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finniestoncrane · 25 days

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Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 1: A Bombshell, word count: 3.5k exposition time!! cooper's recent divorce has hit hard, personally and professionally. vault tec have made it impossible for him to find work in any movies so he's turned his talents to porn to make some money. as horrible as he thinks his day is though, his future is only going to get worse (reader shows up next chapter) request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: age gap reference, angst, oral sex, pornography

From the corner of the small, hideously decorated set, Cooper watched the skeleton crew work to clean things up after the last movie wrapped just an hour before. His skin began to crawl, a shudder rolling through his body, as he considered the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone take away dirty sheets or bring in clean ones since he arrived.

And he was expected to fuck in these conditions. It was a living nightmare.

Trying to lighten his mood, he murmured what was supposed to be a positive sentiment.

“At least it’s not snuff. Way my luck’s going, wouldn’t that just be the cream on top of the pie.”

Cooper looked up to the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the bright studio lights which provided a familiar, albeit less high-end warmth than he was used to. He was working though, so he couldn’t complain too much. A paycheck meant he wasn’t out on the streets, the hot sun beating down on his face instead. And he had to face facts; the snap of some powerful fingers and he could be out on his ass at a moment’s notice, fired even from a gig like this.

No prospects. Vault Tec had made sure of that not long after he’d confronted Barb. She’d gone straight to her bosses, that panel of cruelty he’d listened in on, and their retaliation, preventative measures to ensure they could continue on their journey of annihilation, had been swift and immeasurably evil. His reputation was ruined, the earth in which he’d grown and nurtured a career scorched, much like they intended to do with the rest of the world. Any upcoming opportunities, any interest that anyone held in him, gone.

They’d been thorough, efficient. News reports, gossip between housewives, notes passed across the desk during auditions. They’d made sure he’d never work again, not in anything worth while, of course, holding his earnings hostage. And when he thought that was all they could take from him. His life, his money, his house, his wife. They had come for more. Armed Barb with the best lawyers money could hire and then offered him the worst deal.

His silence in exchange for some brief, supervised moments with his daughter. Something about alcohol abuse, a half-truth at most, but enough to convince the judge.

It felt cruel to him, that he was put in a position where he had to choose between Janey and the rest of humanity. A shitty thing to do to a man, that’s what he thought of it. And a shitty choice to make. And a shitty decision when he threw altruism to the side and secured the rest of humanity’s fate. He was just as complicit as they were, really, if he thought about it too hard. Which of course, he did. Each night as he struggled to sleep in his apartment. But whatever time was left, he reasoned that he might as well spend it being as happy as he could, even if that was only for one day a month when he was allowed to see Janey.

What was it? Two days ago he'd taken her to the zoo? So almost another month until he saw her again. A month of work. Blood, sweat, and tears. So much sweat.

He let his gaze fall down, taking in his body. Wrapped in a robe, nude underneath it, primed quickly by the makeup artists who seemed to only be making sure that his body hair was tidy and he wasn’t going to sweat too much during his part. Neatly trimmed pubic hair and strategically shaved nipples wouldn’t save him from that though. This was his third film, and each time his nerves, his guilt, his unrelenting shame as he drove his cock into the expert, very formal, professional cunt of whoever his co-star was, it was certain that he’d be sweating copiously only ten minutes in.

“Coop? Hey, Coop! Howard! Keep your head in the game. Both of ‘em, heh.”

Now he was being bossed around by the lighting guy, someone whose name Cooper had forgotten already. The snorting laughter echoed in Cooper’s mind, bringing him firmly back to reality from his daydreaming. It was more mindless worrying than daydreaming, really, but it was the only reprieve he got these days, and now it seemed he couldn’t even find a moment of peace for that.

Daydreaming suggested something positive, thoughts filled with desires or nostalgia for days gone by. But there wasn’t a single remaining vestige of his former life that he was happy to cling to, all of it tainted with soured memories and terrifying future prospects. And knowing what he knew, he still had to keep going. He had to pretend like nothing was wrong. A fake smile plastered on his face despite the mess that he was in.

“Howard? Come on, man. Pull it together.”

The lighting guy was calling on him again, and this time he had the gall to look at Cooper with an impatient, furrowed brow.

“You know they used to call me Mister Howard.”

“And they used to say I looked young and fresh faced, shit changes, man. You coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Keep your pants on… at least you get to.”

He knew he shouldn’t be so flippant, but his patience had worn thin over the past few months. Now that there was nothing to be charming for it was no longer second nature to him. He was rude, cold, and found he was losing himself. Deep down, there was a voice scolding him. Telling him to be thankful that when there were no more studios with their doors open to him, that he was at least able to find some places willing to hire. And while it was a lot less glamorous, he should still be grateful.

But it was hard to feel that way when his new profession was clouded by his own insecurities.

Cooper was well aware that he wasn’t by any means experienced when it came to the world of sex. His first foray into anything of that nature was with his highschool sweetheart on prom night. An unfortunate experience that taught him nothing and ended up igniting the spark that ended that first love. Then there was Barb. He’d met her in college and they’d been together until their bitter divorce. A single one night stand between then and his current career, and that was his sexual history summed up neatly.

It always struck people as funny when they learned about his very short list of sexual conquests. He was Cooper Howard. Charming, charismatic, handsome, famous. A verified heart throb. But he was woefully unsure of what to do with that reputation, and always had been. While other stars would flirt with fans or interviewers or even directors to get a little bit more attention, Cooper was never able to offer anyone anything but a genuine and pleasant smile and maybe at a push, a mischievous wink to accompany his signature smile. He wondered how much of it had to do with the fact that he only had eyes for Barb, but even when she had pushed him to ‘play the game’ he’d still found himself unable to.

Now, all of a sudden and based on a perception of him that was built upon years of good PR, he was thought of as some kind of casanova, and expected to act as such. He had to act like the kind of guy who charm the pants off a woman, with very little plot to back that up, and who could fuck for thirty minutes solid in front of a crew and without cumming too soon,

Interestingly, at least to Cooper, they had told him that would be the hardest part. Stamina. The suspension of orgasms. But he found it all too easy, mostly because there was never a point where he felt any kind of deeply sexual attraction to his co-stars. Much the same as his previous acting roles, he’d always viewed it as a job. It would be inappropriate to have any other feelings. The women he worked with now were beautiful, skilled, talented. But Cooper wasn’t in love with them, and he found that made it hard to coax an orgasm out of him. Luckily, that seemed to suit his new bosses pretty well. He was handsome, a known commodity, and could last a while before they worked him up to his big finale, even if they had to cut the cameras while they waited for him to get to it.

“Alright, Howard. Robe off, let’s see that cock.”

Sighing, his eyelids closing as he tried to separate himself from his actions, Cooper shrugged off the robe that covered his body, letting it slink to the floor and pool at his feet. Despite the heat, his skin still prickled as it was exposed. Nipples hardening, hairs standing on end.

“Can we get a little enthusiasm, Coop? Like your other movies?”

Cooper muttered under his breath.

“You can get the same enthusiasm when I’m getting the same paycheck.”

“What was that, buddy?”

“I said, where do you want me?”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Ok, Phoebe’s gonna be on her back, that ok, doll?”

“Of course!”

“Perfect… so, you’re gonna be here. We’re doing missionary first, then maybe we cut to some doggy style. Remember, eyes away from the camera, and make sure that whatever you’re doing we can see those genitals. They’re the real stars!”

This was his life now. His body getting first billing above his soul under whatever lewd title this was going to be given.

“Mr Howard? I just wanted to say, I’m a huge fan. I watched your movies as a kid, you’re like, my dad’s favourite star.”

His co-star, Phoebe, if he remembered correctly, was laying on her back on the bed, waiting for him. Her big, green eyes were wide with excitement. She’d been a fan. And when she was a kid. Looking at her now, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed how young she was. Barely pushing her early twenties, fresh-faced, keen, full of hope.

How would her dad feel about him now? Would she mention this? Talk about meeting Cooper Howard, but skirt around the exact details? Or would she brag? Maybe it was just him who had a disdain for this line of work. He certainly didn’t judge anyone else on the set. Only himself.

“Uh… thank you, darlin’. Always nice to meet a fan.”

Phoebe giggled, a sweet sound that made his heart sink. She spread her legs wider, eyes flitting down to his cock which he was stroking slowly in a bid to get it stiff.

“You ready to go?”

“I’m ready! Mr Howard?”

Cooper looked down in dismay, his flaccid member refusing to play along. A stubborn diva, it turned out.

“Is… is there something wrong, Mr Howard? Is it me? I’m so sorry, you must be used to much bett-”

Cooper’s natural empathy, at least the last reserves of it, were pulled out of hibernation as Phoebe began to blush, embarrassed at what she perceived as her inability to turn him on.

“Oh, no, darlin’. This is a ‘me’ problem. You don’t worry about it at all, ok?”

He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, all lust evaporating as he comforted her, smiling back as she beamed appreciatively to him.

“God damn it, ok, let’s get Harv in, he can do his scene with Phoebe, that ok, doll?”

“Oh for sure! I’m good to go.”

“Perfect, you’re an angel. You, Howard. We can shoot the exposition scene just now. Go to wardrobe and get your outfit.”

Oddly thankful, even though he was embarrassed at his inability to perform, Cooper headed to the small room where they held the small wardrobe for cast members. The exposition scenes were his favourite to shoot. Of course, they were poorly written, and his co-stars weren’t exactly professionally trained actors. But it at least felt like old times. Lines to memorise, a character to portray. And limited sexual encounters for him to fuck up.

Besides, it was porn, and he was the star. Which meant there was a lot more wooing. A lot more women, various actresses playing a myriad of characters, all of whom were seemingly desperate for Cooper’s cock, whatever role he happened to be playing. Once the exposition was out of the way, he had to fuck. But these scenes? He got to be enticed, which always made it a little easier on him. He might have even been looking forward to it today. A stroke to the ego, among other things. A boost to his confidence, and a little physical comfort to stave off the looming spectre of complete loneliness.

When he sifted through the rack and found his name on a plastic covered bundle, however, his brief glimpse of joy was stolen away.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. The deep blue shirt, bright, golden yellow detailing. And the hat. Not identical, but anyone watching would know that he was supposed to be portraying his old self. A cowboy, the Cooper Howard people knew and loved.

On the table behind him, he rifled through the ‘scripts’ until he found the one with his name scribbled on the top. Ten lines, some room for ad-libbing. All of it cowboy themed. Pulled directly from his movies, albeit changed a little for the sake of copyright infringement.

He couldn’t do it.

But then he remembered Janey. How badly he’d wanted to treat her, to spoil her. And how little money he had left after alimony. And how expensive the rent was at his new apartment, which was overpriced, disgustingly decorated, and didn’t even allow pets.

Maybe everything would be ok in the world. Maybe he’d go on living, get to see retirement, see the world flourish, the wars end. Maybe, Vault Tec and Barb would see the light, change their ways. Maybe it was all for nothing.

So maybe he better get his shit together and start making some money, so that what was left of his future wasn’t so abysmal.

“Put on a smile and go get your cock sucked, Cooper. Not the worst day in the world, really.”

