#If I’m right…you all owe me 5 dollars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haddonfieldwhore · 1 year

Text

baby, i’m yours - ethan landry

no spoilers 🔪 // pre ghostface attacks

warnings: nsfw implied, making out, fluff🧸💓

playlist 🎧

can be read on its own, or as part 3 of “tired”

the sun streamed through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating ethan’s features as he lay on his stomach still asleep, with his head on the pillow facing you. his long eyelashes nearly touched his cheeks, and you admired every detail of his face, from every freckle to every beauty mark.

not able to resist, your fingers reaching over to gently trace his cheekbone. he didn’t stir under your touch, so you continued, delicately drawing a line over his lips with your thumb. he didn’t open his eyes, but he mumbled incoherently under his breath, his hand reaching out looking for you. you smiled, and let your touch trail over his shoulder, and across the exposed skin on his back, a blanket being all that covered the two of you after the events of yesterday.

“come here,” he mumbled, his voice deep with sleep, as he opened his arms for you to crawl into. you happily moved into his embrace, the warmth of his body wrapping around you as his arms encircled you, holding you tight. his chin rested on the top of your head, and you closed your eyes, thinking about everything that happened yesterday.

you weren’t sure when your feelings for ethan had turned from friendly to more than that, but last night he had kissed you; your best friend. you felt your face heat up as you thought about what had happened after that first kiss, and your fingers gently found the hickeys you’d scattered across his neck. as you gently kissing them, he moaned softly in his sleep, and you smiled.

“that tickles,” he muttered, still half asleep. you laughed, and felt him kiss the top of your head. “good morning,” he sighed.

“good morning,” you said, snuggling your face into him. he rolled over, pinning you underneath him, and you admired how beautiful he looked even after firs waking up. his curls were messier than usual, and his eyes still not fully open as he looked down at you.

“did you mean it?” he asked, and your mind raced as you tried to think of everything you had said last night. ethan knew you well enough, better than anyone for that matter, and he laughed lightly, a wide smile spreading across his face at your panicked expression. he leant down, pressing kisses to the skin of your neck. “you said you’re mine; did you mean it?” he said softly next to your ear.

“yes,” you replied, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach, as his teeth nipped at your throat.

“e- ethan,” you stuttered, arching your body into his.

“say it,” he whispered.

“i’m yours.” he smiled down at you again, before kissing you on the lips.

“i’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he admitted.

“maybe chad and tara aren’t the only ones who can’t see what’s right in front of them,” you laughed.

“do you think everyone knew before us?” ethan asked, and you thought for a minute. there was no way you two were as oblivious as chad and tara- right?

“no…..maybe,” you laughed, and ethan smiled, letting you pull him into another kiss, your hands in his hair.

•

ethan was positioned between you legs as you laid on you back against the couch, his body hovering over yours as he smiled down at you.

you were far too distracted with eachother to pay any attention to the movie you had put on; in fact you couldn’t even remember what it was as ethan kissed you, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip. you moaned as ethan sucked a dark hickey into the skin of your neck, your hips grinding against his, causing him to groan.

suddenly, you both heard the door open, and chad walked in. the three of you stared at eachother, before chad clapped his hands together. ethan sat up off you, and you both looked at his roomate with wide eyes.

“i knew it!” he exclaimed, a confused look crossing both yours and ethan’s faces. “mindy owes me 5 dollars.”

“you bet money on if you’d catch us making out on the couch?” ethan asked, and you laughed, as awkward as it was to get caught.

“not exactly that specific but- if you you were… ya know… well-“

“ok- i get it you can stop now,” ethan begged, his face getting red, and you decided he was cute when he’s embarrassed.

“well i will be, uh.. in my room, so feel free to .. continue whatever it is you were doing-“ chad rambled.

“thanks chad!” you laughed, and he flipped you off before going into his bedroom and shutting the door. ethan looked over at you, and you both couldn’t help but smile, and burst out laughing. after calming down, you curled into ethan’s side, relaxing as he pulled you closer.

“i guess they did know.”

“i guess they did.”

#ethan landry one shot #ethan landry #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry headcanons #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fic #ethan landry playlist #scream #scream 6 #jack champion fic #jack champion

496 notes · View notes

heartdaichi · 2 years

Text

I WILL SURVIVE … MAYBE (oikawa, suna, bokuto, sakusa)

dumbification + somnophlia + dubcon + fingering + degrading // 18+ content ahead. minors dni.

synopsis : NNN hcs — who does or doesn’t make it, and how long does it take them to give in?

OIKAWA — fails : 2 weeks.

“it’s no nut november, right?” oikawa asks slyly, pulling you onto his lap and securing his hands on your waist. “that basically means that as long as i don’t physically cum, i make it through, which means you owe me 20 dollars.”

“i’m not sure that’s how it works, tooru.”

“why not?” by this point, he’s pulling at the waistband of your shorts. “it’s no nut november, not no sex november.”

there was no point in arguing with him, and in a matter of seconds he had you pressed down into the couch, thrusting shallowly into your tight heat and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. the poor man was so riled up at the sight of your slacked jaw and tear brimmed eyes that he completely forgot about not cumming, filling your cunt with sticky ropes of white.

when you finally come to, the first thing you demand from oikawa is your money, plus extra to compensate for his big headed attitude.

SUNA — barely makes it

on november 30th at 11:59pm, rintarou suna is hard. this is the moment he’s been thinking about all month and he lays awake in bed, his hands pinned to his side as he struggles for the very last minute of no nut november.

on december 1st at midnight, suna is shaking you awake. “it’s december, doll,” he whispers in your ear, immediately shoving his hand into your panties. you moan groggily as he rubs at your clit, gently manoeuvring you onto your back. “you gonna give me my reward?”

“let me sleep, rin,” you gripe, weakly trying to shove him away. “ ‘m tired.”

suna doesn’t listen. he’s been waiting for this moment all month, and you don’t entirely seem to mind as he sinks into your wet folds, letting out a sigh of relief as he slowly starts to move.

later that morning, you wake up to a completely knocked out rintarou suna, and a pleasant surprise between your legs.

BOKUTO — fails : 5 hours.

“god, i missed this cunt,” bokuto groans into your ear, his hips slamming into yours and his hands bruising your waist as he drags you along his dick. “this no nut november thing was bullshit, babe, you know i was never gonna do it.”

“you could’ve at least held out a day,” you choke, head buried into the pillow. “you’re acting like you lasted a week.”

“5 hours is like a week to me,” he retorts, snaking his arm round your tummy and rubbing at your clit. bokuto almost whines at the feeling of your gummy walls clenching around him, your juices oozing out and creating a translucent ring of white around the base of his cock. “you gotta admit, you missed me too.”

you roll your eyes: half out of pleasure and half out of pure sarcasm.

SAKUSA — makes it (much to your annoyance)

you honestly thought sakusa wouldn’t make it. you thought he would break on the third week and finally take you against a wall or over a counter but he didn’t, and you were starting to get restless.

you tried. you really had, but no amount of short shorts or braless t-shirts could rile him up enough to actually fuck you. even when you got on your knees in front of him and begged him to fuck you like the nasty slut you were, sakusa did not budge. at all.

instead, he used it to turn the tables on you.

“this is what you wanted so badly, right?” sakusa’s voice is low in your ear as he coaxes another orgasm out of you, his fingers buried knuckle deep in your poor little cunt. “you beg me to fuck you for weeks on end but can’t even take my fingers? pathetic.”

“omi … want your cock so bad,” you whine, eyelids flickering as his thumb rubs at your clit. “please…”

“no can do, love,” he says, clearly unaffected by your begging. “you said the whole of november, didn’t you?”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #hq smut #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #hq suna #suna x reader #hq bokuto #bokuto x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa x reader #ʚɞ locked + loaded.#no nut november #ʚɞ haikyuu !!

2K notes · View notes

forpiratereasons · 1 year

Text

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. second prompt: trust!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

“Cough up, you lot,” Lucius said, sliding into the sticky booth at Spanish Jackie’s. “I was right, so that’s fifty each, thank you, I take small bills, large bills, piggy banks—”

“No way,” Oluwande snorted. “Nope, don’t believe it.”

“And yet, it’s true.” Lucius pressed a kiss to Pete’s cheek, stole a long sip of his frozen margarita. Strawberry. Pete had terrible taste; Lucius loved him.

“That’s not possible,” Roach cut in.

“Gotta say, lover, I don’t buy it either,” Frenchie agreed.

Lucius took a moment, preening, and then turned to Jim. “Jim, darling?”

Jim sighed. Rolled their eyes. And people said Lucius was dramatic—Jim went through life like they were starring as a very annoyed spy in their own biopic.

“It’s mostly true,” they said.

“It’s all the way true.”

“Mostly. Probably.”

“It’s very, definitely, extremely true.”

“It’s a little vague.” Jim waved a hand in the space between them. “It’s more like—he’s in the process.”

“But he is?” Oluwande asked. “Coming out?”

“Little rainbow pin, right there on his shirt yesterday,” Jim said, nodding. “He didn’t say anything, but I thought he was going to shit himself every time he had to come up to one of us. He had it on again today, with one of those stringy little rainbow friendship bracelets you can get in the park on Sundays.”

“Kept rolling and unrolling his sleeve,” Lucius added. “I think he sweat through his shirt, actually—he was wearing a different one after lunch.”

There was a pause as the group considered this.

“You know,” Frenchie said, after he’d tipped the remainder of his beer back, “I didn’t think Stede could even get nervous. He’s like, the most balls-to-the-walls guy I know.”

The group around the table murmured in agreement. Stede tended to recklessly throw himself into things, as if he’d forgotten they could go badly, but maybe that was why they largely tended to work out instead. Sometimes it looked like insane courage; sometimes it just looked a bit insane.

Mostly, it looked like someone desperately trying to make up for lost time.

So it’d been unnerving, really, to watch Stede flit anxiously through the shop, jittery in an old, familiar way that reminded Lucius of being twelve. Like he was trying to say something but was terrified that someone else might know.

Nevermind that Lucius had definitely already known Stede was gay as a pink flamingo—hence the fifty dollars everyone now owed him, thanks ever so.

“So what’d you say to him?” Pete asked.

“Nothing.” Lucius took another drink of the strawberry margarita; it was ghastly. “You didn’t see him, he was like a skittish little horse. I didn’t want to startle him.”

“Probably better to give him space.”

“You just don’t want him to cry on you, Jim,” Frenchie pointed out.

Jim shrugged. “I really do not, yeah.”

“I could talk to him,” Roach offered.

Pete reached a hand out for a high five. “We’ll go together.”

“Absolutely not,” Oluwande said, loud and stern.

“Nobody’s talking to him,” Lucius cut in over everyone. “No—no, do not give me the eyes, Pete, I’m serious. We’re not ambushing him on this, yeah?” Roach opened his mouth to argue; Lucius shook the margarita threateningly at him. “No. We’re going to let Stede come to us, yeah? We are all going to respect Stede’s boundaries, and when he’s ready we’re going to be chill about it so this bizarre little man has safe little gays to go to in his time of need.”

“Not sure you can describe us as safe little gays, babe,” Frenchie mused.

That was fair. Lucius soldiered on anyway.

“Think about when we were coming out, yeah? And how much better that would’ve been if we’d had people in our corner who were patient, who we could trust, who let us go at our own pace?”

Everyone thought. Jim, who would never volunteer anything in their life, still looked significantly at Olu in a jaw-droppingly sentimental thank-you-for-being-that-person sort of way. Frenchie leaned over and kissed Roach’s cheek.

“So it’s decided then,” Pete said, supportive to the end. Lucius loved him. “We’ll let him come to us.”

“When he’s ready.”

“And only when he’s ready.”

“That settles it, then. Cheers, m’queers,” Frenchie said, and everyone clinked their glasses over the table. “To trust!”

#june pride bingo #darcy writes pirates #ofmd #gentlebeard

127 notes · View notes

matttgirlies · 16 days

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drugs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 22

I had just walked into the living room where I found Matt and James arguing about Colonel William. “Goddamn, Dad, call and tell him we’re through. Tear up the goddamn contracts and I’ll pay him whatever percentage we owe him.”

“Listen, Son. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Goddamn right I am. I hate what I’m doing and I’m goddamn bored.”

Matt stomped out the front door, never returning that evening nor the following few. We were mystified. For the first time he was traveling alone—without even one bodyguard. Matt didn’t even know his own phone number; nor did he carry cash. How was he going to get around? Arrangements had always been made for him.

According to Jerry Schilling, Matt caught a commercial plane to Washington, D.C., with the intention of meeting President Nixon. When he arrived he had a sudden reaction to penicillin he had taken for a bad cold and decided to fly to L.A. He called during a stopover in Dallas, asking Jerry to meet him at LAX with a doctor. He wanted treatments for the reaction. Matt rested two days in Los Angeles and then continued his journey back to Washington, D.C., along with Jerry and a fivehundred-dollar check that Jerry arranged to have cashed.

During the flight Matt befriended a young soldier just returning from Vietnam. The soldier must have told him his life story. Before the plane landed Matt asked Jerry for the five hundred dollars and handed it over to the young man, wishing him good luck. Jerry said, “Matt, that’s all we have.” Matt responded with, “Yeah, but he needs it worse than I do, Schilling.”

Later in the flight, he asked the stewardess for a pen and some paper. Matt was never much of a letter writer, but he now wrote President Nixon a letter explaining how he could assist the youth of today in getting off drugs. It was an impassioned plea, mistakes hastily scratched out and corrected as he poured out his thoughts.

Jerry arranged for a limo to pick them up at the airport and drive them to the White House. It was 6:30 a.m. and Matt was dressed in black, including his black cape, sunglasses, his large gold International belt, and a cane. He approached the gate looking, as Jerry put it, like Dracula. His face was a bit swollen, and Jerry feared that his appearance would arouse suspicion.

