#I’m a lazy artist half the time
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𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕭𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖆
My players finally met Strahd. His introduction was dramatic and resulted in the death of Father Petrovich without giving away too much.
#curse of strahd#strahd von zarovich#dungeons and dragons#I just resused part of another drawing I did of strahd because same angle#I’m a lazy artist half the time#strahd
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It's literally midnight but I had this idea of a hyunjin x reader where the reader is like their makeup artist?? And the reader is just applying lip product to hyunjin and blending it with their finger to like male it look good?? Idkkk this kust randomly popped up in my head and I could find anything for it T-T do you think yoi could maybe make something for this??? ♡
tint
a/n. i hope it meets your expectations!! :D thank you for requesting, it was such a cute idea <3
warnings. damn like once🫡
you slowly wake up, the pleasant smell of coffee in the air. you hummed, turning around just to check if hyunjin is here – and he’s not. you rubbed your eyes and grabbed your phone to check the time… 10:22am?!
while slowly waddling towards the kitchen, slowly pulled over your boyfriend’a hoodie.
peeking inside you notice he’s here, checking something on his phone and a cup of steaming coffee in his other hand.
suddenly he raised his head up, the short hairs falling on his forehead. a smile formed on his lips instantly the second he sees you and he’s putting the mug down as you approach him.
“hi dumpling” you giggled, falling into his arms.
“hello my dear” hyunjin hummed, squeezing your waist gently. you slightly pull away to admire him. the freshly dyed pink hair suit him so much, especially pulled back like that. his face is gently decorated with makeup, almost as if he was too lazy to finish it.
“how was yesterday? i woke up for a moment when you came home, wasn’t it something around 3am?” he asked, leaning over to grab your cup.
you sit down on the chair next to him, nodding tiredly.
“yeah. the photographer wasn’t happy with the results, we were all tired and i had to fix the makeup every single time because we worked with water” you sighed and took the cup from him, nodding as a quiet thank you.
“my poor thing. but i hope you slept well, hm?” hyunjin asked, tilting his head.
his pinkish hair framed his face so prettily, sometimes you wondered how is he even real.
“i did. are you leaving now?” you asked, fighting a yawn.
“i was supposed to but i still need to finish my makeup. i figured you’d want some coffee when you wake up” your boyfriend grinned upon seeing you take a big sip.
you put the cup down and waddled to the bathroom, still not fully awake.
“let me do it for you!” you announced. and hyunjin smirked because that was what he was hoping for.
“sure, whatever!” he answered you, dramatically rolling his eyes when you came back.
you put your makeup supplies on the countertop, grabbing his chin gently. he wrapped his arms around your waist, looking at you with doe eyes.
you worked quickly since you knew he was on schedule. besides, it was just a light makeup and he already did half of the job for you.
you grabbed the lip tint and hyunjin pulled you even closer.
“open your mouth” you commanded. he listened and you put a bit of the tint on your fingertip, applying it on his lips. when it dried, you applied another layer on the middle part of his lips. you blended it and pulled away to take a look of the outcome but hyunjin pulled you back in. as you could predict, he placed a tender kiss on your lips. he smiled softly into the kiss before pulling away.
“damn, i think i smudged it. can you apply it again?” hyunjin sent you a sweet smile, his eyes, however, were sparkling with mischief. you both knew how it’s going to end.
he arrived to the meeting late and with slightly puffy lips. (“yeah, uh, i think i’m allergic to one of y/n’s tints or something…”)
[ masterlist <3 ]
taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6rr ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccountt ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @gyudiarys
#skz#skz fluff#stray kids#stray kids fluff#stray kids imagines#skz soft hours#hyunjin fluff#skz hyunjin#hyunjin stray kids#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin#hyunjin drabbles#blue jisungs's requests#skz drabble#skz scenarios#skz fic#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz x reader#hyunjin x you#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x y/n#skz imagines
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You and your half-werewolf boyfriend ghost trade pics while he’s on mission
18+++
M4m
This is updated thanks to a comment, artist is @ave661
Another werewolf one!!!! You guys love these ones, Half-werewolf tho, same stuff applies like it did in my previous one, doesn’t look like one, still has the knot and wolf cock, I just like to clarify. This whole story will probably be through them texting so I’ll probably use some text slang and emojis to make it better, it’s not because I’m lazy I swear, lol. Enjoy!!! And yes, the reader is a femboy, i really wanted to do a femboy one, so here it is
Ghost is on another long mission, you two haven’t seen each other in person for weeks, haven’t sucked, haven’t fucked, and you haven’t seen that beautiful cock of his, so you two have started trading pics when you get free time. He shows yours too his team(with your consent) he loves to show off his femboy boyfriend.
On a boring Wednesday evening you sit in front of the tv, watching your favorite anime(Jojo’s), until you hear your phone vibrate on the table next to you. You grab it as quick as you can and look at it, it’s ghost!!!! It’s been days since you two talked, you immediately see a sexy photo of his abs he sent(see cover photo).
Reader-“oh ghost, fuck”
You say as you stare at the picture and start to reach down too put your hand in your pants, past the chastity cage ghost had you put on so you couldn’t jerk off till he got back. You start prodding and tracing your asshole as you look at the photo when another text comes in
Ghost-“you like that love? Playing with your boy pussy yet lol”
You stare at the text and giggle a bit, he knows you too well. You text back
Reader-“yeah babe I am. Wanna see my lil cage and boy pussy🥰”
Your heart pounds as you pull off your pants and wait for him to respond, thinking of how to take the picture, especially since you know he’ll show his team, he loves showing you off and you love when he does.
Ghost-“course love, give it to me and I’ll give you a reward”
You get up and rush over to your standing mirror you have, because of course you do, you almost trip over your pants that are still on your ankles. When you get to the mirror you lay on the ground and lift your legs and hold them as far back as you can, making sure your chastity cage, swollen balls, and tight asshole are on full display, with some very flexible moves on your part, you take the picture in the mirror and send it to him.
Ghost-“hell love, you are just so bloody hot, your hole wants my knot so bad right?”
Reader-“yeees, please show me🍆💦🫵”
Ghost-“lol”
He then send you a picture of his full, red, throbbing hard cock, and his beautiful knot, you always love how it feels when it’s inside you. You reach down to touch yourself again, now fingering your asshole a bit, imagining him in you, pumping all his seed into you, trying to make you have his pups. Even though he can’t get you pregnant, that doesn’t mean he won’t try his damndest. His knot always feels so good, locking you two together as he paints your insides white, sometimes he even plays with your cock, just to overstim you as much as he can.
Reader-“fuck, that’s so hot 🥵, I’m touching myself right now babe”
Ghost-“really? Send me a vid”
You sit down on the couch again and lift your legs a bit to show off you fingering yourself while you think of him. It takes him a few minutes to respond as he presumably watches your video on repeat as he touches himself. After a bit he sends you video of his cock, now leaking precum from its tip as his knot throbs, he also talk in the video.
Ghost” god love, you’re so fucking hot, I’m already leaking, the team loved it too”
He pans the video over to his team who are sitting near him also jerking off for you, as you finger yourself you cum through your cage as you see the rest of his team with there cocks out for you. You take another picture and send it to him.
Reader-“seeing you and your teams cocks made me cum babe”
Ghost-“lol, I’ll be home in a few days, I might bring a few friends if you want”
Reader-“I mean, if they really want to, and you’re ok with it, I wouldn’t mind having some more cocks to play with”
Looks like In a few days you’re gonna get to know ghosts team, very intimately, and you couldn’t be more excited, you start fingering yourself again.
#18+ only#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#smut#ghost x reader#m4m#monster smut#simon riley x reader#werewolf#werewolf smut#gay#simon riley smut#ghost x male reader
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Those Eyes - Rafayel
Pairing: Rafayel x Reader
Warnings: None.
Summary: Rafayel takes up on your offer to hang out and something of his catches your eye.
Word Count: 1k
For all Rafayel complained about hunter’s lack of refinement, you were quite an avid reader. He watched you get through half of your book in one afternoon, brows creased in concentration.
It was something fantastical, a journey amongst strangers with a common goal who would later become friends.
He supposed that if the core of you could be described by a book, it would be something like that.
Meanwhile, he had been painting —not studying you and following your mannerisms like a total weirdo, not at all.
Since that time you had realized your face was on his canvas —he underestimated your artistic eye— he had settled for details. Pieces of you he could keep only for himself.
His current work had the expressiveness of your eyes, it swirled in the color of your irises and dipped into your pupils.
To most, it probably appeared abstract, perhaps sand slipping down or crashing waves, the bark of a tree, a midnight sky.
To him, it was another attempt at unraveling you. He wanted to find the soft center of who you were, brush against your sharp side.
There was a secret at the edge of your lips and he wanted to hear all about it.
He imagined that kissing you would feel like drifting at sea, fresh water easing the blazing sun as all earthly burdens dissolved into salt water.
And yet, here he was, sitting across from you, making a total fool of himself.
“You know, I met the author,” he feigned nonchalance, gesturing at the book cradled between your hands. “Had a nasty habit of interrupting people.”
“As opposed to talking all the time?” You raised an eyebrow, smirking to yourself. You were way too smug about your own jokes.
“You know, there was a time when you were actually polite to me.”
“It wasn’t you, per se. It was AI you.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” He shrugged.
Your gaze drifted from him to the canvas.
“I like your painting,” you praised, uncharacteristically. “I don’t know why, but it feels like longing.”
Rafayel felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. He coughed.
“You think?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, resting your cheek against your hand, draped over his sofa like a lazy cat. “Are you going to auction it?”
“No.” His reply was visceral and much too quick, enough for you to perk up, and close the book on your lap.
It was his eternal curse; when he wanted you to pay attention to him, you ignored him. When he wanted you to pay him no mind, you were like a hound dog on his trail.
“Why is that?” You feigned to be casual.
“Artistic reasons you wouldn’t begin to understand,” he primly smiled at you.
“Uh huh.”
You stood from the sofa, stretching a little before coming to sit by his side on the stool. It was a tight fit.
He liked everything about it.
How cozy you looked, out of your hunter’s uniform, barefoot and dressed comfortably. The way sunlight bathed down your hair like a cascade of gold.
Most of all, he enjoyed the openness in your gaze when it met his.
“What if I want to buy it?” You pouted. “Not even a painting for your bodyguard?”
Rafayel felt himself blushing.
“This?” He scoffed. “You have seen nothing yet, Miss Bodyguard. I’ll make you a painting the size of your bedroom wall.”
“I don’t care about the size.”
His eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Dick.” You slapped his arm.
He laughed.
“You make it too easy. Give me a week and I’ll have something for you,” he offered.
“But I want this painting.”
Rafayel was mystified.
An idea surged.
He smiled beatifically at you. You narrowed your eyes.
“Alright. I’ll give it to you under one condition.”
“I’m not posing naked for you.”
“Yeesh, what kind of artists have you met before? It’s nothing like that.”