WIth a sigh of resignation, he chose to listen to his conscience, the little voice that steered him in the right direction, and put on the suit. The material was a poor quality, some cheap polyester deal, ill fitting, too baggy for his frame. And the hat was clearly something from a cheap party supply store. But as he looked in the mirror at himself, he could push away the feeling of seeing a ghost and focus on the positives. He looked almost like himself again.

“Mr Howard? They’re ready for you.”

The polite knock and the soft voice of the only runner on set came through the door, and Cooper exited, surprising the young man in the corridor.

“Oh wow.”

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing, nothing. You just… you look like you did in your movies. I’m a little bit starstruck.”

“You gave me my coffee this morning.”

The runner looked to his feet, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah, but that was… now you look… y’know?”

Trying not to be impolite, Cooper pushed past him, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Back in what the director insisted on calling “the studio” despite it being a hastily fabricated sound stage in the middle of some tacky, shared ownership mansion in the hills, Cooper was met by a new woman who introduced herself as Veronica, before quickly telling him that everyone called her Ronnie. He smiled, clutching her hand between both of his in that confident way he used to greet fans, smiling at her as she bit her lip and smirked. It was a flirtatious look, one that gave him a bit of a boost as he subtly eyed her up and down and judged her silently.

“She definitely likes you… and she’s not too bad to look at herself. Look at you, seeing the positive side of things! Well done, Cooper. Well done.”

He made his way through the first few lines, trying his hardest to maintain a look of arousal as his co-star clumsily worked through hers, emphasis and inflections all over the place, the puns not quite hitting right the way she was delivering them. But he could forgive it all as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Well, I have to give you something for saving me from those bandits, kind sir… maybe this will be enough to repay you.”

She was adept at unbuckling his belt, repetition and muscle memory aiding her, and he could feel his erection stirring as she pulled his flaccid cock free from his pants and began to stroke it.

“Now, ma’am… that won’t be necessary…”

Cooper’s voice trembled over his words as he took his semi-erect cock from her and began stroking it slowly himself to keep the erection building.

“... I did what any good man would.”

“Then let me do what any good woman should.”

He cringed hard at the line, but luckily, the grimace was covered by his mouth dropping open as Ronnie took his cock in her mouth, sliding her lips over the tip with a gentle ease that made him forget momentarily how terrible his life was at that point.

Her tongue slid over the tip, teasing over the slit and collecting his pre-cum with a satisfying moan that vibrated through him, tingling over the sensitive nerve endings. Cooper was able to sink into it, some of the muscles in his back loosening as he let himself go. Something so satisfying about the way she held him, one hand on his testicles, the other stroking his shaft as he lips puckered around his head.

Cooper wanted to show her. Not that she was doing anything wrong, she was doing a better job than anyone else had. Ever. But he wanted to guide her, to ease her throat over his length, to breathe through her nose as he filled her mouth, to show her how he liked it. He kept himself to himself, however, putting his fingers in the belt loops of his pants so they couldn’t reach for anything before he could stop them, like the back of Ronnie’s head to down to her round, firm breasts, or even letting his fingers trail over her-

“Cut! For fuck’s sake.”

“Just as things are looking up…”

Cooper’s attention was focused on the director who sat lazily in his folding camping chair. All of him reacted to the interruption, the disruption of his genuine pleasure, finally, for the first time in who knew how long. Tense, irate. And not in the mood.

“Alright, alright… I thought this was gonna be a one take situation, but geez, Howard. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other with you! You got lines to be getting through, imbecile! How you got hired before, I’ll never know. If it wasn’t for that wife of yours, you’d-”

“Now wait just a damn minute!”

Cooper pulled away from Ronnie, his cock bouncing around as he stomped in a way that might have seemed comical to the crew if he hadn’t looked so intense, filled with complete rage as he shook a pointing finger at the director.

“I am sick of taking this from-”

Everyone was jolted into a panic as a rumble spread through the ground. One burst.

“Can’t be an earthquake…”

The runner had only just come into the room when everything in Cooper’s vision was blocked out by a bright, white light. A quick flare, like a firework, or a flashlight being turned on in a dark room. He could see it still, but smaller, and somewhere on the horizon, down in the city.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Get down.”

It was perhaps the last truly selfless thing Cooper did. The glass landed on them, some people got splintered by the small shards as they fell to the ground. But they’d avoided the worst of it. And he didn’t need to help them. These were not people he cared for. They were people who were cruel, difficult, practical strangers. People who didn’t deserve what Cooper knew was coming.

He thought of that day a lot. Of how he’d had it somewhere in him, a long, long time ago, to offer himself or his wisdom in exchange for nothing, to people who these days he’d sooner shoot in the head before spitting in their cup.

Bitterly, he indulged himself, hoping that at least some of them were suffering a fate worse than his, if such a thing actually existed.

“Maybe the mutants.”

There was hardly any time this evening for him to satisfy his desire for revenge with fitful fantasies, however, because he was rudely interrupted by who he expected was yet another customer tapping on his shoulder. A new client who didn’t know the rules.

No touching before payment.

So he turned to politely inform them, and make sure they didn’t forget it next time.

#walton goggins #fallout amazon #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout fic #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard smut #cooper howard imagine #fallout tv #fallout tv series #cooper howard x fem!reader #fallout #finnie writes

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

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how about we reverse the roles a little and imagine what it'd be like sending eren one of these salacious videos or FaceTime calls? (Yes this is p2 of the phone sex drabble)

catching him in the midst of leaving basketball practice for the night..tanned skin glistening with water; replacing the sheen of sweat that had previously been there. Hair pulled back and his shirt off with only a warm, white towel wrapping his waist. His phone was propped up against the side wall of his basketball locker when it began to buzz and illuminate with the notification that his favorite person in the entire world was calling.

my babymoms 💍🤎

you’d often phone him just to see how practice had gone or to inquire on whether or not he’d be stopping by or even staying for the evening. Because your apartment was a lot closer to the practice facility than his on campus dorm was, you’d let him crash at your place. Of course, that always resulted in the two of you getting in trouble you had no business in. Including ending up in the shower together or being bent over your couch because he just so happened to get that mirror pic you sent him in your thong and t-shirt. “Hey gorgeous.” The first words out of his mouth as he answered the call. But it’s what occurred once he looked up that would have him utterly speechless. In the lens. “Hey babyboy, how was practice?” A snarky giggle followed by your legs parting and your pearly white toes in the lens. But what truly had him fixated on the screen was that freshly waxed, plump little core…looking so succulent and sticky. The best part? It was all for him. At the moment, he seemed to be alone but you could hear chatter from his teammates in the distance. Even so, they weren’t a concern for either one of you. “G-good! What are you doing?” Eren questioned, whispering into the mic as he attempted to shield you from the view of anyone else. This was a party of two. With that sly grin plastered on your face, (y/n) began to massage that hairless mound, tousling your fingers around your lower lips before eventually parting them open to expose that clit. It was so swollen that the little bud was twitching on its lonesome. Your entire pussy glazed in a sheath of arousal…so needy and desperate for his touch. “What does it look like? I’m just…having a little fun.” Seductively uttering as you hook a finger underneath your bra strap to remove it. Eventually, whiny moans followed shortly after and those delicate fingers soon made home against your folds, spreading yourself wide open for his viewing pleasure. That pink flesh glistening in slick, surrounded by plump brown lips and that tight hole flexing…God, he wanted nothing more than to devour you at that very moment but instead, he’d indulge you in this mischievous little game.

“Is that right?..well you mind if I play along?” Chewing at his lower lip as he reaches downward and cups himself through the towel still coiling his waist. You brought out his absolute worst and he loved every second. “Mmphm..go ahead. Take that towel off if you’re really brave.” Daring him to really kick things up a notch. From there, you’d continue to drum up more of that wetness; smacking noises crackling through the speakers along with your sweet little cries. “I’m fucking the shit out of you when I get home, I hope you know that..” Eren muttered quietly as he continued running his hand along the tip of his cock. His precum began to stain the linen and he didn't give a damn who saw right now..he needed you so badly! With two fingertips enclosed around your nipple and the others rubbing slowly on that center. Your eyes locked intensely and when he decided to falter for just a second, you’d command him right back whilst shoving those digits knuckle deep into that warm pussy. “Fuck them..focus on me, daddy. Eyes up here..” Your middle and ring finger alternating pumping gently just to work up that milky silk clouding around your tiny hole. You’d move at a mediated pace, hoping to imitate his thrusts when he first slides in. He truly loved when you bullied him in bed, doing any and everything to make you happy. To make sure you got that nut first..

“Yesmaam..you got it...keep going baby, I’ll be there soon..” “..of course..” whimpering as you leaned forward to spit onto your already gushing center. When he stared at you like that, you’d do whatever he wanted. Speeding up, you’d begin to switch the digits out and even add your thumb back to your clit and slowly tease it, increasing its pace to drum up more. That cream was leaking everywhere, all over those fingers, the floor where a towel lie underneath you and your acrylic nails. How fluidly your digits moved in and out…he practically came at the sight. Meanwhile, he’d thrust slowly up into his enclosed fist, letting out muffled grunts in the process. He wanted more than nothing for it to be him stretching you out right now; ankle draped over his shoulder blade as he placed kisses on your instep and a hand on the headboard as it banged the wall. It’d be reality soon enough but for now, you guys continued playing with yourselves and hoping that no one interrupted. Especially since your climax was nearing.

“ ‘Ren….ooh fuck. Imma come, baby..imma fucking come.” You’d begin to gasp and heave, knowing you couldn’t hold back much longer. By the amount you were frothing alone, he could also see that you were probably ovulating, which meant he’d have your birth control working overtime tonight. “I know, mama. I know…but not yet. Need you to tell me who’s pussy that is..tell me.” Alas, you were too busy moaning. A complete wreck of stimulation and tears. That little tongue wagging around and dripping with drool, unable to keep it in your mouth. And you knew better than to defy because that would only make it much worse when he got there. After he finished eating you out until your eyes took permanent residence in the back of your fucking skull, he’d dick you down until your legs couldn’t function. “Shit!” “C’mon, say it…or you better wait until I get there.”

but there was not a single question who got it this wet! It was forever one person… “you, ‘Ren..it’s yours! It’s all yours…please let me come..” unbeknownst to you, he was close as well. Pumping that first around his shaft and squeezing that tip until it began to leak everywhere. By this time, neither of you could withstand it and he’d grant you permission. “Good girl..you can let go now.” Knowing what was about to happen next and that brought about a wide smile on his face. Letting out a loud gasp, along with his name, (y/n)’s tilted backwards and with that moan came a powerful stream of squirt to follow. That wetness splattering your screen and nearly knocking it over. Your legs trembled and you shook uncontrollably trying to ride that orgasm. Right behind you was his own and you’d hear his breath hitch in his throat and as quietly as he could muster, Eren busted his own load, leaving a warm nut in that towel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck..shit, baby!” Nearly collapsing to the floor from how lightheaded he became. Once the two of you came to, you’d burst into laughter and just revel in the moment. Unable to believe that it just happened.

“You’re such a troublemaker, (y/n). You know that?” “Yeah, but you love it…” licking your fingers clean of those remnants and tasting yourself. Just to see the effect you had on him, he’d angle the camera downward so you could see the mess he had concocted, to which you’d only reply with an ‘oops.’ He’d finish getting himself cleaned up and try to regroup; tossing on a t- shirt and a pair of sweats, something he could quickly tear off when he made it to you. Because he needed a couple more rounds and with his stamina, it was possible. Finally, he’d toss on his backpack and just at that moment, you’d both hear someone calling out to him. “Hey, Eren! You ready?” The voice belonged to his best friend but his attention was all yours..

