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bcyhoods · 2 months

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LOVEFOOL 💌 — ‘honey, i’m home’ with stevie please. no pressure at all and take ur time or feel free to skip it, idm at all. and congratulations again ml, ily xx

drew babyyyyy, i love u and i’m saur sorry this took so long!! i may have went overboard | 1.6k fem!reader

warnings: alcohol + one drunk steeb + undressing + shit ending

Robin is the first to insist that his party days are well behind him. It was supposed to be a lighthearted toast in some random corner of a vaguely familiar backyard. Keg King Steve has fallen from grace! Here’s to a sign of maturity!

The sentiment, much to Steve’s chagrin, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and it rivals whatever’s in his cup.

“So Harrington’s a lightweight, big deal! I still think you’re just as charming.” With a heavy hand and a tipsy grin, Eddie reassuringly slaps across Steve’s shoulders. The sheer force of it has his entire body jerking forward and his drink jumping over the plastic rim. It spills over his fingers, grossly sticking to his skin and foaming at the edge of his sleeve.

He’s not quite sure why it even affects his ego so much, but it’s feeling bruised and battered. Like something sour and unforgiving crept into his chest and delivered a hefty blow to his Pride.

It has him sputtering as he lamely pushes away the metal-head, “I can still—I mean, I'm not…a lightweight.”

Robin is usually pretty good at spotting his unease when she’s sober, but the cheap beer seems to make her hypersensitive to his changing mood. She shakes her head fervently and harshly swallows. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of!” She starts, “I’m just saying, you know…you’re not who you were in high school! Which is good! It’s a good thing. It’s just, like, your tolerance decreases as you get older and less athletic, everybody knows that. So it’s perfectly normal.”

He knows that she means well. It’s obvious in the way she attempts to soothingly rub his arm, the way she smiles at him as best she can. But he’s feeling like he just got all the air knocked out of lungs.

You’re not who you were in high school.

It’s loud. It echoes unkindly against his skull and penetrates the most vulnerable parts of his brain until the noise is smothered by something else. Something a lot less intelligible, almost barbaric.

The frenzied chanting over by the keg rings in his ears and grows louder with each weak breath he takes. Eddie’s trying to help now — says something about how Steve can still outsmoke half his regular customers. But his voice is static in the boy’s mind now as his attention is focused on a pair of ankles being held in the air in the midst of the growing crowd.

Just then, an old lightbulb flickers on in his head, his Pride is reanimated with a dizzying desire to prove himself. His chest increases in size, his shoulders are pushed back, his chin is held high, but the confidence doesn’t seem to reach his face. “I’m not a lightweight,” he mumbles before he’s striding across the grass and taking his place at the keg.

Steve is not a lightweight. He can certainly still hold his keg stand record. But he’s got enough alcohol in his system to fuel a garage full of cars.

It’s why he ends up hanging off your shoulders, humming some song by The Smiths, and making it entirely impossible to unlock your apartment door.

The warm skin of his forehead pushes into your cheek as he noses at the junction between your neck and your shoulder. Muscly arms are tightly wound against your middle, trapping your own arms underneath and pressing your keys into your thigh. His fluffy brown hair, uncharacteristically and boyishly disheveled, tickles the corner of your eye.

“Steve, I can’t…” You try to fight off his arms, but they only seem to tighten followed by a groan of protest from him. You huff before softly restarting, “I can’t open the door, Stevie.”

“Oh! Sorry,” he whispers. He readjusts himself so that one arm is around your back and the other lies limp at his side.

You’re finally able to unlock the door and push it open with the toe of your shoe before you’re helping Steve inside the darkness of your shared loft. As soon as he feels your hands leave his body, he frowns and slouches against the wall, mumbling something that you can’t quite make out. When you close the door and turn on the lamp, he’s abruptly jumping up and taking a harsh breath.

“Honey, I’m home!” His loud voice bursts into the empty apartment and reverberates against the walls.

He tries to stifle his giggle when he sees you flinch and consequently hit his chest. You press your index finger to your lips and glare at the boy, but he only snorts at the conspicuous smile you’re trying to suppress.

“Shh, Steve—”

“Shh! My girlfriend’s sleeping. Cool it,” he interjects lowly with his own finger wagging at you. Another snort and chuckle comes from him at his own joke before his shoulders slump again.

