#you're killin me smalls

[fandom-hoarder]

"Dubcon! because there's alcohol involved but i do my best to make it clear everyone is on board" stahhhhhp you're ruining iiitttt😭

[jasonsthunderthighs]

will I president of these united states,?

[natalieironside]

I'm so fucking good at stocking vendor inventories

[kef-meister]

Me, trying to figure out where Metroid Prime 4 sits in the timeline:

[sealrock]

2/3 of the 'dream team' as I dubbed them, achille's friends back in the shroud during the early days of 1.0: nilo'ya zhwan & nel dubois

as of now they're still in the shroud as adults (the pics are of their teen selves), but they write to achille as often as chiron does, and they consider ul'dah as the 'big city' compared to the small, backwater village of boughbury

random facts under the cut:

nilo'ya—

was originally born in the west shroud. youngest child of ten children (seven brothers, two sisters). as his name suggests, he was the eighth son

his siblings were all older than him and by the time he got old enough to remember them, most were out of the family home as adults

a few of his brothers got involved with poaching, but the others went on to be wood wailers and quivermen in gridania. nilo'ya heard from them rarely as he grew up

his father was hardly around. his mother passed when he was a child, but before she died she sent nilo'ya to be raised by his grandparents in the south shroud

being the baby of the family, nilo'ya felt left behind by his older siblings and secretly held grudges against them for not being with him when their mother passed. he started acting out as a teen but mellowed with age

he had dreams of being an airship pilot as a kid from watching the ixal, but was discouraged from his passion by his family

when the calamity struck, the entire west shroud was destroyed. his brothers who stayed behind as poachers likely perished in the destruction

he eventually became his grandparents' caretakers as a teen when they became too old and sick to look after him. nilo'ya would wander around the shroud and stir up trouble in his free time. he was often the target of xenophobic bullying from the other teens in the area

nel and nilo'ya became friends as children when he moved into the village. a few years after that, nilo'ya was the first person to approach achille. achille didn't like him at first, but nilo'ya was persistent and it's how achille joined his little group with nel

as of now in the present, nilo'ya works in the mun-tuy cellars, but he continued to dream about flying an airship. he wishes to visit achille in ul'dah once he saves up enough money to make the trip

nel—

middle child of three sisters, she lived underground with her family in a more inhabited part of the gelmorra ruins nearby boughbury. her family, one of the few hundred duskwights still residing inside the caves, strived to restore their homeland as their ancestors wished

nel got her first taste of the outside world when she snuck above ground as a little girl. it would become part of her routine to explore the forest, against her parents' wishes, so they forbade her to talk to 'the outsiders'

she met nilo'ya by chance as a child. having never seen a miqo'te before, and vice versa for nilo'ya, he became her first friend despite being an outsider

the other kids, and some of the adults, in the area treated her with scorn and bigotry. she wasn't allowed to enter the village as a result

one night above ground, a thirteen-year-old nel was seriously burned and disfigured in an event that her family deemed intentional by the outsiders. nel wouldn't discuss how she got her burns, but the nerves in her fingers and arms were damaged to the point of numbness

after the incident, nel didn't wander too far from home and tried to avoid other people besides nilo'ya, and eventually achille

she would teasingly, if not affectionately, call achille 'smalls' or 'baby ears' because of his halfling ancestry and otherwise short stature. she and achille would butt heads the most, but achille would fight anyone who disrespected her

her nickname for nilo'ya is 'moggie'

she was originally the one to craft the trio's friendship bracelets

now as an adult, nel continues to live underground, but she always looks forward to hearing from achille and his tales about life up above

[jackals-ships]

saw an edit of the solas veilguard scene but to take me back to eden and hey. HEY-

[gojos-thot-patrol]

This is the only valid response to this post LMAOOO

“That’s not gonna fit,” you blurted out without thinking.

“Well that's rather flattering of you.” Nanami admitted.

top ten interactions I have ever written.

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

Me to my dash: "Where'd you go? I miss you so."