“Hey, baby. Be just like that when I get there, okay? We got a lil business to handle.” Shooting you a wink afterwards along with a kiss before ending the call.

All yours once he made it back.

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moonlitmeeks · 2 years

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can i request a drabble for tristan dugray? like just PDA in school and him being protecting something like that, I love your work <3

hey darling!! absolutely in love with this idea,, thanks sm for sending it in!! i'm also so happy you like my work, that means the world to me so thank you!!🥺🤎

unless you make it clear to that pda isn't at all your thing, tristan's hands will never be off of you, especially in a public setting. school is the worst for this.

tristan knows that some of the other people in chilton have their eyes on you: i mean, who wouldn't? he knows that you're super hot with a great personality to match, so it makes sense that other people see what he does. unfortunately, tristan can be prone to jealousy. and what's the best way to show people you're taken than a bit (or a lot) of pda?

you'd close your locker to find tristan leaning up against the one next to yours, signature crooked smirk pulling at his lips. he wouldn't say a word before pressing his lips to your own, ignoring the crude remarks and whistles from your peers.

if you get flustered, he'd simply chuckle, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest to shield you from the view of the surrounding students.

"sorry babe," he murmurs, though unapologetically. "just had to let everyone know you're mine."

#🦢 ; bee’s drabbles #dear anon<3 #tristan dugray #tristan dugray x reader #tristan dugray blurb #tristan dugray drabble #gilmore girls #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls x you

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ghostlywhiskey · 3 months

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Just had a thought of news reporter reader who can't help but throw herself into dangerous situations because the world needs to know the truth and she’s one of the best, so management hires Ghost as her bodyguard to keep her from doing stupid shit and getting hurt.

I can imagine reader asking some asshole questions or something and when they won't answer ghost sits up straight, towering over reader's shoulder and muttering in a gravelly tone, “Think she just asked you a question.”

And the asshole is absolutely terrified of this hunk of a man, but reader sits there with the most curious smile on her face, nodding while she scribbles things down on her notepad.

Imagine if a crime happens one night, and reader rushes into the scene to try and get caught up with who, how, what, where, and why. She hustles into an alleyway searching for the culprit, when she hears gunshots being fired in the distance. Instantly, she ducks, but she feels warm hands hold her steady, someone shielding her from the action. “Yer gonna get yourself killed dumbass. Stay down until I say get up.” It's that same gruff voice, it's Ghost.

Reader doesn't know how he’s here, how he found her, but she’s glad nonetheless. She can feel the beating of his heart, and it's steady. Ghost can hear her heart racing a mile a minute.

-🤎

bodyguard ghost in every universe 😻😻😻

I LOVE THIS OH MY GOD my feelings about bodyguard ghost are so strong truly like please

i love you brain so much like are you kidding. and this is such a different pairing i never thought about cause i feel like it normally singer/bodyguard, royal/bodyguard, etc. but i never thought about news reporter ah i love it and ur brain 🤍

#nic responses #nic talks ghost #🤎

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askatrigenderlgbt · 11 months

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Marvel Prompt🤍🩷🩵🖤🤎❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

(Tony has been injured, taking a bullet for Clint. It thankfully didn't hit any dangerous areas, but it did come close to the Arc Reactor- startling his team badly. Clint can't help but puppy guard him for a while, unable to stop seeing tony falling to the floor bleeding. Steve can't help but follow Tony around as much as possible- to afraid of losing him, especially before confessing his feelings for the genius.)

Tony: *On the couch, irritated* Do I have to lay here?

Clint: *Sitting on the floor in front of Tony* Yep, you just stay there and let Steve cuddle you! Please, for us? *Gives the puppy eyes look, the one people feel to guilty to say no to*

Tony: ...Fine.

Steve: *embarrassed and flustered* I'm sorry Tony, I just... j-just...

(Steve struggles to find the words he needs. In the end he can only bury his face back into Tony hair, nuzzling his entire form even closer to Tony's body somehow.)

Steve: I can't say it right now Tony, but believe me when I say I can't stand to see you hurt again like that. I hate when you're hurt at all.

Tony: *Confused, oblivious, and concerned* Alright Cap, you can hold me as long as you want. Take your time on whatever you have to say too, I can wait. *Glances at Clint* you can stay too, you know? As long as you desire, Birdbrain... Want to hold my hand?

(Tony offers Clint his hand, which he happily takes. Steve is happy too, grateful that Tony was understanding. Then the other Avengers decided to join them, setting themselves around Tony.)

Tony: *Sighs* Well it's now a party in here, can I at least have a drink?

Natasha: *Hands over a glass of chocolate milk*

Tony: *Deadpan stare* ...Thanks. Also, why?

Hulk: No bad drink today, only safe ones. *Gently pats Tony's head*

Steve: Hulk is right, you shouldn't drink right now Tony. You're one some strong medicine and being drunk isn't going to help you heal anyway.

(Tony pouts, but settles as he drinks the chocolate. Thor comes over with snacks for Tony, things that won't be too hard on his stomach. The medication is making him feel great, but he doesn't feel hungry much.)

Thor: Eat SHIELD brother! You need your strength to recover your wounds! Steve would be saddened if you had to stay down much longer.

(Tony's attention was caught on what Thor said.)

Tony: Why would- Steve, why would you be sad if I'm benched for awhile anyway, besides me being an important part of the team?

Steve: *Blushing, he mumbles his words.*

Tony: Could you say that again? I didn't hear you, and I don't have super hearing like you do.

Steve: *Blushing red now, blurts out his answer.* I-I love you!

(Five whole, silent, seconds pass by.)

Tony: *Blushes* I like you too, Steve.

Steve: *Bolts up, staring at Tony's face* Really!?

Tony: *Hiding his face in his hands* Yeah...

Clint: Do you love me, Tony? *Teasing*

Tony: *Blushing harder* Y-Yeah.

(Clint froze, staring at Tony with disbelief. A blush slowly making way on his face.)

Hulk: Little Tony like all of us?

Tony: *Gives a small squeak* Y-Yes, okay! I like all of you, each of you having traits that make you wonderful! *So red at this point*

Avengers: ...

( They bring Tony down off the couch, rearranging themselves so they could cuddle their precious genius.)

Avengers: *internally* No one shall take Tony from us. No one.

If anyone wants to write this as a fanfic you have complete permission, I only ask you link me the story so I can read it!

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

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fiddlehead-soup · 2 months

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Protector 🤎

#bg3 emperor #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dream visitor #dream guardian #my shield 🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

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free-for-all-fics · 10 months

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Crossover Fic ideas between Dominic Craven from The Dare and John from He’s Out There! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! I just think a crossover between these two men would be so cool since their masks/character design, personalities, and movie settings are all pretty similar in my opinion! 🪵🤎🪓

I’m not sure what the plot would be exactly. It could be romantic where both of these masked men are in love with you and maybe a little obsessed. They might spend days or weeks stalking you from the woods, building up to them inevitably kidnapping you. They might leave non-poisoned cupcakes and other gifts for you in the woods to find. If you take any of their gifts home, it means you love them back! If you ignore their gifts, it just means they have to try harder at earning your love! Are you long lost childhood friends reunited? Their teenage sweetheart who decided to go with them and live in the woods together sometime after John was 18? A former victim of theirs that they fell in love with and released from captivity after you became loyal and proved yourself to them? Someone with an uncanny resemblance to their past love and their new obsession because they think you’re her and/or want you to be her replacement after she died tragically from accident or sickness (the woods isn’t exactly the safest or healthiest place to live in)? Or maybe you met and fell in love with both of these men in a different way. It’s all up to you! What do you think a romantic poly relationship with both John and Dominic would look like?

Maybe something platonic where you’re their long lost baby sister whom they still remember and love even after 20 years of you being gone. Some time when he was 18, something happened that caused John to flee into the woods. Your other brother, Dominic, went missing in those same woods when he was 9. Neither of them were ever found, so you and your family eventually moved out of the house and started living in a trailer. You stayed outside all day to escape your abusive father and by the time you made the long walk back, the trailer was up in flames. Both your parents were dead. You were found by police/forest rangers and taken away, put into foster care or adopted into a new family. You were separated from your brothers for years, and the house was eventually sold to another family. The children found some of John and Dominic’s old stuff that they left behind, such as morbid children's books, weird stick figure drawings, and creepy handmade dolls.

Unbeknownst to the children, these dolls were meant as welcome home gifts for you. Your brothers are patient as they anticipate your return. They found each other and reunited sometime after Dominic murdered the farmer, so they’re hopeful you’ll find them again and come home. When that day finally comes, neither of your brothers will ever let you get away from them again. They lost you once, and they couldn’t bear to let it happen a second time. Neither of them would survive it. You’re their little sister and always will be. Now that they’re all grown up, they’ll take really good care of you. They’ll protect you from any threats or dangers that may cause you harm. They wished they could’ve done a better job of defending you when you were children, but now as big strong men they can be your shield! They may kidnap you and hold you captive, but it’s all done out of love and concern for your well-being! The outside world is a very scary and dangerous place, full of strangers and shady people who’d want to hurt or corrupt you! They love you more than anything or anyone and just want to keep you safe and make you happy! You’re not allowed to have friends, but who needs those when you have your big brothers! (Or maybe they’ll cave in and get you “pets” to play with so you don’t get too lonely or bored.)

Whether romantic or platonic, you’d be the only living person fortunate enough to see their faces. They trust you enough to unmask themselves in front of you. They’re willing to show vulnerability in front of you and only you. You’re the only one who can make them feel comfortable in their own skin, the only one who can make them feel loved. And they both love you in return.

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evesaintyves · 2 years

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The Night of the Brown Bananas

@hinnyfest prompt #11: Nightmares

Harry/Ginny, Rated T, 2973 words, domestic fluff and domestic angst

Ginny and Harry finally move into their first flat together, but their new life isn't exactly what Ginny expected. A postwar Hinny slice of life.

i started this as a gift for the lovely @hinnyfied (hbd), but it got a bit out of hand 🫠 read it here (it's long lol) or on AO3 💛🤎🖤

All that was left was Ginny's old canvas school satchel and her overnight bag. She stood next to them in her empty room, chewing her thumbnail. She and Harry had wrestled her old trunk and her cardboard boxes downstairs together by hand, which had earned Harry a snivelly hug from Mum and an equally-snivelly handshake from Dad. Ginny was sure she was in for a whole rainstorm of crying when she showed up downstairs with her bags on her shoulders.

Strange how much bigger her room looked without all her things in it. A spiderweb waved loose in the corner where it had once been attached to her desk lamp. Dark shapes on the walls where pennants and posters had shielded the wallpaper from the sun. Those were all in a box now, rolled into neat cylinders by a charm and a funny whipping motion of the tip of her mum's wand. Mum had tried to teach her how to do it but Ginny had only been half-listening so eventually Mum had done that frustrated little huff of breath through her nose and rolled them all up herself.