As soon as Matt explained who he was and that he had a message for the President, he was promised the letter would be given to President Nixon by nine that morning. Matt then had Jerry arrange for him to see John Finlator, Deputy Narcotics Director in Washington. Matt truly wanted to help kids get off street drugs. Another purpose of Matt’s trip was to try to acquire a Federal Narcotics badge for himself.

Matt was an avid badge collector. He had detective, police, and sheriff badges from all over the nation and the narc badge represented some kind of ultimate power to him. In Matt’s mind that badge would give him the right to carry any prescribed drug he had on his person. The badge would also give Matt and his Boston Mafia the right to carry arms. With the Federal Narcotics badge he could legally enter any country both wearing guns and carrying any drugs he wished.

His obsession with obtaining this badge was triggered by a private eye named John O’Grady whom Matt had hired to handle a paternity suit. O’Grady showed Matt his Federal Narc badge, and Matt’s mind started clicking immediately: How could he get one himself?

John O’Grady mentioned that John Finlator was the man Matt should see.

Matt told Jerry to wait at the hotel in case the President called while Matt himself went to see Finlator. Within an hour, Jerry received a call from Matt, saying that his request had been denied by Finlator. Jerry was surprised at Matt’s emotional state. He sounded near tears when he said, “He won’t let me have the badge.” Jerry was able to lift his spirits by telling him he’d just received a call from the White House. “The President read your letter and wants to see you in twenty minutes.”

Walking into the White House was no easy feat, even for Matt Sturniolo. The guards were friendly but cautious as they checked him out. Jerry too was searched before entering the Oval Office along with Sonny West, whom Jerry had called to join them. Sonny had been mystified by the call and was awestruck when he realized he was about to meet the President of the United States.

Matt was led separately into the Oval Office. Jerry and Sonny were told they had to wait outside, though there was some slight chance they’d meet the President later. According to Jerry, they were brought into the Oval Office in less than a minute. Jerry knew that if there was a way to get them in, Matt would do it, and he had come through. Not even the President was immune to his charm.

When Jerry and Sonny entered they saw that Matt had made himself right at home. He introduced everyone and encouraged the President to give Jerry and Sonny cuff links, and was not shy in asking for mementos to take home to their wives. By the time he left the Oval Office he had added this most important badge to his collection. He emerged smiling, a different Matt from the one who a few hours before was emotionally upset. Nixon overruled Finlator’s decision and had the badge sent to the Oval Office, where he could present it to Matt.

The argument about Colonel that started this escapade was never mentioned again.

Our marriage was now part-time. He wanted freedom to come and go as he pleased—and he did. When he was home, he was attentive and loving as father and husband. But it was clearly understood that I was mainly responsible for the parenting of Charlotte.

An incident occurred which made me realize that I needed to spend more time with Charlotte. She, Matt, and I were about to sit for a family portrait. I was dressing her while her nurse combed her hair. Then, as I started for the set, Charlotte refused to go with me. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Come on, honey.”

“No, no,” she kept saying, hanging on to her nurse. When she started to cry, I got nervous and short-tempered, taking her by the hand and urging, as if a child could decipher my logic, “But you’ve got to be happy Char! You’re going to take pictures with Mommy and Daddy.”

Each shot was an effort as we tried to coax her to laugh. For a moment we would be successful but then tears would reappear. She even cried sitting on her daddy’s lap as I bribed her with toys and little dolls to get a smile.

That’s when it hit me. My God, she’s so attached to the nurse that she doesn’t want to leave her. Now I knew I had to find more time to be with her. She had been affected by my own predicament. Busy centering my life around Matt, even during his absences, I had neglected not only my needs but my daughter’s as well.

I was torn between the two of them. When he was home I wanted to be with him, without other responsibilities, but I also wanted to be with Charlotte, knowing how much she needed me.

I began taking Charlotte to parks, afternoon parties, and daily swimming lessons at the YWCA, and I convinced myself that soon I’d no longer have to fake it with toys and lollipops and ice cream cones to get her to smile at me.

She would sit between Matt and me at the dinner table, squeezing spinach through her hands and smearing it on her face. Matt tried to convince himself that he found all this adorable, but the fact of the matter was that he was finicky about his food. With a goodnatured laugh he would excuse himself, telling the maid, “We’ll be eating in the den. Char will join us after she’s finished playing with her meal.”

When Matt was away from home, which unfortunately was most of the time in those days, I continued to dispatch my regular care packages full of pictures and home movies documenting every inch of Charlotte’s growth. When he was with us, I encouraged him to participate in Easter-egg hunts and other outings, inviting Nate, Amber, their children, and other family friends to join us.

Charlotte and I visited him in Vegas for her birthdays, having huge parties in the suite, where she received everything from slot machines to two Saint Bernard puppies (a gift of Colonel William’s) to an entire room filled with balloons—everything, in short, a two- or threeyear-old shouldn’t have and couldn’t appreciate.

It was important to me that Matt be home for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but he’d invariably call and say he couldn’t make it, then try to compensate by bringing home extravagant gifts like a marble jewel box filled with diamond rings, necklaces, and earrings, or a whole wardrobe of handpicked designer clothes from a boutique in Vegas. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want the furs and jewels—I had all I could possibly use—I just wanted him home. It was a constant effort, single-handedly trying to keep up family traditions.

Although Matt much preferred to spoil Charlotte, he did discipline her from time to time. Once he paddled her for writing all over a beautiful velvet couch with crayons. Then he immediately went into a panic, wanting me to assure him that he’d done the right thing and that Charlotte wouldn’t hold it against him. When I told him, “If you hadn’t spanked her, I’d have,” he felt better. The only other time he touched her in anger was after we’d repeatedly warned her not to go near the pool and she did.

By the time Charlotte was four, she realized she could manipulate the help. Whenever one of them refused to do something for her, she’d threaten, “I’m gonna tell my daddy and you’re going to get fired.” Since none of them wanted her going to Matt, they’d let her get her way, from staying up until all hours and skipping nightly baths to staying home from school. The result was that Charlotte had trouble learning what was right and wrong and what she could and couldn’t do.

“You don’t treat people that way,” I told her. “It’s abusive. Yes, they work for your father. But you don’t go around threatening them.” Used to seeing people jump at her father’s command, Charlotte took years to overcome this habit.

Since Matt had started performing again, our home on Hillcrest had become so public that we could scarcely get in and out of the drive. Photographers actually concealed themselves in our backyard, making their presence known at the most inopportune moments. Once, we were relaxing at the pool, sunbathing, when I leaned over and gave Matt a lingering kiss. He whispered, “What’s that noise? Shhh, be quiet. Sonny! Jerry! It’s a goddamn camera clicking off!” Matt jumped up and they all headed after the poor man, Matt leading, shouting obscenities and threats. This was one member of the press who I’m sure never returned.

In our three years on Hillcrest, we’d gradually outgrown the house. Charlotte and her nurse shared one room, Charlie had the other, and Patsy and Gee and their new baby occupied the cottage out back. Matt felt we needed more room; he wanted Sonny on call and close by. Discussions about a new home took on a new urgency.

When a couple of old regulars, broke and jobless, showed up at our door, Matt took pity on them and put them up in our living room. I awoke in the early morning to the sound of blaring music and found the two had passed out from drinking Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Half-empty glasses were strewn about the room and ashes littered the carpet. I felt my home was being turned into a boarding house.

“They have no respect for anything,” I complained to Matt later that day. “What if they fall asleep with cigarettes in their hands? We’ll all go up in flames. How long do you intend for them to stay?” I was making no secret of my disapproval. “I don’t want Charlotte around this.”

“You’re right, Honey. Maybe I’ll just head out for Palm Springs tonight.”

The search for a new home led us to Holmby Hills, an exclusive area of sprawling estates between Bel Air and Beverly Hills. We found a traditional two-story house, well-situated on a hill, surrounded by two acres of wellmanicured lawns and orange groves. It was larger than our other Los Angeles homes, with a high fence and forbidding gates to assure our privacy.

I had hoped that this home would redirect his attention to the family and that his weekends away in Palm Springs would now be spent with us. He had his own office, his own den, his own game room, his own theater, a breakfast room for private meals, and a dining room for family and friends. It was my intention to decorate this home exclusively to his liking, with ideas carried over from the Hillcrest house, which had been his favorite.

The house cost around $335,000, a little over the budget that we had in mind. With some persistence on our part, James warily let me hire a professional to help furnish it. This would be the first house I’d decorated from scratch and I found it tremendously exciting—having plans drawn up, choosing color schemes, fabrics, wall coverings, and antiques. I loved hunting for special pieces of furniture: a china cabinet that concealed a television set, old trunks to be used as coffee tables, and antique vases to convert into lamps. I was so excited with the project that I persuaded Matt not to look at the preliminary stages and to wait until everything was completed. Decorating became my passion. I found the challenge so absorbing that I was able to forget my worries over our relationship. Instead of pondering my loneliness, I was engaged in constructive work that required all the flair, imagination, and organizational ability I could summon.

At this time another fulfilling and liberating force entered my life—karate. It had been Matt’s love and hobby for years, and when I first took it up, it was just another of my efforts to get his attention and approval, as in the past when I’d enrolled in French classes because he liked the language, took flamenco dancing because he was an aficionado, and ballet because he adored dancers’ bodies.

He had long admired kung fu expert Ed Parker, whom he’d met years ago. I began taking private lessons under Ed’s guidance three times a week. I soon learned there was much more to this art than violence. It was a philosophy. I became even more involved when Matt cheered my progress.

On our return to Boston, he slept throughout the day and I enrolled in another oriental discipline, the Korean art of Tae Kwan Do. I became as obsessive as Matt in dedicating myself to this art. A mandatory requirement was memorizing forms, katas, and stances in the Korean language as well as learning the history of Tae Kwan Do.

The training was incredibly exacting. Over and over we’d execute the same movement until perfected. Perspiration poured into my eyes and yet, if I wiped it away, it would mean one hundred pushups under the watchful eyes of the entire classroom, a humiliation I did not desire and managed to avoid.

Now I could understand Matt’s enslavement to karate. It was an accomplishment, an achievement of confidence and physical mastery of self. In 1972, while Matt was performing in Vegas, I met one of the top karate experts in the United States at the time, Mike Stone. On this particular evening he was acting bodyguard to a prominent record producer. After the show they came to visit Matt backstage. Everyone was more impressed with Stone than with the boisterous tycoon he was protecting. Matt was complimentary and he, Sonny, and Red had numerous questions. Several years earlier we had watched Stone at a tournament in Hawaii and we’d admired his fighting technique.

Later that evening, up in the Imperial Suite, Matt encouraged me to train with Mike. “He has that killer quality. Nothing on two legs can beat him. I’ve been impressed with him since the first time I saw him fight. He’s a real badass—I like the cat’s style.”

Back in Los Angeles I made arrangements with Mike to drive out to his studio later in the week and sit in on one of his classes. It was a long forty-five-minute drive.

Elvis was right. Mike exuded confidence and style, as well as a good deal of personal charm and wit. A deep friendship would develop. Because of the distance, I decided to continue my training with a friend of his, Chuck Norris, who had a studio closer to my home. Mike would sometimes come to Chuck’s studio as a guest trainer.

I was emerging from Elvis’s closed world, becoming aware of how sheltered my existence had been. Mike and Chuck introduced me to popular Japanese martial-arts films such as the Blind Swordsman series, and with Mike I attended karate tournaments locally and in neighboring counties, taking home movies and still photos of top karate fighters. I wanted to capture their individual styles so I could share them with Elvis, hoping this was something we could enjoy in common. In the end, though, I made a whole new circle of friends with whom I felt accepted for myself. The martial arts gave me such confidence and assurance that I began to experience my feelings and express my emotions as never before. Accustomed to suppressing my anger, I could honestly vent it now without the fear of accusations or explosions. I stopped apologizing for my opinions and laughing at jokes I didn’t find amusing. A transformation had begun in which fear and indifference had no place. Along with this new confidence, off came my false eyelashes and heavy makeup, the jewels and flashy clothes. All devices that I’d depended upon for security I now shed.

I was seeing myself for the first time, and it was going to take a while for me to get used to the image. I had a chance to observe marriages outside our immediate circle, where the woman had just as much say as a man in everyday decisions and long-term goals. I was confronted with the harsh realization that living the way I had for so long was very unnatural and detrimental to my well-being. My relationship with Mike had now developed into an affair.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - i feel like u guys will kill me after the next chapter.. all im saying is get ur tissues!🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

17 notes · View notes

rtothe3rd · 2 years

Text

Being a girl;

I don’t like the “pick me” misogynist idea that stereotypically “feminine” things are inherently negative or shameful and can’t overlap with “masculine” ideas or qualities, and I hate how toxic and sexist and pro-ED the embracing femininity communities (coquette girlblogging) can be, as if being a woman is made of suffering and a woman's body is a vessel for misogyny in thin, white, childlike standards of beauty. Fuck it all; I do love the color pink and wearing lip gloss and buying clothes and Lana Del Rey and sometimes I even look at my horoscope and I use copious amounts of hairspray, but I want to be a lawyer when I’m grown up and and I swear like a sailor and I’m an honors student and my favorite thing to talk about is politics and I’ll debate anything that breathes, and I try not to equate my worth (or anybody else's) with the number of inches around my waist. How can’t those two things coexist? Why can't I put Taylor Swift's album drop and the senate midterms on my calendar? Why can't my walls be plastered with photo strips and artsy postcards alongside my 4 framed speech awards? Why can't I fantasize about being in love and also about kicking a nazi in the face? I'm a female; therefore everything I do is feminine, no matter what people say. I want to celebrate and RECLAIM femininity for myself and for womankind, not for the male gaze. Coquette pro ED and pick-me-choose-me-love-me subcultures have one major thing in common: catering to men and men in particular. The day that we as women stop hating ourselves is the day we stop feeding into a school of thought that fuels a multibillion dollar industry that creates and profits off our insecurities. If you're gonna wear makeup, wear it for you. If you're gonna change your weight, do it for your physical and mental health. If you're gonna get plastic surgery, understand why. Why you've always wanted bigger/smaller breasts, a bigger/smaller butt, a flatter stomach, a smoother face. Girls, don't feel rushed to go through puberty, but when you do, celebrate that you're maturing and changing. The stretch marks are healthy. Your breasts don't need to be any bigger or smaller to serve their purpose, whether that is to feed children or just exist. The blood is not filthy, it's a sign of health. Yeah, I know it sucks, but don't let anybody make you feel bad. Those asshole boys wouldn't exist if their moms never menstruated. And to women MY mom's age, you don't need to starve yourself to achieve what filthy pigs tell you you should look like after carrying and delivering a pregnancy for 9 months. You don't need to be as thin as you were at 20, this is supposed to happen. You don't need to inject toxins into your face to make it look like you've never smiled or seen the sun. You don't need to be ashamed of living and aging naturally, aging is healthy, you are supposed to get older. When was the last time you heard a a man your age complain about lines on his skin or 5 extra pounds? When was the last time you saw a male celebrity's stomach rolls or cellulite blown up on a tabloid cover and picked apart by the whole world? when was the last time you witnessed a man reduced to his appearance? why do WE owe beauty to the world, a world where our bodily autonomy is in jeopardy? Why are we only beautiful when we're weak and starving and cold, where we're miserable and tired and hurting, when we're manipulated and injected and stuffed and exploited and profited off of and sexualized and traumatized and forced? forced to perform and change and carry a child? Men will pay to see videos of naked women seducing them and turn right back around and advocate for our disenfranchisement. Men have been taught that they have the authority to reduce us, shrink us down to sex symbols and forget our humanity, and these men do what they want and make millions and get elected to America's highest offices and win grammies.