He felt just a bit scandalized, and if the idea of you posing for someone else made something ugly sprout at his chest, then it was nobody’s business.
“Then what is it?” You pressed, impatience laced into your voice.
He leaned closer, until you could discern the light freckles grazing his cheeks.
“Tell me why you want it.”
You blushed furiously, sliding away from him in an instant.
“I told you, didn't I? I like it.”
Rafayel pressed closer, positively glowing at the opportunity to tease you.
“Why do you like it then?”
He smelled like a fresh breeze, and every time he was near, you swore you could hear a distant song over crashing waves.
He was driving you insane.
“Fine.” You shifted closer to him, a silent challenge.
It might have been your imagination, but his pupils seemed to dilate. “I want it because… I know what it is.”
“Oh, yeah?” He asked, openly curious.
His breath brushed your cheek, a reminder of the strawberries he had been eating absentmindedly while working.
You kept your attention nailed to the swirls of color. They harmonized, brought each other to life in a way that was both fantastical and realistic.
“I can recognize my own eyes, Rafayel.”
This time he was the one to blush furiously, quickly stuttering: “Narcissistic much?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You wish.”
He choked back another cough. Dressing himself on his flirty bravado.
“And what if it were? Why would you want a painting of your eyes?”
“I like the way you made them so expressive.” You looked down and mumbled: “How they feel.”
“About what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, fish boy.”
“Admit it, you’re just obsessed with me.”
You scoffed.
“I’m not the one crafting paintings of you.”
Rafayel offered you a look filled with promises of trouble. Beneath the sunlight his irises seemed more rouge than mauve, they were like a sunset reflected over sea water.
“But I bet you fantasize about it.”
“That made no sense.”
“For someone who wants something from me, you’re being incredibly crass,” he complained. “You’re definitely getting nothing.”
-
The next day he gifted you the painting and refused to let you pay for the delivery.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace rafayel#rafayel x you#rafayel x reader#love and deepspace fic
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< event m.list┆inside their phones
characters: vil, leona, cater
details: gn!reader / i forgot to verify vil sorry T-T
﹫cater diamond
the cringiest but sweetest boyfriend ever. I’M SORRY he’s trying to be the boy of your dreams but he’s flopping. he loves u so much though, so ignore how cheesy he is and appreciate that he’s gotten into all your favourite music artists :(
he adds a gazillion heart emojis by your contact name and it changes everyday because he can’t stick with one
he may be cringe but he is free
anyone who follows him on any sort of social media groans whenever he posts. it’s 99% of the time going to be him gushing about you. at least half of the school know how in love he is with you — his highlights on magicam can attest to that…
he’s the type of guy to share how long your facetime calls are with everyone (they last HOURS.. sometimes you guys don’t even talk, you just like being in each other’s presence. you’re too lazy to go see each other in person)
overall an amazing boyfriend, always making sure you know you’re loved. please do the same for him too!! you know, for when he feels a little low.
﹫ vil schoenheit
subtly flaunts your relationship but nobody knows who you are. it’s like the world’s biggest mystery. “Who Is Dating Vil Schoenheit?” trends online every few weeks
he’s gatekeeping you but he’s also showing you off?? like??? brags about you on his story but doesn’t say enough for anyone to connect the dots
if you eventually make it to his magicam page, just know you have won at life. this will be your biggest accomplishment. he’ll be super serious about the whole situation, since he’s exposing your relationship to a ton of fans; he doesn’t want you to feel overwhelmed or pressured by the exposure
he might start managing your social media account as well. you both have matching themes <3
﹫ leona kingscholar
leona does not use social media.
he’s just terrible with a phone overall, he forgets he has it on him and you guys miss each others’ calls. prefers when you’re with him in person because he can’t use these stupid apps!
in fact, he only made a magicam account so you could tag him in your posts.
people keep thinking you’re single, he got irritated
he also finds himself stalking your page every week or so because he’s wondering why he’s never seen any of these photos you’ve been posting??
and who on earth is taking these photos of you? why isn’t he the cameraman?
denies that he stalks your page even though you’re certain he has post notifications on because he’s always first like. (he doesn’t know any other magicam function)
once you let him on your phone and he accidentally started a live
he was half-asleep and shirtless. he couldn’t find the end live button so he switched off your phone and threw it. it was the talk of the school for a LONG time
trivial things like magicam are just a waste of time for him, he’d rather not
<-
#event・recently deleted 🗑#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst smau#twst texts#twst fake texts#cater x reader#cater diamond x reader#leona x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#🐾・/ rggie twst
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hi <3 id like to request larry johnson smut. i have this idea of just like laying around being lazy with him, talking about his art, music, maybe even smoking a little. as he’s comfortably rambling with you, he keeps trailing off getting distracted by looking at you. he starts grabbing at your thighs (super obsessed with them) and listing off phrases of adoration about you. just overall super lovey, entranced by you, almost can’t help himself but just being all over you. just some guilty pleasure lazy lovey smut plss 😭😭
Sorry for taking so long I was in art block for a hot minute, long intro,fluff,love making smut >>
•oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO*•oO*•o
The Artist’s muse
Art credit: @deordah on instagram
You woke up begrudgingly to the buzz on your phone. The rectangular light emitted shadowed your bewildered, but sleepy features as you grasp your phone with your eyes still closed. Once you could lift the weight of your eyelids you could just see a text from your boyfriend.
‘Come to my room, I need your help.’
You muster a groan before slugging off the bed before putting on some more appropriate pjs to where before sliding on some fluffy slippers and exiting your apartment to trudge into his. Times like this you feel grateful that you live in the same complex as your lover.
The elevator shuddered and reeked of cigarettes and mildew finally stopped and you exited. Softly opening is shared apt door to not wake his mom up with the spare key she gave you a couple months back. In her words Larry made too much noise trying to sneak you in himself than you actually coming normally.
You lock the door behind you and shuffle to his bedroom. The deafening silence of your slippers and his music looming vibrations into the thin wall made you feel almost invisible like a ghost. The familiar smell of burning marijuana and incense filled your nose.
You open his door and slide in to close it behind you. He hadn’t notice your presence yet. You spotted his figure behind a canvas atop of his big easily that also blocked the door way. Most likely the cause of him not noticing you come in. His vinyl player playing a more low and somber tone in contrast of the typical metallic death metal.
You scooted to the side, he still doesn’t notice you. But now you see he’s hyper-focused and high painting something. You see the shapes and color of a figure but you can’t tell what it is yet. You see him put down his paint brush with his brows furrowed as he takes another hit from his blunt, reaching for his phone.
‘Hurry up’
‘I’m right next to you dumby.’
You waited for text to deliver, to ping his phone, and to fully read your one sentence before lifting his head up like a barn owl. You see him jump in his stool and almost fall back. “Jesus fuck, sals a bad influence on you, you know that?” You chuckle at his response and move closer, hugging his tall frame as an apology. “What did you need help with larva.” Larva was the nick name you gave him because you grimaced every time you used larr-bear. Larva being way cuter you argued. You boyfriend who had mixed feelings about being compared to a worm, got back to what he wanted to say.
“I need you to pose for me, I wanna paint ya.”
You paused and looked at him, looking in his features to decipher if he was messing with you or not. His eyes stared back at yours with honesty and the white of his eyes a more pink from weed.
He then wrapped his arms around you to pick you up. You wide eyed and flattered at first, now flustered and in the air. “How bout,no..actually hold on.” He muttered before he flopped you on the bed with heist as he rearranges the position of his easel. You were torn with emotion. Flattered that your boyfriend wanted to paint you, but tired because it’s almost two and half in the morning.
You steal the neglected blunt off his nightstand as he fumbled with his pants. Still lit and burning you inhale while just accepting what’s happing. Still half asleep as you stare off into space. “You’re so pretty you know that?” His voice dipping an octave with his brush against the canvas. “I’m tired.” You almost whispered, even talking normally felt like too much work right now. “I mean it, you’re so fucking beautiful.” You say nothing unintentionally,zoned out from sleep deprivation and the slow high as you inhaled the blunt with your lips touching the rolled up paper.
You’re unsure how much time has passed. Your mind brought back to Larry when you no longer hear the brush strokes and music from the player suddenly click off. You observe him turn of the lights, but still seeing his silhouette shuffle toward you. Climbing in the bed quietly, the light of your blunt being the only light emitting from the room.
He sits closer to you,not saying a word, but you can tell what he is doing. You give him the blunt, he cranes his head. you cup his cheek with your free hand and place the joint to his lips with your other hand. You two shared the dwindling blunt until it was just bits of burnt paper. Breathing smoke from his mouth into yours, feeling as if you’re sucking his soul.
“I love you.” He said. His head coming to rest on your shoulder as you put your hands around his neck. “I love you too, don’t ever wake me up this late again.” You hear his sudden chuckle, feeling his dopey smile on your skin. “I’m sorry, just miss you.” He continued. Pulling down your pj pants with your underwear. “You see me everyday.” You entertained him as you pulled his shirt off. “I know.” He huffed. Taking off your shirt he gave you years ago.
“I just want you here, I want your heart.. Your attention, I wanted to hear your voice. I don’t know how to put it. I even miss the smell of your clothes.”
He uttered through whispers. Shuffling his pants off to kick them away. Kissing the shell of your ear down to your neck. Hands on your waist as his legs intertwined with yours.
“I need you.”
He grabbed the lube from that laid on the covers from a couple nights before. Pouring a generous amount on his shaft. You lock his waist between you with your legs. He rubbed his cock between your folds,heat already emitting from the both of you. The squelching sound made by your mixture of slick and lube coating your lips as his tip plays with your sensitive clit. You let out a shuddered whimper from the teasing, earning a chuckle from the man above you. He then inserted the head in, pausing to give you time to adjust before sinking his length in. His thickness was something you never got used to, no matter how many times you two were together. He bottomed out with a huff. Pausing again to give you time to adjust. You ran your hands through his hair to signal him to go. He slowly thrusted but thoroughly pressed into your core when he made contact. Now spouting endless praise and encouragement to you. “You so fucking hot, fuck, your pussy is so good I could fuck you forever. Your noises are so fucking cute too. I love you so much baby you don’t even know.” He sped up to where you could hear the plaps and squelching of your skin together. Inching closer and closer before you were about to climax. “Larry I’m close-“ you could only warn too soon before you felt your legs spasm and shake as you gush around his cock. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck as he chased his high, thrust coming to a sloppy rhythm as he pumped his cum I side you, filling your pussy until it was spilling out as he pulled out.
“We can clean up tomorrow morning.” He exhaled, still lying on top of you as he drew the blanket covers over the two of you. “I love you.” You whispered with soft huffs. “Love you too.” He said, falling asleep with your arms around him.
#sally face#larry johnson fluff#larry johnson x reader smut#sally face larry x reader#larry johnson x reader#larry johnson sally face#sally face larry#larry x reader#larry johnson
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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), mutual masturbation, cowgirl position, PTSD episode, suggestive themes, canon-typical swearing, canon-typical violence
Word Count: 5.3k
A/N: Part Eight of Ink & Needle
Simon's pleasure turns to worry. Amelia wants to know Simon's intentions with you. Soap makes an unexpected call.
Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist
Happiness is subjective.
What makes someone happy? Is it the amount of money they have? Is it the first sip of freshly made tea? Is it the sound of summer rain or the smooth pages of a freshly bought book?
It could be all of those things. And it could be none of them.
Simon knows what makes him happy.
Cracking open a fresh bottle of ink for the first time. The sharpening of the end of a charcoal stick to use in his sketchbook. Johnny’s terrible fucking jokes that Simon pretends to hate but silently loves. And…you.
Simon has you. You are his, and no one can take that away from him. It’s warm under the sheets. Perfect. And that’s because you’re here, with him, just as you’re supposed to be.
Which is strange since Simon hasn’t seen you in three days. And somehow, you’re snuggled up next to him, snoozing beneath the covers. He doesn’t recall you coming over last night, but maybe he had one too many drinks. Maybe it slipped his mind and he was half-awake when you finally arrived back into his arms.
Simon shifts, the bedding moving around him as he turns his face to the left, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of you seeps into his nostrils, flooding his lungs and senses with peaceful contentment.
This is home. This is where he should be, and where you ought to stay.
Simon sighs heavily, a smile forming on his lips as you respond to him, snuggling into his side. To make room, Simon lifts the arm nearest you, stretching the ache out before slipping it between you and the bed. He drapes it over your shoulders, pulling you even closer to him. Your answer is to rest your leg over his, and for your hand to fall softly against his bare chest. Simon immediately grabs it, bringing your knuckles up to his lips.
He kisses each bone gently before returning your palm to its previous position. You hum softly, the sound pleasing, blood rushing to his groin with his need for you.
This is all Simon wants. This is all he needs. You are in his bed. You are his woman.
Finally. Fucking finally.
Happiness. Simon requires nothing else.
Your fingers draw slow circles over his chest. They trace his tattoos there, following the lines and dips in a lazy, unhurried fashion that lull Simon back into the state between wakefulness and sleep. Simon’s eyelids flutter, then close, reveling in your touch.
Soothed and pliant, your hand travels lower to his stomach. There it pauses to draw little circles, moving back up to his chest and then down again, moving lower to his pelvis, to his—
Simon groans as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. “What are you up to, love?”
Your reply is a muffled giggle, and to stroke him once, twice, three times. Simon’s fingers dig into your skin, pushing for an answer with a possessive grip to your waist. You turn your face into him, lips finding his flesh, brushing against skin as you continue to work him with your hand.
Simon’s eyelids open slightly, and he watches you through his pale lashes. There is a soft, mischievous smile on your lips and your hair is a tousled mess that he wants to run his fingers through. You’re so beautiful like this. And all fucking his.
“I’m pleasing my man,” you murmur, thumb brushing over the head.
There might be sheets covering up the sight of you palming him, but Simon doesn’t need to see to understand your touch. While you’re not working quickly, there is purpose to each stroke, and it’s becoming harder and harder for Simon to ignore the growing pleasure in the base of his spine.
My man is what you said. Simon belongs to you as much as you belong to him. A deep, primal part of Simon flares with pride. He needs to claim you, to fucking ruin you until all you know is his name.
Simon shifts his arm from across your shoulders to over your hips. His hand slides across the curve of your ass, dips between your slightly spread legs to tease the entrance of your pussy with the tip of his fingers. Your little inhale is sweet. Sugar-laced. And Simon lets it rot his teeth.
He fingers slide upward, circle your clit in little circles until your strokes faulter and your hips buck against him. Simon adjusts his hand position so he can fuck you with his fingers as he toys with your clit.
Together. The two of you are together. Your hand continues to palm him, pulling blooms of cum from the slit. While you’re pleasing him, Simon is more attuned to your body surrendering to him, allowing his fingers inside, stretching and prepping that pussy for his cock.
Simon is going to take you. And he is going to fucking enjoy it.
Your body shivers, and you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling the little moan that threatens to leave your mouth. That small sound is delicious even though he’d rather hear you scream for him.
The muscles in Simon’s arms and legs are coiled tight, ready to push you onto your back and spread you wide. He’s going to make a goddamn mess of you.
But it is not Simon that makes the first move. It is not Simon that takes the initiative.
You sit up completely, swinging one leg over his waist to straddle him. You settle yourself in his lap, his cock resting against the inside of your thigh with silent impatience. Instinct has Simon reaching for your hips and thighs, intent on gripping and massaging the skin there.
Yet he does not have the chance.
You are lifting your legs up, bending the knees, resting your feet flat on the bed. Confused at first, Simon’s hands fall away, hovering near your shins. But that confusion quickly disappears when you open for him fully, revealing yourself entirely to his gaze.
Simon licks his lips wanting to taste every bit of your pussy. That stickiness needs to be on his lips and chin. His mouth deserves to worship you, and for you to receive such prayer. You open like a blooming flower, your head tilted slightly to the side as you watch him.
Your gaze is all primal need and wanton lust. It fuels his own desire, charges it to a blistering height. With one hand on your knee, Simon reaches between your spread thighs. You whimper as his fingers run over your slickness. It collects and drips off the tips of Simon’s fingers. Greedily, Simon brings his drenched fingers to his lips, sucking them clean one by one.
“Gonna give me what I want?” murmurs Simon, resting his freshly cleaned fingers on his chest.
“Asking me to sit on your face?” you tease, flexing your hips slightly.
Simon grins. “Breakfast in bed? You’re too sweet to me.” His hand on your knee slides up, grips the thigh, pulls.
You tumble into his arms and Simon snakes his arms around your waist to keep you from escaping. Laughing, you lightly beat on his chest. But you are caught, unable to break free from Simon’s ironclad strength. You submit to him, and Simon flares with pride. Everything he needs is right here.
With your forearms on his chest, you lean forward and present your mouth. Simon eagerly takes your lips, not caring that both of you need to brush your teeth. You smile against his mouth and then draw back a bit. You look just as you did before while curled up next to him, all gentle mischievousness.
With palms flat against his chest, you push back into a seated position. You reach down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, flexing your hips upward. With just the slightest shift of your hips, the head of Simon’s cock presses to your entrance.
Simon’s hands immediately dart out to grab hold of those hips. In moments, you’re sinking down on him, parting, opening up and welcoming him inside. You’re tight and wet and goddamn perfect as more of him disappears.
The muscles in Simon’s jaw clench, and his left hand leaves your hip to run through his hair. To—
Run through his hair? His…hair.
No mask. No balaclava. You’ve never seen him without it. You haven’t—
“Fuck,” Simons groans loudly as you push down on his chest to flex your hips up and back down on him. You lift, roll, go back down. Again. Again. And again, until you’ve taken every fucking inch of him.
Forget the fucking mask. He’ll deal with it later. Right now, you’re his priority.
Your hands on his chest slide upward and stop at the base of Simon’s throat. You’re not choking him, just pressing on his collarbone, using Simon as an anchor while you fuck yourself on his cock.
Even if you were choking him, Simon could give a shit. Break his goddamn collarbone. Choke him out. He’d love to see you try. You wouldn’t have the strength to do it, but watching you like this above him, riding him and using him for your pleasure is its own sick fantasy.
Simon could get used to this. If this is how you want to start the day, he’ll take it.
“Say my name,” growls Simon, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Say it.”
His dick is glossy, disappearing and reappearing with every bounce and roll of your hips. There is no condom, and that too his strange, like the missing balaclava and the fact that you are in his bed this morning.
Your head falls back, exposing your neck. “Ghost,” you moan, and Simon freezes.
Ghost. Ghost.
You called him Ghost at Riot Room. You called him Ghost when his cock was buried deep inside you. You called him Ghost when your orgasm sent you shaking in his lap, squeezing him until his own end came.
But you don’t call him Ghost now. You call him Simon. He told you to call him that now, and you have ever since.
Your nails dig into his skin. Cutting. Stinging.
“Ghost,” you whimper. This time, there is pain in the way you say his name.
Something is wrong.
Your nails drag away from his throat and to his chest, leaving behind jagged lines of red. Heat flares, but he’s not focused on it. Simon keeps one hand on your hip and pushes himself up to a more seated position. He longer cares or is interested in you fucking yourself on him.
He says your name, one hand reaching for you. There is no pleasure on your face. No joy. There are tears and your eyes are wide open, bloodshot.
The one hand he has touching you sinks into your skin, the flesh melting underneath it like sludge. Simon blinks, not understanding. Why are you melting? Why are you fucking melting?
Simon says your name again, sitting up completely, his arm going to your back to support your rapidly dissolving weight. Because that is what happens. Like ice cream in the sun, your skin disintegrates, and Simon cannot hold on to you.
You slip through his fingers.
“No,” whispers Simon. Then, louder, “No!”
Simon continues to call out to you, almost screaming, his voice laced with agony. It drips from him, but you are unresponsive. Sinking, sinking into murk.
It is growing dark and Simon shoves himself forward in an attempt to salvage the last remaining vestiges of you.
But you are not there. He does not cradle you in his arms. Simon cradles a sniper rifle. All black and shiny. Polished.
There is no bedroom and no warm bed. It is cold, and his breath becomes steam in the air. Simon knows this place. It’s Chicago. And in Chicago, Simon kneeled on the top of a building with this very weapon in hand. At the end of the barrel, in Simon’s sight, is where Hassan and Johnny should be.
But the building is blocked, obscured by a massive figure crouching on the ledge like a stone gargoyle. Simon stares at a skull face. A reaper. Grinning.
It’s teeth and bone face are white and shiny, but between those pearly incisors are flecks of red. Dried blood.
Death grins at Simon.
Mocks him.
The reaper reaches out with one boney hand, gripping the end of the barrel. It opens its mouth, flashing its teeth, then bites down on the firing end. It gnaws on the metal. Chewing, chewing like its teeth are steel.
Johnny is across the street being tossed around by Hassan.
This reaper needs to fucking move. Simon needs to take the shot.
You can’t save Johnny.
But Simon did. He knows he did. This is the past. It’s already happened.
You can’t save him. You can’t save Gaz. You can’t save Price.
Bloody salvia drips around the reaper’s teeth, running down the length of the barrel.
You can’t save them. Just like you couldn’t save your brother. Just like you couldn’t save your mother.
Simon’s finger tightens on the trigger.
“Lt. The window,” crackles Johnny’s voice over the comm channel.
The reaper chomp chomp chomps. Grins.
“The window!”
Dead brother. Dead mother. Dead friends.
Simon pulls back on the trigger.
The shot is an explosion. The back of the reaper’s head blows outward only to become a raging inferno. Flames lick upward, so high it seems impossible. Everything around Simon burns. His back and arms ache, throb, the old wounds opening up to remember just how he got them.
Before the towering inferno is a dark figure. It’s just a man’s back at first. An outline. A silhouette. But he turns, keeps turning, and Simon sees the figure for who it is.