“Let’s go join her, then, yeah?” You coax him, gently pushing at his back so that he’s walking forward. His footsteps drag the entire journey to the bedroom until he lays eyes on the unmade bed that’s just screaming his name.

As soon as his hand reaches down to touch the mattress, his limbs turn to jelly and he gracelessly flops into the sheets. A groan of relief and exhaustion is pulled from his throat as he lets himself sink further into the pillows. Once you’ve turned on the light, you lean down to take his shoes off before you’re yanking him back up to you. He’s standing, but he’s slightly rocking back and forth on his ankles with his eyes closed.

You’re untucking his polo and pushing it up his torso, but his arms remain stuck at his sides. You sigh and pat against his chest to get him to look at you, which he does. “Steve, baby, I'm gonna need your help.”

Wordlessly, he throws his arms up and grabs at the hem of his shirt once you’ve pushed it up his arms. He flings it off and grabs at his undershirt to do the same, but freezes when he feels you unbuckle his belt. His face is burning up now as he watches you tug the leather out of the belt loops and reach for the button of his jeans.

“Woah, take me t’dinner first.”

A lazy smirk and glassy eyes are pointed your way and a laugh is pushed from your mouth before you can stop it. Every ounce of smugness is gone within a second and all he can do is stare at you with a big smile.

“If you behave, we’ll go to dinner tomorrow. Benny’s ‘cause they have your favorite burgers.”

He doesn’t even register what you say because he’s too focused on your laugh. The way your chest rumbles and the way these cute little wrinkles start to form by the corners of your eyes. Even when you dip your head away or cover your mouth to hide from him. The sound itself is enough to have him smiling, but you just look so pretty when you’re laughing, he’s practically starstruck.

When he comes to, you’re tapping at his calves to step out of his jeans. As soon as you’re upright again, he points out, “I’m making you laugh. Am I funny?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say it like it’s obvious, “This is supposed to be a secret, but…you make me laugh a lot actually.” The admission prompts a happy puff of air from him as he sits back down on the bed. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Good. I like when you laugh. When you’re laughing at me.”

You tug at his tank top to signal for him to lift his arms, and he happily obliges.

Scars run across his abdomen and glisten with each movement he makes. When he feels your fingertips gently kiss at the edges of the marred skin, a sobering feeling of vulnerability washes over him. A feeling that he’d tried so hard to get rid of tonight, hoping to drown it with a wave of something, anything else. And you seemed to bring it right back without even trying. Only it doesn’t feel suffocating like it did earlier. It feels safe.

“You’re so good t’me…” His voice is much softer now. He leans into your touch, shivering as you drag your hands up to his face, but his eyes are unmoving as they gaze into your own. “I love you.”

You beam down at him and push his wild hair back to leave a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, too, Steve.” And though you’ve said it a million times before, always teeming with warmth and fondness, his brows still pinch together.

“Really? You love me? You’re not lyin’?”

Your expression mimics his. But you only get closer to him, reassuring him, “‘Course I love you.”

“But…even though I get like this? Even though I can’t—hicc—though I’m not Steve from high school?” He grimaces. The words from earlier in the night faintly resurface in the back of his mind and he’s feeling bitter all over again. But as quickly as they came, you’re just as quick to snap him out of it.

“Mhm, I love every version of you. I love you, now.” You drop a kiss to his cheek. “I love drunk Steve.” A kiss to his other cheek. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna love hungover Steve.” A small peck on his lips.

His eyes are slow to open when you pull away, and he reaches for your hips like he’s going to fall over. But he doesn’t. He gives you a gooey smile and juts his chin forward in a silent request for you to kiss him again. Even though he still has the faint taste of liquor lingering in his breath, you do it anyway.

“That’s good. Because I’m definitely gonna be that guy tomorrow.”

#this is a little rambly i apologize #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things fluff #steve stranger things #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #✸ 100 celebration!

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eminems-skittles · 5 months

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🏃‍♀️ - for the writing game :)

drop an emoji and character in my ask box and i’ll write a blurb based off whatever song comes up on my playlist

song: tennessee orange by megan moroney

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!reader

a/n: my french is a mix of 2 years of high school french, duolingo, and google translate so it may not be the best!

tagging: @jackhues

orange

“when are you going to tell your brothers?” lando asked quietly as he pressed soft kisses to the column of your neck. he had snuck into your room after everyone had stopped caring about his whereabouts.

