#Who is as amusing as a pain in the arse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelfic · 1 year

Text

— CALM AFTER THE STORM

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.

warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited

author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!

when he just has to be controversial

The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.

You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.

“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.

Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”

You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”

You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”

“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”

You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.

“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”

You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”

“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.

Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”

“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.

“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”

“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”

The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”

Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”

“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.

“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.

“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.

You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”

“I didn’t throw anything this time!”

2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye

Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.

You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.

Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.

The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.

“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”

She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.

“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”

Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.

“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.

Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”

“Mr Snape.”

“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”

“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”

You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.

“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”

“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”

Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.

The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.

Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.

Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”

“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”

“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”

“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”

“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”

At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”

“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.

“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.

Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”

“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”

Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.

The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.

“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”

He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”

“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”

“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.

3. when he's too good for flower crowns.

“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”

“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.

You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.

“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.

Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.

“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”

You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.

“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.

The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.

Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”

You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”

“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”

“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”

Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”

“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”

You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.

“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”

With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.

Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.

Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.

4. when he bleeds out on you.

You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.

If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.

You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.

“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”

“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.

“She was behind the sofa!”

James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”

“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”

“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”

He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”

While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.

“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.

You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.

“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.

“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”

“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”

Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”

“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”

Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”

“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”

His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”

You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.

You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t laugh at me then!”

5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!

Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.

You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.

“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”

“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”

“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”

You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”

“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.

“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”

“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”

“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”

He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”

“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”

You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.

“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”

“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”

“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”

“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”

“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”

You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.

Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.

“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.

Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”

“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”

“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”

“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”

“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”

You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.

“See?”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”

“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.

“No promises.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin ff #remus lupin fic #marauders x reader #marauders fanfic #remus x reader #remus lupin scenarios #andrew garfield x reader #remus fanfic #remus fanfiction

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lundenloves · 1 year

Text

dad!simon masterlist | taglist | masterlist | request info

dad!simon who will near fall asleep on the sofa, sat upright with wide legs and his arms crossed, only opening one eye to pretend he’s listening while one of his daughters rambles about school drama.

dad!simon who scoffs when another monthly subscription or amazon payment goes through his card, brows knitted together after asking just why the house has to be subscribed to four separate streaming services.

dad!simon who never remembers his kids’ friends names. it could be his daughters best friend of seven years and he still wouldn’t remember.

dad!simon who visually could not care less about the gossip his daughter waffles about, mumbling “mhm” every so often to appear engaged though shrugging when called out on his evident boredom.

dad!simon who tsks at all the parcels that come through the door day-to-day. living with three daughters and a wife, it’s constant. he detests being the only one home and having to sign for something — will actively ignore a knock on the door when there’s other people in the house.

dad!simon who (when drunk) is the height of amusement for his eldest. many snapchats exist of him being handed the phone already recording and goofily grinning into it while looking up at her “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

dad!simon who sticks post-it notes in bold handwriting to the fridge whenever anyone has an appointment due the following day. “don’t forget.” complete with a fullstop and a harsh underline of the time in military digits.

dad!simon who replies sarcastically to almost every obvious question with his natural glare, something each of his kids had genetically taken: “don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get stupid answers.” he loves them really.

dad!simon who silenced the family groupchat as soon as he had figured out how to, only replying every other day with a thumbs up reaction or more likely a thumbs down.

dad!simon who side eyes his kids. he doesn’t mean it, yet it happens. watching throw away tv? side eye. talking too loud on the phone? side eye. wearing a questionable outfit? side eye.

dad!simon who has a firm routine. he fucking detests being interrupted, and or spoken to from the hours of five till seven in the morning. he’ll get up, have food and go to the gym all in this time frame before anyone can dent his peace.

dad!simon who sighs avidly. a long and painful sigh after any merely simple question is asked or he’s to pick up one of his kids from a night out. “fucking well told ‘er not to expect me past twelve.” while accidentally slamming the door behind him, keys jingling around his finger.

dad!simon who struggles to show affection in any other way than a short pat of the shoulder or a one armed hug, pulling his kids into his chest for mere seconds before stepping back.

dad!simon who groans whenever anything gets moved in the house. his military mind in favour of keeping things in one position, untouched and moved for preferably ever unless he was told. though, having kids didn’t quite work like that.

dad!simon who: “do i ‘av to do fucking everything in this house? eh?”

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob

˗ˏˋ university is still kicking my arse into next week. i joined the football team too, fuck knows why i’m making myself busier than i have to be. alas here we are, and i’m feeding the pigeons! aka sprinkling dad headcannons until i get traction again. pls love me, pls follow me, pls reblog, pls validate me.

the reason i tag this as ‘x reader’ as it’s ur fuckin family with him. no one bite my head off man i can’t be bothered tonight.

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley headcanons #dad!simon #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley headcanons

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infictionalwonderland · 5 months

Note

I NEED PART TWO OF THE MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N L/N!

. . . MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N Y/L/N FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT! (part2)

You cackled to yourself after sending the message into your groupchat, quickly returning to the video and beginning to play it again, occasional bursts of giggles slipping through your lips.

Resuming your place in the video—the first clip that began playing was actually from not that long ago at all. It was You, Kat Dennings, Elizabeth Olsen and Zendaya at Taylor Swifts Eras Tour (an experience you would genuinely never forget). Taylor was playing Lover and, in the clip, Kat had your face in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist, bringing you close to her body.

“Lover, can I go where you go—“ Kat sang with Taylor, singing all the lyrics to you and grinning at you, faces inches away from each other. “—Can we always be this close.” She punctuated this lyric with giving you an eskimo kiss.

You smiled sincerely at the memory.

The next clip began up, it was you and Chris Evans doing Playground Insults with BBC Radio 1: the two of you were sat opposite each other, knees touching, Chris was grinning goofily at you, giddy laughs escaping him as you tried to remain straight faced.

“—we’re here with Chris Evans and Y/N Y/L/N.” The presenters introduced.

“And we’re about to play Playground Insults . . Now Chris and Y/N are sat opposite each other,” the camera cut to you and Chris, him smiling largely and you looking away to contain your own, “the atmosphere is very tense.”

“We’ve done this quite a few times now but im thinking.. this is the biggest movie of the year, let’s make this the biggest playground insults we’ve ever done.”

“Yep.” Chris nodded, trying not to laugh.

“Chris, hun. . you’re ugly. Like, plain ugly.” You nodded seriously, immediately setting off as you feigned a pained wince to the words. “Everyone’s been talking about it. . just, you’re so atrocious to look at. Honestly, I almost feel arse over tits in horror when I saw you.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something but then faltered and pouted, “no matter how good of an actor I am, I could never even get those words out my mouth about you and make them sound genuine. Seriously.”

The third clip started—it was Chris Hemsworth on a carpet, a bold colourful question at the bottom said ‘WHO HAS THE MOST FANS?’. Chris immediately said, “Y/n.” In that deep Australian accent of his. “Not that I blame the people from choosing her to be the people’s queen, she is truly one of a kind. You’ll only ever meet one Y/n in your lifetime, cherish it. The fans have the right idea.”

It changed to Scarlett with the same colourful question at screen and at the same carpet event: “Oh, Yeah. Y/n, one hundred percent.” She chuckled huskily. “That woman has fans upon fans and seriously, I’m one of them. She is something else.” She grinned, winking at the camera.

After Scarlett, Paul Rudd came onto your screen in the very same clip. “Oh! The legend herself, Y/N Y/L/N.” Paul answered brightly, smiling. “The amount of fans she has is unbelievable—well, it’s definitely believable for someone like her, so, not really unbelievable..”

The forth clip began—it was you all playing Family Feud with Jimmy Kimmel, on his live show. Sebastian and RDJ were currently facing off; Jimmy posed the question “what, other than the sun, are some of the hottest things to exist?”

Sebastian got to the buzzer faster than Robert managed to and didn’t even falter or hesitate as he answered straight away, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

The audience immediately screamed laughed and shrieked in delight, RDJ just nodded his head in understanding and appreciation, clapping his hands. Chris Evans, Mark and Anthony on the other side all looked amused but ultimately accepting (Chris was nodding along almost subconsciously). You were on the other team, looking heavenward with a faint exasperated grin and Scarlet wrapped her arm around your waist, Chris Hemsworth smirking at you both.

The fifth clip started up: it was a behind the scenes shot from Endgame, the big final battle. You were currently in the middle of doing your own stunt, green screen behind you and harnesses strapped to you as you dangled at a halfway point in the air. Your arms and hands were positioned in such a way to show your character manipulating her powers—the position also very much enhanced your chest, with the added help of your superhero attire. You looked hot, even you could admit.

The camera mirthfully panned to some of the rest of the cast who all stood aside while you filmed your scene—said cast being Chris Evans, Tom Holland, Gwyneth Paltrow, RDJ, Elizabeth Olsen and Tessa Thompson. All of their eyes were fixated on you, Robert was the only one grinning in amusement (and awe) while all the others stared at you as though you hung the sun yourself.

“Boobies.” Lizzie giggled faintly, her eyes stuck. The rest of the cast watching dumbly nodded while the crew cracked up behind the cameras.

And if you screenshotted their dumbfounded faces looking ip at on screen you. . well that was your business.

The clip changed. It was now Karen Gillan being interviewed on some carpet event, looking genuinely breathtaking. The interviewer was asking, “—obviously, your friend and co-star Y/N Y/L/N has been in lots of iconic movies. . what is your favourite scene of hers in The Wolf of Wall Street?”

Karen paused with a cheeky little smile, giving the interviewer a a jokingly incredulous look. “Come on.” She simply said. “It’s a bloody no brainer, I’m certain it was Leonardo’s favourite scene too. . I hope it is anyway otherwise he’s a silly, silly man.”

At the same carpet event with the same interviewer, Chris Hemsworth was being interviewed—his wife, Elsa, on his arm and looking half ready to battle off any rude interviewers (queen).

“—what is your favourite scene of hers in Ocean’s 8?”

“All of them!” Elsa answered eagerly, grinning. “Her outfits really accentuated her personality and I enjoyed them very much so. Particularly her outfit for the gala. . the amount of accentuated personality, by gosh, it had me speechless.”

Chris turned her head, obviously trying not to laugh at his wife.

“Nunca he estado más celoso y agradecido por la ropa en mi vida.” Elsa hummed.

You blinked.

The clip changed to you, Sebastian, Lizzie, Paul, Jeremy and Jimmy all on his Tonight Show playing Musical Beers. The slightly unnerving music/beat played in the background while you all stalked around the circle, Paul and Jeremy already out—leaving you, Seb, Lizzie and Jimmy.

As you were all racing around the circular table, Lizzie very obviously swatted your ass and you were impressed with your own body as you watched that impact: the audience erupted into laughs and shrieks, Jimmy playfully covering his eyes as Seb smirked. You thought that would be the end of the clip, but no.

The very disco-esk tune briefly cut out and past time you thought that meant it stopped completely and you’d already reached for the red cup in front of you and chugged it’s contents, only to pause as the music began back up.

“Spit it back! Spit it back!”

You did just that—but when the music actually stopped and Seb was left standing in front of the cup with your (let’s not go there) in it, your mouth popped open in shock. Jeremy gladly backed away from the table in hysterics, Lizzie and Jimmy equally as amused.

“Oh my god, I am—“

Sebastian quickly downed the cup with. . those contents, not even looking all that perturbed.

“So sorry.” You finished, mouth agape.

You vaguely remembered a conversation you’d had with him after the show, sincerely and repeatedly apologising and he was just very, very amused with you. He didn’t seem to mind at all—what an odd man.

“It’s all good.” Sebastian chuckled lowly, wrapping the mortified looking past you in a one armed shoulder hug and squeezing you to him. Lizzie seemed to be trying to trade a very obvious eye message with you—the audience shrieked and screamed in the background.

Another clip began: its was you and Scarlett Johansson doing a trust fall thing, you thought (correctly).

“Scarlett I swear. .” You giggled, looking over your shoulder at the woman behind you—she grinned back at you amusedly, her eyes twinkling.

“Calm down.” She laughed herself. “I’ll catch you don’t worry, gorgeous.”

Still slightly overcome with nervous giggles, you turned and let out a breath as you shut your eyes before holding at your arms and falling back.

And catch you she definitely did—although her hands didn’t exactly land in a PG-13 area, you cackled as you watched her hands grope at your chest to pull you up. In the video, you were also wheezing as were the crew and Scarlett had a cheeky little smirk as she laughed.

When you were finally standing, she gave one last squeeze before finally letting go—on screen you was breathless with giggles.

“Always wanted to do that.” She shrugged simply with a large amused smile.

The next clip began—it was Zendaya and Tom Holland on LADBible, playing that how much do you agree or not game. The statement said was ‘Y/N Y/L/N is everyone‘s celebrity crush’.

Instantly, Tom and Zendaya moved their cups to strongly agree, both of them nodding in solid agreement with the statement: presently, you awed at your friends, ego very much boosted. Well. To be fair, all of this video was massively boosting your ego.

“I mean, come on.” Zendaya made a ‘duh’ face and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s Y/N.” Tom smiled crookedly, adding onto her comment.

“I am so happy I get to now say that she’s one of my closest friends.” Zendaya beamed genuinely. “She’s—one of those people whose beauty isn’t just an external thing, she’s so lovely man.” She pouted, in awe of you.

Watching the video, you beamed back at her.

The clip changed: Mark Ruffalo was on the Graham Norton show, next to Nicki Minaj and an actor you couldn’t place.

“Who would you say your favourite co-star has ever been, Mark?” Graham inquired.

“I—i would probably have to go with Y/N—“ The crowd instantly erupted into cheers and yells and Nicki smiled next to him, stating that she loved you under the sound of cheering. Mark grinned back at her, mumbling ‘me too’.

