Clocking Out

The feelings were well expressed and this is an impossible situation to imagine, nonetheless we can see everything through her emotions and how the lack of closure can be worse than knowing the truth.

Your writing was amazing 💜

Promise Not to Promise Anymore

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of cheating, angst

Word count: 2448

A/N: This is an idea that I’ve been struggling with for a while, I’m so glad I’ve finally been able to get the words to sort themselves out. Special thank you to @krirebr for helping me so much with the process. Without you literally nothing would ever be posted here 😂. (Yes I am aware that I barely post…I’m working on it!) Any feedback that you could leave would be really appreciated. ❤️

The day had been uneventful, boring, normal. But something about the day had your skin crawling. You weren’t sure what had set you off, and yet here you were pacing. Something you only did when you were anxious.

Your phone chirped with another notification, probably one of your socials. Your anxiety had you reaching for it immediately. Seeing the name of your ex pop up on the screen had your stomach dropping immediately. Neither of you had reached out in months. The man who had blustered out of your life as fast as he had blustered in was texting you.

You threw the phone onto the couch without reading the notification. Sure you could find out immediately what he wanted if you actually read the text, instead you screamed into the throw pillow. Your mind began to run with all of the possibilities of why this man would choose now to text you. Did he want money? Was he dying? Was he texting just to let you know how little you meant to him?

The last one, it was definitely the last one.

You stood from the couch and glared at the small black rectangle that had ruined your otherwise boring day. Your phone chirped again, and you physically recoiled from the sound. Deciding a drink would help with whatever it was your ex wanted you dazedly walked to the kitchen. When you opened the fridge, your gaze immediately found the bottle of wine you had bought on a whim on the weekend. Something the lady at the grocery store had recommended since you looked so lost in the wine section. Grabbing the bottle and bypassing a glass was the best way to handle this conversation you decided.

You sat on the couch, taking a long pull from the neck of the bottle before reaching for your phone. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves you unlocked the phone screen and tapped on the messages icon. There was his name in big bold letters: Andy. You hesitated as your finger hovered over the message, you could see his second message clearly Are you too busy to talk now? Maybe you could just not read it. Or read them and never respond. Or read them and respond later.

You hated every single one of those options, because you knew as soon as you opened these messages you’d be responding immediately. You took another long pull from your bottle, and placed the phone back down beside you. You needed your mind to stop. The thinking, the over-thinking, it was too much. You flipped on the TV to distract yourself and curled up like a cat. Your phone chirped again from under a throw pillow, and you pointedly ignored it.

You weren’t ready to deal with Andy. You had thought when he ended things that you would never hear from him again. Devastated. That was the only word you could use to describe how you felt after he left. You still didn’t even understand why he had ended things, only that he clearly hadn’t felt as strongly as you did about him.

There was another chirp that had you sighing and grabbing for your phone. You had to deal with it, or he wouldn’t stop. That was Andy. You pulled up the messages anticipating at least a double text, but completely unprepared for all the messages he had sent you,

I know this is out of the blue, but I need to speak to you.

Are you too busy to talk now?

Please Honey, I need to talk to you.

It’s important.

Honey…

Of course, the man could double text you, but would refuse to supply what he actually wanted to speak to you about. You typed out several potential responses before deciding on something polite but to the point.

Andy, I can talk. What’s going on?

You didn’t have to wait long for Andy’s equally to the point response.

Can I call you?

You stared at the message for a moment. You knew you couldn’t hear his voice, it would take you right back to where you were. All those months ago when he broke your heart. All the hurt, and the anger, it would be right there.

As you debated what to say, your phone began to ring. The man had absolutely no patience. You stared at his name, and without thinking answered the phone.

“Hello…” You sat and waited for him to say his peace, how bad could it be.

”Honey, I’m sorry.” You shuddered as Andy’s voice came through the phone. You forgot how his deep timbre had always made you feel comforted, and safe, and warm. “How are you doing? I know I shouldn’t be…I don’t…Are you okay?”

You hesitated before you answered. Months ago you would’ve known exactly what to say to Andy to make him feel better. Now it felt like you were talking to a stranger. “I’m fine Andy. Why are you hammer messaging me?”

Andy chuckled lightly, and you smiled at the lilting notes. “You haven’t changed.” Your eye twitched at that comment. “I just, I needed to hear your voice, Honey.”

