#come get yer prints

[flapdoodlez]

prints I recently drew for the Team Fortress 2 voice cast :D you can get em signed by the voice actors here

#tf2 #admin #medic #pyro #demoman #sniper #spy #myart #come get yer prints

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#cod mw fanfiction #cave writing #John Price x Reader #x reader #dark fic #Price please keep your dogs on leashes they are terrorizing women #The boys missed the real retirement party because they got emergency deployed and they've been trying to reschedule all year long #Good thing they've got such a good gift to make up for it #The homies in discord agree: These guys are unsettling

[chloessleepystories]

School Daze

Miss Schism walked into the empty lecture hall loaded down with books and papers. She scattered her desk with plans and textbooks, and sat dutifully for a long time, writing and researching, making notes, glancing at the clock frequently and increasingly fretfully. Finally, she rested her forehead on the cool desk, and whimpered.

After a few quiet minutes with her eyes closed—which didn’t help—she leaned back in her chair, wanting to cry with frustration. “There’s only a few days left before I have to give the final, and I’m not even done creating it!” she wailed to the empty room. “And there’s still so much left to do!!”

“Like what?”

She gestured to the mess before her. “I’ve got to grade the last two weeks’ worth of work, create a rubric for the final project … " She suddenly stood, and walked to the blackboard, grabbing the chalk and making frantic notes to herself. “Not to mention skimming through three months of discussion notes for questions … ”

“—planning what you’re going to wear the last day, and what debauchery you’ll get up to on vacation … ”

“—downloading and organizing and printing and planning … ”

“—dressing and undressing and squeezing and sucking … ”

“Stop!” she told the Voice, dropping the chalk in the tray, but not turning around. “I can’t—I can’t be thinking about that right now. I need to focus.”

“You certainly do need to focus,” came the Voice, which was deep, and male … and persuasive. “Focus on the tingling in your breasts, focus on how hard your nipples are getting … ”

“No … " moaned Miss Schism.

“They’re so aroused. You’re so aroused … ”

She put both hands on the chalkboard, bending over, squeezing her thighs as she felt herself getting warmer. “Please … I c-can’t … ”

“But you can. You need to. You need to focus, that’s what you said. Focus on what your body needs … Turn around.”

She whimpered an almost-protest, but pivoted to put her hands on her desk, leaning over further and scanning the empty room, the rows of bare chairs, with eyes blurred with growing lust.

“Oh my! Look at that … You weren’t very focused when you got dressed this morning, were you? I bet you haven’t even noticed what top you put on, by ‘accident.’ How sheer that blouse is. How it’s almost … invisible.”

She looked down and gasped. It was, indeed, so sheer as to show the white lace on her bra. “Oh no! I can’t be out in public like this! … At least I have a bra underneath it … ”

The unseen Voice seemed to move from one side of her to the other as it chuckled. “No you don’t.”

She looked down again as she felt her erect nipples brushing the silky fabric, swaying suddenly. “Oh no! What was I thinking!?” she gasped, covering her breasts with one arm. “This is totally, like, see-thru!”

“You weren’t thinking,” said the Voice. “You were being dumb.”

She chewed her lip, shaking her head bashfully, girlishly. The beginnings of a grin began to show. “Nuh-uh.”

“Like a dumb bimbo.”

“No I wasn’t!!” She dropped both arms to stamp a foot. “I was, like … . I mean, I am! Like, smart!”

“Much too dumb to be a teacher … ”

“Stoooop … .” she whined. “Yer mixing me up!! I gotta find something to put on before somebunny sees me!!”

She hurried to her bag beside her desk.

“It’s too late. Your whole class has seen you. Look.”

Sure enough, there they were! Every seat was filled! When did they get here??? A student in every seat, and every single one of them, boys and girls, wuz LEERING at her!!

“My goodness, what they must think of you … " said the Voice, right in her ear now. “A sheer top, and no bra … Oh and look, you forgot your skirt as well … ”

She didn’t need to look down, she FELT the scratchy tweed disappear from her thighs, and her fingertips. She watched as the boys in the front row leaned forward, their gaze growing hungrier.

“I’m having a dream, it’s a terrible, terrible dream … " she murmured.

“Nonsense!” came the Voice, but now it was coming from the doorway. Miss Schism looked, and saw an older man walking toward her, with a beaming smile, his arms out. “It’s not terrible at all … ”

“Principal Grossman!” she cried. “What a relief!”

The man was pudgy, and mostly bald, with a horseshoe of white hair. A relaxing presence, even in these circumstances. She didn’t think to cover herself, but moved toward him as if he were an oasis in the desert. “They’re all lookin at me!!” she whispered, her voice moving up the scale as if on helium.

“Poor girl,” he said tenderly. “You’re so confused. Did you think you were teaching this class? No, no, you’re the experiment.”

“I am?”

“And you’re doing very, very well,” he said, grasping her forearms reassuringly.

She beamed proudly. “Oh goody!”

He turned her, facing the students. “Such a silly girl.” He unbuttoned her blouse, stripping off the wispy material. She stood, topless, her nipples hardening, as the boys licked their lips and rubbed the crotches of their jeans. The girls uncrossed their legs, spreading their knees, revealing the lack of panties under their short skirts as they slouched in the chairs, eyes hooded with lust.

“Silly girl, you can’t be a teacher. You’re much too dumb.”

“I am?”

“Dumb and slutty,” he said into her ear, and the word “slutty” echoed through her empty head, sweeping up so many thoughts and feelings and memories. He cupped her breasts from behind, fondling them, offering them to the students. “Aren’t you, my dum-dum dolly?”

A wave of pink fluff went through her brain as he said that. And a wave of golden sparkles tingled through her body. “Uuunngghhh … .” She staggered a little. “Yes … ”

“A slutty, horny, dum-dum dolly?”

Her pussy ached with sudden need, drenching her sodden panties. He was pinching her nipples now, and tingles raced through her body, not just from his touch but from his words, his triggers … “Yes, Principal Grossman.”

“Are you sure?” he said, and his voice changed. “Look again.”

She blinked, and turned, trying to focus on the man whose hands were running over her belly, her hip, as she heard and felt the students shift hungrily in their seats.

And it wasn’t the principal at all!! He was taller, and muscular, and dark as rich chocolate!!—with shaved head and trimmed beard, but the same gentle smile …

“Coach Brickhouse!!!!”

“That’s right, little girl. And you’re my suggestible bimbo snowbunny, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh!” she grinned, and “Ohhhhhh … " She moaned as her eyelids fluttered, as the word ‘snowbunny’ stole more of her IQ points. Oh, it felt so good to let go.

The coach caressed her cheek as he hooked one dark thumb under her panties, at the hip. The other thumb slid into her slack mouth, and she sucked it eagerly, her eyes closed and her mind eclipsed. “That’s my docile, suggestible idiot,” he murmured in his rich baritone, as she sucked dutifully on his thick, black, powerful thumb. “It feels so good to drop, and obey, doesn’t it … ”

“Mmmmm … " Miss Schism, her mind delightfully fractured, leaned her blond head against his hand, mindlessly sucking, awaiting orders.

“Then why don’t you get on your knees, and show me how much you love being cockdumb.” She giggled as she dropped happily, and took his massive member in her little white hands. It filled her lips with its intoxicating meaty taste, and she stuffed it into her throat until her jaws ached with pleasure. She looked up at him with big eyes, reveling in his kind gaze as he stroked her cheek and hair with his strong hands.

“Then we’ll see how many of these nice boys and girls want to play with your body, and break your little brain with pleasure. How does that sound … Mmmmm, imagine a silly girl like you, thinking she was a teacher. You’re just a slutty bimbo airhead, aren’t you?”

She nodded happily, and kept sucking his hard, gorgeous member, her eyes rolling back and her eager cunt gushing with grateful pleasure.

***

Abigail slurped happily on her husband’s cock, humming peacefully and mindlessly to herself, two fingers stroking her sopping pussy.

Jack stroked her dark hair lovingly, and throbbed in her mouth. He glanced over at the bedside desk, strewn with term papers and textbooks.

She could finish the rubric in the morning, he knew, and still have time for everything else before finals next week. She deserved a break.

And fortunately, she’d long ago given him the tools to give it to her.

“What a good slut,” he murmured. “Look out, here comes that football player with the big dick … He’s holding your hips, getting ready to slam it into you … ”

Her eyes met his, her cheeks sunken in with sucking, and suddenly her eyes … WIDENED … and her body moved with the first thrust of the phantom cock. She squealed in pleasure, and her husband knew that meant “thank you.”

“My goodness, look at these hot co-eds who want to suck on your tits while you’re being spitroasted … ”

#mind control #classic chloe #consensual

[rinsaint]

MILF FUCKER <3

ft. Aran, atsumu, && iwaizumi !!

cw. legal age gap (reader is 29 they are 19), milf fucking duhh, infidelity, tit play, atsumu has a filthy filthy mouth, fucking on a yoga mat, breeding, degrading, oral, riding, spit, unprotected sex, one smack to the ass, marking, making out !!

ARAN: Aran is definitely known in the group for fucking women older than him and that are milfs. And when he gets tease cause of it by his friends, he quickly denies it saying it’s not true. Which is obviously a lie. You, his next door neighbour who happen to be older than him and have 3 kids. He took interest into you quickly because you spiked curiosity in him. Always so sweet, giggling and touching his beefy arm that he has worked hard for — fuck how could he not be attracted to you. And you were a divorced women? it was a win for him, atsumu would say. Your kids were staying with their father for the weekend and as you were making yourself coffee you noticed how you were out of milk. So you went to your next door neighbour aran to borrow a cup of milk. When aran opened the door he was shirtless and wore a sweatpants that showed his dick print. You gulped slightly. And that’s how you ended up with your face pushed into the mattress of his sheets, thrusting his cock in and out of your warm and tight cunt. You let out a pitched moan when he landed a smack on your ass making you clench around him. “Yea? you like that little slut? getting pounded into with my big cock?” You nodded your head and let out a cry as he sped up his pace. “c-cummin’ aran! m’gonna cum please.” He pushes your head down more as he slowed his thrust down but banged his hips into your ass. Each thrust he gave you knocked the wind out of you had you coming with a moan of his name. He bit his lip as you gushed around him, letting your juices soak his cock. Not long after he had came inside you. He pushes his cock real deep into you so you can feel his seed in you. So you can know he’s in you. Maybe his stupid friends were right.

ATSUMU: definitely a person who is also known to fuck women older than them that has kids. He has no shame about it either. His current interest was in you — ‘samu’s worker that worked at his food restaurant. And god were you hot. Your breast poking out of your work outfit and the pants of your work outfit making your ass look big. ‘Tsumu can’t help but want to talk to you. So he asks samu about you and he learns that you are a married women with 4 kids. Married huh? He didn’t care, it was no problem for him. So tsumu strikes a conversation with you at work and he finds you intriguing. I mean god — whoever guy that’s married to you obviously isn’t doing something right because when atsumu brings up that you’re married, you have a forced smile telling him that you’re happily married. Bullshit, he thinks. You two became closer and actually became friends. And you aren’t obvious to his flirting, and you’d never admit but you liked the attention he gave you other than your husband who comes home and never pays any attention to you. And atsumu knows that. And he knows you know he knows that. And that’s why when your husband took your children to see their grandparents for a while, atsumu is quick to come over to your house and fuck you until the only word you know is his name. Atsumu groans as you bounce up and down on his thick cock, gripping on e of your tits and sucking on your harden bud. You grip onto his shoulders letting out a whimper, “‘atsu, m’so close, need your help please!” And who is he to deny his love? He grips onto your hips lifting you up and switching the position you two were in so now your laying under him. He grabs his cock and you whisper out when he thrust back into you in one quick motion. He grabs under your thighs and starts fucking into your cunt like an animal. “Fuck baby— ya cunt squeezin’ ma so hard. ya liked getting fuck by me don’t ya? such a slutty whore. imagine what yer husband might think if he ever sees you whining and begging f’me.” At his filthy words spilling from his mouth, you bring him closer to you and grip onto his undercut as you come. He groans feelinfs the way you squeeze him and comes right after you. You’re about to get up but stop as atsumu pushes you back down on the bed. “Ya think we are done baby? nah, m’gonna fuckin’ breed ya until yer stuffed with ma babies.”