The place on the baseboards where Ginny had once, seven years old, scratched I HATE FRED AND GEORGE was still there. She thought about charming it away so her mum and dad wouldn't see it—she even took her wand out—but it felt like erasing a memory. Fred and George had transfigured her Harpies scarf to show a bad word and she'd gone to three errands with mum before anyone noticed. Her mum had been so red that even her dad had seemed alarmed at her fury. She'd sent Ginny and the twins to their rooms, even though Ginny hadn't even known what the word meant (until Fred and George, delighted, had explained it to her over breakfast the next morning).

Harry pushed the door open with a slow creak and Ginny hid her bitten thumb behind her back.

"Ready?" he said. "I've got everything set up outside so we can just grab it and apparate."

He always stood in the hallway unless he was invited, as if they weren't about to be sharing a flat, a bedroom, a bed.

"Yeah." Ginny gave him a faint smile. "Just give me a minute."

He lingered there for a few seconds like he wasn't sure if he should go, then turned and clomped down the stairs.

This was the last minute she'd still live in the house she'd shared with her brothers. The next time she came she'd only be visiting. That felt like it should make her feel something, but all she had were sore arms, the buzz of excitement in her stomach, the prickly emptiness where some deeper feeling should be.

She shouldered her bag and went downstairs to face her mum's stupid tears.

-----

That first night in their little flat, they were too tired to do anything but flump down on their too-hard new mattress and fall asleep. Ginny dreamt she was signing a contract with the Kestrels, big ridiculous ceremonial quill in her hand, the fluff of it tickling in her nose, eyes watering from all the sports-reporter flashbulbs. She touched the quill to the big scroll of parchment and signed her name.

Good evening, my dear, the contract wrote back. It's been such a very long time. Are you still wondering if you'll ever learn to do a Cuban Eight on your broomstick? Is your brother still nasty to you about it? I know—

She woke with a hiss of breath and cramps shooting up her calves. Panic hammered through her veins—dark. I'm hurt—until she remembered where she was and that she'd made about twenty trips up and down the stairs with boxes yesterday, thinking it'd be nice to get a leg workout in before tryouts.

She rolled on her side, rested her head on the crook of her arm, bit down on her middle fingernail and watched the slow swells of Harry's breathing. They hadn't hung the curtains yet and the bare bedroom wall was stained with the swapping colours of the traffic light outside: green, yellow, red. She took a breath and held it to slow her heartbeat. Tonks had taught her how to do that. She crammed that useless thought down into the dark cellar storage inside her, along with the sick lingering unease of the dream.

This view of Harry, the narrow shoulders in silhouette and that mess of black hair against the pillow: she'd seen it before, but today in their flat it was exhilaratingly new. This was going to be her every morning, this was going to be her middles-of-the-night. She was going to get used to it. How absolutely mad.

Later, in the faint blush of sunrise, Harry took a long deep breath and stretched his arms over his head. When he turned to face her, his skinny legs tangling in the sheets and that slow squinty smile spreading across his face, Ginny forgot all about the panic and the cramps and my dear and just climbed on top of him, thinking only this is how it's supposed to be, you and me, every day.

------

Ginny felt silly getting so excited for their first big shop. She was uncomfortable amongst all the muggles in the plasticky brightness of Sainsbury's, but Harry pushed the trolley down the overstimulating gauntlets of every-colour packets and tins with a bored confidence that looked weird on him.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Aunt Petunia used to drag me along and make me carry the big thing of serviettes that wouldn't fit in the bags."

The muggle snacks were nasty-looking and there weren't even any pumpkin flavours, but Harry grabbed boxes of biscuits and crisps and assured her she'd understand when she tried them. He piled the trolley with fruit and veg, spinach and carrots and apples and bananas.

"You know I can't cook like Mum, right?" Ginny huffed.

"Yeah, I dunno—you've got tryouts and I've got the Auror Academy physical coming up—thought we could try making smoothies or something—you know—grown up, healthy—" He shrugged and ruffled his hair with his hand.

Making smoothies for breakfast with the boy who lived, in their bright little flat that smelled of his cedar trunk and soap. Ginny was stricken, for an instant, by an idea that seemed stupid but dizzyingly true at the same time—that she'd never understood before what it must have been like for Harry to suddenly find out he was a wizard when he was eleven, but maybe it was something like these last few days: the buoying relief of having survived her old life long enough to see her new one, and the unmoored thrill of all the future discoveries unknown, undreamt-of.

She pressed a kiss to the crescent of skin behind his ear as he counted out the strangely-coloured muggle banknotes, and she could feel the warm flush in his skin where her lips touched him.

------

Of course the smoothies never happened.

Harry was in meetings with Minister Shacklebolt and his transition team most days, and Ginny spent afternoons practicing for tryouts with Bill, swooping over the seaside cliffs like starlings and hurling his battered old quaffle over the peaked roof of Shell Cottage.

The spinach wilted in the cupboard and the bananas sat unbothered in the fruit bowl, mottled with brown spots. Harry and Ginny ordered pizza and ate it in knackered silence. All the singing nerves of the day they'd moved in together had subsided under the heavy disappointing drone of the neighbour's telly through the wall. Harry would rub Unknotting Unguent into Ginny's spasming back and then she'd crawl into bed and fall asleep listening to the scratch of his quill as he revised for the Auror Academy exams. It wasn't anything like she'd imagined. It wasn't anything. It was like the time just before winter holidays or her birthday, the dragging, drudging lope of days spent waiting for something exciting—but what? This was it. This was supposed to be it.

Her mum and dad dropped by while Harry was out, and while Molly managed to hold her tongue at the stack of pizza boxes next to the bin and the gnats buzzing round the fruit bowl, Ginny could see on her face that she wasn't impressed. She looked so old, all of a sudden. Arthur did too, but at least his face lit up with a boyish glee when he wandered through the flat flipping all the lightswitches. Ginny pulled the chain of the the ceiling fan for him and he giggled like a little kid.

"Has Angelina been round lately?" Ginny asked them over chipped mugs of tea. She knew better than to ask directly about George.

"She's in Freiburg, actually, consulting with Ellerby and Spudmore," Arthur said. That sounded dead grown-up. Ginny couldn't even imagine. With a cautious glance over at her mum, he added, "I gather they're on a bit of a break. George has been... in one of his moods, I think. We don't hear much."

He was speaking in that hushed, apologetic tone he'd been using ever since all the funerals.

"Oh," Ginny said.

"I've been to the Tonks house this week," her Mum cut in. Her dad pressed his lips together until they went white.

"Did you see Teddy?" Ginny asked, setting down her half-eaten shortbread. She and

Harry hadn't been to visit him in the last few weeks, with the way all their time was eaten by moving out and practice and exams and just everything, every thing.

"He was having a little kip—" Molly started, but then she stopped and took a big slurp of her tea, the way she always did when she was about to deliver hard news.

A brand-new understanding thumped in Ginny's chest: that steadying tea-slurp was her mum's need to soothe herself, the way Ginny would peel off slivers of fingernail with her teeth. Somehow it was both startling and obvious. She'd been watching her mum do it for almost nineteen years.

"He's been having a bit of trouble—er, sleeping and that—" Arthur filled in for Molly with a weak chuckle.

"He won't sleep in his bed," Molly blurted out, "he's afraid something's underneath and trying to get him. Andromeda tried to make him tell her what he thinks is under there—you know, he's barely two—and all he would say was 'Mummy and Daddy'—"

Another slurp of tea. Arthur reached out to stroke Molly's upper arm.

Hours later, when Harry came home, he didn't ask why Ginny was lying on the sofa with her eyes all swollen. He just sat next to her and laid his hand on her cheek. She didn't start crying again, but it was a weird comfort to just lie there and throb with his quiet warmth at her side.

------

The neighbours downstairs had a party so loud Ginny could feel the bass vibrating in the mattress springs. She and Harry cast every muffling and white-noise charm they knew, but the beat pounded through the very frame of the building. It invaded Ginny's head like a commanding voice and made her legs twitch with electric, frustrated rage.

"I'm going to go downstairs, curse the door off the hinges and hex every single one of them and their—their muggle—music box or whatever—"

Harry turned over and squinted at her in the dark.

"You can't get arrested, they'll disqualify you from tryouts," he croaked.

Ginny kicked all her covers off and rolled in a ball on her side, clutching her stomach.

Harry managed to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, but Ginny laid there in spiraling despair until the police came to break the party up. The curtains were still in a wrinkled lump on the bedroom floor, so the flashing lights made a red-and-blue lightshow on the bedroom wall. Harry didn't even move. When the music finally shut off, Ginny closed her eyes in exhausted relief, but it seemed like the moment she fell asleep the sun was shining red through her eyelids and the pipes were groaning with Harry's morning shower.

The browning bananas curved like a smirk in the fruit bowl. Ginny blankly spooned Harry's weird muggle cereal into her mouth. Her thoughts were the same slow pointless drip as the broken tap in the kitchen. Harry leaned down to kiss her neck on his way out the door. He followed her gaze to the bananas.

"They're getting almost as freckly as you," he murmured into her ear, smacked another kiss on her cheek, and left. Ginny sat in the abrupt calm of the flat for a moment, blinking, then threw her spoon into the bowl with a clink and flooed over to Bill's, where she slung the quaffle so hard and so wildly it broke the weather vane off the roof and sent it spinning into the kitchen garden. Fleur came running out the back door at the noise, wiping her hands on a tea towel and cursing in French. Bill pulled his broom up alongside pinkfaced, panting Ginny and gripped her shoulder with his big rough hand.

------

Harry sat up in the dead of night with a gasp like he was coming up from underwater and touched his fingertips to his scar.

Ginny sat up too, so fast it made her abs twinge. "What is it? Does it hurt?"

"No," Harry said, "not really. Only in the dream."

He sat there blinking for a moment, red traffic light painting his face, then flopped back on his side and pulled the covers up to his neck. Ginny felt suddenly very alone in their bed.

"I have weird dreams too," she whispered.

She didn't think Harry had heard her at first, but after a moment, muffled by the duvet, he said, "Do you?"

"Yeah."

He turned over to face her. "Like what?"

"I dunno," she said. She didn't know why she'd even said it, because she didn't really want to talk about it now. "Like I made it on a Quidditch team but I don't want to play anymore."

Harry was quiet for so long she thought he must have gone back to sleep, but then he slid over and rested his forehead against her thigh. It had taken him so long, when they'd first begun seeing each other, to start giving her little touches like this. She didn't suppose the Dursleys had been touchers. She wove her fingers into his hair.

"I haven't felt like myself lately," she blurted out. "I mean—not just lately—but especially—I dunno—"

She took a breath and the hitch in it repulsed her.

Harry didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyelashes blinking against her leg. The light from outside turned green and painted the rumpled sheets that pooled around the both of them.

"I just—we never even made smoothies. The bananas are all rotten now. The curtains are still over there on the floor. How long is it going to be like this? How long can I not feel like myself before I have to admit that this is just how I am now?"

She shoved her thumbnail in her mouth. Warm stupid tears were leaking down her face and dripping all the way down her neck to her collarbones. She'd normally have scrubbed them away with the back of her hand and gone somewhere to collect herself, but she wanted them, weirdly, to prove how pathetic this dumb fucked-up feeling was. Mum's coppery hair was coming in white, poor Andromeda had to think about dead Tonks crawling out from under the bed, George was aching alone in his filthy bedsit, Fred was in the ground turning into something unrecognisable, and Ginny was sat here crying like an idiot over some fucking brown bananas.