“soon, baby,” you promised, your hand going to tangle in his hair.

“when’s soon? wanna see you in orange not red on sunday,” he huffed, his lips coming up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“lando, if i tell them before the race, charles may just drive his car straight into yours and i don’t want to go visit you in the hospital,” you groaned, kind of pushing him off of you. he looked at you and shook his head.

“it just feels like you don’t want to tell them,” he admitted.

“i want to tell them so bad, lan, i just don’t want you to be on the receiving end of any of their anger or anything,” you sighed, bringing a hand up to his face. he turned and kissed the palm of your hand. “what if i told maman instead? tell her now and then charles and them later okay?”

“okay,” lando agreed, a smile taking over his features. “thank you, love.”

the brit leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you close to him.

the next morning, you decided to go to breakfast with pascale. nerves shot through you as you figured out what you were going to say to her. you knew she wouldn’t have as big of a problem with it as your brothers but her reaction still had you worried.

“what is it?” your mother asked after you had been spaced out for several minutes.

“maman,” you started. “i’ve got some news.”

“quoi?” what? she asked, her eyes scanning your face.

“i’ve met somebody,” you trailed off, looking to her face for a reaction. she nodded, silently telling you to continue. “he’s got blue eyes. he opens the door and he won’t make me cry. he treats me so good, maman.”

“ma fille, qui est-ce?” my daughter, who is it? pascale asked, her hand coming across to the table to hold yours.

you huffed before answering, “lando. but don’t tell charles yet! he’d lose his mind if he knew. but i’m going to be wearing mclaren orange at the grand prix.”

“c’est marveilleux, y/n!” that’s wonderful! pascale said, smiling brightly at you. “when are you telling tes frères?” your brothers

“soon.” you promised. “real soon.”

“bien, bien,” good, good she pauses before saying, “mclaren orange…charles may not like that.”

“je sais, maman. je sais,” i know, mom. i know. you said laughing. “i’m scared for lando.”

pascale laughed at that. “moi aussi, y/n. but he’ll be okay. charles is going to be happy for you.”

#cassie’s masterlist #masterlist #{ cassie’s writing games}#writing #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #formula one blurb #formula one x reader #{ lando norris }#{ formula one }#100 #200

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m3talmunson · 10 months

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It shouldn't have been that big of a red flag to Steve. It really isn't that big of a deal, right? It's a completely normal habit. It could even be endearing if you thought about it enough!

No. Nope. It's all bad.

Steve cannot fathom how the fuck Eddie sleeps with socks on. It's almost impossible to comprehend.

Eddie is a human furnace. He radiates all the sunshine from his eyes, turning into heat.

Eddie being warm is one of Steve's favorite things about him. It makes every passing touch all the more important, more impactful. It ensures that the cold lonely nights of Steve's past were left firmly there. It was an endless source of comfort for Steve. Even at it's most annoying, when Steve is throwing off all of the blankets in the night so he can continue to cuddle Eddie without overheating. A small price to pay.

But somehow, Eddie himself is always cold. He keeps none of his body heat for himself. His skin always feels like the sun was just bearing down upon him, but even in the sun he could still be shivering.

And he sleeps

with fucking SOCKS on.

Normally Steve wouldn't really mind. It's not like they're dirty socks. Surprisingly enough Eddie was generally hygienic when it came to his clothes. Eddie had always hated the feeling of dirty clothes. It's why he spent more time watching Steve in gym than actually participating. So it's not a smell that bothers Steve, it's not anything like that.

And if you ask Steve, he's all for supporting Eddie finding ways to keep himself warm. Steve worries, naturally. He encourages Eddie to seek warmth at almost all times. Why else would he wear a long-sleeved Hellfire shirt when it's the middle of May.

No, the problem isn't smell, or warmth, it's the fact that Eddie loves physical contact when he's asleep. He loves to be all over Steve, loves breathing in his smell even in his dreams. He also happens to love slowly trailing his leg up Steve's own. He loves slow, tender, sleepy movements. Eddie is always gentle, always barely grazing Steve's skin.

Steve does not love feeling like there's spiders crawling up his leg in his sleep.

Too many times Steve has woken up and immediately flung Eddie's foot off of him only to realize it was just Eddie, and apologize profusely. Too many times those stupid fuzzy socks have ruined a night's sleep.