IWAIZUMI: Iwaizumi knew you had kids and were divorced because you were a regular incomer at his workout place. Everytime you come there he helps you with a few stretches and he can tell you are stressed. As he’s stretching you, he notices something is wrong so he asks you about it. You tell him about how the kids father is still trying to fight for custody over the children and how work is kicking your ass. And iwaizumi tries to pay attention he does — but when you let out that high pitched groan when he pushes your leg down to your chest, he gulps as he’s making eye contact with you which feels like forever. He could honestly get lost into your mesmerising eyes. He let out a cough and adverted his eye contact. He puts your leg down and says you two should take a break. You grab onto his arm telling him to wait, he looked back at you and is surprised to feel your lips on his. And god does he grip your cheek so fast and press his lips into you more to deepened the kiss. He pushes you down slightly on the mat and takes his shirt off. It’s all so quick, just minutes ago he’s stretching you out, the tension thick, and now he’s having a taste of your cunt that he’s been thinking about. God this was so unprofessional considering he was at work doing this, but he didn’t care, all he cared about was you and the way you taste. He pulls away from your dripping cunt and gives you a kiss on the cheek as you whine. “Hold on baby, m’gonna give you the real think mhm.” He said, as he pulled his short and underwear down in one quick motion. He spits in his hands and slowly jerks himself and lines his cock up with your entrance. Your grip onto his shoulders and whine when he pushes his thick cock inside of you. You pull iwa down into a kiss as he pulls out again and slams into you. You wrap your legs around his torso as you moan into the kiss, fuck he was so close but he wanted you to come first. He put his thumb on your clit and roughly rubbed circles on it making you clench around him. “baby fuck, m’gonna cum f’you please!” You whimpered out and came around him scratching and arching your back. iwa lets out a groan and pushed into you as much as he can and came inside of you.

#the little bit of writing for aran on this app is unbelievable 😰😰 #man is so fine i need him in my mouf #rn now!! #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi haijime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut #atsumu smut #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya smut #atsumu x reader #aran x reader #aran smut #aran haikyuu #aran ojiro #aran ojiro x reader #aran ojiro smut #them <3

[creepling]

that boy is a monster - j. slaughter / 2.6k

in contribution with THE HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompts: sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

summary: everyone comes and goes from the slaughter residence, either as survivors or stacks of meat. but as you escape and run further into the woods, johnny won't let you go that easy.

tags: DEAD DOVE - read at your own risk. smut. MINORS DNI. fem!reader. non-con. hunter/prey. knife/blood-play. descriptive injury. narcissistic johnny. fem penetration. blood hunger. choking. roughplay. slapping. kidnapped ending.

It would help to know the surroundings. Sprint the track to get to the finish line. But you’re bleeding. Your legs ache, and the tree branches are tearing at your skin. The calls of the Slaughter family echo in the distance.

Running for your life is supposed to be the escape. You’re out of the house, but your heroic end is not at a close. You have to keep running. You have to survive. And one person, in particular, will not give you up so easily.

“You’re the reason this is happening. You brought them damn kids here. You go get ‘er!” Drayton told off Johnny, waving his bloody stick towards the exit you stumbled out of.

Johnny was cool in his stance. He is cleaning his knife, sharpening its blade. He admires the glint of it in the moonlight, a sly smirk winking back at him in its reflection.

“Keep yer panties on, old man. I’ll get her,” He brushes off the Cook, swaggering towards the gate.

With his family seeing him off, Nubbie chuckles and cheers him on. Sissy claps and howls. “Bring her back fresh now, ye hear!”

Johnny was not going to share. He wants to play with his food and keep you all to himself. Once he finds you, you’re going to scream. He will have your insides, grip your flesh and suck your blood. His family will not have a nip of you. You’re all his.

The beginning of the hunt sent Johnny’s instincts into overdrive. Your shadow mystifies into the forest, and he picks up the pace to dive into the belly of the beast. He grunts as he sprints, inhaling the air. He was only human, but everything in his attitude was animalistic. A coyote in a man’s body, wanting to catch your scent, embarks on the trail you left behind and chases you until your soft flesh is between his teeth.

Deep within the sun-dried trees, Johnny halts his speed and listens to the silence. He peered his hearing for the snap of a twig, the ruffle of a leaf, anything to assume you were close by. He crouches to the earth and calculates the ground. His eye caught an indent, your shoe print heavy in the dry dirt, the heel dragged out, exposing your struggle. Johnny was mesmerised for a moment, then he advanced, tailing the track of your footprints to the direction of your hiding spot. He arrives at a dead end, cursing under his breath. He catches a look above, checking the trees, but both the trees and you are too fragile to hold weight. His eyes scan the horizon, wondering how far you have gone.

“I’m gonna find ya soon enough, sweetheart. Why don’t you come out, and we can get this over with?” Johnny called into the night, his skin tingling at the thought of you nearby.

He was closer than you thought. Tugged low in the dip of the earth, you bite the inside of your cheeks and muffle any sound of panic that threatens to burst. You may be bleeding, tired, and traumatised, but you will not give up. If he wants you to meet the same faint as your friends, he will have to come and get you.

At the deafening silence, Johnny sighs. It was long and drawn, but it soon shifted into a chuckle, and he gripped the handle of his knife tighter. “Fine, I like the challenge.”

Johnny advances, his footsteps descending to whisper when you decide to leave your hiding spot. You drag your limping body in the opposite direction, clenching your side as a cramp takes over. You look around with alert eyes, hoping to find an opening or another hiding spot if he is close. Your hope dwindles at the same scenery repeating: trees, branches, dirt. Over and over. No sounds alert you, making your eyelids droop and blur your vision. You look down at your body, your clothes drenched in blood, giving sense to your lightheadedness. The blood loss and dehydration were slowly creeping up and taking over you. Legs wobbling, making you fall.

“Come on,” You whispered, “You can do this.”

Johnny had his eyes on you. He watches you struggle, crouching within the dry branches. Your pain and fatigue amuse him, reassuring him that mortality can be handy for this line of passion. He loved a prey’s fear, how it ignites them with the endurance to keep living. Yet, the thing that is chasing them will always catch them. It can only get them so far. It lets them die with a fight still in them. People call that honour, but to Johnny, it is the thrill of the game.

It has been long enough. Johnny watches you collapse, grunting at the pain taking over, your knees buckling as you try to crawl your way further. Johnny cracks his neck and readies his blade, his heavy steps approaching you.

“I gotta hand it to ya. You got some fight in ya,” Johnny mused, towering over your struggling state.

The widening of your eyes made Johnny chuckle, tuts leaving his mouth as you began to sob.

“Come on now, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Not yet, anyway,” Johnny grips the back of your hair, yanking your head from the ground and crouching down on top of you. His legs saddle your sides, squeezing in to hold you in place. You catch the glint of his knife hovering over your throat, threatening to slice if you struggle.

“Ma mama always got at me for playing with my food as a kid. I never grew out of it. Y’know why?” Johnny presses his lips to your ear. You could now hear the husk in his voice.

“Because I fuckin’ love it,”

Your hands grip the earth, and a scream bellows from your strained throat, sirening through the trees, making birds take flight. Johnny shoves your head to the ground to silence you, pressing his blade tighter to the skin of your throat.

“You shout one more time, and I’ll cut you,” He spat, causing you to dwindle your struggle into small whimpers.

“Just kill me, please,” You plead, Johnny on top of you, detecting that you would rather be dead than be at his mercy.

Johnny enjoys having the upper hand far too much, grazing his gloved hand down your spine, lingering on the skin exposed from your summer blouse. He glances at the cuts littering your exposed arms, blood dripping from a knick on your shoulder. Johnny licks his lips in anticipation, locking his lips on your wound. You gasp, cringing at the suction from his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut and soaking his mouth with your blood.

As if energy surged through him, Johnny groans at your taste, licking his lips dry. Your taste is sweetly metallic. He has never tasted something so pure—the blood of a lamb or a calf, laced with innocence and avoidant of bitterness. Johnny’s eyes wander down at you like the discovery of the Holy Grail. “You taste amazing.”

Johnny grips your arm and manhandles you to lie on your back, your arms feeble in your struggle. Johnny scans your body for more wounds, grunting in annoyance as most were muddy grazes. His legs add pressure to your sides, his hand nipping at the hem of your blouse.

“Keep still,” Johnny orders sternly, moving his knife to your shirt and cutting the thin fabric with the blade. You whine in defiance, but your top is torn off completely and tossed to one side. Johnny stares at the curvature of your bra, tucking his knife under the band and slicing it swiftly. Your breasts graze with goosebumps at your exposure. You squeeze your eyes shut from the humility. Johnny runs his knife down your left breast, the blunt end teasing your hardening nipple.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” He breathes out, removing his glove with the pinch of his teeth. His bare, rough hand grips your breast, making you squirm. You glance up at Johnny, the maddening of his eyes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you in place. Sweat glistens on his face. You feel warmth between your legs as Johnny’s bulge presses against your stomach.

Without warning, Johnny slices a small incision on your soft breast, making you gasp from the shot of pain. Johnny immediately locks his lips on the fresh slice, his tongue collecting your new blood, letting a groan vibrate against you. He sucks your breast as he would with your nipple, except his infatuation is solely on your blood. Your fingers lace through his hair, and you attempt to yank him away, but he points his blade quickly to your throat.

“Move your hand, or I’ll cut you open,” Johnny threatens, pressing the blade hard, alerting panic within you.

“I can’t- I can’t do this, please,” You beg, “I want to go home,”

“Is this not want you want, darlin’?” Johnny teased, “Your cunt says otherwise.”

His head motions down and between your legs, sliding his fingers along the denim fabric of your shorts. Your throat hitches, and your legs tense, locking eyes with the darkening stare from Johnny.

“You want this, I know you want this,” Johnny mutters against his lips, “Let me make you feel good. I need this, darlin’, you gotta give yourself to me.”

His lips lock roughly with yours, his kiss hard - possibly laced with a lingering passion. You taste your blood on his tongue. You moan unexpectedly.

“See? You taste so good. Let me taste you more,” Johnny said as if he were asking, but you know you have no choice.

The sound of panic bubbles in your throat as you feel Johnny’s hands unbutton your shorts, yelping as he tugs the tight fabric down your legs. He crawls his fingers under your pants, catching your slick cunt with the tip of his fingers, collecting your wetness. Johnny groans, reaching his fingers to his lips and licking your juices. Just as sweet as your blood, warm and intoxicating.

Johnny grinds his hips down onto you before unbuckling his jeans, tossing his belt to your eye level. Your eyes trail to the sky, your mind dissociating at the sound of his jeans undone. Johnny preys your legs wider apart with his thighs, the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me, darlin’. Still sure you don’t want this?” Johnny’s pride swells at your defeat, pupils dilated at the sight of yours glazed and lost.

“I would rather be dead,” You said airily, almost inaudible. Johnny narrows his eyes, power swelling in his muscles. He wants you to beg for his cock or mercy; it does not matter.

Without warning, Johnny thrusts his cock inside, and pain shoots up your spine. He was big, more significant than you have ever taken, and he was stretching you out. You squeeze your eyes shut, and the tears trapped in your waterline pour down your cheeks. You silence the yelps filled with pain to adjust to the horrible feeling. But your cunt was wet, wet enough for Johnny to thrust deeper inside you and hold his length firmly inside you.

“Fuuuck,” Johnny groaned. Your walls clenched around his cock, and his hands grip the sides of your waist. “Sucha tight little pussy,” Johnny chuckled.

You shift your body back and forth to adjust to the pain, but it paralysed you, and Johnny drilled you deeper into the ground with the weight of his body. The cool earth stings your wounds and gathers in the grooves of your skin. It is disgusting. It is revolting. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Fuck you,” You spit at Johnny, manifesting your cunt to grow teeth and bite his cock clean.

Johnny furrowed his brows at your revolt, burning a glare to your core. “The fuck you say to me?” Johnny smacked your face, stunning you, but you force eye contact.

“I said fuck you, you fucking-“ Your rage stopped short at the shuddering pain shooting through you. Johnny digs his knife into your side, toying with an open wound. You squirm, scream, try to pry him off you, but his other hand pins your wrists above your head, and his cock is stuffed deeper inside you.