Harry sat up and looked at her. "The bananas went bad?"

Ginny laughed through her noseful of snot.

"They're nearly black now," she sniffed. "Its so stupid, I just hate to waste—"

Harry suddenly swung his legs out of the bed and walked in his stiff morning way out of the bedroom.

The traffic light was yellow now. Ginny got up and followed him into the kitchen.

Harry was holding the bunch of bananas betwen two fingers. A tenacious fruit fly looped circles around them. He broke one off the bunch with a nasty squishing noise.

"I'll eat them right now," he said. "Zero waste."

He pulled the black peel back from the banana. A fermented smell came off it and stung the back of Ginny's nose. Webby strings of goo stretched between the fruit and the skin, and they caught the light from outside and shone with it like tiny filaments of neon.

"Er—" Harry started, his brow furrowing.

"You don't have to eat it," Ginny said quickly.

Harry stared at her for a moment with such intensity that she thought he might take a bite just to shock her.

Then he turned around and chucked them into the kitchen bin.

"We'll go to Sainsbury's in the morning," he said. Ginny's face was itchy with drying tears. Harry wiped his hands off on the seat of his pyjamas and brushed past her into the bedroom.

"Come on, I'll rub that stuff on your back if you want," he called over his shoulder.

Ginny didn't, but she followed him back to bed. In the morning, she woke to the quiet rustling sounds of Harry putting up the curtains. The flat still reeked of rotting banana. When she sat up, Harry turned around to look at her, grinned, and accidentally bashed the curtain rod into the window frame. Ginny felt a sleepy little flicker inside: this is it. You and me.

#hinnyfest #hinny #ginny weasley #hinny fluff #molly x arthur #harry x ginny #harry potter fan fiction #harry potter fanfiction #hinny fanfic

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fllagellant · 4 months

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🤎💋🍫

for whomstever you want:3

YAYAYA MWAH

🤎 How do they comfort each other?

Wyll is better with his words , in his regard , and will help by guiding Giilvas with words to try to find any roots of the issue or whatnot … he also likes to brush hair or rub backs to help soothe … he knows how important physical touch is for Giilvas so he makes sure that he is Always touching him while comforting him ..

Giilvas wraps Wyll in a tight bear hug usually .. he also tries to make Wyll feel secure by using his body to block out sights and sounds that just make things worst … if he can , he always takes a direct action to help sooth him .. humming comforting melodies as well ..

🍫 Who is more likely to steal the other's clothes? What are their favorite items to steal?

Wyll “ Blade of Avernus “ Ravengard voice I love to steal my husbands shirts and capes that are very oversized on me because they are warm and soft and smell very good . Also I take his shield because it is also rather large and I still cannot wrap my head about the size and how easily he uses it …

Giilvas has tried to steal and wear some of Wyll’ s clothes . But the issue with being Much Larger is that the clothes are much smaller . What I am saying is he has gotten stuck once trying to put on Wyll’ s camp shirt and Wyll did laugh about it … learned his lesson thieves never prosper ..

💋 What is their favorite place to kiss their partner? Do either enjoy 'leaving a mark'?

answered here for willow trees !

For Gale and Zerxes … hm … Zerxes goes for fingertips , tip of the nose , inside of the wrists , and along the spine .. he tries very hard to make sure his sharp teeth don’ t hook skin ..

Gale probably goes for neck / collarbone , jaw , palms of the hands , and like . Base of the tail . Between the two of them , he is more likely to bite a bit ..

Both of them go for lips , ribs , stomach , foreheads ( horns as well in Zerxes’ case ) and places like biceps and claves too … how to ease your lover into kisses step one , kiss him everywhere

#bg3 #bg3 tav #giilvas #zerxes #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #willow trees #< 3333 YIPPIE !!

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ghostlywhiskey · 9 months

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Today's been a shitty day so I'm trying to imagine Simon just hugging the bad vibes away. This man— just him.

His weight absolutely smothered you, your face smushed against his chest as you sighed. He smells like…love. Whatever that smells like to you. His eyes close, with his hands resting on your lower back.

His broad shoulders resemble a wall, seemingly blocking off the rest of the world; your own personal shield against whatever’s bothering you. Simon’s hands are rough from years in the task force, but when it comes to you, they're gentle.

His breath on your neck, warm and familiar. Once your eyes flutter open and glance at him, he pats your back with the softest of caresses. He may not say anything, but actions speak louder than words regardless.

-🤎

Hope you're having a lovely day <3

I HAVE JUST OPENED MY EYES FROM SLEEPING AND THIS IS WHAT I SEE?!???

literally u make me cry in the best way???

i need simon before i combust

ALSO EDIT: IM SO SORRY UR HAVING A SHITTY DAY :((( u deserve the world anon pls🤍🤍

#anon ask #anon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #🤎

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rookthorne · 1 year

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Your writing is phenomenal 🤎

What advice or research/resource tips could you give a writer newly trying to get into more mature-explicit (All natures- battles, love making, whump) scenes or fics ? 🥹

hello, my darling! thank you for your kind words! 🥰

firstly, can I just say that it's a lil' surreal that people are coming to me for advice...? I was in your shoes not that long ago now, and it's blowing my mind that sweethearts such as yourself are asking me for the tips and tricks. like damn, this is insane. ANYWAY

my advice will be under the cut, because, as per usual, I can't shut the fuck up - but this once? it may actually be warranted! 🤣

one thing I live by, that you first have to get into your mind, is that you need to have something on the paper - no matter how bad you may think it is, you must have something on that document. you cannot edit, beta, or work with, a blank page.

this translates so well into mature and explicit works. when I first started, I couldn't write a cuddle scene without blushing (but yet I read the filthiest smut, go figure).

having a mental picture is also crucial to get this to work - whether you visualise, watch videos (p-rn, battle scenes, or medical shows, etc), or whether you follow reputable websites that provide facts - it is crucial to have this step, without it, you have nothing to work with.

this is where I tend to differ from other writers, so this may be one off advice, but I literally just write. I don't stop to think, I don't stop to listen to that voice that is telling me it's stupid. I write, and then edit later (cue my advice earlier - cannot edit a blank page).

I don't always research first.

GASP

I know, the horror, right?

sometimes that's the way it goes! while, yes, it is very important to have research backing your works, sometimes the muse just doesn't let you! and that's okay - because you can always go back over your work with a critical eye, rather than a creative one.

I am a firm believer in not stunting your creativity for reality, where you can help it.

but, alas, here I am not getting to the point.

do not, under any circumstance during your research, use Wikipedia. if you go to Wikipedia because you have no other choice, scroll to the bottom and go to those sources - more often than not, these are medical journals, and they do tend to be available for public perusing.

I learnt how to write smut via a previous beta, and she was very graceful in educating me the tricks of the trade. but you can also learn a lot from other writers - just by reading their works! that is how I got to the point that I am at now. I spent hours seeing the differences between writers, and I related what they did in their works to my own creations in the sense of flow, placement, and structure. sooner than later, I ended up mapping out scenes in my head, and if I wasn't sure on how something worked, I reached out to my fellow writers and asked for advice, or asked for a beta! if you feel that isn't an option, watching p-rn is a very good substitute in learning how it all works, or how a position would look, or just in general smuttiness. here is one of the guides that I used.

regarding battle scenes (god I fucking love writing them), it's important to get the ambience right, and the flow of movements without dragging on. it's such a fine balance and it is so fucking easy to tip the scales one way or another, rather than keeping it level. I am a history nerd when it comes to anything Norse/Viking, so I have background and knowledge to help my flow, but watching movies and shows (even documentaries!) is a big help! they will teach you the dynamic movement and flow of how someone would handle a sword, or an axe, or a shield. here is a good combat resource.

whump... oh, my beloved whump, how I fucking adore writing whump. but I have a penchant for torturing and snapping my glow sticks, not everyone is as torturous as me. 🤣

this is where research is the most important, or prior knowledge. I never attempt a whump fic or scene without researching first - it is the only exception to my above statement of not always doing it first.

WebMD is an excellent source for learning about illnesses and the courses of treatment, same with medical journals. I have a few tags on my blog: writing resources, writing tips, writing help - that will direct you to many blogs that have countless resources.

last but not least, reach out to as many writers that you can!

I can't speak for everyone, but I preach that my inbox is always open, both on here and discord, to ask for help or advice regarding anything - whether that be writing scenes, beta work, or just general advice regarding anything writing/creating/aesthetics/graphics! I have a big wheelhouse and I am more than willing to share what I know if it will help someone else, and you can be sure that if I don't know something, I won't stop until I know how to help. never be afraid to reach out to me if you need more help, I don't bite! 💗

I really hope my essay helped you, nonnie, I tried my best - even if I got a bit rambly, my bad 😅🤣

#rookthorne responds #wow Lana go the fuck off with an essay huh #yikes #SORRY #sweet anons #💗💗💗

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jokerownsmysoul · 1 year

Text

midnight, the stars and you

Summary: the strike of midnight in between the last moments of the past year & the first moments of the new one lived with arthur. aka, a slice of your first new year’s eve together.

Warnings: smut.

Words: 5300

Notes: this was born as a drabble written in haste at 4 am but I got carried away a bit. very funny of me to post an unplanned new year's eve piece before the much planned Christmas ones I've been working on, but my writing flow works in mysterious ways. I wish you all a wonderful start of the year and a more wonderful unfurling, I hope that it'll be kinder and gentler with your hearts and will keep you away from any kind of hurting. 🤎

It’s nice to think that this is the first written piece of the year; I’m looking forward to a year full of creation, writing and arthing, and the many emotions along with it. 🤎

The roaring sounds of fireworks was almost overlapping the regular noises of the city, which gave no chance of respite even on New Year’s Eve. Muffled to the point of being nearly hard to define, Gotham was covered by cheerfulness.

They looked beautiful as they shone in the starry winter sky, sprinkling its navy mantle with confetti of various colors and illuminating the skyscrapers of Gotham to the darkest, farthest peaks of the horizon as they darted downhill on the streets like shooting stars.

Yet, your eyes could not stop falling on Arthur. The fireworks looked a lot more beautiful when reflected visibly in the green of his dreamy eyes, tinging his skin of different shades on the way. They granted to the apples of his cheek the resemblance of a painter's palette flecked with different splashes of colors.

It had been Arthur’s idea to reach the fire escape and watch the midnight fireworks after a cozy evening indoors. He’d grabbed the warmest and softest cardigan he managed to find in his closet to keep you warm as soon as the first shades of fires flashed into the living room through the windows stripped bare by the curtains, shielding your arms left bare by your dress from the snowy cold while pecks of flurries flecked the streets below in white. On a last thought you grabbed also the radio you would otherwise keep on the edge of the bathtub, already tuned on the Gotham City New Year’s Eve GCR local station where the countdown to the strike of midnight would start soon, and together moved outside on the fire escape; your personal made-up romantic balcony.

Beyond the fire escape, behind you, you’ve given your evening celebration a different touch once the fireworks started, the Gotham city’s way to say goodbye to the past year and greet the new one with flying sparkles and flames. The champagne flutes to toast at the strike of midnight were ready, resting on the coffee table in front of the couch next to the dinner glasses, the red lipstick mark signing the edge of yours distinguishable from his, and the candles scattered all over the room, never missed in your celebrations, fluttered in the night.