My dash: *Currently experiencing an error*

Me: 🥺🥺😭😭😭

[groovyangelkisses]

x-men 2000!logan x bimbo!reader is so personal to me <3

slightly nsfw: 🪷

he was standing with scott and a few students on the first landing when he saw you; skipping down the steps of xavier's school, big bouncy hair and shiny lip gloss that catches in the light streaming from the big, glass window. you're clutching your resume in one hand, and the sweetest little pink coach nolita barrel bag in the other as you happily chew on bubblegum— the smell wafting over to logan instantly.

and logan reads you like a book— even from a solid 5 feet away. your curvy legs & hips covered by the softest baby blue velour sweatpants, your tummy slightly on display. at this point, he's long forgotten whatever scott was piously rambling about to the students (and if he's being honest he was never truly listening at all) and logan's full attention is devoted to you. you and your sweet smile and gleeful squeal at getting a job as a mutant teacher, you and your long nails clacking against the old wooden railing as you descend, you and your little baby tee covered by the same soft blue, velour fabric in a mini zip up hoodie. and logan just stares, unable to move for a second. he doesn't even register he is staring until you're turning to him with a pearly smile and a little finger wave, one that he immediately mirrors (much to scott's amused confusion). you whip around, walking to the door, and logan knows he's hit his final straw. he watches the sway in your hips, and your small, excited steps leading you away as the bedazzled "juicy" written across your ass grows further away. the sight has him chasing you out the door— walking him like a dog before you even knew his name.

and once you two get together? oh EVERYONE knows. i mean, you're the perfect girl for logan. hyperfeminine, sweet and a tad ditzy, but intelligent and strong in your own way. soon your little mini skirts start to mirror the colors of logan's flannels, and your lipstick looks a tad more smeared in the mornings, and some of the other teachers even notice a little golden anklet around your leg, displaying a heart shaped "L" inside.

and logan absolutely eats it up. he loves watching you put on your makeup in the morning, makin you sit on his lap while he braids your hair and you ramble about certain products. he's constantly needy for you too. your sweet scent lingering in the hallways, and storm swears that at one point he blissfully closed his eyes at the sound of your heels approaching him in the hallway. he loves the dynamic between you both— him a pinnacle of masculinity, and strength. but you, you're soft and girly, so girly that it makes him hard just hearing your breathy sighs throughout the day.

he can barely function when you start tapping your foot during one of charles' weekly morning meetings, your bright sparkly pink pencil between your lips— covered in the lipstick he chose for you this morning. your wedges tap against the desk as you grow antsy, and logan has to press his hand against the seam of his jeans, his other hand reaching out to grab your anklet clad leg to pause your movement. and when you turn to him, a little gasp and big wide eyes, he has to stifle the grunt in his fist, whispering into your bejweled ear "c'mon baby, you're killin' me, sit still and i'll take care'a you later."

he's utterly obsessed with you, always saying how you're his "best girl," his "little cherry pie," his "dumb baby".

[munsster]

sharing a bed (trope bingo)

A/N: i could melt (pun not intended. you’ll see) this trope is literally my fav, all my fics would be about it if i could… (gif creds: @bubbarnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: You're cold, Bucky's a living heater. Need I say more? 1.2k words

Warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, sharing a bed, cuddling, nervous/borderline horny Bucky, pet names (doll, sweetheart)

You should have made this decision before your fingertips went numb. November in a northern motel room found you freezing. In basketball shorts and a crewneck, no less. You should have been in California by now, but Bucky has been dragging his feet since Maine. Though, he does drive more than half the time, so it's a sacrifice you had been willing to take.

There's no snow on the ground, but you can feel the beginnings of it on the damp pavement. Your socks are soaked through, and you cringe making a mental note to burn them. You cross your arms over your chest and tuck your fingers under your armpits, jaw clacking as you shiver. The heater in your room scuttled hurriedly to a wheezing stop five minutes after whacking it alive.

Now you're shifting from left to right outside Bucky's door with your blood about to run purple. He hollered something through the door when you knocked the second time. It was either a it's unlocked or a don't come in and you don't trust your hearing enough to distinguish between the two at midnight.

"Bucky," you whine, resting your forehead just below the peephole and trying to shake the low beating sound from your ears. You lift your head. Footsteps then a rattling chain, and he whips the door open.

"Why are you up?"

"What?" How could he be annoyed right now when you're freezing your ass off and you can practically feel the heat rolling out of his room in waves. "I'm cold."

"Well... what am I supposed to do about that?"

You roll your eyes and glare up at him. You could swear he's doing it on purpose. You could swear he's making mental bets just to play with you. Right now he's betting all his cash on who'll crack first. His bet's on you. It always is.