If you're a woman and you're reading this, you do not owe a man's perception of you to anybody. Every time a grown man online treats me like I'm stupid; every time a boy taunts me about Andrew Tate; every time another woman acts like politics are inconsequential; every time I remember an 80 year old man making obscene gestures to me on the street; every time I read a school dress code implying that my body is inherently pornographic; every time another pig is elected to our government; every time our trans sisters are oppressed and excluded by other women, the fire grows. soon it will consume me.

#girlblogging #slay girlboss #coqette #femininity #politics #entp female #hot pink #bimbocore #how i love being a woman #womanhood #girlhood #feminism #womans rights #american politics #social commentary #social justice #democracy

216 notes · View notes

thiccpettybitch · 11 months

Text

🕸 Bitter Sweet - Ch. 4 Miguel O’hara x F!Reader 🕸

What would you do for a fresh doughnut?👀

Slight smut. Upcoming chapters will have a lot more mature content!

Part 5

The following morning, you woke up feeling great. Reaching for your phone, you noticed that Gwen had asked how it went. She had even sent you a few worried wellness checks, prompting you to reply right away, even though it was early in the morning.

(You: "Hey! Sorry for not responding earlier. I ended up falling asleep a bit earlier than usual. It went really well, though. I had fun and even found a new comfort food. Save a seat for me in art class?")

After getting up, you took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, and got dressed. Opting for simplicity, you chose a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt that you could tuck into the front of your pants. Standing in front of the mirror, you did a quick spin, satisfied with the end result. Moving to your dresser, you selected a few matching pieces of jewelry and put them on. Your attention then shifted to the bracelet on your wrist. Grabbing onto it, you turned it around so that the letters faced you:

"Best friend."

Shaking your head, you silently grabbed your backpack and headed downstairs to say good morning to your aunt and uncle.

As you entered the kitchen, expecting to see your aunt, you found your uncle sitting at the table, reading a newspaper and sipping his coffee.

"Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?" he asked, looking up at you with a smile.

You nodded your head and replied, "Mhm, s'was great," you said between bites of his toast. He playfully swatted at your hand, snatching his toast back with laughter.

"Get ready, and I'll drive you to school if you want," he offered. You shook your head, as you put your shoes on, "That's fine, uncle Ben. I enjoy the train ride in the morning."

He frowned slightly but reluctantly agreed. "Tell you what, sweetheart. Why don't you treat yourself to something sweet from the café down the street? It's my treat for all the help you've given me this summer." Your uncle held out a folded bill, and you accepted it gratefully.

"Thank you, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth this morning," you grinned, and he chuckled, shaking his head. You jogged over to your uncle, giving him a kiss on the cheek as you accepted the bill. "I'll see you later!" you said as you grabbed your coat and headed for the door.

"See you later! Stay safe! If you come across any trouble, turn around and head the other way immediately! You hear me?" he advised.

You smiled and quickly replied, "Got it, bye!" before closing the door behind you. Glancing down at the money in your hand, you realized it was a ten-dollar bill, enough for a quick coffee and a doughnut.

Deciding to take a different route and walk an extra block to reach the station near the café, you made your way there, thoughts of yesterday lingering in your mind. Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly remembered that you hadn't checked your phone for any messages or responses. Curiosity got the best of you, so you grabbed your phone and checked, only to find that there were no new messages.

You would be lying if you said you weren't a bit disappointed, but you also weren't expecting anything in particular. Glancing at the time, you cursed under your breath; it was too late to stop for a doughnut now. Instead, you made your way to school on an empty stomach.

Arriving at school, you headed through the hallway towards your first lesson. Suddenly, someone grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, nearly sending you flying if they hadn't held onto you. Looking up, you realized it was Gwen, glaring at you.

"YOU!" she almost yelled.

"I'm sorry!" you pleaded, and she sighed loudly.

"Don't do that again, y/n! I was really worried when you weren't responding! I almost called your aunt just to make sure you were okay." She punched you in the arm, not too hard, but enough for you to rub it with a quiet "ow."

Hobie came up behind Gwen and saluted you. "Yo! Glad to see you didn't get eaten," he said. You rolled your eyes, and Hobie smiled. "What? You've seen him, big as a bear. We was worried he might have turned you into a snack." Gwen reminded you that class was starting, and you all made your way to the art hall. You noticed the brown bag in Hobie's hand, and as he saw you staring, he held it up questioningly.

"I missed breakfast. What do you have in there~?" you purred with a smirk on your face. Hobie took a step away from you, shaking his head. "Oh no, this here is some quality English breakfast." Furrowing your eyebrows, you inspected the bag. "You've got eggs, bacon, and... beans in there?" Hobie stopped dead in his tracks, as if you had just said something foul.

"Are you MAD?! This right here is the backbone of every British citizen's morning! A bacon roll!" Both Gwen and you exchanged a look of confusion before turning back to him. "What, you guys never heard of a bacon roll? It's bread, bacon, and tomato sauce!"

Gwen simply shook her head and continued walking towards your next class. "You put tomato sauce on that? As in tomato sauce? The stuff you put on pizza?" Once again, Hobie made a face as if you had just said something unforgivable.

"You put tomato sauce on your pizza?! Nah, that's just foul, mate. Tomato sauce belongs on hot dogs, and that's about it," he replied. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. "Are you talking about ketchup?" Hobie looked around, as if he was making sure people were hearing the same thing he was.

"Yes! Ketchup, tomato sauce. Same thing, innit?" You ran a hand down your face as you all entered the classroom. "I can't believe you just said that, Hobie, honestly." He laughed and sat down at a table with some of his friends.

Meanwhile, Gwen had decided to sit down a bit further away and was waving you over. You took a seat next to her and smiled; she still seemed a bit upset but returned the smile. As the class went on, Gwen slowly forgave you, and soon you found yourselves joking around while sketching using human references.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, with classes passing by somewhat quickly. During lunch, you were joined by Hobie and Miles, making it a fun and lively hour filled with conversation and laughter. Occasionally, you couldn't help but glance around the cafeteria, hoping to catch sight of a certain tall and brooding man, but he seemed to be nowhere in sight.

By the end of the day, you ended up following Gwen almost all the way to her house. You were still hungry, having been unable to finish your lunch in time before class. The money your uncle had given you in the morning practically burned in your pocket, you were determined to treat yourself to some fresh doughnuts! You both discussed plans for the weekend, where to meet, and what you were going to wear. Eventually, you decided to meet up at Gwen's place and then head to the party from there.

After giving her a hug, she headed home while you made your way to a nearby café. You had heard good things about the place, although you knew you'd have to take the train home since it was on the opposite side of the city. Walking down the road, you suddenly heard sirens blaring, which wasn't unusual for downtown. However, this time the sirens sounded like they were coming toward you. Glancing back, you had a clear view of the street but couldn't make out anything that looked or sounded like sirens.

Turning back and continuing to walk, you suddenly heard a loud shriek next to you. When you turned around, you barely had time to react as a police car came crashing towards you, its sirens blaring.

Jumping back, you watched in shock as the car flipped in the air and landed close to where you stood. People around you screamed and started running away in panic. Pressing yourself against a brick wall, you were more worried about getting trampled than being hit by another falling car.

Horror washed over you as you witnessed a massive green lizard-like creature barrelling towards you, with police cars following closely behind. It spun around, using its tail to smack one of the police cars into a nearby wall. Fear overwhelmed you, and you turned to run the other way. However, someone collided with your shoulder from behind, causing you to fall over and crash to the ground, hard. Letting out a pained groan, you looked up just in time to see the lizard creature dashing towards you, with police officers shooting in its direction. Filled with terror, you covered your head, bracing for the worst as bullets whipped past you.

Suddenly, you felt something wrap around you and pull you up, knocking the air out of your chest. Letting out a scream, you opened your eyes and realized you weren't in the jaws of a large lizard beast. Instead, you found yourself in the arms of the one and only Spider-Man.

"Hold on tight!" he commanded, and without hesitation, you did. Gripping onto his large frame, you tried not to dig your nails into his back. Looking up, you realized that the lizard creature was now fully focused on both of you. It was barrelling towards you, ready to slash at you with its claws. You held on for dear life, letting out a whimper.

Suddenly, Spider-Man aimed his arm at a nearby building and webbed onto it with ease. Clinging onto him even harder, you watched as the ground below you became smaller. He climbed up onto the roof and carried you to safety. He gently placed you down on the rooftop and quickly examined you for any injuries.

"Are you okay?!" he asked urgently. You stared at him speechless, your body trembling.

"Are you okay?!" You nodded fervently, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, stay here. Keep your head down. Do NOT move. I will be back for you!" he said, motioning with his hand for you to stay put before turning around and leaping off the building.

You sat there, shaking, as you heard continuous shooting, people screaming, and an explosion going off. The sounds of the beast echoed below, making you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your trembling arms around them. Human shouts filled the air, likely police officers, yelling about not allowing the creature to reach the sewers.

Time passed, and the shouting and shooting quieted down until it finally stopped. You sat there in silence, listening to the sound of ambulance sirens, and a fire truck arriving somewhere nearby. Your body was still shaking, and you couldn't bring yourself to move.

You had heard about these kinds of things before. Sometimes you would see them on the news or on social media, but you could never have imagined what it would be like. After what felt like hours, you finally stood up on shaky legs. You must have looked like a newborn calf trying to take its first steps. Glancing around, all you could see were other rooftops and taller buildings. If the situation had been drastically different, you would have loved the view, but as you were stuck on a random rooftop, you felt more than a little unsafe.

Walking up to the edge of the roof, you cautiously glanced over, but quickly jumped back, shaking your head. Nope! You were way too far up to comfortably lean over the edge. What if he didn't come back? What if he was dead?! No way – he was Spider-Man, a superhero. Are superheroes immortal? You stopped, took a deep breath, and opened your eyes.

Your hands still trembled, but you told yourself to calm down either way. Taking another step toward the edge of the roof, you were about to call out for help when you heard something land behind you, causing you to almost jump out of your own skin. Spider-Man had landed behind you and stood there safe and sound, not a scratch on him. His masked face looked you over slowly.

"Hey, Didn't I tell you to stay put? Are you trying to—" Before he could finish his sentence, you dashed forward, wrapping your arms around his torso and clinging onto him. Your trembling arms held on tightly, and quietly, you begged him not to leave again.

Spider-Man stood there, caught off guard by the surprise embrace. His arms were held out in uncertainty as he looked down at you. Slowly, he lowered his arms embracing you, his right hand stroking your hair soothingly. You stood there, your head resting against his chest, feeling the soothing rhythm of his breaths as he held you.

After a few minutes, your arms stopped trembling, and you slowly let go of him. As you moved, he dropped his arms to his sides. You looked up at him, and his masked face stared back down at you silently. Both of you stood there for a moment, locked in a gaze.

"T-Thank you. You saved my life," you whimpered, your eyes red from the tears that had been streaking down your cheeks moments ago. He reached up toward your face, his gloved hands wiping away some tears from your cheek, and you stilled under his touch.

"You are very welcome, miss," he said with a warm tone, and you felt the color return to your face, especially your cheeks.

"Are you ready to join the rest of the people down below?" he questioned, and you blinked a few times, breaking the trance you had found yourself in. You nodded.

You watched as he placed one arm underneath your legs and the other supported your back, cradling you in his arms, close to his chest. Bashfully, you looked up at him as he stared ahead. Walking up to the edge of the roof, he jumped up onto it, causing you to let out a frightened whimper. His grip on you tightened. "Not a fan of heights?" You shook your head. He chuckled softly, his voice warm and comforting.

Webbing onto the building with one hand and holding you up with the other, he slowly descended. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath. His arm remained wrapped around your hips as he held onto you tightly. Together, you both descended the building until you saw the ground below your feet. He gently placed you down, his arm still wrapped around your hips. You followed the length of his arm up to his masked face, and suddenly, it clicked. He let go of you.

"Thank you, again." You said softly and he awkwardly cleared his throat and nodded his head.

Looking around, you heard people gathering around, shouting his name in praise. They clapped and cheered, and you smiled. Spider-Man focused on helping the injured police officers, checking on them and assisting in turning the flipped over car back onto its wheels.