It’s him. It’s fucking him.
The handle of Simon’s favorite knife sticks out of the man’s chest. The man grins, and blood stains his teeth. He wobbles, stumbles, moving closer to the precipice.
This man does not deserve a name. Simon will not speak it, not even silently.
Time pauses in suspense as the man falls backward into the flames. Simon’s back and arms are screaming their own song of sorrow as the nerves in his skin singe. This is the moment. This is the hour. This memory is a brand. A tattoo.
A fucking swamp.
Simon smells charred skin, but he’s not sure if it’s his own or his fallen enemy. The flames rage, widen. Over the crackling of the fire, he hears a gunshot. Then another. Then, another. The sound warps, lengthens, and the flames become smooth like Simon is seeing them through a fogged mirror.
The shot comes again but it’s—it’s not that.
The sound repeats and Simon frowns.
It’s…a dog?
Simon blinks. The flames recede as if suctioned through a small hole. Simon blinks again.
He is staring at a wall. A familiar wall. It’s Simon’s bedroom. He’s in his flat above the tattoo parlor. He is in his bedroom. He is in his bed.
Simon tells himself this. Repeats it.
His cheeks sting and his eyes ache.
A sweeping wave of anxiety rushes up Simon’s back and into his chest, tightening his throat. The sound that escapes Simon is cracked, a choked sob. He leans his elbows on his knees and places his hands over his face.
Breathing. Hyperventilating. Wanting to scream. Needing to rage.
Bravo’s wet nose presses against the underside of Simon’s bicep. Simon does not respond. He does not react. Bravo whines, and forces his way in, sliding his large head under Simon’s arm to rest against his chest.
These episodes are always the worst, the ones that creep up when Simon least expects it. But that isn’t the only thing bothering him. Simon hasn’t relived the moment his entire career ended for almost a year. That memory doesn’t—shouldn’t—bother him anymore. Yet, something triggered it.
He doesn’t want to admit it to himself. He doesn’t want to entertain the idea of why. It’s no coincidence that it started with you and ended with him. That man is dead. Fucking gone. And yet Simon thought he saw him on Monday morning. Just loitering across the street from where you and Simon were enjoying breakfast.
At the time, Simon dismissed it, believing his mind was playing some cruel joke.
Simon’s fingers drag over his scalp and then down his face. Sighing, he finally gives in, falls back against the bed.
Bravo snuggles in close and Simon drapes his arm over the dog’s back. “I’m ace, Bravo. Give me a minute.”
Simon blocks out everything, focusing on steadying his breathing. He doesn’t move again until his hands stop shaking.
Groaning, Simon sits up again, and Bravo leaps off the bed, heading for the open bedroom door. While he aches as he always does, some of the usual pain is numb, like his body is more concerned about his psyche than his physical ailments.
Pushing through the soreness, Simon starts his morning as he always does, moving through his routine as a way to steady his mind. It works…enough. Some of that lingering anxiousness burrows down into his bones. He’ll likely be on edge all fucking day.
It’s Thursday, and Simon hasn’t seen you since Monday morning.
He’s been busy, but he also doesn’t have your damn phone number. If he were still SAS, he’d have your number before you’ve even given it to him. Simon is trying to be better than that. Some things are just habit like when he broke into Riot Room the next morning after you ran from him. Simon was ready to hunt you down and drag you to his bed.
While a piece of him would fucking bark at the opportunity to chase you down, Simon knows better. He needs to do all of this differently. He needs to be careful. To not scare you away or be too overbearing.
In the kitchen, Simon frowns down at his dining table. It’s covered in torn out pages from his sketchbook. After work, he stays up late creating design after design, not particularly liking any of them. He wants them to be perfect for you, but none of them stand out to him, and your approval is the only thing he’s after.
Turning his back on them, Simon glances at his phone, checking the time. It’s still plenty early before he needs to officially open the shop. There is still time for him to go see you.
Simon taps his knuckles against the wood before making a decision.
Fuck it. He’s going.
“Bravo! Get your leash!” calls Simon over his shoulder. Bravo’s nails clack gently against the floor as he retrieves his leash, bringing it to Simon moments later.
The autumn air is cool but not overly so, and the walk to Amelia’s is brief. Amelia is a nice woman, and since going to the pub every Sunday for almost two years, he’s grown to trust her. He’s fixed a few things for her around her house in exchange for vegetables from her garden.
When Simon strides up to Amelia’s front door, he intends to knock, but pauses just before doing so.
It’s early. What the fuck is he doing? Why would you want to see him at this hour?
Bravo whines softly and places a paw against Simon’s thigh. The German Shepard tips his head to the side in question.
“Fucking hell. Fine.” Simon pounds on the door, dropping his hand into his pocket as he waits for an answer.
There is silence, and it only stretches, the seconds ticking by.
Frowning, Simon knocks again. After waiting a full minute, worry slithers into the pit of his stomach.
Why is no one answering the damn door?
Not questioning his next actions, Simon tries the handle. It turns easily, giving way to him.
The door is unlocked.
The door is unlocked and no one is answering.
Simon stares into the silent house. His body and mind slide into that military training, transitioning into Ghost fluidly. He sinks down to one knee and unlatches the leash from Bravo’s collar. Bravo senses this change, his own training kicking in.
In a near silent whisper, Simon gives Bravo your name, tells him to find you, and Bravo does just that. His nose goes to the ground immediately, sniffing everything, moving in erratic patterns until finally backtracking to the stairs.
Simon nods, and Bravo ascends with Simon on his heels.
At a shut bedroom door, Bravo sits, staring at Simon. There is a tingling in the tips of Simon’s fingers and a thudding beat in his chest. Slowly, Simon rests his gloved hand on the doorknob. Turning it silently, he opens the door, anticipation coiling like a snake ready to strike.
The first thing Simon notices is how much this space smells like you. The scent of you rushes into his lungs, and the memory of the dream flares, threatening to pull at his resolve. The next thing he notices is the made bed and how there is no one in the room.
On quiet feet, Simon enters, his boots leaving impressions in the carpet.
No signs of a struggle. Nothing tipped over or seemingly out of place. There is not a thing in this room that should have him worrying like he is. This is ridiculous. Absurd.
It was just a dream. Just an episode. She is fine.
Simon walks around the side of the bed. Draped over the back of a chair is the sweater you wore on Monday. Delicately, Simon slips his hand underneath the fabric and lifts it off the chair, bringing the sweater closer to him.
He gives in to indulgence, pressing the soft fabric against the bottom half of his balaclava. He inhales deeply, shudders, everything in him roaring to life, wanting to seek you out yet equally angry that it’s a garment and not the real thing.
This has your scent on it, unlike the torn piece of clothing he still keeps in his dresser drawer. But Simon isn’t going to take your sweater. He doesn’t need to because you’re already here, back in his life, and wanting him. Knowing that is enough, but it doesn’t explain why the front door is unlocked and that no one answered when he knocked.
Simon returns the sweater to its original spot and starts to turn back toward the door. A muffled pounding sound draws his attention to the nearby window. Frowning, Simon walks up to it, looking out into the backyard.
There, kneeling next to a raised flowerbed, is Amelia.
“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon.
He storms out of the room, taking the narrow stairs two at a time, Bravo racing after him. Simon passes through the sitting room and kitchen toward the backdoor. He’s not quiet about his arrival.
The door nearly flies off its hinges as Simon bursts through it. He stands on the top step of the stairs, hands on his hips as Amelia glances up from her work.
“Simon,” she says, a little surprised yet with a pleasantness to her tone that says she’s happy to see him.
“Your front door is unlocked,” he growls.
Amelia waves him off like it’s not a big deal. “Forgot to lock up after the girls left. It’s only been a few minutes.”
A few minutes. Simon missed you by a few bloody minutes?
Simon bites back all the questions he wants to ask. He wants to know where you are and for how long. He needs specifics.
“An unlocked door invites danger,” says Simon through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I’m sure it does,” replies Amelia, placing one hand on the edge of the raised garden bed. She pushes herself up to her feet before Simon can get to her and assist. “You know all about danger. Don’t you?”
Amelia knows about Simon’s time in the military but she doesn’t know specifics. Simon knows plenty about her though. Not because he looked up information but because of all the times at Dancing Faun when she’d talk his ear off. Amelia married rich, popped out a bunch of kids, and then divorced rich.
Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “I came to see—”
“I know who you came to see,” interrupts Amelia. “She’s not here at the moment. Left just this morning with Evie. Off to Cambridge for a few days.” Amelia brushes past Simon as she removes her garden gloves. “Come inside and have some tea while you’re here.”
Bravo sits patiently at the top of the stairs, tail wagging. Amelia pats the German Shepard’s head politely before heading inside. Bravo doesn’t even wait for Simon. He follows Amelia into the house.
Grumbling, Simon heads up the stairs and into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He locks it in case Amelia forgets.
Amelia fills the kettle with water and places it on the stove, turning on the heat. Simon doesn’t sit down. He stands awkwardly next to the table.
She notices and nods at a chair. “Sit.” Simon doesn’t. She arches a single eyebrow, and something in Simon obeys without question. Maybe it’s the motherly stare of disapproval, but he complies.
The chair is far too small for his large frame. Simon has to adjust, spreading his legs enough to not feel cramped.
“Why are they in Cambridge?” The question slips out by accident.
Amelia grabs two mugs from a cabinet and shrugs. “If you don’t know, then it isn’t my place to tell you.”
“Amelia—”
“What are your intentions?” Amelia turns around and faces Simon fully.
Simon blinks, completely surprised by her question. “What?” he asks softly.
“I care about Evelyn. And I care about everyone that she cares about. Including the young woman who you’re…entangled with.” Simon understands Amelia’s meaning without her having to spell it out. “I want to know what your intentions are with her.”
Under the table, one of his hands forms a fist.
His intention is to make you his. For you to be his woman. But Simon can’t say that. Amelia is talking about dating. She is talking about marriage and kids and what the future looks like with you.
And in that moment, Simon realizes that he hasn’t thought about any of those things, at least, not in specifics. He’s imagined waking up to you in his bed every morning. He’s thought about what it would be like to have you to come home to at the end of the day.
But for three long years, the only thing Simon has truly thought about, is how to get you back. Now you’re within reach and Simon hasn’t taken a fucking second to even comprehend where or how this will play out.
Has he completely fucked this up? Has he gone about this wrong?
“Your silence is worrying me, Simon.”
Fuck. Was he silent this whole time?
Simon clears his throat. “We’ve only seen each other twice.” It’s a throwaway answer, and Amelia knows it.
She frowns with disappointment. “It’s not my place to tell you why she’s here. That’s for her to tell you when she’s ready.” Amelia sighs. “And I won’t have you mucking her around only to leave her in the mud after you’re done. I won’t have it.”
Tossing you to the side is not an option. Not having you beside him is not an option. Simon will have you. There is no compromise.
The kettle shrieks and, without looking, Amelia grabs the handle and moves it off the stove. “Are we in an understanding, Simon Riley?”