“Yeah, she’s a hell of an actress, that one. So easy to work with. Funny as f—hell, she’s just—an extremely genuine and kind person, and she really brings the energy on set.” Mark grinned. “..she’s also the only free pass my wife has ever given me. Which I won’t be using! Because I don’t believe in cheating, it’s scummy! Even though she’s gorgeous—anyone would be lucky!” He had to rise to a shout at the end as the audience erupted.

Nicki giggled next to him, “me personally, I would use that pass.”

You gasped in laughter as you watched the screen, screen-recording it all so you could go back and watch it. Saving it to your folder titled PISSING MY PANTS HRLP

The clip changed yet again, showing a scene from the Winter Solider BTS. You and Sebastian were filming a scene where he had to shoot your character—you watched the ‘Winter Solider’ shoot your character multiple times making you go down with an agonised yell, crawling away from him.

As soon as CUT was yelled, Sebastian’s face dropped from his stone cold (wintery) expression and he raced to you, crouching next to you. He practically tugged you into his lap on the floor, holding you.

“Oh my fuck that—that just felt so real, Y/n. You know I would never hurt you right?” He asked, blinking repeatedly before a small smirk fell on his lips. “You’re way too pretty to injure doll. Can’t ruin your perfect face.”

On screen you huffed in mock anger, hiding an amused grin as you shoved at him—he still held you close to him though, so both of you fell backwards and burst into giggles.

You literally thought ‘I ship them’ as you watched the clip of Sebastian and yourself, forgetting that was you for a moment.

Another clip started up—another behind the scenes. It was you and Tom Hiddleston in Thor : Ragnarok. In the scene Loki was tied down to the chair and your character was meant to intimidate him—you watched yourself take out your character’s daggers and lean forward into his space. One leg leaned up on top of the arm of the chair, sliding one dagger just a hair above the skin of his neck while using the over the move his chin up to be angled to you as you mockingly smiled down at him.

You said your line as your character but Tom remained silent, mouth parted and eyes widened as he gazed up at you—speech failing him. (You knew that they actually decided to include this awestruck look in the movie—the amount of fucking edits you’d seen was unreal).

Eyebrows crinkling you nudged your knee into his chest and he snapped out of it, grabbing your knee in a gentle grip. “Sorry darling, words sometimes seem to fail me in your presence.” He muttered rather hoarsely, still staring up at you.

“I don’t fucking blame him.” Tessa Thompson murmured from behind you both, and the camera moved to show her staring at you in a similar awe.

Present time, you could barely hide your smirk. Literally the biggest ego boost. Of all time.

Again, the clip changed and it was now Natalie Portman looking gorgeous on a carpet event, being interviewed—“if you could have Jane explore another romance than Thor, who would it be and why?”

“Y/N!” Natalia enthused immediately. “Well—her character, but like. Both. Either. One for me, one for Jane. That—would be great. And why? Come on! She’s an absolutely beautiful woman, inside and out. She has this outward glow that you literally cannot and don’t want to look away from and that reflects so much in her personality—once you’ve interacted with her one time, you never want to stop. Ever. I’m not kidding.” She giggled.

Another clip started up quickly—a blooper of you and Chris Evans. In this scene, your characters were meant to kiss after an angsty, angry argument. You stormed into the frame, into the bedroom, completely in character—an angry expression on and ready to go at Steve.

Before you could even let out a single syllable to begin your lines, Chris immediately surged forward and took your face in his hands, kissing the living daylights out of you.

You both pulled back after a bit and you just started at him, questioningly (that kiss was probably one of your best ever, let it be known, Chris Evans was a fantastic kisser).

“I—I thought It’d be good for the scene. .” Chris trailed off bashfully, scratching the base of his neck, literally pulling the excuse out of his arse. In actuality, he hadn’t wanted to spare a moment of the scene where he could be kissing you, well, not doing so.

“Bull!” Scarlett exclaimed as she materialised in the doorway. “He just wanted to kiss you.” She told you, pointedly looking at the man.

“Yeah—i—“ He huffed a defeated sigh, pink-cheeked. “I’ve got nothing. She’s right.”

In hindsight, you thought to yourself, you should probably stop being so shocked when the fanbase starts shipping you with your costars.

The clip changed: now it was you, Elizabeth and Aaron on a carpet event together—all being interviewed at the same time.

“So, Y/n, how does it feel to be in a Maximoff twin sandwich right now?” The interviewer giggled happily, smiling.

Before you could open you’re mouth—“we’re really enjoying it.” Lizzie and Aaron replied at the same time.

The interview gaped and you simply rolled your eyes as the two smirked at either side of you, they’d been talking in sync ever since you’d first met them at the table reading.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t why?” Aaron grinned crookedly. “A beautiful, lovely woman in between us. Honestly, love, there’s not a thought in my head besides you.” He joked, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“I completely support that.” Lizzie chirped in, “ever since I’ve met this gorgeous lady who i now acknowledge as my partner in everything—she’s taken up all of the room in my brain, and I couldn’t be happier.” She giggled, putting her arm around your waist.

In the middle of them both, with an arm over your shoulder and one around your waist—you simply sighed, sparing the giddy interviewer an exaggerated suffering expression.

Again, the clip switched—it was now another blooper of you in the Iron Man movie, the scene where you handed Tony’s arse to him in the boxing ring. Instead of acting as scripted, Gwen Paltrow got up from her seat and strode over to the boxing ring, stepping inside gracefully and planting one right on your lips.

Presently, you giggled as you thought back to this moment. Gwen was your impulsive queen. Your idol.

From the floor, RDJ squawked in shock, exclaiming about being cheated and betrayed and Gwen flung her stiletto off her foot at him without moving from your lips.

When she finally did, she simply smiled at you kindly, “you just looked so good that I couldn’t not kiss you, sweets.” She shrugged and you, on screen, laughed at her as you leaned back in to kiss her cheek.

(Unfortunately the scene was not included in the movie—but Gwen never wasted an opportunity to talk about it, and you, if the chance arose).

The clip moved onto another one—back to the Thor : Ragnarok movie, you and Heimdall were fighting together, however you missed a step in your stunt and ended up stumbling. Idris immediately caught you with a steady arm around your waist, full you to him so you could stabilise yourself.

You smiled up at him thankfully, squeezing his arm in gratitude (totally not because you’d just wanted to feel his bicep).

You watched as your on screen self get distracted again and Idris murmured to Tom who’d now appeared next to him, “I feel like it’s dishonourable how much I want her to fall so I can catch her again now.”

“Mate, trust me,” Tom laughed, “I completely understand. But she doesn’t need the rescuing.”

“That she does not.” Both men smiled fondly as they watched you.

Presently, you were actively refusing to blush.

A different clip started up—Florence Pugh was being interviewed, looking breathtaking in her green dress. “—did you take anything from set?” The interviewer was asking, smiling at Florence.

“Um—not much, just Y/n’s heart.” Florence immediately cracked up at her own joke, smiling widely. “And her underwear too.” She added.

The interviewer opened her mouth to say something more, giggling at Florence as she continued speaking: “and before you ask, no. I wouldn’t be selling, for any price. Finders keepers and all that shite—plus, she’s my girl, so. That rule applies even more so. No one else can take her heart. Or her pants.”

Watching your friend, you giggled at her cheesy smile at her words before getting distracted by your group chat, where multiple of your friends and co-starts had seen your message and were now responding. Your laughter increased tenfold as you opened the thread.

#marvel cast x reader #marvel cast #avengers #the avengers imagine #avengers x reader #famous reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan imagine #chris evans imagine #sebastian stan x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #chris evans #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #actress reader

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ghostlysoaps · 2 months

Text

A Minor Annoyance

They’re back at base again and Ghost has been holed up in his office for the majority of the week in an attempt to get back on track with his ever-increasing backlog of paperwork. The knock on his door is therefore welcome, though surprising. He sits up straighter, wincing when several joints pop in protest, calling for them to come in.

Gaz leans himself against the doorframe. He, too, looks exhausted. Exhausted and irritated.

“I need your help wrangling Soap,” he says without preamble or an arduous attempt at small talk.

Ghost blinks at him.

“What?”

“He’s a stubborn bastard who won’t listen to reason,” Gaz shrugs. “And if it comes down to knocking him out in order to get him to rest, I’d rather have help carrying his leaden arse back to his room.”

Ghost blames sleep deprivation for the way he snorts.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, following behind the sergeant with amused wariness dogging his steps.

They find Soap outside surrounded by the scent of petrichor and bleary-eyed recruits. A gust of wind weaves around them, its chilling bite unmistakable where it tugs upon their hair and clothes, rustling through the pine-ridden area like an unexpected whisper. Ghost waits for Soap to send the group out on the track before he approaches, brow furrowed in response to the thickness layered over his voice. He'd sounded as if he spoke from deep in his throat, and with an air of a man pretending as if it didn’t pain him to do so. As he draws closer, Ghost allows the gravel beneath his feet to shift deliberately.

Soap jerks, swings his head around when Ghost comes to stand at his side, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. The tip of his nose is red too, his cheeks a tad puffy, though he carries himself admirably regardless. Straight-backed and refusing to huddle into the oversized jacket he's wearing.

"Lt.? What're y'doing ‘ere?”

“I'm relieving you of your duties. Garrick can take it from here,” he replies, throwing Gaz a look that is met with surreptitious thumbs-up. He'll ask Price to look into leave for him. Soap's not the only one itching to work himself into an early grave by the looks of it.

It must be a cold day in hell, he muses, if I'm the one with the healthiest work-life balance at the moment.

“What?! Get tae and dinnae talk pish! I'm fine. I can work, Sir, I dinnae need–”

“That was an order, Sergeant. You can either leave on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder. Choice is yours.”

Soap's eyes narrow, his shoulders drawing up defensively, lips pulled back in a sneer. “You wouldn't dare.”

Which is about the worst thing he could've possibly said.

All at once Simon is twelve years old again with a defiant Tommy glaring daggers at him from across the stained rug, those fateful words a hiss through clenched teeth. Even the keen knowledge of their mother’s impending disappointment, how she'd give him a hushed dressing down in the aftermath of their scuffle, hadn't curbed his need to lunge for him. It's like the flip of a switch. Three simple words and suddenly Ghost is vibrating with the desire to prove Soap wrong. Some previously dormant code ingrained deep in his DNA flaring to life with all the speed of an oxygen fire.

Those memories carry him forward and the sudden shift in Johnny’s expression, the moment he realises he’s sealed his fate proper, sends a thrill skittering down his spine.

“Wait, Ghost, I–” is about as far as he comes before the words change into an unintelligible blend of Scottish nonsense, voice strained from having his diaphragm compressed. “Put me doon ye clarty bastard! Gaz!”

“Dream come true for you, huh?” Gaz says with a jaunty wave at their retreating backs, mirth etched into the crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ye, ye clipe wopper! Lemme doon so ah can wring ‘is bleedin’ neck!” Soap barks, squirming in Ghost's grasp like a recalcitrant eel. It's a blessing that Soap's already running on fumes since, true to his callsign, it's damn near impossible to keep him securely slung over his shoulder.

By his third attempt to claw Ghost's back to shreds, Ghost sighs and pats him firmly on the rump. Soap instantly stills. Flushed to high-heavens if Ghost were to hazard a guess – not that he can see him from this angle. “Settle down, Sergeant, and I might be convinced to let you walk on your own.”

“Hate you,” Johnny wheezes.

Ghost grunts and maneuvers the door open, settling Johnny back on his feet again when it swings shut with a resounding thud. He steadies him when he wobbles on his feet and Johnny lets him with little fuss. Resigned to his fate he shuffles along after Ghost, who detours briefly to score each of them a cuppa. He ladles honey into Johnny’s mug and presses it into his freezing hands. Gets a muttered, unenthusiastic and intentionally mocking “cheers,” for it.

“You're a right cunt when you're sick.”

“Yer a right cunt all o’ the time,” Soap fires back. He's glaring mutinously into his least preferred beverage, cradled close to his chest while he watches Ghost tidy up after them. “Jus’ hate bein’ sick ‘s all. Feel proper boggin’ no matter how many times ah shower an’ my nose is both runny and stuffed as if th’ physics of tha is s'pose to make sense. Could'a powered through it.”

“That's how you end up forcefully strapped to a bed in medical suffering from pneumonia and severe dehydration.”

Johnny pauses. A small smile graces his face and Ghost hastily turns back to wiping down the counters to keep himself from being blinded.

One shouldn't stare directly into the sun after all.

“Speakin’ from experience, sir?”

Ghost doesn't answer, as if that isn't a reply in-and-of-itself, merely nudges Johnny back into moving. He gets him all the way to his door before Soap's brow creases in confusion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again while Ghost trudges inside with little fanfare, door left gaping in silent invitation. Johnny seizes it with both hands after dithering at his threshold a second longer.

He examines the impersonal space with keen interest, slurping obnoxiously at his tea as if to detract from how his hands flutter over scuffed paint and barren walls, his gaze catching over the miniscule signs someone is living there at all.

“Why'ahm I ‘ere, Ghost?” Soap asks when he's done, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare. It's the same focus he dedicates to a particularly difficult math equation or sketching up blueprints with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It's a heady feeling to be on the receiving end of it. Heady and terrifying.

“Figured you'd appreciate the en-suite,” Ghost says, violently stamping down on the truth until it comes out in a statement easier to digest. “And someone needs to make sure you stay in place. Bloody flight risk that you are.”

You'd look good in my clothes, in my bed, as a permanent fixture here. This is as much for me as it is for you. A taste of what I can't have.

He hopes Soap doesn't read between the lines this time – always too perceptive for Ghost's questionable sanity.

