#either by sparring with him or demonstrating

[eowynstwin]

Re: this post. Because we all know what Price would do.

cw: Infidelity. Implied rape (coerced sex is rape). Implied murder. Price is Price.

-

The scent of ozone is sharp in your nose. The air around your husband gathers, electricity coalescing, taking on a slow, heavy pulse of its own as he sits there, arms crossed, expression closed. Hard.

John Price is a hard man. You knew this when you married him. Appreciated it, even. He suffers no fools, loathes a point belabored. To him, there is an unbroken, straight line, gloriously clear, between himself and his objective; a simple, beautiful connection between means and motive. Anything inconsequential is merely scenery on a road trip. Meaningless visual noise.

Between you, the wallet sits in the middle of the dinner table like a live grenade. Leather; worn around the edges.

Not his.

“Who,” he says. It is not a question. It is an order.

Your lips are pressed together tightly, so it might keep your chin from trembling. Stray tears are hot down the corners of your nose.

You can’t look him in the eye.

“It was,” you stutter, “the man, the—the man—for the car—”

Suddenly you have to take huge gulps of air. You pull them in raggedly, like they claw at your throat, refusing to go willingly into the cage of your lungs.

“It was only—only for—” you heave past a sob “—for the payment, he said—he said either this or—or—”

You cry out in fear as John stands from the chair, whole body shaking now.

Your husband does not suffer excuses, either.

You’ve never been afraid of him; John keeps his anger away from you, when he can. Takes it outside with a cigar and a bottle of scotch, to the gym and the sparring mats, or all the way out there where inevitably he must kill to keep from being killed.

But now it fills the house like tear gas. Billowing, noxious, whipping against your skin, pressing sharply into your eyes.

You squeeze them shut, tightly. He approaches you. Instinct, something written deep in your bones, seizes up, knows it feels the predator closing in. Resigned, like waiting for the jaws to close will make it hurt less when they snap your neck.

It’s why you flinch when his mouth lands, far too gently, on the crown of your head. His hand cups your nape like a newborn.

“Order some dinner,” he murmurs—not gently, but in memory of gentleness. “Have a bath, with those bombs I got you.”

You choke on your own breath. He withdraws, and finally you look him full in the face—

His brow is low. His gaze is shuttered away from you, fixed on some far point.

“John,” you whisper.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he murmurs.

“John!”

He turns his back on you and walks out the door.

-

You order pad thai for two, jasmine rice, crab kanob jeeb with spicy dipping sauce. You splurge and have fresh cookies delivered, against better judgement—not your own, you demonstrably have none, but certainly someone’s.

When you close your teeth around a dumpling, broth spurts against your tongue, like an artery punctured. The sauce clears your nostrils in a sudden punch, no lead up, no dancing around what it is and what it’s supposed to do. It’s delicious; exonerating.

You would think guilt would close your stomach, but in fact you eat like a man on death row, inhaling every flavor like you can take it with you into your next life. You have to stop yourself from digging into what your ordered for John.

He said he’d be back. He isn’t a liar.

You do have that bath. You pour yourself some of his scotch, light candles, fasten your hair up with a clip and rest the back of your neck against the slanted lip of the bathtub. You and John had bought this house in part because of this tub; you’d fantasized about doing just this as often as you pleased.

He’d joked about its great capacity for draining a body. You’d told him if he ever used your tub for murder, you’d leave him.

The bath bombs fizz next to your thighs, dying the water in pink and gold, bubbling along your skin. Steam rises visibly from the water; tension bleeds from you slowly, like your body is unwilling to give it up just yet.

When it begins to cool, you open the drain and shower off. You wash yourself from top to bottom, lathering soap between the palms of your bare hands, reacquainting your body with your own touch. There, the dips in your pelvis; there, the folds of your stomach; there, the backs of your knees, calves, the knobs of your ankle bones.

Everything as it was before. Clean. Unblemished.

You take your post on the couch in your softest pajamas, pulling a blanket up to your waist. There’s a game on tonight, a Liverpool friendly that you remember John wanted to watch. He should get back soon, then. He wouldn’t want to miss it—

The front door opens.

You whip around. Your gaze locks with your husband’s. You hold together motionless, staring, as if evaluating each other.

You’re not sure how you expected him to arrive but you find yourself surprised that he’s clean. He’s in the same clothes, even, jeans and a T-shirt and a bomber jacket and work boots. The picture of nondescript.

The air he brings in with him is…different. Not miasmic; more refined. Almost satiated. You can’t read his expression, but the line of his brow is softer.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, and find yourself surprised that you mean it.

Words sit heavy in your stomach. Serious, needful. But you know John; and suddenly you realize if there was a time for them at all, he wouldn’t want them anyway.

He comes over to you, toes off his boots and slings his jacket over the sofa back. Sits, gathers you into his side, bringing your legs over his lap and pulling your head into the crook of his neck. He’s warm; warmer than he should be, having just come in from the cold.

“Needed a walk,” is all he says.

“Sure,” you agree.

He smells like your John. Clean, evergreen body soap and fresh laundry and earthy, like the smell of turned humus. A little thread of gun oil that never goes away—metallic, in a way you’ve grown used to, and couldn’t imagine being without any longer.

He cups your shoulder with one hand, lays the other across your lap. Squeezes your thigh. His knuckles are chapped a deep, bruised red from the cold; you notice a dark spot beneath the nail of his pinky.

“What’s the score?” he asks. His deep voice rumbles in his chest.

“They’re losing,” you say. You inhale his scent, hold it in your lungs, and breathe out slowly, calmly.

“Eh,” he says, giving you a squeeze, kissing your hair. “They’ll get away with it.”

-

You buy a car on a loan from some shady fuck like an idiot and John takes care of it, idk. Don’t worry about watching the news babe he’s a professional

[nariism]

ink to paper — k. ayato

mutual/oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."

synopsis. yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @kruinka and @ph-xntasy / @yuellii 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

You've cut his apples into petit rabbits today.

The ink at the end of Ayato's brush has soaked through his page at least three times since he started scribing, big globs of black ruining what could have been a beautiful sequence. And the culprits for distracting him taunt him with their little red ears.

In fact, they've been sitting for so long that the flesh of the fruit is starting to brown. How long has he been unproductively glancing up and down between his paper and his breakfast? 

He had told you that they were in season as a passing comment the last time he saw you—nothing more than a throwaway line to make conversation. Yet here you are, showing up at his table with a tray of his usual breakfast and something extra. Something hand-crafted and too cute for him to even fathom putting into his mouth.

It seemed that you had a special place in your memory for him. He could bring up the smallest wish and it would show up on his desk the next day.

It was your job to know him inside and out, after all. Your sole duty as his scheduler. Even so, you made time to do things outside of your job description if only to please him. You always looked so happy to see him, too. He's starting to wonder if you have a crush on him.

He glances at his clock. While he is busy with work, what harm would a few minutes do if he were to be a little distracted?

Kamisato Ayato cannot cook.

He remembers fondly the only time he had ever demonstrated his kitchen skills to you. After unpacking his favourite tempura from Uyuu restaurant, he proceeded to line the shrimp up on a plate and decorate it.

You found humour in his apparent lack of expertise in the kitchen, chalking it up to his spoiled upbringing. He hadn't believed you then, thinking that you were being too harsh as well as too distracted by the melody of your laugh to bother dwelling on it. But now he's here, trying to do something as simple as cutting apples and failing miserably.

What spurred him on to do this in the first place is beyond him. Maybe he thought that the smile on your face when you saw his efforts would be worth all the trouble, or perhaps he was seeking your approval since he admired your ever-growing list of skills.

From servant to sparring partner to cook to personal scheduler, you were quickly making yourself a regular part of his day. He envied your adaptability, having little opportunity as a noble to try.

He figured this would be a chance to start. To learn, if it were to make you happy or proud.

Oh dear. Who knew cutting apples was such a daunting task?

Ayato thought this would be simple—cut some apples into cute shapes, make you smile, perhaps keep you around a bit longer to discuss it than you would usually stay. (Lately, he's been craving to hear your voice more and more.)

But this blade is tiny, unlike his hefty sword. It's too nimble for his fingers, and he's sure he has nicked himself at least a dozen times by now.

If you were here, you'd probably scold him for being so careless. And you'd set aside time in your busy day to help him, he's sure. It's in your nature to be kind which makes him miss you all the more.

Just as he's about to give up and call it quits, the door slides open.

Archons. He's been so engrossed in his woes that he had forgotten it was almost time for your scheduled meeting to go over his other plans for the week.

The scraps of peel and sloppily shaped apple slices are so incriminating that he doesn't even bother hiding it. You both stare at each other from across the table, completely unblinking and still.

"Um..." You strain out, clearly attempting to hide your amusement. "Hello."

He coughs awkwardly, placing down the paring knife and trying to uphold as much dignity as he possibly can.

"Hello," he greets, unable to meet your gaze anymore. "My apologies. Our meeting slipped my mind."

You gently pluck a rabbit from the plate, rotating it around in your fingers to get a better look. They're sloppy, for sure, with jagged edges and tiny slits where you know his knife slipped. And they don't even resemble anything remotely close to rabbits in the first place, more like blocky V-shaped thingamabobs.

You glance up and down between the rabbit and the man behind it, who looks strangely flustered considering his usually calm temperament.

"Don't look at me that way," he says quietly, wooden end of the blade gently knocking against the table as he deflates.

"Are these... bunnies?" You ask him in bewilderment.

"They are... supposed to be rabbits, yes."

Complete silence fills the room until Ayato feels as if he can't breathe. Coupled with the way your eyes are scrutinizing his attempts, he wants nothing more than to melt away.

And then you laugh. You can't stop laughing, it seems. Doubled over onto the table and fighting for air between giggles.

He can't help the softening of his expression, the warmth in his chest. If this is all it took to get you to smile like that, then who cares how embarrassing it is that he can't even cut fruit correctly?

You round the table, plopping down next to him. Oh no. He can't control his racing heart when you're leaning in so close to him, so close that he can feel the rumble of your laughter in his own body.

With your shoulders pressed together, body resting comfortably against his, you take the blade and slice of apple from his hands.

"I'll show you how," you offer. He watches intently as you make the first shallow slits through the peel, then gently slide the knife across the top. Too busy admiring your skillful hands, he almost instantly blurts out:

"Can you please show me again?"

You look at him funny, brows pinched but a smile still seeping across your face. You show him another time, expertly cutting another slice. And another. And another.

Unconsciously, or perhaps following the quiet voice in his heart, his head falls atop yours. You sink into him, allowing him to rest against you without complaint.

"Hm, am I your personal comforter now?"

"I suppose you are."

"You know, if you actually pay attention you might be able to make your own breakfast."

"Mm..." He hums when your hands don't stop moving despite your words. Instead, you laugh again. And again, there's the ever familiar thrum of his heart.

"Oh, dear Commissioner. What would you do without me?"

Yes, he thinks. What would he do without you?

Well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. He's far too busy to keep track of it all on top of his other work. And he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

He would rather you keep him company anyway, bunnies and all.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[csuitebitches]

Book Review- The Wealth Elite: A Groundbreaking Study of the Psychology of the Super Rich, by Rainer Zitelmann Notes

I came across this book because I was looking for psychology books. I found the first of the book rather boring and too textbook-y. The second part is much better.

The author interviewed like 45 millionaire - billionaires. These were his findings.

—

48% stated that real estate was an ‘important’ source of their wealth, and one in ten described real estate as the ‘most important’ aspect of their personal wealth-building. And a total of 20% described stock market gains as an ‘important’ factor in wealth-building, although in this case only 2.4% stated that this was the ‘most important’ factor in building their wealth.

‘Creative intelligence’ is key to financial success. The following is a comparison between the percentage of entrepreneurs (and in brackets the percentage of attorneys) who agreed that the following factors played a decisive role in their financial success: seeing opportunities others do not see: 42 (19); finding a profitable niche: 35 (14).

The role of habitus

* Intimate knowledge of required codes of dress and etiquette

* Broad-based general education

* An entrepreneurial attitude, including an optimistic outlook on life

* Supreme self-assurance in appearance and manner.

He identifies a key quality that is essential for any prospective appointee to the executive board or senior management of a major company: habitual similarities to those who already occupy such positions.

Skillset of Entrepreneurs

* The ‘conqueror’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to make plans and a strong will to carry them out.

* The ‘organizer’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to bring large numbers of people together into a happy, successful creative force.

* The ‘trader’. What Sombart describes as a ‘trader’, we would more likely call a talented salesperson today. The entrepreneur has to “confer with another, and, by making the best of your own case and demonstrating the weakness of his, get him to adopt what you propose. Negotiation is but an intellectual sparring match.”

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Commitment

* Creativity

* A high degree of extroversion

* Low levels of agreeableness

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Orientation towards action after suffering disappointments (the entrepreneur remains able to act, even after failure)

* Internal locus of control (the conviction “I hold my destiny in my own two hands”)

* Optimism (the expectation that the future holds positive things in store)

* Self-efficacy (the expectation that tasks can be performed successfully, even in difficult circumstances).

constant power struggles with their teachers in order to ascertain who would emerge the stronger from such confrontations.

Secret of selling

* Empathy

* Didactics

* Expert knowledge

* Networking.

Conscientiousness is the dominant personality trait. Extroversion is also very common among the interviewees. Openness to Experience is very common

A high tolerance to frustration is one of the most characteristic personality traits of this group.

exceptionally high levels of mental stability.

primarily characterize entrepreneurs as being prepared to swim against the current and make their decisions irrespective of majority opinion.

“No, I never did that (lost my temper). I never get loud. But I can be resolute and say: “That is unacceptable.” And then you either have to go your separate ways or make a decision that the other party might not like. It’s the same in negotiations. I was always described by other people as a bit of a toughie.”

Having the courage to stand against majority opinion is probably a prerequisite for making successful investments, as this is what makes it possible to buy cheap and sell high.

Many of the interviewees spoke about their ability to switch off and direct their focus, even in the event of major problems. The interviewees consistently referred to their ability to focus on solutions, rather than torturing themselves with problems.

At least in the initial phases of wealth creation, most of the interviewees rated their own risk profiles as very high. This changes during the stabilization phase, when risk profiles decrease. In this phase, the hypothesis of moderate risk does apply.

Conscientiousness was the interviewees’ most dominant personality trait. It is important to remember that the Big Five theory’s definition of conscientiousness does not just include qualities such as duty, precision, and thoroughness, but also emphasizes diligence, discipline, ambition, and stamina.