It was easy for Arthur to get lost in these moments of earthly wonder and let his mind flow into his fantasies. Moments like these that showed the enchantment of the city, that prooved that something magical was possible to find in the continuous mundanity of the world, unleashed his nature of the dreamer; not only because he got to live these moments while appeared possible to him, but because he shared them with you.

Your gaze lingered on Arthur, on his curls caught in the light and on his eyes completely transfixed on the fires. His youthful enjoyment boosted him to lean over, forearms perched on the railing while a cigarette hung from his middle and forefinger, its embers standing out in the night almost as much as the fireworks above your heads did, and definitely more adept at catching your attention.

Arthur brought the tiny firework he held in his hand to his mouth. His lips squeezed between the stick, then a sucking, your belly trembling at this sight that triggered your desire to take over his lips and a second later there was a cloud of smoke puffed upwards to reach the others in the sky, larger and louder, imposing and out of reach. He watched the fires through the thick smoke circling around his face, not letting it be a distraction.

You loved the way he payed attention to things. Not only with the things he cared about, not only with you, not only with people he was careful not to hurt – Arthur took seriously the knowledge of how important it was to keep his attention always vigilant about anything that mattered. Even now you could see that as he enjoyed the fireworks and didn’t avert his eyes from them once. You wondered what he was thinking, yet a part of you didn’t need to ask to know.

You recognized his eyes lost in the rapture of the flaming skyline, and the pad of his middle finger was tracing the curve of his lower lip, a familiar gesture that used to give away the extent of his full immersion in his fantasies or thoughts.

When Arthur finally turned to you and caught you looking at him already, he smiled. “Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

His question struck with you, but wasn’t unexpected at all. You shrunk in yourself, clutching his cardigan to your chest and to your heart from both sides. It smelled like him. You squeezed it even tigther, to get as many whiffs of him as you could.

There had been a time when New Year’s resolutions were punctually made, and punctually failed – which frankly, was part of the fun. There had been a time when making resolutions encouraged you in the spirit. But then followed also a time when you stopped believing in it, when you thought better things could never occur; you’d made yourself believe that it was all for nothing, even celebrating. The time that had lasted the longest.

But meeting Arthur had inspired you back to life again. To have dreams, aspirations, something that ignited the soul of desire and hunger to grab life with bare hands. Falling in love with him had allowed you to live the greatest desire of all and see it finally fulfilled after years of longing: to be in love, to find your twin flame. Arthur’s infectious nature of the dreamer and, above all, the certainty of how right you were, how happy and safe he made you feel, had stilled into you the craving for new wishes you wanted him to be a part of. It felt as though Arthur was the serenity that the universe had wanted to gift to you after so much endurance.

You thought about how happy you were to wake up and go to bed with Arthur every day. Simple moments of mundanity that marked and conditioned everything: your day, your mood, your life, your happiness. To start and then to end each day with Arthur was a blissful gift, some favorite moments of the day. You would’ve liked to start and then to end the year to come with him, too. To make of your whole life a simple moment of mundanity shared with him sounded like the kind of life you’ve always wanted, the apotheosis of happiness.

“Umh... I think my only new year’s resolutions is to start and end this year with you, and to be able to tell you again on every New year’s eve to come. Wait, the second, is to love you very hard.” You told yourself these were the only resolutions you wouldn’t have failed that you’d ever made. You didn’t know how much of resolutions they were though. More than resolutions, those were declarations of love. But you didn’t mind. It sounded much better that way.

Happiness took over his dimples when he smiled at you, hollowed the creases around his eyes. A smile that made his eyes shine bright with promises and vows more than any other firework was able to do. “I like your resolutions,” he commented sweetly.

The transfixing-by-fireworks look you’ve seen in him was easy to mirror when you gaped at Arthur, and you grew transfixed by him. “What are yours?”

His answer was ready, perching already at the tip of his tongue. “They used to be always the same. To keep trying. To do better… to become someone worthy of finding my one and only person.” He swallowed, and threw away the cigarette butt; melancholia of the things that had been tucked itself in the lump of his throath as he continued. “They still are... but now I feel happy with you and I like my life a little more. And when you first told me you loved me, I thought maybe I didn’t have to become more than myself to find love.”

You scooped closer and nestled his bicep, hugging him fondly and tight around his middle, hoping that all your love would seep inside him. You pecked his shoulder and nodded as you rested your cheek there, letting him now that you were present in his feelings, meeting him in a place of trust that was made of attentive listening and understanding. There was a peculiar exhale through his chest that told you he had more to add.

“But there’s just one small thing I still want.”

You tilted your head up lightly, just enough to read his expression. “What do you want?”

“A spotlight,” he confessed.

“A spotlight?”

“Yes. A spotlight. I'm not sure what kind.” He ducked his chin, the squishy skin on its underside starting to crinkle in that endearing way that used to give you always butterflies. “It’s silly, I know.”

“I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s brave.” You held him tighter as a firework burst into the sky. You both turned toward it in tandem, observing its fiery ascend upon Gotham in a silence that spoke of many things that for the two of you were easy to understand. You stayed there for a few heartbeats. This silence, too, was a important part of your conversation. “I’ll help you get this spotlight if you want me to.” You let it float into the open, just to let him know that you would support anything he wished for. His arm drifting over and then squeezing yours was his most sincere answer, telling you he really did want to.

You enjoyed this moment together, focused only on the padded voice of the reporter coming from the radio that you’ve put on one of the step of the fire escape, close enough to outline what the reporter would say without interfering. His voice was growing high-pitched and stilled with increase excitement, and the fireworks were picking up the pace, clue that midnight was very close. Before midnight struck there was something else you wanted, after all.

“Can I ask for a last wish?” Your voice was a sudden sound that went to blend with all the others around you.

Arthur turned to you, willing alertness to whatever your request would be. “What is it?”

You bit your lip. “Can you kiss me at midnight?”

Even with the fireworks tinging his features you could distinguish the familiar blush on his cheeks as he giggled softly. “I'll kiss you at midnight, darling. Any time of the new year you want.”

You grinned at him. You knew a romantic at heart like him would’ve appreciated the gesture. You both were romantic at heart; it was nice to know that each of you had the other to share and experience your wishes with, as cheesy as they could be. It felt as though your hearts were tuned on the same radio station talking about romance and love languages.

Then the fireworks stopped. It was a brief, customary moment that lasted only a few seconds, if only to mark the passage from one year to another. Silence settled upon Gotham all of a sudden, a sense of suspence despite some distant, typical noises of the city came back again audible. Everyone was waiting for the new year. As on time, you heard the repoter from the radio starting to count down and encourage the listeners to follow along.

10, 9, 8, 7…

You locked your eyes into one another as the numbers went by. You spent the last moment of the year focused on each other’s features and the love pooling from this exchange of glances. Your minds were flipping through every page of the wonderful story you’ve written together over this year coming to an end, loving every little word, grateful for every chapter.

3, 2, 1...

The fireworks broke through as suddenly as they have left once the countodown came to an end, yet this time looked and sounded much bigger and louder, more imposing than the ones you’ve seen so far.

“Happy n–”

Arthur didn’t give you any more time. He drew you into him in a flourish and captured your lips in a passional kiss, looping an arm around your waist and cupping your cheek with the other hand to pull you close. It was a kiss worthy of a black and white movie; those kisses visibly overwhelming and with not-held back abandon, with mouth pressed eagerly against another mouth, as if the lovers were taking each other somewhere very far away. Yours felt even better.

“… New Year,” you completed in a after-kiss daze when he pulled away. You smiled at each other. The reporter continued to talk, but this time neither of you wanted to pay attention.

“Happy new year.”

You brought your hand to his chest clad in a gray sweater, caressing a line along his front. He was looking so beautiful, with chestnut locks falling along his cheeks caught by tiny flurries, and a twinkle in his eyes that rather belonging to the reflections of fireworks belonged to the joy you were sharing. A giggle lifted the corners of your mouth as you noted the lapels of his shirt collar tucked purposefully underneath the sweater. You loved him and his little quirks so much. You took a mental note to leave a red lipstick mark in one of them later... or in both. “It's nice to start things with you, and to know you'll be there when they will come to an end,” you told him. “You’re the beginning of everything to me.”

He hugged you close, his chin grazing your temple like when you danced as your arms drifted around to clasp his shoulder blazes. His eyes fluttered closed as your words reached his heart, soothing every itch of the past not yet healed. Before you, he didn’t even know if he had a life at all. It’d started with you. “I love you too, y/n.”

Your embrace lasted until you remembered about the flutes on the coffe table. You withdrew as on a mission. “We need to toast. Hold on.”

He watched your back with anticipation as you walked back inside. You reached the kitchen to grab the bottle opener, then returned to the living room where you filled both flutes with a few inches of champagne and went back to Arthur right after. Fireworks had again caught his attention. You found place by his side and handed him one of the flutes.

“What do you want to toast to?” You asked, flutes ready to sing against one another.

His anwer came quickly. “To us.”

You nodded with a smile. “To us. And to spotlights.”

You let your flutes collide against one another and took a sip together, then another one. The night was getting colder, a blanket of flurries was descending slowly through the wake of fireworks, but you decided to stay a while longer; fireworks didn’t occur very frequently in the city, and it was important for you that Arthur enjoyed them till he could. You put both flutes on the windowsill and leaned on the railing by his side. One of his arm looped around your back while you rested your head on his shoulder. You snuggled into each other to shield from the cold and turned towards the skyline together, and together, you watched the fireworks wonders highlight the brightness of the flurries in the sky, tinging them red, green, orange, their sparks mixing with the flakes of snow as they covered the streets. The multicolored fog the fireworks left across the horizon would already begin to vanish as soon as another one would pop. It looked almost like a dance above ground; maybe that’s also what Arthur saw in them.

You stayed like this for awhile until you felt Arthur start shivering against you. “Are you cold?” You worried.

“A little bit.”

You waisted no time and slid the cardigan off your shoulders. The chill of the night hit your bare skin like a knife, the kind one that made you crave to be under the covers intertwined with Arthur. You ignored it and put the cardigan over his back instead.

He tried to oppose, an attempt that failed while he loosened in your care and ended in a flustered chuckle. “I gave this to you. You must be freezing.”

“And now I give it to you.” Your hand drifted to the collar of his shirt to let it fit more snuggly. His skin was cold at the touch. “We need to get you a flannel shirt to wear beneath this sweater.”

He chuckled. “I don’t mind this one.”

You rubbed your hands across his back to warm him up. You worked to keep him as warm as you possibly could until you figured it was time to go back inside. You took with you the radio and the flutes, closed the windows for the night, and a minute later you were warm and safe in your home. A slow song came up on the local station a few minutes later, with the repoter wishing a happy new year and saying goodnight, thank you for staying here with us, before the first notes started playing.

Arthur didn’t let this opportunity fly away. He reached for your hand to pull you close for a brief dance, his request implied in how his arm was outstreched towards you and in the peculiar twinkle his eyes held only when there was music. It was impossible to resist him. Your eyes sparkled with excitment when you took his hand and let him drew you in, hands going to land in familiar places of each other before he begun to rock you gently in his arms. The pace he followed was slow and lazy, as though he wanted this to feel a lot like cuddling now that you were about to settle in for the night.