Amelia uses his full name. She only ever calls him Simon.
“We’re clear,” he replies.
Amelia nods. “How do you like your tea?”
“All done.” Simon turns off the gun and sets it down on the metal rolling tray. He takes a wipe to the freshly done tattoo. “Want a photo before I seal it up?” Simon tosses the wipe into the trash can and glances at the man sitting in the chair.
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Simon nods and applies the adhesive bandage over the new ink. It’s perfect work, full of color and intricate lines. He rolls back in his chair, removing his gloves and tossing those in the trash as well. The man in the chair, Leo, adjusts in the seat, sitting up.
At the sink, Simon scrubs his hands. Once done, he grabs a few papers about tattoo aftercare while Leo fishes around in his pockets. When Simon presents the packet, Leo hands Simon his credit card.
With the transaction done, Leo exits, and Simon quickly closes up shop, turning the deadbolts and activating the security system. Bravo still snoozes on the couch, completely oblivious to everything happening around him.
Simon grabs the bottle of sanitizer and sprays down the tattoo chair. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Simon ignores it, continuing to wipe down the chair. The phone cuts off and starts up a few seconds after it ceases.
Again, Simon ignores it.
Again, the phone rings.
“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, tossing the paper towel into the trash and fishing out his phone.
MacTavish the screen reads. A brief flare of panic rises in Simon’s chest.
He answers the call, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Johnny?”
“LT!” Simon pulls the phone away from his head, grimacing from Soap’s piercingly happy tone.
“Stop fucking shouting,” snaps Simon. He swallows and cracks his neck. “And I’m not a lieutenant anymore.”
On the other end of the line, Soap makes a dismissive noise like he doesn’t quite care. “You get my package?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Simon smirks behind the balaclava. “I use the mug every morning.”
Johnny barks a laugh. “Oh aye, Lt. Bet you do.” There’s a rustling on the other end. “You up for a visit?”
“A visit?” asks Simon hesitantly.
“Yeah. Need your advice on something. Captain and Gaz are coming too.”
Simon returns the spray bottle to its designated spot. “Why are you calling me instead of Price?”
“Because if Price called, you’d say no.”
Simon pauses near his desk, and glances at the screen of his laptop. “Can I ask what kind of visit?”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Best not to say over the phone. And we haven’t seen you in months. Plus, Ma keeps asking if you’re coming for Christmas.”
Simon grins. “Is she coming, too? Bringing the whole family with you, Johnny?”
“Oi. Fuck off,” he laughs. “Expect us on Saturday.”
The three of them visiting him sits heavy in his stomach. They’ve all come individually, and a few times in a pair, but never all three. It’s only happened twice before. The first time was directly after Simon’s forced retirement. The second time was when the tattoo parlor first opened and they came to support him. Since then, Price, Gaz, and Soap have all come by on their own for one reason or another.
But not together.
That same anxiety from earlier in the day rears up yet again. Whatever needs to be talked about, whatever the three of them need to say to him in person and not over the phone, worries Simon. It digs its claws in.
Another thought nags at him as well, and Simon cannot let it go. He’s not with SAS anymore, and if he was, he’d do this himself. Johnny would help him, would do this for him if Simon only asks.
Simon exhales slowly. “Johnny, I need a favor.”
Soap’s response is immediate. “Anything, Lt.”
“You remember that woman I chased after? The one at Riot Room.”
Soap is quiet a long moment before he answers. “Aye. I remember.”
He’s not proud of what he’s about to do, but fuck it. “Can you find out what you can about her?” Simon rattles off all the information he has and Soap remains silent the entire time.
“I’ll find out what I can and get back to you,” he says after Simon stops talking.
No. Simon is not proud of asking this of him, but Simon is desperate. He needs to know everything about you. It’s habit, and while a small part of him tells him it’s wrong, Simon pushes it down, smothering the objection.
“Saturday then.”
“Saturday.”
Chapter Seven
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Just Jamie
Jamie Tartt x gn!reader
Request: “I dream of you. All I do is dream of you.”
A/N: omg theo actually wrote something? i hope the anon who requested this likes it, I wanted domesticity and fluff so here it is. this was actually very easy to write, thank you so much for the request!
Request a prompt and a character!
The sun peeked through the curtains of your window, casting a soft glow on anything it touched. The young footballer slowly stretched his muscles, then nestled himself further into your bedsheets, determined to spend as much time with you as he could.
He had to get to training. He knows you’ll tell him when you wake up. You’ll remind him of the big game coming up, always more mindful of his schedule than he is, and he’ll be forced to go back out into the real world. He’d rather just stay here, frozen in time with you.
When he finally does let his eyes open, a lazy grin spreads across his face. You’re wrapped up in a tangle of the bedsheets and Jamie’s limbs, arms wrapped firmly around him, refusing to let him go whilst you sleep. The sun cascades along you, creating a trail from the top of your head, to where the lower half of you disappears beneath the sheets.
Jamie softly runs his fingertips along your cheek, down to your chin, and sighs. He wishes he could have this forever. He remembers last night, the two of you deciding to go back to your place instead of his. He likes yours better honestly. It’s definitely smaller, more welcoming. While Jamie’s walls are lined with expensive art from different artists he couldn’t even remember the names of, yours were filled with posters of your favorite bands, photos of you and those you care about, and even a few Richmond things here and there.
He looks at the wall across from him, his eyes scanning over the photos. One of you Keeley out at dinner, one of you and Dani at an away game. At the end of the line he sees one from the most recent press event the Richmond team had to attend. It’s a photo taken from when Jamie was on the carpet, and had pulled you into his arms. You’re laughing, while Jamie presses a kiss to your cheek.
Jamie knows, he feels more at home when he’s here, with you, than when he’s in his own home.
He feels you stir next to him, slowly pulling your arms off of him. He looks down at you to see you yawn, then look up at him.
“Good morning Jamie.” You smile at him, making his stomach tie itself up in knots.
“Morning love.” He presses his lips to yours.
You push a hand against his chest in an attempt to push him away. “Jamie,” you laugh, “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“I don’t care.” He grins, diving his head down for another kiss.
You let him kiss you this time, wrapping an arm around his neck. He rolls on top of you, the kiss becoming a little more heated.
You hum and push him away again. “Hey, you have training to get to.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “And I have to get up and get to work, and you’re being very distracting right now.”
Jamie smirks at you. “I’m distracting you? How? Like this?” He leans down, now kissing down your neck. You feel your body relax while your heart speeds up. It’s when he bites softly at you that you push him away again.
“Jamie, I’m serious. Roy will have your head if you’re late. Again.” You get up and walk over to your closet, searching through your clothes. “You know, I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you already, what with your inability to get to training on time at least once a week-”
“I love you.”
Jamie’s words make you turn quickly to him. He’s still on your bed, watching you, a soft smile spread across his face, his hair still ruffled from sleep.
“I love you too.” You tell him.
It’s not the first time either of you has professed your love for each other, but every time it happens, both of you melt from joy.
“Do you know what I dreamed about last night?” He asks. You shake your head. “I dreamt of you. All I do is dream of you.”
“Jamie-”
“No, let me finish.” He cuts you off. He gets out of bed, and makes his way over to where you’re standing. “I love you so much. Out there,” he points at your window, “I’m Jamie Tartt. Star footballer. But here? Here I’m just Jamie. I can be just Jamie when I’m with you. And I like it, I really like it.” He nods, leaning his forehead against yours. “And I’d like it to stay that way.”
You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”
“I wanna be with you all the time. Every minute of every day. I want to wake up with you every morning. I want to have dinner with you every night. I want you to be the last person I see before I go to sleep, and the first person I see when I wake up.” His voice gets quiet at the end, afraid that he’s crossed some sort of line. “If you don’t want that, I get it, I just-”
This time it’s you who cuts him off with your lips against his. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him impossibly close to you. He does the same, holding you firmly against his chest.
When you pull away you’re both out of breath, smiling at each other like fools, fools in love.
“I would love that Jamie.” You nod.
He grins pulling you into yet another kiss.
“I guess it’s okay if you’re a little late to training today.” You say against his lips as he pulls you back to the bed.
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happiness looks good on you ー knj
☁️ genre: long-term lovers, estabilished relationship, fluff, kind of domestic!au, namjoon being a supportive husband.
☁️ pairings: husband!kim namjoon x artist!female!reader
☁️ warnings: there aren't any, just joonie being husband material, use of pet names such as jagiya, baby, love.
☁️ word count: 1,7k
☁️ author's note: just a small little thing i had in mind, not my best but i really liked writing this, i hope you like it bubs!!<3
Feedbacks are welcomed !
The brush plopped into the water jar, and a few drops of coloured liquid spilt on the wooden surface. Some ended up on your phone which lit up, the lock screen displaying your favourite picture: you and Namjoon holding a white teddy bear he had won at an amusement park. You remembered that day clearly: it was your first anniversary.
You had captured the moment with a polaroid camera Namjoon had bought as a gift, and you still hadn’t figured out how it worked so the shot came out far too bright. However, looking at that picture years later still brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia: you were both so young, inexperienced, and still seeking to understand each other. Seven years had passed since that day, and so many things had happened: your trip to Bali, rescuing two calico cats and naming them Zelda and Esme, your tour of Europe, and then your marriage.
Your house was full of memories and pictures from your numerous adventures like the one in the Italian Alps where you were too scared to cross a suspended bridge, and Namjoon had to carry you for more than a mile. Or the one in the french Blue Coast when he had mistaken tanning oil for sunscreen so you both had pretty bad sunburns for the entire week.
“I told you to buy sunscreen, Joonie - sunscreen!”
“It is! See, huile de bronzage.” He had panicked showing you the little brown bottle.
“It literally means tanning oil, Namjoon Kim!”
A smile shone on your lips ー reminiscing all of the wonderful memories you had made together. You missed his buzz cut, and how his short hair used to tingle your palms: when you were younger, Namjoon let you dye it in different colours. One time, you had opted for pretty pink flowers, and the dye had stayed on for months.
You loved that he couldn't give a damn about other people's judgement - in fact - he would always brag to his hyungs how talented his girlfriend was. Surely, he would let you know.
"Jagiya, you are so talented. Please dye my hair forever!"
You had majored in arts whereas Namjoon had chosen to open up a travel agency. Initially, it was not easy for either of you: you had only each other's support and getting through the month was always difficult.
Namjoon stayed out late to advertise his shop, but despite this he would always stay up all night watching you finalise one of your paintings, making sure to bring you a glass of water about every half hour because "it's important to stay hydrated when you are working hard."
He would try his best to stay awake by telling you about his day, showering you with compliments and then attempting to analyse what you were painting. You would quietly listen to him, some mhmh's and mhh's in response and occasionally interrupt his chatter to tell him to get some rest. Yet each time he reiterated the same phrase: 'I'll stay awake as long as you do, love'.
And so within minutes he would fall asleep on the couch and you would bring a blanket and a pillow for him to be comfortable.