"James, I swear to fucking God—I will walk back to Brooklyn if you don't—"

"Jesus, don't have an aneurism, doll. Come in," he mumbles. You follow him into the little square motel room: one bed, one table, half a bathroom. Plus a TV that only plays soaps and, half the time, crackles with static. The door shuts, and you sigh. You're swaddled by heat; the blood gushes back into the tip of your nose. You can feel your joints again.

"Take this." He tosses a coat at you. At you. It's heavy and green and thick. It's army grade. "Put it on." So you put it on and zip it up. He chuckles at the sight of you because the jacket is massive: down to your knees, quarter-foot past your fingertips. It dwarfs you. It's incredible.

"I feel like a gym teacher."

"What?"

"It's a... mm… nevermind," you hum, "'M tired." Your eyes sink shut, and he watches you from the bed, entertained by your sleep-standing act. For a second, he thinks you're actually gonna fall asleep like that. But then your eyes snap wide open and he looks away.

Bucky shuffles under the sheets, and you watch him curiously through the window of the coat's hood. You suppose you'd missed the fact that he's wearing only boxers, completely shirtless with his cropped hair messily flared around his head. You start to sweat.

He looks up when you whine. "What now?"

"... It's hot."

"You're killin' me, doll."

"I know, I'm sorry," you huff, hands fiddling the flannel insides of the hot jacket sleeves. He watches you struggle to glance at the floor and becomes flush with pity for you. He sighs.

"Alright, hon, take that off and c'mere. We'll get you warm, hmm? Come here."

You flail your arm before latching onto the metal zipper tab and tugging it down with a hissing bzzzz. Bucky watches you relax and let the coat slump to the floor before you peel your socks off and toss them in the small metal trashcan by the door. You pad your way to the empty side of the bed and pat the moth-eaten comforter a few times, smoothing your hand over the soft cotton.

"Don't be shy now. I probably won't bite," he teases.

"You piss me off, Barnes."

"Oh, feel free to freeze your ass off in your room, sweetheart. I'm doin' you a favor."

You harrumph and swing your legs onto the mattress, sliding yourself under the sheets and tucking the blankets under your chin. You face the door, and Bucky settles in beside you, leaving a comfortable six inches of space between you. He faces the wall.

"Night, Bucky."

"Goodnight."

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, and you don't know when Bucky got so close. Or when you turned around. What you do know is that Bucky runs red hot in the middle of the night. Or maybe all the time, but you've never been skin-to-skin in the day. Hell could freeze over and Bucky would still be an inferno.

Sometime between two and three, you tossed around and ended up facing him as he crept closer unconsciously. His hands felt empty in dreams about dancing, so he reached into the darkness and tucked his fingers into the crooks of your knees to draw you into his warm body. On instinct—and because you're still in need of thawing—you curl into him and let your heart beat comfortably alongside his.

Bucky's a talker. He's a vocal sleeper. Good thing his deal was talking. Becca got saddled with sleep walking, and he remembers Ma asking him to install an extra lock high up to keep her from wandering out at twilight. Again. They'd found her mumbling at a brick wall half a block away one night and decided it was for the best.

Now he's rambling on about goats, describing their rough coats as he nuzzles into your navel. His palm spread over your back, he keeps you close, taut to every bit of his body, your leg draped over his waist.

He moans. Loud. And you shift in your sleep, fingers moving to cup the back of his head, brushing through his soft hair. His scalp is hot, and you sigh lazily as you melt further into his tight skin and smooth muscle. If either of you had woken up, it would've been a bloodbath. But for now, it's peaceful, and a dove coos from a lamppost outside.

A couple of times, you open your eyes but find yourself so disoriented, you can't bother to assume it's anymore than a dream and pass out again. At the crack of dawn, Bucky's lashes flutter open, and each of his veins flows with new life and the rising sun. It takes a second for him to realize he's breathing in the warmth of your skin. And he doesn't hate it.

He falls back asleep.

In the morning, you're both too busy adjusting to central standard time to register that you'd been pressed up close and personal all night. Too busy to acknowledge the comfort you both found in each others arms. And hands.