"Babe, baby, sweetheart, dollface, PLEASE forgo the socks tonight. I am begging." Steve asked. He had an important day of taking care of the kids coming up, and he needed his beauty rest.

"What's in it for me?" Eddie teased.

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Happy wife, happy life?'"

"Touché, darling." Eddie contemplated. "Maybe, for one night, I can forgo the socks."

And if Eddie found himself having more fun sticking his cold feet up the back of Steve's shirt, it was nobody's business but theirs.

#this is rly silly but i needed it out of my system #pure fluff #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #steddie fanfic #stranger things #steddie ficlet #my pookies #theyre also totally fluffy garfield socks. like 100%#a little prize for those of u who read the bottom of the tags ^

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kissitbttr · 2 years

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eddie would still flirt with you like you weren’t already his girlfriend . he’d put on a cheeky smile, throw you a subtle wink and uses his best pickup lines (which you think is lame but still cute), asks you out on a ‘first date’, saying things like “your boyfriend is a lucky pal..…so dinner at 8?” or “please tell me you’re single because I’ve been watching you for a while now and you’re so gorgeous so i kind of want to ask you out.” and all that just makes you smile and roll your eyes at how dorky eddie is. he’s pretty much a playful boyfriend. loves to see you get all shy and warm on the inside. eddie does those things as if he’s still trying to steal your heart and make you his. everyday. because if he’s planning to make you his forever then he needs to do whatever it takes

#also would 100% make you a mixtape filled with sappy love songs that he claims to hate but secretly loves #our boy just goes beyond the bare minimum #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

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ughthisisntright · 9 months

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Nsfw Silco request; drunk Silco. 🍻

oooo drunk silco.... this'll be fun.

Thumping could be heard from outside the bedroom door. You were sat in bed with a book, half-asleep but jostled awake from the sounds outside the door. Silco's bedroom door, you'd found out, was not at all sound proof.

You carefully slipped from the blankets when you heard a muffled grunt followed by a particularly heavy thud. You opened the door to Silco's bedroom slowly and saw something that you'd surely be retelling the tale about for years to come.

Silco - piss-drunk - struggling to get up off the floor of his office. His left foot crossed over his right, simply not balanced and causing him to continue tumbling over. He was grumbling something about his boots, how the soles were too slippery or whatever. You simply bit your knuckle to keep from laughing.

What seemed like an hour passed as Silco finally got his footing and stood straight. He huffs from frustration and exhaustion and shakes out his shoulders. His jacket is gone, his cravat is crooked, and his usually pale cheeks are flushed. When the floor creaked beneath you, his head whipped in your direction.

"Oh, no," he groaned. "I'm woke you!"

You snickered and walked toward him, just a few steps.

"I was awake, love," you spoke softly. "You came in like gangbusters." He shook his head at your comment, a smirk tugging at his scarred lips.

"I was quiet as a mouse," he argued. "'Cept for when I toppled over. That wasn't quiet 't all!"

You walked right up to him and straightened his cravat gently. His eyes bore into yours as you worked on him, the goofy man who once stood before you becoming the brooding, domineering Eye of Zaun you were more familiar with from this distance. His hands - albeit a little less steady than normal - came to rest on your hips to tug you closer. You glanced up at him with an innocent enough smile.

"Can I help you, darling?" Your voice came out as a purr.

"Oh, you know you can," his lips collide with yours in a sloppy kiss. No real method or reason other than connection. You could feel the desire burning within him. This always happened when he drank.

You felt soon that you were the intoxicated one. Your head swam as he pushed you back into your shared bedroom and onto your back. Within moments, the thin fabric of your panties came flying off, and his cock was pressing against your soaked cunt. His breathing was more labored from the stupor but it made him more vocal than usual.

"Oh, my love," he groaned as he pushed inside you. "I'm going to make you scream."

Your moan of approval pulled the animal out of him, a rough and unrelenting pace being set above you. His hips snapped against yours so hard, you wanted to scream in pain if it didn't feel so good. Orgasms given like candy and Silco's voice above you added to the incredible feelings, the filth dripping from his lips sinful in it's delivery.

"Such a disgusting girl. Upstairs in bed, just your underwear - fuck - and ready for me to fuck you," he growled the words. "Always ready for me to fuck you."

You cried out in pleasure as he drives into you harder. Seeing stars, having lost count of how many orgasms he's given you with his impressive drunken stamina.