”So you messaged me repeatedly?” You could hear the annoyance in your tone, which meant that Andy could hear it ten times louder.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this…” Andy trailed off and sighed. You huffed and pulled the phone away from your ear for a moment so you could murmur your annoyance to yourself.

”Just say it Andy, why did you reach out? Why are we on the phone?” You pulled at the threads on the throw pillow under your arm.

“I miss you.”

You felt the air leave your lungs. You couldn’t have heard him right. He missed you? No, no he was dying, or broke, or literally anything else.

“You-what?” You spluttered out the only thought that came to your mind.

Andy chuckled nervously, “I miss you. I miss your smile, and your laugh. I miss the way your forehead pinches when you’re focused. I miss the way you would take care of me. The moment I ended things? I knew I had made a mistake, and so I told myself that it was kinder to you, to just move on.”

You sat there in silence, shocked at his sudden declarations. “Why, why did you end things? What happened? Andy, I loved you so much, and then out of nowhere you just up and ended things.”

You heard Andy sigh on the other end of the phone. You could picture him scrubbing his hand down his face and scratching at the beard hairs on his chin. His nervous habit. “I got scared, I think.” He chuckled again, “I know it’s not a good excuse…”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a terrible excuse Andy. What scared you? That I loved you? That I wanted to be a part of your life? Please tell me, what exactly scared you so badly that you ended the best relationship I’ve ever had?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth. You hadn’t meant to let all of that out.

There was a long drawn out silence. “I think it was how strongly I felt about you. I was…scared of what that meant. Before I met you I thought I knew what love was. I was sure I had felt it. But once that feeling truly hit me? I couldn’t actually function.” Andy sighed again, “This isn’t coming out right.”

You took another long pull off of your bottle of wine. You let Andy’s words roll over in your mind. Could he actually be telling the truth? His love for you was so strong that he got scared. It just didn’t seem right, there was something else, there had to be.

“So what you’re saying is, our love was too much for you?” Your tone rang with annoyance and a little bit of desperation. You remembered any time you had tried to get something out of Andy that he didn’t want to tell you, how carefully you’d have to tread, otherwise he would shut down. As much as you wanted to tell him off, end the call and block his number forever. There was still a part of you that needed to know the real reason, so before Andy could respond you continued. “Andy, as much as I love this game of cat and mouse we’re playing, where it’s like pulling teeth to get information out of you,” You heard him softly chuckle on the other end of the line, “I just need the truth, maybe it will hurt me, maybe it won’t but I need it.”

There was a long silence on the line. Although it made you nervous and want to say something to fill it, you sat and sipped on your slowly warming wine while you waited for his response. Your bluntness would have one of two effects: either he would fold and tell you what you wanted, no needed to know, or he would shut down and it would be months, if ever, before you heard from him again.

His heavy sigh preceded his response, “You’re right, and wrong.” He paused as if he was gathering his thoughts. “It is true that the feeling of love between us scared me, but it’s also that it scared me so much that…”

”That what?” You knew what he was going to say, felt it deep within your soul. Your heart was about to be broken by Andy Barber once again, and what was worse, you had practically asked him to do it this time.

”I slept with someone else. It only happened once, but it was before I ended things.”

“I see.” It was all you could get out. You could feel the twisting in your chest again, the anger burning behind your eyes, the tears welling and choking you with their strength.

”I’m so sorry Honey. As soon as it was over I knew I had fucked up. But I also knew if that I couldn’t be with you still, it wasn’t fair to you.” You could hear the pleading in his voice, and it only made the anger burn stronger. Like his words had lit a match and poured kerosene over top.

“So you called me now, to…what? Make yourself feel better?” Your breathing was hard, almost panting in your anger.

”I don’t know why I’m calling. I just know that I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I miss what you brought to my life: the pure joy, the love I could feel down to my core.” Andy’s voice was strained. It was only then that you realized he was crying.

”Are you drunk Andy?” It was the only time you had ever seen him cry, when he had one too many with the boys after work.

”No, I swear. I promise Honey, I haven’t had a drink tonight.”

You took another sip of wine. Contemplating the truth in Andy’s words, the burn of his betrayal. This was just too much.

“Well I’m glad you’ve finally told me the truth Andy. Even if it is months later.” You hugged your throw pillow to your chest as you prepared yourself to say the words that you knew would hurt him as much as they would hurt you. “I can’t forgive you, for any of it. Please, just leave me alone.”