Over breakfast at the twenty-four-hour diner, he smiles meekly, and you blink down at your short stack like nothing happened. Like nothing ever will.

marvel masterlist

[miguel-owhora]

thinking about the little silly ask i sent @thegnomelord, so have this small drabble while i wait for my food to come :3

CW: 18+ , crack treated seriously , monster!reader , himan!ghost , monsterfucker!ghost , implied size difference , anal sex , implied belly bulge , alien bodily anatomy , a little au , not beta read

FEMS, MINORS, EMPTY BLOGS DNF.

Simon can't breathe. Not in the, 'I'm being buried alive' type of way, no, that's a different feeling he wouldn't wish on his worst enemies, and just the thought of having dirt clogging his nostrils and pressing down on his body nearly has him tapping out—no. This type of suffocating is good; it nips at Simon's body and makes the world around him hazy, in a way he imagines weed to feel.

Half his body is hoisted over a counter, your larger body pressing up against his back. You're heavier than he is, larger, with a body that's not quite Human—which isn't all that different to the other passengers on the spaceship. Something about diversity and being a collection of different intergalactic species.

A set of your arms grip at his waist, another hand gripping his thigh and holding it up, blunt claws digging into his flesh, the other playing with his cock and effectively blocking it from being crushed against the counter. The position gives you easier access to his hole, making you thrust your cock deeper into his hole.

A particular thrust against his prostate has him groaning, ripping him out of his thoughts and clenching around your cock. He tries not to think about how weird it looks, how tentacle-like and bioluminescent it looks, how... non-Human it is. Not when you let out a garbled sound that's a mixture of a gibberish series of clicks and a croaky moan that's a little too guttural.

"You're killin' me, Si'," You groan, slumping your weight against him, grinning when Simon grunts from the sudden weight. It only drives your cock deeper, and Simon sucks in a sharp breath when he swears he can feel you in his stomach.

"Fuckin' hell, you heavy bitch." He growls, trying to ignore how he feels a low rumble vibrate somewhere from your chest, feels you shudder with amusement. He hates how he doesn't have to even look at you to know how you're feeling, just based on your body language. You nuzzle the back of his nape, slick and smooth scales making him shudder almost uncomfortably, before he feels you bite into the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

He nearly shouts when you suddenly pick up the pace, gripping him tightly as you jackhammer into him. But all Simon can do is moan. Loud and whorish for the entire crew to hear. His cock jerks against your hand, a familiar sensation building up fom the repeated pounding against his prostate.

"Shite!" He moans, ragged and gruff, clawing desperately at the wall as his legs tremble. His orgasm crashes unexpectedly, a string of gargled Human curses slipping from his mouth as he clenched around your cock and cums all over his stomach and your hand. His body shudders through it, legs giving little jerks and twitches. Spit dribbles down his chin, mouth hanging open as low, ragged groans slip out. He feels sweaty, the spare closet far too small to fit both Human and alien.

And speaking of alien...

Simon's eyes blink open when he feels something just... pop inside his ass. It's not a big thing, more like popping those jelly candies he's seen Americans eat before. It's small, almost subtle, and Simon has an inkling suspicion it's something about you and your weird alien body when you grind into him, slowly and deeply, as you ride out your orgasm.

After a couple of heartbeats, when only your soft pants and the even softer subtle whir of the mechanics of the ship, Simon speaks. He doesn't look at you, instead narrows his eyes at the wall, as if to test you.

"[Name]," Simon begins, voice back to its normal tone and volume, as if he wasn't just fucked. "What was that?"

Your body doesn't react, but you do slowly begin to pull out. "What was what?"

Simon rolls his eyes and glances over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowing at you. "You know what."

You're grinning, slit eyes watching him. Your stupid whiskers twitch with amusement—and there goes Simon knowing how you're feeling solely on your body language, fucking Christ—and your too sharp teeth glint with spit.

"Don't worry about it, Si," You purr, and with a slick pop, you pull out. Both Human and alien groan simultaneously, with the man wincing as he felt your cum slip out of his loose and puffy hole.

Simon glances down at your cock, and catches a glimpse of it sheathing just as you begin to pull up your suit. The Human huffs and glances down, and Simon nearly gawks at the sight, eyes widening.

"Why the fawk is your cum glowing?!" Simon's voice is higher than normal, filled with surprise.

Neon cum, a cyan color, dribbles out of his ass, dripping down to his inner thighs. It glows, as bioluminescent as the tentacle dick hiding within your sheath, a more slimier and slicker substance than Human cum.