Turning around, you made your way home, your heart still pounding in your ears. As you finally entered your house, you saw your aunt standing there with tears in her eyes. Spotting you, she let out a cry and ran up to you, embracing you tightly. She wept and held onto you. "When you didn't come home—and then the news! Oh God, we thought we had lost you!"

The tears you had managed to hold in so far burst out, and you cried into her chest as she held you tightly, rocking you back and forth slowly. The front door flew open as your uncle came running in, clearly in a panic. He had been out looking for you, and when his eyes fell on you, he ran over and joined in on the hug. They held you there, telling you how much they loved you, kissing your head, and stroking your back. They were so relieved that you were home and, most importantly, safe. Nothing else mattered.

That night, you ended up FaceTiming Gwen, telling her what had happened and showing her the scratch you had received on your chin when you fell. She had panicked at first, but after you reassured her that you were okay, she calmed down.

"You mean THE Spider-Man saved you?" Gwen stared at you in disbelief through the phone.

"Gwen, he saved my life!" you exclaimed, placing a band-aid on your chin, not the most flattering, but it would do.

"What did your folks say when you told them?"

"I didn't tell my aunt or uncle anything. I just said I was nearby and fell over due to a panicked crowd. I couldn't tell them; they'd never let me leave the house again," you admitted, biting down on your bottom lip. You felt a bit guilty for lying, but it was the truth. You couldn't risk putting them in cardiac arrest every time you left the house.

After a while of talking, you said goodnight to each other and ended the call. Lying in bed, you prepared to sleep, but sleep never came. You thought you would be crying into your pillow after what you had been through today, but instead, you found yourself filled with leftover adrenaline and excitement. All you could think about as you lay there was how it felt to be in Spider-Man's arms, how he held you, and how he sounded when he spoke. You sighed and rolled over in bed, trying to push away thoughts of his muscular chest and arms. The more you thought about it, about him, the more you could feel a heat growing between your legs. You quickly dismissed those thoughts though. Closing your eyes, you attempt to sleep.

Your eyes shot open as your phone rang loudly next to your ear, pulling you back from the brink of sleep. Groaning, you reached for your phone and flicked it open, momentarily blinded by the brightness until you adjusted the settings. It was a text, a text from Peter.

Oh...

[Peter: Sorry, I know it's late, but your aunt called mine and told her what happened. I hope you're okay! I know I’ve been busy lately, things are new with me and M.J., and I'm trying to be a good boyfriend haha! Call me sometime, I miss hanging out. M.J. and I tried out the place where you, me, and Gwen used to go. She really likes it. I called a few days ago and was going to invite you along, but you were out. M.J. has this friend who I think you—]

You clicked off his messages dropping your phone with a frustrated sound coming through your nose. You chalked it up to being woken up that caused you to be annoyed, and not the fact that his check-up on you had turned into an update on his adventures with M.J.

Again, not mad, just... read the room, dude.

You thought to yourself as you snuggled back into bed and closed your eyes, letting sleep slowly overtake you again. But it wasn't meant to be, as your phone went off once more. Letting out a frustrated groan, you grabbed your phone as it buzzed. Your finger swiped across the screen, accidentally answering the call that had popped up.

CRAP!

You did not want to talk to Peter right now, holding your breath you tried to come up with some kind of excuse to hang up quickly. Then a voice came through the phone.

"Hello?"

You froze, your eyes darting to the caller ID, and for a moment, you didn't breathe.

"Oye, you there?" Miguel's deep voice came through the phone.

"Oh, hey, Miguel. W-what's up?" You struggled to control your voice, quickly muting the call for a moment to clear your throat before unmuting again.

"Is this a bad time?" he questioned.

"No, not at all. What's up?"

"I heard about what happened.’’ He paused for a moment, ‘’Are you okay?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you took a moment to calm your breathing. Truth be told, you felt fine. The adrenaline had long passed through you, and now you were just filled with giddiness and excitement.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you replied quietly.

"That's good. I'm... glad to hear it," he said, sounding genuine. You could feel your cheeks heating up, and you awkwardly played the hem of your covers.

"Well, I should let you sleep," Miguel said.

"Miguel?" you asked, sounding a bit awkward.

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you something? But you gotta promise not to tell anyone," you said, your tone serious.

The line went quiet, and for a moment, you feared that he had hung up on you. However, after a few more seconds of silence, you heard him speak again.

"Okay," he replied.

A man of few words, you thought to yourself.

"I met Spider-Man. He saved me. I wasn't just in some crowd nearby; I was there! I saw the big beast thing and the cops and... oh my god! I actually thought I was going to die..." You rambled, barely taking a breath.

Miguel was silent as he listened to you.

"But then swoosh, suddenly, I open my eyes, and he's there. I mean, he's really there! I would never in a million years have thought that something like that would happen to me. I mean, I was really scared, and now I feel fine. I have so much energy, and I can't stop thinking about him! I mean, I was just there to get a doughnuts!" you exclaimed energetically, almost panting from your rambling.

Miguel scoffed, and you could imagine him smiling and shaking his head at your silliness.

"So, Spider-Man saved your life, did he?" he asked.

"Yes! Do not tell anyone, though. I feel embarrassed, and it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but yeah... wow," you said, in awe.

"Wow?" Miguel questioned.

"Yeah, I mean... you know... it was Spider-Man! Have you ever seen him?"

"Yes. I mean... I've seen him in pictures and ads and things. He's not exactly subtle or easy to miss," he remarked.

"He's huge! I mean, he's tall, but he's so strong, too. Muscular and stuff," you giggled, falling back against your pillow, phone in hand.

"Oh yeah?" Miguel asked, with a hint of amusement.

"Man... it feels good getting that off my chest. Thank you, Miguel," you said, with a smile on your face.

"You're welcome. Anyways, it's about time we wrap this up," he stated, letting out a yawn.

"I didn't realize you charged by the hour, Miguel," you joked.

"You wish. Hasta luego."

"Wait, Miguel?"

The line went quiet, but you could hear him breathing on the other side.

"Ya?" he replied.

‘’Thank you for calling. I… I really liked talking to you’’

The line was quiet again for a moment before his voice came through.

‘’Yeah. Get some sleep’’

‘’Goodnight, Miguel’’ You, said with a warm smile on your face as you hung up.

#miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel ohara smut #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara fanfiction #spider verse #spider man 2099 #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider man 2099 x you #spider man 2099 x reader #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #hobie x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #fluff #atsv

42 notes · View notes

shuxiii · 1 year

Text

Everyday pt. 6

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n drink your milk everybody even the adults so your bones get yummy yummy milk if you are lactose intolerant, eat your veggies. credits all to ''every day'' by David Levithan.

Day 6003

I am not alone when I wake up the next morning.

I am sharing the room with two other boys—my brothers, Yeonjun and Beomgyu. Yeonjun is a year older than me. Beomgyu is my twin. My name is Soobin.

Soobin is big—a football player. Beomgyu is about the same size. Yeonjun is even bigger.

The room is clean, but even before I know what town I’m in, I know we’re not in the nice part of it. This is a big family in a small house. There is not going to be a computer here. Soobin is not going to have a car.

It’s Yeonjun’s job—self-appointed or otherwise—to get us up and out. Our father’s not home from the night shift yet, and our mother’s already on the way to her job. Our two sisters are about done with the bathroom. We’re next.

I access and find that I’m in the town next to Haruto’s, over an hour from Hanni’s.

This is going to be a hard day.

The bus ride to school takes forty-five minutes. When we get there, we head to the cafeteria for free breakfast. I am amazed at Soobin’s appetite—I pile on pancake after pancake, and he’s still hungry. Beomgyu matches him bite for bite.

Luckily, I have study hall first period. Unluckily, there’s still homework that Soobin needs to do. I push through that as quick as I can, and have about ten minutes of computer time left at the end.

There’s a message from Hanni, written at one in the morning.

Yn,

I want to believe you, but I don’t know how.

Hanni

I write back:

Hanni,

You don’t need to know how. You just make up your mind and it happens.

I am in Laurel right now, over an hour away. I am in the body of a football player named Soobin. I know how strange that sounds. But, like everything I’ve told you, it’s the truth.

Love,

There’s just enough time for me to check my other email address. There’s another email from Haruto.

You can’t avoid my questions forever. I want to know who you are. I want to know why you do what you do.

Tell me.

Again, I leave him unanswered. I have no idea whether I owe him an explanation or not. I probably owe him something. But I’m not sure it’s an explanation.

I make it through to lunch. I want to go immediately to the library to check the computers again. But Soobin is hungry, and Beomgyu is with him, and I am afraid that if he doesn’t get his lunch now, there won’t be anything for him to eat until dinnertime. I checked, and there’s only about three dollars in his wallet, including change.

I get the free lunch and eat it quickly. Then I excuse myself to the library, which inspires no shortage of taunts from Beomgyu, who claims that ��libraries are for girls.” A true brother, I shoot back with, “Well, that explains why you never find any.” A wrestling match ensues. All of this takes away time from what I need to do.

When I get to the library, all the computers are taken. I have to loom large over a freshman for about two minutes before he freaks out enough to give me his space. Quickly I check out public transportation and find out I’ll need to take three buses in order to make it to Hanni’s town. I’m ready to do it, but when I check my email, there’s another message from Hanni, dated just two minutes ago.

Yn,

Do you have a car? If not, I can come to you. There’s a Starbucks in Laurel. I’m told that nothing bad ever happens in a Starbucks. Let me know if you want to meet there.

Hanni

I type:

Hanni,

I would appreciate it if you could come here. Thank you.

Two minutes later, a new email from her:

Yn,

I’ll be there at 5. Can’t wait to see what you look like today.

(Still not believing this.)

Hanni

My nerves are jangling with possibility. She’s had time to think about it, and that hasn’t turned her against me. It’s more than I could ask for. I am careful not to be too grateful, lest it be taken away.

The rest of the school day is unexceptional … except for a moment in seventh period. Mrs. French, the bio teacher, is hectoring a kid who hasn’t done his homework. It’s a lab assignment, and he’s come up blank.

“I don’t know what got into me,” the slacker says. “I must have been possessed by the devil!”

The rest of the class laughs, and even Mrs. French shakes her head.

“Yeah, I was possessed by the devil, too,” another guy says. “After I drank seven beers!”

“Okay, class,” Mrs. French intones. “Enough of that.”

It’s the way they say it—I know Haruto’s story must be spreading.

“Hey,” I say to Beomgyu as we head to football practice, “did you hear about that kid in Monroeville who says he was possessed by the devil?”

“Dude,” he replies, “we were just talking about that yesterday. It was all over the news.”

“Yeah, I mean, did you hear anything more about it today?”

“What more is there to say? Kid got caught in a crazy lie, and now the religious crazies want to make him a poster child. I almost feel sorry for him.”

This, I think, is not good.

Our coach has to go to his wife’s Lamaze class, which he bitches about to us in detail, but it forces him to end practice early. I tell Beomgyu that I’m going to make a Starbucks run, and he looks at me like I have been totally, irredeemably girlified. I was counting on his disgust, and am relieved to get it.

She’s not there when I arrive, so I get a small black coffee—pretty much the only thing I can afford—and sit and wait for her. It’s crowded, and I have to look brutish in order to keep the other chair at my table unoccupied.

Finally, about twenty minutes after five, she shows up. She scans the crowd and I wave. Even though I told her I was a football player, she’s still a little startled. She comes over anyway.

“Okay,” she says, sitting down. “Before we say another word, I want to see your phone.” I must look confused, because she adds, “I want to see every single call you’ve made in the past week, and every single call you received. If this isn’t some big joke, then you have nothing to hide.”

I hand over Soobin’s phone, which she knows how to work better than I do.

After a few minutes of searching, she appears satisfied.

“Now, I quiz you,” she says, handing back the phone. “First, what was I wearing on the day that Minji took me to the beach?”

I try to picture it. I try to grab hold of those details. But they’ve already eluded me. I remember her, not what she was wearing.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Do you remember what Minji was wearing?”

She thinks about it for a second. “Good point. Did we make out?”

I shake my head. “We used the make-out blanket, but we didn’t make out. We kissed. And that was enough.”

“And what did I say to you before I left the car?”

“ ‘That’s the nice note.’ ”

“Correct. Quick, what’s Yunjin’s girlfriend’s name?”

“Kazuha”

“And what time did the party end?”

“Eleven-fifteen.”

“And when you were in the body of that girl who I took to all of my classes, what did the note you passed me say?”

“Something like, ‘The classes here are just as boring as in the school I’m going to now.’ ”

“And what were the buttons on your backpack that day?”

“Anime kittens.”

“Well, either you’re an excellent liar, or you switch bodies every day. I have no idea which one is true.”

“It’s the second one.”

I see, over Hanni’s shoulder, a woman looking at us quizzically. Has she overheard what we’re saying?

“Let’s go outside,” I whisper. “I feel we may be getting an unintended audience.”

Hanni looks skeptical. “Maybe if you were a petite cheerleader again. But—I’m not sure if you fully realize this—you’re a big, threatening dude today. My mother’s voice is very loud and clear in my head: ‘No dark corners.’ ”

I point out the window, to a bench along the road.

“Totally public, only without people listening in.”

“Fine.”

As we head out, the woman who was eavesdropping seems disappointed. I realize how many people sitting around us have open laptops and open notebooks, and hope that none of them have been taking notes.

When we get to the bench, Hanni lets me sit down first, so she can determine the distance that we’ll sit apart, which is significant.

“So you say you’ve been like this since the day you were born?”

“Yes. I can’t remember it being any different.”

“So how did that work? Weren’t you confused?”

“I guess I got used to it. I’m sure that, at first, I figured it was just how everybody’s lives worked. I mean, when you’re a baby, you don’t really care much about who’s taking care of you, as long as someone’s taking care of you. And as a little kid, I thought it was some kind of a game, and my mind learned how to access—you know, look at the body’s memories—naturally. So I always knew what my name was, and where I was. It wasn’t until I was four or five that I started to realize I was different, and it wasn’t until I was nine or ten that I really wanted it to stop.”