Before you could second guess your decision, you hung up the phone. You stared blankly at the TV screen, not even remembering what you had put on in the first place. What shook you from your reverie was a dull thud from your door. Like someone had just planted their forehead against it.

You stood and quickly crossed the room to check what the noise was. It was only once your hand was on the handle you knew: Andy. You unlocked the door, and twisted the handle slowly, knowing the man who had destroyed you not once, but twice was standing on the other side.

When your eyes connected with his, you could feel all of the love, joy and affection come flooding back. It took everything within you to not jump into his arms and sob until you had nothing left. Instead you gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing holding you up.

”Honey…” Andy’s voice was just above a whisper, so quiet that you weren’t even sure you heard it. His hands reached out and thumbed at the tears quietly streaming down your face. “Oh Honey, I’m so sorry.”

With that he pulled you against his chest. You could smell the high end cologne he wore to work, and the underlying scent of pure Andy. The warmth of his chest and his arms wrapping around your back had you losing all control. You sobbed with abandon into his neck, no words leaving your lips. Andy scooped you up and walked you both into your apartment. Using his foot to shut the door behind him.

He sat down on your couch, with you tucked against his chest and began murmuring quietly to you. You couldn’t make out most of it, but did catch the odd word. “Shh Honey.” “I know, I’m so sorry.” “Just let it out, okay?”

When you finally felt like you could cry no more, you pulled your face from Andy’s neck. You could feel how swollen your eyes were, in fact your whole face felt puffy. “I still don’t forgive you.”

Andy let out a full belly laugh at your meekly spoken words. To which you glared at him and crossed your arms across your chest.

”Okay, okay.” He wheezed in a breath, “I’m sorry Honey. Please just give me a chance to make it up to you. Even if that means I don’t get to feel your love again, let me just try to make this right.”

You reached out and stroked his cheek. Feeling his soft skin contrast with the roughness of his beard. You could see the dark circles under his eyes, see the grayness of his skin. “I need time Andy.”

He sighed, and let his eyes flutter shut. “Of course Honey, whatever you need.”

You reluctantly stood from his embrace, “Please leave Andy, I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

He nodded solemnly. Andy stood, he moved to hug you, but you took a few steps out of his reach. He nodded again before heading for the door.

”Honey?” His back was still to you.

”Yeah?”

”I still love you, more than anything. And I promise to do everything I can to show you that.”

”Andy, maybe we should both promise not to promise anymore.”

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18 @krirebr @rebeccapineapple @precious1610 @bval-1 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @thezombieprostitute

𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮

Summary: Filming different home ✨videos✨ with different characters.

Pairings: Andy Barber x fem!Reader, Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader, Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: All smut – filming, blow job, swallowing, thigh riding, cumshot, some spanking (just twice I guess), anal plug use, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, 18+

Word count: ~1,500

A/n: Shout out to the lovely anon who gave me ideas for Steve’s part 🥰

♡ ⊹ ° .　˚ 　 𖧷 · 　° .　 ♡ ⊹

Andy Barber

“How do I look?” You tease him, winking right at the phone in his hand, recording you kneeling in front of him.

“Fucking gorgeous.” His free hand moves to rest on your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your lips until you part them enough to take it into your mouth.

Giving him a show already, you suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around, and let him push it further until you gag lightly.

“Better be getting my good angles,” you joke, catching your breath when he pulls his hand away.

“You don’t have bad angles, sweetheart.”

With a lighthearted roll of your eyes, you set your hands on his hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs. They still there, your lips following to press kisses against his lower abdomen, then trailing lower. His cock twitches at the attention, earning a quiet groan from him and a giggle from you. Another teasing look to the camera and you’re biting your lip, moving back enough to finally pull the fabric down just to let his cock spring free.

You waste no time taking him into your hand, lazily stroking him a few times before leaning in to run your tongue along his length slowly, all while keeping your eyes on him above you.

“Christ, honey,” he groans, watching you through the small screen to make sure he’s capturing it. “Keep going.”

His breath hitches when your lips wrap around the head of his cock, your tongue paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the underside.

Feeling his free hand once again, this time on the back of your neck, you take the hint and begin taking more of him into your mouth. Your hand covers what you can’t handle, moving in time with your mouth.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his breathing to quicken and an involuntary thrust of his hips. That makes you gag, swiftly pulling your head back but still working him with your hand.

“Do you want me to swallow?” Your question comes out breathless.