Now back inside and heated by each other’s embrace, you were starting to feel warm again. His hold was comfortable around you. The orchestra was lulling every sway or light shift of his feet when a thought dawned on you, one that made you smile to yourself and therefore wanted to share with him. “You know what they say?”

He shook his head from left to right. “What do they say?”

“If you dance on New Year’s Eve, you dance all year long.”

He puffed a snort, the sweetest you could hear. “That would be nice. We can make it happen. Ehy, it can be our shared new year’s resolution.”

You gave him a toothy grin as you tried to tame the swelling of your heart. “I love this idea. There’s no one I would rather dance with other than you.” You squeezed your arms tighter around him, giving in to the cozy bliss his closeness gave you. The fabric of his gray sweater underneath the palm of your hand, his loving eyes as he looked at you, how safe he made you feel when his body was secured to yours so protectively with confidence.

Arthur made you twirl three times.

The first, delicately, to get you used to the rhythm he wanted to follow. The second, passionately, to crash his lips to yours in a very old-fashioned demeanor once the twirl made you land on his chest. The third, eagerly, to pull your body flush against him.

Every part of your body became aware of his. Your breast found itself sensitive to the warm nearness of his chest as it brushed against your nipples through the light material of your dress, leading to stiffen whenever he twisted in the right angle. Your breath itched in unison when you pressed yourself to his crotch and kept on dancing so knotted together. Your minds started to get hazy as you focused more on what your closeness felt like rather than on keeping a steady pace.

Even dance with Arthur felt like a foreplay. Especially dance.

When your eyes fell on the lapels of his shirt, you remembered the promise you’ve made to yourself a few minutes prior. Bringing your mouth to the right white lapel, you pressed your lips to it prolongingly, to make sure the lipstick mark left behind would depict neatly your lip texture and no one else’s. “I don’t mind this shirt either,” you whispered, pecking the side of his neck before breaking away.

Arthur looked visibly flustered. His breath stalled in his chest. You adored to make him feel so loved, how he let it show. You lifted up and connected your lips to his, cupping tenderly his cheeks. You planted a tender, chaste kiss on his lips before your mouth nudged and pecked the scar of his upper lip. You relished in the scruff below his nose scratching the smoothness of your lips when you reached that area to kiss him there. When his eyes fluttered shut lost in your affection and dancing, you leaned on to peck his eyelids, too. It made him giggle in surprise and open his eyes back to you.

You watched him watching you, and he watched you watching him. The rhythm of your rocking was changing, becoming slower, each back and forth dragged out as you got lost in each other’s gaze. Soft unspoken things floated between you. You wanted to show him how much you wanted him, how much you craved for him; all evidences of how much you loved everything about him, from the most wonderful quality to the little quirks only you knew. You halted your rocking halfway through the song only to grab his hand and guide him timidly towards the bedroom, blowing out all the candles on your way and exchanging knowing smiles of connectedness. Anticipation guided each of your steps while his fingers clutched between yours, his mind spinning for what you had in store for him.

Once the lights were off, you hoped to tell him how your measure of time now was before and after him, with or without him. Maybe that was the reason why time with him stopped flowing by, and with the same force rushed by all the same, making you feel like you were rotating around every never ending circle of the ancient web in the arrow of time, without any traces of an ending.

You wanted to undress him, and he let you. You undressed him slowly in the penumbra, caressing with tenderness every part of his body as it went exposed to your touch and your gaze, folding his clothes with care on the bed bench at the foot of the bed at your left. You didn’t want to rush things tonight. His bare body unfolding before you article by article, ready to be loved on, felt like the prayer you uttered under your breath every night before you knew him; those lonely nights when you longed for some arms to hold you, for a gentle smile to reassure you, for a soul to love with ardor.

You stripped him bare from any clothes until he was standing naked in front of you, enlightened by the glow of the street lamps below and of the hues set afire by fireworks. A map of sinews and muscles caught in the light meant only for your mouth and your hands. You couldn’t still quite believe that someone like him, that Arthur, loved you back. To meet the person who seemed to be meant for you wasn’t as hard as people may thing, oftentimes. The very fortune was, once you met them, that they loved you back. You felt so blessed that he did. You still thanked him for it quite often. Sometimes openly, sometimes in silence as you watched him simply exist next to you.

His look was welcoming as he gave himself to you. You drew yourself closer, nestling your face in the warm curve of his neck. Your nose nudged the tendon there, breathing in his scent as if it was the only thing managing to keep you alive, and somehow it was. His soft meowling weakened your heart when you let your nose skim along it as you moved upward to lick his earlobe.

Your hands brushed along his sides, halting when you reached his love handles that you held carefully in the palm of your hands. You held him close in an embrace. “You’re my wish that came true.” Your breath fell hot in the spot below his ear as you whispered love to him, your voice gravelly born from a love confession that couldn’t wait any longer.

Then you kissed him, swallowing his answer that you knew was love, too. You didn’t bother to hide the craving for him. Cupping both of his cheeks, your lips parted to one another as you licked the soft hum falling from his mouth. Your tongue was missing the taste of him, and your heart felt heavy of all of those feelings it held for him, of all those things you hoped to tell him in this way that didn’t require any words.

You pulled him backward to lay him down on the mattress as you deepened the kiss and straddled him to settle on top. You let him watch you while you peeled yourself off your dress and underwear above him, to tell him that every part of you was his to see as well as to touch. Fireworks caught the peak of your nipples when you unclasped your bra and tossed it aside, its curve on the underside overshadowed by the nightlight. Heavy exhales filled his chest when your breasts appeared bare before his gaze, outstretching his tummy with desire.

You leaned over to kiss him. He moaned in your mouth when your breasts squeezed against his bare chest and your hand drifted low. You took hold of his hardening cock, and watched him while you stroked his lenght until you felt him writhe in your hand and beneath you. You relished in the feeling of fullness of his cock growing harder and slippery in your fingers as they fluttered around him, the sensitivity of the head when your pads scanned its outline or the vein across the underside visibly swollen; all ways of his body responding when you loved him like this, knowing that every expression and reaction was for you.

You crawled down across his body to the foot of the bed to reach him where his needs were leading you. You smooched the red tip sweetly before you buried your face in the private nook on the underside of his cock, nudging with your nose the crease found at the base. You lapped the drooping skin of his most sensitive area below it, playing with swipes of your tongue and the grazing of your teeth while your hand continued to caress along his shaft. The salty taste of his skin was addicting. His unrestrained moans triggered yor hunger, hard to contain when every intimate part of him was beneath your ministrations and throughoutly cared for. You evoked a sudden twitch when your mouth wrapped yet again around the velvety area and pulled away with a sucked-in pop. You’ve never met someone who made you want to love like this, so down to the flesh without shying away, open to feel any carnal desire he made you feel, giving in to any taste and any impulse never had before.

You stopped before you would feel the familiar evidence that he was coming undone and moved back up to him again. You laid a gentle caress on one of his cheek and let your arms drift down to brush across the dark hairs on his chest as your eyes met. You stared into each other’s eyes while you sunk down on him with ease and a broken whimper as he gasped in delight. Your hands latched the top of his shoulders for grounding before your hips started rolling around him, then up and down along him, to make him feel good from any angle and any pace you managed to keep.

A symphony of moans filled the bedroom as you made love to him in the night, intertwining each other through arches of your back and the continuous seeking of his hands across your sides and over your back. Its notes where at the highest pitch when Arthur grabbed your hips, making you roll over to land on the soft mattress so that he could lay atop you.

You smiled at each other when his face appeared above you, all around you. You loved the way he looked whenever he was on top of you. His silhouette was darkened by semidarkness but its outline standing out from the background was neatly recognizable, being revealed to you openly only whenever a firework burst from the window and enlightened his features through splashes of light. But you didn’t need light to recognize them – to recognize him. Your hands would’ve always recognized him in the dark, would’ve always know where to go to touch him. Even in the dark, you would know how he laid next to you.

You hoped to tell him the extent of how much he ignited you into fireworks when you felt him seathe and unsheathe himself in and out of you. You pulled his face close and kissed his sweaty forehead, nestling his face as a white-hot throb took over, turning everything into a distant blur while his face guided the path for you to come back on earth but always without leaving his embrace.

Fireworks were still darting in the night when his orgasm sprung into melody from his throath. You wondered if rather than cushioning them, your melodies of pleasure were enriching them in to a song made of sparks and craving; all things of what it felt like to love him.

You stayed in this cosy shelter made of sweat and warmth through the night, protecting each other’s pleasures long after you came down back on earth together, never pulling away.

Late at night had gone by when fireworks gradually ended. When they left, on their way to go they encountered Arthur’s back laying on the mattress as he held you close to his heartbeat. Your fingertips were tracing patterns of affection on his chest as he stroked your hair and his heartbeat lulled you. You enjoyed the last fireworks beyond the windows holding each other close in warmth and joy, already missing their lightning and looking forward to see more of them on the next new year’ eve as soon as the last one broke through, ending this dance of colors and flames with a majestic roar and a loud sound of farewell. A kind of festive silence coating your apartment marked the thrilling unexpectdeness of a new beginning. There had been a time when you would’ve been nervous about it, but now with Arthur by your side and his heartbeat under your skin, it was impossible to be.

It made sense to celebrate the arrival of a new year with Arthur. Time for you didn’t exist the same way it did for others. Things with Arthur had a beginning, but never an end. You managed to go beyond it together. Arthur would always be the beginning of everything, even the finite realities.

No matter what the year had in store for you, you knew you’d experience anything always together. No matter what kind of spotlight Arthur would have found out to desire, you would have supported his dream and continued to illuminate him with the spotlight of your love, casting a light of healing and self acceptance from any corner of your soul to any part of his own, a stage where he was going to shine forevermore just like he shone at the center of your heart.

•••••

tag list: @arthurflecksgirl @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @sweet-nothings04 @flowerglitterwoman @forever-fleck @ajokeformur-ray

#I don't even get that much excited for new year's eve tbh. but I do get excited for arthur so it makes sense #oooffff i hope it's not too modern-ish but we eat self indulgent pieces for breakfast today #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x y/n #arthur fleck x you

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maple-the-awesome · 1 year

Text

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 13

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,774

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TRATIOR OF TRUST

"Where is he?"

"Must I remind you that you're currently under arrest for harboring a fugitive of the law? What makes you possibly think-?"

"-I refuse to answer any of your questions until mine are answered first. I want to know the status of James Buchanan Barnes, is that so much to ask for?" You hiss, leaning back against your chair with crossed arms which makes the detective sigh for what must be the sixth time within the thirty or so minutes that he’s been supposedly ‘interrogating’ you (not that he’s gotten anything to show for that time).

You already know the drill behind this sort of thing, not to mention you’re incredibly stubborn, although you are notably being pretty nice to this guy considering the circumstances. You haven’t raised your voice nor have you attempted to force your way out of this highly secured room yet. Instead, you’ve made one simple demand in exchange for cooperation: answer the damn question about Bucky or else your lips will remain sealed. It’s this detective’s own fault for pissing off a Stark over something so avoidable. You can play this game all day if you must!

The man, who has likely gained more white hairs during this short experience, rubs his temple tiredly. Today has already been stressful enough for him as it is and you’re definitely not making it any easier with your mulish refusal to just throw him a bone already.