“An’ where d'ye plan on sleeping?” Johnny smiles, a mote amused and as sweet as the honey lingering on his lips.

“Floor. Or Gaz's room if he doesn't delete those pictures he took.”

Johnny’s eyes go dark as sin.

“Oh, that'll be th’ least of his worries.”

“Sleep, MacTavish. You can come up with your convoluted revenge plot later.”

“Yes sir.” He gives a lazy salute and flops down on Ghost's bed with a grunt – boots and all, the absolute heathen. Ghost watches him rearrange himself into a position more befitting a person who's suffered a recent spinal fracture when Johnny peers up at him again from under thick lashes. “Dinnae think you're exempt from those, Lt. Ah know where ye live now.”

Ghost sighs and tosses the hoodie folded over his chair at Johnny’s face, taking great pleasure in closing the bathroom door in the face of Johnny's indignant name-calling.

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

#can i write a convincing scottish accent?#no #am i having fun trying?#yeah #having fun with these prompt too #have loose plans for at least one more #we'll see how it goes #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #whumperless whump event #wwe late entry #ghostly writes stuff

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xo-cod · 1 year

Note

Hiii!! ummm… could u write sth fluffy for Simon w/ his pregnant wife pls it's ok if u can't love your stuff btw❤️

i don't even like babies but i'd give this man everything 😮‍💨😵‍💫😵‍💫 he's so fucking fine 😭

hope you enjoy babe <33 it's rushed i know 😭

"no. absolutely not. you set that down right now" before you could even breathe, you heard the stern command of your husband right behind you. it was in the same voice he used when he spoke to johnny or gaz, telling them to behave and stop messing about or to the recruits that joined. either way, it was a voice primarily used by ghost. not by simon who was your dearest husband

"si... i can handle this" you sigh, raising a brow as you turn around. he has that frown on his face, creasing his forehead while his lips were set in a straight line. it would've been adorable and had you not been a little annoyed, you might've marvelled at how beautiful simon looked even when he was annoyed

"you're eight months pregnant. the only lifting you need to be doing is taking your arse from the sofa to bed" he swooped in and took the box from you, holding it in his hands as he chuckles softly. he gave you a sweet kiss to your lips, nuzzling your cheek a little

"m'sorry love but you know how i feel about you bending and lifting anythin'. you'll hurt yourself or the baby. i couldn't bear that" he grimaced slightly, shaking his head to rid the thought of any injury to you. your unimpressed face brings a soft chuckle to his lips as he sets down the box on the side, wrapping his arms around your waist as he caressed your swollen belly. his chin rested on your shoulder as he took in how far along you were. and how beautiful this was, the greatest gift you could've ever given him.

he knows the strain this pregnancy is having on your body and every single pain you experience makes his heart ache because he can't get rid of it for you. even with his support and assistance and help, your pains still make him feel so guilty for being the one to do this to you even if you both wanted it. he's a little more clingy during the last trimester of the pregnancy, he almost damn nears having a heart attack when you want to help and carry objects that are a pound heavier.

it's just in simon's nature to care deeply and it doesn't help all the parenting books he's read up on makes him that much more protective over you. still, he doesn't want to overwhelm you so he tries to hold back even if it nearly kills him in doing so.

"you look so goddamn beautiful, lovie" he hummed softly in your ear, his thumb stroking tender circles on your hip whilst he gently rocked you both side to side

"you're just saying that" a soft chuckle leaves your lips and he narrows his eyes a little, amused at your words

"you know i've never lied to you before and i don't intend startin that now. you're beautiful. you're so beautiful to me, baby" he spoke with nothing but pure sincerity in his voice, his dark brown eyes sparkling underneath the living room lights. they're just so expressive, you can't help but lean into him with pure love at how you could've scored such a perfect guy.

it's such a warm intimate moment shared between the two of you, his hand gently rubbing over your baby bump while he holds holds you close. his whole family in his arms <33

#asks #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader fluff #dad!simon riley #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

❛ c’mon, we’d look cute together. ❜ promt with Aegon! I feel like he would be a little shit even to the ones he likes.

Summary: Aegon has been on your ass for a while now, so you barricade yourself within the library for a moment of reprieve.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, bane of your existence and a pain in your fucking backside. The twerp was like a thorn lodged in your side, too fickle to be removed by traditional means. For as long as you could remember Aegon had been your shadow, following you wherever you went whether that be the gardens, courtyard, library, kitchen, even to your own fucking chambers, Aegon was there with a smug smirk that you’d love nothing more then to wipe off by the means of your first to his face. His entire existence annoyed you to the point that you intentionally hide from him in whatever room was within the closest vicinity.

Once you hid in the library for an entire day knowing for certain that Aegon wouldn’t ever dare step foot in there; Especially when Aemond was known to occupy the library as though it were his chamber. The younger brother was made more then aware of Aegon’s incessant pursuit towards you by how often he would see you rush into the room; Slamming the door shut behind you whilst looking as though you had just set one of the dragons loose within the castle. “I have never, not once, ever seen my brother so determined about something before.” He said as he quickly finished reading a passage out of his book. “You haven’t slipped anything into his drink by any chance.” You only gave the prince a glare, “ha ha, very funny Aemond, don’t you think I would’ve done that just if it meant getting him off my arse for a fucking second?”

“Considering that this is Aegon we are talking about, I’m certain he’d rather be in your arse then on it.” Aemond put it bluntly, his lips graced with a small smirk when you groaned in annoyance, “all joking aside, I have never seen him this determined in perusing someone. It’s quite frankly horrifying to see him up so early.” Aegon was known to be a heavy sleeper, more so during his ventures out to the streets of silk; So seeing his brother get up anytime other then midday brought a lot into question for Aemond. The answer to all of his inquiries was currently attempting to blockade the door with a chair. “Well tell him to quit it or find another, less invasive method in perusing me before I end up hitting him where his future kids will most definitely feel it.” You replied, stepping back to view your work before turning your attention to Aemond who’s eye was gleaming in amusement.

“So your telling me there’s an slight window of opportunity for you to accept my brothers advances?” He hummed, his chin resting within the palm of hand as he caught onto the look of realisation that flash across your face as you recollected the phrasing of your prior words. “No I didn’t.” You curtly answered. “I’m afraid you did, sweet y/n.” Aemond taunted, thoroughly enjoying what he was now learning, “your putting words in my mouth.” You hissed as you turned to addresses the prince who looked about as smug as a cat in his chair. “Am I? Or are you in denial of the possibility that you do, in fact, like the attention my brother has been giving you recently?” You knew what Aemond was doing but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of getting under your skin, edging you to the point of an accidental confession; Mind games have always been his forte.

So you did what you could’ve done in that situation, change the subject and put him in the hot seat. “Why are you so invested in your brothers love life all of a sudden Aemond? Normally you wouldn’t give two shits with whom he fucks but right now your acting as though you were a gossiping lady of the court.” Aemond scoffs, fully aware of what you were doing. He didn’t blame you, forcing to admit favouritism towards his brother’s company was damming to one’s pride indeed. Even he has a hard time finding anything remotely favourable out of his brother’s company, especially ones that didn’t involve chasing him down the streets of silk and flea bottom whenever he were to allude his duties. “Oh please why would you-“ just as Aemond was about to finish his sentence, a voice from the other side of the door belonging to that of Ser Criston Cole.

“Prince Aemond, the Queen Alicent requests your audience.” You knew that Alicent didn’t liked to be kept waiting, so you walked over to the door and dislodged the chair from underneath the handle before suspicions were raised. “You wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting.” You told him, you see his eye linger on the stack of books on the table he was occupying and you sighed, “I’ll clear away your books, just get going.” Aemond wordlessly got up and crossed the room to the door, though not before casting you a thankful gaze before leaving the library with Ser Criston hot on his heels. With nothing else to do and no one else to talk with, you began clearing up and putting away books to their proper shelves which took you a substantial amount of time, and before you knew it afternoon had already fallen upon KingsLanding.

“I think I’ll head down to the gardens for a bit, just to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.” You told yourself for no other reason then verbal confirmation of what you were planning on doing as you stepped out of the Library, making sure to shut the door behind yourself before you were greeted with a pair of mischievously beautiful lilac eyes and a head of short platinum locks. “Aegon.” You breathed out, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine afternoon.” You continued through gritted teeth when the prince only smirked in response as he proceeded to grab a hold of your arm, linking it with his own before leading you both down the hallway. “No need to act so cordial towards me, I merely wanted to spend time with you today but couldn’t seem to find you anywhere. Little did I know you were tucked away in the library with my brother.”

The way Aegon’s voice seemed uncharacteristic towards the end made you look at him properly, just in time to see his lilac eyes darken with insecurity as his jaw subtly clenched whilst his grip on your hand tightened over yours absentmindedly. You almost completely forgot that underneath the facade was a boy born into a loveless family and crippling expectations; You almost felt upset for ignoring him, only to be rudely remembered that this was the same boy that tripped you over into a mud puddle and faked innocence along with the time he stole your clothes while you were bathing. How he had gotten in without you hearing his heavy ass breathing still alludes you and frightens you simultaneously. “Apologise my prince, I didn’t know my absence would affect you as much.” You replied, squeezing his hand.

“You can make it up to me by walking through the garden with me.” Aegon quickly suggested and when you didn’t reply fast enough for his liking, he began to whine and lean his weight into you. “C’mon, we’d look cute together, strolling through the gardens, hand in hand, arm in arm. Don’t you think?” Aegon at this point was on the brink of desperation. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he had been trying to find you, almost turned the red keep upside down in the process throughout the duration of his search for you. All he wished for is that he got to have your company even if it was for a short period of time. Aegon just wanted to let his guard down and the only way he could do that was whenever he was with you. So when you sighed and agreed to accompany him, the prince was practically dragging you do the hall with his long strides as you struggled to keep up.

Despite regretting your easy acceptance towards his offer, you found yourself looking upon Aegon’s face to see that the shadows of doubt and regret have retreated from his features and the worry lines usually seen across his forehead had subsided for far happier ones. If Aemond’s words from earlier were to be believed and that Aegon had been determined in being within your presence and how your body receipted to his…peculiar advances. Then yes, you might’ve favoured Aegon’s undivided attention being on you and solely you. The mere thought of being desired and sought after to the point it drives that person into desperation because of how sorely sought after you were. It made you feel things. It made you feel wanted. “You’re a brat you know.” You said softly as you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the muscles within his body tense at your words, “however I’d rather you be my brat then anyone else’s. I’d want you to be my problem to deal with for the rest of my life.”

“As long as you be mine in return,” Aegon replied softer then usual, pressing a kiss to your head, “for now and for always.”

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moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami · 4 months

Text

heartthrob ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

note: the year is 2007, and as all romcoms do— none of this makes proper sense. (inspired greatly by notting hill, 1999)

summary: a coffee shop, the owner, hollywood's most famous actor, and a meet-cute

warnings: a cuss word here and there

genre: romcom

“Hello,” A baritone voice came after the telltale toll of the shop bell— baritone yet young, vaguely familiar but definitely not someone she knew well. “Are you open?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!” She yelled back from the kitchen. She pursed her lips as she gave the cupboard a final thrust, the dodgy thing has always been a right pain in the arse.

“Hi, how can I help you, sir?” She asked cheerily as she emerged from the side door, the soles of her boots tapping loudly against the aged wooden floors.

She paused in her steps when she saw the sopping wet figure at the door, standing awkwardly and apprehensively at the threshold. Droplets of water trickled down from the sleeves of his coat down to the WELCOME rug placed conveniently at the entrance. “Oh, gods! Are you alright?”

“You don’t happen to have any tissues in here, do you?” He asked with a tight smile.

“Unfortunately, no. We’ve run out at the moment.” She scrambled to grab the nearest tea towel from the cabinet before rushing over to help him. “This’ll have to do.”

“Thank you.” Their fingers grazed as he took the fabric from her hold. “I’m sorry for making such a mess.”

“It’s fine! The floorboards needed a bit of a clean anyway.” She joked with a half-hearted grin in an attempt to ease the atmosphere. “I can have your jacket dried in the back if you want.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly intrude any further.” He waved his hand to veto her suggestion before tending to himself once more.

“You’re not from here, are you?” She asked with a sudden interest. With each minute he spent in her presence, she felt like she was closer and closer to figuring out exactly who this man was. She’d seen him enough times, surely. His name was at the tip of her tongue.

“The accent wasn’t a dead giveaway?” He grinned at her.

“Well, you get your occasional round of Americans here and there.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The sunnies were a bit on the nose though.”

He clicked his tongue, quickly pulling the pair down his face and placing it against the neckline of his shirt. “The weather report said it was going to be sunny.”

“Weather reports are dodgy.” She raised her eyebrow knowingly.

“I’m guessing it doesn't rain often where you’re from?”

“Twice every year,” He pursed his lips. “But I’m never around enough to know how true that actually is.”

“Sounds like you travel a lot.”

“A fair amount. My work keeps me away from home.”

“Ah,” She nodded her head. She must’ve seen him in a travel advert somewhere. “What do you do exactly?”

“Well, I’m an actor.”

She stopped to look at him more carefully, tilting her head sideways from one direction to the next to get a hint. She met his gaze momentarily, her eyes squinting as she wracked her brain for any clue of who he might be. He looked at her expectantly.

The dozens of movie posters she'd seen at the cinema came to her with a dazzling clarity. Ecstatic by her epiphany, she slammed her hand against the counter loudly— inducing a painful bang and an equally pain-stricken howl almost immediately.

“Are you OK?!” He asked with a panicked edge to his tone. He shoved the tea towel down his pocket carelessly as he ambled over to her. “I don’t know the emergency numbers here so I’m gonna have to either carry you or drag you— whichever comes first.”

