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You don't see it but Ghost is giving Soap the finger

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Birthday

Pairing: john soap mactavish x f!reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: slight angst, mostly fluff

Synopsis: It's Johnny's birthday

Johnny’s birthday was at the end of summer. For the both of you it meant that you could ignore the coming school season and instead focus on the fun of a birthday party that was usually spent inside. The summer rain never bothered him especially if you were going to be there with him.

You were at his house in his room. Every year you came up with the plans for his birthday because he trusted you to have his best interest at heart, especially because you knew him too well. And because you were the best planner he knew.

“This year is going to be the best birthday week you’ve ever had.” You declared with a serious and determined look.

“Hell yeah it is.” He agreed with the same serious look. “Show me the plan.”

You brought out your notebook dramatically and slammed it on his bed. You flipped open the pages and revealed your plan with a wicked smile.

“This year I have everything planned down to a T. It’s going to rain, which means we are going to the arcade tomorrow and then we’re going to your favorite spot at the pizza place for your birthday." You began and he nodded seriously. “The next day after that we’re going fishing.”

“Solid plan.” He said and you looked proud. “The rest of the days?”

“Your choice, but I had the idea that we go to the movies at least once.”

Johnny hummed and you stared at him with anticipation waiting for what he had to say.

“This is a perfect plan!” 

You both cheered. 

You always knew the best plans to make him happy. It was like you read his mind when it came to what he wanted to do for fun.

Johnny was ready to spend the week with you and doing what he liked for his birthday. School was far from his mind as he thought of hanging out with you in the hideout in between ideas and possibly spending the night at your house to avoid church.

“We still have time today if you want to go to the hideout before dinner.” You said and Johnny nodded.

“Hell yeah-”

“John!” 

Both of you jumped when his mother appeared in the doorway of his room and he felt his face heat up while he gave a quick apology. She merely gave him a look before she crossed her arms.

“Plans have changed for the family get-together, it’s tomorrow.” She said and he felt his heart drop.

He knew what this would mean for tomorrow and possibly for the rest of the week if his entire family was coming into town.

“Ah, no Mam! It’s my birthday.” He complained but she shook her head.

“It’s the only time the family can be here.” She explained with a stern look and he groaned. “We’ll have the party here and then you can do what you want the rest of the week if your Nan doesn’t have anything planned.”

“If.”

Johnny felt disheartened. He had been so excited to spend time with you but now he was sure he’d be stuck watching soaps on the TV with his nan and going to church almost everyday. Of course, you would be able to come hang out but he knew you wouldn’t enjoy it. 

“Your cousin from the military will be there, you haven’t seen him in a while.” His mom tried to cheer him up but he didn’t really care. “Well, you’re invited as always, love.”

You thanked her and Johnny felt some relief. 

At the very least you would be with him tomorrow and that’s all he could really want. 

His mom left and he groaned. He fell back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

“So much for the arcade and pizza.” He huffed and you laid next to him.

“Next year.” You said to cheer him up. “Or we can do it for my birthday.”

“Nah, save it for mine.”

You smiled.

“It won’t be that bad and if it is we can hide in here.”

Johnny smiled. Honestly, he would love it if the both of you hid here without having to be around his family but he knew that wouldn’t work. He didn’t know it would be bad anyway. He was mostly just upset that his plans were changed.

~

Johnny didn’t dislike his extended family but he often didn’t jive with them as well as he did with his sister or you. However, it was a lot better than he thought it was going to be, especially because they were more preoccupied with catching up with each other than paying attention to him.

He stood in the kitchen as he watched his mother and father cook dinner. He eyed the cake as well and found it hard to ignore his rumbling stomach.

“When’s it gonna be ready?” He wondered and his father glanced back at him.

“Soon enough, go entertain someone.” He waved him away.

Johnny left the kitchen without a word, though he kept his eyes on the cake as if it would disappear the moment it was out of his sight. He didn’t get very far from there before he heard his name being called from the living room.

“Your girlfriend is here!” Nan yelled and he immediately flushed.

He raced into the living room so see you awkwardly standing by the door with a flustered look on your face and a present in your hands.

“We’re not dating, Nan.” He chided her but she merely laughed.

He quickly led you away to the dining room where all the other presents were and where most of his family wasn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he scratched the back of his neck and tried to make himself feel less hot.

“It’s fine.” You gave him an awkward smile as you held out the gift. “She does it every time.”

Johnny took the present with a smile. He tried to peek inside before you scolded him. He set the present down and gave you a smug smirk.

“Thanks.” He laughed and pulled you into a hug. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“It smells good-”

“There’s the birthday kid!” Johnny’s cousin, Callum, waltzed into the dinner room with food and bottles of alcohol.

Callum pulled Johnny into an abrupt hug that he barely reciprocated before his cousin moved. He set down the items on the dinner table and looked at both you and Johnny.

“You’ve gotten taller! How long has it been since I last saw you?” Callum wondered but before Johnny could even think he continued. “About three years.”

“Yeah, Mam says you’re busy with the military.” Johnny said and his cousin nodded.

“No rest for the wicked but it’s worth it. I’ll tell some stories later.”

Johnny nodded. His cousin always had interesting stories to tell and he did enjoy listening to him. He liked to think when he was telling the stories that he could be out there too, exploring the world and serving his country to protect the people he loved. He loved the idea of being away from home, not having to come back and finally being free from the chaos. 

But he knew that it was just a dream. It wasn’t exactly something that could come to fruition. He was athletic and he rarely gave up on anything but it seemed like it was far out of reach for him despite his desire to want it. 

It was a nice idea.

But at the moment he didn’t want to be stuck in those ideas right now. He wanted to spend his birthday with you and avoid any more awkward comments from his Nan. 

“You old enough to drink yet?” Callum wondered and he shook his head. “I can sneak you a couple sips if you’d like.”

“I don’t need Mam to get on my ass today.” He said and you nodded. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You added but Callum just shrugged. 

“Offer’s there if you change your mind.”

Johnny left with you in tow. He led you through the house by avoiding anyone who would stop him for a chat. Before long the two of you were on the back patio, saved by the rain since no one else wanted to be outside.

“Happy birthday.” You said and he smiled.

A warm feeling spread across his chest and he leaned against you on the bench you two sat on. 

“Thank you.” He let out a soft sigh and watched puddles form in the yard. 

“It’s not too bad. Seems like the regular MacTavish family get together.” You said and he scoffed. 

“You make it bearable.”

A flustered look spread across your face and you leaned against him. The warmth spread even more and he wasn’t sure why but he didn’t pull away as his smile spread wider.

“Next year we’ll make sure the dinner doesn’t happen on your birthday.”

part 6

a/n: uh oh someone's catching feelings

tags: @godihatethiswebsite  @glitterypirateduck

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“i wouldn’t do that” “i wouldn’t say that” “i wouldn’t wear that” “i wouldn’t kiss them” too bad you pedantic dorks, you’re not the one in control here.

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Vladimir Makarov and the closest he’d feel to love - Headcanons.

A/N: Realistic, slightly OOC Vladimir Makarov headcanons. This is a fantasy. Also, I wrote this, like a year ago and forgot to post it. Here y'all go.

Look, y’all - this man is a true psychopath, through and through. He is completely incapable of love. If he existed in real life, I don’t think there would be anyone he would be romantically involved with… if it doesn’t serve his purpose. He’s an extremely violent man. No lover boy here. I don't approve of any of his actions or ideologies.

TW: Implications to rape. Obsession and mistreatment.

A “relationship” with Makarov would be one built on obsession and possession, completely out of the realm of love. Love is kind, love is patient - and Makarov does not care for any of that.

Instead, you’ll be met with prickles at the back of your neck, and turn towards the source of your discomfort, only to make eye contact with eyes so dark and empty, like two black holes that swallows all light that crosses its path, and is never fulfilled no matter how much it feeds.