It takes him a moment to register what you said, his own mind too hazy to answer coherently. “I– Uh,” he pants, looking down at you. “You don’t have to.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” he blurts out, just needing you to keep going.

You double your efforts, pumping your fist quicker until you know he’s on the edge. Opening your mouth, you beg for it. “Give it to me. Please, cum in my mouth.”

It does it for him. A guttural moan rips from his throat, his hips stuttering as his release spills into your mouth.

He watches you as he catches his breath, swallowing everything he gave you, and he curses under his breath.

Sitting back, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him once more. “Was that good or do we need to film a take two?”

♡ ⊹ ° .　˚ 　 𖧷 · 　° .　 ♡ ⊹

Steve Rogers

“There’s my pretty girl,” he coos, panning the camera up toward your face. Your hands quickly move to cover it though, your cheeks immediately heating up at the realization of what you’re doing. “Hey, don’t be shy. This was your idea,” he teases. “Look at the camera.”

Slowly lowering your hands, you place them back on his shoulders for support, picking up the pace of your hips again to grind your cunt against his thigh.

Doing your best to offer some eye contact to the camera for him, you can’t help but laugh and turn your face away. Your laugh suddenly turns into a whine though when he flexes his thigh, adding to the pressure against your aching clit.

“Good girl,” he praises when you don’t stop. “Keep going. Look so pretty like this, darling.”

Angling the camera back down to where your core meets his leg, he chuckles, the movement once again making you whimper. “You’re making such a mess,” he points out, referring to the wet spot on his pants. “I’ll have to make you watch this later so you can see it too.”

“Steve,” you whine, partly from dreading the humiliation of that, but also from feeling yourself quickly approaching the edge. “Can I–” You don’t get the question out before letting out a desperate moan.

“You can do better than that.” His tone is teasing as he puts the camera back on your face. “Ask nicely.”

Too focused on chasing your high, you don’t have the chance to be timid. “Please, can I cum?” You’re looking right into the camera this time. “Please, Steve.”

“Let go for me, sweetheart.”

Throwing your head back, your hips jerk against his leg, pleasure washing over you in waves. He stops filming when you fall forward, body slumping against his. He needs both hands free to hold you, rubbing your back gently as you steady your breathing.

“That was really good,” you breathe out, laughing a little.

“That’ll definitely come in handy,” he chuckles. “Good idea, sweetheart.”

♡ ⊹ ° .　˚ 　 𖧷 · 　° .　 ♡ ⊹

Ransom Drysdale

“Fuck,” he breathes out, dropping his face to your neck.

He gives you a minute to come down from your second orgasm tonight before pushing himself off of you and leaning over to grab the phone from where it’s been propped up and filming from the nightstand thus far.

His fingers tapping against your side get your attention, your eyes fluttering open to be met with him holding the phone now, making you the main focus.

“Turn over, babe. Let’s see that pretty ass now.”

Groaning, you turn over onto shaky hands and knees, giving him the perfect view of your ass and the pink heart-shaped jewel on the end of the anal plug he got you.

“Hell yeah,” he marvels, pushing on it, earning a whimper from you. It’s enough to make your arms give out, your face resting against the sheets now. “Good to keep going, babygirl?”

“Yes, please.”

You gasp feeling his cock push back into you. He easily falls back into his rhythm from before, hips slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“You look so fucking good from this angle,” he grunts, punctuating his praise with a slap of his hand against your ass.

“Shit, Ran,” you choke out, gripping fistfuls of the sheets in your hands. Still sensitive from your last orgasm, you feel like you’re right on the edge again.

“What, gonna cum again already?”

“Please,” you whine. “Want you to cum with me.”

He curses under his breath, and his thrusts become harder, determined to make you fall apart again.

“Oh, God–” The trembling of your legs tells him you’re right there.

“Come on,” he pants, slapping your ass one more time. “Give it to me.”

With a scream of his name, you’re hurdling over the edge for the third time, cunt spasming around his cock, and it’s enough to bring him with you. Quickly pulling out, he jerks his cock until his cum is painting your ass, giving him the perfect frame to end the video with.

♡ ⊹ ° .　˚ 　 𖧷 · 　° .　 ♡ ⊹

Ari Levinson

“God, look at you go,” he groans, teasing as he watches you through the screen of his phone, bouncing on his dick.

“Stop,” you whine, but can’t help but laugh. “You’re making me nervous.”