Finally after what felt like ages, and your body feeling like mush, Silco buried himself inside you and came so hard, he actually screamed. The man rarely raised his voice. And he was screaming for you.

After a few moments, you giggled. He looked down at you with a concerned look.

"You should drink more often."

Part of my 100 Followers Party!

#silco x reader #silco #silco imagine #silco simp #lol silco #netflix arcane #silco fanfic #silco arcane #arcane silco #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #silco x you #silco smut #silco/you #silco/reader #silco/reader smut #laura love's 100 followers blurb party

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ohtobemare · 1 year

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Congrats!!!! How about "You're the most gorgeous person here" with Bradley!

Oh lord, Em. I love this so damn much. Hopefully I do this justice, Rooster Queen! Enjoy your Bradley, and thanks for being a follower, love!

Kiss Me Hello

“Roo? That you, Bradley?”

Rooster can hear the smack of the screen bouncing off the back door frame as your voice chimes through the back of the house. His eyes search for you through the house for a moment as he drops his gear at the door, reaching to scratch at the ears of the dog that nearly killed himself to beat him to the front door.

Without warning at all, the beagle he’s attempting to greet throws himself around at the sound of your voice, tail helicoptering him down the hall as his claws scramble for purchase that isn’t there on the wooden floor.

With a baleful howl Gander disappears around the corner, in search of his momma, who’s voice lifts in that high-pitched, baby way at the sound of him.

Rolling his eyes at the baby talk you’re giving the dog somewhere in the house, he drops to a knee to begin unlacing his boots, listening to you traverse the house looking for him.

Rooster immediately notices the boxes hanging out against the wall by the closet, new additions to the space that weren’t there this morning. Beyond the mudroom, in the hallway leading to the kitchen, there’s plastic bins marked what he thinks says KITCHEN in your familiar chicken-scratch cursive, though he’s never been able to decipher your handwriting, even after two years of hand-written honey-do lists, notes, letters, and general over-your-shoulder peeking.

Gander is bouncing in excitement, leading you down the corridor toward the front mud room, until you’re leaning against the corner, smiling at him with bright eyes and what looks like paint stained across your forehead and nose.

“Hiya,” you beam at him, dropping into a squat to rub the dog’s ears as Bradley is kicking off his boots, “You’re home early,” you check the clock on the phone that’s hanging out in your back pocket before slipping it in the top of your bra, standing to intercept his hug hello. “It’s only 3. Mav cut you loose for the weekend?”

Your arms are snug around the back of his neck and you draw up on your toes as he wraps his around your waist, dragging you closer against him until your hips are flush with his.

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile as he takes in your appearance—contacts today, probably in favor of the sunglasses perched in your hair, and this close he can tell you’re wearing that tinted moisturizer stuff you really like. It’s doing a terrible job of hiding the slight sunburn on your nose.

You’re not wearing a stitch of any other makeup, which is a little unusual for you. You usually always have mascara or at least some kind of glossy balm or some shit on your lips. Bradley suddenly wishes he’d been home all day, like he does every day, with you to see what you’ve been up to—he’s infinitely curious about the paint on your face, and lifts a hand to thumb the smear on your forehead.

It’s actually spackle. Like, wall spackle. There’s a blip of disappointment that hits his radar, knowing that you’ve actually gone ahead and spackled holes in the spare bedroom without him. It lasts seconds, maybe, before you reach up to kiss the corner of his mouth in that sweet, sloppy way.

He’d wanted to help you with this. It’s one of the projects you’d been hoping to complete before the two of you actually finished the moving process—the room was going to be your in-home office, and the excitement you’ve been exuding about finally having it finished had only been a topic of discussion and pride since you’d purchased the house.

Disappointment is replaced nearly immediately when he realizes that he’s married probably the best woman on the planet. You’ve always been that girl that doesn’t need him, but wants him. Allows him into your world.

Ever since the first date he’d known you were capable of standing on your own two feet with that screwed-on-straight head of yours, boldly independent and determined.

Bradley remembered your second date. He’d probably remember it even in his old, forgetful age, because the humiliation would probably haunt him at least that long. He’d taken you to the South Bay Drive In, thinking it would be a cute second date, after dinner and a walk.