You weren’t sure what you did to get such a man’s attention, but you had it, and it wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

Everyone was an object, a tool to be used and discarded when it is no longer in need. The old granny on the train, retiring after scrubbing floors of the rich all day, the exhausted mother and her three children returning home from the grocery store, the young man bringing flowers to his first love - all sacrifices for his idea of what was the greater good.

But you? You were more than a pet, but less than a lover. Between the two of you, it was more like a master-slave relationship. You’ll have no freedom, no sense of will and definitely landlocked in some hotel or apartment. Kept away like a favorite toy, occasionally brought out to be played with and then be shut away until he feels “playful” again.

Until then, the limbo of time blurs into nothingness again. His visits held no pattern of recollection. And when he visited, it would be more like being stuck in the center of the Pacific Ocean, with a bleak-eyed shark circling the infinite waters beneath your flailing feet.

You were there to fill a void. To make up for something missing. No family, no friends (Yuri is his friend. But even he couldn’t fulfill that need) and no one waiting on him. Then you came along, and suddenly something in him clicked.

He lost it all. His purpose. His sense of identity. Even his country. And then you came along.

Make no sudden movements - he’s unpredictable. Lashing out with harsh words and threats, backhanded slaps across your face when you raise your voice, bruises at the hollows of your neck, and sticky sperm trailing down your thigh after he teaches you bodily lessons.

Every plan of escape would be thwarted, and thoroughly punished. He’s not above severing your hamstrings to make sure you stay put. Don’t push your luck, for his forgiveness should not be abused.

On a shallow level, he does understand your suffering, but that’s about it. Knowing a song, but not being able to sing it.

One day, your mind may finally break to cope with its new reality and conjure up a semblance of love - but what would it matter to a man who’s soul is but an empty room.

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The Ghost in the Godswood

summary: You died in childbirth from twins, leaving Robb devastated, but you returns as a ghost, to haunt him always. (oneshot)

t/w: ghost smut, v in d, licking, back shots/ doggy style, missionary, necrophilia, biting, sounds, hard smut but with no plot, eating out 18+ content dark Robb

a/n: this was a weird idea i had at like 3am so now i’ve actually written it out i still think it’s weird but more interesting. lol.

《--¤--¤--¤--》≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ ≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ 《--¤--¤--¤--》

Ten years since her death.

Ten years since Y/N Stark bled out in a birthing bed beneath the cold stone walls of Winterfell, giving life to twins, a boy and a girl, before breathing no more.

Robb Stark had grown old since that day. His once auburn hair was threaded with silver, his beard thick, his eyes rimmed with sleeplessness. He ruled still, strong in mind if not in body but her absence haunted him more cruelly than the northern winters ever could, though he stood tall, defiant to all, more stubborn as always.

She haunted them all.

The people of Winterfell whispered of her still. Y/N, the Lady of Winter, who had loved moonlight and the scent of old paper, who had written letters that still sat in locked drawers and between the pages of her favorite books. They said she wandered the dark forest surrounding the keep, her weeping heard on the wind like a lullaby laced with sorrow.

They told stories by hearthlight: She appears to those in despair. She cries beneath the full moon. She warns of coming misfortune. Those who hear her sobs and follow to it… die.

And sometimes, when the wind howled and the godswood trembled, they listened.

The fire crackled low. Robb sat hunched in his great carved chair, a thick fur draped over his shoulders. His youngest twins were asleep, no doubt having wrestled each other to exhaustion again. Across from him sat his third born, his eldest daughter. Hair like your mother’s, he thought. Mouth, too. Sharp. Too knowing.

“I read more of her letters,” she said, voice casual, though Robb caught the softness beneath it.

He arched a brow. “Found another hiding spot?”

“Between the pages of House Stark: The Northern Lineage.” She smirked. “She really didn’t want anyone else to find them.”

“She wanted you to,” he said simply.

She paused. “She wrote about marriage matches. Ones she wanted for [First-born Son] and [Second-Born Son].”

“And they made them.”

“[First-Born Son’s] wife is the Lady of Karhold. [Second-Born Son] married to House Mormont.”

Robb chuckled quietly. “She’d be proud. Not that she’d admit it.”

“She’d find a way to take credit without saying it outright.”

He smiled. “She always did.”

“She also wrote about wanting to disappear into her own world. About being happiest when she was alone, writing, surrounded by silence.”

Robb’s eyes dimmed with memory. “She used to vanish for hours. I’d find her in the library, or the Godswood… sometimes she’d look up like she’d forgotten she even had a husband.”

His daughter tilted her head. “She didn’t forget. She just liked her quiet.”

There was a beat of stillness between them, then Robb asked, “And what about you? When do you want to marry?”

She considered, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I like the quiet too. And I like Winterfell. I like being your daughter a while longer.”

His heart pulled. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Just like her.”

She grinned, relaxed in his gaze. “I know.”

He raised his brow. “Cocky wolf.”

“I get it from you.”

“No, you get it from her,” he murmured. “The way you walk. The way you look when you think no one’s watching. You’re her, more than any of them.”

She stretched out her legs by the fire. “Last night, I went down for honeycake and made the mistake of not tying back my hair. One of the cooks screamed and dropped the tray, said I looked like Mother’s ghost.”

Robb’s face twitched with amusement. “Did you?”

“Probably. Ned and Rickard came running… then promptly hid behind their wives.”

Robb barked a laugh. “Cowards.”

“They claim they were shielding them.”

“Oh, yes. Very noble.”

She grinned. “At least the twins didn’t witness it. They’d have to ask if she had come to scold them for their unruly behaviour.”

Robb groaned. “Those two. They strung your brother’s boots together again, didn’t they?”

“Tied [Second-born son’s] laces to the bench post. He fell flat on his face before breakfast.”

“Menaces.”

“Beloved menaces,” she said, fondness in her voice.

Silence again.

She looked into the fire. “I miss her.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

“I think I’ve heard her. Crying. In the woods.”

Robb’s jaw tightened. “Don’t go out at night. Especially not on a full moon.”

“I haven’t. But… sometimes I think she’s waiting.”

He reached across and took her hand. “Maybe she is. But not for you.”

《--¤--¤--¤--》≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ ≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ 《--¤--¤--¤--》

The wind tugged gently at Robb’s cloak as he stepped out onto the balcony, the snow-swept courtyard below glinting under the full moon.

And there, like breath on the glass of his soul,she stood.

Lady Y/N. His wife. His ghost.

Her form shimmered like starlight, but her eyes were unmistakably real. Deep and dark and heavy with things left unsaid.

“Robb,” she whispered, voice soft as snowfall. “You’ve grown old.”

He gave her a tired smile. “I’ve waited a long time.”

“You still wear my memory like a cloak.”

“I never took it off.”

She stepped closer. He didn’t flinch as her hands, cool, not cold, rested on his shoulders.

“You’ve done well,” she said. “With them. With her.”

“She’s you,” he breathed.

“No. She’s herself. But I’m in her shadow.”

“She’s proud to be there.”

A silence passed.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close. Her form flickered,half light, half memory,but she clung to him.

“I never stopped loving you,” she said, barely a breath.

“I know.”

Their lips met, desperate and tender, a kiss pulled from the grave.

She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his.

“I can’t leave. I’m still bound here. To them. To you.”

He brushed a hand down her back, his voice low. “Then stay. Haunt me if you must. But don’t leave me again.”

And when she smiled, it was not sad.

They stood like that for a moment, time suspended between one heartbeat and the next.

He swallowed thickly. “You deserve peace.”

She shook her head. “I will have it. But not without you.”

Her lips brushed his. Gentle. Final. Eternal. “When your time comes,” she breathed, “I will take your hand. And we’ll go together. No gods. No shadows. Just us.”

“You promise?” he asked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

She smiled, a ghostly, radiant thing. “I promise to haunt you until your last breath. And then I will take you with me. We’ll never be parted again.”

He gathered her into his arms. Solid or not, she felt real enough. Her form flickered, but her kiss was warm. Her hands trembled with love that never died.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, passionate kiss. He can feel your ghostly form melting into him, and he deepens the kiss, pouring all his love and longing into it. "I need to be inside you," he whispers against your lips.