“How am I making you nervous, sweetheart?”

“Do I look okay?”

“You look fucking amazing,” he breathes out. “And the best part is this view is all for me. Only for me.”

Pressing your hands on his chest for leverage, you grind your hips deeper, both of you letting out moans from the new angle.

“Want you to make yourself cum, pretty girl.” His free hand slips down from your hip, his thumb pressing against your clit. Rolling your head back, you cry out his name. “Come on.”

“I’m gonna–” Your own silent moan cuts you off, your vision going dark as you hit your peak.

When your legs begin to quiver, he takes over, thrusting his hips up, chasing his own climax. “Right there with you, baby. Fuck–”

His hips still and his thighs tense as his release spills inside you. Your heavy breaths are the only sound in the room until he asks if you’re ok.

“My legs hurt,” you laugh, dropping your face as you become aware of the camera on you again.

“Here, lift up,” he begins, panning the camera down to where your bodies are still connected. “Up…”

Listening, you slowly push off of him, letting his cock slip out of you, and you whimper. It’s followed by his groan though as he watches his cum drip out of you. “That’s it,” he smirks. He ends the video there, tossing the phone across the bed. “Come here.”

Gently falling forward, you lay on top of him, his arms coming up to wrap around you.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“We can delete it right away if you–”

“No,” you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his neck. “It’s okay. I kinda want to see it.”

♡ ⊹ ° .　˚ 　 𖧷 · 　° .　 ♡ ⊹

Tag list: @chris-butt @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @starlightcrystalline @stargazingfangirl18 @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @andy--barber @rogersdrysdalebarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean

ok but the hunger games literally did mention it All like… the use of propaganda by the elite as an attempt to divide the minority groups they oppress by making them perceive each other as rivals and prevent them from recognizing and uniting against their real enemy? check. criticism of the way we consume media with no consideration for other people’s privacy like we’re entitled to every detail of their lives and a lack of empathy for their pain because it makes good entertainment? yeah. realistic depictions and explorations of the effects of trauma, particularly that caused by conflict? hunger games has you covered. acknowledgement of the existence of and links between racism and classism, and that conventional standards of beauty are influenced by the societal elite, which people are encouraged to harm themselves in order to conform to (the fact that the weathier people in district 12 are white, blonde and blue-eyed while the coal miner families are mostly people of color; that the two poorest districts, 11 and 12, have majority poc populations; that most people, katniss herself included, consider prim to be prettier than katniss partly because she looks like her white, blonde, blue-eyed mother, who was from the wealthier part of the district; that the first thing that happens to the tributes when they’re taken to the capitol is they they’re “prepped” to conform to capitol beauty standards before they even meet their stylists in ways that literally violate their bodies permanently, and that many of the capitol residents have extreme body modifying surgery that can take a severe toll on their health and wellbeing in the long term)? none of this is accidental, and is both brought up and criticised multiple times throughout the trilogy. the sexualization of minors for adult consumption, especially young celebrities? the fact that politicians in positions of power and authority gain those positions through corruption and by considering anyone harmed in their acension collateral damage? the significance of propaganda and social influence in modern warfare? the misery caused by poverty, which is caused and intentionally maintained by the wealthy elite? the brutal and violating experience of living in a surveillance police state, especially as a member of a minority group and/or poor person? the inherently immoral and corruptive nature of warfare and the military and the unimaginable atrocities and suffering it leads to for ordinary civilians? every YA dystopia novelist tried so hard to be mrs collins but most didn’t even understand half of what went into her books that made them so compelling.

Jaskier did not shiw his ankles?! 😲😲 The audacity, the indecorum!!

Geralt trying to be respectful but there's only so much a man can take

People call Geralt old fashioned, as if just because he’s nearly a century old he doesn’t understand modern sensibilities. But that’s not it. He understands perfectly well that the world changes, but he still thinks there’s some value in a certain sense of decorum.

Jaskier, however, has no decorum whatsoever.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he goes around with his doublet undone, showing off a lacy undershirt beneath – because that’s the fashion now, apparently, and young people these days have no problem with that sort of thing – there are even times when he removes his doublet entirely, leaving Geralt to deal with a lot of billowy shirtsleeves and uncomfortably transparent fabric.