“You did?”

“Of course. Imagine being homesick, but without having a home. That’s what it was like. I wanted friends, a mom, a dad, a dog—but I couldn’t hold on to any of them more than a single day. It was brutal. There are nights I remember screaming and crying, begging my parents not to make me go to bed. They could never figure out what I was afraid of. They thought it was a monster under the bed, or a ploy to get a few more bedtime stories. I could never really explain, not in a way that made sense to them. I’d tell them I didn’t want to say goodbye, and they’d assure me it wasn’t goodbye. It was just good night. I’d tell them it was the same thing, but they thought I was being silly.

“Eventually I came to peace with it. I had to. I realized that this was my life, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t fight the tide, so I decided to float along.”

“How many times have you told this story?”

“None. I swear. You’re the first.”

This should make her feel special—it’s meant to make her feel special—but instead it seems to worry her.

“You have to have parents, don’t you? I mean, we all have parents.”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I would think so. But it’s not like there’s anyone I can ask. I’ve never met anyone else like me. Not that I would necessarily know.”

It’s clear from her expression that she thinks this is a sad story I’m telling her—a very sad story. I don’t know how to convey to her that it hasn’t all been sad.

“I’ve glimpsed things,” I say. Then I stop. I don’t know what’s next.

“Go on,” she tells me.

“It’s just—I know it sounds like an awful way to live, but I’ve seen so many things. It’s so hard when you’re in one body to get a sense of what life is really like. You’re so grounded in who you are. But when who you are changes every day—you get to touch the universal more. Even the most mundane details. You see how cherries taste different to different people. Blue looks different. You see all the strange rituals boys have to show affection without admitting it. You learn that if a parent reads to you at the end of the day, it’s a good sign that it’s a good parent, because you’ve seen so many other parents who don’t make the time. You learn how much a day is truly worth, because they’re all so different. If you ask most people what the difference was between Monday and Tuesday, they might tell you what they had for dinner each night. Not me. By seeing the world from so many angles, I get more of a sense of its dimensionality.”

“But you never get to see things over time, do you?” Hanni asks. “I don’t mean to cancel out what you just said. I think I understand that. But you’ve never had a friend that you’ve known day in and day out for ten years. You’ve never watched a pet grow older. You’ve never seen how messed up a parent’s love can be over time. And you’ve never been in a relationship for more than a day, not to mention for more than a year.”

I should have known it would come back to that. “But I’ve seen things,” I tell her. “I’ve observed. I know how it works.”

“From the outside? I don’t think you can know from the outside.”

“I think you underestimate how predictable some things can be in a relationship.”

“I love her,” she says. “I know you don’t understand, but I do.”

“You shouldn’t. I’ve seen her from the inside. I know.”

“For a day. You saw her for a day.”

“And for a day, you saw who she could be. You fell more in love with her when she was me.”

I reach out again for her hand, but this time she says, “No. Don’t.”

I freeze.

“I have a girlfriend,” she says. “I know you don’t like her, and I’m sure there are moments when I don’t like her, either. But that’s the reality. Now, I’ll admit, you have me actually thinking that you are, in fact, the same person who I’ve now met in five different bodies. All this means is that I’m probably as insane as you are. I know you say you love me, but you don’t really know me. You’ve known me a week. And I need a little more than that.”

“But didn’t you feel it that day? On the beach? Didn’t everything seem right?”

There it is again—the pull of the ocean, the song of the universe. A better liar would deny it. But some of us don’t want to live our lives as liars. She bites her lip and nods.

“Yes. But I don’t know who I was feeling that for. Even if I believe it was you, you have to understand that my history with Minji plays into it. I wouldn’t have felt that way with a stranger. It wouldn’t have been so perfect.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s my point. I don’t.”

She looks at her phone, and whether or not she truly needs to leave, I know this is the sign that she’s going to.

“I have to make it back for dinner,” she says.

“Thanks for driving all this way,” I tell her.

It’s awkward. So awkward.

“Will I see you again?” I ask.

She nods.

“I’m going to prove it to you,” I tell her. “I’m going to show you what it really means.”

“What?”

“Love.”

Is she scared by this? Embarrassed? Hopeful?

I don’t know. I’m not close enough to tell.

Beomgyu gives me no small amount of grief when I get home—partly because I went to Starbucks, and partly because I then had to walk two miles to get back home, and was late for dinner, which our father roundly chewed me out over.

“I hope whoever she was, she was worth it,” Beomgyu taunts.

I look at him blankly.

“Dude, don’t try to tell me you were just going for the coffee or the folk tunes they play on the speakers. I know you better than that.”

I remain silent.

I am assigned to wash all the dishes. While doing so, I turn on the radio, and when the local news comes on, Haruto Watanabe comes with it.

“So tell us, Haruto, what you experienced last Saturday,” the interviewer says.

“I was possessed. There’s no other word for it. I wasn’t in control of my own body. I consider myself lucky to be alive. And I want to ask anyone else who’s ever been possessed like this, just for a day, to contact me. Because, I’ll be honest with you, Chuck, a lot of people think I’m crazy. Other kids at school are making fun of me constantly. But I know what happened. And I know I’m not the only one.”

I know I’m not the only one.

This is the sentence that haunts me. I wish I felt the same certainty.

I wish I weren’t the only one.

Day 6004

The next morning I wake up in the same room.

In the same body.

I can’t believe it. I don’t understand. After all these years.

I look at the wall. My hands. The sheets.

And then I look to my side and see Soobin sleeping there in his bed.

Soobin.

And I realize: I’m not in the same body. I’m not on the same side of the room.

No, this morning I’m his twin, Beomgyu.

I have never had this chance before. I watch as Soobin emerges from sleep, emerges from a day away from his old body. I am looking for the traces of that oblivion, the bafflement of that waking. But what I get is the familiar scene of a football player stretching himself into the day. If he feels at all strange, at all different, he’s not showing it.

“Dude, what are you staring at?”

This doesn’t come from Soobin, but from our other brother, Yeonjun.

“Just getting up,” I mumble.

But really, I don’t take my eyes off Soobin. Not through the ride to school. Not at breakfast. He seems a little out of it now, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by a bad night’s sleep.

“How’re you doing?” I ask him.

He grunts. “Fine. Thanks for caring.”

I decide to play dumb. He expects me to be dumb, so it shouldn’t be much of a stretch.

“What did you do after practice yesterday?” I ask.

“I went to Starbucks.”

“Who with?”

He looks at me like I’ve just sung the question to him in falsetto.

“I just wanted coffee, okay? I wasn’t with anyone.”

I study him, to see if he’s trying to cover his conversation with Hanni. I don’t think, though, that such duplicity would be anything but obvious on him.

He really doesn’t remember seeing her. Talking to her. Being with her.

“Then why’d it take so long?” I ask him.

“What, were you timing it? I’m touched.”

“Well, who were you emailing at lunch?”

“I was just checking my email.”

“Your own email?”

“Who else’s email would I be checking? You’re asking seriously weird questions, dude. Isn’t he, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun chews on some bacon. “I swear, whenever you two talk, I just tune it right out. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Paradoxically, I wish I were still in Soobin’s body, so I could see exactly what his memories of yesterday are. From where I sit, it appears that he recalls the places he was, but has somehow concocted an alternate version of events, one that fits closer to his life. Has his mind done this, some kind of adaptation? Or did my mind, right before it left, leave behind this storyline?

Soobin does not feel like he was possessed by the devil.

He thinks yesterday was just another day.

Again, the morning becomes a search to find a few minutes’ worth of email access.

I should have given her my phone number, I think.

Then I stop myself. I stand there right in the middle of the hallway, shocked. It’s such a mundane, ordinary observation—but that’s what stops me. In the context of my life, it’s nonsensical. There was no way for me to give her a phone number. I know this. And yet, the ordinary thought crept in, made me trick myself for a moment into thinking that I, too, was ordinary.

I have no idea what this means, but I suspect it’s dangerous.

At lunch, I tell Soobin I’m going to the library.

“Dude,” he says, “libraries are for girls.”

There aren’t any new messages from Hanni, so I write to her instead.

Hanni,

You’d actually recognize me today. I woke up as Soobin’s twin. I thought this might help me figure things out, but so far, no luck.

I want to see you again.

There isn’t anything from Haruto, either. Once more I decide to type his name into a search engine, figuring there might be a few more articles about what he’s saying.

I find over two thousand results. All from the past three days.

Word is spreading. Mostly from evangelical Christian sites, which have bought Haruto’s devil claims wholesale. He is, for them, just another example of the world going to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

From what I can recall, none of the many versions I heard as a child of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” spent that much time pondering the emotional state of the boy, especially after the wolf finally showed up. I want to know what Haruto is thinking, if he really believes what he’s saying. None of the articles and blogs are any help—he’s saying the same thing in all of them, and people are painting him as either a freak or an oracle. Nobody’s sitting him down and treating him like a sixteen-year-old boy. They are missing the real questions in order to ask the sensational ones. I open up his last email.

You can’t avoid my questions forever. I want to know who you are. I want to know why you do what you do.

Tell me.

But how can I respond without confirming at least part of the story he’s created? I feel that he’s right—in some way, I can’t avoid his questions forever. They will start to dig into me. They will follow me wherever I wake up. But to give him any answer will give him a reassurance I know I shouldn’t give. It will keep him on his path.

My best bet is for him to start feeling that he is, indeed, crazy. Which is an awful thing to wish upon someone. Especially when he’s not crazy.

I want to ask Hanni what to do. But I can imagine what she’d say. Or maybe I’m just projecting my better self onto her. Because I know the answer: Self-preservation isn’t worth it if you can’t live with the self you’re preserving.

I am responsible for his situation. So he’s become my responsibility.

I know this, even as I hate it.

I’m not going to write immediately. I need to give it some thought. I need to help him without confirming anything.

Finally, by last period, I think I have it.

I know who you are. I’ve seen your story on the news. It doesn’t have anything to do with me—you must have made a mistake.

Still, it appears to me that you’re not considering all the possibilities. I’m sure what happened to you was very stressful. But blaming the devil is not the answer.

I send it off quickly before football practice.

I also check for an email from Hanni.

Nothing.

The rest of the day is uneventful. And I find myself wondering once again when I started to think my days would contain actual events. Up until now, I have lived for uneventfulness, and have found smaller satisfaction in the art of getting by. I resent that the hours seem boring now, emptier. Going through the motions gives you plenty of time to examine the motions. I used to find this interesting. Now it has taken on the taint of meaninglessness.

I practice football. I get a ride home. I do some homework. I eat some dinner. I watch TV with my family.

This is the trap of having something to live for:

Everything else seems lifeless.

Soobin and I go to bed first. Yeonjun is in the kitchen, talking to our mother about his work schedule for the weekend. Soobin and I don’t say anything as we change into our sleep clothes, as we parade to the bathroom and back.

I get in bed and he turns out the light. I expect to hear him getting into bed next, but instead he hovers in the middle of the room.

“Beomgyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you ask me about what I was up to yesterday?”

I sit up. “I don’t know. You just seemed a little … off.”

“I just thought it was strange. You asking, I mean.”

He heads to his bed now. I hear his weight fall on the mattress.

“So nothing seemed off to you?” I ask, hoping that there will be something—anything—that rises to the surface.

“Not that I can think of. I thought it was pretty funny that Snyder had to end practice so he could go, like, learn how to help his babymama breathe. But I think that was the highlight. It’s just … do I seem off today, too?”

The truth is that I haven’t been paying that much attention, not since breakfast.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I feel fine. I just don’t, you know, want to look like there’s something wrong when there’s nothing wrong.”

“You seem fine,” I assure him.

“Good,” he says, shifting his body, getting into the right position with his pillow.

I want to say more but don’t know what the words are supposed to be. I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there’s no light in the room. I think of the rare jackpot nights when I ended the day at a sleepover or shared the room with a sibling or a friend I genuinely liked. Those conversations could trick me into believing I could say anything, even though there was so much I was holding back. Eventually, the night would take its hold, but it would always feel like I was fading to sleep rather than falling.

“Good night,” I say to Soobin. But what I really feel is goodbye. I am leaving here, leaving this family. It’s only been two days, but that’s twice what I’m used to. It’s just a hint—the smallest hint—of what it would be like to wake up in the same place every morning.

I have to let that go.

#Hanni x reader #Hanni Pham #Pham Hanni #Hanni Pham x reader #newjeans #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham #new jeans #nwjns #NewJeans Imagines #Newjeans imagine #Newjean Fanfic #NewJeans Fanfic #newjeans fic #newjeans imagine #Newjeans x reader

45 notes · View notes

catgirltitty · 1 year

Text

MOCHA'S BEST STREAM

Mocha starts her weekly stream like usual, but a wardrobe malfunction arouses her viewers' curiosity!

[breast expansion, lactation, milking, furry]

“Meowdy gamers! I’m Mocha, and this is The Mo-Show! I’m gonna jump in and play some Shaftcraft, today I thought I’d just chill and answer some Q&A while I work on my zombie farm.”

Mocha eyed her setup, making sure everything was perfect. The half-cat, half-cowgirl had soft, cream-colored fur, with a chocolate-brown spot right on her snout. Not a hair of her bangs was out of place, and her gold-blonde streak caught the glow of her ring light just right. Her white work blouse was in place, showing just the right amount of cleavage. She adjusted her posture, making sure her whole chest was in the shot.

While she was looking, a pop-up played across the top of her screen.

@moofan7 donated $1

“Thanks for the donation, friend! Remember, every dollar you donate to the stream goes to the charity of the week. Plus, every dollar gets matched by our anonymous partner. This week, it's all going to help trans kids buy new clothes!”

Mocha was fairly proud of the amount of money she raised for charity every week. She didn’t feel the need to share that the ‘anonymous partner’ was, in fact, herself.