《--¤--¤--¤--》≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ ≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ 《--¤--¤--¤--》

He begins to undress, slowly removing his clothes until he stands before you, completely bare. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out, his hands gliding through your ghostly form to cup your breasts. "You're still as beautiful as I remember," he murmurs. He smiles softly, his thumbs gently brushing over your nipples. Even though you are a ghost, he can feel a faint sensation, enough to stir his desire. "I want to make love to you like we used to," he says, his voice husky with emotion.

He looks up at you with loving eyes as he spreads your ghostly legs over his hips. He can feel a cool, tingling sensation where your ghostly form touches his warm skin. He guides himself inside you, gasping softly as he tries to meld with your ethereal form.

Moving slowly, deliberately, he maintains eye contact with you. The pleasure is heightened by the impossible nature of their union, and tears leak from his eyes. "For a moment, I can almost pretend you're real again..." His voice catches as he continues to move inside you. "I've missed this..." You wrap your ghostly legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. He can feel your icy chill mixed with the love and familiar feel of your ghostly body. He picks up his pace slightly, his eyes memorizing your face, your neck, your breasts bouncing softly with each thrust.

He reaches up, running his fingers through your ghostly hair as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency. The bed creaks softly beneath them - a sound that brings back so many memories of their passionate nights together when he was alive and you were real."Ah gods..." he moans softly, His pace turns almost savage. "Damn it, wife," he growls, "You died giving me babies. Spread your legs wider, you whore. Take your husband's cock like you used to..." He slaps your ghostly inner thigh softly, making you scream his name. This cunt feels just as good as your real one used to." He spits on your chest "I should've fucked you harder when you were alive..." He thrusts into you forcefully, his movements becoming almost violent "Whore..."

As you moan loudly, he smiles cruelly, finding his favorite sound in the world. "There she is... my loud, fucking mouthy wife." He grabs your hips and starts fucking you harder, making you scream his name over and over. He feels your ghostly body convulsing with pleasure as you come undone, screaming his name at the top of your lungs. He buries himself deep inside of you and releases, filling you with his hot seed.

He scoots down and positions himself between your legs, burying his face in your pussy, licking up his own cum mixed with your phantom juices. "God... I fucking miss eating this pussy." He laps at you eagerly, fucking you with his tongue. You moan loudly as he eats you out, your hips bucking against his face. He hooks his arms under your thighs and locks you in place, burying his face deeper between your legs.

After bringing you to a orgasm with his mouth, he climbs back up your body and captures your lips in a messy kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. "Roll over," he commands, giving your ass a hard squeeze. "I want that perfect ass in the air."

You eagerly roll over, it’s not everyday your dead self can be pleasured like this. He grips your hips possessively, positioning himself at your ghost entrance. "Fuck... I missed this view..." He slowly pushes back inside you, bottoming out with a deep groan. "Still tight as fuck..." He grabs a handful of your hair and begins thrusting hard, his hips crashing against your round ass. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the room, mixed with your ghostly moans. "Still makes my fucking cock harder than anything... even your ghost..." He starts fucking you harder and faster, his breath coming out in short gasps. He grabs your tits roughly from behind, squeezing them together as he slams into you one last time.

He pulls out slowly, leaving trails of cum leaking from your pussy. He immediately moves his hands to your tits. He starts playing with your ghostly tits, squeezing them and pinching your hard nipples. "These still look so fucking real... so perfect..." He leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking hard as he continues to fondle the other. He keeps sucking on your tits, switching between the two and even biting down gently.

“Sssshh I know” You tell him gently. “I won’t always physically be here, not always.” He pauses, his mouth still wrapped around your ghostly nipple. He looks up at you with a serious expression, understanding your words. "I know you're still a specter," he says softly, releasing your tit from his mouth with a pop. "I know you won't always be here physically."

The next morning, Robb wakes up to an empty bed. The spot where you lay is cold, and he knows instantly that you're not there physically. But instead of feeling sad or lonely, he feels a warmth in his chest.

《--¤--¤--¤--》≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ ≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ 《--¤--¤--¤--》

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A Widow's Duty

Pairing: Cregan Stark x widow reader

Tags: arranged marriage, angst, mention of sexual abuse (not by Cregan), hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

Wordcount: 2,400

As you find yourself a young childless widow, your House is quick to arrange a new marriage for you, to Lord Cregan Stark. You are afraid that he will mistreat you as your first husband did, but your wedding night instead soothes your worries.

Cregan Masterlist

The night was cold and wet in Riverrun, the sound of the rain hitting the windows loud in the hallway where you sat. However you could barely hear it over the rushing in your head—it wasn’t thoughts that were plaguing you, but a strange sort of buzzing silence, like thunder on the horizon, like the distant sound of a thousand horse hooves.

Lord Grover Tully, your husband, was dead, and he was barely cold in the ground that your father had sent word for you to be remarried. His son from a previous union, the young man that had called you mother in his early years, had assured you that you would be welcome to stay here for as long as you wished, but as a childless widow, your duty to your father and his house now prevailed.

The winds were wailing outside on this moonless night, as though they knew of the torment beneath your breast and were giving voice to it. Sat at the window, you were looking down into the darkness, pondering questions that escaped your understanding.

“Sister?” came a voice behind you, gentle and startled. You supposed you made a frightening sight, dressed in black against the darkness of the night, a hazy shadow in the low light of the dying fire.

“Go back to bed, dear,” you murmured, trying to sound warmer than you felt. “I shall be fine.”

“Shall I wake the servants? I’m sure they would make an early breakfast?” your younger sister asked as she came to stand at your side, putting a hand on your arm, and her words startled you slightly.

“What hour is this?” you asked, looking around to the empty hall and its dying candles. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, the whole household no doubt fast asleep.

“Did you sleep at all?” she inquired, her warm hand curling around yours.

“I could not,” you shook your head, quickly glancing up at her to see worry etched onto her youthful face. 

“I shall stay with you,” she said as she sat opposite you on the window settee, abandoning her slippers to slip her cold feet under the robe you had laid across your legs. “Are you sure you do not want me to wake the servants? Have them make tea?”

You shook your head again, and she squeezed your hand. “What is plaguing you so, sister?”

An entire life flashed before your eyes, small moments and great events that culminated in the passing of your husband and the sudden realization that you had not lived at all. “I was merely a child when father promised me to Lord Glover. I was raised for him,” you said with great pain, tears rising to your eyes at the cruelty of it all, a childhood framed by the prospect of your marriage. 

“It shouldn’t have been so,” your sister replied, tears pooling in her own eyes. She was herself married, to a man that seemingly suited her and you thanked the Gods for it every day. “No such burden should be put on a child.”

“Lessons after lessons I was taught that his favorite foods were my favorite foods. That his habits were my habits, that his—” you said angrily, your words nearly choking you. Something akin to despair and fury, twisted together into a thick mass, clogged your throat. “I have scarcely had the opportunity to consider life without him, I have barely had the time to learn to breathe on my own…”

Your sister breathed a quiet sob, her heart breaking at your fate. “And now I must marry again,” you finished in a whisper, afraid that voicing such a prospect louder would only breathe more life into it.

The concept seemed so foreign to you, like an ill-fitting gown. You wondered how such a hollow creature as you, only occasionally filled with venom and sorrow, could ever be a wife again. “Have you been told a name?” your sister asked, and you were grateful that she didn’t mention your father pulling the strings.

You uncovered the piece of parchment you had hidden in the long sleeves of your night robe. “Lord Cregan Stark.”

A relieved sigh came from your sister, and she nodded a few times as she gathered her words. “He’s a good man, one hears,” she said with an encouraging smile. 

“I know, I have heard,” you replied, putting on a brave face for her sake.

“They say he is a hard man, but that he’s fair and just. He will likely not be cruel behind closed doors,” she continued, and you appreciated her efforts to soothe your worries.