It’s hard not to look, okay, when there’s all of… that on display. (Broad shoulders, the firm swell of his chest muscles, a tangling of dark hair that you want to dig you fingers into -)

It’s even worse when Jaskier choose to roll his sleeves up past his elbows (revealing the soft, pale skin of his forearms which aches to be kissed). Worse still when Jaskier continues to gesture wildly as he talks, hands flicking back and forth in Geralt’s field of view, constantly flitting distractions of skin and joints and blue veins barely visible.

Geralt steels himself. It’s just Jaskier being Jaskier. It doesn’t mean anything. He ought to be ashamed of his… blatant ogling. It’s unbecoming of a man his age.

“… Geralt? are you listening?” Jaskier snaps his fingers in front of Geralt’s face and his attention is caught by the delicate lines of his wrist, the scent of lavender emanating from his pulse point, the faint, faint sound of blood throbbing beneath the skin.

He schools his face into a carefully neutral frown. “Hmm,” he says, hoping that will induce Jaskier to drop it.

Jaskier narrows his eyes but says nothing, soon distracted by throwing himself onto the room’s single bed. “My feet are killing me,” he complains, one hand pressed to his forehead dramatically. “And it’s all your fault for making me walk everywhere.”

Geralt averts his eyes as Jaskier removes his boots and peels off his socks, damn him. Some things were not meant to be done in company.

Jaskier thrusts one foot toward Geralt and wiggles his toes. “Give me a foot rub?” he says, as if that was something you casually asked your friends to do.

Geralt makes the mistake of glancing over and is greeted by not only the elegant arch of his foot, but also a shapely, fine-boned ankle and the soft, inviting swell of a calf.

He feels light headed. His heart is pounding. This is beyond the pale, even for Jaskier. His ankle is right there. It’s indecent. It’s scandalous. It’s downright shameful.

Geralt commits the sight to memory for… later consideration.

“Come on,” Jaskier wheedles. “Help a fellow traveller out. I’ll call for a bath and we can share the tub while you massage my toes.”

The… the audacity. The impropriety. The blood is roaring in his ears. He thinks he might faint.

He sets his face into his most intimidating grimace and growls, “Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier just laughs, high and light. “Oh, Geralt, you really are too much fun.”

Geralt pouts. He doesn’t see what’s so damn funny.

This is so sweet 💜

First Date

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve has the best first date thanks to you. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Fluffy fluff, light pining, first date, first kiss, mentions of the holidays, Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Sixth day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Steve Rogers. Requested by the incredible @buckyownsmylife. You deserve only good things! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If there was one thing Steve still wasn’t used to after the serum, it was that women wanted to date him. It was strange even after he was taken out of the ice that people actively sought out his company when they used to overlook him. Bucky no longer had to convince his dates to bring along another girl for him. And Natasha, of course, did her best to set him up with a few different women.

He relented when he realized she wasn’t going to stop.

She gave up when the third girl she set him up with didn’t work out.

“What was wrong with this one?” she asked.

“Nothing was wrong with her,” Steve told her truthfully. “She was just wrong for me.”

He wondered if he was doomed to be alone.

Until you asked him out.

A breathtaking new agent with a loving smile who could easily put men twice your size on their backs. He was inexplicably drawn to you and wouldn't be breaking any bylaws by dating you. He planned to ask you out, but you beat him to the punch one day after sparring.

"Would you want to grab dinner with me Saturday?"

"A date?" he asked as you nodded.

"Yeah, a date," you said with a hopeful smile.

It felt good to have you smile at him that way.

"I'd love to," he smiled back.

“Great! I’ll pick you up at six o'clock. Dress warm, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiled more, wondering what you had in mind.

He got his answer when you showed up at his apartment right on time.

“Oh, wow,” you whispered when he opened the door. He heard your heart rate speed up as you gazed at him. You told him to dress warm, but he still wanted to look his best. “Sorry. I’m staring.”

“It’s okay,” Steve chuckled. You told him to dress warm, but he still wanted to look his best. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m staring, too.”

You looked at your feet with a small smile before you lifted your head again. “I don’t mind.”

The breathy tone in your voice had his heart racing, too. “We should probably get going, otherwise I’ll just stare at you all night,” he teased.

The other dates he had been on had initial awkwardness in the beginning, but he felt none of that when he held out his hand for you. Even through the fabric, he felt electricity crackle between the two of you. Like a natural fit.

“Now, I should warn you,” you began as he led you out of the apartment building. “I kind of deviated away a bit from the normal first date dinner."