But now, his hair had grown out and you had practically lost the sparks you usually felt when you painted. Finishing a canvas was now something you had to do - and really didn't enjoy at all.
“You have one month, Y/N. Then I will shred the contract to pieces, understood?”
You listened in silence as your boss complained over the phone, her voice a few octaves higher.
“I mean, what happened to you? Do you think I pay lazy and unmotivated people? Our company seeks talent and commitment, and I’m afraid you no longer have any of these requirements.”
You sharply inhaled pinching the bridge of your nose, back resting against the chair as Namjoon stood right behind you, he too in silence. His hands were placed on your shoulders, which he stroked softly.
“I understand, Mrs Han. I am working on a piece at the moment, and I swear that it will be done in less than a month-”
You took all of your courage to speak - that woman truly scared you. Ms Han was the director of the agency you worked for, whose aim was to sell artwork at a premium price. She was a fifty-year-old woman with a passion for belittling her employees and underpaying them.
“No more promises, I don’t care. I just want that piece at the end of this month.” She interrupted you, and you sighed.
Just know that this is your last chance.”
And just like that she hung up, leaving you lost in a limbo of disbelief and terror: you could not afford to lose this job.
Yes, it probably wasn't the best job on the planet, but you hadn't yet realised your dream of opening your own atelier, and this company - although not particularly ethical - was a sure ticket to gaining a small amount of notoriety in the industry.
“Wow, what a bitch.” Namjoon proclaimed breaking the silence and bringing a small smile to your lips.
“Damn right she is.”
You groaned, squinting your eyes shut, before running your hands down your face - in a gesture of sheer exasperation. “I could end her whole career if I wanted to.”
“Then do that, baby. You have nothing to lose, she does.”
You let your head fall back, resting it on the chair, finally meeting your boyfriend's gaze. He was smiling, and his dimples looked so adorable you wanted to squeeze his cheeks.
“Um, probably my job, Joonie?”
“Yeah, that’s a good point.”
Namjoon leaned forward until you were close enough to look directly into his eyes, then left a soft kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes, savouring that brief moment of tranquillity. His attention then shifted to the canvas in front of you - a few lines of red paint already starting to dry up - and observed it thoroughly without saying a word.
"Do you remember when you accepted the job offer?" He questioned.
"Mhmh, what about it?"
"And do you also remember what you told me?"
You bit your lower lip, scratching your chin with your index finger.
You had said a million, no, a billion things to Namjoon before you signed that contract.
"Um, wish me luck?" You said in a slightly questioning tone, and your husband facepalmed.
With a swift movement, he turned the chair you were sitting on allowing you to look him directly in the eyes. That gesture made you blush and you stared at him with doe eyes.
"No, jagi, not the correct answer." He tilted his head, soft jet-black locks brushing his forehead. "You promised me you wouldn't let them change you."
You were struggling, and that broke his heart.
Namjoon knew you were desperately trying to paint something, anything that would please your boss. He had examined the shift in your brushstrokes from time to time, and they didn’t seem to belong to you. They were abrupt and quick, whereas you always directed them with gentle movements.
He was not seeing you on that canvas, instead, he was seeing a version you had been forced to become.
"Is it worth it, love? Do you want to become a machine for them to make more money?"
You sighed. He was right ー Namjoon was so right.
You had completely forgotten how it felt to make art, you had forgotten how it felt to be free. You had submitted to their rules because they had made empty promises from the start and you had believed them.
Namjoon crouched down, resting his hands on your knees. In that position, the light coming from the window illuminated his face as you gazed at him with pure admiration. He was glowing.
His brown eyes seemed to light up, turning a honey-like amber colour.
"Joonie..." You murmured as your hands gently grabbed his. "I can't lose this job, I just cannot."
"Y/N, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, you know that right?"
His thumbs softly rubbed the back of your hands, something he always did to comfort you. As he stroked he gently drew imaginary shapes like circles, flowers or hearts.
You hummed in response locking eyes with him.
"That's why I want the best for you. I want you to be happy because I can't bear the thought of you ever suffering. And what I truly wish for, is for you to find your love for art again, and-"
"Baby..."
"I don't want you to feel obligated because I swear to you Y/N, I will always support you no matter what," he then grabbed both your hands in his, and brought them to his lips. "but I wish you just left this job."
You smiled when Namjoon placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. Despite all these years, he had never changed: he was still the same old romantic and you couldn't complain.
"I know, Joonie, but what if I can't find anything? What if... I don't make enough money to open the atelier?"
Namjoon lightly squeezed your hands, his eyes never leaving yours as one hand cupped your cheek, delicately caressing it.
"Jagiya, you are the most talented woman I've ever known, and you can do whatever you wish to do. You inspire me every day."
"I wouldn't even know where to start." You relaxed in his touch, letting out a breath.
The warmth of his hand unexpectedly left your cheek, and that's when you saw him searching for something in the pocket of his jeans.
"Perhaps, you could start with these."
You blinked quickly observing the object your husband was holding before your eyes. You raised your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he was showing you a pair of rusty keys.
Then, a wave of realisation hit you.
Namjoon immediately noticed your eyes turning glazy and your mouth opening slightly in an expression of pure wonder. You grabbed the keys with trembling hands and clutched them to your chest, heart racing.
"The place is a bit run down, but I am sure that in a few months, we will manage to make it perfect."
Without wasting a second you threw your arms around his neck, and tears of happiness fell from your eyes. You couldn't believe it: your dream had just come true.
"I love you so much, Joon, I- I can't believe it. I love you!"
Namjoon stroked your hair, unable to resist tearing up with you, holding you close to him. At that moment, all he wished was for time to stand still and remain like that forever.
"I love you too, princess."
Happiness looked so good on you.
©️ peachywritess 2023. All rights reserved.
Please consider reblogging my works if you like them! <3
#namjoon x reader#kim namjoon x reader#namjoon x female reader#kim namjoon x female reader#namjoon fluff#kim namjoon fluff#kim namjoon imagine#kim namjoon fic#kim namjoon one shot#bts x reader#bts x female reader#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts imagine
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#47
The agency is a place of horror, in the villain’s opinion—pristine white walls, blaring overhead lights, perfectly symmetrical tiled flooring. The place is, quite frankly, a minimalist nightmare.
So it’s a shame that the villain has to sit here, bored out of their mind, in the place they hate the most, with the person they hate the most.
“Oh, no, turn back the way you were facing.” The hero gestures slightly behind them with the tip of their pencil. A clipboard sits in their lap, well-loved and coated in pen marks. “The angle’s off.”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t just take a two second photo like everyone else,” the villain mutters with a scowl, adjusting uncomfortably in their cuffs, and the hero laughs like they’re joking.
“Because crime in the city is at an all-time-low and I’m bored.” The hero points a bit more violently with their pencil. “Now turn.”
They’re not allowed any goddamn dignity in this place, so they admit defeat and shift over slightly. The hero nods approvingly when they do, finally turning their gaze back down to paper in their hand, and the pair fall into silence.
“You know I’m gonna be busting out, right?” the villain says after a moment. The quiet was nice until they figured out that the weird screeching noise downstairs was human voices. “I don’t really see the point in me being here.”
The hero hums in lazy acknowledgement. “I know, but catching you gives me something to do.” The pencil scratches down the page in waves, their eyes still resting on their masterpiece. “And you make for a good muse.”
Thank god their drawing is so interesting, or the hero would see the light blush staining the villain’s face. “I know I do,” they say in a vain attempt to save their quickly plummeting dignity. “I’m hot shit, everyone knows that.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty conventionally attractive. Makes for some good lines in a study.”
Why did they have to phrase it like that? “You can admit I’m hot, it’s okay. Everyone else does.”
“Everyone else lets visual aesthetic blind them to their sense of morality, but I don’t.” The hero’s gaze finally flits back up to them, the ghost of a smirk on their face. “You’re conventionally attractive. Take it or leave it.”
The villain scowls. “I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment.”
“It is in heroic terms.” The hero turns their clipboard around to show the criminal their drawing. “What do you think? Looks like you, right?”
The hero’s a damn good artist. It’s amazing. “It’s shit.”
Their answer only gets another laugh as the clipboard gets discarded on the desk. The hero gets to their feet with a stretch, motioning for the villain to do the same. “Let's get you to your cell so I can go on my lunch.”
The villain’s henchmen are probably nearby. A few minutes in a cell are nothing. “I hope your lunch tastes like dirt.”
The cell is just as grim as the villain remembers. The hero shoves them inside mercilessly, clunking the door shut behind them.
“Looking forward to chasing you down on your way out,” the hero says innocently. They glance down at their watch as it beeps rhythmically at them. “And for the record, I do think you’re hot.”
The villain makes a face somewhere between disbelief and flattered. “I thought you said I—”
“I’m on my lunch break.” They hold their watch up, reading exactly 13:00. “I can say what I want when I’m not on company time.”
“You follow the stupidest sets of rules like a dog,” the villain spits as the hero turns on their heel. “You have to admit you’re a little pathetic.”
“Your guys don’t usually take long to get here, right?” They’re already at the door, loitering on the threshold. “I’ll see you in, what, half an hour?”
“Fuck you.”
The hero laughs again. “You wish. Take the drawing on your way out, yeah?”
The villain very much intends to. They deserve it for the time out of their day, at least.
#writblr#writing community#creative writing#writing#writers on tumblr#heroes and villains#hero x villain#came up with this idea half asleep. as you can see im a genius when my brain isnt turned on#if its the dumbest most random scenario youve ever seen chances are its from a 2am page of the notes app with 0 spell check
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Currently menstruating, id like to see the TF2 men (or support classes) experience the wild ups and down of mother nature when Reader lashes out at them over something comically stupid and then starts crying dramatically out of guilt for being so mad. Then goes back to happy and normal a moment later. Because i am an emotional wreck when the blood flows and i need an outlet for it. Thank youuu!!! Angle 📐 😇🪽
A/N: I know your pain bbg ❤️ tysm for sending it in Angle! I did a sort of half oneshot half headcannons thing, hope that’s ok, here you are! (Sorry this took a bit, life had been terrible recently)
Warnings: talk of menstruation (duh)
Scout:
- Whenever your on your period he would probably go to Medic for advice and some remedies
- He might think it’s really gross but he knows you can’t really control it after he got it explained to him
- He might notice if something is a little off about you that day
- Maybe by the way you seem annoyed or you trying to fight a fed up expression
- Most likely you would just be hanging out in his room at the base, laying in his bed and Scout drawing in a notebook, chatting with you
“Hey, d’you wanna try drawin’ somethin’? I’ll teach ya!”
“Oh, sure? Why not.”
- While you two are drawing you start having trouble following along with him
- The lines don’t match up with the ones you draw next and you start getting annoyed
- Eventually, you snap and just tear the paper in half
“Why are you such a good artist!? It’s unfair!”