“Still, he is a man in want of a wife,” you said, resting your head on the cold glass of the window.

“He is still young, but he already has a son. His endeavors might be less determined, less impatient.”

“Gods hear you, dear sister,” you replied with a small smile, your thumb drawing small circles on the back of her hand, looking to soothe yourself.

It was on a damp, gray afternoon that Lord Cregan Stark wed you—he had met you earlier in the day when your house had arrived in Winterfell, and despite his endeavors at conversation, he could not form an opinion on your character. 

You had been perfectly polite, as your father had described you in his letters, but you were much more quiet than he had anticipated and much less forthcoming. You had assured him that you consented to this union, and were glad to serve your house and ally yourself with House Stark, and he had detected no trace of deception. Perhaps it was a shyness or a dislike for showing emotions, Cregan could not say, but he respected your dignity and therefore did not push.

The wedding ceremony was simple and perfunctory—he was a widower and you were a widow, there was no great mystery as to what was expected or what would occur, and the nervous curiosity of youth had faded a long time ago.

However when you were given away to him, Cregan had been displeased to notice you looked like a lamb for the slaughter and he had to admit he felt as much a husband as an executioner. He supposed nerves were normal, as the two of you were strangers, but he so hoped that you would warm up to him.

The feast was merry, with plenty of ale and beer to warm the stomach. Yet at his side Cregan noticed how stiff you remained, glancing his way from time to time and maintaining a polite conversation he was unsure how to follow. Idle talk was not to his taste, but he did not wish to appear impolite to you.

As the evening came to an end, and the two of you retired, Cregan came to a frightening realization—mere nerves could not explain the frightful state you were in. You had been a wife before, and for many years. The state of marriage was not a novelty to you and any wifely duties he would expect you to perform were surely learned by now.

Cregan assured himself that you were comfortable before he took a deep breath and took his leave. “I will wish you good night, my lady,” he said primply, hoping he could convey the respect he felt for you. Despite his expectations upon agreeing to a second marriage, he would take no pleasure in imposing his company on a woman who seemed so fearful of him.

“Are you not staying, my lord?” you startled.

“Your father insisted the ceremony took place upon your arrival and I did not see any reason to refuse him. However I suspect you might want to rest. We can become acquainted later,” he tried to explain, unwilling to expose your obvious fear and make you even more uncomfortable in his presence.

“I would rather it happened now, my lord,” you replied immediately, which made him frown. Still he appreciated your frankness and was somehow relieved that you had breached the subject so directly.

“Why is that?” he inquired.

“It is custom,” you said, raising your chin proudly, and he suspected you were trying to appear strong and determined, but the shaking in your shoulders betrayed you.

He would rather spend his nights in the snow, freezing down to his bones, than force himself onto an unwilling woman. “Perhaps, but not law,” he replied gently, hoping to soothe you, and obviously failing.

“I insist,” you said sharply.

Cregan sighed, but relented slightly. He undid the straps of his cloak and set it on the back of a chair, stalling for time in the hope of finding the appropriate words. It was a delicate matter and he wished at that moment that he had more graceful manners. “I am aware we do not know one another but you are my wife and I expect you to come to me with your worries,” 

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

“I do not pretend to be a man of great sensibilities, and I am sorry if my words offend you, but even I can say you do not want me in your bed,” he said.

He felt a twinge of guilt as your lower lip wobbled, but still you held onto your dignity. “I would simply like to learn your ways, and if you would be so inclined, to know when my duties will be required.”

He was a proud man but even he could admit to himself that your words bruised his heart, and your demeanor made his stomach twist painfully. His marriage with Arra had been joyful and loving, and they had never subscribed to the traditional customs of loveless marriages where cold duty prevailed and wives were subjected to nightly calls.

“I will not require you to do that,” Cregan tried, rather clumsy, and seemingly failed to address your concerns, as you pushed forward.

“Lord Tully called on me regularly, and I know I should learn your preferences, so that I might serve you best,” you said, then surely realized that mentioning your former husband’s name on your wedding night would not be considered appropriate, and two tears finally rolled onto your cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord—” 

“I would not call on you in this way,” Cregan tried again, and this time his words seemed to register to you—your eyebrows rose and your eyes widened. “The marital act is a moment to be shared between husband and wife, not merely a duty to perform. I would not share your bed until you wished me to.”

You remained frozen to the spot, confused. “You do not believe me,” he said with a small smile. “I would never impose myself on you, as I would take no pleasure in an unwilling wife.”

“I will participate, if that is what my lord requires,” you assured him, forcing a smile on your face.

Cregan sighed again, frustrated at himself. “You misunderstand me. I wish for us to share intimacy, willingfly, in mutual pleasure,” he explained, a flush coming to his cheeks despite himself—it was not often that he allowed his language to be so crude in front of a lady. “If that is not to your taste then I would leave your bed alone.”

You seemed to let go of a breath you had been holding, your shoulders coming down as your eyes flitted about his person, blinking rapidly. He supposed such a situation had not occurred to you, and he felt sorry he did not have this conversation before you were wed to him. “It is customary for the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to share a room, but I would not make you,” he added gently.

Two more tears pearled at the corners of your eyes, then escaped onto your flushed cheeks. “I am sorry to be such a disappointment to you, my lord.”

“You are not,” Cregan insisted. He hesitated then, looking at the door, but in the end, he gestured to the chairs in front of the fire. 

The two of you settled, rather uncomfortable at first. Sitting across from you without his pelts on, Lord Cregan looked much younger, and it made you wonder whether you were closer in age than you had initially assumed.

“Tell me the truth of it, did Lord Glover mistreat you?” he inquired, and you appreciated his directness, although you knew he might not appreciate yours.

Cregan saw you falter and think carefully before you answered. “He treated me as any husband has the right to treat his wife,” you said tentatively, and your new husband seemed to understand the truth hidden behind your polite words.

“Did he call on you often?” he asked gently, then continued as you nodded wordlessly. “You never did bear him children,” he said without any accusation.

“It was not for lack of trying, my lord,” you replied very primly, your chin held up high. His eyes were kind as they regarded you, and you noticed how he was curled in on himself slightly, his shoulders hunched in. You took a leap of faith and allowed the truth to tumble out of your mouth. “Every time was painful, and fruitless, and my nights were often plagued.”

Cregan let out a slow breath at that, and nodded once, his gaze softening slightly. “It pains me to know that you were subjected to that. I shall not plague your nights as such,” he offered. 

You did not answer, instead let your eyes wander across his face, taking in the strength of his brow and the deviated line of his nose. There was softness hidden in the curve of his mouth and the glint of his eyes, and you wondered how a man could look so hardened and gentle at the same time.

Perhaps it was the rich tone of his voice, warm even when he whispered, although you did not doubt that he would barely need to raise it to be heard across his hall or his courtyard. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at you, with honest interest and acceptance, rather than pity or expectation.

“My experience of marriage was much different,” he recounted. “Arra and I shared a bond of friendship and trust, which eventually grew into love. I admit that when I agreed to marry again, it was with the intent to find such harmony again.”

“I am glad you were this lucky,” you replied with a pained smile, but you could not deny a spark of hope had burst in your chest—you did not trust him, not yet, and you suspected it would not happen for a while, until he proved himself with his actions and not his words.

“The hour is late, and this conversation has no doubt taken its toll,” he started, rising from his seat. 

You shot out of yours, unwilling for him to tower over you, and for a moment he seemed to hesitate. Slowly, he took a step forward, then another, until you could smell the soap that had been used to wash his linen shirt, and the musk of his natural scent. 

“I will bid you good night,” he said softly, then dipped his head to press a kiss to your brow, firm and dry, and something tugged inside of your chest. 

As though he could feel the subtle pull between the two of you, the spark that might one day grow into trust, he made you an offer you were not sure you dreaded anymore. “I will take my leave, if that is what you wish, or I will stay and sleep at your side, if you allowed it.”