The Bronco had never given him so much trouble until that morning, but he’d figured it was just a fluke and had tossed some coolant in the radiator. No big deal, he’d have his guy check it out later. Thankfully he’d parked no problem, and the two of you had enjoyed the movie, or, what glimpses of it you’d actually managed to watch between talking and swapping life stories.

Rooster had been so enthralled with the animated way you talked with your hands, the expressions on your face, how your tone deepened and lifted when you imitated other people that he couldn’t even remember the movie looking back.

He’d just sat, parked in the driver’s seat, head plunked in his hand, listening to you. Then and there he’d known he could listen to you talk forever and die a happy man. Really, Bradley was sure that date was the date that he’d known he was a goner—you’d stolen his heart in the front seat of his dad’s precious truck, wearing jeans and tank top with your hair pulled up in a cute little bandanna and earrings. He couldn’t think of anywhere better to realize he was in love with you.

Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to take you home he’d started the Bronco, and you’d excused yourself to the restroom before leaving. Idling, thinking you were the hottest thing he’s ever seen, he hadn’t even noticed the temp gauge steadily tick up. It was only when the needle was pegged over 230 and the front of the Bronco was smoking that he realized the damn thing was overheated.

Scrambling to open the hood, you’d arrived just seconds before he was ready to pop the radiator cap. Smacking his hand away violently, you’d screeched “Bradley, no!” like some kind of pterodactyl or shit, hip-checking him aside to stand in front of the motor, hands on the frame of the front fascia as you checked things over. Hands up in surrender, he’d asked you what the big deal was.

“If you’re trying to ruin that pretty face of yours with an explosion of hot coolant, you were close,” you’d said with that little accent of yours that he’d come to absolutely love, “I like the scars you’ve already got, Roo—just don’t add to the collection if you can help it, mkay?” You’d turned, ran your thumb over the faded trace of a pink line on his chin, and winked.

Within a few minutes of bending over the motor delicately, not to get your clothes dirty, you’d determined that one of the coolant lines had completely disintegrated, coolant seeping through the twists and bends of the motor to the parking lot beneath. He was flabbergasted, in awe of you, and so damned turn on that he’d been sure you’d notice the semi aching between his legs.

You hadn’t. You were too good for that, way too sweet to say anything even if you had. Flattening your lips, you’d closed the hood with a sigh, slipping your hands into the front pocket of your jeans as your shoulders lifted, almost sheepishly. He’d asked you if there was any other damage, guessing you knew what you were doing—he didn’t, he wasn’t really a grease monkey to any extent.

He liked to think he was a wrencher, but you’d made quick work of that assumption.

“The old girl needs some coolant lines, but she’s definitely not hot enough to cause any damage. You’re lucky. The engine looks pretty nice, for a Ford.” He’d had the thought to be insulted by the proposed argument you’d baited him with, but your slow smile and another wink had just unraveled him instead, sending the hot blood pumping through his veins straight between his legs.

He’d called Jake, and Hangman had picked you both up at the drive in, in his Ram. That had perked you up.

You’d chatted animatedly about the pickup the entire ride back to your car, which they’d left at the pier, Bradley only a slight shade of green at the way Jake flowed in and out of the conversation about cars so easily.

Hangman had helped him pick up his rig the next day, chuckling as he’d clapped a thick hand on his his shoulder seconds before Bradley dipped beneath the car to hook up tow cables, “Quite the honey you’ve got yourself there, Rooster. I like her. A lot.”

“And that matters because….?”

“Because, since I’ve known ya, you’ve got the same taste in women as you do cars—shitty.” His eye-roll had split the man’s face into that dazzling, shit-eating grin of his, “But she—shit, Bradshaw, she’s a keeper.” He’d whistled between the break in words, head slowly shaking. “You lose that one and it’s fair game for the rest of us, bud.”

The mere idea of Hangman even insinuating going after you had him nearly vibrating. But the entire scenario had him reeling between embarrassment and pride.

He can laugh about all of it, now, because there’s no way you’d be leaving him any time soon for Hangman, but—there’s still that knife of embarrassment that digs into the mesh of his ribs. A wiggle of apprehension in his brain that he’s the lucky one. Doesn’t deserve you, because you’re fucking amazing. That you’re too good for him, always have been, and someday will wake up and remember that.