- You get up off the bed and start pacing around, uncontrollably fuming
- After going from one wall to the other, you look back up at Scout’s crestfallen expression, sad kicked puppy eyes with a hint of realization
- The tears start falling and Scout smiles and lets out a little sigh, and beckons you to come sit beside him
“Hey, sweetness. C’mere.”
“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“It’s all good. I get it. Just let me take care of you.”
- Scout presses a kiss to your forehead
Sniper:
- Would likely enjoy it quite a bit if you just wanted a few lazy days with him
- He might go get candy and snacks to take care of you for the week
- He might not fully understand how periods work but he’s probably heard some things
- you two could hang out in his camper and read magazines/listen to music/cuddle
- maybe you start thinking about how you have chores to do and how you’re not doing anything
“Jeez, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just get up and do dishes or something?”
“It’s alright, roo. You have all the time in the world. Just rest.”
“But—I mean c’mon, I have to do something.”
“Well, do ya feel up to it?”
“Uh…no, I’m in a lot of pain, but—“
“So don’t.”
- the feeling that you need to something starts making you feel bad about yourself and you start silently crying and trying to wipe your tears away
- when Sniper notices he gets concerned and wraps his arms around you
“Hey, hey, you alright?”
“Yeah, heh, sorry. Stupid hormones.”
- Sniper just huffs a laugh and keeps hugging you
Demoman:
- ok let’s be real he would offer you some booze for the pain and stuff
- a movie night would work nicely, because demo could probably pass out sometime during it and it would be a calm night
- the characters in the movie start making you angry, but weirdly angry
“Why do we have to watch this? It never ends up well for the main character! This is depressing!”
“Uh..We could watch something else, ya know.”
“WHY AM I SO ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHY DO WE HAVE TO WATCH THIS STUPID THING?!”
- Demo turns off the TV
- you start crying after realizing you snapped at him
“Wait—no no I’m sorry.”
“Hey, lad/lass, c’mere.”
- Demo and you end up cuddling and then both passing out on the couch
Spy:
- I feel like he might know a bit about periods
- But it would really gross him out
- At least he might romance and charm you to make you feel better
- 100% get you fine wine and snacks to make you feel special and loved
- Lounging in his smoking room 10/10, might even offer you some of his special cigars or something if you smoke
- Treats you like high royalty
- Probably goes to medic for painkillers and other things to make you feel better
- Totally a chance to learn to dance to some music on the record player in his smoking room
- I feel like making a bunch of mistakes would set you off
“This isn’t working. Why aren’t my feet working? You’re the best teacher there could be, what am I doing so wrong!?”
- You break away from Spy and hide your tears by turning away from him
“Mon Chérie, are you alright?”
- He walks back in front of you to see you crying
“I’m...sorry.”
- Spy gives you a forehead kiss and wraps you in a warm embrace
- 10003939/10 gentleman he rubs your back until you feel better
Heavy:
- Heavy would likely not care at all, growing up with 4 other women for most of his life
- Considering this he would probably be at least a little educated
- Any questions he had would likely be answered by Medic
- I feel like Heavy would be one of the most understanding mercs
- At Heavy’s turn for making dinner, you decide to go help him because you feel like you’ve been lazy all day
- You burn your hand and start cussing wholeheartedly
“Am I just that bad at cooking!? I’m honestly so useless. Why can’t you teach me to be better!?”
- Heavy’s just straight up confused for a second
“Oh..oh no. I’m sorry.”
- tears start falling
“Is ok. Heavy understands.”
- bear hugs and then finishing up dinner <3
Medic:
- Bro has every remedy on hand and definitely tracks it for you
- So he would already know hormonal vs. Actually being mean/sad
- A good scenario might be a lazier day when you just hang out in his lab, and he educates you more on what he’s doing and why
- It starts you feeling like you’re not good enough and that Medic is so much better at his job than you
“And das how it’s done! Fascinating, ja?”
“Yeah. I guess I just wish I could do all this great stuff like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, c’mon, you know everything! You know so much you can just do surgery on someone and everything works out!”
“Well, it’s not that simple,—are you crying?”
- You just nod
“Ah. Come here, mein liebling.”
- gives you hugs and kisses until you’re better 🥰
———————————
Thank you for reading!! Again, I’m so sorry that took so damn long. I’m getting back into writing today!
#team fortress two#tf2#scout tf2#tf2 demoman#tf2 scout#sniper tf2#team fortress demoman#tf2 x reader#tf2 x you#tf2 heavy x reader#medic tf2#tf2 medic#medic x reader#scout x reader#tf2 sniper x reader#sniper x reader
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Fresh Ink
Summary: Dan decides to get a new tattoo that Em has inspired. She decides to be a little more spontaneous.
A/N: we don’t have a full oneshot, so have a lil drabble we’ve been keeping close to our chests!
August 2018
In the short time she’d spent with Dan, Em learned to not be surprised by the weird ways their days could go. From sitting on the couch for a lazy day, to being surprised with a trip to see the Reputation tour, anything could and did happen. Which was why she wasn’t surprised when she got a text from Dan saying he was going to get a new tattoo and wanted her to come with him. Daniel “I’ll just get a big one and then no more” Ricciardo getting a tattoo wasn’t a new thing and she loved the ink already on his body and the differences in the artwork they both had. But what did surprise her was what he was getting.
A couple of weeks before she’d sent him a text before a race. She was up watching and it had been a shitty practice and qualifying, the car kept failing on him. Her little Shine on, Handsome, text was supposed to just make him smile. She didn’t want to call and distract him, or wish him luck make him think his performance was what she cared about. She didn’t expect his little heart emoji response to make her grin and giggle like a kid. But her Sky Sports subscription was on the telly and she watched with rapt attention until he had yet another DNF and she wanted to throw something at the stupid car that kept failing him.
But they never mentioned the text after that. Not that Sunday night when he arrived at her front door with flowers and his suitcase. Not the next day when he kissed her goodbye before going to the sim and coming back to her that night. It was too easy to spend time together.
But he’d come back early from his summer break to spend time with her and had dragged her to a fancy tattoo shop in the middle of London to show her the perfectly printed font for her text. The “shine on” that was going onto his bicep where everyone could see it and she felt stupidly proud of it. He’d just asked if she wanted to be there while he got a new one and surprised her when they got to the shop. If he hadn’t mentioned that he knew the owner the tears might have come out in pride but she held them back.
“You are actually insane, you know that. Right?”
“I drive a car hundreds of kilometres an hour every single week. We knew that.” He grinned and gave her a shrug as the rest of his answer.
They were waiting for the tattoo artist to finish setting up as she looked in the glass showcase of piercings. The only ones she had were the gold studs in her earlobes. She’d had them since she was a kid and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually changed the studs in them. She just liked looking at shiny things and ended up staring at a tiny little nose stud with a small opal on it. The colours hit it and showed the iridescent sheen and she loved looking at it while Dan was talking to someone she didn’t know. At least he was until an arm went around her shoulder and his lips were against her temple.
“Find something you like? Cause I just found someone I really like.” He smiled against her ear, whispering lowly so only she could hear. “Gonna get a new one? You’d look cute with a tragus, or maybe something in your upper cartilage.”
“Nah, not really. Besides I don’t even want to know how much one of those cost here.” It was only half a joke as she glanced up at Dan and then back to the accessories.
“Did you plan to get a new one? You’ve loads of space in your ears for whatever you want.”
“Ha, no, I’m too cool for that now. I mean I always wanted to get my nose pierced. Mum would have killed me if I did it when I was younger and now I’m too old for it.” Her mother’s words echoed around her head that she’d look like a cow with a ring in her nose, how would anyone ever want to marry her with it? She shook her head a little to try get it away from her.
“You just turned 28. I’m barely 29. Are you calling us old?” It was mostly a joke.
“Definitely.”
“Meanie.” He squeezed her shoulder to soften the word. “But you should get it. You’d look really good with a nostril piercing. A little gold hoop would be cute and match the rest of your jewellery.”
“What if I don’t like it?” That knot of anxiety bubbled up a little.
“You take it out and let it heal over. It’ll leave a tiny mark that nobody will see. The only person who gets close enough to see something like that is me, and I won’t care about it.”
“Who told you that you’re the only one who gets that close?” It was said jokingly but she saw how he stiffened slightly.
“Hey!”
“I’m joking!” He was still tense and she squeezed his arm. “I’m joking, Danny. You really think it’ll suit me?”
“You’re gorgeous anyway but it’ll look good on you. Plus, there’s one there with a shiny lavender opal so I call it destiny.” He pointed at the exact one she was looking at.
“And I’m calling you a bad influence.”
“I’m a bad influence who’ll hold your hand when the needle gets close to your face. Sound good?”
“And I’ll hold your hand when you’re getting your tattoo?”
“See, teamwork.” He turned around and called someone over. “Em wants to get her nose pierced, do you have space?”
She grinned and started filling out the paperwork, signing it and picking out the temporary jewellery while it healed. And true to his word, Dan held her hand for the entire time.
#call it what you want fic#daniel ricciardo imagine#f1 imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula one imagine#daniel ricciardo oneshot#formula one fanfic#f1 oneshot#formula 1 oneshot#ciwyw writing
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Cosy autumn vibes outside means all I can think about is cuddled up and dry humping Steve on a quiet day in 🥲
you just got done at the pumpkin patch <3 he got u the biggest pumpkin even though you said it literally does not matter <3 and he is so proud of that pumpkin. he almost broke his arm putting it in the trunk of his car.
now you’re laying on the couch all happy and half watching a movie while you lazily discuss how you’ll carve them.
“i think i’m gonna carve you into mine,” he drawls, pressing a kiss behind your ear.
he does not have the artistic talent for that. you do not tell him this.
“clothed or naked?”
“naked would be easier, right?”
“hmm.” you blink tiredly at the screen. “think you’d have to study it first.”
“now a good time?”
you’re lazy. “how about we study clothed today?”
he giggles, an arm wrapped securely around your middle. “okay,” he says, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. it makes you shiver, tickled. he presses open mouthed kisses along your neck while he slowly and gently starts rutting his cock against your ass.
you exhale, quickly getting horny. the movie is forgotten even though your eyes are focused on it. you can’t think of much else other than the man behind you as his hand slides up your shirt to play with your nipples nice and gently. “steve,” you breathe, pushing back, his cock hard against your ass.
“hmm?” he asks, a little dumb on you.
“harder.”
“harder?” a kiss to the back of your neck. “any harder ‘n i’ll make your jeans catch fire.”
“ooh,” you grin, reaching back to rest your hand in his hair, leverage to fuck back onto him. “maybe you can carve that.”