The fear in your bones was howling for him to leave, but the hope in your heart was too loud for you to ignore, and you wordlessly acquiesced, with a small smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle in response. You were grateful when Cregan did not comment on your choice to keep your robe over your nightgown, despite the warmth of the fire and the pelts staked on the bed.

He climbed into bed first and laid so utterly still you wanted to laugh—this whole situation felt ludicrous to you, and for the first time in weeks you went to bed with something else than dread in your mind.

“Allow me,” he murmured, extending an arm across your pillow, and you curled at his side, bringing your knees up to keep your body away from his, then rested your head on his shoulder curiously.

As the minutes passed you felt his body loosen, growing heavier into the sheets, his face turned away from yours, which you were grateful for. The solid mass of his shoulder under your head felt like an anchor, and even though you could not force your nerves to settle, you appreciated his clumsy effort. 

For a moment you wished to ask if his first wife had enjoyed this position, but the question remained stuck in your throat—you almost felt like an imposter.

“I am aware this is all unfamiliar to you as much as it is to me,” you spoke tentatively. “I will have to get used to this land, this castle, this name… but I am as much a stranger to you as you are to me.”

“A stranger perhaps, but you are my wife now,” was his answer, one you felt rumble in his chest, and it comforted you somewhat.

On this night, you were strangers indeed, simply a man and a woman, side by side under the furs—a husband and a wife, for now only in name. For years you had been a Tully, bound to a man that only required you to service him, and now you would learn what it was to be a Stark. 

Dividers by @/arcielee. Requested by anonymous.

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[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 0.2k

the phone buzzes at 3:07 a.m.

you answer on instinct, heart thudding like a warning—but the moment you hear the low crackle of distant static, your chest eases.

"si?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"told you i'd call."

his voice is gravel, dulled by poor signal and fatigue. but it’s him.

"you okay?"

"fine," he says. it's automatic. a soldier's answer. then quieter, "can't sleep."

you sit up against the headboard, brushing hair from your face. "where are you?"

a silence and then, his answer.

"nowhere good."

he never tells you, not really. you stopped asking a long time ago.

there's a pause. you hear him breathe.

"is she awake?" his question makes you smile for a moment.

"she had a nightmare an hour ago. i rocked her back down, but she’s been babbling since. talking to the ceiling fan, i think.” you explain softly, sitting at the bed.

he huffs something close to a laugh.

"i'll put you on speaker."

in the dim nightlight, your daughter—grace, as he was gifted to call her, lies in her crib, blanket half-kicked off, tiny fists waving at nothing.

simon listens. on the other end of the world, he's crouched in some half-shelled out building, rifle at his side, bone-weary—but when his daughter coos into the line, high and breathy and nonsense-sweet, his eyes close.

"bah-bah. da-da-da-da."

he bites down the ache.

"daa,"she says again, louder, like she knows.

his voice breaks low over the line. "that's me, sweetheart."

as the line keeps up, you smile with your eyes closed. tiny moments, as you called them. tiny moments where simon could feel happy even if he was crossing the whole world.

a/n: simon would have a daughter fight me

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Tea time ☕️ (Drew this over a year ago for the Sunshine Soap Zine. Some thoughts below)

For context, the zine funds meant for manufacturing and charity are gone: https://x.com/soapzine2024/status/1920663015017283887

This was to be my first ever zine, to celebrate a beloved character alongside fellow creators+fans, all towards a good cause. To have it all ruined by one bad actor is a massive disappointment. I hope customers will be able to get their money back and the charity donations met.

I kinda want to offer this as a print for those who wanted a physical copy, but I feel conflicted about having people pay for it… what do you guys think? Is there interest? If I do, I can also make prints of my other works. Let me know your thoughts, and please take care 🧡

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Being With Him Is Like:

Warnings: Smut, Manhandling, No protection, Nipple play, Praise, No use of Y/N, Nicknames, Inexperienced! Reader, Dom Oswald and Sub Reader,

Word Count: 2.7k

Oswald stood in front of you, his eyes roaming across your small frame. He took a slow step forward, and another, until he was towering over you. "You're quite a tiny little thing," he mused, his voice low and rumbling. He reached out with both hands and grasped you by the shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "And so delicate." He took one hand and traced a finger along your chin, gently tilting your head back so your eyes met. "You need someone to take care of you, don't you, little one?" He continued to hold you in place, his grip on your shoulders firm but not painful. "You're used to people being gentle with you, aren't you?" he asked, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "They all treat you like a fragile little thing, like you might break if they're not careful." Slowly, he began to walk you backwards, until your back was pressed against the wall, trapped between the cold brick and his solid frame.

He brought his hand up to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently. "But you don't break that easily, do you?" he asked, his tone still soft. "You just need to be handled a little differently." He leaned in, his lips almost touching your ear. "You need someone to take charge, don't you?" His hand on your shoulder slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer as he continued to speak. "You need someone who will be firm with you, who will push you, who will take what they want from you." His other hand traced down your neck, his fingers tracing along the soft skin there. "You need someone to dominate you, to take control." He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours once more. "You need someone to be your master, your king." He took a step even closer, so that his body was pressed against yours, trapping you between him and the wall. "I could be that for you," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "I could teach you how to submit to me, how to please me."

He ran his fingers through your hair, pulling it gently, so that your head was tilted back, exposed to him. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck, just below your ear. "And you would like that, wouldn't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "You would like to be my little pet, my toy to play with?" He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing your skin, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "I would take good care of you," he continued, his voice low and commanding. "I would give you all the attention you deserve, all the pleasure you could ever want." He took your chin in his hand again, forcing you to meet his gaze. "But you would have to be a good girl for me," he warned, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "You would have to obey me, and do as I say, without question." His hand on your waist began to move, inching its way up underneath your shirt. "You would have to trust me," he said, his fingers brushing against your hip. "Trust that I know what's best for you." He moved his lips to your neck again, kissing and nipping at your soft skin. "Because I do, baby doll," he whispered, his mouth moving down to your collarbone. "I know just what you need."

Oswald sat in his office, papers spread out across his desk in neat piles. He was poring over some of his more recent accounts, trying to focus on the numbers in front of him, but his mind kept wandering. It had been a few weeks since the wedding, and his new wife was constantly on his mind. He thought about her constantly, her soft curves, her sweet smile, the way her quiet shyness came out when she was around him. She looked so innocent, so fresh, it took almost every bit of self-control he had not to take her right there and then. He tapped a pen on the surface of his desk, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of his wife. She would be in the penthouse now, probably reading another one of her sweet little romance novels. The thought of her curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, completely oblivious to his dirty thoughts drove him wild. He stood up suddenly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He couldn't focus on work when he was like this. He needed to see her, needed to be near her. He made his way out of the office and up to the penthouse, his mind racing. When he stepped through the door, he found you exactly where he expected, curled up on the couch with a book in your hands. You looked adorable, the perfect picture of innocence. He made his way over to the couch, flopping down next to you. He took the book from your hands and set it down on the coffee table, his eyes roaming over your body.

"You know, I can't focus on work when you're here looking so cute," he said, his voice gruff. He reached out and traced a finger along your jawline, his touch gentle but insistent. "It's all I can do to keep myself from pouncing on you right here." You were still unused to his compliments, and it always made you flustered. "I'm just reading," you said, your voice quiet. He chuckled, moving closer to you until he was practically pinning you against the couch. Oswald leaned in, his lips just millimeters away from yours. "You're so innocent, baby doll," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So sweet and pure." He moved his hand to your hip, his grip firm as he pulled you closer to him. "It's honestly a miracle I haven't pounced on you yet," he said, his voice rough. He took your chin in his hand, tilting your head back so he could look at you more closely. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, his touch gentle but firm. "You don't have a lot of experience, do you?" he asked, his tone almost teasing. You shook your head, you grew even more flustered. You felt embarrassed, knowing that you were much less experienced than he was. Oswald noticed your discomfort and softened his tone. "It's okay, sweetheart," he said, his voice gentle. "I like that you're innocent. It's…adorable." He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing softly against your cheek. "And all for me."

