, and the hours of the afternoon were passing rapidly, every tick of the kitchen clock feeling like a hammer blow against your heart. You had been reading the fridge when his call finally came through, the vibration against the tabletop had you slamming the fridge door closed and dashing toward your phone. 

You managed to answer after only a single ring, your whole body flooding with relief at the sound of his voice. 

"Hey, it's me," he said when you answered the call. 

"I know," you said softly, “I’ve got caller ID,”

"Yeah sorry, I know," he replied with a soft laugh. 

A silence fell between the two of you as you struggled to work out what to say. Weeks of no contact always made space for a few awkward silences but it wouldn’t take long for the ice of time and distance to thaw and for things to be back to normal.

"Are you free to pick me up?" He asked after a few seconds. 

"Of course,” you replied quickly, already moving toward the front door, car keys in hand, “I can be there in about 30 minutes,". 

"Alrigh' I'll give the gate your details, see you soon,". 

The call ended as you stepped out of the door, the anxious feeling in your stomach had turned into butterflies as you sped toward the base, your hands trembling with the surge of adrenaline now coursing through you. It seemed no matter how many times he went away and came home again, the effect on you was the same. 

You managed to calm your breathing and your erratic heartbeat before you arrived at the main gates, you were let through the gate and drove up to the main block where you knew there would be others collecting loved ones. 

You parked and got out of your car, all around you there were families being reunited, children being hugged and swung around, wife's, girlfriends, boyfriends and husband's being held and kissed by returning service personnel and you felt somewhat out of place as you stood, alone, looking for him. 

You recognised a few faces from previous pickups, and you couldn’t stop the burn of tears in your eyes as you watched happy families coming together. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt as you scanned the crowd for him, finally catching sight of him, the late afternoon sun flashing off his glasses as he stepped out of a door off to the left hand side of the block, around his neck was the arm of a taller officer and the two of them were laughing. 

He saw you and his smile broadened, he waved, pulling away from his friend and breaking into a slow jog toward you, as soon as he was close enough you threw yourself into his arms and hugged him tightly. 

"Hey," you said softly, taking a deep breath and drawing the smell of him deeply into your lungs. 

"Hey yourself," Bob replied, giving you an extra squeeze. 

He heard you sniff as you fought harder against the tears burning eyes and forcing your throat closed. 

"No tears," he said softly as he released you from his embrace and looked at your face,  noticing the wobble in your bottom lip and the glassy look in your eyes, "me being home is supposed to be a happy thing". 

"I am happy,". 

"Okay so no tears or I'll get a complex,".

You let your eyes roam over his face, each of his features as familiar to you as your own face in the mirror. You noticed a scar on his forehead that hadn’t been there when he’d left, you reached up and brushed your thumb over the mark. 

"What happened?" You asked. 

Bob laughed softly, "I, uh, got on the wrong side of some cables and ended up on my face on the flight deck," he said, touching the silvery mark on his forehead. 

"As long as that's all it was," you replied, your whole body shivering at the idea of the type of risks he ran every time he went up in his jet. 

"I'll tell you about the near miss over dinner huh?" He teased, elbowing you gently.

"No thank you," you replied with a smile as the two of you started to move in the direction of your car. 

"Not even if I'm the hero of the story?" He asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

"Especially then," you said, "I like to imagine all you do when you're away is sit about and take no risks,". 

Bob laughed as you started the engine and pulled out of your parking space. On the drive back to your home you caught Bob up with anything and everything he missed while he'd been away and Bob told you a few things that he'd been up to, although a lot of details needed to be left out. 

You asked if he wanted to get a drink in town which he declined, you knew the local town would be full that evening with the returning crew, and understandably, Bob wanted a quiet evening. 

Once back at your home Bob stripped out of his boots and went to take a shower. The spare room of your home was always made up ready for him and a few comfortable outfits were hanging in the wardrobe. Once he’d changed into a faded blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants he came to find you in the kitchen. 

"You want me to cook or shall we order?" You asked as you got two bottles of cola from your fridge. 

"Uh, what would you cook?" He asked as you handed him a bottle and he popped the top off easily. 

"Well you know me," you joked, "pasta or, uh, pasta?". 

"I love pasta,". 

Bob almost ate himself into a coma before curling up on your sofa and dozing off, his head cushioned by his hands. His eyes were closed and there was a small smile on his face. 

"Can I tell you something?" He asked, not opening his eyes. 

"Sure, knock yourself out," you replied from the other sofa where you were feeling sleepy after all the hours of worrying you'd done earlier in the day. You had your own eyes closed, your head propped up on your fist.

"We went down, me and my pilot, something went wrong and we lost control. We were crashing into the water so we ejected, it was pretty textbook stuff but in those few seconds when I wasn't acting on pure instinct I think I realised something,". 

As he was talking you'd felt yourself getting more and more tense, each one of your muscles seizing up as you pictured him in a failing jet, working purely on instinct and adrenaline. Too scared to move but the only person who could do anything. Bob stifled a yawn before continuing.

"I was bobbing around in the water, waiting to get picked up, freezing cold but also getting burned by the sun and the only thing I could think about was you," Bob's eyes opened slowly and fixed his gaze on you. 

Although your eyes remained closed, he could see the tension in your body. 

"And then I thought to myself, if I died here, who would I leave behind? And it was you. You were the only thought I had out there, how much I wanted to see you one more time, tell you a joke and hear you laugh, that's all I could think about,"

Your heart was pounding in your chest and the sound of your blood pumping in your ears was almost deafening. Bob spotted the tremble in your hand that you wouldn’t have been able to hide if you’d tried. 

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, finding it sleepy but also clear, like the exhaustion was giving him clarity of thought. And while Bob could still feel the  sleep pulling on his mind, he needed to get his thoughts out while he had them in his head. 

"Can you come here please?" He asked as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

With an uncertain step you stood and moved toward him, coming to stand directly in front of him, in between his knees. He placed his hands on your hips and you touched your hands to his cheeks. 

"Out there I realised something," he said softly, looking deeply into your eyes, "I love you, and not just as my friend, as my everything,".

For the second time that day you felt your throat closing up as tears burned in your eyes and your bottom lip wobbled. Bob smiled as he reached up and touched his thumb to your trembling lip. 

"Don't cry," he whispered, "you'll give me a complex,". 

A/N : There's more where this came from, as well as some Rooster stuff if anyone still cares about Topgun 😆💀