She laughed loudly in amusement whilst nursing her hand, the pain slowly ebbing away as he continued to fuss over her. “I can’t believe it! Luke Castellan is in my depressing little shop!”

“Wait, fuck, are you sure you’re OK?” Luke mouth twitched, as if contemplating whether this was an appropriate time to laugh. He looked at her as if she’d gone insane. Maybe she did, maybe she actively was. This oddly seemed like the stuff of delusions.

“Yes, I’m fine!” She flipped her wrists as if to show him. “Healthy as a horse.”

He cracked a smile at her comment.

The bell let out a loud clang as a young man peeked his head into the shop, his umbrella left out in the street to protect him from the rain. “Luke! I’ve been trying to contact you for the last hour!”

“I suppose that’s your cue to leave then.” She smiled bashfully, the embarrassment catching up instantaneously. She was rubbish at this.

“I guess it is.” He hummed lowly with a grimace. He gave her a once over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Luke, maybe hurry the fuck up?” The young man grumbled impatiently.

“Right,” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Thanks for coming around.”

“I’ll come back and actually buy something.” He said as he turned to leave.

“I’ll put you up to that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

She was in the middle of a yawn when a loud voice called from across the street, a familiar tea towel gripped between ring-clad fingers and a head of black curls bobbing through the crowds.

It was still quite early in the morning, but Notting Hill was buzzing with life.

“Hey!” Luke yelled as he hurriedly walked towards her, expertly maneuvering himself between the masses of people and the stalls that lined the road. “I accidentally brought this with me. I had it cleaned and everything.”

“Thank you,” She said as she received it. The keys to the shop dangled between her fingers, waiting to be used. “You could have done away with the old thing.”

“It felt right to give it back.” He gave her a smile, more performative than yesterday— dazzling and charming, nothing less from an actor, of course. “It might have been sentimental, being in a display cabinet and all.”

“Well, it’s memorabilia from a royal wedding some decades ago.” She responded with a blush. “My mum likes to collect these things.”

“At least it’s got some national value to it.” He raised his eyebrows.

“There’s that, yeah.” She chuckled. “My mum’s gonna be relieved, I’m sure. Thank you, Luke— may I call you Luke?”

He stared at her for a moment; what for? She wasn’t exactly sure, but it was certainly magnetic. She couldn’t move away and it felt like everything else aside from the man in front of her was a blindspot. Her eyes met his, and Luke’s grin grew imperceptibly wider and her heart thumped indescribably faster.

“Sure, yes, definitely.” Catching himself, he stood straighter. His face looked ruddy, either owed mostly to the sunbeams warming his skin or the excitement thrumming underneath his flesh. “I’d like that.”

He stuffed his hand into his pocket, just in time to tend to his phone’s shrill ringtone and its incessant vibrations. Luke groaned as he pulled it out. “It’s probably my manager. I have to go, unfortunately.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, equally as red as his cheeks despite the lack of direct sunlight against her skin. “Sorry to hear that. Have fun spending the afternoon slaying monsters.”

“The movie's about a bunch of kids on a cruise ship actually,” He laughed as he began to walk away backwards, his eyes completely fixated on her.

“Well, have fun doing that then.” She waved him off with an amused smile.

“I doubt it.” He winked at her before turning around at the curb then jogging down to god knows where.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Hey, mum.” She greeted when she walked into their shared flat, the whistle of the kettle loudly whooshing from the kitchen. “Did someone ring the shop while I was gone?”

It took her mother a minute to respond, too enraptured by David Beckham’s impeccable left-leg hurl into the opposing team’s goal. She listened attentively to the live play-by-play narration as she made herself a cup of tea, the announcer was basically gripping his seat with anticipation. Telltale cheers of a victory echoed through the walls.

“Mum?” She called again.

“Oh, yes, sorry, dear!” Her mother replied distractedly. “There was a young bloke that called… think he mentioned his name was Luke.”

Thank the gods she was alone in the kitchen because the silent giddy squeals and foot stomps were definitely concerning. Christ, was this real life?

She cleared her throat and feigned nonchalance. She drummed her fingers against the marble surface of the counter, her nails absently digging against old remnants of a sticker. “And what did he say?”

“He said he’s staying at the Ritz under Hermes, so give that name to the concierge if you wanna call.” A beat. “Have you gotten yourself a boyfriend?"

“He’s not.”

“Be more definitive,” Her mother snapped. Teasingly, she added: “Not ever or not yet?”

“I’m not so sure, actually.” She clicked her tongue, wracked by pensive thoughts of juvenile daydreaming. She was getting ahead of herself, surely. She needed to approach this from a rational perspective: Luke Castellan had a whole life in Hollywood, decidedly not London. He had a bombshell girlfriend back at home with a career just as luxurious as his. He was a star burning brightly and she could barely get herself to flicker.

“Doesn’t sound like a ‘not ever’ to me.” Her mother responded with a lilt to her voice.

She swallowed thickly at how foreboding it sounded.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson series #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson

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agoodroughandtumble · 6 months

Text

None of Those Girls Are Me Part 2 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is completely oblivious to Zoro’s feelings Warnings: 18+, Language, might be smut or implied smut in further chapters

You had remained next to him for the rest of the night – completely unaware as to how grateful he was that you had given up on your random flirtations. Unsurprisingly, the more you drank the more animated you became – increasingly excited about every topic of conversation, laughing without a care in the world and so, so oblivious to the way Zoro was looking at you. He was grateful for that too. He could let himself indulge, just a little, safe in the knowledge that any lingering looks that could give him away were far from your radar.

The bar lights reflected in your eyes, emphasising their own brightness lit up by your smile. Zoro couldn’t help but think that the stars themselves were dancing in those eyes, and only for him. This delusion was only exacerbated by the way your thighs were touching his and the ease at which you invaded his personal space, as if you already knew he had made room for you behind his walls months ago.

He was too busy allowing himself to relax against your hand on his forearm that your question threw him completely off guard.

“So what sort of girls do you like?” You were looking at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to respond with anything other than “You, obviously”.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I told you I’m not really into the one night stand thing.”

You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly. “I know. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking in general. Oh!” You wiggled your fingers, trying to think, “Who was that girl? Urgh,” fingers increased speed as you wracked your brain. “Toshiko? The marine, with the swords. You liked her.”

Zoro’s eyes studied your carefully. “Tashigi. She’s a pain in the arse.”

You smiled wryly at him. “Uh huh.”

He wasn’t quite sure where you were going with this, but was definitely sure he wasn’t going to like it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zoro watched as you chewed your lips, trying really, really hard not to think what those lips tasted like. Probably alcohol at this point, his probably did too. Which was more than find since he could blame said alcohol for his inability to stop staring.

“Well,” you shuffled almost impossibly closer, “Just in my experience if someone gets under your skin that much there’s a reason why.”

He let out an amused sigh and tried to force the upturned corner of his mouth back to neutrality. The irony of you saying that to him was surely the universe’s biggest “fuck you” yet.

You had noticed the change in his expression. “I knew it!”

Oh fuck. He prepared himself for the onslaught of questions, the feigned disbelief because obviously you had to be aware, and, lastly, he prepared himself for the “gentle” let down that while you liked him, it wasn’t in that way but you still wanted to be friends – for the sake of the crew, and all. He hadn’t prepared himself for the triumphant way you clapped your hands together, eyes lighting up almost too brightly.

“You do like her!”

The fuck.

He took a sip of his drink. A rather long sip. More of a downing if anything. Thankfully the bar was so busy that whenever one of you went to get a round you came back with multiples to save the constant queueing. So he kept drinking. It was almost as if his brain had short circuited. If he said he didn’t, you would just tease him about denying his feelings. But he couldn’t say he did because obviously that was a lie. You were clearly expecting some sort of reaction, and him just downing drinks wasn’t exactly giving off the impression that he Did Not Care. So, in a last act of desperation he did something completely out of character that he was surely going to regret, but he’d found himself digging such a hole the only way out was to blow the whole terrain up. He set his drink down and turned to face you, trying to show some semblance of indifference. “Say if I did like anyone, how do I…” he sighed. This was the worst idea but the only one that wasn’t screaming from the rooftops. “Do that.”

The smile on your face was almost maniacal. He would find it adorable if it didn’t instil him with fear. You were clearly not going to let this go. “Are you asking me for dating advice?” You laughed and his heart twinged. “The great Pirate Hunter Zoro is afraid of telling a girl he likes her?”

Obviously yes. But you didn’t have to spell it out. You could have afforded him that dignity at least. But his mouth spoke before his brain engaged and said the worst possible thing. “No, just tell me what girls like. What you would like.”

You smirked and picked up your drink offering a toast. “Oh, I’m going to get you so many girls.”

#opla #one piece #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #opla x reader

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morallygreyyn · 2 years

Note

Hey!! Could you do some hcs for the hxh boys having hanahaki disease for the reader? You can decide whether they get a happy end where they confess and the reader realizes feelings for them or no :p

hanahaki disease with the hxh boys (hisoka, kurapika, illumi headcanons)

authors note: omgggg i've always been obsessed with this myth but i completely forgot about it until you reminded me anon! i'm so happy i got a request for this! i chose happy endings bc who doesn't want a happy ending with our favourite boys?

the surgery to remove the disease doesn’t exist in these headcanons bc i couldn’t be arsed to write about it

live or die by the disease bitch there is no other option

warnings: mentions of death, blood

read part two here!

requests are open!

hisoka had known you for a long time

you were close confidants, and dare i say it, best friends

he admired your strength, how you never failed to join in on his chaos, and fire back at him whenever he made a quip

with how well you two got along, it was only a matter of time before he coughed up the first petal

he knew immediately what was happening, he was a man cultured in myths and legends after all

he was more shocked at the realisation that he loved you more than the fact that he just coughed up a flower petal

and you didn't love him back

he couldn't blame you, even though you liked to fool around with each other, you had never been serious with your flings and it was strictly no strings attached

well now it was apparent that there were strings

the magician couldn't pinpoint the moment he had fallen for you, he supposed it was a gradual thing

but one thing was for absolute certain, he was in love

and he was dying because of it

hisoka is a man of mystery and many secrets but this...

this he would probably tell you about after a while of mulling it over

during this period, his coughing got worse until eventually he couldn't take it anymore

he would go straight to you, letting himself into your house as he usually did

hisoka could feel the pain in his lungs when you looked at him and smiled

he would suppress the coughs as best as he could while he figured out a way to tell you

i feel like his confession would go one of two ways

either he would be outright and serious for once

or he'd make a performance out of his dying body

let's explore the serious option first

you, having caught onto the fact that something was very wrong, took your friend’s hand which only made his coughing worse. "what's going on hisoka? you never get sick."

he laughed dryly. "it would appear that I'm in love with you."

you didn't believe him of course. "you're joking."

hisoka coughs into his hand, revealing petals tainted with blood. "does this look like a joke to you?"

OR the performance option

"it would appear I'm in love with you." he coughed into his hand and threw the contents in the air, several flower petals soaked in blood rained down on your head. "surprise."

it doesn't matter which option he chooses, you're still frozen in shock

"i thought it was just a myth." you stared at the bloody petals in horror

"me too."

the room fell silent, hisoka wondering what his fate would be based on your response

i can’t see him as a person who cares whether he lives or whether he dies

i can see him just sitting there on your couch, staring with bored fascination at your living room while he waited for you to drop the guillotine over his head

his lungs and throat were writhing in pain, but hisoka was never one to be put off by this

what he didn’t expect was for you to then turn to him, grinning

“i love you too.”

his face drops

“yeah, i love you too hisoka.”

hisoka would’ve been amused by how quickly the weight on his chest dissipated if it weren’t for his shock

however it didn’t take long from him to recover from this and he swoops you into an embrace

which of course leads to more

and oh boy hisoka was never happier to be alive

would 100% not tell you

the second the first petal fell from his lips, he knew immediately that it was you

he also knew that he could never tell you

you didn’t love him back and he didn’t want to make you feel bad about that fact

how could he not love you though? you were his biggest source of joy and the one he cared for most in this world

his would hide the disease from you for as long as possible, smothering his coughs with great effort

the longer he did this, the worse it got

he knew he was going to die and he accepted that fact

he didn’t want to die, but he knew he could never tell you

kurapika would try and avoid you towards the end

dodging your calls and skipping on meeting up with you until eventually he stopped contact altogether

you, extremely worried about your friend, went to go visit him unannounced

letting yourself inside, your heart dropped in horror at seeing him

kurapika looked like a ghost

his face was hollow, lips chapped and stained red

he would insist he was fine, even though he clearly he wasn’t

eventually he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore, launching into an extreme coughing fit, him throwing up petals, whole flowers and blood

having heard of the disease before, you could only ask who he loved and who didn’t love him back

this time, he looked you directly in the eyes. “you.”

cue your shock and horror

kurapika had to avert his gaze, he didn’t want to see your disappointment in his final moments

he hated himself enough for having these feelings but he didn’t want to see you hate him too

his lungs were more branches and flowers than tissue at this point

the kurta was just about to get up and leave when your voice stopped him

“wait.”

he waits

“you have this disease because you love me and you think it’s unrequited, correct?”

“yes.” he didn’t want to add that he didn’t just think it was unrequited

“what if it wasn’t unrequited?”

“then i wouldn’t be dying.”