"If you have a question, share it in the chat! If it gets 10 upvotes, I’ll answer it! Please, nothing too personal and no sexual stuff. If you do that, you’re gonna get banned. Seriously, that shit’s not cool.” A frustrating number of people online thought it was okay to ask invasive questions about her body, or try to get her to indulge their kinks on stream. Luckily, she had a great team of mods that nipped those viewers in the bud. Mocha was happy to use her attractiveness in her streams—on her terms, doing the things she wanted to do when she felt like it.

She didn’t owe her viewers anything else. Most of them respected that. Those were the ones she was streaming for, and the ones who made streaming something she looked forward to.

“Alright, first question! ‘Can we ask about demihuman stuff?’ Absolutely, just be respectful.”

These were some of the more common questions she got in her Q&A sessions. Sometimes it got on her nerves, but she tried to keep in mind that her human fans were just curious.

@moofan7: whats it like having fur?

“It’s pretty great if you ask me. I put a lot of work in to keep my coat this lustrous, though. As long as you keep it clean, it’s like wearing a cozy blanket at all times.”

@9tailtrouble: demi here. what products do you recommend for fur care?

“Great question, 9tailtrouble. It really depends a lot on your species, but FurLux is a good brand that covers a wide range. My personal favorite is Taúr-faire, but that’s specifically for cows. I assume you’re a fox? I’ve heard from other foxes that Red Coature is pretty good if you’re willing to spend a bit extra.”

Chat started excitedly popping off. Little emotes of a gray cat with a confused look on her face dotted the messages.

@tinkretor: :joule: :pog: @momijams: JOULE SIGHTING @moofan7: girlfriend jumpscare @moofan7: jk joule im ur biggest fan @theinfirminator: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule: :joule:

Mocha looked at her stream feed. Sure enough, Joule was visible making dinner in the kitchen. Mocha couldn’t help but smile; her newest girlfriend had already wandered into frame so many times it had become a running joke.

After the chat calmed again, 9tailtrouble responded.

@9tailtrouble: yeah im a fox :D i really love yuor streams!! I admire you so much 0///0 @9tailtrouble donated $5

“Thanks, 9tail, I’m so honored to hear that! Let me know if you try those products.”

@theinfirminator: you have two gfs, rite? wats that like @subbywoofers: mo is so cool

“It’s the best. I love them so much! It takes a lot of love and trust to make it work, but it’s so worth it.”

@theinfirminator: how did you meet?

“Pap and I met in college. We were both skipping the same lecture and decided to hang out! That was… something like eighteen months ago. Then we met Joule when she became our roommate, and she started dating us around a year ago.”

@momijams: yall are adorable together! @theinfirminator: will we get a paprika sighting tonite?

“Not tonight, she’s out with a friend. I’ll let her know you asked, though!”

@momijams: its ok if this is too personal but. im dating a cowgirl and i want to learn more to about what its like so i can take care of her when were married @momijams: ive heard that its.. a lot @momijams: do you have any tips??

“Wow, congrats momijams! It's a bit too personal for the stream, but message me after and I’ll give you some advice. I think it’s really sweet that you’re trying to learn to take care of her!”

@momijams: thank you :) i want to treat her right @momijams donated $10

Mocha continued answering her viewers' questions. Before she knew it, an hour had already passed. It was probably the best stream she’d had in a while.

Until one message caught her eye.

@9tailtrouble: maam. your shirt

Mocha checked her feed. A pair of wet spots had soaked through her blouse, revealing the pink bra beneath. Twin white streams trickled off her chest and into her lap. Blood rushed through her cheeks. Fucking hell, when did this happen?

In a panic, she made to shut down the stream. And I was having such a good time, too, she thought. Her mouse hovered over the red "END STREAM" button. She hesitated.

“You know what?" She turned to the camera. "You all have been so lovely today. Here’s a little treat.”

She began unbuttoning her top, only now noticing how tight it had gotten; it was near to popping open, anyway. Her breasts had swollen several sizes up throughout the stream. No wonder I'm leaking...

Once her shirt was fully unbuttoned, she let it fall to either side, revealing her straining bra, dark and damp from the lactic bounty leaking from inside. Milk streamed down her belly, dampening her fur.

Chat was going wild.

“That feels better. Now back to the Q&A.”

@momijams: can we ask about… this

“I’m in a good mood, so go ahead! Don’t go overboard, though.”

@momijams: okay so. wow. i heard cowgirls produce a lot, but i wasnt expecting this muich @momijams: is this a normal amount??

Mocha blushed, hoping it wasn’t too obvious. She always enjoyed it when people commented on how much milk she made.

“Yeah, this is a pretty normal amount for a cow my age. Usually I take suppressants to keep it down to a manageable amount, but I think I’m a little late this month!” She gestured to her leaking tits.

@theinfirminator: how does it feel?

“Pleasant, most of the time. Most of the day I can hardly feel it. But this,” she hefted her boobs. “If they get much bigger than this, they start to ache.”

That got them curious.

@9tailtrouble: they grow? @tinkretor: mocha is so PRETTYYYY @moofan7: BIGGER THAN THIS? They’re already so big! @momijams: how big do they get?

Mocha was getting just as excited as them. This is fun! I should talk about this stuff more often! She would be lying if she said this wasn’t turning her on a bit, as well.

“Judging by the G-cup bra they’re about to destroy, right now they’re probably about a K-cup. The biggest I’ve ever gotten is a Q-cup.” She held her hands out several inches from her bust.

@momijams: how doyou deal with them? @9tailtrouble: thats so huge, omg @9tailtrouble: i wish my tits did that!! @tinkretor: do you have to. Express? srory if thats too much

Mocha was really getting going, now. “Mm hmm, every day I have to-” Mocha had an idea. A grin spread across her face. This is gonna get me suspended for sure.

She put a finger up to her lips, pretending to think about it. “Well,” she drawled, “maybe it would be better to demonstrate. Joule, love! Can you come over here?”

@moofan7: is this really happening? @9tailtrouble: no way. our mo? @momijams: what an exciting new direction for the channel @momijams donated $25 @subbywoofers donated $50 @subbywoofers: mo this is so cool tysm

Joule poked her head out from the kitchen. “What’s up, Mo?”

“Come over here. Say hi to the fans!”

“Hi, fans! Thanks for supporting my girlfriend!” She reached the desk, only now seeing Mocha’s state of undress. “Oh. Since when is this that kind of stream? Not that I mind.”

“I’m trying something new.” The swollen cowgirl unstrapped her bra, letting it fall. “Now, if you would please milk me?”

Mocha’s tits heaved as her breathing suddenly got easier. I didn't realize just how tight that bra was getting… Her nipples, thick as little brown thumbs, were spraying arcs of milk now.

Joule visibly gulped. “Yes, please!”

The lanky catgirl stood behind Mocha’s chair, wrapping her arms around. “I almost can’t reach! You’ve let them get way too big today.”

Her paws found the leaking teats. Mocha gasped as Joule’s fingers expertly worked the swollen breasts. The spray turned into a hose, shooting milk warm milk across the desk, the keyboard, the monitor.

“As you. Can. See,” the breathy cowgirl had trouble forcing herself to speak through the stimulation. “The best. Way. To express. Is through. Hand. Milking.” She let out a low “Moooo~” as Joule rolled a thick teat between her knuckles.

@momijams donated $40 @subbywoofers: good work, joule :joule: @moofan7 donated $25 @9tailtrouble donated $75

After a minute, her breasts had visibly gone down in size. Mocha held up her hand, signaling Joule to stop for now. The catgirl obediently let go, releasing the heavy, wet breasts with a PLAP.

“That’s the most effective way to do it. On suppressants, I need to do that for about an hour every night. Without suppressants, like right now, it’d probably take two or three hours to get me back down to normal size.”

@moofan7: doesn’t seem so bad @9tailtrouble: that was. wow. @9tailtrouble: im kinda jealous NGL @tinkretor donated $100

“It does have its perks,” agreed Mocha, reading the chat. “It’s not always easy, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” She looked back at Joule, thoughtful.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight. And you all have been so generous with the donations! I can’t thank you enough.” She sighed.

“But I’m gonna try. Here’s one last treat before I log off. Joule?”

“Yeah babe?” the catgirl licked her lips.

“Show them what happens when you suck a cowgirl’s tits.”

Joule didn’t hesitate. She pounced on Mocha’s left tit, wrapping her lips around the stiff nipple. She began slurping down milk, rolling the teat with her tongue. Her hand reached up to stroke the right teat, tugging and playing with the spraying bud.

Mocha began growing. Each boob was quickly regaining the mass it had just lost, swelling outwards as they kicked into overdrive to feed the hungry mouth. Mocha moo’d frantically, grabbing her girlfriend by the scruff and pulling her tight against her growing flesh. The exposed right nipple was growing alongside its breast, nearly two inches long and spraying cream from a dozen thick arcs. Droplets of milk flecked the camera lens. Soon, each breast was the size of a prize-winning pumpkin and still growing.

@9tailtrouble donated $75 @momijams donated $120 @momijams: educational :) @theinfirminator donated $90 @theinfirminator: we love you mo! @9tailtrouble: not how i expected tonight to go. thank you mo, you rock!! @moofan7 donated $50 @subbywoofers donated $500 @tinkretor donated $100 User @xXTheMoShow94Xx suspended. Chat log ended.

***

“Well, that’s a new record.”

Joule held the measuring tape around her girlfriend’s bust. “109.4 inches.”

Mocha sat on a groaning stool in the master bathroom, watching the stream recording on her phone. She wanted a measurement before they got to work at milking her down to size again. It’s gonna be a long night. I don’t think Joule minds, though. Paprika won’t mind when she gets home, either.

She set down the phone, looking out over the expanse of her bust. “I’m fucking huge.” She grinned, then moo’d with an aftershock of the last climax.

“Well, only one thing left to do about it.”

User: Mocha @theMoShow 9:47 pm (PST) What a great stream tonight! Thank you so much to all my amazing fans. For those who missed it, future streams will be going in a slightly new direction. Next week’s show will be on our new channel at onlyfurs.com I’ll see you all then!

***

This one was a lot of fun to write! It ended up being like 4x longer than I initially planned, and I think it's all for the better. I really enjoyed making the stream chats in particular. Oh btw, sex workers are workers and deserve rights. Thank them for all the amazing things they do!

#meow #moo #furry #milk #lactation #fursona #mocha #joule #be #booba #lit #story #be story #breast expansion #breast growth #gigantic breasts #expansion story

39 notes · View notes

usertiff · 10 days

Text

while my situation seems to be neverending until disability comes along, i don't want to keep y'all waiting any longer on at least knowing the final day! so the raffle will end august 3rd, 2024. i'm hoping this gives any final participants a chance to enter, as well as give me time to finish up familial duties (i have so many sisters and so many birthdays coming up, i'll be doing lots of babysitting for my sister and my niece, etc). i just want to ensure that by the time i start working on the raffle prizes, i can really dedicate myself to them!

my current situation is about the same (though it's slowly improving with the thought alone that i will have a court hearing for disability sometime this year). barely eating, barely making rent, and behind on many bills. most importantly, i'm trying to raise funds to cremate the pet i just lost.

please note: if i owe you a manip, PLEASE message me! i am very forgetful but i want to ensure i get those to you!

as a reminder of the raffle, i’m going to copy/paste a reminder of what the raffle entails, and explain all of my updates underneath the cut. <3 (again, i was inspired by lomapacks and received permission to use this idea)

how much do i need/when will it end? i literally hate this but my need is ongoing right now. as a severely disabled individual fighting tooth and nail for disability payments, my need will not end until the government has decided that i’m useless enough in their eyes. regardless of my need, i'll end the raffle august 3rd!

how does the raffle work? for every dollar spent commissioning, you will earn an entry! for every dollar donated of good will, you will earn 3 entries! example, if you order $15 worth of gifs (150 gifs), you will have 15 entries! if you donate $15, you will have 45 entries! (or if you donate $1 = 3 entries, $3 = 6 entries, etc) to be entered, you must fill out the google form in the source link

what are the prizes?

first place: 1500 gifs, 5 manips of your choosing, 1 crackship gifset

second place: 1000 gifs, 3 manips, 1 crackship gifset

third place: 500 gifs, 2 manips, 1 crackship gifset

every single person that commissions or donates gets: 1 manip

what do you do to join? you can find my payment info below to donate or commission. if you plan to commission, please message me first so we can sort out what it’s for/how much!

payment information: paypal is [email protected], ko-fi is HERE, venmo is oraclelauren (3177 is the last 4 needed), and cashapp is $selinaaakyle.

when will everything be delivered? commissions will be completed in the order they were received, and delivered as soon as i can possibly get them done. once the raffle ends, the raffle prizes will be delivered upon your request for them and completed as soon as possible! i will try to deliver the manips for everyone same-day!

#gif raffle

4 notes · View notes

luckquartzed · 1 month

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 .

Share at least 5 songs that you associate with or remind you of your muse!

1. Victim Or Survivor, Citizen Soldier & Icon For Hire

I've got more skeletons than cemeteries hold, that made just living life feel like a funeral. The kind of traumatized no one will ever know, that made me fantasize about just letting go. Until I saved my soul, with what I can control. When it rains you can drown or you can be baptized, when you hit rock-bottom, you can cry or climb. Crutch or a crown, only you decide. Victim or survivor? Be born by the battle or just wave a white flag, deciding not to die, that might be all you have. You can make that choice or you can be your past. Victim or survivor?

2. Vices, MOTHICA

Feel like I’m just passing by. It’s not love, it’s just a guy, & it's got me feeling right for the night. But in the morning, when he's gone, I'm alone with all my thoughts, so I gotta drink 'em up 'til I'm numb & ooh, it's never enough. Pass me the cup, got nowhere to run, so pour me another one. I'm taking it all, I'm getting lost. I'm making a fool of myself with all these vices. I really don't know why I'm like this, & I just don't care what the price is. 'Cause I need these vices, oh-oh-oh. If it’s not drugs it’s drinks, if it’s not drinks it’s things, if it’s not things it’s people, places I don’t wanna be, these vices. I don't sleep too much these days & I hate being awake when the sun's out. Lock my door & shut the blinds, they can't see my bloodshot eyes, I got habits I can't hide in the light & ooh , it's never enough. Pass me the cup, got nowhere to run. So pour me another one. I'm taking it all, I'm getting lost, I’m making a fool of myself with all these vices.