"Simon, Simon, Simon," You gave his ass a nice squeeze, and retracted your claw when he smacked you away. You grinned, sharp teeth flashing in a wide grin, unnatural and too wide. Your voice is a low purr, smooth and slick, deceitful in every way.

"Don't worry about it."

[roturo]

SATORU'S MASTERLIST

♡ - PUBLIC FAVORITE ★ - PERSONAL FAVORITE

GOJO SATORU WHO'S... MASTERLIST.

#PEACHES.

#COOL WITH YOU. ★

#BITE ME.

#EUNOIA.

#HOOTERS MAKE YOU HAPPIER!.

#READER WITH SMALL & BIG BOOBS. ★

#FREAKY GOJO X SHY!READER

#BRAT. ♡

#HOW THEY FUCK YOU IN PUBLIC. ♡

#KILLIN' ME GOOD. ★★

#LOOKING FOR A RIDE?.

#BACK FOR MORE.

#YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE IT GIRL... IN 3D.

#CHASING THAT FEELING.

#RED LIGHTS.

#OH, SO YOU'RE INTO OLDER MEN? ♡ ★

#SACRIFICE.

#WATCH IT. ♡★★

#SHE'S BACK. ♡ ★★

#I ALWAYS COME BACK.

#7 NUTS IN NOVEMBER. ★

#CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI.

#FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND LITTLE SISTER. ★

#FALSE GOD.

#DASH.

#MINI SKIRT.

#HOW SWEET IT TASTES?

[natalieironside]

I walked through the city and saw everyone--men, women, normal people, and children--all hard at work laying bricks. They were working furiously mixing clay, firing bricks, mixing mortar, laying bricks and building....something. I couldn't see what it was from the street because it was so massive as to obscure itself, towering over all of us like the carcass of some dead god. I saw workers mixing mortar run out of water and solemnly draw lots to see who would have their throat slit to finish the mix with their blood.

"Hey, buddy," I said to a worker passing by, "what are y'all workin on here?"

"Dunno," he said with a shrug.

"Why work so hard, then?"

He shrugged again before returning to the endless, backbreaking work.

Everybody I spoke to who claimed to know what the monolith was or why they were building it said something different. Most people had no idea, knew they had no idea, and didn't particularly care. Everyone agreed that it was necessary, that the terrible sacrifice couldn't possibly be avoided, and it would all be worth it in the end.

I had to know, so I left the city and climbed to the top of the mountain for a better view. And I saw it. Towering over the city two miles high was a brick red cock and balls shooting a stream of brick red cum into the heavens, surrounded by letters a quarter mile high that said "ME WGEN....TFW WHEN.....ME WHEGN UR MOM"

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

Phoenix:...So I hear Rooster's banned you from going to baseball games with him from now on. Hangman: Well, apparently continuously yelling "YOU'RE KILLIN' ME SMALLS!" at every batter that strikes out is not appreciated by people sitting around you who have never seen "The Sandlot." Phoenix: And the people who have...? Hangman: Yeah, they didn't like it either. Baseball fans are mean. Phoenix:...You just really don't like going to baseball games do you? Hangman: ..... Hangman: I TRIED, but it's SO boring, oh my God...!

[thvkei]

baji loves when he can see himself inside you.

# tw // belly bulging, creampie.

"oh, fuck..." baji groans, hot breath pawing your features as he towers over your bare body. calloused fingers brush against your lower tummy, caressing the bulge which nestled prettily in your womb. "ya feel that, baby? so fuckin' deep inside you."

all you can do is nod quickly, muttering small 'uhuh's as you place your hand over his. he tries to shush any whines the best way he can—by smashing a sloppy and too-heavy kiss against your already tender and swollen lips, body bending down to claim every warbled noise tumbling forth from your mouth.

"pussy's suckin' me in... fuck, ease up, baby." baji groans, russet eyes scrunching in pleasure at the constant sensation of your squishy walls hugging him so tight. "y're killin' me here." he hisses before thrusting into you again, and you can feel his cock piston in and out of you as he continues his thrusts—the pleasure overwhelming your senses and making you cream around him.

despite how cruel it is, he can't stop. he won't—even as pathetic whines and whimpers continue to seep from your bruised lips as he pounds your drooling cunt until it's pulsing around him with a heartbeat of its own divinity.

the sight's too beautiful to pass up; he considers the mere thought a treason in itself. the arch of your little womb, so full and swollen with his love, disappearing and reappearing with every short, quick thrust of his strong hips. so no, he can't stop, not until you're spraying your juices all over his honeyed abdomen and clawing at his wrists, letting out clumsy yells of, 't'much, kei!!', and, 'c-cummin' again!!'

and he'd all but smirk, 'jus' one more, baby. feels so fuckin' good,' just moments before he creampies your tiny hole and stuffs you full of his babies until they're spilling out of you in thickly oozing pearly globs.