Warmth from your body against him spreads through his blood, and Rooster tightens the arm around your waist. You’re leaning against him a little harder now, fingers from your one hand playing with the curls at the base of his neck. Tension from the day in the air, from the memory of Seresin nearly promising to steal you, begins to bleed from his shoulders.

“Keepin’ busy, baby?” His eyes cut to the white paste on his thumb and yours follow, and he flexes his thumb to emphasize the point, “Something you want to tell me?” Bradley isn’t actually concerned with what you’ve been doing all day by yourself—the playfulness in his tone matches the curious lift of his brow, and it’s making you smile that wondrous smile that levels him every time you share it.

Color suddenly flares to life on your cheeks and you look away, to your chest snugged up against his. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” You lift a hand to smooth the curls hanging out in a top knot, which he doesn’t understand, because your hair, like always, looks perfect–even if it’s that effortless, messy perfect.

You seem to remember you’ve been painting and spackling, and that he’s wearing his flight suit, because you nearly jump back from him, checking down the front of yourself, an arm leaving its embrace around his neck to swipe down the front of your shirt.

Eyes cutting up to consider the front of his uniform, your blush and the way you gasp is nearly frantic.

“Bradley! Your flight suit!” You hiss under your breath, moving to brush your hand over his chest, where absolutely nothing has disturbed the decorum stitched into the damn thing. He’ll never convince you it’s fine—you take more pride in his clean flight suit than the damn Navy or any CO he’s ever seen.

“Damnit, I didn’t even think—”

He’s laughing at you, “Baby, it’s fine—”

“It isn’t fine!” You protest, your remaining arm around his neck falling away as you pick at the dried spackle and paint staining your shorts and bare legs. Your eyes track to him, head popping up before you wave your finger over the length of his body, “Here. Strip it off, I’ll put it with the stuff to take back to the apartment. I’ll wash it tonight and you can take it Monday.”

That sounds like more work than necessary—laundry in your apartment is on the first floor, and you’re on the third floor, which means you’ve been hiking laundry back and forth the four years you’ve lived in the damn place. He has other suits on base, in his flight locker, and he can launder them himself—he’s been doing it since before you came into his life. Kind of a pro at it, really.

But, since being married, you’d become nearly obsessive about the basic duties of domesticity—you cooked for him. Cleaned the apartment, even though he’d been living out of a duffle since moving in, waiting for your lease to expire. You did the laundry. He’d had to fight you to take over the bills and finances, otherwise you’d do that too.

Rooster hadn’t ever had a wife before, but he was sure that sharing last names didn’t make you his live-in maid. He would’ve been ecstatic if all you’d done is cook. Not that he was ungrateful, having someone who cared and cleaned his house was nice, but—it wasn’t expected. He was as capable of cleaning the bathroom as the next guy. Actually he enjoyed cleaning, he was a neat freak.

When he’d failed to do as instructed, you stepped up to reach for the zipper on his suit. “Rooster, I said—” He grabs your wrist, halting the action. You blink at his hand around your wrist.

“Bradley, c’mon—”

“I know what you said,” he challenged softly, eyes firmly holding you as the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, knowing smile. “Can you quit being Betty Crocker for two-point-five seconds and kiss me hello, or will that disturb the cosmic balance or somethin’?”

Blinking in surprise, you register the words for a heartbeat before more color spreads across your nose. The little blue ring around your eyes sparkles in the light strobing through the windows of the front door, creating the dark pools of life he remembers. You’ve always had gorgeous eyes.

You break out into a little giggle, rolling your eyes before he tugs at your arm, shuffling you the few steps it takes before you’re pressing your chest up against his again, hand on his pecs as his settle in around your waist again.

Your lids drop to a lusty half mast, head tipping back slightly in a way that says you’re ready for him to kiss you. “Hi, Rooster,” you greet him with a soft coo, a little chuckle in the back of the words that spreads fire through his ribcage.

“And?” His brow pops up, expectantly. You know what’s missing from the greeting.

You smile. “I’m glad you’re home. Happy Friday.” Nose scrunching up adorably, your tongue peeks out between your lips, teasingly.

The running tradition of wishing him a “Happy Friday” when he leaves for work, be it through phone call, text message, or your infamous sticky-notes in his duffle bag, has been going on since the two of you were dating. You conclude the workday with a “Happy Friday” when he’s dismissed for the day and off work, whether he’s seeing you or staying on base.

He loves it, and is pretty sure he can’t live without it. Like air, he craves everything you say.