3. Poltergeist, Corpse Husband & Omen XIII

Cross my heart & hope to die, I can’t fucking sleep at night. Blew up for the thousandth time, guess I’m always ‘lucky’ right? Pop some shit, then fall behind, I jump the gun & take what's mine. Looking like you seen a ghost, moving like a poltergeist! I'm like, "Wait, what's his name?" I'm like, "Huh, what'd he say, bitch?" I don't want your two cents, you ain't even paid, bitch. We are not the same, I dropped out in seventh grade, bitch. Came up from the grave, fuck everything you claim, bitch. I don't sleep, I'm a freak, when I wake up, I see concrete. Risk my life on concrete, it’s too hard to starve me. Feast, feast, feast, feast! All I see is options, everyone’s got problems, anyone’s a target ( fuck my life ). Can't pay the price 'cause I bet it, thinking ahead, I expect to see dead ends. Count money, count blessings & tuck you a weapon. Somebody knows something you don't, can't be guessing. Where I'm from, we don't think about tomorrow, keep two fingers crossed, nothing is promised. Nobody knows how I feel when I go out, that’s what I learned, 'cause I came from the bottom!

4. Debt Collector, Jhariah

It's all catching up to you now, hope you can run. 'Cause soon your past will come and drag you, down, down. You scammed your way into heaven, 'til the angels realize you're not one of them. Here comes the debt collector, seems you owe him again. Dollars & coins can't cut your cheque this time around. Here comes the debt collector, & you owe him again. Kind words & lies won't save your head, this time around, 'round, 'round. Gravedigger. Cordial killer. Your payment is due, they're looking at you. We’ve done what we can, it's out of our hands, sooner or later, it comes back again.

5. Live Fast Die Young, Hollywood Undead

Here in the city, where the sun beats down on the streets, my demons talking to me, & they're just trying to eat. Sunset's pretty when the waves crash down at my feet. Ain't this life so sweet? Cruising a hundred & three. I'm in my fast lane, I'm moving rapid, & it's do or die, you need to catch back up, man. I'll never slow down, just like a ghost town. James Dean, curtain call, silver screen showdown. I'd rather burn out than fade away, living day to day. I was born an outcast, but who are they to say, what I do is wrong, & I keep moving on? You might choke on these words, but you sing along. So if your heart stops or your hands tied, be the rainfall, cause a landslide, & if they condescend, then something's wrong with them. I've been off, now I'm on again.

I just wanna live while the feeling's there, a hundred on the highway, put the top down, feel the air, kill the snare. Life's a movie, we're the directors. We're the star, don't bother us, no time for the lectures. Many memories, I wouldn't trade for the planet. Life is short, I never take it for granted. God, take me now, in the place that I'm standing. I got no regret, & that's the way that I planned it. I know you all will remember me in pages of history. Oh no, no, maybe we were born to die young. Live fast, then we die young. Live fast, then we die young. We live fast, then we die young.

It's never been in my faith to run, I was born to chase the sun. Mama always told me I was like no one. But I'll know when the time comes. It's never been in my faith to run. I was born to chase the sun. Mama knew I wouldn't be here for long & I'll smile when the time comes.

Tagged by: N/A

Tagging: @barxlupin, @gemkun, @finalism & idk I only did this because @fortifice peer pressured me.

#;; I am in pain #♦️ ⸻ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ ❮ ᴅᴀsʜ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ❯

4 notes · View notes

hutaosgraveyard · 2 years

Text

“Your beauty never ever scared me”

A scaramouche x GN!Reader SMAU

Chapter 5: Early Coffee Run

Previous | Next

Masterlist

———————————————————————

God I’m a mess

Your scrambled to find you keys to lock your apartment while simultaneously jamming your feet into your shoes. You were practically hopping down the hall trying to get those damn things on. After fifteen minutes of walking, you arrived at the coffee shop. You entered, the coffee bean’s aroma overtaking your senses within seconds. The whole place felt rather homey. “Hey Rosalyne, pass me the vanilla pump will you?” A black haired man asked.

“Of course, one second,” a beautiful woman behind the counter replied.

You couldn’t help but gawk at her, she was gorgeous. “You don’t usually stare this much,” a familiar voice whispered in your ear.

You jumped, turning to see Scaramouche. “My god you’re everywhere,” you sighed.

“You sound disappointed, I thought we were friends,” Scaramouche said, pretending to sound hurt.

“Shut up,”.

You walked over to the counter to get a look at the menu. The chocolate croissant and the peppermint mocha caught your eye. “Hello, could I take your order?” Rosalyne walked up to the register, smiling at you.

“Oh, yeah, I’d like a peppermint mocha with a chocolate croissant please,” You requested, giving her a polite smile.

“Of course, and what for your frie….Scaramouche?” Rosalyne trailed off, disgust clear in her voice when she said his name.

“Nice to see you too, you old hag,” Scaramouche replied, his voice monotone.

Rosalyne shook her head, “I’m only a year older than you, you imbecile,”.

“Still older,” Scaramouche shrugged.

“Anyways,” Rosalyne groaned, brushing some of her hair behind her ear, “What would you like, scaramouche?”.

“Oh we’re a separate tab by the way ,” You informed her, opening your wallet.

“Well how about you pay for me? You still owe me from Sunday,” Scaramouche suggested.

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, but keep it under 5 dollars, I’m on a budget,”.

He nodded, ordering a black coffee. Rosalyne laughed, “A bitter coffee for the worlds most bitter person, how fitting,”.

“Should you really be talking to your customer like this?” Scaramouche questioned.

Rosalyne printed your receipt, “No, and usually I don’t, but for you I’ll make an exception!”.

You took the receipt and dragged scaramouche to a table before he starting arguing with her. “Damn, what did she do to make you dislike her so much?” You asked as you sat down, scaramouche sitting across from you.

“If I’m being perfectly honest with you,” Scaramouche began to explain, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, “She really didn’t do anything, she was just a huge bitch. I knew from when I first met her we wouldn’t get along. And I was right, we have never once had a conversation that didn’t lead to argument, besides that last one,”.

You nodded, “That makes sense, but I don’t think she’s much of a bitch now. She probably would’ve been civil if you didn’t immediately call her an old hag,”.

Scaramouche opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted but Rosalyne’s husband. “One back coffee, a peppermint mocha, and a chocolate croissant. Enjoy!” Her husband smiled, placing your orders infront of you.

You both thanked him, you scarfing down your croissant a second later.

“Did you not eat this morning?” Scaramouche asked.

You shook your head, “No, sadly I took too long getting ready and didn’t have time,”.

“You sure just a croissant is enough?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but if I’m hungry I’ll just get something from a vending machine at the school,”.

“Hm, fair enough I guess,”.

For the next thirty minutes, you sat listening to Scaramouche complaining about Rosalyne before you both set off for school. During the walk, you had an idea. “What if I had a Christmas party with the group? I still need to decorate my place after all, it could be fun,” you thought.

“Sure, does Thursday work? Gives you after school and tomorrow to prepare,” you nod “K, just texted the group chat about it,”.

“Aw, thanks. I could have texted them about it myself y’know, it is my party,”.

“Don’t worry about it,”.

You both soon arrived at your school, parting ways to get to your first period.

———————————————————————

Authors notes:

•If you didn’t realize this already, Rosalyne is La signora. Scaramouche was in a chess club (haha, get it?) in highschool with the other harbingers (except the short one with the twenty foot nose.). Anyways that’s how he met Rosalyne and bro’s had beef with her since.

•Decided to let La signora be happy with her husband in this, since uh. We know what happened in canon 💀

•Scaramouche only went to the coffee shop because Y/N was there

———————————————————————

Taglist:

@mcryv @vcvoxu @chuuyaswifeeee @starfruiitzz @thenightsflower

If your tag is this color that means that unfortunately I can’t tag you. Feel free to DM me to see if we can figure out why.

If you want to be added, just ask! I’ll be happy to add you!

#scaramouche x reader #scaranation #scaramouche #genshin #gemshin impact

25 notes · View notes

sketchy-rosewitch · 2 years

Text

To a Pulp: Benny Miller x f!reader

A/n: got bored, race is inclusive but I had to let out this crazy Filipino energy I have. So here it is.

Masterlist

Warnings: Blood, Sexism, Fighting, yelling.

You smile, your nose scrunching up as Benny talks about your recent walking trip to the creek, how you slipped and fell making both of you wet.

“Yeah then I tried to take her hand and help her up and I slipped and fell next to her. She didn’t come out with any scratches bruises but I get this huge gash on my back. You guys probably saw it, and a bruise on my arm too! Can you believe that shit!” Benny laughs, you sip your Seagram, still smiling like an idiot from the incident.

“Yeah we were only about 5 minutes into creeking. We had to go back though cause I didn’t want that gash to get infected. Kept trying to convince me he was fine. Practically dragged him back to the house. Stubborn ass.” Every laughs. You finish your drink and set the glass in the table.

“You want me to get you another one babe? Or are you done for tonight and want a water?” Benny asks, pointing at the empty bottle. You tilt your head, trying to decide.

“Just get me a water.”

He nods and gets up, walking up to the bar. You grab a fry and pop it into your mouth. “How’ve you guys been?” You ask.

The night had been about you and Benny since after the match he won. You didn’t really care about making it about you and him, both of you trying to shift the conversation to Frankie, or Will, or Santi. All of them deflected and went back to you, or Benny, or both of you.

“We’ll Mia is learning to talk. She’s doing great. So far, on both her English and Spanish.”

Your jaw drops. “You’ve been making this whole night about Benny and I and you just drop that on me by the time Benny goes to get me water! Are you kidding! I’ll have to come over and see what she can do. Maybe we can even get her to walk while we’re at it.” You pop another fry in your mouth. Frankie chuckles.

“Yeah, whenever you’re open this week. I know you’re working late at the salon.”

“Oh I’ll always make time for little Mia.”

Through your peripheral vision you notice a man talking to Benny. You attempt to ignore it but something felt off about the two. Your conversation between Frankie, Santi, and Will loses interest as you recognize the man. He was talking to Benny’s opponent after the match. Now what the hell was he doing here?

“Oil changing is the same as ever though. But it makes money so who am I to complain?” Frankie laughs, cashing you to refocus back in, you laugh a little too.

“Yeah costumer service can suck ass sometimes.”

Your ears pick up an aggressive tone by the bar, Will is the first to notice where your eyes are and he turns, then sighs. Must’ve been thinking Benny started whatever was happening.

“Fucking causing me to lose 500 dollars shitbag!” The man shoves Benny, causing him to spill your water. You can tell Benny isn’t trying to retaliate. But you are. You get up and stomp over.

You lightly tap him on the shoulder. The man wasn’t that tall, shorter than Benny but taller than you. He turns, his face as red as a tomato.

“What the fu-“

You full fist swing at him, he stumbles back then falls and you practically pounce on his medium frame and continue punching, smacking, pulling his hair, scratching.

“YOU DON’T GET TO TOUCH MY BOYFRIEND! FUCK YOU FUCKING CUCKHOLD! I’LL KILL YOU! HE DOESN’T OWE YOU SHIT, PIECE OF SHIT, SORRY YOU SUCK AT BETTING ON THE RIGHT MAN BITCH BOY!”

“Babe! Hey!”

Benny attempts to grab your flailing form while trying not to get caught in the cross fire that was your hands. Goddamn they were powerful, and he would know.

Will gets up and sighs, unafraid to grab you. He practically manhandles you. You continue flailing and screaming.

“FUCK YOU! FUCKING LOSER! DON’T TOUCH MY BOYFRIEND EVER AGAIN!”

The man gets up, tears were rolling down his face and he held one side. He tries to hide the tears and he rubs out of the bar.

“YEAH FUCK YOU! RUN BITCH RUN!”

Your adrenaline was up.

“I’m gonna have to ask you guys to leave…” The bartender butts in. You’re still seeing red. Will sighs and nods, talking you outside. The guys following behind him. You see the shitty gambler walking quickly to his car and you start struggling to get out of Will grasp.

The car drives off, not before the man stops and rolls down the window. “CONTROL THAT BITCH!”

“YOU CONTROL YOURSELF CUCK!”

The tires squeal and he drives off.

Your breathing heavy, Will let’s you go. Your hands turning to fists then loosening, then turning to fists.

“Honey?”

You look up, meeting beautiful blue eyes.

“Hi Benny.”

You walk into his chest and lean your face into it, letting out a huge sigh, then tears come out. “I got us kicked out of the bar…. I’m sorry….” You whine, the guys laugh around you, Benny squeezes you tightly.

“It was either you or Benny.” Santi adds in. You nod and cry more.

“Yeah but I still feel bad… it’s just I don’t like anyone messing with Benny. He tries so hard being good and assholes gotta ruin everything.”

“It’s okay Honey. I think it’s time we go home anyways. Okay?”

You look up. “Okay.” He pecks your lips. You let go and hug all the guys, saying how jive the night was and thanking them for everything.

Benny opens his truck door for you, you hop in and he goes to the driver’s side.

“I would’ve joined in but you usually always have it handled.”

You smile and push him arm as he laughs. “Shush up.”

#benny miller x female reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller #benny miller triple frontier #triple frontier

32 notes · View notes

emilybradshaw · 2 years

Text

English Rose - A Bradley Bradshaw Story

Chapter 5

Chapter 5... where we see the start of a blossoming, platonic relationship between Emily and Hangman.

TW: Creepy man, mentions of athsma, Emily being a badass bitch and Hangman being a protective brother figure.