“then i don’t understand.” you shook your head, suppressing a smile. “because i love you too.”

he stops

kurapika literally stops working

his brain shuts down and his body comes to a complete standstill and he just stares at you in shock

you feel the need to confirm it for him. “i love you too kurapika.”

he couldn’t hold himself back anymore

regardless of his sick body, he rushes to you and pulls you into the tightest hug

his chest clears, feeling light and unrestrained

he kisses you and kurapika can finally breathe again

this boy is so damn confused when coughs, and then even more confused when he sees a petal in his hand

what on earth is happening to him?

doesn’t even realise he’s in love

it takes him a couple of days and a couple more instances of coughing up flowers for him to realise something was wrong with him

a quick internet search yields the results he was looking for

cue more confusion

unrequited love was the cause?

would think long and hard about who in his life he could have these impossible feelings for

then his thoughts eventually arrived on you

and when they did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

so he loved you? why? what was the reason? when did this happen?

many many questions were circulating through that beautiful head of his

reading further about the disease, he realised that the disease would only go away if you loved him too

if not, he would die

not one to be scared by death, he decided on not telling you

why would he? it was pointless anyway if he was going to die

doesn’t even consider the chance that you might love him back

takes the unrequited part as fact and sticks with it

illumi is a tough boy so it takes ages for him to finally be run down by the disease

is a master at hiding his coughs

he has a reputation to uphold after all

he even keeps it from his family, determined to take his shame to his grave

would honestly have to be on the brink of dying for him to show that he’s suffering with the hanahaki disease

luckily you like to meet up with illumi very frequently and you had become quite attuine to his stoic attitude and personality

to the point where you could pick up the most minuscule of differences in his behaviour

it didn’t take you long to realise something was wrong with your friend but no matter how hard you pushed, he would shoot you down

cue you becoming the best investigator the world has ever seen

it started when, after illumi had left the bar, there was a single bloodied petal sitting in his place

you took the petal back home and began researching

it took you a while but you eventually found out about the hanahaki disease though you couldn’t believe that this was what illumi was struggling with so you kept searching

however your search was in vein and all you had to go on was a myth about unrequited love

so the next time you met up with illumi, you kept an even closer eye on him

watching the subtle ways in which he would suppress what would normally be very painful coughs

the way his lips seemed a bit more chapped and red than normal

the way his already pale skin became more translucent

you had to face the facts, illumi was suffering with unrequited love

and it was killing him

you couldn’t bear the thought of losing illumi

but who on earth was he in love with? and how could you convince them to save his life?

realistically you knew there wasn’t much you could do

but out of desperation, you confronted him about it

“when were you going to tell me about your hanahaki disease?”

“i wasn’t.”

“have you told anyone?”

“no.”

you weren’t one to be easily frustrated, but for some reason you couldn’t watch him throw away his life so easily

in a fit of despair, you blurted. “please find some way to fix it, i can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“why?”

you didn’t think about your words before you said them. “because i love you.”

he froze

you kept going, putting your own feelings to the side in an effort to save the man stock-still before you. “and it’s because i love you that i’m scared of you dying, so please just find whoever it is and confess to them. i’m sure they like you back if they’ve got the great illumi zoldyck dying for them.”

it was then that you noticed his expression

you would almost say he looked relieved? but surely you had seen wrong

it was illumi after all

“ah, it’s gone now.” he somehow sounded much better than a couple of minutes ago

“gone? how can it be gone whe-” it didn’t take you long for you to realise what had happened

illumi looked at you expectantly

“you love me?” you asked in a small voice, afraid that this was a bad joke even though you knew illumi was practically incapable of making them

“evidently.”

needless to say that that was the start of a wonderful relationship that even illumi couldn’t have imagined happening

but he wasn’t complaining

not in the slightest

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moonlightndaydreams · 5 months

Text

Limbo - part 2

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader x Han Jisung

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

Synopsis: Lee Minho is the mysterious new accountant at your workplace, and he seems to have his sights set on you. But things aren't so simple when your ex boyfriend Han comes back into the picture. Can you and Minho make it work, or will you get back with Han?

Spoiler: Happy ending, eventual poly minsung.

MDNI / smut

Taglist: open.

A/n: this story may be familiar to some. It’s a rework of one of my older stories where I’ve now changed my fem lead to be reader.

CW: this chapter - workplace flirting, potentially inappropriate behaviour.

It was time for another staff meeting and you were dreading it. How much did Minho see of you dancing the other night? Would he say something to you about it? Would he tell other people? You were hit with a wave of anxiety as you wondered whether or not everyone in this room knew about it.

You tried to gauge his body language, but every time you glanced over at him, he was already watching you. His expression had a hint of a knowing smirk, but maybe you were imagining it. Maybe that’s just his face? Until he winked at you. Your cheeks must have turned bright red because Felix poked you in the arm and said “Hey are you feeling okay?” God no, you weren't feeling okay. The man across the room was sending you a message, he was indicating that he saw something that he shouldn’t have, and that he was highly amused by it. You gulped. Who the fuck was this Minho? And why does he have his sights set on you?

—————————

“Ugh.. Finally.” groaned Hyunjin, when Chris eventually dismissed the meeting. He got up from his chair and stretched his arms above his head. “God, I need to go to yoga I think.”

“Do you need a massage, love?" Felix offered, stroking the taller man’s back.

“I thought you said you weren’t going back to yoga?” Binnie piped up, collecting his half drank protein shake and headed out the door.

The other staff started to stream out of the meeting room too, you close on their heels.

“Oh y/n!” Chris called from the front of the room. You turned back to find him ushering you up to the front of the room. To your disappointment, Minho was still sat next to him flicking through paperwork. You bit your lip and strode over to where your boss was seated. You could feel Minho’s energy emanating from him and it made your stomach flip.

“y/n, I need you to go through with Minho your list of podcast clients. Names, contracts, agreements. Who’s paid, who is a pain in the arse… all that. Kay?”

“Oh?” you choked and you started to sit down in a chair. “No, no not right now.” Chris smiled at you, stopping you from sitting down. Minho glanced up from his paperwork and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you have time this afternoon?” Chris inquired.

You thought for a moment. “Ummm… yep… yes.” you squeaked, embarrassment suffocating you. What the hell was wrong with your voice? You saw Minho chuckle out the side of your eye and you turned and glared at him. His laugh disappeared quickly and he cleared his throat “Two is good for me if that works.” He offered.

“Okay. Two works fine for me too.” you turned to leave.

Fuck. “Um…” you turned back to the men who were both still watching you. “So, where do you want to do it? I mean…go through it?” you stumbled on your words. Fuck. You shook head. “I mean do you want to do it at your place… I mean office… or mine?” What the hell?

“I think Minho’s office would be best, he doesn’t share with anyone so...”

“Right, well okay. I’ll see you at two. Your place. Office. Your office.”

You couldn’t get out of there quick enough. How were you going to compose yourself and get your shit together for your meeting with Minho?

—————————————

You knocked on Minho’s office door at two o’clock on the dot, laptop in hand.

“Come in.” Minho looked up from his desk. Patting some loose strands of hair down nervously, you made your way to the chair on the other side of his large, sturdy timber desk.

“Why don’t we sit on the sofa? It’s easier to look at the same thing if we’re side by side.” He suggested. You raised your eyebrow suspiciously, but followed Minho to the two seater sofa that was situated at the other end of his office.

“Okay.” you settled herself on the seat beside Minho. Your mini skirt slid up to an embarrassingly inappropriate length, catching his eye. Great, why did you have to wear your shortest skirt? As if you weren't nervous enough, your bare thighs then became a desk for your laptop, allowing Minho to cop a view even if he didn’t want to.

“Okay, so I have compiled a file for you, outlining everything Chris was asking for.” you began, trying to remain cool. “Let me just log into the laptop.” The screen sprang to life revealing your desktop background picture. A photo of kpop boy group Exo. “Fuck!” You scrambled to log in and get as far away from your beloved Exo as quickly as possible. Minho flashed you an entertained glance, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a silent chuckle.

“Shit.” you mumbled.

“You like this whole Korean boy band thing, hmm?” he smirked. Your face felt like it was on fire. “Are these the fellas you were dancing to the other night?” His smirk grew even bigger.

You quickly found the file you were looking for, bringing it up onto the screen and thankfully hiding Exo. “Look, Minho. The question I have is why were you even watching me dance? It wouldn’t be unreasonable for me to think you were ogling me.”

Minho laughed boisterously. “Ha! Kitten! I was only investigating a noise disturbance in the office. How was I to know what I’d find?”

Kitten? Did he just call you kitten? “Do you want me to go through this file or not?” you needed to get this conversation back on track.

“Okay, continue.” He conceded, looking back to the screen. But you could feel Minho’s eyes burning into your upper thighs as she explained her podcast accounts. He nodded and agreed in all the right places, but you could sense his mind was somewhere else.

You quickly glanced up at him, and for a second you caught his eyes where they shouldn’t be, right on your legs. He recovered quickly, blinking rapidly and returning his gaze to laptop screen.

“And that’s how you pretend you’re busy working when really you’re reading smut.” you said as a means of testing if he was listening to you or not.

“Hmm… good. Yes, makes sense.” He answered mindlessly. Ha! He wasn’t paying attention at all.

You pressed the ‘x’ on the file, revealing your Exo boys. “You weren’t even listening to me Mister!” you cried, and closed the laptop.

Minho looked indignant. “I was listening.”

“Look, I’ll just email you the file and if you have questions, just let me know.” you started to get up to leave.

Minho’s hand landed on your bare thigh making your body tense up and your heart race. You looked at him in shock, and he quickly retracted his hand once he realised what he’d done. “Sorry, y/n.” He said sheepishly. “You’re right. I was distracted. I’m sorry.”

“Were you checking me out when I was dancing?” you asked calmly even though nothing inside of you felt calm.

“Wait. What? No. Why? That would be… wrong of me.” He rushed to get the words out. Then a revelation hit him. “Ha! What about you? I saw you eating me for breakfast with your eyes in the meeting this morning?” he countered.

“Nope. You’re wrong.” you poked your chin up defiantly.

“I don’t think so, kitten.” He leaned in towards you.

Why does he keep calling you kitten? Surely, it’s not appropriate? But if you were honest, you kind of liked it. This flirting, him calling you ‘kitten’, it was stirring something in you that you had forgotten existed. It was making you feel a way you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“I know desire when I see it.” He added, whispering right in her ear.

“I have to go!” you said shrilly. You needed to get out of there. Minho’s energy, his presence, his fucking words, they were making your body react - respond - and you didn’t know how to handle it. Kitten? Oh God. You covered your face with your hand, then shook your head and stood up.

“Like I said, I’ll email you everything.” you headed to the door.

“Will it include ‘how to look like you’re busy so you can read smut?’” he called after you.

Fuck! The bastard was actually listening.

——————————————

Over the next few days you didn’t have to see Minho. Thank fuck. You weren't sure if you'd be able to handle being alone with him again. But you did pass him in the hallway a few times. He’d glance at you as he passed you by, an eyebrow slightly raised, and that now familiar look of amusement on his face. When he could, he’d mumble a “Good Morning, Kitten” to you, making you turn crimson red.

Then on another occasion, you spotted him in the cafe downstairs where you ordered her coffee. He was sitting at table watching you. He didn’t even look away when you looked straight at him. Everyone else didn’t seem to see it. The gossip was that he kept to himself, was polite and reserved, and maybe a little scary.

All you saw was a cocky shit that seemed to want to make you either squirm or turn bright red. Or both. He wasn’t rude, or mean, he just seemed to know how to make you feel something with the way he spoke to you and the way he looked at you. You were nervous and giddy, but you were also appalled at yourself for letting him get to you. But it had been so long since you felt these kind of nerves about a guy. Actually, you'd only been on a handful of dates since leaving your boyfriend Han, some twelve months ago, and none of them eventuated into anything more than a few dinners and really boring sex.

“Come on y/n, who says this guy is actually into you? Maybe he is just a tease, stringing you along ‘cos it’s fun.” you told yourself after you left to go back to your office.

—————————

“OOOOhhhh, Felix! That’s the spot. Yes… don’t stop.” Hyunjin moaned. Felix stopped his massage and turned to you.

“Are you coming tonight?” he asked brightly. Felix was in their office again, making plans for the evening, as well as delivering his “signature” massage to Hyunjin.

“Nah! I want to record some podcast episodes.” you hadn’t recorded this week’s episode for your own personal podcast, and you felt behind.

“Who are you talking about this week?” Binnie asked.

“Ateez.” you replied.

“You know, what?” Hyunjin piped up. “We should do a collab episode. Kpop idols in Kdrama!” he looked at you wide eyed and excited.

“Aren’t you due to put out and episode, Hyunjin?” Binnie poked.

Hyunjin sighed dramatically. “Stop harassing me, Binnie. It takes time to watch a drama. I haven’t finished this one yet.”

Binnie rolled his eyes. “Oh look. It’s five o’clock. Time to go.” He said changing the subject, and meticulously packed his stationery away and turned off his computer.

The other two men followed suit, leaving you alone to prepare for your podcast.

It took all of five minutes before Minho crept back into your thoughts. Kitten? His voice kept repeating in your head. Kitten? Why does he use such a word? Oh God you couldn’t get it out of her head.

You remembered him whispering it to you under his breath as he passed you in the hall. But then you imagined him saying it in other situations too. Ones that haven’t even happened. You imagined him saying it while you leaned over his desk to give him a spreadsheet, your blouse falling open just enough to see your lace bra. Or as he instructs you to kneel on the floor in front him while he sits on the sofa “I want you to take it all in your mouth, kitten” he’d say. Or as he bends you over his desk “you’re such a bad girl, kitten.” You shook your head. No. Stop it.