[last-starry-sky]

Simon constantly teases you about how short/small you are. It upsets you, makes you feel singled out, weak, incompetent. Turns out he’s just dying to know how well you can fit him, how big his cock would look next to your hands and feet. Won’t shut up about it during sex either. A dash of mean Simon + his untapped size kink

eeeeee im gonnafuckining explode OKAY FOR REAL I WAS DYING WHEN I SAW THIS. thank u, beautiful, patient anon, for blessing me with this prompt!! I hope I did it justice!

ghost x petite!f!military!reader

(MDNI - NSFW uhhhh grossly inaccurate military stuff, creeper, bully simon :), i’m using “petite” as in “shorter and smaller than the average woman” trying to keep everything as open and vague as possible, oral, deep throating, ghost has a raging size kink, unprotected piv, also this is LONG (5.6k) 💀 i'm sorry!!! skip to the end for smut if that's all you want!❤️) 

It’s been the same fucking comments from your lieutenant all week. Day in, day out and it’s starting to wear a sore spot into your hardened skin. 

“Muzzle up. Arms tired already? ‘s a big rifle for someone your size to carry.”

“Keep pace with the group. Your short legs aren’t their problem.”

“Shoulders back! Chest out! Some’ve y’ need all the height you can get!”

All you can do is grit out a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” and push yourself even harder to keep up with the taller and stronger men and women around you. The massive Brit in charge is running your training group. While you expected this to be hard (your CO hadn’t been mincing words when he pitched it as “advanced”) but you never expected this. 

First of all, from the very beginning, he seemed to have a problem with you. Only you. There were a handful of women in the group, but you were unfortunately the shortest and smallest. Not that it bothered you. You’d spent your whole life this size. You were used to it. It was everyone else, especially the wanna-be, alpha males that flocked to the military like flies, that gave you grief over it.

The second you all lined up off the transport, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried not to stare back while the other Brit, Captain Price, gave a short introductory talk. You hadn’t heard a word of it. He stood there, flanking the captain, in a black, skin tight t shirt, with his obscenely muscled arms crossed over his ridiculously broad chest. A buzzing filled your ears as his black eyes bored into you. His stare so hot and heavy it made you sweat. His eyes were all of his face that he left uncovered, the rest was hidden by a skull mask and balaclava. You tried to ignore him, but you swore you saw the ink on his arm flexing as the captain introduced him: Lt. Ghost.

From the first training exercise, a simple one on one spar, he pulled you of all people from the women’s group to demonstrate on. What could you do? Refuse? He had at least a foot and close to one hundred pounds of muscle on you. You tried not to shake as you squared up at the opposite end of the mat. 

He told you to rush him, to “show him what you got”. Well, you tried. Once he gave signal to start, all you could do was try to fake him out. You ran at him before quickly darting to the side, trying to get behind him using your short stature to your advantage. Unfortunately for you, he was crazy agile for a large guy. He pivoted on his foot, watching you as you tried to fade to his left. You steeled yourself when he caged you in his arms, sweeping your feet off the mat. Your world was a blur until he slammed you roughly down onto the mat. Your breath was knocked from you, your vision spinning. You heard the crowd around you let out a collective “OH”. It took you a moment to realize he had you pinned. Your legs and hands held painfully down with his own. 

“‘sat all y’ got? Givin’ up already?” he grunted out with a gravely laugh while he stared down at you. He leaned down until his chest was pressed to yours, that stupid mask just grazing your face. “Or y’ got some fight left in y’? 

Hell yeah you still had some fight in you. You managed to slip out one leg from under him, jamming your knee quickly into his side. A kidney hit was dirty, you knew that. You wouldn’t dream of doing it in a normal spar, against an evenly matched partner, but he deserved it for picking on you; for picking a woman when he could have easily dominated any of the men in the room. He reacted exactly as you expected: crumpling forward in pain. You didn’t waste a second pulling your hands and legs from his grip. Another cry rang out from the crowd when you rolled out from under him, ready to jump on his back and make the pin.

“Olright, olright,” he said rubbing at his side, sitting up with a grunt before you could pin him. “I yield, y’ cheatin’ lil’ git. Next up.” 

He pointed at one of the other soldiers to come forward and take your place. The man gave you a fist bump as you left the mat and you told him “good luck”. You knew he would need it. When you turned around you saw that Ghost’s gaze had never left you. 

-

You walked back to base on Friday with your blood boiling, failure weighing heavy on your psyche after a long, hot afternoon of sniper training. You had given all you could; had put up with extra hard, extra long training, with comment after comment about your size and strength. 

Shorty. Shrimp. Rifle looks like it weights more than you. Gonna manage that?

Up early, in late everyday, almost too tired to eat and shower by the end. You had a mind to march right into Price’s office and tell him you were leaving that night. You’d made it a week, that was good enough for you. You would rather face hell from your CO back home than endure another hour of this. The second you sat down on your bunk, however, you passed out.

The exhaustion must have snapped something in your brain. You woke up a few hours later groggy and sweaty, your bunk mate snoring away. You were half on your bed with your feet still in your boots. You rolled onto your back with a groan, wiping the dried tears and dust from your cheeks. 

You let your weak arms fall over your face. You felt pathetic. You honestly wanted to just lay on your thin mattress and cry in the dark until the day started. Another day of enduring that British cunt with a superiority complex calling you short and weak, of singling you out in front of your peers, of making you question your career up to this point. He was eroding the very core of your person at this point, and you didn’t know how much long you could take it. 

You let out a sigh and, with more than a little effort, pull your sore, battered body out of bed. What you really needed was to shower, to think this out, and then find Captain Price to talk. No good would come from rushing into a decision in this state. 

You enjoyed your shower. It was nice to have all of the hot water and the whole communal space to yourself. You took your time getting dressed back into your rumbled clothes in the empty locker room. Nothing but the sound of dripping water echoing off the tile around you. 

Leaving the showers, you looked up and down the bare corridors, only enough of the overhead fluorescents left on to avoid a safety hazard. Your hair dripped onto your shoulders while you stood in the center of the hall. Price’s office had to be somewhere around here.

You wandered out of the barracks, down hall after hall of the same, painted block walls and plain tile floors, until you started seeing name plates posted haphazardly on the wooden doors. Your eyes wandered from door to door until you found what you were looking for: a sheet of 8.5x11 paper taped crookedly outside an office with Cpt. Price scrawled across the middle.

You let out a sigh of relief as you brought up your hand to knock on the door. It was almost over. The captain seemed like a reasonable man. He would surely be willing to listen to you, maybe give you some sound advice on whether you were actually cut out for this level of training. Before your hand could land on the door, a gloved hand came out from the shadows of the hall in front of you to rest above yours.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he whispered harshly.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. You closed your eyes in annoyance, balling your hands at your sides. Of fucking course he was here. Right at the last hurdle. Right before you could seek relief from a superior, his superior too. You let out a long breath through your nose before you opened your eyes to face him.

“I came to talk to Captain-” you started speaking with a wavering voice before he cut you off.

“Not in. Not yet, at least. Had a long night.” 

He leaned against the door, starting down at you again. God, he fucking annoyed you. You’d never had a CO that frayed at your nerves like he did. How dare he come off so cool, gripping his oversized biceps with his stupid skeleton gloves. 

You stepped back from the door. “I’ll come back when he’s in then. Sorry-”

“Can help you if you need somethin’” he interrupted you again, casually canting his hips forward, moving his hand to the door handle. 

You shook you head. While you really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you would prefer not ending this with a disciplinary, so you bit your tongue. 

“I don’t need anything from you,” you answered with just a bit of venom.

He heard it, you were sure of it. He clicked the door open, letting it fall open to reveal the dark room inside. 

“No. I think you do, small-stuff.” When you didn’t make a move, just let another angry breath out your nose and furrow your brow deeper, he shifted to the side and pointed inside the room. “In. Now. That’s an order.”

You clenched your teeth and did as you were told. Not that you had an option now. 

-

You walked up to the desk at the back of the room. Price sure did keep his office in a state. Papers and folders were piled across his desk. A landline phone and old desktop computer were shoved to either corner of the desk. More folders and binders piled over the keyboard and hid the keypad of the phone. You heard Ghost’s boots squeak lightly on the tile behind you, then the door shut with a click. Another, soft click followed. He flipped the light switch, illuminating the spot right above you with hazy, yellow light. 

You turned to face the man who’d gone out of his way to made himself your nemesis for the past week. He silently sauntered up to you, stopping behind one of the chairs in front of the desk. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest and tried to make your face placid while he pulled the chair out. He took a seat, well, he tried too. He could barely fit his massive fame in the little chair. It groaned underneath him as he mirrored your pose, arms crossed and legs spread. 

You sat silently staring at each other before he asked, “Well?” with a roll of his shoulders. 

You picked over your words, trying to detangle everything you had thought up in the shower. Ghost bouncing his knee pulled you back to reality. It was like the threatening hiss of a rattlesnake's tail. Better to just get it out than keep him waiting.

“Do you have a problem with me?” you squeaked out, eyes on you boots. The direct route it was, then. 

“What?” he asked, confused.

You looked up at him, exhausted, eyes pleading. “Look, I know I’m short and not as strong as the other guys . . . especially the guys, but the way you talk to me-”

“Don’t have a problem with y’,” he said throwing his arm across the back of the chair, readjusting while he raked his eyes up and down your frumpy form. Probably looking for something to complain about. “If’m bein’ honest-” he started before cutting himself off and turning his head. 

You uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides. “What . . .” you questioned, gesturing with your hands in front of you. “Then why do you-”

He jiggled his knee a few more times before turning back to face you. “Little thing like you,” he said darkly, so deep and low you almost didn’t hear it. He clenched his fingers on his pants as he cleared his throat. “You keep up with the rest’ve ‘em well enough. Ain’t got a problem.”

“Little thing,” you whispered, repeating him sarcastically. 

Ghost groaned at that. Honest to god groaned in front of you, sending a shiver up your spine. You froze as his heavy eyes found their way back to you. 

“Yeah. You sure are,” he said scraping his fingers down his pants. “Spunky, too. Used t’ fightin’ for your place. Like that. Makes me wonder-” he trailed off as his large eyes wandered down from your face to your chest. 

You were shocked. No way. You had to be misinterpreting this. Maybe you were still sunstroked from yesterday, because there was no way you were reading him correctly. 

“Wonder what?” you piped, blush pinching at your cheeks.

“Wonder . . .” he said rocking his head back and forth, trying to tie a sentence together. “Wonder if y’ can be sweet, too.” He let you stew in wide-eyed disbelief for a moment as he gestured at you. “Wonder what you look like underneath all that.” Your stomach clenched as he tilted his hips forward, spreading his legs wider, to palm is cock through his pants. “Wonder if it matches what I’ve imagined.”

You would be lying if it was just your stomach clenching after that shameless display.

It was crazy how it all made sense now. The constant attention. The names. You thought he was being overly hard on you, picking at you, trying to get you to drop out. You rubbed a hand over your heated face. He was a grown man (a large one, too) that was acting like a little boy with a worm on a stick, chasing the girl he liked around the playground. You thought he hated you and all this time he was actually getting off to you. You felt like an absolute moron. 

“Doesn’t have t’ leave this room. If you’re interested,” he said in that deep gravel, still trying to keep himself together. 

You let him sit in silence for a long, tortuous, moment. 

“And if I’m not?” you finally asked. 

He nodded to the door behind him with his head. “Then leave. Talk t’ Price in the morning. No harm.”

“No foul,” you finished his phrase, running your fingers over your bottom lip. 

Silence hung between you for a hot moment in the cold, stale air of the office. You had a hard time believing he would just let you go at this point. Not that you planned to, the danger intrigued you too much to walk away. This line of work had made you a wholly different animal, it’s why you were here. You ran into war zones, battlefields, hostage negotiations, the places others couldn’t run out of fast enough. You’d been dealing with the people that most couldn’t stomach, the ones that couldn’t function in civilian society, for so long that they had worn a place under your skin. This lieutenant, Ghost, he had been in this just as long, if not longer, than you. He had to feel the same. Fuck, he had be worse.     

“What . . . what do you want?” you finally managed to ramble out. 

He let out a rough hum of satisfaction. You hated how you responded to it. You rolled your thighs together and, fuck, you were wet. You let out a small, shuddering breath. You’d gone a week with no praise, no kindness, and now here he was, the big, bully Brit who’d made your life hell practically purring over you. 

He trained his hungry eyes on you and motioned up with a flick of his fingers. “Wanna see ‘em. Don’t even have’t take your shirt off.”

A part of you wondered if this was all a trick as you slowly rucked your t shirt up to expose your stomach. That would track with how your week had gone so far. He was so blatant and open though, gripping the chair beneath him like he was about to launch out of it at a moment’s notice. He groaned as you pulled your shirt up to reveal your plain black sports bra. It was nothing special, standard issue, but it kept you strapped down. Not that you really had all that much to contain. 

He ran his hand over (what you assumed) was his mouth under the balaclava. He waited a moment for you to continue before urging you forward. 

“Come on, love. Don’t get shy. Wanna see ‘em.”

You slipped your fingers underneath the wide band at the bottom, hesitating only a moment before you pulled everything, shirt included, up over your head. You stared down at your chest while you balled your clothes in your hands.

“Not much to see,” you whispered, watching your nipples perk and skin pucker under the AC.

“Fuckin’ hell” was all he said. You dared to look up. “Fuck,” he continued, “Fuckin’ . . . get over’ere. Just fuckin’ dyin’ t’ get my hands on you.”

You dropped your clothes on the floor, closing the few steps between you quickly before falling forward into his grasp. You weren’t sure if you were ready for what this desperate, mountain of a man was about to unleash on you, but fuck did it excite you. Once he had you between his legs, gloved hands scraping up your back and around your waist, testing his fingers as he held you, but he didn’t do anything but look. He stared at you like you were made of glass. 

You stared at him, too. You hadn’t been this close since he’d pinned you on the first day, and you were pretty sure you’d been half-concussed then. You could see where he had eye black painted carefully around his eyes to fill the holes in his mask. You could see his long eyelashes, clumped together with that same oily black paint. It made the whites of his eyes stand out vibrantly. His large dark irises darted back and forth over your chest. You wondered what he was planning, what he was thinking. 

He didn’t leave you wondering for long. He pressed you forward, mouthing at your nipple through the mask. You let out a short whine, pussy clenching as his large hands kneaded at your waist. The feeling was like nothing you’d felt before. The fabric between you muted the translation between his actions and your pleasure. You could feel how eagerly he bit and sucked at you, but you were denied half of it. It made you dig your fingers into his shoulders in frustration.

“Want more?” he said haggardly, pulling off of you. He tugged at your belt, not waiting for an answer. “Then get these off.”

You did your best to undo your belt and pants despite your shaking and moaning while he dove back in, working harder at your other nipple. Once you’d dropped your pants down to your ankles he pulled you forward to step out of them, wedging you into the spread of his legs. You toed out of your shoes and then he kicked everything behind you, your boots banging loudly against the steel desk. You heard papers shift and fall, but couldn’t find a reason to care. He held you, running his gloved hands over your exposed skin while you shivered in font of him in nothing but your panties. 

He palmed his cock again before fumbling around to find his belt. You heard him click it open, the metal jangling as it went slack. 

“On your knees,” he ordered breathlessly. “Wan’ see what that little mouth can do with this.” 