“You really think talking to me like that is a good idea?” Johnny scoffs, watching the pain in your expression with perverted fascination. “Such a stupid ‘lil brat. I need to teach you a lesson.”

The pain melted into numbness. Your eyes drift further away from reality, and Johnny amps his stamina. It seemed neverending, his cock pumping into your cunt, the depth of his thrusts consistent. Johnny’s body towers over you, his knife tossed to the side. It proved useless as your body grew limp, the strength of Johnny’s arms pinning you in place enough to restrict your escape. No more were you retaliating to Johnny’s dominance.

“That’s it, good girl. Take it,” Johnny grunted, but he was not satisfied with your reaction. Lying there as you get fucked dumb, staring into space. He needs you to be compliant, to be grateful. Johnny tugs your hair and forces your gaze onto him, bathing in your bewildered stare.

“C’mon girl, I know you want this. Say how much you want it,” Johnny demands, continuing to rut into your pulsing cunt.

“I-” It was hard to string words together, but you had nowhere to look except deep in Johnny’s hunter eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Say it, fucking say it,” Johnny grew impatient, smacking his fingers over your cheeks, hoping that knocked sense into you.

“I want you, Johnny,” You sobbed, mesmerised by his insanity.

“Yeah, you fucking do. Start thanking me for fucking you so good,” Johnny enfolds his cock deep inside, holding it in place until you speak what he wants to hear.

“Thank you,” You swallow the lump in your throat, “You’re so good at fucking me. I want you to keep fucking me.”

Swelling with pride, Johnny exhales a deep groan and continues to drill into you, picking up the pace. He felt his climax ascending from his core, gazing at the bounce of your tits, your plump skin covered in the blood he poured from you. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’m so close, darlin’. Fuuuck,” Johnny wraps his callous hand around your throat, suppressing your air flow until you see stars.

Johnny rutted his cock to ride his high. You feel the strips of warmth melt from your slit as he pulls out, his pants hot and misty against your neck. Your eyes trail over to Johnny, buckling his jeans and quickly putting on your underwear and shorts.

“Sorry about your blouse,” He mutters, removing his tank top and putting it on you. There is no point in convincing yourself he did it out of the kindness of his heart, as it is to carry you back to the place you tried to escape from and not make the rest of the family suspicious.

Johnny lifts you and tosses your body over his shoulder, your mind and body too exhausted and petrified to wiggle from his grasp. “Let’s take you back home,” He says.

Home. That place was not your home. But to Johnny, he is making it your home. There goes the days of elaborate escapes, deception and retribution. He will have you wrapped around his figure. He shall convince you that no one else cares for you. Only he will protect you, care for you, and love you. 

Welcome to the family. 

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm game #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter #creepling.brainrot #tw non-con #tcm fanfic #hauntedhoedown

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him �� more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis

join the taglist!

#john ‘soap’ mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap #soap mw2 #john mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #cod mw22 #cod mwii #mw2 2022 #mwii #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #call of duty: modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #smut #fluff #fanfiction #soap x you

[lou-struck]

Seat 14F

Atsumu Miya x reader

WC: 1.3k 

~You are peacefully getting ready for your flight home in your long awaited window seat until your talkative seat buddy arrives. 

A/n: I am having so much fun finishing some of these WIPS. I hope you enjoy this one.

The terminal beneath your feet echoes the hollow yet eager sound that is created by your footsteps. The beige hallway twists and turns until you see a fight attendant gesturing you into the cabin with a large red-lipsticked smile. 

“Welcome aboard,” he beams as you step onto the plane.

“Thank you.” You smile back and readjust the strap on your backpack so it’s tighter to your back and at less of a risk of smacking the others in the face as you pass them. Their crumpled boarding pass is in your hand as they make their way down the long aisle. They had only started boarding minutes ago, but already, you see people slumped in their seats, softly snoring into their neck pillows. 

You are in Seat 14F, a window seat. There is something so comforting about having an extra wall to lean up upon in case you were to find yourself drifting off on this flight. 

Your eyes scan the row makers as you pass,

Row 9, 10, 11, 13. 

Row 14 is completely empty as you come to a stop, sliding past the first two seats on the right-hand side of the plane and tucking your travel backpack underneath the seat in front of you to save yourself from a lecture from the flight attendant later. 

You feel your phone in your pocket as you sit down in your seat, which apparently can be used as a flotation device should the plane come down over a body of water. Knowing you’ll most likely forget to do it later, choose now to turn the device into airplane mode and slip it into the mesh netting in front of you for later. With your phone gone, you choose to entertain yourself by watching out the little oval window as airline workers load the bottom of the plane with everyone’s luggage. 

Peering at the little cart, you try to see if you can spot them loading the suitcases you checked. Your white plastic one and the other one…

“Well, isn’t this my lucky day?” a honeyed voice drawls from behind you. “Looks like I got myself a cute lookin seat, buddy.”

“What brings you here?” you ask, watching as a handsome man with faux-blond hair slides into the seat next to you. He unceremoniously slides a gray backpack underneath his seat before wasting no time in making himself at home. 

“14E,” they beam, flashing you their paper boarding pass. Already, the parchment is crumpled beyond recognition and speckled with droplets of what you assume to be coffee. 

You roll your eyes and send him a playful smile. “Atsumu, I printed that boarding pass for you less than an hour ago. How have you managed to beat it up so badly?”

“Who’s Atsumu?” he asks, cocking his head to the side in mock confusion, obviously wanting to keep flirting terribly with you for as long as he can. “I’m uhhh.” he scratches his head in thought, “Mr. Handsome Stranger.”

You sigh as he continues this little ruse of his. “Well then, Mr. Stranger, have a seat.” You place your earbuds into your ear and try to keep a look of disinterest on your face as you scroll through your downloaded podcast episodes. 

“It’s Mr. Handsome Stranger.” He pouts, his cheeks puffing out comically, and he sits down in the seat next to you. From the corner of your eye, you see him looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster. When they spot something shiny on your finger, they gleam, and you can practically see the cogs turning in that pretty head of his. 

“Well, that’s a real nice ring on yer finger,” he hums, leaning well into your personal space; now that he’s closer, you can smell the mint gum he’s chewing, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s his attempt to cover his coffee breath. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, shifting in your seat and admiring the gem yourself in the light of your small oval window. “I got it from my Fiance.”

“Not husband?” he winks, “I guess I still have a chance with you then.”

You laugh at his terrible flirting like the hypocrite you are. Because that same flirtiness that (unbeknownst to you) is causing the other passengers to cringe in their seats was able to ensnare you over two years ago.

“Is there a problem here?” the flight attendant from earlier comes over with a stern expression. Their eyes narrow when they see the way your goofy fiance is practically on top of you, fiddling with your engagement ring. They make eye contact with you, looking for any kind of discomfort in your expression. “Is he bothering you?”

Atsumu slides off of you and into his seat quickly. His cheeks flush pink in embarrassment. “I-it’s not what ya think.” he starts to explain but he is silenced by the commanding gloved hand of the flight attendant who you now think is one of your favorite people on earth. 

People are watching, listening, just waiting for the moment to step in and rescue you. If it wasn’t some big misunderstanding, you would feel that your faith in humanity was restored. 

But you’re not in any danger, so just for a moment, you may as well enjoy this little in-flight entertainment, 

“Sir, did you know it is a crime to interfere with the takeoff and departure of an aircraft?” they ask with a vicious customer service smile. “Is this behavior of yours really worth jail time?”

“Wha?” No, I was just messing around..” Atsumu says in a smaller voice. His tone pulls at your heartstrings, and you know you have to come to his aid. 

“Tsumu, I got this.” You murmur, placing a hand on his bicep as a grounding touch and giving your would-be hero a genuine smile. “I am so sorry about this; this doof is just my fiance. He likes to use those cheesy lines to make me laugh.”

They look between the two of you with a discerning glance before. “Do you promise?” they ask. 

“I promise.” you laugh, relieved that Atsumu is feeling a bit less freaked out now that he isn’t at risk of being dragged off the plane and thrown in jail for his cheesy pickup lines. 

“Here’s my lock screen.” the volleyball player adds, showing the attendant a picture of the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms after one of his games. “We’re together, I swear.”

“Awe, cute.” the attendant says, shutting the luggage compartment above your head. “Glad you’re not a creep. We are about to take off soon, so don’t forget to put that phone in airplane mode, hon.”

“R-right, thank ya.” he breathes his fingers, fumbling with his slightly cracked screen protector to switch his device. 

“I see; one moment, please,” they hum, turning and walking down the aisle away from seats 14 E and F, leaving the two of you rather confused at his sudden exit. 

They come back a few moments later and sneakily slides two prepackaged snack boxes over to you. The ones that are only available in first-class cabins. This sly gesture of good faith is very much appreciated by the two of you. 

“Thank ya,” Atsumu whispers happily, unwrapping his miniature charcuterie snack. 

“For what? The attendant asks, looking innocent. “You two enjoy the rest of your flight.” With that, they turned and left to do their pre-flight duties. Now alone, you and Atsumu lock eyes and fall into a fit of laughter. 

“Oooh, you almost got in trouble.” you tease, leaning your head against his shoulder.

 “What do ya think plane jail is like?” he hums, fiddling with your engagement ring. 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you murmur. “It’s not too late to find out, though, if you want to call the flight attendant back.”

“Oh shuddup,” he chuckles, turning in his seat and kissing the crown of your head. “You wouldn’t do that to me; ya like my flirtin’ too much.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” You smile, prepared to spend the rest of your flight in the arms of the man you love. 

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #msby atsumu #atsumu miya #miya atsumu x reader #Atsumu Miya x reader #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader

[shootingstarwritings]

"Mmm, that's good. Keep that pose." Natasha said as she took another photo.

Snap!

"Great! Your pictures look wonderful, Landon," said Natasha, giving him a thumbs up. "I'll send them to you in a minute."

"Thanks, darlin'. Lemme just get yer payment. 's in the kitchen." Landon excused himself and made his way inside his home. As he passed the hallways mirror, he couldn't help but stop and admire his face. Although it was technically the first time he had ever shaved himself, he really did a good job.

"All right, Nat, here's yer pay. Thanks fer the pics. I'll make a killin' sellin' 'em online."

"Didn't see you as the OnlyFans guy, Landon. What changed?"

"What can I say? It's time the world saw a whole new me." Landon couldn't help but flex a little as he said that. He inwardly chuckled as he saw Natasha stare just a second too long.

"Ah, well," she said, quickly regaining her composure. "Either way, it's nice to get a commission. You don't mind if I post a pic or two on my site, right?"

Landon shook his head and shot her a suave grin. "No prob, darlin'. Don't mind the whole world seein' this new me." Natasha thanked him for the boost in her new photography career and left.

Finally alone, Landon made his way to his room and lied down on the floor, enjoying his stolen flesh.

"Lookin' cute, cowboy," Landon said to himself as he took a selfie of himself on the bed. Natasha's pictures were on the way, but he couldn't help but take a quick pic to admire.

"So glad I took your body, earthlin'." When the alien fell to earth one fateful, it quickly slithered into Landon's home in search of a worthwhile host. It found the cowboy resting, clad in just a pair of heart-print boxers, after a hard day's work.

Its slimy form slithered into his cock, causing Landon to wake and panic as a foreign being invaded him. The possession caused Landon to climax, and the little alien quickly fell in love with its new host. Now it planned to share its beautiful new home with all its new lovers, both its sexual partners and those who would admire from a screen.

"It's me, Landon," the alien spoke with its southern accent. "Lemme make all yer dreams come true."

#male possession #alien possession #cowboy possession #slime possession #male body possession #quick thing to tide y'all over

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Records of forgotten times.

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Old music records bring back memories and sparks talk of a new future.

~~☆☆☆~~

Today was relaxing day in your Alexandria home.

Daryl had come home from a run and had brought home a literal truckload of items of which a couple of boxes were dropped at your place.

He busied himself moving the boxes into the living room while you continued your work in the kitchen.

"What did you bring back, Dee?" you mused from you spot in the kitchen, where you were cleaning off last night's dishes in your favorite shorts and one of Daryl's shirts that were way too large on you. It was fraying at the hem and the old classic rockband on the print was fading badly, tour dates from a long forgotten time barely recognisable anymore. He never thought twice about you stealing his shirts. They were so much more comfortable than his button downs and with the shirts smelling like him they helped you sleep when he was out on runs.