He pushed you back onto the couch, crawling on top of you until he was pinning you in place. He leaned in, his face just inches away from yours. His lips hovered just above your own, and he spoke in a low, rough voice. "I'm going to take good care of you, baby doll," he whispered. "I'm going to teach you everything you need to know." He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He continued to kiss and nip at your neck, his hands roaming over your body. He ran his fingers over the fabric of your clothes, his touch possessive and firm. "But first," he said, his mouth moving to your ear, "I need to know that you're all mine. I need to hear you say it." You gasped softly, his presence overwhelming you. "I'm…yours," you managed to stammer out, your voice shaky. He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his eyes roaming over your features. "That's my good girl," he said, his tone almost like a purr. "You're all mine. My little pet, all for me." Oswald's hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. "Such an obedient little thing, aren't you?" he murmured approvingly. "I'm going to train this sweet body so well. Teach it to crave only my touch." He captured your lips in a deep, dominating kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. When he finally pulled back, his eyes gleamed with dark promise. "First lesson - no more hiding this sexy figure under frumpy clothes. From now on, you dress to please me. Show off what's mine for everyone to see… even if they can never have it." His other hand cupped your breast roughly through your blouse. "These tits belong to me. This ass…" He gave your rear a hard squeeze. "…is mine to use however I want. Understand, angel?"

A shudder ran through you at his dominant words and touches. "Yes, I understand," you breathed out, submitting to his will. "My body is yours, completely. I'll dress how you want, show off what belongs to you." You arched slightly into his groping hands, craving more of his possession. "Please, teach me everything. Make me perfect for you." Your innocent eyes gazed up at him adoringly, ready and eager to be molded by his desires. "Mmm, such eagerness pleases me," Oswald growled approvingly. "You just love having the attention of a villain, don't you? Let's get rid of these silly barriers between us." His large hands engulfed your breasts, kneading the soft flesh. He lowered his head, licking and sucking at the sensitive peaks until they hardened under his ministrations. "Gonna mark up this beautiful skin," he rumbled against your breast. "Brand you inside and out as my property." One hand snaked under your skirt, pushing your panties aside. He groaned at the feel of your slick heat. "Already so wet for me, aren't you? Your body knows who it belongs to." Soft whimpers and moans spilled from your lips as he touched and tasted your most intimate places. The pleasure was intense, unlike anything you'd experienced before. "Yes, yes I'm yours." you cried out shamelessly, too far gone to care about propriety anymore. "Mark me, claim me, ruin me for anyone else. I need you so badly." Your hips bucked against his invading fingers, seeking more stimulation. The obscene wet sounds filled the room as he explored your dripping sex. "Please, I can't stand it anymore." you begged wantonly, lost to the haze of lust he'd put you under.

"Ah! Oh god, oh fuck!" you wailed into the kiss, your body tensing and shaking as the intense pleasure crested. Your inner walls clamped down rhythmically around his pistoning fingers as ecstasy crashed over you in waves. Drool leaked from the corner of your slack mouth as you thrashed mindlessly beneath him, lost to the throes of your very first orgasm. As the aftershocks slowly subsided, you collapsed back against the cushions, chest heaving and looking up at him with glazed, adoring eyes. "Fuck, look at you come undone so beautifully for me," Oswald groaned, drinking in the sight of your debauched state with hungry eyes. He brought his soaked fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean while holding your gaze. "Delicious. And we're just getting started, my little minx." He shifted, settling between your spread thighs and freeing his throbbing erection from the confines of his pants. The flared head nudged insistently at your entrance, smearing your copious arousal. "Brace yourself, angel. I'm gonna take care of us both now."

You whimpered and nodded eagerly, spreading your legs wider in clear invitation. "Please, I need you inside me." you begged, too far gone to care about anything but feeling him fill you up. Your untouched walls fluttered in anticipation, aching to be stretched and filled by his thick cock. You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss as you prepared yourself to be thoroughly ravished by your husband. "Mmm, that's it baby, open up for me," Oswald purred as he slowly pushed forward, breaching your tight entrance inch by delicious inch. He groaned long and low at the exquisite feel of your virgin walls stretching to accommodate him. "So fucking tight, like you were made just for me." He bottomed out with a snap of his hips, hilting himself fully inside your welcoming heat. Pausing to let you adjust, he peppered your face with tender kisses. "You okay, sweetheart? I know it's a lot to take at first." His hands stroked soothingly over your sides as he waited for your response, giving you time to acclimate to the intense new sensations of being so utterly filled and claimed by him.

"Y-yes, I'm okay," you whimpered, your inner muscles fluttering and clenching around his thick length. It felt strange at first, a burning stretch as he filled you so completely. But the discomfort quickly melted into pleasure as your body adjusted. "It feels… amazing," you breathed, experimentally rolling your hips to take him even deeper. Your hands roamed over his broad back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his shirt as you held him close. Tilting your head, you captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, pouring all your newfound desire and affection into the heated embrace. "Make love to me, Oswald," you murmured against his mouth. "Show me the heights of pleasure only you can bring me to." "With pleasure, my darling wife," Oswald rumbled, capturing your lips in another kiss as he began to move. He set a deep, sensual pace, withdrawing almost fully before thrusting back in to the hilt. Each powerful stroke hit that secret spot inside you, sending jolts of electricity zinging up your spine. "Gonna worship this sweet body," he growled against your throat, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin. "Learn every inch of you, map out all the ways to make you sing." His hands caressed reverently over your curves as he loved you, one calloused palm cupping your breast and tweaking the pebbled nipple. The wet sounds of their joining filled the room, punctuated by your breathy moans and his low groans of pleasure. "That's it, baby."

Lost in a haze of sensation, you could only moan and writhe beneath him as he took you apart piece by piece. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines in their wake as you clung to him desperately. "Oswald! Yes, right there!" you cried out when he hit that perfect spot inside you, stars exploding behind your eyelids. The coil of tension in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter with each deep, purposeful thrust. "I-I think I'm gonna… ahhh!" Your climax hit you like a freight train, your inner muscles clamping down rhythmically around his pistoning cock as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. You saw white, your vision tunneling as you came harder than you ever thought possible, your untouched body overwhelmed by the intensity of your release. "Fuck yes, cum on my cock just like that!" Oswald snarled, slamming into you harder and faster as he chased his own release. The feeling of your velvety walls rippling along his shaft pushed him over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his seed. He shuddered and jerked above you, prolonging your shared peak as he filled you up with his essence. After long moments, he collapsed onto you, both of you panting harshly as you came down from the high of your coupling. "Goddamn, angel," he rasped, pressing soft kisses to your face. "You took me so well. Such a perfect little wife." He rolled to the side, gathering you into his arms and tucking you against his chest.

You nestled into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in the circle of his strong arms. Your body still trembled with aftershocks, his release seeping out of your well-used channel to trickle down your thighs. "That was… wow," you murmured dreamily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "I never knew it could feel so good." You placed a tender kiss over his racing pulse before tilting your head to meet his gaze, your eyes shining with adoration and satisfaction. "Thank you for showing me such pleasure." Your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the slight stubble. "I'm yours, completely and utterly." He brushed a strand of hair from your face tenderly, fingertips trailing along your jawline. "We're in this together now, you and I. Partners in every sense of the word." A slow, sinful smile curved his lips as he leaned in close, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "And I intend to explore every facet of our partnership… intimately and thoroughly. Consider this merely the beginning of our journey, my darling wife."

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2024) 2.04 «The Red Dragon and the Gold»

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x fem! reader.

Summary: So, he might be going against "bro code". He can't help it, though; his best friend's sibling is just too cute.

A/N: Reader can be imagined as biological/adopted/found family.

DICK GRAYSON & WALLY WEST

How Dick hadn't learnt to not leave his phone unattended was beyond Wally, especially when, for a vigilante, the man had such lax security for his personal phone. Nor should he have ever trusted Wally with the password.