Tag-list is open.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @chansbabyg @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @enjaken @queenmea604 @lyramundana @2chopsticks2eyes @queen-in-the-shadows @bethanysnow @newhope8 @chuuchuu1224 @vanillacupcakefrosting @3rachasdomesticbanana @fun-fanfics @palindrome969 @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy

#lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee knw fic #skz smut #skz fic #han jisung fic

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jacksmusesdrv3 · 25 days

Text

Since this is nagging at me, and the point of contention in Shuichi's background and 'style of detective' is being... kind of a pain in the arse, to put it lightly, let me try to lay out the odd situation with his detective background as plainly - and, as fairly - as I can. Here goes:

He did detective stuff as a favour to his uncle, that is, was not a formal detective but an apprentice to one. It's likely he wasn't constrained to roles, in this respect.

His tasks involved catching out cheating partners, finding lost pets and eventually, finding runaways. The latter of which - according to his uncle - was a 'preventative measure', to stop them before crime occurs. Shuichi's job was, explicitly, to stop them before it got to that.

He picked up a motto from his uncle, the 'coffee stains on someone's shirt' metaphor. Extraordinarily vague, and one he used in the context of a 'heavy burden' when talking with Ryoma, but the phrasing can imply 'stains' of a person's (perceived) guilt. You could infer that this is a matter of catching out people who are cheating, but you can also generalise it to crime. What's more, the mixed ideas with this motto - that Ryoma was faintly amused by, thinking it strange - makes it feel like something is not communicated adequately.

He read a psychology study, whether purely of interest, what his uncle taught him etc. is unknown, but the key component of said study was how it tricked people- that is, into believing cold water was hot (this is especially interesting to me given that this kind of extreme trick was a theme for DR2's shtick likened to a 'fictional world', and he brought it up in the Virtual World, which DR2 was based in, and Shuichi declares the game 'fiction' by the end, so it really does feel significant, even if not directly related to detective work). So, we're talking some applied psychology, here. Hold that thought...

Shuichi is a good liar- at least, one of his skills is to sway a group into believing him, sometimes with emotion as well. In that sense you could say he's a good actor, which seems unusual for someone who's mainly a sheltered character. That said...

His uncle's policy on runaways was that it was 'necessary to follow up with runaway and client both', and Shuichi explains the policy as 'making sure both parties are happy'. If Shuichi is involved in this process, he is - to some degree - trained to work with people. Is de-escalation part of this? You would expect so, at least. What's more is Shuichi could not confirm if this was a typical detective's policy, just that it was his uncle's.

Shuichi solved a murder case. We don't know how he happened on it, only that it was 'by chance'. We know that lost-pet grade detectives don't solve murders, although the runaways part of the tasks was, at least partially, linked to crimes. What kind of crimes? We just don't know. You might assume however, that one such case could lead to a murder, particularly if a de-escalation attempt were to... fail (this is speculation as an example).

In summary: the extent of Shuichi's uncle's 'education' of him, is vague enough you can infer (as I did) uh... a mixture of things, with no clear idea of where the boundaries in those things are. You also don't know if this is 'above board' training that is typical of a detective, especially with the presentation of a murder case - something exceptionally out of whack for an apprentice to handle, although not an unthinkable consequence - and possible mixed communication going on between him and his uncle.

Also? You don't know how truthful Shuichi himself is being - to himself especially - since he's a known liar. While that's not proof he's lying about anything, it is at least a concern since at the least, he may have cause to lie to defend others based on feeling (and this is something he does in trial 2 for Maki regardless that she wasn't guilty of Ryoma's murder, she still had involvement in the situation, but the nuances of that aren't the point here).

Anyways, how this pans out in the game is up to you, but I felt compelled to clarify my own logic from the start re. this, since it does get kinda-

-from here in terms of my theory, so the 'making sense' can be hard to do. I hope this much is clear, though.

#dr psychology #I really needed to get that outta my head uagwhgwh-#It was eating me alive.#Drv3 #*Idk about tagging shuichi here so I won't #**'point of contention' is an issue when it involves-#-judgement such as 'fairness/unfairness'#Which is kind of a huge Kryptonite for me #In a bad way. So I have to address it best I can

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ladymarycrawley · 2 years

Text

Chelsea FC Nursery - Mason Mount

Request: Is so basically one day you got called in to work and no one could look after your daughter who is about 1 so mason has to take her in to work and at first she is scared of everyone but then she warms up to everyone by the end of the day she doesn’t want to leave

Warning: pure fluff 💕 (a lil bday gift for the loveliest @masterclassbaby 🌟)

Tag list: @masonxomount @chelsealover @masterclassbaby

Having a baby and having to deal with super busy working schedules wasn’t something ideal for newparents. Most of the time you succeeded in organizing everything perfectly: bath and feeding time, taking her to the doctors and everything in between but some other things got more complicated meaning you had to deal with unplanned surprises such as your boss unexpectedly calling you into work when it should have been your day off.

“You said you’d have been off today” Your boyfriend whined as his eyes were following you, rushing to get ready and have a decent look to get into work.

“Yeah baby, I know but that pain in the arse of my boss said he needed me asap” You huffed, struggling to put your wool sweater on and therefore swearing about putting your head in the wrong hole.

Mason bit on his lips as your frantic moves caused him to smile but he knew that seeing him smirking somehow amused would have gotten you on your nerves.

“What about Lyla? I’ve training…” He scratched the back of his neck, racking his brain to think about what to do with your baby girl: should he have called Lewis and asked him to look after his niece?

“Fuck” You breathed out while swiftly checking if you got everything you needed in your bag. “I can’t take her with me, even though I’d love to” Lyla was sitting on the ground, peacefully playing with her toys, as you placed the look of love upon her.

“I guess I’ll came up with something” Mason muttered, holding your coat out for you to wear it as you were putting on your boots.

“Thanks” You addressed a little smile to your man, the man that never failed to make you feel loved. Gratefulness filled your heart during every moment you would spend with him, even during these harder time where those loving feelings could have been the last thing among your priorities.

You shared a quick peck before kissing Lyla goodbye. “I’ll see you tonight babies, love you!”

“Bye! We love you!” He shouted back at you before closing the front door and looking at his daughter with a mixture of fear and hassle in his eyes.

“Okay bubs, what should I do with you? Mhh?” Mason clearly didn’t expect for his one year old baby to answer his question so the puzzled look she gave him elicited a laughter from him.

“Come here” That baby, the result of your love, was everything to him. He loved her to the moon and back and would have climbed the highest mountain in the world to see her smile.

“Mama?” Her little voice echoed in the room, calling for you.

“She had to go, baby, we’ll try to see if uncle Lewis can come over” Mason took his phone out of his pocket to dial his older brother’s number but he forgot he was out of town meaning he couldn’t have taken up his uncle and babysitter duties. He rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Things were harder than expected.

“Dada?”

“Cool…what should we do now?”

At that moment an idea came up to him like a genius stroke: he could have taken Lyla with him to Cobham so she would have plenty of babysitters who could look after her.

"Okay baby, you know what? Today you'll come to work with daddy, are you happy?" He was beaming with eagerness thanks to his idea, the best idea he could think of.

"Yes!" She squealed, wiggling her hands in the air happily, mostly to match the enthusiastic tone of her dad.

"You'll meet a lot of new friends, uncle Ben will be there…You'll love it" He tried to encourage her by listing all the cons about this new experience as he dressed her in an adorable grey tracksuit matching his own.

Lyla looked a little confused because, even being this young, she sensed that day wasn't going to be an ordinary one, most of all because her mum wasn’t there with her.

"Mummy?"

"She's at work, love, but she'll come back soon"

Even though she was definitely a daddy’s girl, she wanted to share that special day she was going to live with you but you weren’t there and that was kind of upsetting for your baby.

When Mason took his phone to dial Potter’s number to ask whether it was okay for him to bring his daughter to training, Lyla started trotting around the living room looking for you: she looked behind the sofa, underneath the cushions, under the table but you were nowhere to be found.

“Lyla love, what are you doing?”

“Mama”

If you listened closely you could hear Mason’s heart beat getting faster as he hated breaking his little one’s.

“You’ll see her in a couple of hours, sweetheart. You’ll have a lot of fun with dada!” He stated while preparing the tiny, pink glitter backpack with all her stuff.

At that moment, your doorbell rang and she lifted her head towards it expecting you to enter the house. It was uncle Ben instead, as Mason asked him to go to training together so the baby would have faced the new experience better but that wasn’t the case as she started crying when she realised it wasn’t her mum the one at the door.

“Hey princess, why are you crying? It’s me!” Ben asked, taking her in his arms and lifting her up in the air.

Mason huffed, shaking his head in despair as the last thing he wanted was making his child cry.

“She’s not happy about going to Chelsea nursery” Ben chuckled, kissing her temple sweetly.

“Nope, apparently not” Mason chuckled back, giving Lyla her dummy in the hope she would calm down a bit while holding her favourite plushie.

“Shall we go? We’re running late”

Mason nodded and put his training bag on his shoulder as he grabbed the pink bag with the other hand.

“You look so hot with the glitter bag” Ben teased him.

“Shut up, I drip too hard” Mason answered in kind, making his friend laugh out loud.

The two friends and teammates drove together to Cobham ready to train with the rest of the squad. The moment you got in the car Lyla stopped crying, looking out of the window quite intrigued about what the next destination would have been.

“We’re going to a beautiful place” Mason kissed her cheek, her big brown eyes looking all around while hugging her teddy bear tightly.

When they entered the training centre the first ones to welcome them were Kepa and Jorginho who grinned widely when their eyes fell on the baby girl in Mason’s arms.

“Look who’s here, hi baby girl” Jorgi took Lyla’s tiny hands in his.

“She seems a bit scared” Kepa giggled “hola guapa!”

“Yeah, she’s. Y/N got called into work and no one could stay home with her so I asked the gaffer if I could take her here” The Chelsea midfielder explained to his teammates.

“Dada” She moaned nuzzling in her dad’s neck.

“Daddy’s here, baby” He whispered into her ear as Ben smiled at her, brushing his hand against her leg affectionately.

"Oh there she is, our new staff member" Potter made his entrance in the room with that little joke about your baby.

"Yeah, thanks coach. She's a really quiet girl, I promise that"

"Yes, I just hope she's taken after her mother then" He moved closer to say hi to her but she got scared and nuzzled against Mason's neck once again.

"She isn't anything like her father, mister" Ben joked, earning a glare from Mason as he really loved when people would notice the things he and his baby had in common instead of his best friend mocking him.

“Okay, I love having this little miss here with us but we should start working”

That was a good occasion for Mason to combine business with pleasure as he would train while keeping an eye on the most important thing he had, making some grimaces every now and then to make her laugh.

Once the training was over, all the Chelsea boys came to play with Lyla, Ben, Christian and Kepa in particular. The little girl already knew Mason’s football best friend but as soon as she met the American player she only had eyes for him: they laughed a lot together, even forgetting about her dad who was the love of her life.

Mason couldn’t have been happier about hearing his daughter’s careless laughters filling the room but he would have lied to himself if he would say that interaction didn't make him any jealous.

“Lyla love, it’s time to go home!”

“No!!” She protested, wiggling her tiny legs as she was playing hide and seek with the boys.

“Come on love, mummy would be home soon!” He tried to convince her by talking about her mummy, the most important woman of your lives.

“Come on Lyla, we’ll go on playing another day!” Christian tried to help Mason, giggling when she didn’t want to leave his hand.

“Well you forgot about your beloved dad rather quickly, you ungrateful child” Mason muttered as taking her in his arms, smiling against her temple before kissing it.

The whole Chelsea staff laughed at his joke before waving the loving baby their goodbyes.

"I'm home!" You sang before closing the front door behind you. The first thing you saw was your baby trying to "run" to you and it was the best, cutest thing you've ever seen.

"Hello baby! Come to mummy" You took her in your arms, peppering kisses all over her face.

Mason, who had the biggest grin ever hearing the two of you laugh wholeheartedly, made his way to you, to welcome you back.

"Look who's there"

"Hello mummy" He whispered against your lips, his voice a bit husky.

"Hello daddy" You replied to him in the same tone before giving each other a kiss.

"How was your day?"

"Tell mummy where did daddy take you"

"Where did you go??"

"To Cobham!"

"To - what?"

"Yeah, it was like take your children to work day"

"Mason" You glared at him, knowing full well that wasn’t the truth.

"I had no choice, Y/N as nobody could come and look after her"

"We should start looking for a babysitter" You sighed, placing your baby back on the ground.

"No way"

"How dared you take my baby in that place?" You chuckled, placing your coat back on the hanger.

"We met a lot of new people and there was also uncle Ben!" Mason sounded way more excited than Lyla really was or should have been, from her dad's point of view.

Your daughter still had that look of confusion on her face, her eyes kind of tired and puffy from the amount of emotions she experienced that day. You smiled looking at her, taking her back in your arms.

"It was a busy day, wasn't it baby?" You cooed in her ear as she rubbed her little fist against her chocolate brown eyes, the same as her dad.

"Bedtime princess! Come on, let's go" Mason stated with his arms out for you to pass her to him.

"Did you already have dinner?"

"Yep, we ate some pasta daddy made and we watched a film we've never saw: Frozen" He rolled his eyes and said the last part of the sentence feigning annoyance with her baby watching the same cartoon over and over again.

"Oh really?" You answered giggling.

"Have you ever seen it? It's good actually"

"How many times did you watch it this week?" You asked, your mouth at the corner of his lips.

"That must've been the seventh time this week" He muttered smirking, pressing a kiss on your cheek. You smiled as your gaze laid on your baby yawning.

"Good night, baby. Mummy loves you so much" You pressed a kiss to her forehead before letting her go with her dad upstairs.

While he was tucking Lyla in, you changed into your warm and soft pajamas, a big smile on your face as you couldn't have imagined a better life for you to live with such special people by your side you were lucky to call yours.

Mason came back in less than ten minutes, smirking.