“Found an old storage place, had a bunch of boxes with music. I got first pick cuz I found ‘em.” He kept filing through the large boxes filled with records and taking each one he liked out to stack near the old record player your house came with.

“Let me have a look too when I’m done here, please?” He grumbled an agreeing response and you made sure to hurry along with your cleaning round so you could join Daryl on the living room floor.

Daryl had gotten up off the floor to fumble around with the record player and try out one of the records and to his luck it still played. He had pocketed some still boxed replacement needles and swapped the old one out before playing a Judas Priest record and got a nice, crisp sound to which he comfortably hummed along to and even sang along with some parts.

As you were hanging your cleaning rag and towel over the opened oven door to dry you mumbled along with some lyrics that had remained in the back of your head.

This surprised your dear old partner to the point of stopping entirely with what he was doing to stare at you enjoying his all time favorite band. “Ya know this music?” He sounded so confused it made you laugh. You never really talked about your old world life, never really feeling it was needed to share about it. Not until now.

“My parents were old school rockers, I grew up on this kind of music.” You had walked over and sat down at one if the boxes.

“Yer calling me old now?” Old. He hated that word, even if you were both adults he still didn’t like the sound of him being put in the same box as your late parents.

“I mean,” You started, not sure how to properly say this without being offensive. You loved Daryl and you were happy with him, really not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “I guess you’re around their age, right? Dad would have been sixty-two by now. He loved this music so much we had cabinets filled with CDs, he'd go to concerts with friends and have music nights every month. Mom woukd have been around fifty-eight I think. She preferred more symphonic stuff.” You were so caught up in your memories you had stopped looking through the music entirely, your hands shakily holding onto one record a little too tightly for Daryl’s comfort.

“I’m fifty-three, if ya really gotta know.” He had moved over to your side and put an arm around you to pry your fingers off the record. “An’ I really hope yer not secretly seein’ me as a father figure cuz I'd love it if my kid'd be one year old in about two years from now..”

You registered his comment and were pulled back into this world with a soft sob. You hoped it’d be saved for later when the sadness that these boxes brought you had blown over.

“I miss them.” Your words were barely above a whisper, but Daryl caught them all. He had managed to get the record from your hands and took a glance at the cover.

The image didn’t look all too different from the current world. A blue sky behind the ruins of a building, and a man in a rather unnatural pose on a regal looking wooden throne in the foreground. The title reading ‘A Farewell to Kings’ by RUSH.

“Yer old man listen to this?” You quietly nodded, sniffling and wiping at your tears that were now freely running down your face. He put the record aside to make a new separate pile just for you.

“Come on, let’s see what else is in here. Maybe some Ozzy. Ya like Ozzy?” You now nodded with a smile appearing on your face. “Y.. yeah, we had a dog named Ozzy. Mom liked him a lot.” The memory of the dog you had for a short while did lighten the mood a bit, thankfully.

Daryl had abandoned his search entirely and only looked through the boxes with you now, picking out records he did like and ended with almost the entire collection by Judas Priest, which you learned was his favorite.

“Oh shit, look!” You held up a copy of Mötley Crüe’s ‘Dr. Feelgood’ with an excited squeal.

“Nah, that’s what yer into? Crazy girl.” He shook his head with a loving smile. By the time you reached the second to last box you had both gathered quite the collection. Daryl had reluctantly handed you all the Crüe records he found, even if they were duplicates. You wanted to keep them because of their different covers. Even in this world you loved collecting and Daryl admired your ability to find happiness in these items.

“Hey, ya want this one too?” A Metallica record. Not one that you knew so you declined. A grumble let you know he heard you and the fwips of records being looked through continued until another one was being held in your direction. This time it was a Black Sabbath record. You took it to inspect the track list on the back and added it to your pile. “Oh! Another one, yess!” You happily pulled out an Iron Maiden album and admired the cover art, taking in all the small details.

“Ya really listen to them or just love the art?” A hand extended to hand you one more. “Ah, thanks. I like both.” You declared, staring at the next artpiece. “But I wouldn‘t be mad if these end up not playing. We could decorate with the cover arts.”

Daryl looked around the still bare walls of the house and loved your idea to make it more truly yours.

With all the boxes thoroughly searched and your collection put away you went to take the leftover boxes to the communal area for everyone else to enjoy. Seeing the other residents get so excited over music brought smiles to your faces and you went back home more satisfied than you’d thought.

“So..” You locked the front door behind you and nervously stepped over to the cabinet that held your newly acquired collection. Daryl followed your every step with a true hunter’s eye, wondering what got your nerves up all of a sudden. “Which one of these do you think has the best baby making vibes.”

“M’sorry?” No way he heard that correctly. He had convinced himself you hadn‘t heard him since you completely disregarded his comment before. “Ya sure? I mean.. I know wha’ I said but,” he stopped and couldn’t get himself to look you in the eyes. Opting for the crack in the floorboard instead. Before he had a chance to find the right words you had abandoned the record cabinet and stepped over to stand in front of him and kiss his cheek. “I love you.” You whispered before properly kissing him and making sure he got the hint that this was really what you wanted.

“But seriously, pick one. We need something loud to drown out the ..other noises.” You joked with a wink.

~~☆☆☆~~

The talk you had with Daryl that day months ago turned out to be true.

When you laid in your shared bed you spoke about the one obvious thing about your relationship and how the Alexandrians were gonna be judging you for it. When word got out about yours and Daryl’s romantic relationship you already got stares from concerned women who thouht you were being claimed by the older man. You both were way more open about your relationship now that you had a safe place to live and try to have a normal life again, but the original residents who had never gone through the horrors that you had never really let go of their old world beliefs. And now that normal life you tried to live also came with your own child shich had the staring and quiet comments becoming even worse. Uncle Daryl already had Judith, who would always make rude comments to whoever dared to speak ill of her new auntie, but now he had you and with that his own soon to be born child and he wasn't gonna let anyone ruin his happiness because of some dumb opinions.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: This one made me cry while writing. The parents are based off my own, one of which is no longer with us. Did some painful remembering for this one.

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #twd daryl

[galactiquest]

I just adore your blog! Something about it and your imagines are just so sweet and homey 🥺 Could I please request some headcanons for Vash, Woowoo and Knives with a reader who loves to draw and is really passionate about it? I mostly have general sketching/figure studies in mind but you can do whatever is easiest for you! I hope that you have a good day and your blog continues to prosper <3

Thank you for the compliment 🥺!!! I'm so glad it feels homey. I try to make things like a home here... after all I LIVE HERE... thank you I hope to keep this blog going for a while after trying to revive it like twice before!

I think this request is so cute, I'm an artist too (have been for like, over a decade ^_^) so I've got lots of ideas in that aspect. I tried to keep to general sketching/traditional stylings of art but I think a lot of these can be applied to other art areas too!!

Vash, Wolfwood, and Knives x Reader: Artistry

Content Warnings: None! Reader doesn't have a specified gender, and some parts of the imagines are a little romance-oriented but this could also be interpreted as a strong friendship. Also this is my first mutli x reader so I hope the formatting's alright. No version was in mind for any of these so take them as you will!

Vash

Oh, he is definitely excited about this.

Vash is a bit of an artist, himself. He can do those super-complex technical drawings, and he really likes making art of machinery and stuff like that. There's a lot of diagrams of his arm lost in a notebook somewhere.

He loves to see your style and interpretation of the things around you. Seeing the world through your eyes, even for just a moment, is like heaven to him.

If you ever give him some of your art as a gift, he keeps it hung up on a wall or wherever he can stay for a while. (If he's in a more permanent place, his walls are covered in your art. He just loves it that much.)

The ones that are most special to him, he likes to keep in his pockets, so he can look at them whenever he needs a morale boost. Like, this is what he's fighting for: a world full of love and peace, a world that's able to keep creating beautiful art like this for years to come.

One day, the two of you get to draw each other as a sort of practice. Seeing each other through the others' eyes... again, it feels like a dream. Vash draws all the parts of you that you weren't always confident about with such care that you feel truly loved by him in that moment.

Wolfwood

"Oh, yer an artist? ... Can ya draw me?"

Yes he will absolutely pull that stunt at least once or twice, if only to get a hilarious dirty glare out of you. If you do actually take him up on this, he might let out a nervous "Haha... I mean, ya didn't have ta' do it, but..." He'll be really charmed.

Though his hands are strong and nimble from doing all those flippant tricks with the Punisher, he's entranced with the way you're able to use yours to create, to draw.

He's always sneaking you extra supplies, like pens, pencils, and paper, whenever you least expect it. You never have to ask for any of those things anymore, or even shop for them--they just happen upon your desk whenever you think you're running low.

One day, he takes a piece of your paper and a pen and doesn't let you see what he's doing until he's all done. He's a little dodgy about showing you, eventually he does. It's a crude scribble of the two of you, though you can tell he really put his all into it.

It's your most prized possession, and you give him a big hug for it.

Knives

Much like Vash, he's actually an artist himself--but doesn't really call himself one, rather saying that he's... capable of copying something he's seen part-for-part. So, his drawings are more like pictures or prints. They're exact. Eerily so.

The art that you make gets a half-hearted snort of approval from Knives, which is basically one of the highest praises he can offer in his own sort of language.

Though normally he'd want to give some sort of unwarranted criticism for a drawing looking wonky or off, he saves you from it. He doesn't want to break your passion--but he's not going to admit that outright.

If you do ask for criticism, though, he's very thorough while keeping you on the road to improvement. If you're studying a specific style, he's reading up on it. If you're trying new materials, he's making sure you have all the tools necessary for it.

And speaking of materials, he's able to secure uncommon colors and rare tools for you to use for art. He's making sure that everything you create is of the highest quality.

One day, you drew a portrait of him and presented it to him as a gift. He gave out that little snort of approval and maybe even a a tiny "Thanks..." as he wandered off. He secretly keeps it close to look at it in his private time, tracing his fingers over the ink marks and recalling your movements.

#vash x reader #wolfwood x reader #knives x reader #vash the stampede x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #millions knives x reader #trigun x reader #galactifics #love mail #Anonymous

[duchess7878]

a part 2 has been requested for my cowboy!Johnny fic! I hope you like it :)

a/n: I love doing these requests, they give me inspiration to write because it makes me happy that y'all can get something from it <3

warning(s): rough sex, dub-con, kidnapping, degradation, slapping, knife-play, blood-play, choking, kicking, manipulating

part 2/2 of cowboy!Johnny short story (unless more is requested and the same goes for all of my stories, if you want more let me know <3)

18+ MDNI

My hand trembled as I read the note. He isn't really coming back is he? I stood for a moment as I tried to consider my options, but my mind was so clouded with fear I could barely conjure a coherent thought. If he came back, does that mean he would take me back to his gang? What would happen to me then? My eyes welled with tears as my heart clenched and my breathe I became heavy. The saloon was bustling as I quickly left the room and walked down the stairs of the saloon, almost tripping over my skirt. I left the saloon and stepped out onto the muddy road.

I didn't bother looking for a carriage because of what happened with the last one. So I began walking down the road and out of town, wanting to leave the area before Slaughter came back. The longing feeling I had when I woke this morning is now long gone, my mind made up that I didn't want this. He was a murderer, and a sadistic one at that.

The road was quiet and tense. I couldn't stop turning my head, just waiting for Slaughter to come out of nowhere and haul me off again. Anyone who knew anything knew that Johnny Slaughter of the Slaughter gang had the most uncanny ability to track in the world. The only thing that you had against it is to keep moving and that's exactly what I was doing. I didn't care where I ended up, just as long as he doesn't find me again. Who knows what he'll do if he comes back and realizes I didn't listen to him.

Johnny could feel the vein in his head throb upon returning to the Newt saloon and you were nowhere to be found. He had quickly searched the rest of the town and had turned up nothing. His instructions seemed so simple and clear, a child could understand. Now why did you have to up and run away? He laughed out loud to try and mask his irritation so the situation wouldn't bother him more than it already has. Johnny began to walk back to the room he had rented the night before knowing that he could pick up your trail there.

"Hey! You have ta-" The bartenders words were cut short as Johnny shot him a menacing look.

"Shut yer mouth. He said, not stopping and turning his head back towards the stairs.