Already drafting his absolute PR nightmare tweet on Dick's account, he's mentally rubbing his evil little hands together when his thumb hits the banner notification that pops up on the top of the screen.

My Heart: Thinking about you, come home soon xo

Alongside the text is a photo, a very suggestive photo of a woman dressed in nothing but one of Dick's hoodies. Wally knows because he bought Dick that hoodie, he's also very familiar with the woman in the photo on account of it being his baby sister.

He shrieks, the phone slipping from his slack with shock grip and landing on his big toe.

He doesn't hear the ringtone over his sudden stream of pained expletives, hopping on one foot, until he hears your voice from the speaker.

"Hey babe! You left your hoodie at - "

"YOU!" Wally screams, blubbering incoherently, pointing an accusing finger at the phone like you can see him.

"Jesus Christ," he can practically see you recoiling away from your phone, "Wally?" You've heard enough of your brother's meltdowns over the years that you can recognise him from just a single word.

"YOU, YOU - YOU HARLOT!" You snort at his words, staying silent until his stream of consciousness is finished.

"You done?" You hum, completely unphased at the tantrum Wally's just thrown for the past seven minutes.

"Am I, am I done? No, I'm not done." He squawks, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!" There's a beat of incredulous silence on your end.

"Excuse me? What have I done to you?"

"DEFILED THE SACRED BOND OF BROTHERHOOD IS WHAT YOU'VE DONE, HE'S MY BEST FRIEND"

"The sacred bond of brotherhood? I'm your fucking sibling, you're supposed to attack him, not me!" Wally can't help but notice how you don't deny his words.

"Oh, believe me, Dickhead is gonna get what's coming to him."

"Yeah, whatever, I'm hanging up now, tell Dick I'm getting pizza for dinner."

"Don't you dare - " He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you've followed through.

"Hey Wally, have you seen my ... phone?" Dick trails off as he spots the item he's looking for in his agitated friend's hand.

"You don’t fuck your best friends younger sibling. That’s like the number one rule of bro code!” Wally shrieked, not greeting him like a normal person, and not giving Dick even a second to realise what was happening before he was being grabbed and shaken by his shoulders.

"I love her." No explanation, no apologies, just pure earnestness and the softest look Wally had ever seen on his friend's face.

The declaration takes all the wind out of his sails, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He drags a hand down his face slowly,

Finally, he groaned and dragged both hands down his face. "Ugh. I hate that you’re so genuine. It ruins my ability to stay mad. Barry's not going to be happy you kept this from him though."

The mental image of the Flash going protective uncle giving him the slightest bit of sick satisfaction, until Dick shatters his dreams by casually saying, "he already knows."

"He what?! Am I the last to know?" Dick makes a show of thinking about it before shrugging with an unapologetic grin.

"Kinda, yeah."

"I'M SURROUNDED BY TRAITORS!" Wally yells, sinking to his knees in defeat.

JASON TODD & ROY HARPER

Nobody had ever accused Roy of being a detective. He might not be as smart as the bats (an impossible hurdle in Roy's opinion), but he wasn't completely fucking stupid.

An unfortunate reality for his sister, who he'd caught sneaking into the Titans Tower at the ripe time of 4:47 am, wearing a familiar leather jacket with a bullet hole in the sleeve. A jacket that could only mean one of two things.

You had joined a biker gang.

You were dating Jason Todd, AKA, his best friend, AKA dead fucking meat.

Because while option one terrified him, he'd still prefer it to the option he had a sinking suspicion about was actually correct.

The next afternoon, he finds Jason working out in the Tower's gym, and he grins wickedly. Bastard didn't even have to make Roy track him down.

"Hey, Roy." Jason greets, never once faltering in his reps, entirely unbothered, like he hadn’t committed emotional treason.

Roy thinks he could be forgiven for his following action, he could have done a lot worse than picking up the nearest kettlebell and throwing it at his unsuspecting friend.

"WHAT THE FUCK ROY?" Jason screeched as he dove for cover.

"YOU’RE DATING MY SISTER?!"

"Um, what?" He squeaks, before clearing his throat, "I mean... I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't try to gaslight me!" Roy jabbed a finger at him, seething. "You're supposed to be my best friend, and you went and... and started... canoodling my sister."

Jason’s brows shot up in amusement despite himself. "Canoodling?"

"Don't try and deflect either." Roy flushed as red as his hair.

"I’m not—well. Okay. I am. But in my defense, it wasn’t like I planned to fall for your sister."

"Have you kissed?"

Jason contemplates lying but bites the bullet and nods.

Roy gasped like an old lady hearing someone say cunt. "ON PURPOSE?!"

Jason gave him a flat look. "No, Roy, I tripped and fell. Of course, it was on purpose. More than once, too." He smirks, unable to stop himself from prodding the bear.

Roy spasms.

"Ok, let's not make this weird." Jason huffs.

"Make this weird? It's already weird, we're neck deep in it, NAY!, We're drowning in it!"

"Oh dear god," Jason sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and speaking before he can think better of it, "I love her."

Roy chokes, Jason startles, clearly surprising, even himself, "Oh my god, I love her."

There's a heavy, pained silence before Roy croaks "... Bro"

"I know." Jason tugged at the roots of his hair.

"…BRO." Roy was trying to prevent a panic attack, his panic fuelling Jason's.

"I know."

"You love me?" A slightly giddy voice breathes from the doorway.

Both men groan for different reasons as they spot you bouncing toward them.

"Babe, I -"

"I love you too," you beam, throwing your arms around Jason's neck and kissing him like your life depends on it.

Roy gags, forcing you to pull away. "God, this is gonna ruin every group hang for the rest of my life." He whined.

"Nah. You’ll get used to me kissing your sister in front of you."

"I SWEAR TO GOD —"

TIM DRAKE & CONNER KENT

Conner's knee is jiggling furiously. From across the room, Cassie raises a questioning brow, but Conner makes no effort to stop as he checks the time for the fourth time in less than three minutes.

You're late. So is Tim, but it's not him Conner's worried about. You're never late; you've always been a perpetually early person, and you always get so anxious if you aren't. Conner knows, having been on the receiving end of your time-anxious meltdowns more than once.

"Dude, calm down, they're not even five minutes late yet," Bart says, looking at him as if he's the weird one here, when clearly, something terrible has happened to you.

You've been in a car accident (you don't drive), you've been shot, (you're bulletproof), you've been taken hostage by Lex Luthor (plausible), you've -

"Hi guys, sorry I’m late, I slept through my alarm." You laugh bashfully, avoiding Conner's gaze, which narrows in suspicion.

"That never happens." He scowls, his enhanced hearing picking up the slight stutter in your heartbeat.

"Well, it did today." You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit next to Cassie.

Barely two minutes later, a harried-looking Tim scurries through the door, brushing his sweaty hair from his face, and in doing so, accidentally reveals a hickey just beneath the neckline of his shirt.

It's only for a second, but that one second is all he needs to connect the dots.

"No." He says, glaring at Tim as everyone else, including you, watches in confusion.

"No?" Tim repeats.

"NO!" Conner snarls, jumping up from his seat and pulling down the neckline of Tim's shirt to display not one, but three love bites.

"YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH MY SISTER?!"

"Technically, there wasn't much sleeping involved - " Tim mutters, with absolutely zero regard for his well-being.

"I trusted you with my life, and you go behind my back to DEFLOWER MY INNOCENT BABY SISTER?!"

"You're the same age?" Tim mumbles at the same time you scoff.

"Deflower? Innocent? Are we living in the Middle Ages? Are you my owner?"

"Stay out of this!" Conner whirls on you, his gaze dangerously red.

"Stay out of my own sex life?" You guffaw, ignoring the way Conner puffs up like an angry cat. "Besides, Tim's hardly my first."

Your words are enough to shock your brother enough that he drops Tim, reeling back with a hand on his chest like he's suffering a heart attack.

You take the opportunity to scoop your partner into your arms, flying away before Kon can recover, until you reach the safety of the bed you've both only just left.