You complied immediately, viciously curious as to what he was packing. If the tent in his pants was any indication, you had your work cut out for you. He popped open the button of his fly and then slowly unzipped. You couldn’t see anymore through his briefs than you had in his pants, but still, you leaned forward. You curled your hands on your knees, biting your lip, willing him to give you permission. 

“Go ahead,” he said giving himself one lazy, squeezing pump.

You put your hands on his inner thighs, right above his knees, testing the waters. When he didn’t say anything, you slid your hands up his legs, a soft, swishing sound following. You stopped at his crotch, pulling yourself forward before tentatively, gently, smoothing up his clothed cock. 

He groaned, covering your hand with his, forcing you to grip his girth. Your thumb just barely met your ring finger. 

“Fuckin’-” was all he could get out before pulling your hand off. 

He used his other hand to pull his dick out before pressing your hand to his hard, burning length. You gave him another pump, feeling how the skin stretched beneath your hand, then squeezing to feel how goddamn rigid he was. The tip of his cock made your mouth water. 

It was crazy. On you knees in front of him like this, you weren’t a competent soldier, a woman who held herself with poise and respect in front of her colleagues. He wasn’t an expertly trained, battle-hardened, special operative of the British Army. You were both human. Both hungry. 

You tipped his cock toward you to lap at the underside of the head. You met his eyes just as you closed your mouth around him, sucking the salt from his slit. He shut his eyes with a groan, letting his head fall back for a moment as he reached his hand up to grip at your skull. He opened his eyes to watch as he slowly bobbed your head down his cock. 

He gripped himself at the base, forcing your mouth to take him until you met his fingers. You did. Just barely, gagging as his head slid against the roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back of your throat. He didn’t let you pull back. Instead, he traced the inside of your lips with his thumb, drool coating his black gloves.

“Lookit’ that,” he groaned as your throat pulsed and burned around him. “Little thing takes it all s’fuckin’ well.”

He let go of your head, letting you pull off of his cock. You stared at it with heavy eyes as your head spun from lack of oxygen, it glistened with your spit in the harsh light. He gave himself another languid stroke, watching you force air into your lungs while you sat practically naked on the floor between his knees. 

“Think you can take it in that little cunt a’yours like that?” he asked, stopping his stroke at the head.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. You gave him a slow nod. Any fear or paranoia you had before was long evaporated. You were wet, horny, needy. You needed him to give you something, and if he was going to give you a choice, you could do worse than getting railed until you couldn’t remember your name. You clenched, hands clawing at your thighs, as you watched him pump another stroke up that monster cock of his in front of your face before grunting out his order.

“Get up then. Against the desk.”

You scrambled up to your feet. He followed you, rising quickly from his chair to tower over you, pressing you backwards into the steel desk. Your hands reached out for purchase as he roughly gripped your thighs, throwing you on top of Price’s paper-laden desk. Folders and binders clattered to the floor, papers swirling across the tile as he shoved you down, ass right on the edge. 

He stood between your legs, hips flush to yours, his cock laying across your standard issue panties like a weapon. He pressed the weight of it against your skin with a groan, head spreading precum into your stomach. Quicker than you realized, he reached behind his back, coming back with a knife. It was almost invisible palmed in his large hand, only the tip of the blade winked from the tip of his thumb. With two quick flicks, he cut up the side of your underwear. He slid the knife back to wherever he had taken it from, like it was the most normal thing in the world, before pulling the now useless scrap of fabric from between the press of your bodies. 

He held the scrap of fabric in his hand for a minute, investigating it under the light before tossing it to the floor.

“Really are beggin’ for it, eh?” He said sliding his cock up the seam of your pussy. His easy, fluid movements as he rocked against you answered for you. “Fuckin’ wet just from that?”

You nodded, lacing your legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer. He pressed his hand into your stomach in response, squishing you against the desk hard enough to make you squirm. He pulled away enough to notch the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Needy little fuckin’ thing,” he said with a punch of his hips, nails biting into the soft skin of your stomach as his tip danced perilously on the edge of holding inside you. “Want it so fuckin’ bad? Want this inside y’?” 

He took himself in hand and watched as he pushed inside. You both groaned. You let your head fall against the desk with a dull thunk, eyes shut and legs shaking as he pushed deeper and deeper inside your slick hole. 

“Fuck.” He was breathless for the first time since you had met him. “Fuck are y’ tight. So fuckin’ small. Even gonna fit it all?” He rambled to himself as he took hold of your hips and watched himself fuck slowly in and out of you; hypnotized by the clutch of your greedy pussy pulling him in, resisting as he pulled out. 

You let out a small cry of frustration, tears pricking around your eyes. He was big, but that wasn’t the problem. You had taken your share of dick, you could take him. It was killing you how slow he was. He was lost in his own world, watching his cock slid in and out of you as you lay there silently begging for him to just fuck you already. 

“Quiet,” he whispered with a half-hearted harshness, hand trailing down to your pussy. 

You almost jumped as he began to rub a wide circle around your clit. Your slick barely dulled the rough texture of his glove. You shuddered, clenching around him, whining as he found a rhythm with his thumb and cock. Your clench punched the breath out of him. He fell over you, bracing himself with his arm. You could hear the hollow sound of his breaths behind his mask as he gave up trying to pump into your vice of a pussy. 

He nuzzled the cold plastic of his mask against your ear. “Not gonna’ last long doin’ shit like that,” he grumbled. He held himself up, pulling your face to look at him with a hand under your jaw. “Wha’d’y want?” 

You stared back at him with confusion. 

“Where d’y want it?” he clarified.

If you had a brain cell still functioning, you would have told him to pull out. It was the safer of the options he was giving you. 

But you didn’t. You moaned out, “Fuck. Inside me. Please,” like the absolute whore you had become once he’d whipped his cock out. 

Not one to question, apparently, Ghost was back in position the moment he heard you. He pulled your hips back to meet his, cock punching all the way in until you winced as the head hit your cervix. He took hold of one of your legs, hand running up the length of it, positioning it until it lay unfolded up his chest. He gripped his fingers around your ankle, starting at it as his other hand squeezed your waist.

“Lookit, fuck. Lookit that,” he said as he pistoned into you. You cut off the loud moan that he punched out of you. The change in angle was . . god it was like nothing you’d had before.  

“Like that?” he said, letting your foot dangle on his shoulder while he held your waist with both hands, driving into you mercilessly. 

If you could have answered, you would have spoke truthfully. You were sure. You would have moaned about how good it was, how he was so big and filled you so well. As it was, his powerful thrusts jarred you against the cool metal of the desk too much to do anything more than moan and hold on as more papers flooded the floor. 

“Got y’self off at all this week?” he asked, panting breathlessly.

You shook your head, a small whine of anticipation falling form your lips at the thought.

“Gonna nut just thinkin’ about you cummin’ on my cock,” he mumbled, trailing his hand back to your clit.

You let out a sad whine, bucking into his thrust as he touched you. You were close. So fucking close.

He began to circle your clit like before, finding that delicious rhythm with the pound of his hips that pulled you higher and higher, tighter and tighter, until dazzling sparks lit up your core. You reeled back with a cry, clenching his cock, arching as he worked you through your peak. 

His hand ripped away from you sooner than you’d like. He fell over you, both hands biting into the skin of your hips as he pounded into you as your pussy pulsed, any semblance of cadence or love-making gone as he chased his own high. You dug your fingers into his t shirt. The sweat drenched fabric was almost too slippery to hold on to. 

“Fuck! Too fuckin’ hot ‘n, fuck, tight. Fuck, ‘m gonna-” His weak series of sighs and groans, followed by the distinct feeling of his cock flaring inside you told you what he couldn’t.

He lay over you for a moment, panting as you both caught your breaths. You wondered if he was also stewing in the monumental realization of what the fuck you had both just done. You’d just broken so many rules. So much was at stake. He’d just cum inside a subordinate on his bosses desk, and you didn’t work for the same country. This was going to be a mess. You were sure of it. 

He pulled away from you, pulling himself out with a smothered whine. You crossed your hands over your middle as you watch him zip back up and adjust his mask. It was wild how he was back to normal within seconds. You half expected him to walk out the door and just leave you here like this. At least all of your clothes were here, save your sliced up panties. 

But he didn’t leave. He held out a hand to you, only letting you stare at it dumbly for a minute before he flicked his fingers toward himself, urging you to act. You took his hand and he pulled you up easily. He even let you slump against him after you sat up. You’d forgotten how tired a good lay made you.

Again, you expected him to leave you now that you were conscious and able to dress yourself, maybe leave you with a heavy warning (read: threat) to not talk about this. As you tried to shuffle to the side to try and get off the desk, he stopped you. His hands gripped both of your shoulders suddenly.

“The fuck y’ doin’?” he said, forcing you back in front of him.  

“Getting . . . dressed?” you answered with unease. 

“Funny,” he said with a single, dry, laugh. “You’re a funny lil’ thing, too.”

His hands skimmed down your sides before quickly seizing you by the hips, throwing you over his shoulder like a backpack. You gasped as your stomach landed on his solid shoulder, punching the air from your lungs.

“Think we’re done already?” he said, turning around. 

You watched as the desk, and the messy you had made on and around it, including your scattered clothing, circled back into view, then slipped away. He palmed a whole cheek of your ass in one hand, spreading you open enough for cold air to chill your leaking core, as he stalked toward the door. He probed a finger into your pussy, swirling the cum you felt leaking out across your folds. 

“Got a whole day off, y’know,” he said matter-of-factly as he opened the door. Completely ignoring that he had a naked woman slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Think we should go back to mine. Relax. See what else that little cunt’ve yours can take.”

[rivendell-poet]

Hello! If it’s not too much to ask, can I request platonic headcanons for the Fellowship with a female reader that’s a human teenager? She’s not as good as fighting as them, and at first glance she seems approachable and easygoing, but she’s clever and can oftentimes outwit her opponents with creative combat moves. She’s also sort of a little sister to them, albeit a quite reckless and charming one.

I just love platonic LOTR because I feel like they would all be such great friends in their own way :’) Please take your time with this request, and I wish you a lovely day/night ❤️

Hey anon, so sorry it took me this long to answer but I hope you enjoy! I'm absolutely a sucker for platonic Lord of the Rings fiction, all of the characters are so sibling-coded! You have a lovely day/night too, and thanks so much for requesting!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Pippin ○ Merry ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 2.1k

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Years of putting up with being the younger brother of the twins has finally paid off.

✧ Never truly got the appeal of younger siblings until you came around.

✧ (Understands better than most that family is not just blood, but is based on who you choose and who you want to be around. Genuinely hopes he falls under that for you.)

✧ Worries about you but tries not to make it obvious, checking up on you in a more casual way like slowing his walking speed so he can be in time with you then ask about your day.

✧ Understands that your skills mean you should be in this fellowship - but did you have to give him a heart-attack after almost not parrying the cave troll? Poor man is already trying to keep up with the hobbits, and now you.

✧ Does admire the creativity you use in your attacks and is quick to praise it, occasionally shares anecdotes of his less-than-ordinary ‘weapons’ and how he used them.

✧ Subtly tries to get you to pick up more combat skills by offering to spar with you when Boromir spars with the hobbits.

✧ Is a very patient teacher, willing to go over things multiple times and demonstrates what to do very well.

✧ Does not appreciate the recklessness either; you have made him realise just how much he needs to apologise to Elrond and the twins for his youth. Tries to stop you from doing it under the guise that you’re ‘encouraging the hobbits’.

✧ You realise this is a ruse when he tells you it at Helm’s Deep, with precisely no hobbits to be found. Aragorn does not apologise for this.

✧ Notices you actively being charming and takes you under his wing in that regard, teaching you about diplomacy.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Legolas doesn’t understand just how young you are until the topic of the Fellowship’s ages comes up and you’re the youngest by a decade. Doesn’t think this is a big deal until he sees Boromir do a slight double-take.

✧ Talks with you after and realises the age, you try and reassure him with the ‘I’m mature for my age’ and he doesn’t accept it.

✧ Firmly next to you for the first few days after it, although he doesn’t baby you - he’s just overprotective.

✧ Feels bad about not realising previously.

✧ Is a single child, to a single father, so doesn’t really realise how closely he regards you as family until he starts teaching you elvish words and family comes up. How the first words he thinks of, that he believes you should know, are ‘brother’ and ‘little sibling’.

✧ Does one of his odd elven stares at you with this realisation. You ask him and he blinks before apologising, stating it’s an elf thing.

✧ You don’t believe it and ask Aragorn. The ranger looks from you to Legolas, sees the worry in Legolas’ eyes, and decides on mercy by backing it up.

✧ Insists on teaching you archery. Isn’t sure whether to be impressed or offended when you stab an orc with an arrow instead of shooting it. It works… he supposes.

✧ Never slips up until he’s introducing you to his father in Elvish, and accidentally calls you his younger sibling instead of his friend.

✧ You know just enough elvish to realise what he’s said (combined with the look on Thranduil’s face) and smile. Then ask him later if he could have given you that realisation anywhere except in front of his father.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ Immediately loves you for your charm, and the fact you engage in deep conversation with him instead of assuming all dwarves only speak basically and are incapable of eloquence.

✧ Certainly teaches you a lot when it comes to charm and wit, and by the end of your journey your speaking with a few too many dwarf idioms for a human teenager.

✧ Would totally be willing to teach you Khuzdul if you wanted to. Refuses to tell you what the terms of endearment he calls you are (‘little treasure’, ‘spark’, and sometimes ‘younger sibling’)

✧ Is very grateful none of the rest of the Fellowship know enough about dwarven culture to call him out on the little things he does for you, like making sure your weapons are polished to an immaculate degree or keeping your food warm for you using rocks.

✧ Offers to braid your hair for you before Helm’s Deep, both grateful you don’t understand dwarf customs and not.

✧ (He’d be much too embarrassed to offer you his familial braid if you knew what it meant).

✧ When you ask to braid his hair he helps you create a unique braid, with dwarvish meaning. That’s how you figure out what the braid he gave you means.

✧ As long as you’re winning your fights he doesn’t care how you’re using a weapon - he still admires good tactics.

✧ Complains that teenagers are too busy growing awkwardly to use the proper dwarven techniques of fighting.

✧ Laughs a bit too much when he tries to teach you his style and you fall over while trying to swing his hammer in a circle.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Literally an older sibling. Adopts Merry and Pippin in all but law, and will do exactly the same to you as well. You have little choice in this manner.

✧ Shows his affection to you mainly by spending time with you and listening to you because that’s what he’s always done with Faramir. However he’s fairly observant, and if he can tell you’d rather be doing something else (like whittling or scouting) he’ll happily do that.

✧ Cares more about the fact he’s spending time with you than what he’s doing with that time.

✧ Also has a minor heart attack when he realises how old you are. Knows he’s had recruits the same age as you, but this is different. He’s not actively trying to lead those recruits with him to Mordor.

✧ Very good combat teacher, as it was his job for a while. Best with a sword and shield but will adapt to your weapon of choice, he can use pretty much all of them.