Johnny wasn't going to let anyone or anything get in the way of his prized possession. It had been a while since he has been irked this badly and he would make sure you were punished for that. Upon reaching the room, your scent immediately filled his nostrils. It must be your favorite scent if you used it again this morning. He didn't want to go off of scent alone, as there were many smells in the wilderness and yours can get mixed up in them easily.

Johnny didn't need to search long before he found a solid footprint to utilize in his tracking. Your prints were so clear to him they almost glowed and he couldn’t be happier to be led to his treasure. He stood up straight and began following the prints out of the saloon, down the road, and out of town.

“I’m gonna find you. I will, I promise!” He said, whistling for his horse to come over.

I was growing tired from how long I had been walking. The sun now was setting, signaling I had been going from dawn ‘til dusk. I was sure I had put enough distance between Slaughter and I to take at least a small break, my feet and back were aching horribly. I turned off of the road and walked a little ways beyond the tree line, having a small plan that I would run deeper into the woods in the event that Slaughter did happen to find me. I decided to sit and rest along a tree, the bark digging uncomfortably into my back but it’s much preferred to being on my feet for a moment longer. I wasn’t even able to take in a deep breathe before I heard a twig snap and I was immediately tense again. I whipped my head around looking for anything that could’ve made that sound and I took in a huge sigh of relief upon seeing a doe in the distance. I started to relax and closed my eyes for just a moment.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable just yet sweetheart.” A voice rang out right next to my ear.

I yelped and shot away from the voice, looking up to confirm my worst fear. How could he have already found me? I put so much distance between us.

“In yer fear, you seem to have forgotten somethin’ darlin’; I have a horse. It’s funny how being so afraid can make somethin’ so simple slip a persons mind.” A malicious smirk formed on his face.

I didn’t bother letting him continue what he was going to say, I turned and ran. My feet were pounding, but that didn’t compare to my heart at the moment. I couldn’t think of anything else but getting away from him, I was scared for my life. I didn’t want to be hurt or killed, I don’t want to be eaten either if the rumors of the gang are true. My footsteps were heavy as I ran through the thick foliage, the branches whipping me and breaking skin all over the surface of my arms and shins. My dress was getting torn with each second I ran through the woods.

“This is pointless ya know. Quit fightin’.” I heard his voice call from behind before I felt something squeeze around my midsection, clotheslining me and sending me flying backwards onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of me and my mouth fell open, desperate to take in a breathe. I heard the ground crunching beneath his boots as he walked up beside me. I looked up at him and he snarled down at me, his fury evident on his features.

Without a word, he kicked his foot hard into my ribs, reeling back and kicking harshly once again. I screamed out in pain, trying to move my arm to block the spot he was hurting but to no avail, the rope around me keeping me in place.

“I asked you to do one thing doll, it wasn’t that difficult was it? Or are you too stupid to understand simple instruction?” He asked. I wasn’t able to respond immediately due to the immense pressure on my chest from the kicking and the fall, I still could barely breathe at the moment.

“You must be since you won’t answer. Since yer so desperate to breathe, let me help you with that.” He snickered and lifted his foot, pressing it harshly on my neck. I went to throw my hands up to lessen the pressure, but ended up pulling my shoulders, quickly reminded that I was bound and completely at his mercy.

“Please..” I choked out, barely comprehensible.

“Please what darlin’?” He asked mockingly, pressing slightly harder.

“Stop, please!” I shrieked out with every bit I had, tearing my throat in the process from the force I needed to implement to produce a loud sound.

“Will you listen if I tell you to stay put in the future?” He questioned, very lightly lessening the pressure on my throat. I nodded vigorously.

“Forgive me, but I just don’t believe ya darlin’.” He sighed.

“Trust me, I want to. You hurt me back there, more than I’m hurting you now.” He took his foot off of my throat.

I was finally able to take in a breath, but a new pain immediately shot through me. Like I suspected, my throat is torn to all hell. I watched as he walked from my head down to feet, looking me dead in the eyes before lifting his boot again and slamming it down onto my ankle. A loud crunch echoed through the trees. I threw my head back and screamed despite my throat being torn. The pain was intense and I sobbed following the scream, not expecting the sudden bludgeon. Heavy, hot tears followed the sobs and that earned a coo from Johnny.

“Aw, did that hurt doll? Maybe you’ll remember this next time you don’t listen to me. This should also prevent you from tryin’ to leave again for a while and just to warn you, I will do this a many times as I need if you make me.” He threatened.

“I’m sorry Johnny, please stop this.” I cried.

“You ain’t sorry, not yet.” He growled, fastening the rope he’s been holding and started dragging me towards a nearby tree. Once there, he stood me up against it and used his lasso to tie me against the tree. My ankle ached horribly in this position, but I knew it would do me no good to tell him that.

I heard a familiar metallic sound as he pulled his knife from his sheathe and stalked up to me. He stepped up until we were chest to chest, he was craning his neck to look down at me and I could feel his warm breath on the top of my head. I refused to look up at him, but that didn’t sit long. He pressed the point of his knife to the bottom of my jaw, penetrating the skin as he forced me to look up at him. I felt the blood run down my neck as I looked into his dark eyes, now filled with lust alongside the rage.

“There ya go.” He praises, removing the knife from my neck and running the tip along his tongue. He groaned as the blood touched his taste buds, it being the most delicious thing he’s tasted in a while.

He then lifted his knife to the side of my neck and made a small cut, latching his lips onto it. He sucked the wound harshly and the blood along with it, but it wasn’t enough for him. Biting the wound, the blood was forced to flow more as he sucked every drop, a guttural groan sounding out when the coppery taste flooded his senses. Now afraid that he may actually eat a chunk of flesh from my neck, I began wiggling in the restraints, scrunching my neck to try and restrict his access. It worked, but he was not happy with it.

A heavy snarl formed on his lips as he lifted his hand, slapping me hard across the face. Before I could even react to the pain, another slap came to my other cheek and a small cut formed above my cheekbone, it bled heavily. A small cry came past my lips as the pain burned throughout my entire body.

“You better not stop me again, or you’ll regret it.” He growled harshly, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to look at him.

“Come on doll, can you be a good girl for the bad man? I promise to not hurt you again.” He asked mockingly, getting in my face and licking the blood from it with the tip of his tongue.

“Yes, I will.” I said quietly, choking down sobs.

“You will what? And speak up darlin’, I want to hear you loud and clear.” He said in a slow and mocking tone.

“I’ll be a good girl.” I cried louder, my voice breaking heavily from the abuse it suffered earlier.

“That’s better.” He praised. He took as step back from me and reached up to my chest, bunching it up as he did my undies last night and ripping it open, exposing my chest to the cold air of the night. My buds hardening immediately and he groaned lightly under his breath. Without letting go of his knife, he began unbuckling his belt with his off hand. He pulled it swiftly from his the loops in his jeans and flicked the end of the strap up into his hand along with the buckle so he had a small whip of sorts. My eyes widened, quickly understanding what it was for.

I watched his hand intently and he reached the belt up to my breast and lightly ran it over the mound before flicking it up and bringing it down on top of my tit, the whip sound bouncing between the trees. I felt my chest bounce at the smack and he looked extremely satisfied with his performance. Without another word, he began his work. He whipped his belt onto each breast, back and forth, about 15 smacks on each. When he was finished, my entire chest had gone numb and I couldn’t feel anything above my stomach. My face and chest both out of commission from his torture.

“I don’t think I can wait for that pussy anymore doll.” He said, reaching to his jeans and stroking himself through the thick fabric, his head slowly lolling back as he pleasured himself.

“Then get it over with.” I spat.

“Ah ah ah, you said you were gonna be a good girl for me.” He said, not bothering lifting his head to look at me.

“Please.” I said softly.

“That’s my girl.” He said, shoving his pants down to his knees and taking a couple of steps forward, stopping once our chests were pressed together. He reached down between us, lifted my legs up around his hips and took his cock into his hand. He began pressing his head into my folds, biting his lip in focus once the contact was made. I couldn’t help but blush at the clear desire on his face, and I wondered if looked like this with other women he fucked.

He was slow this time as he pushed his way in, much unlike last night.

“Are you still mad at me?” I asked, unable to understand his behavior.

“Oh darlin’, I can’t stay mad at you. I think you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger.” He whispered towards the end, bottoming out as he finished his sentence. He completely stilled as he made eye contact with me.

“How’s about you come live with me? You’ll be fed, protected, and fucked real good. How’s that sound doll? You just have to keep being my good girl.” He asked.

Knowing that my chances alone were dwindling with every passing day, I considered the opportunity. I wouldn’t have to worry about a place to stay or something to eat, on top of that I won’t have to constantly look over my shoulder everywhere I go. I nodded, understanding that it was my best option.

“Atta girl.” He said, pulling his hips back and thrusting harshly back into me. I let out a yelp at the sudden change, again, in behavior. He began to pound into me ruthlessly, our hips slapping together loudly, the sound making me more wet by the second.

“Damn, you feel so good.” He said, gripping my thighs and pulling me closer to him, my breasts pressing hard against his chest. He pulled back for a moment a ripped his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground next to him.

“Wanna feel you.” He muttered, quickly pressing our chests back together as he pressed his lips to mine gently. His harsh thrusts didn’t let up and whimpers fell from my throat as the pleasure rose from his touch.

“Yeah, tell me how good I make you feel.” He growled, his lips not leaving mine.

“So good Johnny, better than I’ve ever felt.” I moaned against his plush lips, not wanting this to end.

“Damn right.” He said, hips thrusts becoming erratic as he threw his head back, groaning loudly.

“Gonna cum in you doll.” He moaned, locking his hips to mine as he came.

Breathing heavily, he kept himself inside me as he came back down to earth, titling his head forward and making eye contact. He leaned forward and pressed his head to mine, kissing me lightly on the lips one more time.

“I’m definitely keeping you. You’re stuck with me doll.”

Part 1 :)

#johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny tcm #tcm #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm game #18+ mdni #mdni #smut

[flapdoodlez]

Your support has arrived! 😇 Commission by Medic and Mercy voice actors Robin Atkin Downes and Lucie Pohl! Get it signed by both of them at Streamily

#tf2 #medic #overwatch #mercy #myart #come get yer prints

[gamblersdoll]

can you do a hakari fic where he gets his “special” birthday gift from reader? (idk when his birthday is 😭)

tw: blowjobs, 18+, spit, cum eating.

authors note: i dont know either, i wanna say hes a sagittarius or a leo.

“happy birthday bookie!!” you shouted, kissing his cheek and sitting directly next to him.

“thank you, ma.” he chuckles, reaching his arm around to rest his hand on your hip, gripping at the plumper flesh and kissing your cheek.

considering the fact that he owned a fight club, everyone dropped by to express themselves to him on his birthday, the ‘happy birthdays’ or ‘happy bag day.’ from many people that work for him were flowing in. eventually he made it very clear he wanted to just be with you, a blunt, and thats it.

the day was spent, and eventually he did get what he want, minus the blunt, but it was cool with him. currently speaking, you were on his lap, he had originally pulled you in.

he had kissed you, slow kisses turned into needy ones, needy ones turned into grabbing anything that he could.

“ma- mama..” he said, pulling away from the kiss and kissing your neck. he also pulled you close, bucking his hips into yours and nibbling on your collarbone. “if it isnt too much to ask-“

“blowjob, kin?” you cut him off, already sliding off his lap and back to his side.

“fuck. you know me so well.”

you giggle in response, focusing your attention to his lap which his print was showing. he was already hard, so you freed his cock from his jeans and slowly pump his length. he hisses in response, throwing his head back on the couch and relaxing into the couch. he whispers a ‘fuck mama,’ and bites his lip.

you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, he clenching his jaw while he makes a fist. you then hollow your cheeks, sliding your head down and up slowly around his cock.

he puts his hand on your ass, groaning at you bobbing your head on him. “fuuuckk..” he says, drawing his words. he slaps your ass, making you jump slightly but continuing your ministrations.

you take his cock out of your mouth, spitting a fat glob of spit onto the head and jerking his cock. you spread his spit around himself, taking him back in your mouth and slowly pumping him. you and your hand would go down, then go up while your hand twisted around his cock.