"What's that face for?"

He shrugged and hugged you from behind.

"She wanted her mama to sleep with her, I told her you were coming so she closed her eyes and started snoring one minute after"

You chuckled, your fingers grazing his forearms in soothing circles.

"You tricked her"

"It's for her good"

Mason pressed a kiss right under your jaw, making you shiver "Plus I needed her mama too…"

You turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"You missed me?"

"You have no idea" He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. "I always miss you. I really wanted you to see her becoming friend with Christian and all the other lads…I think she has a soft spot for him"

"I missed you too…well, she's good taste, I guess she's taken from me" You blinked, clearly referring to you liking Mason.

"I guess, but I feel betrayed. I have to be her prince"

His line as a jealous father, madly in love with his daughter, made you chuckle, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck.

"You'll always be her prince but let's say metaphorically"

It was his turn to laugh as he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of your vanilla conditioner he loved before pressing a kiss on your nape.

"You've a point there"

The two of you stayed like that in silence for while, Mason’s hands squeezing your hips and moving them along your back.

"But I'll always be your prince, right?"

"Always" You trailed your lips along his stubble quite teasingly. You thought all those dad duties made him look even hotter than he already was so being away from him all that time was pure torture.

Sharing some intimate moments for the two of you had gotten more difficult since the birth of your princess but you always made sure to have some it was during moments like that where she was asleep in her own bed, that you knew you should have seized the opportunity. Mason started sucking on your neck’s sensitive skin as a sound which was something in between a laughter and a moan escaped your lips.

When his fingers slipped inside your pajama bottoms, Lyla’s cry got your attention and made you jump.

“Lyla’s crying” You whined, worried about your baby but also a bit annoyed with her worst timing.

Mason huffed and kept his hands to himself. “Hold on baby, daddy’s coming!” He shouted on his way to her bedroom “We’re just trying to give you a sibling, you could show some respect” He muttered out loud, knowing that would have made you laugh.

“Mase!!” You called his name with the intention of scolding him but the laugh his line and his bothered face caused you, made your intention fail.

949 notes · View notes

stargazer-sims · 4 months

Text

The Art of Redemption

(part 21)

previous // next // story index

—————

"I'm absolutely stuffed. Why did you let me eat so much?"

Ginger lets out a small groan that Nikolai judges to be one part discomfort and three parts pleasure as she sinks backwards onto the pulled-out sofa bed in her living room. They'd unfolded the couch, tossed a couple of blankets and every pillow in the apartment onto it, and then changed into their pyjamas before they started eating. In hindsight, this seems to have been a wise move, because Nikolai isn't sure either of them would've had the wherewithal to wrangle the ancient sofa bed after the utterly excessive meal they just finished.

The TV is on, tuned to a twenty-four hour sports channel, and some guy who looks like he let a child cut his hair is chattering excitedly about the beginning of the major league baseball preseason. Nikolai doesn't like baseball. He's waiting for someone to start talking about hockey, and whether or not his beloved Mariners have a realistic chance of making the playoffs.

He crawls onto the sofa bed with Ginger, and essentially lets himself fall sideways until he's lying on his side with his head on the haphazard pile of pillows. He counters, "Why'd you let me eat so much?"

"You don't have to drag your arse out of bed for an early ice time tomorrow. You get to sleep it off," Ginger says.

"But, I do have to get up early. I'm coming with you."

She looks amused. "You're just going to follow me everywhere?"

"No, because that'd be weird and creepy," he says. "I'm not going to follow you everywhere. Just to the fun places."

"Right. You wouldn't think it was so fun if Uncle Stan was your bloody taskmaster."

"Some taskmaster," Nikolai scoffs. "You looked like you were having a great time this morning, and Uncle Stan didn't seem to be pushing you too hard."

"No, you're right," she concedes. "It is fun, and Uncle Stan doesn't really push me unless I need it. It's just that we all get tired by the end of the season, and I'd like to have a nice lie-in once in a while, that's all."

"It'll soon be the off-season. You can sleep in all you want after that, and whenever you haul yourself out of bed, you can call me and we can go on adventures. You know, since I'm not tied down any more."

"Oh, aren't you indeed? You still seem quite tied down to me. How many texts did your wife send you this afternoon before you turned your mobile off?"

"Ex-wife," he corrects. "Or future ex-wife, at least. I kind of lost count of the texts, to tell the truth."

He'd stopped trying to count after about the fifteenth message or so. His and Ginger's bus ride to the dance studio was punctuated with them, none of which he'd bothered to reply to, and they continued at the studio while he was changing into workout clothes. He hadn't wanted Ginger's dance session to be interrupted by his phone buzzing incessantly, so before he went to the practice room, he sent one text to Anya — Leave me alone. I'm busy. — and then turned the device off completely and shoved it into a pocket of his dance bag.

Ginger cackled like a cartoon villain when Nikolai told her what he'd done, and declared, "That'll show her. I hope she's fuming."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're enjoying this," he said.

"Well, I love a bit of drama," Ginger replied. "And you don't seem particularly upset, so I'm giving myself permission to enjoy the mental image of her getting her knickers in a twist over being ignored."

"You're an evil woman."

Ginger grinned at him. "Thank you. I do try."

They had an amazing dance session. Nikolai found that he was able to perform almost all the exercises their dance instructor guided them through. He only had to forego a few that required deep knee bends. After trying the first one, he got scared when he felt the tiniest twinge of pain in his knee. Determined that he wouldn't allow anything to get in the way of the near-perfect recovery the orthopaedic doctor had so recently assured him he could expect if he followed medical advice, he decided to err on the side of caution.

After half an hour, Ginger made him stop altogether, and their instructor directed him to some chairs in the corner where he could rest and observe the remainder of Ginger's lesson. He preferred to sit on the floor, but it was no less restful.

Watching Ginger glide her way through a complex routine, and caught up in the feelings of happiness, familiarity and just plain normalcy that being in the studio gave him, he hadn't wasted another thought on Anya until Ginger teased him about the texts just now.

He marvels at how drastically his relationship with Anya has shifted since his injury back in January, and how much he himself has changed over the past few weeks. Less than a month ago, he would've jumped to answer that very first text message, but today's version of him couldn't care less.

There's a part of him that still loves Anya, and maybe it'll be a long time before the love fades away completely, but right now his anger and frustration and the sense of betrayal he feels are outweighing any fonder sentiments he might have.

There's no way Anya could be unaware of how she hurt him. She's not the most emotionally intelligent person, and he's forgiving enough to overlook an accidental slight from time to time, but he's not ready to forgive the things she's done to him lately.

Perhaps the most perplexing and upsetting aspect of it is that he doesn't understand why. If she truly never loved him, he can accept that, but it still doesn't justify her cruelty, nor does it explain why she refuses to leave him alone. If he fell out of love with somebody, he's sure he'd find a way to let them down as gently as he could and then walk away without looking back. Why prolong their suffering or his own by providing constant reminders of what might've been?

He doubts Anya will give him an explanation for her behaviour when he's finally ready to talk to her, but he's going to ask anyway.

"Did you ever turn your mobile on again?" Ginger's question drifts into his ruminations. "You probably should, if you haven't."

"No, it's still off," he says. "But, you're right. My family might be trying to contact me. I wouldn't want to worry them. But, if Anya keeps harassing me..."

"Block her number," Ginger suggests. "You can always unblock it later if you want to."

Both their phones are on the end table on Ginger's side of the couch. Nikolai doesn't particularly want to get up, so he asks, "Can you reach my phone from there?"

Ginger obviously doesn't want to get up either. She has to roll over and then stretch her arm as far as she can, but she manages to snag both their phones. She rolls back toward him and dumps both their devices into the small blanket-covered space between them. "Mine's on silent. I'd better fix that."

Nikolai scoops up his own phone and reactivates it. As soon as it's powered up, it starts pinging, bombarding him with alerts about text messages, emails and missed calls. He grumbles, "Goddammit..."

"What?" Ginger inquires.

"There's like, thirty texts from Anya, but Grandpa called, and I missed it. I'm just going to send him a quick text to let him know I'm with you and I'm okay."

"Do you reckon Anya is going to keep texting you?"

"Who knows?" he mutters, as he taps out a message to his grandfather. "She's becoming a pain in the ass."

"Becoming?"

He taps 'send' on his text to Grandpa, and then quickly deletes the entire string of messages from Anya. "Okay, she's getting to be an even bigger pain in the ass than usual. Can you show me how to block her number?"

"Let me do it for you," Ginger says. "Nothing would give me more pleasure at the moment."

"Here." He passes his phone to her. "I give you the honour."

Ginger's smirk is positively diabolical as she taps at the screen. A minute later, with a tone of immense satisfaction, she says, "Bye, Anya," before handing the phone back to him.

"Thank you," he says. "I mean that with a million percent gratitude."

"You're welcome. But you know blocking her isn't really a solution, don't you? You have to sort everything out with her soon."

"I know," he says, "Don't worry. I've made up my mind. I am going to talk to her soon, because I want everything to be dealt with before the summer. I've got important stuff to do, and I don't want this hanging over my head."

"What have you got to do?" Ginger asks. "I thought you were going to be done with your coaching courses by the middle of May."

"That's not the only important thing on my calendar. I've got this little competition—"

"Wait... what?" She cuts him off. "What do you mean, competition? You're not even cleared to skate yet How do you expect to—"

"It's all right. Calm down," he interjects. "It's not that kind of competition. Okay, no... it sort of is. I mean, it's skating, but it's not a recognized event or anything."

"Nikolai!" She yanks one of the pillows from beneath his head and then thumps him with it. "When were you going to tell me that you haven't entirely given up competing? Does Beth-Anne know?"

"Hey!" he exclaims. He grabs the pillow and quickly rolls over. Ginger is still hanging onto the other end of it, and caught off-guard by his abrupt movement, she flops unceremoniously on top of him. "Oww..."

"Serves you right," she says.

"I swear, it's not what you think," he insists. "It's just a friendly little challenge between me and Brett. He has something to prove, and maybe I do too. And yes, Beth-Anne knows. She's not happy about it, but she knows."

"You have nothing to prove to anyone. Those six world championship medals? They say everything anyone ever needs to know."

"It's not about that," he says.

"Then, what's it about?" She gets off him, drops the pillow back onto the pile and settles in beside him again. "It's not some sort of manliness test, is it? Because you also haven't got anything to prove in that department."

"No, it's not about that, either. But, am I hearing you call me a manly man?"

"Is that what you want to hear?" she asks.

"No, not really," he says. "Not that I want to be unmanly, but every time I hear 'manly', I think of those big guys we always see at the gym, flexing in front of the mirror. The bros."

"I thought those were your type, the giant, muscly ones."

"Yeah, but I like them gentle and articulate and... clean. I'm not into anybody who uses the word 'bro' to start and finish every sentence, or who thinks strutting around in sweaty t-shirts with the sleeves cut off is sexy. Every time I see those guys trying to get attention, all I want to do is tell them to take an English class and a shower and to put on some decent clothes."

"Ooh... tell me how you really feel."

He laughs. "Sorry, but they're gross, and I'm picky when it comes to men."

"So what's your ideal man, then?"

"You know. Blond, blue eyes, quiet and sweet, showers every day and dresses nicely, and treats me like I'm the most important man in the room. Bonus points if he's cuddly. Extra bonus points if he speaks Russian."

Ginger giggles. "Basically Anya, but male and a decent human."

"Uh..." he begins, but then he realizes she has a valid point and he laughs too. "Yeah, actually I'd say that's pretty much it, with a big emphasis on the decent human part. It's probably not going to happen, though, and I think I'm done with relationships for now anyway."

"There's no harm in dreaming," Ginger says. "But I'm not about to argue with you being done with relationships for a while. You need time to recover properly from this one. And you never know," she adds, offering him a cheeky grin. "One day, when you're feeling better about everything and your life is back on track, you may get a surprise. Your cuddly, Russian-speaking muscle man might just appear out of the blue."

"I can dream."

"Indeed. Now, can we circle back to this little competition with Brett? You never did say what you think you need to prove, or to who."

"To myself," he says. "Maybe it's stupid, but I just need to know that I can do it. That I'm capable of all the things I used to be able to do. Brett challenged me, and I should've said no, but... I couldn't. He was so smug about it, like he already knew he could win."

"Do you think he could?"

"I don't know," Nikolai admits. "Maybe. It depends on whether or not I can still do everything."

"When are you going to be allowed to skate?"

"The last time I saw the sports therapist, he said he probably wouldn't clear me till May, but I have an appointment with him and with the doctor the day after tomorrow, so I'm planning to ask again."

"Would you like me to come with you to your appointment?" Ginger offers. "Beth-Anne's probably been going with you, hasn't she?"

"Would you come? I'm sure I can handle it by myself, but Beth-Anne's been with me every other time, and I feel like it'd be a lot less stressful if I had some moral support."

“I’ll be there,” she says. “I’m going to be there when you get back on the ice as well, just so you know. I wouldn't miss that moment."

"Thanks," he says. "I want you to be there. You and Beth-Anne. I don't know if I'd be okay with anyone other than the two of you watching."

"If I know Beth-Anne, she'll make sure it's only us, if that's what you tell her you want." She reaches over and takes his hand. "You'll do brilliantly, though. No need to fret over the thought of embarrassing yourself or anything like that."

"Thanks," he repeats.

She squeezes his fingers. "It'll all work out. Don't worry."

Will it? he asks himself. As excited as he is about the prospect of skating again, he's also nervous. He's never been off the ice for this long before, and he's anxious about how much skill he's lost. Not that he's forgotten what to do; the knowledge is still there. His biggest concern is whether or not his body will respond the way he wants it to. What if he can't execute all the moves, or what if falls and hurts himself again? It's more than a little overwhelming.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on something else. On TV, a commentator is interviewing someone about curling. Nikolai's appreciation of curling is about equal to his appreciation of baseball, but the interviewer has a lovely voice, so he concentrates on that.