✧ After he witnesses you mess up a sword-thrust and almost gets impaled he gives you his shield. You protest, and he says you can give it back to him once you’ll be able to protect yourself without him.

✧ Highly complimentary of your wit in battle, is aware of how often people overlook wisdom in combat compared to brute force (*cough, cough* Denethor) and makes sure you’re praised enough for your actions.

✧ Often speaks about introducing you to Faramir and how he hopes you’ll like each often, shares a lot of anecdotes from when the two were younger. (Has very occasionally called you his brother’s name by accident.)

✧ Tries to make sure you spend time on your journey exploring the world, like Rivendell, so that you can keep your sense of wonder. Hopes you’ll retain it even after everything.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Closest in age to you, which he very much appreciates. Hobbits generally aren’t considered adults until their thirty (and he’s only twenty-nine) so jokes about the two of you being so much better than all the old corpses over here.

✧ Tries to convince you to make fun of Boromir and Aragorn’s age with him. One of his ways to cheer you up is to point at the ranger and simply say ‘old’.

✧ Did that once to Gandalf, and then never again to Gandalf. (Also tries to get you to help him with Gandalf.)

✧ In an odd way, you not being especially skilled in combat is quite comforting to him - it’s nice to know there are folk outside the Shire who sometimes struggle with this as well.

✧ Complains in a joking manner when he sees you use skill to fend off goblins and that you lied to him.

✧ “You told me you weren’t that good at combat, not that you’re a tactical genius!”

✧ Wants to offer you pipeweed but isn’t sure if you should be able to have it. Boromir and Aragorn disagree. Goes with whatever you decide (although also would never pressure you into smoking if you don’t want to).

✧ Is genuinely disappointed when he doesn’t become taller than you after the ent draft. Insists life is unfair, and that you should be down on his level.

✧ Asks if you’ll help him and Merry finally bring down Boromir honourably. (Fails to see that you coming up behind the warrior would not be considered honourable.)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Treats you a lot like he does Pippin, in that he’s very open with you, one of his main goals is to make you laugh, and he constantly looks out for you.

✧ Also nicknames, tries so many nicknames. Even if your name can’t be shortened he still gives you one, it’s just more nonsensical. Will see you’ve got slightly more radish in your soup than everyone else and call you ‘rad’ for the next day. Sees nothing wrong with what he is doing.

✧ Very excited to discover the Shire love for mischief and pranks is present in humans as well - or at least in you.

✧ Pippin tries to persuade you to play pranks on Merry with him, but you always side with the latter.

✧ Will not allow you to criticise your combat skills - even if it’s constructive and not self-deprecating. (“No, the orc literally almost took my arm off Merry.” “Well, with that attitude it certainly almost did!”)

✧ Tries to initiate sparring matches between you and Boromir by seeing you standing next to each other and shouting ‘fight’.

✧ This fails to work because two hobbits shouting at you isn’t intimidating, and there aren’t enough of them to circle you. He did once manage to convince Legolas to join in the chanting, however.

✧ Spends a lot of time climbing the scenery to get elevation so he can hug you without you bending down.

✧ Tells Éowyn everything about you, and is very complimentary.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Takes care of you in much the same way he takes care of Frodo. Gandalf may not have made him swear to protect you, but he’s certainly going to anyway.

✧ Often asking if he can mend any clothing that’s gotten torn, and when you get it back you’ll find a small piece of embroidery next to where he’s repaired the garment for you.

✧ It’s generally whatever you’ve been talking about and has made you smile the most in your conversations.

✧ Sometimes feels a little awkward trying to protect you, seeing how he’s only a hobbit and you’re a big folk - but he does his best.

✧ Tries to get you and Frodo to stay together so he can protect both of his friends at the same time.

✧ When he sees you fall behind in combat, he’ll sometimes offer to spar. He knows it’s not much but it puts a smile on your face and that’s what matters.

✧ Cheers you on if you spar with Boromir.

✧ Always makes sure you and Frodo have the best bits of the food. Vehemently denies this if confronted by either of you.

✧ Worries about you being on the journey, seeing how young you are, but if Frodo has put his faith in him then Sam will certainly put his faith in you.

✧ Also very complimentary of your creative thinking in combat, you can sometimes hear him talking to the other hobbits about it (absolutely with a tone of reverence/awe).

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Probably the most grateful that you’ve come of anyone, and the second most understanding family doesn’t have to be blood.

✧ Even though Bilbo is technically just his uncle he knows they behave much closer. And when he meets you he realises that family truly isn’t about blood at all.

✧ Most used to you being human, he’s spent time with Gandalf, so he knows how to talk to you and is the quickest of the hobbits to warm up to you.

✧ He’s also the first to acknowledge he sees you as a sibling, while talking about you visiting the Shire.

✧ Instantly stops and pauses to see if you’re alright with what he just said before continuing, slightly more embarrassed but still enthusiastic.

✧ After discovering Sting he’s very willing to try sparring you, and the two of you try and learn together.

✧ He’s similar in that he tries to rely on smarter moves to beat the goblins, but often talks about yours with good-natured envy.

✧ The two of you share tricks after each battle, or at least tricks that are applicable.

✧ Often likes to sit with you and Sam when the ring is particularly bad, because you help centre him. Help remind him what he’s fighting for.

A/N : Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the request! I do love platonic lotr, so feel free to keep requesting that! Also, I now have a taglist - so that's fun. If you wish to join, feel free - and no pressure if not. Really like the idea of a reader who struggles with sword-work but is creative, so honestly might expand on that as well.

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[tarjapearce]

HERE ME OUT! I just saw this tik tok and I need it in word form. So it already been established that Miguel doesn’t have a spidey sense (poor baby). So during a training session (this could be s demonstration for the other spiders or even just private training) Miguel walks up to you while your occupied AND BAM! The air is knocked from his lungs and he swears he’s at the gates of heaven because an angel is standing over him. After he collects himself he just walks away because good god you never looked so damn sexy. Your standing there HORRIFIED because by joe you just kicked your boss’ ass🧐. You spend a week trying to apologize while Miguel tries to avoid pinning you to the nearest wall.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRWbx5c1/

The tik tok in question

Hope you like

Training was one of the ways you always unwind. After a particular bad day or a mission gone sour, you'd be holed up in the HQ gym and spar with whatever poor soul that wanted a challenge.

A grappling technique was surely getting on your nerves, it was either the Spider fellow too nimble, or your hands weren't adjusting at his pace. Once more you had failed.

Frustration radiated from your pores, anger simmering stronger, deafening your ears. You didn't hear Miguel approach. He had been watching the training, sometimes he'd stop by and point at some Spider's flaws in combat that could surely cost their lives.

"Right, listen"

You weren't, too angry to even notice him approaching behind you, large hand on your shoulder

"Rule number one-", Your fist grope his hand to then use his own weight as a lever, to then bodyslam him against the mat. Air escaping his lungs in a go.

His body falling, sent everyone to look at your way. It if wasn't for the fact that you had just slammed your boss on the floor, you'd find it funny. Satisfying even cause the technique had finally gave you the results you needed. Face contorted in one of absolute horror laced with worry.

Miguel remained on the floor, blinking, a little surprise in his eyes as he looked up at you.

"I'm so sorry-"

You'd think that he'd get up to give you a piece of mind, to your mortify he just stood and left. Surprise still etched to his features.

----

You'd try to apologize at every chance you'd get, but he wasn't having it. The memory still replaying in his brain. You had been so graceful and lethal. Proper of a Spiderwoman. You had taken his breath away, literally, but that just sparked a little something within his mind.

He'd definitely needed to spar with you. That anger, your anger, was a force he'd certainly like to meet, again.

[whenrainhitsmyskin]

Five Times Bakugo Katsuki Fell in Love with You

pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: He doesn’t really know when it first happened, the longing looks in your direction, holding doors open for you, or making sure he attended your shared groups movie nights when he knew you would be there, but he does remember the first day violent butterflies swarmed his gut and attacked him from the inside.

warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, talk about anxiety, hospitalization, emotional vulnerability, so much fluff it’s sickening.

The First Time

During the first semester of their second year at UA, Mr.Aizawa had begun instructing more hand-to-hand combat training exercises. It started with demonstrations from the pros and some lessons, and then finally the real deal, to put their learning into practice. 

Aizawa had put together partner rotations, first starting out with people around the same weight class or height, but as the lessons went on the partners became mismatched so the class could learn how to fight someone smaller and more nimble than them or taller with a longer arm reach.

Today, Bakugo was paired up with Mineta, the small fry of the class. Although he always was very serious and dedicated to hands-on hero training, he couldn’t help but take it easy for the day considering he was way out of his competition's caliber.

And he guesses this also caused him to be more distracted than usual as well, considering he usually never lost focus, but today must be an exception when he can’t keep his eyes away from you and your training partner Kirishima. He turns in your direction as soon as he hears you raise your voice at the red head.

“What the hell are you doing Kirishima?” You ask with your hands on your hips staring at Kirishima, who is sitting on the mat in front of you.

“What do you mean y/n? I’m not doing anything?” He asks.

“Why are you going so easy on me, huh?” You shout, lifting him by the collar of his gym uniform. It’s like watching a bad car crash and not being able to look away. By this time the whole class and Mr.Aizawa had stopped what they were doing to get an understanding of what was going down.

“I swear I'm not man!” Kirishima explains, he looks mildly scared even though he’s a few inches taller and his biceps are probably double the size of your own, “You just got the jump on me.”

“Bullshit Kirishima, hand-to-hand combat is basically your specialty considering your quirk is better in close range.” You let him go with a small push, Bakugo swears he can see steam coming out from your ears, “I saw you beat Midoriya multiple times the other day, and I didn’t win against him once last week, so stop going easy on me, it’s not doing either of us any good.”

He would laugh if he couldn’t see how fucking serious you were, calling out one of your closest friends on his bullshit in front of everyone, even though he’s the nicest person in the class. He’s impressed, although he would never admit that.

“She’s right, Kirishima.” Mr.Aizawa cuts in, “This training is supposed to help everyone improve, so fight her like you would a real opponent. Now everyone get back to work!”

That’s what gets Bakugo to finally snap out of his daze from you and back to sparring.

The Second Time

The class was sent away to different locations to complete the practical part of their midterm for their second year. The goal of the exercise is to retrieve the dummy “civilian” from the pro hero who is acting as the “villain”. Class 2A has been split up into several teams, which is why Bakugo just can’t seem to wrap his head around how he is stuck with the Dunce Face who never fails to irritate him, the Icy-Hot bastard that is constantly getting on his nerves with everything he does and then there's…you, the only one apart of this shitty team he can kind of tolerate.

The “villain” his shitty group was up against is a holder of an animation quirk, who can bring inanimate objects to life. It’s already been proven to be a real pain in the ass considering every bush, rock and flower has been coming at them from every angle.

It’s around 1am and everyone is cold and exhausted, so the group decided to set up camp for the night. Himself, you and Todoroki were resting while Denki was meant to stay on watch, but he abandoned his post in favor of peeing somewhere deeper into the woods, which is when the villain decided to animate nearly every tree surrounding their camp site.

Bakugo woke up to the sounds of rustling and a violent scream from your mouth. The three of you start fighting back. How did nobody notice the trees were being animated? And where the hell is Dunce Face? 

He’s probably taken down about a fourth of them himself by the time he hears Sparky running back behind him.

“What the hell happened?” Denki screams, as he joins in on the fight.

“You weren’t doing your damn job Sparky, that’s what happened!” He berated him. Just before Bakugo was going to take down the next one, he noticed your quirk getting weaker, and you were taking longer to defeat the enemy than you should.

“Take this last one!” Bakugo commanded, in order to make this way over to you. 

“On it!” Denki said from a distance.

Bakugo quickly jumped in front of you and took down the last tree, Denki and Todoroki finished off their own as well.

“That one was mine, asshole.” You say, sounding winded. 

“Yeah, well it looks like ya needed the help.” He responds, and that’s when he finally gets a better look at your injury. 

The sight is absolutely gruesome, there’s a nasty gash in the middle of your thigh that’s definitely going to need stitches and recovery girls help, the blood is dripping down the span of your whole leg and onto the grass.

“Oh my god…” He says, not able to take his eyes off of it. You end up following his line of sight and look down. Your eyes widen when you finally see it.

“Oh shit.” You say, lowering yourself to the ground. He can see tears start to prick your eyes as Todoroki and Denki make their way over to you.

“Everything okay?” Todoroki asks, squatting down next to you, “That doesn’t look good.”

“Yeah, no shit moron!” Bakugo points out.

“Oh my god I can’t look!” Denki says, putting his hands over his mouth, “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do it somewhere else.” Todoroki says, seemingly disgusted.

“You guys are the absolute worst!” Bakugo says in an aggravated tone, “This is all on you Sparky!”

“Everyone shut up!” You yell, Bakugo can see you trying to work something out in your head, a moment later you finally voice what you’ve come up with, “Denki get me your water bottle and-fuck, Bakugo, I need you to put pressure above the wound, lots of it and Todoroki rip off both of your sleeves.”

Bakugo thinks you seem pretty calm for someone that could potentially bleed out at any moment, given that a major artery could have been hit. He determines it is probably a mix of shock and the adrenaline from the fight.

He lowers himself to the ground and puts both hands above your upper thigh, using lots of pressure like you said to do.

“Fuck, we need to call off the mission and get you to a doctor y/n.” He says, his voice wavering, as Todoroki hands over the torn off sleeves and the water Denki retrieved, who is now standing a few feet away.

“Absolutely not, we are gonna carry on with the mission and pass this final.” You say sternly, grabbing the mask right off of Bakugos head and ripping it. You push his hands off of you and tie the mask tightly around where his hands once were.

“Don’t be so stubborn, we can’t-“ He begins.

“Well fucking deal with it!” You say as you begin pouring water on one of the sleeves, “I’m not going anywhere until we pass, I’ll be fine. Now I need you to clean this thing.”

He gives you a hard look and then does what you say. He pats the wound and tries to clean it out as much as he can. You hiss out in pain and fist the grass underneath your palms, he hears Denki gagging in the back.

“Okay-okay that’s good.” You say, he pulls the cloth away and watches you tie the dry sleeve around the wound, he supposed you must have learned more in that Health and Safety class than he did. 

“Well, what now?” Todoroki asks, awaiting your response.

“We go get that dummy, get the hell out of here and pass the exam.” You state with conviction, he can’t tell if you're trying to trick yourself into believing it, or if you are fully confident. You reach your hand out to Bakugos own, “Now help me up.” 

Bakugo grabs onto the hand you are holding up and swings your arm around his shoulder, trying to relieve you of some of the weight you would normally be using on that leg. The group starts heading to the location where the dummy is supposedly located. Denki and Todoroki are a few feet in front of the two of you, but he can make out the faint sound of their whispers and catches them glancing back a few times.

“Thanks.” You sigh, you sound tired and worn out and he thinks you look slightly pale, but he knows if he even attempts to call off the mission you would probably try strangling him to death.