“fuck yeah! suck that shit..” he groans out, pulling your shorts down and groping at your asscheek. he then slapped it, moaning in response.

you could tell he was getting close, by the way his thighs would tense up and he was grinding his teeth. you could also tell his toes were curling in his jordans. you decided to pick up the pace, receiving a hand on your head and ass.

“fuck- im gunna fuckin’ cum baby..” he warns, moving his hand from your head. he resists the urge to turn a blowjob to throat-fucking.

you remove your hand from his cock, bobbing your head around his length and wrapping your tongue around it, too.

“fuckshitimgunnafuckin—“ he groans out, he stops your head movement, coming inside your mouth and you greedily swallow, him bucking his hips downward. “too sensitive ‘fer that sucking my cum out shit..” he chuckles with a pant. “thank you, mama.. i love you.”

“ ‘yer welcome, baby. what else does the birthday boy want?” you ask, taking a paper towel and wiping the spit off your lips and his cock, meanwhile he puts his cock back in his boxers.

“jus’ lay with me.. or cuddle me, whatever you wan’ call it. just me and you, babydoll.”

#jjk x reader #jjk spoilers #jjk #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk leaks #jujustsu kaisen x reader #hakari kinji #kinji hakari #hakari x reader #jjk hakari #jjk fluff #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanart #jjk fanfic

[player1064]

for the carraville prompts: jamie’s pov of your fic it’s just not what’s done, and him doing/saying increasingly gay things that fluster gary who thought he’d never have a chance with the straight boy

honestly I could write a full length fic of this I LOVE this idea but I am exercising restraint (read: i am too sleepy to keep writing but want to post it anyway) and cutting it off at 1.3k words. Jamie is so so annoying in this god bless xx

---

1996.

There’s a weird buzz in the air when Jamie arrives at Melwood in the morning, and not the usual frustration he’d expect the morning after the first team have lost a game. Everyone’s grouped in little huddles, hushed whispers that cut out when anyone else walks by, but the weirdest part by far is that everyone is holding a fucking newspaper.

He walks into the apprentice’s dressing room and snatches a paper out of one of the other lads’ hands. He turns straight to the back page, but there’s nothing particularly noteworthy there – United won the league, big fucking whoop – so he frowns and flips the paper back to the front page.

Jamie would normally dismiss anything The Sun prints as garbage, but a quick glance around the dressing room shows a few other papers scattered around, all with similar headlines. All with the same photo, printed to take up most of the page, full colour even on a weekday.

The Sun’s headline is not a particularly creative one, but is does get the point across quite succinctly: there, right above the grainy, dimly lit photograph, are the words GAY NEVILLE?

“Oh my fucking God,” he hears Michael whisper from behind him.

Gary Neville, right-back, Jamie’s brain helpfully supplies. Manchester United, 21 years old and already eight caps for England.

His next thought is: what a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t give a shit about the gay thing, not really – he did spend two years at boarding school, he knows what some of the boys got up to there. No, his issue is more that United have just won the league, and everyone knows in a few days they’ll be getting the double when they win the FA cup too. 21 years old, a starter for a team that’s about to make footballing history, a spot in the squad for this summer’s Euros, and the stupid prick’s just thrown it all away because he felt like getting off with someone at a club where anyone could see him.

Maybe he should ask his coaches about practicing in right-back. He has a funny feeling a spot’s about to open up on the England team.

 *

2004.

“Not so brave now that yer boyfriend’s fucked off to Spain, are ye?”

Neville gives him a disinterested look from across the tunnel.

“Not my boyfriend,” he says flatly, rolling his eyes like he’s recited that line a thousand times before.

He probably has, actually. Jamie needs to come up with better insults, something more original. He’ll workshop some for next time.

Still, better to dig in on this one. “No, I s’pose he’s not now that he’s traded you in fer better things. Yer not exactly a Galactico.”

Neville’s expression is still blank but there’s a hint of fire behind his eyes, which tells Jamie that he’s on the right track, that if he pushes just a little bit more he’ll be able to tip him over the edge.

He sees Keane step out from his place at the front of the line, turn to Neville and mutter “d’you need me to –”

“Couldn’t give a fuck, he’s not worth worryin’ over,” Neville replies, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

There’s no time to say anything back, because the referee walks to the front of the tunnel and then it’s time to go start the game.

*

2006.

“How’s it work, then?”

Neville looks up from the bowl of Weetabix he’d been intently focused on and glances around the room, like he doesn’t believe it’s him Jamie’s talking to.

He shrugs. “How’s what work?”

“The gay thing. Did yous get to bring a WAG over too, or is that only for the normal lads?”

“Wouldn’t be a WAG, would it?” Neville mutters snobbishly.

He’s right, Jamie supposes. But that’s obviously not something he can admit, so he decides to lean in to the ‘stupid Scouser’ bit. “Why not?”

Neville squints at him suspiciously. “’cause he wouldn’t be a wife or girlfriend, would he?” He clears his throat, looks back down at his bowl. “If he existed, that is. Only brought my dad over for this tournament, does that answer your question?”

“Hmm,” Jamie says, ignoring the obvious cue to leave and taking a seat opposite Neville instead. “What would they call ‘im, if you weren’t a sad lonely old spinster… husbands and boyfriends… HABs? Doesn’t ‘ave quite the same ring to it, does it?”

*

2013.

“Why’d you never get married?”

Neville – Gary – looks up from his iPad to give Jamie his familiar ‘I can’t tell if you’re having me on or if you’re actually just stupid’ squint. “’s only been legal a few months, give us a break.”

“Civil partnered then, whatever. I don’t get it. You’re rich, you were a footballer. I know you’re ugly but looks don’t really factor into it, if your brother’s marriage is anythin’ to go by.”

Gary scowls at him. “Different measures of attractive when you’re gay. I’ll ‘ave you know men find me quite good looking, actually.”

“Do they fuck,” Jamie snorts, because he’s willing to bet that there isn’t a single man on Earth, gay or otherwise, who finds Gary Neville in his current state attractive. Maybe in his playing days, when he was all lean muscle and intense glares, but not now. “They’re just queuin’ up to get a piece a’yous, are they?”

“Maybe they are. Not that it’s any of your business, but I actually ‘ave a date tonight.”

“And that’s after he’s had a look at you?”

*

2015.

“Don’t go.”

Gary looks exhausted, pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His hair needs a trim, his stubble needs a shave, and he needs to not move to fucking Spain.

“Don’t look so stroppy, Carra. You’re about to become Sky’s number one pundit.”

“Don’t want it. C’mon, Gaz, what’m I gonna do for my Monday mornin’ entertainment without tales of your endless bad dates.”

“Most people just read the news.”

 “What’re you gonna do, you’re bad enough at pullin’ as it is without a language barrier makin’ things harder. It’s like you want to spend the next five months celibate.”

“Yer awfully concerned about my personal life, James, for someone who not two weeks ago was tellin’ me that I needed to, and I quote, ‘spend less time thinkin’ about fit men and more on thinkin’ about fit footballers instead.’”

“And I stand by that.”

*

2016.

Jamie’s changing out of his gym clothes when his conversation with Gary earlier in the week echoes in his mind, the dreamy way Gary had said his arms…

The guy probably doesn’t even train as much as Jamie does, probably just exaggerates because for some reason he’s trying to impress Gary. As if Gary is someone you’d want to impress.

He stands in front of the changing room’s mirror and flexes his bicep, notes with pride the bulging vein that leads up from his elbow. It’s a shame, really, that he has to wear suits when he’s on Sky. He’s sure viewing figures would go up if he was allowed to wear something a little more form fitting, maybe he should pitch it to the wardrobe people.

Gary would probably have a fit, his tends to get in a tizz at the suggestion of any change to the strict set of rules he’s got in his head. Jamie had once tried to wear his suit without a tie (because he’d spilled coffee on the one he’d brought, not that he’d told Gary that), and Gary had screeched at him for a good half an hour about professionalism until he relented and went to wardrobe to find a spare tie he could use.

Imagine if he wore a t-shirt. Gary’s head would probably explode.

All the more reason to do it, really.

#jamie's love language is bullying. obviously. #carraville #drabbles #thanks for the prompt! sorry it took me so long to get to but I am slowly working my way through my inbox again

[silent-raven13]

Flower Shop Across the Music Store

(AU: Miles works at a flower shop. Hobie owes his music Store.)

The sound of the machine printing out a long list of receipts had the young man ripped it off to had to the customer. "Here's your receipt. Remember no returns if it's open." The Punker said in a serious tone before going back to reorganizing some CDs.

The customer left with a nod before taking his leave with his skateboard in his other hand. The front door opens with its bell ringing, a group of three teenage boys wearing Y2K outfits; large baggy pants, and oversize shirts. Very old school style of New York, with Jordans, and timberlands.

Hobie glances over, "Manny, did you do your homework?" At a brown teenage boy wearing bright red oversize t-shirt, baggy pants and Jordans. The one called Manny had a buzz cut with one earring in his left ear, he sucked his teeth in with an eye roll.

"Man," Manny frowns at his adopted older brother, "I was."

"Oh yeh? Let me see it?" The owner of the shop asked.

"Come on, bro." Manny grunts.

"Don't give me that. Go to the back and do your homework. Those are the rules." Hobie crosses his arms. "Unless you wanna go back to yer mama?"

Manny groans, "No. But can I just go skate for a bit. I swear I'll be back at five and do my homework!"

"Alright. But I better see you here before those lights turned on." Hobie pointed at the lamp lights on the street. "I'm gonna make jerk chicken and rice and peas! So you better get home by dinner time."

"Ight, bro! I will." Manny walks out with his friends going to the park to skate and hang out.

The punker merely rolled his eyes, he felt more like a dad to this kid than a brother at times. He heard the boys calling all at once, then one of them said, "Aye, look over there! it's a gonna be a Flower shop."

"Nah, mane. Who goes buy flowers?" A friend of Manny said.

"Who knows but it's better than that wack ass junk store."

"Ya that place was cover in dust."

Hobie saw the boys walking away laughing, he peeks over the shop across his store to find a flower shop being set up. Huh, he never noticed that. The Grand Opening show it's today with a free rose.

Two older Latina women went inside the shop to buy some flowers, coming out with their own bouquets. The punker arched his eyebrows being interested in the shop, during his lunch break he decided to go check it out.

Of course, by the looks on the Flower Shop it look a bit to posh for the neighborhood of Brooklyn. So he wore his black leather jacket and went full Punk on his aesthetics to see if the owners would freak out. He's biggest worry if it's a rich white owner trying to take over a black and brown neighborhood.

"Not on my watch!" He thought to himself before going over to the flower shop.

The door bing with an automatic ringer whenever the door open. The flower shop is small, but had many beautiful flowers with decent prices. "Coming." Hearing a male voice.

Hobie checks around seeing a lot of roses, so many in different types from white to pink to yellow to the iconic red ones. Then, he heard footsteps behind him. He turns around as he heard, "Sorry about that. I was setting up the vases behind the counter."

The moment Hobie's eyes saw the young man, it felt like love at first sight. He never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. The young cashier had big hazel eyes with a cute wide nose and dimple wide smile with those plump lips. The young man have dark skin and coily tapered Afro, with earrings on both ears. He wore an apron over his sunny yellow collar shorts and overalls that have Sunflower embroidered and OG Jordans.

"Uhhh..." Hobie felt like he was styling a sun by the way this man's face glows so brightly.

"Hm?" The cashier tilted his head to the side with those big doe eyes.

The punker saw the cashier's name tag, "Miles. Um, are you the owner?"

"Me? Nah, this is my aunty's shop. I'm working here part time." He looked worried, "Oh do you need to speak to her? My aunty and Uncle will be here tomorrow!"

Hobie never thought he would see someone this cute. "No. No-no!" He raised his hand up, "It's all good. I just wanna say I own a music shop across the street."

"OH! I always wanted to go there! You're the owner! Wow, you dress so cool." Miles' big hazel eyes gleams with excitement.

"Heh, I guess so. It's pretty crappy."

"Oh, I don't think so." Miles giggles, "I think it gives a bit of personality."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Never thought it that way." Hobie crosses his arms then slowly asked, "So, what you got for sale?"

"We got twelve dollar bouquets roses." Miles pointed out, "They are small but enough to be romantic." He to hold a bequest of Sunflowers, "Sorry, I need to fix this." He wanted to have the Sunflower flowers their own attention.