I'd let him read me a bedtime story.

Without intending to, he starts to drift into the strange, semiconscious state between wakefulness and sleep. He's warm and full and comfortable, and Ginger is still holding his hand. He's still aware of the TV commentator speaking, but he's starting to lose his grasp on the meaning of the man's words.

Something about rocks and... brooms?

He tries to fight the inexorable fall toward sleep because he doesn't want to miss the opening ceremony of the World Junior Figure Skating Championship. That was the main reason for staying over at Ginger's place, after all. Unfortunately, his battle may be a losing one.

Until Ginger's phone rings, that is.

The device is only about twenty centimetres from his face, and Ginger must've set her ringer volume to maximum. Chasing The Dream by Skull Fist blasts him into full awareness, and he sits up so fast that he feels lightheaded for a second.

Nothing like heavy metal to wake a guy up.

Next to him, Ginger growls a sleepy and annoyed, “Bloody hell!” And then, after touching her phone's screen to answer the call, “What the hell do you want? I’m in bed.”

Technically true, Nikolai acknowledges. He’s about to ask who it is when his brain registers the fact that Ginger has the phone on speaker. Even if he didn’t recognize the voice coming out of the phone, one glance at the number at the top of the screen would’ve told him all he wanted to know.

Anya's intonation is snarky, and even though Nikolai can’t see her, he can picture her expression perfectly. “In bed with my husband, no doubt.”

Also technically true.

“What do you think? Of course I’m in bed with him,” Ginger says, conjuring up a tone of genuine-sounding condescension. “Why do you think you couldn’t reach him all afternoon and evening? We’ve been having loads of fun together, showing each other our moves. I’ll bet you had no idea how flexible he is.”

Nikolai covers his mouth to hold in his sudden urge to laugh. He can’t look at Ginger, or he'll lose it. Nothing she's said so far has been a lie, and if Anya chooses to misinterpret it, that's neither Ginger's nor Nikolai's problem.

"What?" Anya all but yells across the connection.

"He's a three-time champion, you know. Has he ever let you... wear all three of his world championship gold medals?"

Ginger's pause for effect is too much for Nikolai. He dives head-first into the pillows. He hopes they're enough to muffle the laughter he can no longer hold in.

"You sneaky bitch!" Anya screams. "I knew he was with you! How could you do this? I thought we were friends!"

"We are," Ginger says mildly. "But Nikolai is my friend too. It seems somebody did something quite awful to him, and he was terribly hurt by it, so he came to me for help. That's perfectly reasonable, don't you think?"

"And your idea of help is letting him fuck you three times in one day?"

"I didn't say that," says Ginger. "And please try not to be so vulgar, if you can. Gentlemen like Nikolai never 'fuck'. How debased of you to say such a thing."

"Listen," Anya says. "You tell that cheating bastard that I was ready to talk, and that I was prepared to forgive him, but now I've changed my mind."

"Forgive him? What did he do to you?"

"Everyone at the rink hates me. Even my so-called friends are treating me like I've committed a crime against humanity or something. I'm sure he's been running all over the place, telling everyone God knows what about me. People are gossiping about me, Ginger! He did that to me."

"No, darling," Ginger says. "I'm afraid you did that to yourself. Now, I must go. Nikolai is lying here waiting for me to get off the phone."

Anya's only response is a literal wordless shriek.

Nikolai assumes the call is over when he feels Ginger's fingers on his back and she says, "Nik, lift your head before you suffocate."

The instant their eyes meet, Ginger's composure cracks. The next thing Nikolai knows, Ginger is in his arms and they're both laughing so hard that they're in tears and his stomach hurts.

"Holy shit," he gasps, freeing one hand to remove his glasses and rub at his watering eyes. "Ginger, that was a masterpiece. When you're ready for a career change, maybe you should get into acting."

"Maybe I should," she muses. "I rather enjoyed that."

"I'd say that's an understatement."

"It's a safe bet she won't be bothering you for a few days," Ginger says. "I'll explain everything to her when she cools off, and hopefully she'll still agree to talk with you about your marriage."

"What if she doesn't?" he asks.

"She will," Ginger assures him. "You know Anya. She overreacts and then she calms down. Have you ever known her to be any other way?"

"No," he admits.

"There you go," Ginger says. She disentangles herself from him and scoots back. Glancing at her fitness tracker, she comments, "Nearly nine-thirty. Are we still alert enough to stay up and watch the opening ceremonies?"

"After that phone call? I think I've got my second wind now."

"Me too. Let me fetch us a couple of bottles of water. You can arrange those pillows some sort of way. I'd like to sit up while I watch."

"Got it," Nikolai says.

By the time Ginger returns from the kitchen, he has all the pillows lined up against the backrest of the sofa and he's sitting comfortably with one of the blankets over his feet and legs. Ginger tosses him a bottle of water, which he catches neatly. She wriggles under the blanket with him, and they lean into each other.

"I'm glad you're here," she says.

"I'm glad I'm here too. Thanks for letting me stay."

"You can stay until Beth-Anne gets back, if you'd rather not be alone."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'd enjoy the company, and having someone around to drive me everywhere is nice as well."

"Driving you everywhere is the least I can do," he says.

"Well, it's settled then." She tilts her head and peers up at him through her long auburn lashes, and whispers. "Wait until your wife finds out you've moved in with your mistress."

Nikolai laughs out loud, which is clearly the reaction Ginger was anticipating. She looks way more pleased with herself than she rightfully should.

"I love you," he says. "You're the best mistress I never had."

"Hmm..." She rests her head on his shoulder. "I love you too, like the brother I've always wanted."

"Does that make you my bonus sister?"

"I certainly hope so."

Nikolai smiles, secure in the knowledge that his family extends beyond mere biology. He can count on his grandfather, parents and sister, but he's also got Ginger, Beth-Anne, Stan and Milena. He can't put into words how much their love and support means to him, but maybe he doesn't have to. Maybe a simple expression of love is enough.

He'd wanted that same love in his marriage, and for a brief time he thought he had it, but he's discovered some unpleasant truths since then. Still, he reminds himself, Anya is only one person. She may not love him, and her actions may have left him with an ache in his heart, but he's surrounded by so much love on every side that he's convinced the pain isn't nearly as bad as it might otherwise have been. What if he were in Anya's position? He doesn't like to imagine how lonely and terrified he'd be, constantly questioning who liked him and who he could trust.

But, I know who I can trust, he reassures himself. I'm safe, and I'm going to be okay. My family will help me make sure of that.

He drapes his arm around Ginger's shoulders, and she instinctively snuggles closer to him. On the television, triumphant music begins to play and a splash screen appears with the ISU logo and 'World Junior Figure Skating Championship 2011' underneath it. Ginger murmurs, "Here we go. The start of another week of history being made."

Nikolai hasn't watched an ISU Worlds event on TV since he was a kid. Since then, he's always too busy competing in them. It hits him that this is another change he'll have to adjust to, another new experience for him. He's been having a lot of those lately, new experiences.

It's okay. Change isn't objectively good or bad; it's just change.

Beth-Anne is always telling him and her other students to respond, not react. She says the way they act in the face of change determines the outcome. When he reflects on it, he recognizes that he hasn't handled all the recent changes in his life particularly well, but he's done his best and he's proud of himself and his coping abilities overall.

Another week of history being made. He decides he really likes that. He's looking forward to the week ahead, and to all the weeks to come.

#writing #the art of redemption #theartofredemption #nikolai pavlenko #ginger holmes #anya pavlenko #stargazersims

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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I adore your writing, so may I request some brat!tamer Aemond if you feel comfortable with that? He seems like such a cold disciplinarian to me. Thank you so much for all your writing!

warnings: cnc/dubcon (like, she says no but it's part of the rp/'game' basically), hard dom/sub dynamic, orgasm control/denial, violence, marking kink, spitting, spanking, choking, possessiveness, touch of dumbification kink

"You should know better by now."

Well, he was right about that. How many times had you learned this lesson? How many times had you sat gently with a wince in your chair for dinner, catching his steely gaze to remind you how you earned those welts on your rear? How many times had you gotten the back of his hand across your cheek and had to try to explain the swelling to someone who saw you later that day? How many times had you left his chambers with a sore, full cunt and tear-stained cheeks and the biggest fucking smile on your face?

Maybe that was why you never learned, not for very long. Because you loved this so fucking much. "You know I don't like to be kept waiting," Aemond added.

"Yes, my prince, I know," you nodded somberly.

"And yet, when I call for you, you leave me to wait for nearly an hour? What could you have possibly been doing that was more important than tending to me?"

"I only lost track of the time," you promised, but that answer didn't satisfy him; he grabbed your arm and tugged you into him, sneering as he examined your face.

"You're quite fucking prompt when you'd like your needs attended to," he noticed. "Clearly I've spoiled you. That much is my fault. But you have forgotten your purpose."

"I'm sorry, my—" you started, but he cut you off.

"This is not the sort of apology to make with your tongue, girl," he corrected. "Bend over the bed."

You were generally quite obedient, or at least you tried to be. This was about to be the first time you broke his instructions just for the hell of it. "I won't," you decided.

He didn't get as angry as you expected, not right way. He was quietly surprised, raising his brow and tilting his face slightly. "You won't?"

"I'm tired," you decided, the first excuse that popped in your head.

He seemed more amused than angry... maybe your attempt to rile him up had backfired? "Tired, hmm," he repeated. "Maybe it's just as well. I'm tired, too."

The nimble fingers wrapped around your arm tightened painfully, making you wince, and he leaned to speak by your ear.

"Tired of you playing games with me," he sneered. "You won't like the way I make you bend over, girl— I'd like you to do as you're told now, and thank me for giving you a second chance."

You simply stood still, waiting to see what he would do. He was right: you didn't like the way that he made you bend over. You'd imagined he would tug your hair or something, but instead he brought his knee up into your gut; you held your stomach and keeled over in pain, shoved down onto the bed a second later.

He sighed in frustration, pinning you down as he fought to get your dress off quickly. The wind had been knocked out of you, but came back with a choking gasp when he brought his hand down onto your bare arse. "I warned you," he reminded you. "What did you expect? Mercy?"

You shook your head; you never expected that, and you'd be disappointed if you got it.

He kept hitting you, harder each time to make you jolt with each impact; your hands weakly clutched the bedlinens beneath you, your lips spilling out useless apologies and cries of his name.

The spanking only stopped when he started to fuck you, having spit on your cunt to give enough lubrication for himself (but not for you), and by then the bruises were forming already. He couldn't just let it be, either, he had to keep clutching and groping at the skin that he'd marked, admiring the shape of his own hand on you, and that just made it sting even more.

As per usual, he fucked you ruthlessly and without much care for your pleasure. It was only for himself, taking back what you'd made him wait for and making up for lost time by being especially impatient and greedy with you. You figured he would just use you and be done with it, but apparently he had some sense of sentiment— he said he wouldn't be able to finish looking at your back, he needed to see your face.

But it wasn't exactly romantic, the way he said it. "I'd like to see you on your back, you know I like the stupid, empty-headed look you get when you're being fucked properly," he told you. Actually, for him, that was pretty romantic.

He looked exquisite with his face a bit flushed, his hair tangled and messy, your legs draped over his shoulders as he fucked you. His hand kept you pinned down at the neck, restricting your breathing until your face went numb— he explained that your moans were too loud and that you'd annoy anyone in the hall who had the misfortune of hearing them. It was hard to say if that was his real reason, or if maybe he had some sense of discretion about this secret affair... not that it was one of those particularly well-kept secrets.

Each time he let you breathe again, you thanked him, sobbing his name and asking permission to come. He never gave it, even when you became terrified that you wouldn't be able to keep it in anymore. "It's not your pleasure that we're here for, girl," he reminded you, "you don't need to come. Say it."

"I don't need to come," you agreed, shaking uncontrollably under him, "I don't need to come, I just need to p-please you, my prince..."

"Mm," he agreed, spitting on your face for emphasis as you whimpered. "You should thank me for that, too."

"Th-thank you!" you blurted out, tightening up your core to try to keep your orgasm at bay even longer. His cock was driving into your swollen walls, hitting you so deep, pulling so much arousal out of you that a puddle had dripped down your sore arse and onto the fine sheets— something you'd probably be punished for as well after this. "Thank you for spitting on me..."

"Lick it up, then," he encouraged, watching you do it with a sick joy on your face. "I suppose you've lost the will to be disobedient, I knew all you needed was a little reminder."

This reminder didn't feel so little, especially when he leaned down and pushed your knees up to your chest, basically folding you in half. His cock was so deep you had to scream, actually scream his name, and he covered your mouth with his hand as he grunted by your ear.

"If you wash out any of what I give you, I'll give you a proper lashing," he warned. "You know better now, don't you? I'll come inside you and you must keep it inside, let it run down your legs so you remember for a while longer. Do you understand?"

You nodded your head fervently under his hand, eyes rolling back in your head as he started to pump his seed into you; a low moan fell from his lips with each flex of his hips, until he was spent and began to relax.

Without so much as another word, without any kiss or embrace, without even letting you come, he got up and composed himself. His expression was flat as he informed you, "You may go."

Still sore and shaking, you asked, "What if I would like to stay longer?"

He glared at you. "You may go," he ordered you again.

You stood up and did your best to get your dress back together, bowing quickly before you exited through the wide iron door. Once again, you left his chambers with a sore, full cunt and tear-stained cheeks and the biggest fucking smile on your face.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut

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