“You did good.” He says, thoughts slipping out, “You stayed really calm in a high stress situation. It’s…impressive.” There’s a pause filled by only your silence, he’s worried he caught you off guard with such a direct compliment, considering he’s probably never given you one before.

“Yeah, well if I wasn’t going to help myself, who would?” You ask.

“Me, it obviously wouldn’t be either of those two idiots.” He doesn't think the two of you have ever talked this much without other people being involved. He guesses you’re just trying to keep your mind off of your injury, he reasons talking with you in favor of passing this exam.

“You got some of the worst scores in our medical training class because you claimed it wouldn’t be useful to you.” You chuckle, giving him a look, unfortunately for him, he looks back.

You’ve got a small smile gracing your lips, even though you’re probably in an immense amount of pain. But what he really can’t wrap his head around is the fact that you’re smiling at him. Why does he even care?

“Yeah well maybe I’ll brush up on it.” He says, his ears are burning, and his heart is beating faster than it probably should be, considering the fight ended over twenty minutes ago.

The Third Time:

When Mina asked him before dinner if he wanted to watch a movie tonight with their shared friend group, he wasn’t all that interested. He would much rather get to bed at a decent time, wake up early tomorrow and use their one day off to study for Monday's Hero History exam.

“No, I'm not watching another shitty movie.” He says, grabbing his plate of food and sitting down at the common room table, right across from you, a recent development in the class's seating arrangements.

“Oh, come on! They aren’t that bad.” She says, taking a seat next to you, “y/n, movie night, are you down?”

“Yeah of course!” You say, seemingly excited to spend the night with your friends, “As long as Sero doesn’t choose it this time. Are you gonna join us Bakugo?”

He pauses, he can’t remember a time where you directly invited him to something before. He thinks you look sincere, and your question makes it seem like you actually want him to be there. Why does he care if you want him there or not?

“Fine, whatever.” He begrudgingly agrees and continues eating his meal.

“Okay cool.” You say, he notices the smile on your face when you speak.

Meanwhile, Mina's jaw is on the floor when she stares between the two of you, but eventually it turns into a sly smirk.

About an hour after dinner everyone meets in the common room for movie night, he notices that most of the class is there, taking up nearly all the space on the couches, besides the one to the far right where Sero, Mina and Kirishima are sitting. Bakugo sits on the edge closest to the tv, leaving space between him and Mina.

He looks around the room. On the couch across from him is Denki, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Shoji and on the center couch across the tv is Todoroki, Asui, Uraraka and Deku with an empty space next to him. He notices that you aren’t anywhere in the common room like you were supposed to be.

Almost as soon as Sero starts the movie, he sees you getting out of the elevator with Shinsou, the pair of you are laughing. He sees you’re wearing pajamas, frilly little shorts and a sweatshirt, he thinks it's kind of cute.

The two of you make your way into the common area, still talking and giggling, he doesn’t like it and he is unable to pinpoint why. Shinsou splits off and sits next to Deku and you slot yourself into the seat next to your best friend and him.

“Anything happened yet?” You ask, not really to anyone in particular, but he takes it upon himself to answer.

“No, just started.” He says, watching you grab a blanket from a nearby basket, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I wanted to get ready for bed so I don’t have to after the movie.” You say. He just grunts in response and brings his attention to the screen. 

Once you get situated in your seat, he realizes just how crammed the small couch is, your legs are brushing against each other and he swears he can feel your breath, causing bumps to arise on his skin.

About halfway through the movie, which consists of sharks coming out of a tornado-seriously, who lets Sero pick the movie every time?-, he feels your body weight shifting on the couch to get comfortable, and your knee ends up hitting the top of his thigh.

“Oops, sorry.” You apologize to him in a whisper, he feels you trying to move away, but are unable to since Mina is right up against you.

“It’s alright.” He says, turning from the tv and looking at you instead, “Don’t mind.” He can see you start to get red in the face.

“Oh…” Is all you manage to let out in response, he gives you a hard look, your face exudes embarrassment, seeing as you are looking everywhere but his direction. He finds it within himself to turn his attention back to the movie, he wishes he could have seen the adorable expression on your face just a little bit longer.

With just a few minutes left of this god-awful movie, he feels your head hit his shoulder, he goes as stiff as a board and his stomach drops at the foreign feeling. He turns his head and see’s you knocked out by tiredness and unfortunately for him, he can also see Mina and Kirishima giggling, he mouths “shut up” to them.

When the movie credits finally start to roll, everyone begins making their way up to their respective rooms. Denki gives him a thumbs up as he walks away, making Bakugo unironically slap his forehead, not knowing what to do about you sleeping on him. 

After the common room is completely cleared out and he looks at the clock and sees how late it is, he finally builds up the courage to wake you up. He pokes you in the forehead to start. All you do is stir a little in your sleep but nestle into him further and get more comfortable. 

“Oh my god.” He says under his breath, “Time to get up.” He shakes his shoulder to move your head and then he tries nudging your own, but still no luck. He realizes you sleep like a fucking rock, and he is probably just going to have to carry you to your bed. He scoops you up in his arms and gets into the elevator. He arrives on the fourth floor where the both of you reside and if he remembers correctly, you are the last room on the girl’s side of the hallway.

He opens the door to your room, and it looks a lot different than what he would have expected. A lamp emits a soft light on the nightstand next to your unmade bed, which has gray sheets and a green blanket, an abundance of live plants sitting on the windowsill, your school books are piled up on your desk and a hanging black punching bag in the corner across from your closet, clothes and other items are hazardously thrown across the span of your floor. He’s surprised at how messy it is, considering how organized your thoughts and ideas are projected.

As soon as he lays you carefully down on your bed you stir awake. Of course, that’s the one thing that will wake you up.

“Bakugo?” You ask and look at your surroundings, “What are you doing in my room?”

“You fell asleep downstairs and nothing I did seemed to wake you, so I carried you.” He says, standing awkwardly at the side of your bed as you sit up and rub your eyes.

“Oh, well thanks.” You say, he takes a look at you, and he thinks you look kind of cute when you're all sleepy, and that's when he sees the long and jagged scar on your leg that was left on you as a result of last semester's final exam. When you finally open your eyes again, you catch him staring it at.

“Yeah, I know, it’s really ugly.” You state, with a pout on your face, you rub your thumb against it, like you're trying to erase the scar.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He says with a confused look on his face when he sees tears form a glassy sheen over your eyes, “Didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s fine.” You say in a tone colder than he has ever heard you use. He can’t wrap his head around on why you’re so upset about the once damaged skin that is now healing on you. Had he done something else to offend you? Did his staring make you insecure about your skin? He racks his brain, trying to come up with something, anything, that could possibly help make you feel better.

“It’s just skin.” He tells you how it is, he doesn't know why he felt the need and desire to say something, “All scars are just skin.” He finally looks at your face and you look like he just rewrote the stars for you, with just a few short words. You look back down at your leg, seemingly in a different light.

“Yeah, just skin.” You repeat him.

“Right. Goodnight y/n.” He says, before going to exit your room. He closes the door behind him and lets out a deep breath. He touches his pulse, its fucking racing, his skin feels like its buzzing.

The Fourth Time:

The third year at UA for the hero course students consists more of hands-on experience through their work studies, rather than being in the classroom. Because of this it’s rare for the class to be there all together, when everyone is out doing their own things for their respective agencies.

Today, Bakugo, Midoriya and Todoroki were called into Endeavours agency for a meeting on an upcoming mission. The first person Bakugo notices when he walks into the conference room is you, to his surprise, seated next to Miriko, who you do your work study with. After him, Deku and Todoroki walk in and the door closes behind him, you take a glance over your shoulder and your eyes meet his own. You give him a smile and a short wave.

His face feels hot, and his neck is sweating, he pulls at the constricting collar of his school uniform, in an attempt to keep it from sticking to him. How is it that even the smallest of friendly gestures you make towards him has him feeling this pathetic?

He sees Deku pulling out the chair next to you to sit down, but before he can, Todoroki grabs him by the shoulders and moves him to the next seat over, causing Bakugo to sit next to you. He thinks the act is strange, but Icy-Hot is one of the strangest people he has ever met, so it adds up.

When Bakugo sits down next to you, he can see you looking at him from the corner of his eye, he fidgets with his thumbs under the table, he blames it on nerves for the upcoming mission and not the attention you have on him.

The plans for tomorrow's mission are all drawn out and prepared to be executed. The Pro’s take their leave in a hurry due to their busy schedules and Deku and Todoroki booked it out of there suspiciously fast as well. He stands up from his seat and notices that you are also.

“I was surprised when Miriko told me we were meeting at Endeavors Agency today,” You say to him, “I never thought we would be paired up for a mission together.”

“It’s weird they have such an uneven ratio of pros to students, makes me think this is going to be an easy one.” He responds. He reaches the door handle and before he can even think about it, he holds it open for you to go through first. He mentally slaps his forehead, for such an obvious gesture by his standards.

“Yeah, I really hope so.” You say with a smile on your face.

The next day rolls around, and the mission is finally a-go. Bakugo and you have been stationed on the roof of another building to stake out the old manufacturing warehouse where there have been reports of illegal drug and weapon distribution. 

They haven't been given any details on how many villains there are or what kind of quirks they have, so the mission needs to be treated with caution, hence the stake out, that has been going on for nearly two hours to see when the van's leave. That time mainly consisted of small talk between the two of you and building a strategy.

The first sign of movement is the back door opening up, three people with cargo loading up three different vans. He eyes you touching your earpiece.

“Miriko, they are loading up the vans with the contraband, what's the move? Do we stop them from taking off?” You ask for command.

“Negative, let them get far enough away where they can’t receive backup, but not too far where they will reach a heavily populated area.” She responds, her voice is a little staticky, but just clear enough to make out.

The pair of you turn towards one another and give each other a nod. Once the vans depart the two of you are off, jumping from building to building, to keep up with them, Bakugo takes a second to look back and sees the other teams heading into the building.

“I’ll get the one in front and you take the last one, ready!” He pauses, “Now!”

The both of you land on two separate vans, Bakugo kicks the front windshield open and throws the villain out the car door, he grabs onto the wheel, slams on the brakes and puts it in park, causing the vehicle to come to an abrupt halt. He gets out, pins the villain to the ground and restrains him with quirk prohibiting handcuffs. 

He turns around and sees the van you were assigned to has been flipped over onto its side, and you are fighting the villain that was in the middle van, you’re putting up a good fight, but that doesn't discourage him from running over to assist you. The two of you start tag-teaming him, but its nearly fucking impossible to get a good hit because his body keeps disappearing and reappearing right before his eyes.

He hears the sound of metal being split in half behind the two of you, so he takes a look in the direction he hears it coming from. He sees a villain holding some type of hand-held machine pointed directly at you. The villain presses a button and all of a sudden, his feet are taking him in your direction, and he ends up on the other side of an extremely powerful blast of air. 

It has him skidding down the road a few meters, throwing his body against the concrete. His ears are ringing, and his vision is blurry, he feels like he can’t breathe. He can just barely make out the sound of your voice and your blurry figure taking down and detaining the other two villains. And then you're rushing over to him. You fall on the ground, press on your earpiece and scream to whoever may be listening on the other end of it, it sounds like he’s under water. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Bakugo.” You put his head on your lap, you brush back his hair with one hand and put the other on the left side of his chest. You start crying, tears fall onto his skin, he feels your hands shaking, “You shouldn’t have done that for me, what-what were you thinking?”

He tries sitting up to get a better look at you, but his chest and ribs ache so bad he’s unable to, he hisses in pain and gives up. Instead, he says your name and covers the hand that’s on his chest with his own.

“It’s like holding a door open for ya, didn’t even have to give it a thought.” He says, and before you can even process his words or give him some words in return, exhaustion finally takes over him and everything fades out.

The next thing he knows, he’s stirring awake to an irritating beeping sound in the most uncomfortable bed he has ever had the displeasure of laying on. The air smells sterile and that’s how he concludes the beeping is probably coming from a heart monitor and he is currently laying in a hospital bed. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Icy-Hot, who is standing at the foot of his bed and squinting at him.

“Guys he’s awake.” Todoroki alerts the others in the room. Bakugo tries finding his voice, but his throat is too dry and they won’t come out.

“Oh good!” Midoriya says, sitting up from the chair against the wall, “How are you feeling Kacchan?”

He points to the water bottle on the bedside table, Deku hands it to him, he takes a large sip, then two, then three and next thing he knows the whole thing is gone.

“M’fine, how did the rest of the mission play out?” He asks, more concerned for the villain's arrest than his own physical being.

“It went well, we arrested the villains inside of the warehouse and thanks to you and y/n, a good portion of the drugs and weapons never got distributed!” Midoriya chimes, and that's when he sees you over Todoroki’s left shoulder, looking out the window. Your eyes are a little red and your face is puffy, he wonders how long you had been crying for.

“Hey Midoriya, you and I should probably go find the doctor.” Todoroki says.

“Oh okay sure.” Deku responds. They make their exit out of the room and the door closes behind them. Bakugo sits up on the bed and leans against the frame. You still haven’t looked or said anything to him, which is weird because anytime one of your classmates gets injured you always rush to their aid and attempt to comfort them.

“Well, it seems like the mission went accordingly.” His pathetic attempt at making some kind of small talk with a little more substance. All you do is scoff at his words. “The mission is over, we won, what’s wrong with ya?” “Really, what’s wrong with me? The hell is your problem, Bakugo?” You ask, that’s all it takes for you to finally look his way, even though you are kind of half-yelling at him, that's all he really wanted.

“I am just fine y/n, you're the one that’s sulking right now.” He fights back because he thinks it’s what you need right now. The only way most people can get you to reveal your true feelings is by getting you fired up.

“I’m not sulking!” You move to the side of his bed and start talking with your hands like you always do when you’re passionate about something, “You’re the one that nearly got themself killed out in the field today.”

“What, so you're mad I took a hit? So, what, it happens all the time, get over it.” He says with a roll of his eyes.

“No-no, that's not, that's not what I’m talking about Bakugo.” You say, awaiting a response from him. All he does is shrug his shoulders, when you realize you aren't getting a proper response you continue, “You-you took the hit for me, why would you put yourself in danger like that?” He sees your eyes start to water, but no tears fall. They sit there at the brim of your waterline ready to release everything pent up inside. He supposes his heart sort of feels the same way. Ready to unleash every emotion that has been stored up inside for so long, yet there is still something holding it back. Maybe he’s embarrassed or thinks it’s unnecessary, which is probably how you are feeling about releasing your tears at this moment.

“Cause I didn’t want you to get hurt, dumbass. You wouldn’t have been able to brace for the impact, but I was because I knew it was gonna happen, it would have hurt you worse than me.” He says, but what he really means is that it was because he cares more about your comfort and safety than his own. He sees you mulling over his words, processing everyone individually and trying to interpret exactly what he means.