© thvkei 2023 | likes and reblogs r alwys appreciated! ૮꒰ ྀི◜๑◝ ꒱ა

[tacticaldiary]

Gentle Hands

Request: Hey there! I love your writing so much and I was wondering if you could have some Johnny MacTavish brainrot with me. Johnny comes home from a looooong deployment and he wants to do nothing but collapse on the bed or couch. Until he sees our dear reader, cuddled up in their bed with one of his shirts on a pillow she’s cuddling. He can smell his cologne on the fabric and…whatever happens after that is up to you!

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Fluff (You deserve it after the marathon of angst I've been feeding you)

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

A/N: The way I scrambled to write this the second I could, there's always time for Soap brainrot in this household

Masterlist

Sometimes he thinks the pinging of bullets ricocheting off of metal follows him out of the battlefield. It's the only explanation for the ever present tension in his shoulder after a long gruelling mission.

Soap sighs, stretching out a shoulder while he digs his house keys out from his duffel bag. The keys feel cool and foreign against his fingers as he clumsily slots them in a turns the lock.

It's been nine weeks since he's unlocked his front door.

Haphazardly pushing off his shoes in the entryway, he throws his bag onto the floor and peers farther into the house. Despite his exhaustion, a smile finds itself on his face at the prospect of seeing her again.

God, he misses her. It was difficult to contact anyone outside of his team when on a mission, even moreso when they were black. The fear of their lines being tapped and tracked is very real, and Soap would rather wait a few weeks to see her than compromise her safety and theirs by allowing himself one fleeting moment with her.

"Bonnie? You there?" He calls out, stepping into the kitchen. Empty. He fights the urge to collapse onto the couch when he checks the living room, the lack of sleep catching up on him.

He's surprised he's still standing, honestly. The OP he'd been on had been in a far mountain range, a lot of trekking and camping out in the middle of a humid, highly vegetated area. Visibility had been rough and they'd taken turns sleeping a couple of hours before they continues trekking towards the enemy safehouse they were aiming to ambush.

He hadn't been able to sleep on the chopper back either, buzzing with the knowledge that he'd finally see her again after months and months.

A damn real bed seemed like heaven after resting on a rough muddy floor for weeks.  

It was the middle of the day, but she was nowhere in the house. Not in her favourite armchair by the fireplace, nor in the garage or any of the bathrooms. He frowns a little. She could be out, then?

It's not until Soap pushes open the door to their bedroom that the next call of her name dies in his throat immediately.

His hand slips off the doorknob, hangs by his side as he takes in the sight, a soft grin on his lips.

There she was, sound asleep, arms cuddled around a pillow that had one of his t-shirts stretched around it. She looked so peaceful, face half obscured by the way she'd nuzzled into the fabric.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he tries to make minimal noise as he shucks off his shirt and sits on the bed next to her.

Huffing under his breath, he gently tugs the pillow out of her grasp, slides in next to her, adjusting himself until her face is tucked into his neck, not any different from how she was with that pillow.

As if on instinct, her body relaxes, sinking into him and curling closer.

Bliss.

Utter bliss.

A deep, satisfied rumble in his chest as he relaxes, holding the woman he loves so much in their room, their bed, with clean sheets and a heart full of love, is what prompts her to wake up.

With a small groan, she makes a move to pull what she thinks is her pillow closer, but what she grabs isn't a feather-filled soft cushion.

Hard muscle meets her palm, strong and familiar.

"Pawin' at me already, hen?" The deep, tired voice in her ear has a pleased shiver running down her spine, and her eyes fluttering open quickly. "I barely made it through the door."

"Johnny?" She mumbles, eyes widening as the hand around her waist tightens in response. "Johnny!" She pushes herself up on her knees in surprise.

Sure enough, laying right in front of her was the man in the flesh, smiling up lazily, satisfied with her reaction. With a happy squeal, she lunges forward, hugging him tightly. She giggles when he catches her by the waist, sighing into her shoulder and clutching her body to his tightly.