“I’m sure whatever you have set up is going to be amazing,” he smiled, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “I wanted to make it something to remember.”

“If I were a better gentleman, I would’ve been the one to plan this.”

“You think I’d make you plan your first date since you’ve been unfrozen?” you asked incredulously as you began to walk again. “Never.”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly as you pulled him along the sidewalk. He didn’t have the heart to tell you this wasn’t his first date. Not when you looked so happy.

“Here it is!” you grinned.

A large horse and carriage stood by the curb with a coachman who tipped his hat. The red plush bench had a blanket for extra warmth and Steve noticed a small table with two drinks and a large box across from where they’d sit. He could smell the pizza from where he stood.

It was from his favorite restaurant.

“I thought we could have pizza and drinks while we looked at lights around the city. And there’s a bakery stop along the way so we can have dessert,” you explained as you approached the carriage. “I figured this would give us a chance to talk and see how beautiful our home looks when we’re not fighting to keep it safe.”

Steve didn’t get in right away as his eyes met yours, memorizing how beautiful you looked under the city lights. You held your breath as he stepped closer. He knew you put a lot of thought into this evening. That alone made him feel special.

"But if you hate it, I can-"

“This is incredible,” he said as you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Really? Because your silence made me a little nervous,” you giggled.

Steve held up a hand to stop the coachman from helping you in, wanting to do it himself. “I'm sorry. I’m told I can be a bit stoic,” he joked, settling into the carriage beside you once you got comfortable.

“Didn’t I tell you? This is a stoic free carriage,” you teased.

"If anyone can make me smile, it's you."

He hoped that didn't sound cheesy.

"I like making you smile," you said as the carriage began to move.

The two of you traded stories as you ate and rode through the city. The lights brought warmth to the night sky, but he found himself staring at you more than the scenery. By the time you finished eating the pizza and stopped for warm, freshly baked cookies, he had his arm around you and the blanket over both of your legs.

"So, is this how you pictured your first date?"

"No, I didn't. This is even better," he smiled, brushing a bit of chocolate from the corner of your mouth away with his thumb.

"It is?" you asked, your voice soft as he brought his thumb to his mouth.

"It is," he said, unaware of how enticing he looked as he licked it clean. He bet you tasted just as sweet. "I wish Natasha had set you up with me first."

The longing in your eyes shifted to confusion. "First? What do you mean?" you asked before you nodded in understanding. "I'm not your first date, am I?"

Steve briefly closed his eyes. Shit. He didn't mean to say that. He was a terrible liar though, so he knew he couldn't come up with an excuse.

"No," he said.

"I'm so sorry," you said, picking a bit at the blanket and avoiding his gaze. "That was a really dumb assumption on my part."

"It wasn't dumb," he promised. "I don't exactly go around broadcasting my personal life."

That happened to him enough while he was under the ice and you wouldn't have known.

"It was dumb, but thank you."

He didn't want you to feel bad or embarrassed. "Look at me, please."

It took a moment, but you slowly turned your head toward him. He wanted to kiss the uncertain expression off your face. Leaning in, that's exactly what he did. The brush of his lips against yours was soft and full of promise.

Perfect.

"This is the best date I've ever had," he whispered.

"Our date isn't over yet," you smiled when he leaned in for another kiss.

With your lips against his, he imagined what it would have been like had he taken you out in the 40's. Maybe the two of you would have gone dancing. Any excuse to hold you close like this.

It would be the perfect second date.

Steve deserves something sweet. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

It was the first time my shrieking drew someone closer to me. I saw it in the corner of the mirror. A shuffling amongst the shower curtains, grey pyjamas it looked like. They reminded me of something horrible. Black hair, fair skin. A young boy. It was like the mirror wanted to stab my eyes with the worst memories.

Except, I didn’t have eyes.

If my shrieking wasn’t going to do it, I thought my visage would. I turned slowly, revealing each rip, tear, cut, and pustule on my pallid skin. My fingers would look especially long, like the claws of some horrid roc. Their nails would be long and sharp enough to break flesh to the bone. And my teeth—when I flash my smile, my teeth would do all the talking.

But the boy had little reaction other than a slight shaking of his arms and legs. His eyes—oh what eyes he had—stared wide open at me. He was frozen, as if he had been trapped under an ice-skinned lake. His parents had chosen the wrong house to move into.