“Fine, I can accept that. I have a question for you though, what did you mean when you said-” You are abruptly cut off to the sound of the door opening. The doctor, Deku and Icy-Hot walk in, much to Bakugos displeasure.

“Glad to see you are up Bakugo!” The doctor says, flipping through his papers attached to the clipboard he’s holding, “Your parents are on their way, but before they get here, I want to run some additional testing. You three should probably head back to UA, Bakugo is likely to return by tomorrow morning if all is well.”

The doctor ushers the three of you to the door, he watches you cross the room and get ready to close the door behind you, but before you do, you give him a small smile, the tears at your waterline are gone.

The Fifth Time:

As a last hurrah before the school year comes to an end, class 3-A decided to go on a camping trip for a three-day getaway. The class started by loading all their supplies off the charter bus and completed their three-mile hike to the camping ground they rented out. Everyone stayed busy until the early afternoon setting up their tents, getting logs for the fire pit, finding the bathhouse and scoping out the nearby lake.

When everyone was just about to get settled in, Mr.Aizawa reminded everyone that UA was only able to grant this excursion because he promised the class would be doing some endurance training while they were there. So, the class was ordered to go on a run on one of the trails. Little did they know it was by far the longest one there and it took them until the sun was about to start setting to complete. 

“Good job everyone, now head to the showers you all reek,” Mr.Aizawa says, covering his nose slightly, “Once you're all done everyone will help with dinner preparations.” 

Once the class is dismissed and everyone takes turns cleaning up, Iida takes it upon himself to assign everyone jobs, so the preparations go smoothly.

“Shoji, Koda and Tokoyami you will be in charge of setting the tables, Sato, Tsu, Kirishima and Bakugo are on grilling duty and y/n, Hagakure, Todoroki and I will be doing food preparation!” Iida announces, Bakugo eyes Todoroki and him talking with one another, “Actually I'll have Todoroki and Bakugo switch places, in the name of efficiency! Everyone else is in charge of setting up the campfire.” Bakugo walks over to his assigned station and sees you and Hagakure unloading the groceries onto the pop-up table, he slots himself in the space to the left of you and takes an extra bag from your hands. He pulls out a few eggplants, zucchini and shishito peppers.

“Well, what do we start with?” He asks, not really to anyone in particular.

“I was thinking that Hagakure could rinse off the vegetables while I scrub them and then you can chop and then you hand them to Iida so he can season them.” You say.

“That sounds like a very efficient plan y/n.” Iida praises you; Bakugo can’t tell if you're blushing at Glasses, or if it's just the sun, he’s hoping it's the latter.

When the four of you begin, Hagakure, you and Iida begin easy conversation, he finds himself unable to partake in most of it because every time you pass him another vegetable your fingertips brush is own. It has his brain short-circuiting and he’s unable to comprehend what exactly is being talked about, which is proven to be problematic when you ask him a question that he doesn’t know the context to.

“Bakugo, are you gonna join?” You ask him, he can tell you’re looking at him, waiting for an answer, but he just keeps his focus on chopping.

“Join what?” He responds.

“We're all gonna hang out by the lake tomorrow!” Hagakure says excitedly, “Were you seriously not listening that whole time?” 

“Yeah whatever, I’ll be there.” He responds.

“Good, I'm glad.” He hears you say almost in a whisper. He pauses his movements and takes a look at you, your face is beat red, and he thinks your hands look a little shaky, but then he realizes his are too and he tightens his grip on the knife. 

Once dinner is done and the sun has fallen, everyone gathers around the campfire to roast marshmallows and hang out. By this point there’s multiple conversations happening and it’s all a little difficult to keep track of, besides the one he sees you and Shinsou having.

You’re leaning closer to him in your seat and then Shinsou says something you find particularly funny, it has your shoulders jolting, eyes watering and a big smile on your face. He hates it. Not because you are smiling, but the fact that it’s because of someone else and not him that he finds an issue with it. He needs it to stop, or he might go crazy, so he walks over to your seat.

“Come get more firewood with me.” Is all he says before he’s walking away, he hears you following behind him almost immediately, “You and Shinsou seem awfully close.”

“Uh yeah I guess so?” You sound estranged, “I mean we are friends.”

 All he does is grunt in response as he begins cutting some firewood. He can feel the jealousy radiating off himself, he hopes you can’t. When he hands you a piece of wood you speak up again.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well then why did you ask?”

“Why are you reading so far into this, huh?” He fights back, “I don’t care if you two are together, it was just a statement. Now get over it.”

He sees your entire demeanor has changed. Your shoulders have slumped, your face has fallen, and you have turned away from him. You look like he’s just killed your dog. He goes back to cutting firewood and once you have gathered all you can carry, you storm off, back to the fire pit he supposes. When he gets there a few minutes after you, he sees you aren’t there, and neither is Mina.

“Bakugo, what happened?” Todoroki asks him.

“Nothin’ happened; the hell are you talkin’ about.” He says back, with a little bite to his words. 

“She came back without you, so Mina asked where you were, and y/n just walked away. She looked pretty upset.” Todoroki responds. Bakugo’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach, did his words really affect you this much?

“Like I care.” His words betray his heart, “I’m going to bed.”

He unzips the tent and crawls into his sleeping bag. Unfortunately for him it’s a restless night, filled with tossing and turning, and feeling regretful for his heart fleeing so far.

The next afternoon, the entire class spends the day hanging out by the lake. Some of the class is playing beach volleyball, a few people are swimming, some others are tanning on the sand and then there's you, making a point of talking to every guy in the class besides him. 

He pretends not to notice the way you laugh at nearly everything Denki says to you, he ignores the fact that you asked Ojiro to help you get some more towels for the rest of the class, he tries to forget the hug you gave Sero after he scored the winning point in the volleyball match.

However, the one thing he cannot get over is that he knows you are doing all of this because of him, it’s his own fault, he thinks the torture is deserving. But what he doesn’t deserve is that you look so good hurting him. The sun brings out the color in your cheeks, the bikini top and shorts you are wearing compliments your skin and you look happy, being around everyone other than him. 

The rest of the day is spent in agony, and it follows him even when his head hits the pillow. He can't stop thinking, his thoughts are running rampant. So, he sneaks out of the tent, trying not to wake up Kirishima and walks over to the dock. He sits down and takes a deep breath. He looks at where the darkness of the sky and the lake meet. It isn’t hard to see because of the soft glow the moon is casting overhead.

He is left there, sitting with his thoughts, trying to find some sort of solace when he hears the creaking wooden floorboards behind him. He probably woke Kirishima in the process of leaving, and he knows the red head is too good of a friend to not go searching for him.

“Hey.” He hears, but it’s coming from a voice much to feminine to be Kirishimas, he sees you lowering yourself to sit next to him, your feet are dangling above the water, and you lean back on the palms of your hands, “What are you doing out here?” “Nothin’.” He sighs, he doesn’t have the heart to say why. All you do is hum in response and look out at the lake with him. Just for a second there’s a comforting silence between the two of you, but it is soon disrupted when his chest starts feeling tight and violent butterflies swarm his gut. 

His heart rate is picking up and he’s starting to sweat, but he knows the sun isn’t to blame this time. It's you. The only one capable of making him feel like this. It’s intense and anxiety inducing, and he can’t imagine there will ever be a day where this goes away. He needs to get rid of it, so he thinks a swift confession and quick rejection will be the remedy.

“y/n.” He starts with your name, easy and familiar, the sound draws your eyes to his own, “I’m gonna tell you something and-and it’s okay if you don’t say what I want to hear or if you have nothing to say at all.” 

Your eyes go wide, and he gives you a hard look, he lets out a deep breath and finally unravels is heart like he has been wanting to do for so long now

“I don’t know how or when it started, but every time I see you, I want to see you more. I like seeing you smile, but I really like it when it’s because of me. Your determined, smart and so fucking pretty that even a complete idiot could see it.” He lets out a deep breath and his eyes are covered with a glassy sheen, all you do is look at him, “And I know you don’t feel the same, but I needed to say it so you can put an end to this feeling that I have every time I'm around you.”

“Bakugo…” You say his name and the corners of your lips are turning up, “You actually feel that way about me? This isn’t a joke?”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?” He scoffs, turning away from you and back towards the lake.

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe it's because I feel the same way and always thought it was unrequited.” You say, and that gets him to look at you again, he’s really hoping this isn’t some sick joke, “I think you're really nice. You always hold the door open for me, you took a hit for me on our mission, and you-you once told me something I really needed to hear, and it changed my perspective on so many things. You make me feel valued.”

He thinks of those examples, he remembers all of them so clearly. He never had to think about doing anything for you, it’s automatic, he likes making you happy. So, when he grabs your face with his hands and brings the pair of your lips together, he also hopes this makes you happy. 

Your lips are soft and plush, unmoving. He is testing out the waters between both of your feelings now, trying to mend them together with one simple act. He pulls away. Your face is still being held in his hands, and yours are on his wrists. He looks at your expression and you are fully smiling, all because of him, his heart swells in his chest.

The feeling he now describes as butterflies in his gut never ceases, but he learns to like it because he is with you, and he now knows you feel like that when you are with him as well. 

visit my: masterlist

a/n: I am so sorry for the delay on getting this fic released, I expected it to be a lot shorter and I got so busy I just couldn’t find the time for it. However, I hope you enjoyed this read ! 

sidenote: I also head cannon this to be an alternate universe to my fic Only Ones Who Know.

taglist:  @mysideeffectsofyou 

[m4ctavish]

ghost — the apprentice.

masterlist.

pairing : simon “ghost” riley and gn!reader

desc : i can’t think of a funny description so, in short, ghost takes reader under his wing and teaches them a thing or two from his personal handbook. (“i’m reader and this is ghost and you’re watching jackass.” queue homemade c4 blowing up in the background)

a/n : ghost has reader on one of those kiddy leashes with like, a cat on it or smth.

simon “ghost” riley :

ghost really has to see something in you in order for him to even consider taking you under his wing. you’d have to show him that you’re worth him taking extra time out of his day to teach you something that you may just forget within the day

he can be a bit of an intimidating teacher. he’ll often quiz you on things he’s gone over with you within the past week or so, so you can either cover them again or figure out what you need to improve on.

there’s a variety of things he may go over depending on where your curiosity lies. guerilla warfare, hand to hand, knife efficiency, etc.

knife efficiency would likely be the one he’s the most serious about— he kind of has to be. all it takes is your target turning around and reacting before you do. perhaps you’re already efficient with a knife but there’s always room for improvement and ghost offers a plethora of information one normally wouldn’t know. he’s circling you like a hawk the entire time you go through the forms he taught you, stepping in with an occasional but jarring, “wrong.” every now and then. he’d then move to correct either your posture or the way you’re holding your blade. on another hand, if the two of you are doing a spar session for him to get a hands on assessment of your skill, he’ll be taking it as seriously as he does in the field. about maybe 30 seconds in, you’ll end up with a knife pressed up against your ribs, “you’re dead. stop being so open unless you want to get yourself killed.” or to your throat, “dead again. fix it.” he understands that sometimes mistakes happen. it’s just human nature. but he wants you to be able to minimize those chances so you don’t end up with a gun pressed to your head when you failed an otherwise safe takedown.

hand to hand is essentially the same. he’ll go through some forms with you, as well as a few moves. some are meant for immobilizing, others with the intent of knocking someone out cold. he’ll give you a demonstration on a training dummy beforehand, making sure to explain thoroughly what exactly you’re aiming for as well as the amount of force that should be behind your hit. adding on to that, he’d single out all of the weak points on the human body and what it’d take to cause some damage. (leaves you a bit concerned about how he knows all of this but maybe you don’t want to know..)

guerilla warfare and learning to make do with limited resources would likely be the most enjoyable/fun. it’s almost like an arts and crafts class except your crafts teacher is a decorated war veteran who kills people for a living. he’d give you a demonstration beforehand, listing off what you may need given what you have around you, then he’d give you instructions for whatever it is you’ll be putting together and see how quickly you can assemble it. (maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll take you out to a clearing and let you try out your freshly assembled trip mine or smoke grenade. just to see how effective it is.)

make him proud in the field; put your new knowledge to use. show him that everything he told you and showed you didn’t just vanish from your mind overnight.

the two of you make one hell of a team on stealth missions. rest easy knowing that he’s got your back the entire time, even if he’s not in your line of sight. (“coming up on your six.” or “on you, mate.”)

once everything is clear and you’re sitting on the helo after exfil, he’ll give you an affirming pat on the shoulder and a nod of his head. (“did good. keep it up.”)

[the-californicationist]

he takes your breath away

MDNI/18+

Captain Price is sick of your poor performance, and he decides to give you his own demonstration on the practice mat.

TW: choking, dark!Price

AO3 Link

“Again, Corporal! Get up, you muppet,” Captain Price’s cruel growl stung your ears as he shouted at you, “At least try to put up a fight, would you?” 

You dragged yourself to your feet. Your braid was tangled, your body was sore, and you were drenched in sweat. 

“I’m trying, sir,” you may have been tired, but you still had some fight in you. 

Price narrowed his eyes at you, 

“Prove it. Lieutenant Riley, on your mark.”

“Aye, sir,” Ghost responded.

Ghost at least had the decency to be panting a little. You’d been at this sparring match for an hour and a half. Price wanted you to break out of choke holds, but you’d gotten pinned time after time. 

You squared up to Ghost again, a full foot shorter than him and a hundred pounds lighter. It was nowhere near a fair fight, but neither of you fought fair. Terrorists didn’t adhere to any rules of engagement, so Price insisted that you practice how you play. The masked soldier lunged for you, but he telegraphed it - or you were getting better at picking up on his tells. Either way, you dodged his attack and kicked his leg out from under him without hesitation. He fell, but reached around and took you with him, wrapping his arms around your head and squeezing your throat until you tapped out. 

“That’ll do, Lieutenant. I’ll take it from here,” Price said, his tone laden with disappointment. 

Ghost grabbed his bag and headed for the showers. Your captain gazed down at you with his hands on his hips, and then he sighed as if he had reached some sort of conclusion. He took off his hat, tossing it to the floor, and ripped his shirt over his head, folding it half-heartedly and throwing it down. He didn’t give you a chance to square up to him. Price lunged, quicker and more ruthless than Ghost had ever done, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline in your veins. The captain’s eyes were cold and unfeeling like a shark, but every bit as hungry. He was out for blood. 

You rolled away just in time, slipping from his grasp. You managed to get to your knees before he slammed his body into yours and knocked the air out of your lungs. His huge, hairy arm curled around your neck like a python, constricting your air and waiting for you to yield. You tapped out on his elbow almost immediately, giving up on yourself. He didn’t let go. You tapped again, your breaths becoming harder and harder to inhale as he tightened further. You gasped,

“Captain…what…?”

“Out there,” Price whispered, “no one will take it easy on you. There are no second chances in the field. If your enemy is foolish enough to keep his knife in his belt, you have less than a second to get free. So…go on, girl. Get free, or I’ll choke you out.”

“But…” You protested. Sparring was practice, and he never let anyone put another soldier in any real danger. 