Not having the willpower any longer, the detective decides to give in himself,"...Mr. Barnes is being held in a secure location within the building. He's safe at least, but I'm afraid we're unable to tell you anymore than that...Will you answer my questions now?"

"He's innocent."

"That's not what I-"

"-I know. I'm skipping all the bullshit and leaping to the point since you've already wasted enough of my time here. James is innocent. He was with me in Bucharest the entire day of the UN conference. The longest I had my eyes off of him was whenever he went to the bathroom. Now, I highly doubt that's enough time to even cross borders let alone do what you're accusing him of."

"And how are we to believe your word exactly? For the last two years, you've been on the run with Barnes across several countries: the United States, France, Germany, Romania...and that's just the ones we've been able to track," he narrows his eyes, waiting for a possible response from you, but he receives nothing aside from a roll of your eyes as you fight back to the urge to correct him on the two countries he missed.

"...I've taken a look at your records. Says here that you were a child prodigy, excelling in all levels of school, in fact you obtained your bachelor's degree by 14 and doctorates by 19. You worked at SHIELD Headquarters for four years until you disappeared with the Winter Soldier, consequently right after HYDRA had been discovered within the organization."

"That timeline is lacking details and, while I'm sure that's intentional, let's just get it straight, shall we?" You affirm pointedly. Sitting straight, each of your words are spoken sternly, challenging this detective's own authority by tone alone," I'm not a fascist so don't even try spinning that shit towards me. I had no idea HYDRA was within SHIELD until everyone else did and I sure as hell wouldn't have let them get away with it had I known any sooner. Also, it's not like I just up and left SHIELD. It disbanded, thus I was officially unemployed."

The man falters slightly under your intense stare before fixing his posture," so, you decided to run off with a fugitive instead of attending a job fair?"

"You can't morally link the Winter Soldier and James Barnes to the same responsibilities. You work for the government, right? So, you must understand to at least some extent what it's like to be a puppet? Well, for James it was worse than that. He had been tortured for decades under HYDRA - decades of no freedom and brainwashing until he could no longer even think for himself. He was their tool, whether he wanted to be or not.

"With all that said, the moment the independent variable, HYDRA, was removed, James got significantly better and showed no signs of the Winter Soldier's patterns. I have evidence for that as well. I've been keeping track of his mental health over the course of the last two years. He shows clear signs of PTSD as well as extreme memory loss in the beginning, but we've been working on healing, in fact, he has shown amazing progress towards the latter. The important detail to note is, despite his mental turmoil, James has never harmed anyone, only wanting to rediscover his past and find a new, peaceful life-"

"-He's never harmed anyone until now," you open your mouth to bitterly object, but you're not given a chance when the detective slips several pictures in front of you," if you keep insisting on his innocence, then how do we have video surveillance footage of Mr. Barnes at the UN Bombing?"

You gaze over the pictures with wide eyes that slowly narrow. The picture, like most from video surveillance, isn't all that clear. It shows a man dressed in black walking away from the UN Bombing, at least you assume as much going off of what the detective said. You'll admit that his face does look like Bucky at first glance, but only at first glance. Even if you hadn't spent that entire day binging the extended cuts of Lord of the Rings with the real deal, you would know that the man in the picture is an imposter. While you can’t give an exact reason, there's something off about his appearance that doesn't match. You know your Bucky. That's not him and you voice as much to the detective.

He sighs (the seventh time) and breaths your last name showing exhaustion, but you don't give him a chance to argue further.

"That's not Bucky. If anything, he's been framed. Either way, you've got the wrong guy."

At long last, the detective stands, running a hand through his hair in irritation before marching outside and slamming the door behind himself. While this day has been utter hell so far, knowing you've finally broken the poor guy does bring a satisfied smirk to your face, one you direct to the cameras eyeing you in the corner of the room.

You know they've been listening this entire time, praying that you, the one who's been living with James for the last two years now, could provide them with valuable evidence against him. They even offered a plea deal: cooperate and your own punishment will be practically nonexistent, however counteract and you'll go down as his accomplice meaning it'll be a long time till you see the sun again. Little do these people know, you use law books for light reading, so you understand how this intimidation works. Even if you have to be your own lawyer, you'll prove Bucky’s innocence and yours, too.

Several minutes later, the door opens from behind you, signaling that another detective has come to try chipping away at your strong will. With a huff, you turn in your chair to face this newcomer," alright, to summarize what I told the other guy, I..."

Your voice dies within your throat, your lips pressing together tightly to muffle your sharp inhale of air.

It's not a detective this time, but rather Steve Rogers who stands with his back to the door, his eyes narrowed towards you in an intimidation attempt far more effective than those utilized by the government. Based on it, you expect his first words to be yelled or, at the very least, hissed with every ounce of anger he certainly deserves to show. Instead, they’re quiet and worn as he slowly makes his way to the detective's old seat.

"As we speak, they're building an entire case against you claiming that you're a HYDRA agent who's been controlling the Winter Soldier - for longer than these last two years, too. They're using your background as evidence, trying to say it fits that of a double agent whose goal was to get close to SHIELD and even the Avengers for insider information.

“As far as they're all concerned, you're the puppet master behind this whole ordeal. You ordered the Winter Soldier to bomb the UN. You planned the attack. Do you realize how long you'll go away if convicted?" Steve doesn’t take a seat, rather he hovers nearby, his eyes watching you steadily. Through the resentment, you can hear a tiny hint of genuine worry behind his voice.

"...I figured as much..." Dropping your 'tough' act, you sigh and look at the pictures left on the table. It’s as if you’re only just now starting to feel the effects of today’s stress. Steve finding you, Bucky’s arrest, the government claiming he did something you know he’d never do…It’s a lot all at once and while you’d like to say you’re used to this sort of thing, it certainly never gets easier.

“You don’t believe any of it, though…do you? I’d never work for HYDRA. Besides, we’re friends-”

"-I don't believe you'd work for HYDRA," Steve confirms only to your short relief before he adds bitterly," but I'm beginning to second guess the whole 'friends' thing."

"Steve-"

"-If you were really my friend, you would've told me when you found Bucky. You wouldn't have waited until I accidently came across you both. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Of course I was. We just needed time-"

"-Time for what exactly?" Finally, there's a slight raise to his voice," you know how much Bucky means to me! I told you all about our past together - I confided in you because, for some reason, I thought you'd actually be able to understand! Especially after everything that happened with SHIELD and HYDRA, I thought I could trust Natasha and you since you both seemed just as affected as I was, but I guess I was wrong - wrong about the two of you.”

You flinch, bowing your head away from his intense stare," so, you know about...?"

"Natasha helping you? Yeah, she already gave herself away. The second we came here she was trying to vouch for you to the others. It didn't take long to piece the truth together after that," Steve begins to pace, although there isn't much space for it in this closet of a room.

“Please don’t blame Natasha, Steve. None of this is her fault. I made her promise not to say anything to anyone even though she wanted to-”

He suddenly turns to you with a pointed finger, “-how could you tell her and not me?!"

"I told her because she caught me before I left! If it had been you, I would've confessed then, too. Natasha finding out was a...miscalculation if anything.”

‘...On more than two fronts.’

"A 'miscalculation'? To what plan?" Steve rests his hands on the back of the empty chair in front of you, leaning forward slightly as he’s clearly trying to maintain a level head," that's what I don't get...What did you gain from anything of this? Lying to all of your so-called 'friends', finding Bucky, keeping his location a secret from even me? What did any of this give you?!"

"It's…complicated…This entire situation is…" He opens his mouth, but you hold a hand up sharply," don't. Let me explain. Bucky's mental state was all over the place when I first found him. He barely remembered who he used to be, had no experience operating on his own freewill, and he was scared shitless on top of it all as anyone would be. He didn't need the stress of having you around then. He needed time before that."

"I'm his best friend-"

"-Which is exactly the problem. I know that. He knows that. Even then, he remembered that you were at least someone important to him in his past," inhaling slowly, you run a hand through your hair while glaring at Steve in the corner of your eyes,"...look...He's not the same James we lost on that train. When I first found him, he had no idea who he was aside from his time as the Winter Soldier and a few very vague memories of his past before that. He didn't want to face your disappointment when you've waited all this time to get your best friend back only to realize you get the shattered pieces of him instead.

"...You have to understand, Steve. It's difficult getting caught up in two different lives. It hurts knowing you can never fully be the person others want and the stress of thinking no one will accept you for you can be unbearable, which is why I never told you about Bucky. I wanted that to be up to him. I wanted to offer him support and help him put the pieces back together while also letting him be the one to decide when he felt confident enough to meet you again," your hand remains tangled in your hair while you speak as softly as possible, your words genuine yet still not enough apparently.

“I already knew about Bucky’s memory loss. I’m the one who fought him directly and saw that empty look in his eyes myself which is why I’ve been so worried about him. I told you this back then. Even if he isn’t the same Bucky I knew back in the 40s, I still care about him. If he was questioning that, you should’ve known the difference. If you were that concerned about being involved and helping, you should’ve convinced him that I’m here for him instead of just feeding into his fears-”

"-I didn't feed into anything. I already tried telling him exactly that, but the more I pushed, the more he shied away from me! I couldn’t make any progress-!”

"-Then at the very least you could have messaged me! I didn't even have to be there physically nor did Bucky have to know! All it would've taken was one phone call - one text message saying that you found him and that he was safe-!”

"-And what? You would've left it all be then? Don’t try fooling yourself. If I had told you from the beginning that I was somewhere out in the world with Bucky, you would've stopped at nothing to find us and we would've still been having this damn argument."

"What makes you any more qualified to look after him than me?"

“Why do you insist on behaving like a jealous ex…?” Rubbing your temple, you suddenly feel bad for that detective earlier," the bottom-line is this isn't about either of us, Steve. This is about James-!"

"-My friend."

"You don't own him!"

"Neither do you!"

This sets you off, leading you to smack your hands on the table and push yourself up with a fierce glare, “I’m not trying to! I worry about him and unlike you, I’ve been willing to actually set aside my own needs for his!”

"Oh, so now I'm the bad guy here?" Steve marches towards you until he stands only a few inches away, a similar sight that had occurred in the apartment earlier today.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m trying to say, so yeah, kinda!” Despite the lack of distance, you don't falter this time, standing tall against him as you meet his eyes with your fiery ones.

"I don't even see why you care this much! The Winter Soldier was someone who tried to kill you! You hated him yet the second he turns back to Bucky, you jump in suddenly and act as if you have all responsibility over him! At least I was his friend back then! You were a stranger to him, so why are you trying so hard to put yourself on some sort of pedestal in his life?!”

"Because I have a right to be involved in my fiancé’s life, dammit!"

Steve blinks, his anger only temporarily melting into an expression of confusion, although the change is just that: temporary.

“...Your what?!” If he hadn’t looked angry enough before, then those words have certainly done the trick now. You can see the clear fury behind his eyes because, of course, out of all the argument’s you’ve put forward today, that was the first time he actually decided to dwell on any of them.

You open your mouth, illy prepared to stumble over some poorly woven excuse you highly doubt he’d believe anyways, but by the time you so much as intake air for this hurried speech, the room suddenly lights up in red as alarms blare in your ears. This puts the whole confrontation on hold, demanding your attention as you instantly realize what these alarms must mean.

"James…"

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