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my overall thoughts on season 7, writing edition: what in the world ? 😭 i cannot believe i thought this season was gonna be good. i’ll be joining rohan & S2 MC in the circus, since FB made me look like a damn clown. i don't even know where to begin
being a casa girl had so much potential, and it was something that a lot of players actually wanted, even before FB started doing these themed seasons. they really fumbled the bag here
i enjoyed casa amor. the guys were all unique, had their own dialogue, and it was cool to see their pre-established relationships (alex being the villa dad, bryson and rafa being partners in chaos, the beef between bryson & joyo) then we arrived in the villa, and it all went downhill from there:
everybody became an empty husk, so they could be forced into interchangeable roles: uma’s partner, bonnie’s partner, OG LI’s ex, loved up couple (summer/joyo or #rafne) to name a few. FB’s lazy asses ruined their own characters . why is alex, the supposed level-headed & mature one, being petty & childish af in my playthrough? 😭
MC literally had no thoughts, head empty. we barely participated in any of the challenges and games. it felt like we didn't do anything besides "get pulled for a chat" by your LI or the girls
the LI personality merge in this season was the worst it has ever been. all they do is agree with whatever you say, or tell you how great you are (gone are the days of LIs having their own interests, & getting extra dialogue because of that, like levi with artist MCs)
same problem as the most recent seasons, where MC doesn’t have friendships. she has a forced bestie, then potential LIs that sit around waiting for you to pick them, choose them, love them (they immediately disappear if you don’t pick them)
the plot made no sense at all. being a casa girl means we miss out on the first half of the season, but there were many different ways they could've shown what happened before we arrived (it couldve been something as simple as MC watching the show at home or during the jeep ride to the villa. lol) the timeline was inconsistent, so much important information was paywalled, and i’m pretty sure FB was just making shit up as they went along, since the drama with stephen and OG LI's ex genuinely came out of nowhere . he wasn’t previously mentioned in the beach hut, casa amor, nothing . his only purpose was to make the OG girl look bad.
speaking of the OG girls, what a disappointment . before we got to the villa, i honestly thought they were hinting at estelle and/or willow being LIs . even if they were forced to be our rival, they still could’ve had an interesting character arc . it would've been a lot more fun if she was like allegra, rather than OG LI's equivalent of suresh
i was gonna write, "why tf did she even make it to the finale?" but the answer is obvious : for the gem scenes. every damn volume, it's pay diamonds to upstage her, pay diamonds to clapback, pay diamonds so “your man” doesn't turn his head 🙄 it's already stupid enough, but it makes even less sense if you're not pursuing your OG LI
which leads me to the biggest problem of this season, the lack of branching. you're given the illusion of choice, everything leads to the same outcome . i didn't think it could get any worse, until i saw what happens when you choose the money . does your LI storm off? nope. they make you do the treasure hunt anyways...to win you back ??😭 MC should've called security on their ass
s7 had a promising start but ended up being a flop. it was better than s5, but that's really not saying much . i wish FB would just take their time—s1 and 2 had a whole year long gap between them. but it's clear that rushed seasons are gonna be the norm, season 8 is dropping in february . capitalism ruins everything luv x
#making a separate post about the art for the sake of my own eyes...i really hate making long posts#love island the game#litg#litg season 7#litg s7#litg spoilers
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couldn’t stop thinking about this, so here’s a followup :)
When Eddie does eventually get a tattoo for Steve, it’s on a whim.
Kind of on a whim.
He hadn’t forgotten about the idea by any means, but he had yet to come up with an idea that came even close to encapsulating the love Eddie had for Steve, so he waited.
Then, one day, around a year and a half after their initial conversation on the subject and when Steve and Eddie were enjoying a lazy morning arguing over the grocery list (Steve wants to try a new pasta salad recipe, the fancy bastard, and Eddie just wants him to make the same cheesy marinara pasta sauce he’s been fiending over for years), Steve gets called into the hospital.
His second-to-last clinical rotation for his psychology doctorate sent him to the psych floor of a nearby emergency room, which has meant, for the first time, Steve is on-call even when he’s not scheduled to be at the hospital.
Steve is miserable — the most miserable Eddie’s ever seen him when it comes to his psych program — and annoyed with the school for assigning it to him when there had apparently been others available that were closer to how he actually wants to use his doctorate when he finally earns it, but, like he tends to, he’s being a decent sport about it.
He’s on the phone with his C.I. affirming that he’ll be in as soon as he can when he picks up a pen, grabs Eddie’s wrist, and scribbles fresh mozzarella, penne, tomatoes, lemon juice on the underside of his forearm. Below that he writes love you, and below that he adds - S, followed by a heart, a sideways smiley face, and a star, like Eddie’s seen him do hundreds of times. It’s how he signs off every post-it note stuck to the fridge, every message swiped into the fogged-up bathroom mirror, every letter he folds up and mails to Robin or Nancy or both or some other member of the Party.
Eddie isn’t even totally sure Steve realizes he’s doing it, that maybe he just likes that first doodled heart so much he can’t help but keep going, but he loves it either way. It’s sweet and charming and cute and just so, so Steve that it almost hurts.
Steve presses a swift kiss onto Eddie’s lips before making a bee-line for the door, still on the phone with his C.I, and Eddie’s mind is moving so fast he can’t sit with it anymore, so he jumps to his feet, checks his wallet to see if he’s got cash (he does), and then he too is on his way out the door.
Thankfully, at eleven on a Tuesday morning, his tattoo artist is accepting walk-ins, and before his brain completely catches up to his beating heart, he’s got Steve’s words (minus the groceries, obviously) in his neat writing and his heart, smile, and star tattooed on his forearm and it’s fuckin’ perfect and Eddie couldn’t be happier.
Steve returns sooner than Eddie thought he would — before dinner, which is still late, but not as late as it usually is whenever he gets called into the hospital — and as he lets himself into their apartment, Eddie meets him at the door.
“Hey,” Steve says with a tired smile, “Hungry?”
“Look!” Eddie ignores him, holding out his arm so Steve can see the tattoo through the protecting plastic wrap.
Steve looks down blankly at it for a moment or two before the corner of his mouth upticks just slightly.
“You...you did this today? From the-the stupid thing I wrote?”
“Yeah,” Eddie grins, “Isn’t it great. i’m so fuckin’ thrilled with it, man. It’s just — it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s-” Steve shakes his head like he always does when he’s being bashful, “If you say so.”
He pulls Eddie into a tight hug, which Eddie immediately reciprocates, pressing his lips to Steve’s neck.
“I really love you,” Steve says.
“Love you too,” he replies, “in case that wasn’t clear.”
And Steve is pulling away, so Eddie catches the way he smiles as he shakes his head again. Steve’s eyes travel to the kitchen and then snap back to his own.
“Wait, so did you get the groceries?”
“Ah - fuck.”
part 3
#stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#established relationship#psych student!steve#idk is this ooc? i can’t even tell anymore#eddie just loves steve so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself and i love that for both of them#does steve get a tattoo for eddie?#unsure. he doesn’t really strike me as a tattoo kind of guy#he strikes me as a terrified of needles after they were used to drug and torture him kind of guy#and he can hold himself together long enough to get a flu shot bc he knows he can be dramatic about it to eddie later#but a tattoo takes quite a bit longer#and steve has been in school long enough to know that exposure therapy isn’t all that effective#so who knows
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*seen the movie, half asleep now*
.. echm..
I think they have the movie title wrong..
..it should have been Dreams.
Like, you know, the ones we see taken from people by Magnifico.. and let me explain why I think this concept make more sense, for what info they had given to us.
Exhibit a, the realistic ‘wish’.
You don’t WISH to inspire people. You know you can do it, but you also know, for people to listen to you, you’ll need to put your mind, heart and effort in the task. And even then, there are some who wouldn’t care. But you have to, because it’s you drive, it’s what you want, it’s what will make you feel whole. Your DREAM.
You don’t WISH to be the better artist/dress maker/baker, you work on your craft to get better and get results. In time, with effort and sacrifice, that will be worth your while when you finally grasp your DREAM.
If you decide to give away the will to do these things by yourself (things you CAN actually archieve as a normal human being) because you come to know there COULD be a easier way (by magically means) that effortlessly grant you the final prize..
..is not a WISH, is opportunistic laziness.
And maybe, (just maybe) you don’t really deserve to have that DREAM, since is not that precious to you that you feel the need to protect and fight for it, but instead you so easily decide to put it in someone else’s hands, (quite literally) given the chance, making THEM do the work.
Those are the realistic dreams, but there is another category: the unobtainable fantasy’s .
Exhibit b: to fly, you don’t WISH to fly.
We know, people give the ‘wish’ at 18 years of age, meaning you have awareness of being a human, with no magic, or anatomy feats for that to ever become a reality ( not has we see in the bubble anyway), no matter the effort you can put in it. As an adult you still could DREAM of flying.
A kid could wish to fly, because they are not yet grounded in reality so they could believe it could really happen if they have faith and be good enough.
Maybe a fairy, or a mage could grant that wish.. (but then there’s a fly on the wall and suddenly wish they could be a cat to catch it but it’s approaching bed time so now the wish changes again, now they could be a dragon to avoid bedtime.. and so on..)
I totally understand the need to put a minimum age limit.. it would have been a fucking nightmare.
But, to get to the point I’m making here:
most kids, don’t have yet the concept of what is potentially possible obtaining through effort and what is physically unarchievable, so they could WISH for literally anything.
But ALL the ‘wish’ given to Magnifico are from ADULTS.
And if we listen well, the movie tell us that he doesn’t takes just ‘the wish’ but that he takes a metaphisycal part too, from the people heart and then make the people forget about it..
The BETTER part of them allegedly, leaving them ‘sad and boring’…
(well just the protagonist’s friend, because NONE of any other citizen of Rosas EVER seems different from a normal person. In the first fucking song we see a rather happy living population lazing around town, dancing for the newly arrived tourists.. but I’m digressranting ).
My point is: even if you forget A wish, as important as it may have been to you, by forgetting it you become a clean slate.. and, as STUPIDLY pointed out IN THE MOVIE, during the ‘cringy q&a to make a distraction’ a peasant ask something on the line of ‘What if I develop another wish? Or I change my wish?”
If he took only A wish, these would be possibly things that could happen, to living thinking human, in years.
But, if you switch to what I’m suggesting , it suddenly clicks: no one in the entire movie use the word or concept of dream/dreams.( non that I can recall.. or in a meaningful way, but I could be wrong..).
I think that’s because..
.. people FORGOT they exist.
Because they can’t DREAM anymore.
Because the best part of they’r heart, the part that allows to conceive and create new dreams, was given willingly away.
And as Disney love, especially in this movie, the self references and to pay homage :
“ A WISH is a DREAM your heart makes..”
..Sound familiar to anyone?..
*drop to sleep*
#wish 2023#disney wish#wish#wish theory#wish spoilers#Magnifico was done dirty by the writers#Asha-med should be the protagonist full name.#if I give the goat and 7 carton board friend back#can I have the star boy from the concept art?#and another thing#do a decent irredimibile villain COUPLE for once in your cowardly life#or do a love so strong that redeem the one who turned evil#not this bullshit queen/scorned soon to be ex-girlfriend in middle school#haha- told you to not turn to evil magic did I? now rot in the dungeon I’ll come by to remind YOU WERE WRONG and I told you so every day#probably wrong but it was fun speculate bye
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