“Either you fight me like you want to live, or I’ll send you to the medic and take you off the team. Your choice.”

Live or die. It was as real as it was going to get. You started to push at his arm roughly. It didn’t budge. You elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break a bone. He laughed into your ear, his voice sinister,

“If you’re going to faff about, just go limp, love. Make it easier for me to cut your lights out.”

You elbowed him again, much harder this time. He grunted, but tightened his arm. You were truly choking now, and you began to panic. You scratched at his face, his skin, and went for his crotch, punching back, hoping anything would land. You kicked at him with your legs, struggling in earnest. He coached you as he killed you,

“That’s it, babe. Fight for your fuckin’ life. Show no bloody mercy. C’mon!”

You headbutted him, connecting with his nose and hearing a crack. He released you, reacting to your attack, and you rolled away, coughing, trying to get oxygen back into your lungs. He was bleeding all over his mouth and beard, and it dripped onto his neck. You glanced over at him, ready for him to shout at you again, but he was smiling like a maniac. 

“Yes, love. That’s the right way. Why are you holding back?”

“You told us not to hurt each other,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

“No,” he pulled you to your feet, “I told you not to end up in the med office. There’s a difference. C’mon, again.”

“Captain! I can’t. You’re bleeding,” you protested. 

“And? Do you think the enemy will give up after you break his nose? No, he’ll fight harder,” Price grabbed you around the neck with his bare hand, shoving you backwards toward the wall, pinning you into it, “Are you really going to make me watch you die out there, or are you going to start taking this seriously, Corporal?”

You hit his elbow and knocked his hand out of place before ramming him, full force, taking him to the ground. You’d surprised him, and you capitalized on that opportunity, clamoring onto his back and wrapping him just as the lieutenant had done to you, trying to make him tap out. 

He tossed you off of him like you were a rag doll, gripping you cruelly at the nape of your neck and pulling you back into him,

“Not good enough. You need to fight harder, girl. There’s men out there bigger and meaner than me. Come on. Dig deeper!”

You tried to kick him again, turning your hips so your leg could reach, and this time, your ass connected to his groin, jamming into it. You froze as soon as you felt it. Price was as hard as a stone. He knew that you felt him, tightening his hand around the back of your neck in silent response.

“Captain…?” You whispered, confused and exhausted, not understanding. 

“Corporal,” he groaned, “You’ve got my blood up, you have. Fightin’ like a little demon. You’re tough as nails, and it’s damn hot. More than an hour of dealing with Ghost and you’re still able to make me bleed? Makes me wonder what else you’re capable of.”

He grunted, putting you back into a chokehold, closing off your airway immediately. No more practice rounds. 

Your head spun, but your instincts took over and you sent two sharp blows to Price’s jaw before he moved his head out of the way. You returned to his rib, elbowing the same spot as you had before, earning yourself a pained groan. Then, he used his other arm to fully bind your body, trapping you against him. You writhed, slamming yourself back into him, trying to gain purchase.

“C’mon, love, use your head. Figure it out.”

You felt your leg pressing against his, and you wrapped it behind his knee. If you straightened his leg out at this angle, you’d break the joint. You started to do it, but something stopped you. He was legitimately taking your air from you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to injure him. 

“They won’t show you any mercy, girl! Do what you need to do,” he shouted at you. 

You shook your head, your voice strained and barely intelligible. 

“No, sir.”

“Very well.”

He released you for a moment, and you felt air burn through your chest as you sucked it in, then he wrapped you up again, only allowing you to breathe in shallow, struggling gasps. Price lay back, trapping your legs with his, spreading them apart. He was kissing your neck as he choked you, moving his mouth messily around his huge grip, sucking on the skin of your shoulder. Then, he looked you in your eyes, angling your head so you could see him. 

“If you tap out now, it all stops. We’re done. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” your heart banged against your ribs, partly from the strain, partly from the sick excitement of knowing that your determination had turned your captain into a lustful monster. You wanted to see him come undone. 

He dragged his free hand down your body, playing with you, teasing you by plucking at your nipples through your shirt, running his fingernails along your ribs, and finally shoving his hands down into your pants, finding your fleshy core covered by a pair of practical underwear. He cupped your vulva through the fabric, rubbing his palm in wide, slow circles, and a moan tried to escape your mouth.

He controlled your breathing, giving you more and less as he saw fit, rubbing in that same steady pattern until you began to tumble into an orgasm. He felt your body tensing, and as you came, he cut off your air entirely. What would have been a perfectly normal orgasm became absolutely blinding, and even though it was only a few moments, when he finally did allow you to take in a full breath, it intensified the feeling, making your vision go completely white, and your pussy clench down around its own walls, aching to be filled. You trembled in his arms, reeling from the aftershock. 

“Forgive me, Corporal,” Price let you go, trying to put you mostly back together, his face red with shame and stained with his blood. He set about fixing your shirt and your pants, nervous and suddenly too gentle. He gritted his teeth before confessing, “You make me want to do... things... to you that no gentleman should ever want to do.”

You rolled over to meet him on the sweat-covered mat, running your hands down his bare chest and dipping your fingers into the waist of his shorts, using the other hand to wipe away some of his blood from his mouth before you kissed him, licking the tip of his tongue with your own. You reached a little further and found him throbbing for you, his cock drooling with precome. You broke the kiss and whispered into his open, gasping mouth,  

“What things, Captain?”

[angryandanonymous]

Doodle of Steve and Tony getting together when Steve turns up at Tony’s Seattle flat to see/surprise him during @cherryblossomsmist “The Single Biggest Problem with Communication” . A fic I am happy to draw all day long (I’m also happy to draw Tony’s thighs all day long) This interaction is just so sweet, and there are so many delicious angsty layers of misunderstanding and miscommunication that still can’t hide the love that these two dorks have for each other.

The scene from the fic;

‘‘[Steve] pulled Tony into him. Tony might be heavier, but Steve was still strong enough to move him, even to get his hands under him and lift him, and that was exactly what he did, pulling him into his lap so his knees landed on either side of Steve’s hips. He could probably have done it even with Tony in the armor; in fact, he was sure he could (and wasn’t that a thought?).

“Hey,” Tony said, breathlessly.

Steve reached up, framed Tony’s face with his hands, running his fingers back into his hair. He smiled at him. “Yes?” he asked, grinning.

“Manhandling me?” Tony said, starting to grin a little back.

“Sure, a little,” Steve said, moving his fingers gently in Tony’s hair. It was soft against his fingers, tangled already. Tony’s erection was very hot and very present, pressed into his stomach, now. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not really,” Tony said. “You were pretty thorough about it the other day. When we were sparring, I mean.”

“Not as thorough as I could be,” Steve said, smirking.

Tony’s skin darkened a little, and Steve could feel it heat against his hands. Tony had flushed at that. Steve grinned with delight.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Tony muttered. He shifted his hips a little, up into Steve. “Plan to demonstrate, or are you just teasing?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Steve informed him.

Tony smirked, now. “I guess that’s acceptable,” he said, dropping his gaze to look at Steve from under his eyelashes, which apparently went straight both to somewhere in Steve’s chest to make it tighten a little and to his cock, making it jerk with a heated rush of desire. Steve pulled Tony closer, tilted their foreheads together, and Tony bit his lip as it pressed their groins tighter up against each other.

It felt good, but Steve wasn’t that interested in rushing to the main event, not yet. Instead he waited until Tony cast his eyes up toward him again, raising one eyebrow, then tilted Tony’s head with the grip he had on him and brought their lips together. Tony sucked in his breath and opened his mouth, and Steve set about kissing him thoroughly, running his fingers back through his hair in slow circles as he did. Tony made a low noise and curled his hands back around Steve’s neck, and his cock grew even hotter, slick and hard and needfully wet with precome as they kissed; Steve could feel it sliding hot against his stomach, so hard he half-wondered how far he could bring Tony toward climax just by kissing him with tongue.’’

Written work is all @cherryblossomsmist work, only the drawing and the description before the fic extract are mine .

[mydadleft471]

we need to consider messmer flirting through combat instruction, either him showing his spouse the ropes for self protection, or if they’re a warrior in their own right- some sort of routine sparring that’s a bonding exercise.

loooves changing your stance/gait from behind, being the only time he isn’t militaristic and harsh in his instructions, hands lingering more than a knight should, let’s you win so he can have you pierce your weapon next to his head (oh no, the impaler seems to be open on his back! whatever will he do)

sparring is another way to dance with eachother, another way of talking.

THIS TROPE IS SO GOOD. Anon you get a gold star!

I love thinking about Messmer gently guiding your arms or demonstrating something and talking to you in a very soft voice. I think he’d get distracted looking at you and get very flustered if you managed to best him!

Even if you are a seasoned warrior, I think he’d love to train with you and learn new techniques and pass on some of his own. If you fought with something other than a spear, show him how you fight! He’ll show you some of his signature moves in return.

So cute oml. Thank you anon!

[inexplicifics]

💛 (reunion kiss / relief) + Gweld/Serrit?

This is AWAU 'verse, well before Geralt calls the Schools together, and Serrit has not transitioned yet or even realized she wants to, so uses he/him pronouns.

Serrit has gotten used to seeing the Wolf every few months. It’s not regular as dwarf-made clockwork or anything, but somehow they run into each other at least twice or three times a year while out on the Path. It certainly has nothing to do with Serrit asking around about a redheaded Wolf Witcher with a startlingly cheerful demeanor, and Serrit has no idea if the Wolf does the same sort of thing. Probably he does. He certainly never seems terribly surprised when Serrit turns up.

But it’s been six months, and Serrit hasn’t seen hide nor red hair of his…occasional bedmate and hunting partner.

He goes south to Gorthur Gvaed for the winter feeling slightly unsettled. Not that he’d ever admit to that, nor to the reason. The Wolf is a good fuck and a good fighter, and that’s all there is to it.

He does ask around in the spring, though. Even drifts up into the lower reaches of Kaedwen - Wolf territory, where Vipers are not usually welcome - to see what there is to see. It’s just because the contracts are decent in that area, that’s all.

The contracts are decent, and Serrit makes decent money and even finds a merchant selling elf-made pigments that she hasn’t seen before, which means his sketchbook is even more colorful than usual when he makes it back to Gorthur Gvaed in the autumn. But there’s no word of a redheaded Wolf, either living or dead.

Serrit doesn’t actually care, of course. But he’s a little more irritable than usual that winter, and he wears himself out sparring against Ivar at least once a week, which is a lot more often than most people prefer going up against the Viper of Morgraig himself.

He doesn’t bother going up to Kaedwen in the spring. Cintra has plenty of monsters.

It also, he discovers somewhere in the middle of Litha, includes a certain redheaded Wolf he’d assumed was dead.

Gweld shows up in the middle of a really rather annoying bullvore fight - the damn thing is smarter than it ought to be, and keeps dodging - and demonstrates his usual trick of being exactly in the right place at the right time, so when the bullvore dodges Serrit’s attack it manages to walk right into Gweld’s, and once it’s wounded it’s not hard to finish off. Serrit even gets the killing blow.

And then he whirls and grabs Gweld by the collar of his armor and slams the Wolf against a tree. “What the hell,” he grits out, not entirely sure why he’s so angry but absolutely willing to gut the Wolf if he gives the wrong answer, whatever that might be.

Gweld blinks down at him for a moment, and then, bafflingly, smiles. “Ran afoul of a pack of bruxae on my way back to Kaer Morhen,” he says calmly, as if there’s not an angry Viper up in his face. “I won, obviously, but I also broke most of my ribs and all the bones in my right leg and foot.”

Serrit suppresses a wince. That’s a bad injury. Even for a Witcher, that’s almost always going to be fatal.

“One of my brothers found me and dragged me home, and I spent the whole winter recovering; wasn’t quite back to full strength in the spring, so Rennes assigned me as a trainer for a year.” Gweld smiles more broadly. “It was fun, but it’s good to be back on the Path. And good to see you again. I -”

Serrit kisses him to make him stop talking. He has a faint, worrisome feeling that if he actually hears whatever Gweld was about to say, it will change - something. Something Serrit isn’t ready to change, just yet.

Gweld makes a small startled noise and then huffs a soft laugh and takes Serrit’s face in his absurdly gentle hands and deepens the kiss, and when they part, he’s still smiling, but he doesn’t say anything at all.

(Or here on AO3!)

[charmwasjess]

As I promised @bolithesenate, I copied out a scene (wouldn't fit in a pic!) from one of the canon novels that I absolutely love: Qui-Gon's memory of his first real interaction with Dooku from the book Master & Apprentice by Claudia Gray. For the hilariously realistic first impressions vibe, and also for the beautiful glimpse of Jedi place and culture and the Temple as both a home and sacred space.

"You're frightened," said Master Dooku.

Qui-Gon Jinn, twelve years old, knelt in front of his new Master. Only yesterday, Dooku had chosen him as Padawan. He'd spent his last night in the younglings' creche, laughing with his friends, imagining all the adventures he would have, and practicing with his lightsaber in the sparring room until Master Yaddle ordered him to bed.

...

"Well?" Dooku raised one eyebrow. He seemed to stand three meters tall, looming over Qui-Gon like an obsidian wall. "Have you no response to my observation?"

I'm not afraid. The denial surfaced in Qui-Gon's mind. It was what he wanted to say, because it was what he wanted to be true.

But it wasn't true. Surely a Padawan wasn't supposed to lie to his new Master.

Qui-Gon admitted, "I am, Master."

"Why should you fear me?" Dooku said in his deepest, most intimidating voice, as though answering his own question.

Think, Qui-Gon told himself. His fear was so obvious, so all-encompassing, that he could hardly understand where it came from. But he needed to find the truth within that fear.

Finally he said, "I'm afraid of not becoming a Jedi, but that doesn't make me afraid of you, Master. I'm afraid of failing. Of not being worthy."

"Of yourself," Dooku said. "Of a future other than the one you want."

"Yes," Qui-Gon's fear deepened. Surely Master Dooku would realize he'd made a mistake, choosing someone so cowardly as a Padawan.

But then Dooku said, "Very wise." When Qui-Gon looked up in surprise, his Master smiled -- a distant smile, but a genuine one. "Most young apprentices would deny their fear. If they admitted it, they would almost certainly lack the self-knowledge you have shown."

I got it right? Qui-Gon's amazement must've shown on his face because Dooku shook his head in tolerant amusement.

"You proved yourself honest today," Dooku said, gesturing for Qui-Gon to rise to his feet. "You demonstrated insight. And you convinced me of your intelligence."

"Intelligence?" Qui-Gon straightened. Standing up only helped so much with the sense of intimidation; his head was below Dooku's elbow level.

"Yes, my Padawan." Dooku's amusement had a feline quality to it -- sly and self contained. "Anyone who begins to journey farther along the path of the Force should be afraid. The dangers are many. The struggle is eternal."

Qui-Gon wasn't entirely sure what Master Dooku meant by "the struggle" but he assumed it was something about always doing his best. That was the sort of thing the creche masters always talked about.