"I think he's actually going to kill me." Tim mumbles, burying his face in your chest.

"Hmm, guess you''ll just have to keep me around forever, for protection."

"Sounds perfect." Tim dreamily says, clutching you even tighter in contentment.

BRUCE WAYNE & CLARK KENT

Once, there would have been a time when interviewing Gotham’s Bruce Wayne would have left him an anxious wreck, but now, Clark relished in the opportunity. Giddy that his best friend, no matter how much the man denied it, would turn to him (him! A Metropolis interloper), instead of someone like that tart Vicki Vale.

(That thought has him mentally apologising to his ma for his crudeness, but what she wouldn't know, couldn't hurt her.)

Needless to say, Clark was excited to have been given the chance, and he refused to squander it.

They were in Bruce's "office," a room they both knew he hardly ever even stepped foot inside, but had occupied to keep up the facade.

A brilliant facade it was, Clark thought in amusement, as he watched Brucie Wayne ramble on earnestly. Nobody would ever suspect the man, reaching for his wallet to pull out a picture of his kids in an interview on Wayne Enterprises' newest ventures, to be the fearsome Batman.

Clark, ever affable, just smiles, nodding along until a second picture flutters onto the desk. Bruce freezes, his perfected mask slipping just a fraction, but enough for Clark to notice as the unshakeable man's eyes widen in sheer panic.

Bruce was composed. He was always in control, a master of self-control. Bruce was unflappable, he had a plan for everything.

Bruce, evidently, did not have a plan, beyond freezing in horror, for when an intimate Polaroid of his girlfriend, Clark's sister, landed face up on the table between them.

You're wearing one of his button-up shirts, seated sideways across Bruce's lap, the man's large hand clasped over your thigh, as you stare up at him like he's your whole world.

Clark paused, staring at the photo on the desk like it was a live grenade.

Bruce, very carefully, snuck a hand out to retrieve it. Only to be thwarted by Clark's superspeed. He holds it between his thumb and his index finger like it might bite him, the blinding grin never once fading from his face.

Bruce thinks it's the most terrifying Clark has ever looked.

There's a long pause, with Bruce mentally calculating how long it will take before he has some Kryptonite on his hands and whetehr or not Clark will flatten him before then.

"Oh my god," Clark said.

Bruce grimaced. "It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're dating my sister."

"Ok, it's exactly what it looks like, but—" He cuts off once more as Clark speaks with surprising giddiness.

"You carry her around in your wallet. Like a real boyfriend, it's sickeningly sweet."

Bruce opened his mouth, closing it and opening it again repeatedly like a stunned fish as he blushed a brilliant red.

Clark wasn’t finished; if anything, he looked like Christmas had come early.

"Is there more?" Bruce stiffens, "There is! Do you have a shrine? I bet you have a shrine!"

"Clark."

"Is it in the batcave?"

"Clark."

"What about a scrapbook? Is she on the manor walls yet?"

"Clark."

"Do your kids know? Wait, am I the last to know?!" He seemed genuinely hurt by that thought.

Bruce looked up at the ceiling like it could save him from the confrontation; he thinks he'd rather fight than... whatever the hell, it is Clark's doing.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Just the Two of Us

pairing: Husband!König x Reader

synopsis: Some nights are made for quiet intimacy—the soft glow of candlelight, the distant crackle of an old record, and the warmth of two souls moving in perfect harmony. König has never been a man of grand gestures, but in the safety of your embrace, with your body swaying against his, he doesn't need words to tell you what you already know.

warnings: König being a giant but ridiculously gentle husband, A hint of spice but mostly warmth and devotion

word count: 947

The house was steeped in silence—not the kind that was empty or lonely, but one that thrummed with warmth, with something deep and unspoken filling the space between heartbeats.

It was late. The kind of hour where the world felt distant, where time stretched and softened, where nothing existed beyond these walls. The gentle crackle of a record player spun through the dimly lit room, the melody low and slow, wrapping around you both like a whispered secret.

And then—his hands.

Large, calloused, warm.

One resting firm at your waist, fingers curling just slightly, the other cradling yours with infinite care, reverence in every touch. As if you were something fragile. Something precious. König's presence surrounded you, his touch grounding yet electrifying, a contradiction wrapped in devotion.

"Dance with me, liebling," he murmured, lips barely grazing your temple, his voice a deep, velvety hush against your skin.

He pulled you into the slow sway of the music, guiding you with effortless ease. Your body moved in sync with his, drawn into the rhythm, into the heat of him. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet intimacy of being close, of feeling the steady thrum of his heart against your own.

His voice rumbled low in his chest, the vibrations sinking into your skin. "Do you remember our first dance?"

A soft smile played at your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself melt into him. "How could I forget?"

It was your wedding day. You could still see it—the way his hands had trembled when he first held you, his massive frame taut with nerves, his desperate attempt to move with grace despite the overwhelming emotions pressing against his ribs. The way his breath had shuddered against your cheek, the sheer weight of his love filling the space between you.

And the way he had looked at you.

Like you were the only thing in the world.

Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

His grip tightened at your waist, pulling you closer—so close you could feel every inch of him, every ripple of tension beneath his skin.

"I was so nervous," he admitted, chuckling softly, his breath warm against your ear. "I thought I might step on your feet."

You laughed, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "You did."

König groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, lips hovering just above yours. "I did not."

"You absolutely did, love." You teased, dragging your fingers along the nape of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that rippled through him at your touch.

His chest rumbled with a quiet huff, but then—that rare, boyish grin tugged at his lips, the one that made your heart stutter and your stomach flip.

"You still married me," he murmured, voice softer now, thick with something reverent.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath the thin material of his shirt.

"I’d marry you a thousand times over."

His breath hitched, his grip tightening just slightly—just enough to make you feel the restraint in his movements, the way he held back the sheer need pressing beneath his skin.

His hands roamed lower, pressing against the curve of your hips as he guided you into a slow, deliberate sway. Every movement was intentional. His touch was firmer now, possessive, his body pressing just a little closer. The music swelled around you, but you barely heard it—not over the way your pulse pounded in your ears, not over the way he was looking at you now.

Like he wanted to devour you.

His voice dipped, thick and rough. "I was terrified that day." His lips ghosted over your cheek, his nose brushing against your temple. "I wanted everything to be perfect for you."

Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he inhaled sharply, a sound that sent heat curling deep in your stomach.

"It was perfect," you whispered. "Because it was you."

König let out a breath, ragged, unsteady. Then his hands were sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body was dizzying, the scent of him—warm spice, musk, something purely him—sinking into your skin.

The song played on, wrapping around you both, slow and steady.

König dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then just beneath your ear. Each one softer than the last, each one sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"Liebling," he rasped, his voice frayed with something thick, something desperate.

You smiled, tilting your head so your lips barely ghosted over his jaw, teasing, taunting, promising.

"What is it, my love?"

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening for just a second—just long enough for you to feel the full force of his restraint, the hunger curling beneath his skin. His hands traced the length of your back, slow and deliberate, mapping every dip and curve like he was memorizing you all over again.

His mouth found your shoulder once more, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin, teeth grazing lightly, just enough to make you gasp.

"I love you," he breathed, the words almost reverent, almost pleading.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin, low and deep.

"Show me."

His breath shuddered.

And then—his lips.

Soft. Slow. Impossibly deep.

His kiss stole the air from your lungs, left you weightless in his arms, the world fading away until there was nothing left but the heat of him, the taste of him, the way he consumed you with every brush of his lips, every sigh, every touch.

Only him.

Only this.

Only love.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

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this was one of my first kruegernikto drawings i thiiinnnkkk

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photos of simon you took:

photos of simon that johnny/kyle send you:

photos simon send you:

(the guys in the photo are johnny and kyle)

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Kicking screaming crying throwing up

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@gameofthronesdaily's HOTD SEASON 2 APPRECIATION WEEK Day One — Dragons and their riders

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konig in a hallway