"Huh, you look like a Sunflower." Hobie's hand reach out to touch Miles' cheek, "Sunflower." There eyes met.

The young man felt his body heated up by this handsome Punker. Seeing him so tall and having Heterochromia eyes made him look so damn cool and attractive. "Oh, no one ever called me that or any flower."

"I think Sunflower fits you perfectly. Anyway, I like to buy that Sunflower." He offer.

"Oh this one?" Miles is holding it with great care.

This is what Hobie wanted to hold Miles and the best way was that Sunflower. He casually chuckles, "I like that one."

'Okay, I'll ring it up for you." The cashier nodded heading to the front desk to charge the flower. The two stay quiet it until Hobie couldn't take it anymore.

"Here, luv. Maybe you need a discount from her." He slid his phone number on a piece .

"Ehh?" Miles felt his cheeks warm when seeing the phone number on a piece of paper. "Don't you think that's old school?" His hazel eyes onto the punker.

"So? I wanna make my point across." The Punker flirted.

"Okay... but I didn't catch your name." The cashier went to wrap the sunflower.

"Hobie. Hobie Brown." He grins at Miles. "Let me take you out for a cup of coffee."

"I do like coffee." Miles flirted with him, having this warm smile. He could stare at Hobie's one silver blue eyes and the other being brown.

"Yeah." Hobie flirted back, "Hopefully, you and I can go further like dinner or a movie."

"Hehehe," The cashier giggles, "I would like that if things go well."

"I think you and I both know, luv, that we're gonna get along super well with each other." He smirks at him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

The two were staring into each other having big smiles on their faces. Miles couldn't help but be attractive to the punker. "What about tonight?"

"Cup of coffee?"

"Maybe or a movie, since you already said we fit goo together." Miles hums having to charge the Sunflower. "That'll be five thirty five."

"Heh, alright." Hobie grins having to pull out his wallet to pay in cash, "How about this? I take you to a nice Dominican restaurant down there, and see where it goes."

"OKay. I do like Dominican food." Miles' eyes on him, they were interested.

"Alright, when you get off?"

"Around five. My uncle comes by to help close the shop." Miles said, "I'll be ready by then."

"Okay, I'll come by. I normally close shop early too." Hobie grins at the cashier. "See you then, Sunflower."

"See you, Hobie." He smiles at him watching him leave the store.

Hobie could only fantasize about Miles and the smell of Sunflowers just reminds the punker of him. His heart race thinking about it, then he remembers about his adopted brother.

He quickly texted him.

Hobie: Yo, I got a date at five. You can hang out with your friends longer.

Manny: Sweet, can I stay over at Luis till ten?

Hobie: Sure. Do your homework!

Manny: Sure thing bro.

Hobie smirks with that. Now he gotta think what to wear for this date. God, he knows this is the one. His soul mate, he could feel it in his bones!

#miles morales #hobie brown #punkflower #spiderman #across the spider verse #spider verse #fanfic #flowerpunk

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

Familiar Pt. 2

CHAPTER SONG: Good Pussy Problems - Jada Kingdom

Tag list: @lppriceisright @callmewifey @briacreations96 @ilovelulu @doramilaj233 @littlebizcuit @ziayamikaelson @andibecamethestars @6-noir @s0lam33y @briacreations96 blacknthick7

-

"Jay, betta yuh did put seh yuh waan ah fiftee percent fih yuh royalties dem." (Better you did put that you want fifty percent of your royalties) Dom ran his fingers over his face, you'd both been in his living room going over the proposed contract N'Jadaka's assistant had sent.

"Mi know weh mi ah do. If mi tek a bigga cut dem nah guh waan me fih own mi masters dem." (I know what I am doing, If I take a bigger cut they won't want me to own my masters) You respond.

"Jah, yuh really ah guh tek twenty five percent fih now doh?" (You're really going to take twenty five percent for now though?) Dom hisses his teeth and you shake your head.

"Yes, Domingo." You roll your eyes, sighing in frustration. He couldn't see the bigger picture. If I owned my masters, later on I could sell my catalog for way more. "Mi haav mi yiy dem pon eh goal. Mi know weh mi ah guh do." (I have my eyes on the goal, I know what I'm going to do.)

"Wah bout yer name and merch rights?" (What about your name and merch rights) He asks, raising a brow. "It seh dem waan gi yuh twenty percent wah di rassclaat kinda deal is dat?" (It says they want to give you twenty percent what the fuck kind of deal is that?)

"I'd own my name, and be able to get 40% of the tour profits." You explain. Owning your masters and your name was the way to make money. You could get brand deals that were 100% all yours by owning your name and as far as your master's, you could sell your catalog to the highest bidder later on.

"Ah. Is yer money, mi nah guh three meds it." (It's your money, I'm not going to stress about it.) He says, handing you back your iPad.

You finished all your adjustments before sending the email back. You'd spent the two days given to read over every fine print before adding that You'd own your masters and name. You were smart, your grandma raised you. She taught you about looking out for yourself and your little brother. She'd taught you about hoe ruthless and wicked people could be over money.

You'd come from nothing and did everything you could to ensure you never were in that position again financially. You still had a long way to go before you were happy with your finances but for now you were comfortable.

"Mi ah come guh mi yaad." (I'm going to my house) You say, hugging Dom before grabbing your stuff and heading out.

_

"The sound already has 15,000 videos under it." Shuri says, as you gather your things. You'd just signed to their label, after they'd agreed with your terms for the contract.

ShuriUuu and 983,201 others liked.

UdakuRecords Welcome @Twinkle to the Udaku Family <3

RiriWi Real music, Real Girl #IDG1F

ShuriUuu They're not ready for you yet #idg1f

NjadakaU Pretty girl love money #idg1f

RamondaUdaku Welcome to the Family, can't wait to meet you.

DestinYyy How cute

The label posted a picture with you in the studio today, doing vocals for the track. The picture had went viral, several blogs and news stations picked up the story of you signing onto Udaku Records. N'Jadaka had you scheduled to do several interviews that would be released Thursday in time for the songs drop on Friday. It was Monday.

Tomorrow, and Wednesday was going to be packed. You had the interviews, and a photoshoot that all needed to be up by Thursday. They planned to break the internet Thursday before dropping your song.

So far the song was on Tiktok, Instagram reels and Youtube shorts. People were already singing the few lyrics and posting themselves to the trending song. You made several alluring videos with your best friend/hairstylist Azura filming you. Your hair had changed several times in the span of a weekend.

You'd went to your condo, where Azura filmed you in a bathing suit as you posed and made faces at the camera. Once you'd gotten the video and layered a new snippet of the song, you posted it to your Instagram.

Azuradidollie and 235,012 others liked.

Twinkle Call me what you want #idg1f

RiriWi Damn ma...

ShuriUuu God took his time with you.

Azuradidollie Whew mumma heavy, look how di gyal batty fat ehhhh? Yuh angle, triangle dat.

NJadakaU I wanna call you mine

BadGalRiri @Twinkle Caribbean girls run tings

Spiceofficial Big chuneee

chrisbrownofficial Check your dms mama

ChampagnePapi Ass on houston texas but the face look just like Claire Huxtable.

MayaBee Pretty girl

"Yuh see di amount ah celebrities inna yer comments?" (You see the amount of celebrities in your comments) Azura laughs, as you both ate fried chicken with rice and oxtail gravy.

"I know." You feel your face heat up as you shovel rice into your mouth.

"Wah Maya ah duh inna yer comments? Unnuh neva agree fi nuh comment, like or follow one anudda?" (What's Maya doing in your comments, Haven't Ya'll agreed to not comment, like or follow each other?)

"Yah ask mi? Mi nuh see nor hear from di gyal since Saturday mawning." (You're asking me? I haven't seen or heard from the girl since Saturday morning) You shrugged.

"Da gyal deh sick mi fucking tomach, mi nuh know why yuh ah pree har. She all fi har self." (That girl there sicks my fucking stomach, I don't know why you take her serious. She's all for herself.) Azura kissed her teeth as she drank her sorrel.

"Zur, mi like har. She haav sum bad ways but she's a good person." (I like her. She has some bad ways but she's a good person.) You defend her.

"Tan deh mek har tun yuh inna yamhead. Yuh coming like jelly back. Da gyal deh naav nun bout har. She don't waan yuh win, look how she did diss yuh and yuh let it go." (Stand there and make her turn you into a fool. You're weak. That girl don't have anything about her. 'worthless') Azura declares and you shake your head.

"Not too much on my girl." You cut your eyes at her and she laughs.

"Tan deh wid di likkle badmind gyal." (Stand there with the little jealous girl) Azura sticks her tongue out and you roll your eyes.

"Gweh!" (Move) You joke.

"Nyam mi front and gweh." (Eat my pussy and go away) Azura retorts, rolling her eyes and you laugh.

"Been there, done that." You wink.

A knock on your door, has you up and headed for the door. There's only three people that can come up without the front desk alerting you. One of which is here and the other was out of town. Your face set into a scowl and your nose wrinkled as you opened the door to see Maya.

"What?" You say, looking her up and down in annoyance.

"Baby, I'm sorry." Maya says and you sigh.

"Is this going to be a reoccurring thing? You being in your feelings because I'm pursuing music?" You ask. She'd walked out on Saturday upset when you told her you planned on signing onto Udaku Records. She'd tried to convince you to sign onto her label despite you having told her before it would never happen.

"It's not about the music, Jay..." Maya muttered. "I don't like Rina and it's not just about her dissing my album. She wants you, I saw how she looked at you that night at the club. Hell look at what she and that skinny giraffe are saying in your comments."

Did she really just call Shuri a giraffe? Dis girl...

"Maya, you've got to get over that. People are always going to want me. You think I don't deal with this shit with your label mates and the industry community dicks that are always aimed at you?" You hissed your teeth. "You can either choose to accept the fact that I'm yours and deal with whatever comes or we're going to have to just call it quits from now."

"You'd break up with me?" She whispers, her eyes wide and tears already starting to leak.

"Yes. I wouldn't want to but it's not fair what you're doing, you're punishing me for other people's actions. You were pissed when you hadn't heard from me Friday night but you've ignored me since Saturday morning. That's a double standard that I will not put up with." You insisted, crossing your arms as she cried. You wanted to hold her and wipe her tears away but she couldn't treat you like this and think sorry and some tears would fix things.

"Ok, I understand. I'm sorry for ignoring you and for punishing you." Maya croaked out, her voice low. You nodded.

"I forgive you." You assure her but when she moves to step forward you place your hand on her chest. "You ignored me for 2 days, now it's my turn. Talk to you Wednesday evening."

Her mouth dropped open as you closed the door in her face laughing, you always gave in to her when she acted like a spoiled brat but this time you wouldn't. She needed to tighten up and give you the same energy you gave her when it came to her career, the spotlight and the many people lusting after her.

"Yes goodie... yuh gag har backside." (Yes, beautiful. You gagged her ass) Azura was dying with laughter.

"Yuh seeh yuh..." (You see you) You shook your head before climbing back on the couch to finish your food.

You can apologize with chocolate - You 6:57 pm

Understood baby, I'll see you Wednesday. - Babes 7:00 pm

Wednesday evening. I love you spoiled brat - You 7:03pm

-

"Hi, Twinkle. It's so good to meet you! I've been obsessed with your song." Nessa says, and you smile at her.

"Thank you for having me." You say.

"So, everyone's dying to know. Who was Which Gyal meant for?" Nessa asks, and you laugh as she butchered the words in a fake patois accent.

"Just a likkle song fi any gyal weh haav mi name inna har mouth. Mi nuh inna di chattings wid people pickney so mi mek eh song fi any gyal weh waan trouble mi or has troubled mi." (Just a little song for any girl that has my name in her mouth. I'm not into the talking with people's kids, so I made the song for any girl who wants to trouble me or has troubled me.) You see she looks lost so you say everything again in english.

"You have a beautiful accent." Nessa compliments and you thank her. "You recently signed on to Udaku Records and have been teasing a song. Idg1f. Can you tell us what inspired the song?"

"Well I had the lyrics in my head and a little melody. I've had so many people come at me crazy because I was in a very public relationship almost 2 years ago. I've said before and I'll stand on it, I love money and anyone who wants to give me money can definitely do it. I'm a pretty girl, I know what I deserve and that's how I've made a living just being pretty." You explained and Nessa raised a brow.