Before he could ask, Dooku gestured for Qui-Gon to follow him. "Come. There are many sections of our Temple that younglings never visit. Understanding our Temple most completely will help you better understand the Jedi Order."

The promise of finally seeing the whole Temple pushed every question out of Qui-Gon's brain. He grinned at Dooku for the first time. "Yes, Master."

Together they walked throughout the Temple -- not all of it, because it was too large for anyone to see the whole of it in a day -- but the important parts, the ones Qui-Gon had always been most curious to see. Dooku showed him the Padawan's sparring dojo, and let him take a look at the one for Jedi Knights. He finally saw the Great Assembly Room, reserved for the rare times when the entire Order met. Various meditation champers were ... well, not exciting, but at least of interest. Probably most other Padawans wouldn't have found the arboretum thrilling, either, but Qui-Gon spent long minutes wandering through the trees, flowers, and ferns of a thousand different worlds while Dooku patiently watched.

-Star Wars: Master & Apprentice, by Claudia Gray

[cutiemochiii]

“Focus On Me”

My first JJK FIC YAY

You are Megumi’s sparring partner, however he can’t help but feel you aren’t taking him seriously…

————————————————————————

Itadori was truly an anomaly. For someone with no experience with curses and cursed energy until very recently, he took to it like a fish to water. You watched as he dodged each blow Kugisaki aimed at him.

Even her cursed technique was too slow, and Itadori easily avoided the nails that flew in his direction with gymnast-level physical prowess.

~~~~

These individual practice fights were the idea of the lovely Gojo Satoru, after Okkotsu Yuuta had come back from spending time overseas.

Gojo wanted Yuuta to show the newer sorcerers what it meant to truly understand cursed energy, a talent that made Yuuta second only to Gojo himself. But what had started as a demonstration between Yuuta and Maki turned into a full-blown training session, everyone finding themselves a partner to spar with.

You had been waiting for a chance to test your skills against Itadori, and Megumi had been waiting for the opportunity for a one-on-one with Yuuta. But both were whisked away before either of you could even ask.

You and Megumi weren’t unfamiliar with one another, but you weren’t exactly the best of friends either. He was kind enough, albeit quiet. And you were friendly towards all of your fellow classmates. But neither of you had spent much time with each other.

And so it came as a bit of a shock to you when he approached you on the bench, asking if you’d like to train with him. You couldn’t refuse, you had seen Megumi’s abilities, and had been told that he had improved even further. Besides, perhaps it would be nice to have a little practice before you took on Yuuji. His strength was practically impossible to match.

Even in the midst of your training with Megumi, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Nobara and Yuuji. It was rather frustrating for Megumi. He was worried that if he let out an attack that was too strong, he would hurt you because of your distraction. You weren’t taking him seriously as an opponent. Whatever, he would just sit down. There was no point in fighting against an opponent with no intention of fighting back-

And let her underestimate you like that?

Even if he wasn’t present, it was as if Gojo Satoru was standing behind him, eyes judging as his voice rang out in Megumi’s head. That damn sorcerer. But he was right. Megumi was tired of being ignored. “Oi,” he began. You turned your head towards him, humming in response. He was too fast for your eyes to follow. In a blink, you felt your feet give out from under you. The world had turned sideways.

Just before your head hit the ground, you were grabbed by the front of your uniform. Megumi had his fist curled around your clothes, looking at you with his head tilted. “Itadori is not your opponent. I am.” He tugged you up so quickly you lost your footing and almost fell into his chest.

You backed away as he took up a fighting stance. “So focus on me.”

He was giving you a chance to prepare yourself, but you stood quietly, thrown off by his actions. He stood straight again. “Well? I am all warmed up, aren’t you?” He questioned.

There was a surge of cursed energy that hadn’t been there earlier, so strong that even Yuuta and Maki had paused to assess what was going on between you and Megumi. He was completely different from the Megumi that was engaging you in light hand-to-hand combat earlier.

You smiled. It had been rather rude of you to behave the way you were towards someone who had politely asked to be your partner. You rolled your shoulders and neck, stretching your hand out in front of you, towards Megumi. “Couldn’t be more prepared.” You summoned cursed energy to your fingertips, touching the small daggers in your belt. You raised your hand, your cursed technique of telekinesis causing your daggers to float in front of you.

Your technique allowed you to pick up even the faintest cursed energy residuals on anything, using that to control said thing. Whether living or nonliving.

Megumi summoned his shikigami Nue, who began plummeting out of the sky towards you at a high speed. You waved your arm towards it, your daggers slicing through the air. One of them hit the shikigami’s wing, causing it to falter. However, you knew Megumi wouldn’t just rely on his shikigami.

Just as you had suspected, Megumi had closed the space between the two of you, kicking at you with cursed energy he had gathered. You parried, his strike hitting your forearm. The impact caused you to shoot backwards, digging your heels into the dirt to slow yourself down before he caught you unaware.

But he didn’t stop his attacks, coming at you with a high jump, twisting his body to put more force behind his next swing. You levitated off the ground with your technique, and slid off to the side. His fist collided with the earth, dirt and dust flying in all directions. You summoned your daggers back to you, waving your hand in Megumi’s direction.

The daggers shot out towards him and he flipped away in order to avoid them, but there were too many to dodge, a couple cutting his face and body. You realized that Nobara and Yuuji had stopped their fighting when you heard shouts.

“Come on!” Nobara called out to you.

“Fushiguro! You can’t lose to her!” Itadori egged him on.

It was surprising, to everyone, just how evenly matched the two of you were. As the battle ensued, even Gojo had taken some time away from his work to watch beside the other students, his casual smile ever present as he kept his hands in his pockets. Though Gojo could still sense some hesitation in Megumi, he was finally realizing his true potential.

And as you worked up a sweat, panting and smirking challengingly, he knew you were giving it your all too. He wondered how much longer it would be before one of you finally exhausted yourself.

You could feel your body trembling with exhaustion, and by the shaking of his hands, you could tell Megumi was nearing his limit too. Finally, all you have to do is land one finishing blow-

You blinked and he vanished.

What?

You glanced around frantically, causing the sword, that Maki had placed on the ground after deciding to watch, to float towards you. You had to be prepared, you couldn’t be caught off guard. Even if Megumi had somehow turned fucking invisible.

“Boo.” You felt a hand on your shoulder, jerking around and letting the blade fly towards him. He leaned his body to the side, the weapon flying past his head. He grabbed the sword by the hilt before it flew too far. In his distraction, you tried to swing at his face. But he was too quick, crouching down and kicking your feet out from under you. This time, however, he did not catch your fall, letting you hit the ground with a loud thump. He slammed the blade into the ground right beside your cheek.

“I win.” He stated, smirking at the look of silent astonishment on your face. He extended his hand to help you stand. You coughed, the impact of hitting the ground having knocked the wind out of you. He placed a hand on your back. The students were cheering, Gojo clapping as he laughed.

“That was quite the performance Megumi.” He complimented his student. Itadori ran up to him and gave him a playful smack on the back of the head.

“I knew you could beat her!” He said with a grin, to which you frowned. He looked at you sheepishly.

“Uh, no offense?”

You huffed. But Megumi simply smiled.

~~~~

“So, shadows huh?” You asked, sucking on the dark blue popsicle Megumi had bought you after buying you dinner. At least he was kind enough to help you feel better after your humbling loss.

Megumi nodded quietly. You clicked your tongue. “So, how long were you gonna keep it a secret before you decided to kick my ass with it?” Megumi chuckled, causing you to smile.

“I’m not sure. I am still working on it. So far I can only conceal myself for really short periods of time, and that shadow space makes me feel sick. So I have to keep honing the skill.” You nodded in thought. You were sitting on a picnic table as Megumi leaned against it beside you. You sighed, letting your head drop back as the sky was painted a deep red with the sunset.

“Fushiguro, listen. I acted really shitty towards you today, and I wanna apologize. You are truly an incredible sorcerer, and I would like to continue being your sparring partner. I gotta get you back for embarrassing me so hard in front of everyone.” You elbowed him playfully in the leg, and he smiled.

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

The silence was a pleasant one, both of you finishing your popsicles as the sun dipped below the horizon. Jujutsu Tech was truly a unique place, and even with all the dangers that threatened you daily, you considered yourself lucky. And now, you were making friends. People you knew would help you become a stronger sorcerer. And with Megumi offering his hand to help you stand, and walking back with you to the school, you looked forward to the next time you two could fight together again.

————————————————————————

Author’s Note: UGH FINALLY I HAVE TIME TO POST. I have been super duper into JJK recently (especially with the new, PAINFUL season ;-; which I hope to write for too) if you haven’t noticed, I tend to give the “reader” character similar abilities throughout the anime worlds (i.e. “star breathing” throughout all of my KNY fanfics, and now this telekinesis cursed technique throughout my JJK fanfics), I really hope this makes it easier and more enjoyable for all of you!!! It gives the reader a lot more character imo, and it’s fun to really incorporate the character into the realm. ANYWAYS!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR LIL SPARRING SESSION WITH MEGUMIIIII

[atom-writings]

(Hetalia Main 8 x Reader) Fighter S/O!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N omg thanks :33 anon if ur good at fighting thats literally so cool. sorry that this is shorter, but i didnt have many specifics-

Trigger Warning: Swearing, other than that none! Just fluff!

YES YES YES ALFRED WOULD LOVE THIS.

As soon as he learns you’re good at fighting, he suggests that you two spar. 

Now that he knows you’re not breakable, he is going to treat you differently. Throwing things at you with his full strength (which is more than humanly possible-) and nearly tackling you with hugs.

The two of you make quite a (TERRIFYING) power couple. No one’ll be a dick to you guys now!

Arthur wouldn’t care that much, but he’d be a little intimidated.

But he’s keeping that information in his back pocket. He’s a rather scrawny guy, so knowing you can back him is very useful.

He asks you where and why you learned immediately. Of course, no judgment whatever you say, but if it’s for some more… unpleasant reasons he’d like to know.

Definitely encourages you to get better! It’s becoming a more and more rare skill these days!

Francis would not care that much personally, but he would totally admire you a lot for it!

Learning a skill like that would either take a lot of struggle or a lot of effort, either way, respectable.

As long as you don’t beat up people in front of him, he generally doesn’t care. He considers fighting for stupid reasons very uncivilized.

You can try to drag him along when you work out, but I’ll tell you now, he is not doing anything. He’ll run alongside you, but that is the extent of it. If you want him to help you practice, he’ll do it while complaining.

Yao would like this quite a lot! In his younger years, he was a fighter as well, so maybe you two can teach each other some tricks!

Of course, the way he learned to fight is very traditional, so he may get on your ass about “wrong posture” or whatever.

Also, he can’t go for very long without getting tired anyway. He loves you for your energy but he cannot keep up-

Surprisingly, Yao would be pretty supportive of you getting in random fights though. Even if the reason is stupid, he’ll still be cheering from the sidelines.

Oh boy! Ivan may not be much of a fighter, but he’s strong as well! Maybe you two can work out together?

He won’t say anything at first, but he definitely worries about whether you had to become good at it.

Normally he’d beat up people for you, but now maybe you could do the same for him?? He’s swooning so hard.

Like America, you two are gonna be the most intimidating people in the room. Power couple (with mostly good intentions. you may be a bad influence on him to start solving more problems through violence)

Oh thank god, Feliciano cannot put up a fight to save his life. But now that he has you, he doesn’t have to!

Wait, you’re good at fighting, so you must be strong right? Can you pick him up?? Please??

But he does worry about you getting in fights… you may be tough but you’re still his darling! He does secretly love patching you up though

He prefers words, but that just means you two balance each other out! Weak and strong, a perfect match!

Ludwig is also quite a formidable fighter as well, so you two have something fun in common!

He’d definitely appreciate someone who can hold their own. He thinks it says a lot about your character! Very encouraging and supportive.

Definitely brings you along to the gym so you two can practice together. If you’re better at specific styles, you can always teach him.

Just… don’t get in any street fights, won’t you? It stresses him out immeasurably.

Oh cool. Kiku is not very strong, but he knows a lot about the art of fighting, so he finds you quite interesting for it.

Give a little demonstration, won’t you? Even if it’s awkward :}

He’d love for you to teach him. He’s always been just average physically, so maybe with your motivation, he’ll finally be more like Ludwig!

But he’d hate you getting in fights, just think of the attention it’ll attract! Please, try to keep your sparring in the gym.

[kimbap-r0ll]

I’m not sure if you do platonic headcanons, but if so, can I ask for some adult trio hcs with a reader that is an immortal vampire, and because they are technically dead, nen doesn’t work on them? So basically as a human they’re powerless to her strength? Just kinda wonder how they’d feel about that

Hi, thank you for the ask! This is an interesting idea

Adult trios with a vampire!reader (platonic)

Hisoka

If it means you're immortal, he hopes you can at least fight because that means you two could be sparring for a long time. However, if you aren't a fighter, that means he can be rough around you and not worry about killing you off by accident :/

I feel like he would be interested in how you came about. Is it like the books say? Or was it through other means? He's more curious than you thought, but he's more focused on what skills you have

Can you see nen? This is quite important since he wants to show off but if you can't see the tricks he does then he'll stick to tricks that non-nen users can see. He likes surprising you with his ability

Overall I feel like he wouldn't care too much about you being an immortal vampire, but it's how good you are at fighting that matters to him. He won't constantly throw punches in your direction but he will want challenges

Illumi

Also similar to Hisoka, he's glad you can stand up on your own and he won't have to worry about accidentally killing you. However, he is a little intrigued by how you are dead but at the same time not

Illumi has a lot of questions too, they're just a little more direct than you would expect. Think like "What kind of blood do you like?" Even though perhaps you don't like drinking blood haha. He also has no problem just coming up and testing out "how immortal" you are, like do you also heal really quickly? He likes you, he's just curious

Doesn't like to think that he can't beat you in a fight. He's not boastful but he is a bit arrogant, so even if you warn him that you literally cannot be killed he'll still be like "no way" or you two might train together (meaning he wants to challenge you to a fight)

Overall he's pretty nice but just a little quirky (honestly who out of the trio is normal though). I feel like he would still tend to your needs better than Hisoka would

Chrollo

You probably thought he was a vampire first with his fashion sense haha. Either way, when he finds out what you are, he's immediately interested. Do you happen to know nen? Exactly how strong would you be if you did? Also has a lot of questions for you, it can get exhausting

He's the only one that won't outright challenge you to a fight, though he is interested in how strong you are. If you happen to be part of the troupe, he'll watch you in action to determine your skills. If you're not in the troupe, he'll mainly ask about it unless you want to demonstrate

Chrollo has read a lot about your kind, but books can only be so realistic. Likes talking to you about what you like, dislike, what you need, etc. He also just likes being around you for who you are regardless of vampire traits

Overall, he's probably the most normal out of them. However, he'll also have no trouble trying to find out more about you without letting you know, which can be a little creepy :/