He lets her straddle his waist, looking down at him like she couldn't quite believe it. Her hands roam over his chest as if to assure herself that he was there, actually under her, that he was home.

They lock eyes for a moment, and neither of them knows who moves first but they pull each other into a hard kiss, moving against each other with a practiced familiar ease.

"Missed you," She mumbles against his lips as he runs a hand through her hair. He hums, lets her pull away and cup his jaw. "Missed you so damn much, Johnny."

"I know, baby. Seem like ya had my spot covered though." He grins teasingly, stroking her hair and nodding to the shirt-clad pillow on the ground.

The way she goes red is adorable.

"I told you I missed you." She mumbles. "It just...it still smelled like you, helps me when I miss you more than usual, you know?" She admits. A small pang of sadness hits him at the knowledge that she missed him enough to resort to this...makeshift Soap?

"I missed you too. This is one hell of a welcome." He smiles up at her, squeezing her waist.

She shakes her head but can't chase away the smile on her face. He was home. Johnny, her Johnny.

"Stay around and there'll be much more of that." She teases.

"Minx." He groans, propping himself up on his elbows to bring her into another kiss. As he's doing so, the ache in his shoulder tightens and he winces, a movement not missed by her. She stops him with a hand on his chest.

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

"You look like shit, Johnny." She says bluntly, watching him pause to gape at her in mock offense. "You need to rest tonight, okay? Let me take care of you." Much to his dismay, she slides off of him, prods at his shoulder ordering him to flip over.

Too tired to argue, he turns onto his stomach with minimal protest.

Soap truthfully does look like hell; tired, dark circles lining his eyes, but the desire to have her close in any way he can clouds any and all other thoughts. "You know I love ya on top of me, but might I ask what you're doing?"

Johnny presses his cheek to the cool pillow to glance over at her curiously. He watches her straddle his back, her weight tearing a small sigh out of him, his aching muscles relaxing under the soothing weight.

"Nine weeks haven't taken your voice away yet, I see." She rolls her eyes, hands travelling up his bare back to his shoulders. Her eyes linger on those strong muscles she's felt countless times under her hands, her nails, her mouth...

"It takes more than that. Besides, ya love my voice-" She chooses that moment to press into one of the tight knots in his back, red flushing up her neck at the deep, surprised groan Johnny cuts his sentence off with. His head drops into the pillow, his back going up and down with a deep breath.  

Love his voice she does. She certainly does.

Her hands knead at the tension in his back, his shoulders, working out the knots built from weeks of stress.

Here. This moment right here. It makes the weeks of loneliness worth it. Days spent without him, waking up to an empty cold bed with only the remnants of his belongings scattered around the house to occupy her thoughts. It was all worth it when she got to feel the warm press of his skin against hers, when she got to welcome him back like this and spend the rest of her days with him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they claim.

Her lips press gentle kisses down his spine as she works, soft presses that convey more love than she could ever verbalise.

"I fucking love you." He breathes. Goosebumps flash across his skin when she smiles, kissing the back of his neck. It warms her from the inside out.

"I love you too." She responds quietly, resuming her work. She kisses every mark, every freckle, and blemish, replacing every memory of harsh shoves and painful encounters with a gentle, loving touch. It reminds him that through the horrors he saw every time he strapped his gear on, there would always be people as good as her in the world. Untouched by darkness and willing to love someone like him, someone with so much damn blood on his hands.

Seemingly satisfied by her assurance, he relaxes, relishing the press of her hands against him. The room falls into a comfortable silence, mostly because he's too tired and blissed out to fill it with his usual chatter. A couple of minutes later, he's putty under her hands, languid and relaxed, his shoulders devoid of the tension he came in with.

It's only when his back rises and falls, deep and steady that she slides off of him.

He's fallen asleep, she notes with a smile. At ease, he's a sight to behold. She pulls the warm blanket over both their forms, shuffling close to him.

Johnny's arm comes around her, pulling her close instinctually. His soft mumble is incoherent.

He sought out her nearness, even when unconscious.

The press of his body is familiar, so achingly familiar. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lull her to sleep, comfortable and relieved.

She drifts off knowing that the next time she woke up it would be in his arms. Loved, protected, and cherished.  

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(15/07/2023)