Taglist: @bratshaws

Naturally the first thing Emily thought of doing as soon as she shut the door on her first date with Bradley was to tell her best friend everything. The only issue there being that there was a time difference between them and Hayley would be just waking up and getting ready for work, leaving no time to talk about the juicy stuff. She’ll just have to call her after shift, she resolved, surely she can wait till then, plus Penny will be at the bar so she can fill her in on it all in the meantime.

It had just gone five by the time Emily eventually managed to get to the bar it had gone half five, she’d spent a good hour and a half looking through her limited belongings trying to find her inhaler, panicking when she thought she’d left it in England, but it turns out it was shoved right inside the bottom of her bag underneath all her worldly goods.

Emily has suffered with acute asthma since she was four, it didn’t affect her too often but sometimes if she gets too stressed or breathes in some smoke or fumes it sets her off. Growing up she used to get little attacks in the lead up to her dance competitions (until she learned how to control these), then her Mum got worse with her drinking and that became a trigger, she’d lost count of the amount of times she’d rang Hayley panicking because she couldn’t get her breath. Hopefully now she was out here they would die down and she wouldn’t have to worry about them for a while.

The bar itself was quiet when she arrived, though she was in no doubt it would be getting busy later with it being a Friday night. She helped Penny get the glasses ready, the tables cleaned, and the place smartened up while they still had time, the pair gossiping over the blossoming romance between the young girl and the Naval Aviator she had seemingly fallen head over heels for. Penny wanted to know everything, though just as Emily was leading up to the best part of the date a rabble of young aviators walked through the door of the bar. Penny sighed, looking at the girl with a ‘we’ll finish this conversation later’ look.

Amongst the crowd of younger officers, Emily saw two she recognised, Hangman and Coyote. She flashed them a smile, both returning it as they walked up to the bar. “If it isn’t Emily from England” Hangman quipped.

“Hangman” she nodded in return, doing the same to Coyote.

“You know, you can call me by my name darlin’”

“and what exactly would that be?”

“Jake, or Lieutenant Seresin”

“Well then, Jake, what can I get for you?”

“I’ll take two beers and the lowdown on what exactly happened on your little date with Bradshaw” she smiled, winking at her as he added the last part.

“I’ll give you two beers Lieutenant, but a girl never kisses and tells” she quickly snapped back, smirking at him.

“So you kissed him then” Coyote interjected, “you owe me 20 bucks, I said they would”.

Hangman sighed as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and slammed a 20 dollar bill into Coyote’s hand, glaring at him as he did so, “the date went well then I take it?” he asked wiggling his eyebrows at Emily as he did so.

“Funnily enough” she started, picking up two beer bottles from the fridge and placing them in front of the pilots, “you’re not the first person to ask me that exact question today, and in answer to it, yes, it went really well. I’m coming to watch you guys play football on Sunday.”

“Ahh, Coyote, we’ll get to witness the second date” she smirked, turning to his friend. Coyote simply returned the devilish looking smile in return.

The bar was getting busier and busier, more younger pilots coming in and separating into groups around the room, Hangman once again turned back to the young barmaid, “Hey, if any of these give you any trouble, give us a shout yeah?”

“I will do, but I’m sure they won’t” she said, already turning away to serve another customer. The two pilots sloped themselves away to the dart board, Hangman turning round one last time to look at the young girl, she was really starting to remind him of his little sister, she was bubbly, quick witted and sarcastic, he had a feeling they would get on well if this thing she had with Rooster progressed, which it most definitely would.

Two hours past, Hangman and Coyote must have been well into their twelfth game of darts and Emily had barely had chance to get around the bar to collect the empties due to the sheer level of people wanting to be served. She looked back and took stock of the glasses they had left and noticed they were running desperately low, she knew Jimmy was out ready to wash and dry the glasses but he couldn’t be expected to squeeze and shimmy through the crowds at his age, it wasn’t fair, it also wasn’t fair to ask him to serve on the weekends, too much for him she thought, Penny had told her as much during their little chat the day before, but Jimmy liked to be useful and Penny didn’t like to upset him.

“Pen, I’m just going to collect some glasses, we’re looking a bit low”

“Alright sweetie, thank you!”

Emily picked up her caddy and crawled under the bar and through the first part of the sea of people surrounding it before returning to her full height and manoeuvring herself over to the tables. She arrived at a table occupied by a group of young aviators and thought to herself ‘that’s where the glasses went’, the table had at least twenty of them on, it was obvious the four men that were sat there had come to get more drinks without returning the empties.

“Can I just grab these please guys” she said, reaching over the table to pop the glasses in her caddy, “can I also ask you bring your empties back to the bar when you’ve finished with, we’re super busy tonight and I don’t really have time to be coming out to get these.”

“Sorry, sugar, didn’t mean to cause you any trouble” one of the men said to you, he looked like a budget version of Elvis Presley and really needed to lay off the hair gel and maybe invest in some deodorant.

“Just please do what I’ve asked if you don’t mind” she replied quickly, trying to stack the glasses carefully but as fast as she could so as not to spend so much time with this table.

“I don’t mind at all sugar, what’s your name anyway doll?” he persisted,

“Emily” she replied bluntly.

“You’re not from round here are you?”

“Well spotted” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really have to get back to work”

As she turned to leave, budget Elvis grabbed her wrist, clearly thinking he was not done with this conversation, unbeknown to him, the two elder pilots had been watching this situation play out, Coyote notably scoffing on his beer as Emily dropped her sarcastic disinterest in the table of rookies. The minute he moved to grab her wrist however, Jake Seresin was across the bar in no time. Before Emily had the chance to tell the man to get off of her, a thick Texan accent burst into the conversation.

“Lieutenant Jackson” he barked, “take your hand off her wrist immediately.”

The young pilot did nothing but stare at Hangman, Emily cutting in this time, “I’ve got it Jake.”

“Ah, so you two know each other then”, Jackson retorted, “is this your girl then, Hangman?”

“I am not!” Emily spoke, “now, get your hands off me before I do something I’ll regret”.

Still, he did not let go of her arm, well, she’d given him a chance, she thought. Swiftly and without warning, Emily twisted her arm so that it was her who had control and she who had the man’s wrist in her grip. “I told you to let me go, don’t you ever, ever, put your hands on me again, do you understand me?” she said, bending slightly to look into the pilot’s face as she said those words, “and another thing… you might want to take a shower.”

With that Emily turned swiftly and headed off to the back room of the bar to deposit the glasses with Jimmy, leaving the pilots, including Hangman and Coyote, in a state of awe. Hangman then made his way up to the group, “you heard her right, don’t touch her again, because the thing is, she might be tough, but you’ve also got to deal with me”, the pilots sat there in abject shock and fear, from not expecting Emily to be a very strong, independent woman but also from the veiled threat Hangman had just given them.

Coyote, ever the dramatist wanted to add to their fear even more, come Monday, these rookies would be shaking in their boots, “you see as well, a point Hangman here failed to mention, that girl there, Emily. She’s Bradley Bradshaw’s girl”.

I mean, she wasn’t, the pair had only been on one date, as nice as it was, but the four men weren’t to know that. To know she was protected not only by herself and her own abilities, but also by Lieutenants Bradshaw and Seresin was sure to make her untouchable, to the Navy at least.

#rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x midsize oc #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun rooster #jake seresin x platonic reader

19 notes · View notes

risingphoenix87 · 2 years

Text

The Triumphant Return of Incorrect Villain Found Family Quotes (feat. guests!)

Hans: Randall, you've hardly touched any of your food.

Randall: Hans, are you a scientist?

Hans: No.

Randall: THEN QUIT PUTTING ME UNDER A FUCKING MICROSCOPE!

Dawn, walking in: Oh, there you guys are! Boy, does it feel good to walk into the right house!

Randall: Bellwether, are you a scientist?

Hans: Don't answer that, Dawn.

Ernesto, putting his hands over Gothel’s eyes: Guess who!

Gothel: It's either Ernesto or the cold clammy hands of death.

Ernesto: It's me!

Gothel: Damn it.

Kaa: That was sssssssso hot, Randall.

Randall: I literally called the chick who just flirted with you a degenerate dog and told her I hope she gets dragged through the streets.

Kaa: I'm sssssssso in love with you.

[the chick in question was probably Joanna from The Rescuers sequel]

Randall: The Ocean is a soup.

Charles:

Charles: Do elaborate.

Randall: What's needed for something to be a soup?

Charles: Erm... Water, salt, some form of vegetation, and personally I prefer some meat in mine.

Randall: *Tilts head*

Charles: The Ocean is a Soup.

Randall: The Ocean is a Soup.

Ernesto, dramatically: They called me a fool.

Randall, sick of Ernesto's shit: They weren’t wrong.

Charles: I love you.

Prof. Callaghan: I love you too. I've waited so long to hear you say that.

*Charles and Prof. Callaghan kiss passionately*

Hans, to Syndrome: You owe me 20 dollars.

Ernesto: Don't go to the kitchen.

Randall: Why?

Ernesto: I saw una arana.

Randall: Well, did you kill it?

Ernesto: It has ocho brazos and I only have dos, it's not fair…

[Randall, who does have eight limbs, then eats the spider🦎🕷️]

Hans : You remind me of the ocean.

Phoenix: Because I'm deep and mysterious?

Hans : No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

[Well, f- …no, no…he's actually got a point]

Charles & Prof. Callaghan:*Playing video games*

Gothel: You guys woke up at 5:30 in the morning just to play games?

Charles: *silence*

Prof. Callaghan: *silence*

Gothel, finally figuring it out: ...You two never went to sleep, did you?

Charles & Prof. Callaghan in shame: Yeah…

(okay, who introduced video games to the elder gays?)

Ernesto : My father's name is just mine as well, so I'm technically Ernesto de la Cruz, Jr.

Charles: But who comes up when you look up Ernesto de la Cruz on Google?

Hans : That's what I thought!

Charles: One Ernesto to rule them all!

Hans: *plays shreksophone*

Hans: Woo.

Hans: Time to listen to this on loop for all eternity.

Ernesto: ...Genius coping mechanism, my friend.

Dawn: Hey Ernie, how do you say ��Taco” in Spanish?

Ernesto: Taco.

Dawn: TA-co. How do you say “burrito”?

Ernesto: Burrito.

Dawn: Ahh…so Spanish and English are the same language!

Ernesto: 😒😒😒

Turbo, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

Prof. Callaghan: Why are you burning our marriage certificate!?

Charles: Good luck trying to return me without a receipt.

Hans: I’m telling you, my team is competent.

Dawn, rushing in: Your Highness! Turbo tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!

Hans: You three, explain right now!

Syndrome: It was Randall.

Turbo: It was Randall.

Gothel: It was Randall.

Randall:

Randall: …fuck.

Randall: I came out here to attack people and I'm honestly having such a good time right now.

Gothel: Maybe the true treasure was friendship all along. But I hope not, because I can’t spend friendship on new clothes…

Randall, to Turbo: Could you step back? You’re making me claustrophobic.

Turbo: What does that mean?

Dawn: It means he’s afraid of Santa Claus!

Randall: It does not!

Turbo: Ho ho ho!

Dawn: Stop it, Turbo! You’re scaring him!

(Scenario: Ernesto and Dawn have had a falling out and are returning each other’s things)

[Ernesto marches into Dawn’s room, carrying a large cardboard box]

Dawn: What are you doing here, Cruz?

Ernesto: Returning all your junk, Bellwether!

Dawn: Fine with me!

[10 minutes later; the other villains have gathered to watch what’s happening]

Ernesto: Your calculator!

Dawn: Your Chuck Norris action figure!

Ernesto: Your old retainer!

Dawn: Your abuela’s shrunken head!

Hans, unnerved: You guys had a weird relationship.

Prof. Callaghan: Are you coming to bed, sweetheart?

Charles: I can't. This is important.

Prof. Callaghan: What?

Charles: Someone is wrong on the internet.

[Charles is seated in the living room, when Prof. Callaghan walks in wearing a stunning evening gown]

Charles:...

Prof. Callaghan: I don’t wanna talk about it.

Charles: Yeah, well, I do; you took that out of my closet!

Randall: Deep down, I'm sure I was always pretty okay with you.

Syndrome: Thanks, Randall!

Randall: It wasn't a compliment, numbnuts.

Charles: Y’know, maybe things aren’t so bad. I’m here. I got the nice ocean breeze. Just alone with my thoughts.

Ernesto: Hola, Carlos.

Charles: GODDAMNIT.

Charles, watching Ernesto & Syndrome panic: What's going on?

Prof. Callaghan: Ernesto is having a midlife crisis and Syndrome is just having a crisis.

[Ernesto died in his forties, so I think this works]

Charles: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey!

Prof. Callaghan: But I'm a vegan.

Charles: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

[I know I used that one already, but since Dawn is only “vegan” because she’s an herbivorous animal, I wanted to do it again]

Turbo: I’m afraid of clowns. There, I said it.

Randall: Turbo, if you don't like clowns, why are you hanging with Phoenix?

(again I say, fuck you, too, Cunty Purple)

(Scenario: as a required act of community service to be allowed to live in polite society, the squad is volunteering at a fire department, wherein Ernesto discovers fire poles)

Ernesto: Familia, look at these poles! [slides down like a pole dancer] Get ready for one sexy firehouse!

Hans: Ernesto, quit turning us on and go polish your nozzle!

(that's what she said 🐼😜)

(Scenario: as Phoenix is leaving to go home after completing the interviews, a bunch of the squad comes to seemingly see them off)

Turbo: There’s nothing we can do to make you stay?

Phoenix: (sits in their wheelchair) ‘fraid not, guys. I gotta go back to my work.

Turbo: I see…we’ll never forget you, Phoenix…

(Phoenix smiles softly)

Turbo: …because we’re gonna kidnap you.

Phoenix: Huh?

(the villains grab Phoenix and carry them off, wheelchair and all)

#villainous found family au #disney villains #some of the sources include the following #futurama #full house #boy meets world #the looney tunes show #gravity falls #most of them I just find on incorrect quote generators

9 notes · View notes