I began laughing. There was nothing funny. But I laughed, because laughter is a weapon—it’s a devastating lance that strikes straight into the gullet. Your breath escapes, you stare at the teeth and the creases on the face, and the deepened eyebrows, and the eyeless sockets of a skull with a dead woman’s flesh.

His eyes settled, and his arms and legs stopped shaking. He shoved his hands into his pyjama’s pockets.

I reached out my hand, and the boy did not so much as flinch when I touched my cold, clammy hands to his cheek. Instead, he raised his own hand and touched mine. He closed his eyes, and he let me run my hands over his head, over and through his hair, rubbing his eyebrows, feeling his tiny little ears.

“It’s not you, is it?” I asked. My first words in eighty years.

The boy opened his eyes, felt the scales and cuts on my arm, all the horrible marks of a thing too dead to be beautiful. He came closer, closer than any living thing ever had.

Then, for the first time since I died, I felt warmth. It was in the chest, or what should be the chest, if it wasn’t cleft in half to reveal rotten and diseased insides.

The boy lay his head against my chest and wrapped his arms around me.

“It can’t be you,” I said. “How could they let you come back? How could they make you come back? After all that they did to you?”

“I came back on my own,” the boy said. His voice echoed through my corpse.

“Why would you?” I asked. “Don’t you know what they did to you?”

“I know,” the boy said. “And I also know what you did for me, when no one else would.”

Another kind of warmth—this time on my face, sliding and streaming down my eye sockets, wetting my cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said. My voice was breaking. “You don’t want to end up like me.”

The boy hugged me tighter. “I would rather be you than anyone else.”

Kitty was an hamster in another life

Speedy kitty

(via)

@positiveseed

Idea: dragon Jaskier but he doesn't know he's a dragon (he himself is confused why he isn't aging). He only finds out when Geralt is in mortal danger and his fight or flight reflex kicks in!!!

Jaskier doesn’t like thinking about time. He’s a very vain creature, he can admit that - he likes his silks and colorful clothes, expensive oils, takes care of his skin and nails, even on the Path. He’s vain and so he doesn’t like thinking about time when he’ll be wrinkled and gray and everything will hurt.

Aside from being vein, that’s what scares him the most.

The idea that one day his body will refuse to cooperate, that one day he won’t be able to follow his wanderlust. Won’t be able to follow Geralt.

That’s why he doesn’t think about it at all. Yes, Jaskier’s aware that he’s been walking the Continent with Geralt for decades now but well, he feels okay, nothing hurts, aside from some old wounds.

He has a feeling that they’re both avoiding thinking about his mortality. Sometimes, Jaskier catches his lover looking at him with sad eyes, when they pass a village where a funeral took place not long ago.

When that happens, Jaskier pulls his Witcher into his arms and pets his hair until Geralt can’t think of anything but his love and sleep. It works for years.

With all the not-thinking about Jaskier’s mortality, they haven’t really had an occasion to think about Geralt’s mortality. Jaskier makes sure his reckless lover doesn’t take contracts that sound impossible to too dangerous for one Witcher, and he’s always there after a hunt to take care of his wounds.

However, it turns out that monsters are not what’s really a threat to Geralt’s life. Jaskier stares in horror at the small army of the local Duke that apparently doesn’t want to pay Geralt the small fortune he owes the Witcher for the nest of vampires.

They look at the armed men, aware that there’s no way they can leave this place alive.

“Go,” Geralt snarls at him, gripping a sword. “They don’t want you.”

“Like fuck I’m leaving you,” Jaskier hisses, suddenly angry. People are coming for his Witcher and he hates it when people come for his Witcher.

Geralt is…precious to him. No one gets to hurt his precious Witcher.

Suddenly, there’s something warm in his chest. Warmth that grows and spreads until it feels like he has a blazing fire in his chest, rumbling and tumbling until it’s ready to spill.

“Geralt, run,” he manages to gasp before the world shakes and everything shifts.

When Jaskier opens his eyes again, his wings are spread and he feels invincible. He doesn’t know what’s happening aside from that fact that these people are a danger to his treasure and he will kill them all.

He roars, head thrown back and spots fire at them, just above their heads, watching in satisfaction as they scramble and panic, screams rising on the hill.

His treasure his hidden safely by his side and Jaskier curls his tail around Geralt, pressing him close.

“Jaskier?” he hears from behind when they’re left alone and it’s another strange instinct to shift smaller and smaller until he’s in Geralt’s arms.

“I remember,” he gasps.