"You were with Chris Brown, no?" Nessa asks coyly, and you roll your eyes playfully.

"Yes, I was. However he's irrelevant now." You reply with a shrug.

"Many people speculated Which Gyal was about Ri, are you and Rihanna cool now?" Nessa asks and I shake my head.

"I barely know her personally. We never had any problems, so I don't know where that narrative came from." You answer, honestly. "I love her, she's so creative and multifaceted. There's nothing but respect for her."

"We all saw Drake and Chris in your comments. How do you feel about that?" Nessa questions.

"No disrespect to Drake but he's too corny for me personally. I can't get with his antics and as far as Chris, well he knows what's up. That's it." You lick your lips.

"Rihanna was also in your comments, giving you a stamp of approval." Nessa continues. "What do you think of that?"

"As I said before, I have the utmost respect for Rihanna. She's an icon, I look up to her. She's paved the way for Caribbean girls and I can only hope that I make her proud." You felt conflicted because while you grew up liking Rihanna, you knew she could be very shady. She'd never spoke on you before besides saying you were a non factor when asked in an interview when you and Chris were dating.

The rest of the interview goes pretty smooth. Towards the end as Nessa's closing out her producer comes over and shows her something on his phone. Nessa looks from the phone to you before nodding at whatever the producer says. He walks off camera and Nessa looks at you again.

"So what do you have to say about Maya posting you on her social media?" Nessa inquires and you stare at her in shock .

"We're cool, so--"

On the screen in between Nessa and I on the wall is Maya's latest post and you blink as you see it.

Kyliebabe and 1,249,865 others liked.

Mayabee I love you, baby. You are my sunshine. @Twinkle

Azuradidollie dutty tinkin gyal, weh di fuck yuh ah post mi bomboclaat fren fah? yuh is ah waste gyal fi tru, only batty bwoy do dem tings deh.

You can't find anything to say as you stare at the screen in shock. She hadn't even discussed this with you before she went ahead and posted that. You were angry beyond words.

"Still cool?" Nessa laughs, and you narrow your eyes at her. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before releasing it.

"No. We're not cool at all." You say, taking the ear piece off and tossing it down before grabbing your bag and walking out.

-

You had finished the rest of your interviews in autopilot. Your energy was faked, you felt betrayed by Maya. This wasn't the actions of someone who cared about you, this was a calculated move that you were sure was brought on by her label and manager.

All the time spent hiding and keeping you a dirty secret just for her to out your relationship the moment you were finally getting attention on you for the right reasons was sickening. You'd never pressured her or argued when she chose to follow her label and manager's decision to keep your relationship quiet.

You were supportive and you put her career and goals first. Any other time this would have been what you wanted but right now you felt used and like a prop. You blocked her number and blocked her on all your social media's, not caring to hear what she had to say.

Over and over she'd shown time and time again you were not on the list of her priorities. You could argue away most of her bad habits and bad ways but this. There was no excusing this. You couldn't defend it because there was nothing that she could say that would make you feel even remotely ok about any of this.

Today was your photoshoot and you were numbing yourself to the hurt you felt. All the excitement dying down at things that should have been making you happy. You'd never dreamed of being in the position you were in and your joy was being stolen.

"What do you think about this, Jay?" Shuri asks as you, Riri and N'Jadaka are looking over the edits. The picture they all seemed to settle on was sexy yet cutesy. You had a huge bouquet in your arms, while posing in the gold sparkly dress Azura had helped you pick. Your tattoos were showcased in a very peekaboo way whilst the rest of your body was covered.

"It looks good." You agree, your tone giving off a 'whatever' kind of vibe.

"Alright, we'll use it as the cover to idg1f." N'Jadaka says. "It really matches the vibe of the song. Gotta give it to you Shuri, your vision is immaculate."

"It's all dependent on the artist." Shuri shrugged, looking at you with a small smile. You returned it though your smile didn't meet your eyes.

"You've been working your ass off ma." Riri agrees, looking from Shuri to you. "You've been locked in ever since the first day in the studio."

"I'm glad ya'll feel that way." You feel your cheeks warm, and you look down at your hands.

"I have a meeting but I just wanted to stop by and say that you're doing great, Jay." N'Jadaka adds, before reaching over to hug you. He dabs up Shuri and Riri before leaving.

"You hungry, Ma?" Riri inquires, she knew you weren't feeling like yourself. She and Shuri talked amongst themselves about taking you out to cheer you up.

"Afta mi belly naav nuh bottom." (After my belly has no bottom 'greedy') You laugh, before nodding.

"Alright, why don't you get changed and we'll take you out. You deserve to be celebrated. You've signed to our label, your about to release a single that millions are anticipating and you've been kept busy this whole week with promo shit." Shuri asserts, licking her lip. "Pick whatever outfit you want."

-

🎶 You must be stupid, don't even flirt with me, what you doing mi nuh interested, keep it pushing, come outta mi face and give me some space. You likkle bit too nuff yute don't chat to me, A wha so? Don't make your friend dem gas you, cause this is a brand new moto 🎶

Azuradidollie and 644,431 others liked.

Twinkle You must be stupid, don't even flirt with me, what you doing mi nuh interested, keep it pushing, come outta mi face and give me some space. You likkle bit too nuff yute don't chat to me. #Single #idg1f

Azuradidollie Yes babes, mek di waste gyal know wah gwaan #idg1f

513 comments, 23,491 likes.

ShuriUuu You free fi carry me out #idg1f

985 comments, 67,203 likes.

RiriWi Give me money and buy me stuff #idg1f

678 comments, 52,465 likes.

chrisbrownofficial she like eating pussy, I'm like me too 😉

User Ariana what are you doing here?

1,252 comments, 101,230 likes.

Mayabee Jay, don't play with me.

User Girl go sit down and nurse your heart burn

1,190 comments, 141,234 likes.

Kyliebabe Single but was just fucking on oh.... ok

Azuradidollie @Kyliebabe Ah yuh ah nyam har front?

User Why are you so pressed? your friend caused the drama babes.

791 comments, 62,123 likes.

Shuri and Riri took you shopping to celebrate your newest achievements, before finally taking you to dinner. You'd had the wig taken off your head, and was wearing your hair out in a wavy silk press. Makeup free and natural, save for lipgloss and your lash extensions.

You posted the video Riri recorded of you walking, and twirling and posing to the lyrics of your song that you knew would hit Maya deep in the gut. You put the lyrics in the caption before using the hashtag single to make a statement as you had no interest in her, her label or her manager using you.

You put your phone on DND, as you ate your sushi and pasta. Throughout the dinner, the conversation was light. You all exchanged information about yourselves, favorite colors, music, artists, hobbies, goals, etc.

You found out that Shuri could play several instruments, and write her own music. The latter wasn't a shock as she had tons of writing credits. She wrote songs on the daily just by living and watching, she was beyond talented.

Riri could play the electric guitar, and was amazing at putting together beats. She could hear music in her head as she went about her day, and was always recording a melody that she had stuck in her head. You could see similarities in yourself and the both of them.

"What made you want to co-head the label?" You ask Shuri. Her family's music business venture was years old but you saw a significant change once she and N'Jadaka stepped up to be the new faces of the label.

Riri and Shuri shared a look, before Shuri looked at you. Her jaw was clenched and her body was tense. You could tell there was something there.

"Riri and I are together but at one point we had a third." Shuri explains which is no surprise to you. You figured they were together, everyone speculated but they had never confirmed. "Destiny's an artist on the label, I was only into producing when we got together but when I seen just how shitty a lot of artist's deals were, including hers... I chose to do something about it, it was shortly after my father and brother died that I pushed for N'Jadaka to head the label while I worked beside him. We worked to give our artists better deals than they'd previously had, whilst working to ensure the company was still making money."

"I worked tirelessly to give Destiny everything she wanted, because I saw how stressed she was not having creative control and being forced into the bullshit the label pushed on her. My father and T'Challa agreed that our relationship should be kept quiet as Destiny was a sex symbol and was more profitable and marketable as a single straight woman." Shuri rolls her eyes.

"After the accident, I finally had the chance to change the direction of the company to what I'd had in mind. However, I soon realized Destiny was only using Riri and I. The moment she had a better contract, she left us to be the industry mattress." Shuri laughs to herself.

"Why aren't you and Riri public now?" You ask, curious. They no longer had a reason to keep their relationship silent.

"The gag is we are. We're private not secret. We post each other, we're out and about with each other. We've just never addressed anything because we feel no need to. Everyone knows what's up with us." Riri declares, looking at you with a small smirk.

"That makes sense. Social media can be just as destructive as it is beneficial. Especially to relationships." You agreed.

"I take it you and Maya are no longer friends? " Riri raises a brow as she looks you over.

"No, we are not." You shrug, rolling your eyes at the mention of the girl. Azura was right, and you saw that clear as day.

"So, you're a free agent." Shuri watches you through hooded eyes, as she sips on her bourbon.

"Why do you want to know?" You look at her with a wide smile on your face daring her to be bold.

"Just want confirmation that you're free before we have you coming all night. Not that you being in a relationship would have stopped the pursuit." Shuri's lips turn up as she watches your body flush at her words.

"Yuh think one dinna and ah likkle shopping can lock me dung?" (You think one dinner and a little shopping can lock me down?) You giggle as you sip on your lemon water.

"Definitely not." Riri denies, as she waves over the waiter to clear the table and bring the check.

"However we all know at some point you will be on your back with your legs spread open and your mouth wide as we work your fat pussy over." Shuri says and you clench as her words heat up your core. She used patois to say 'Fat pussy' and that had you feeling hot all over.

"Mmm mmm girl." You shake your head, giggling. "Yuh haffi work fi mi tight ole." (You have to work for my tight hole.)

"So, this is what working looks like. Now it's making sense why you were so pressed to work with Rina." You see Maya approaching behind the duo and your face drops as she opens her mouth.

"What are you even...." Your words fall off as you realize she still had your location on her iPad. You unlock your phone to remove her iPad and block it before locking your phone again. "What do you want?"

"Why the fuck are you out here acting like a whore when you have a whole girlfriend?" Maya exclaims.

"Whore? My girl outta di two ah wi? who ah whore? cuz mi know seh my pussy nuh haav more den 5 bodies pon ih." (My girl, out of the two of us, who's the whore? Cause I know that my pussy has no more than five bodies on it.) You match her tone.

"Mi neva yet disrespect yuh ar mek nubodi disrespect yuh yet, so don't ever innah yer life try diss me ar mi pussy." (I have never disrespected you or let anyone disrespect you so don't ever in your life diss me or my pussy.) You hiss.

"Why are you treating me like this?" Maya starts with her bag of crying and for once you feel nothing as the tears roll down her face. She can't cry and think she'll get her way.

"You called me a whore." You kiss your teeth. "That is not the words of someone who loves me or even cares about me. You'd think with all the slut shaming you and I have both endured, that word would have never left your mouth."

"I'm sorry." Maya cried. "I didn't mean to say that, I was just angry. I love you so much, Jay. I would never purposely hurt you, you know that."

"Disrespecting me and using me as a prop for your career wasn't you hurting me?" You scoffed.

"I didn't." Maya swears and you swallow as you see the look in her eyes. "I swear to you, I did not. My manager made the post on my page, I didn't know until after it happened. I would never use you in that way, you know I wouldn't."

"Maya, I love you." You see both Shuri and Riri share a look out of the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes trained on Maya. "I love you so much that I put you and your wants over my own. I let myself down to lift you up. If I'm being honest I overlooked the shitty things you'd do or say because I was that in love with you. But love should never feel like that, at least not the love I want. You're a good person, I genuinely believe that but you just aren't good enough for me. I deserve more, I deserve better. You've said sorry just about almost every day we've been together and yet you continue doing the same stuff you know hurt me. I'm putting myself first for once, and if that makes me a whore or selfish, or anything you want to call me that's fine because I've come to terms with the fact we aren't right for each other."

"Don't do this, Jay... I'll be better, I promise." Maya's face was pale as she cried. You felt embarrassed for her as everyone in the outside area was staring, cameras were flashing and you knew people were recording.

"I'll text you later." You sighed, before grabbing your purse and walking towards Maya. You wipe her tears and grab her hand, leading her away from the attention and cameras.

-

What do you guys think? Let me know below <3