He angles his head and leans forward to kiss you, softly at first, gently sucking at your bottom lip. The sigh you elicit is deep as you fold against his chest, your hands slowly dragging up his neck to play with his hair. Your tongue darts between his lips, playing at his front teeth in that subtle little way of yours that tells him you want to be Frenched, and he obliges, the gasp in the back of your throat bleeding into a moan that shoots straight to his cock.

Your nails are tugging at his scalp delightfully when you break the kiss, head tipping back to chuckle at the ceiling. Rooster’s half thinking about lathing his tongue across your clavicle, suckling at the hollow of your throat when you hum pleasurably, hand smoothing over his cheek.

Righting your head, you feel for the sunglasses on top of your head, and once you confirm they are present and accounted for, you reach to swipe the pad of your stained thumb over his mustache.

You’re looking at his lips again in that way, but his gut releases a growl that snaps your attention downward, and you’re laughing and pushing him back with a shove before he can reach for you again.

“Hungry much, Roo?” He was. He’d skipped lunch.

“Let’s get out of here for dinner,” he decides, checking his watch. “I’m starving.”

It's early for dinner, and if you leave now, there's plenty of time for that thing he's been trying to convince you to do all day.

The look on your face is horrific, like he’d just walked over your grave. Something in your jaw twitches, and the color on your cheeks deepens even more, if possible. Standing there, unmoving, your eyes drop to consider yourself again, and you laugh genuinely, shoulders shaking before you shake your head, no.

“We’re not going out—look at me! I am covered in plaster, paint, and God knows what else!” Your hands flow over your body, gesturing to the current state of yourself, “And not only that, my hair isn’t washed and I—”

You freeze at the look he’s giving you, like a predator seeking prey; like he’s got you on target lock.

His eyes zero in on you backtracking out of the entryway, and he moves to intercept you on quick feet. You're shrieking with laughter as he attacks you in a hug from behind, arm snagging around your waist to draw you back against his chest. Bradley’s burying his lips against the crook of your neck, and knows it’s a sensitive spot—you erupt in laughter, squirming against the mustache tickling the soft skin behind your ear.

“You’re the most gorgeous person here, baby, and we’re going out to supper,” he enunciates the order with peppered kisses up your neck and along your jaw, gently swaying you back and forth on his feet. You’re curled against his chest, giggling, hand reaching up to play with his hair again. “Get your shit. Let’s go.”

He halfheartedly releases you to do just that. Stripping off the flight suit that stinks like jet fuel and sweat and the stale air of his cockpit, he watches you snatch your purse from the island counter, looking around the floor until you spot the absolutely offensive Crocs you’ve discarded by the fridge.

Why you love those damn things he’ll never know, but you do. And, he can’t help but think you look like a million bucks as you call for Gander to follow you. He’s already clipping on the leash and slipping on his work boots that have been living by the door.

You stop to check yourself in the mirror you must’ve hung in the entry sometime this week.

He drapes his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to press a firm kiss against your cheek while chuckling. Rooster pulls the door closed behind him with the toe of his boot as he hands you the keys to the Bronco that have been looped around his fingers.

Slipping the aviators low on his nose, you match the action with your own as he guides you to the truck, your arm through his. Helping you into the passenger side, he swats the door closed and leans through the open window, reaching for a curl that’s fallen from your messy updo.

There’s spackle dried around the curl and you brush his hand down, rolling your eyes. “It’s gonna take forever to get this shit out of my hair,” you whine.

A devious smile splits his lips. “I think we’ll manage,” he winks over the dark lenses as you sit back in the seat, offering him a smirk. “If you even remember it’s there by the time I’m done fucking you senseless, sweetheart.”

You snort, loudly laughing at the ridiculous attempt at an innuendo.

“Get your ass in the truck, Bradshaw.”

#100 followers celebration #100 followers #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #call sign meerkat #answered asks #i love chickens #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw imagine #roosterforme

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luffyrose · 1 year

Text

Dc x Dp Random Blurp #1

I know I've got more than one before this but these are the ones I probably won't ever write so feel free to take them and run with em-

~~~~

So we all know Dick (you can probably all guess that Dick and Jason are my fav bat kids with how much I talk about them lmao) has lotta trauma in general. In the general canon we all follow for like fics and stuff though, there's one thing I think most people don't put into their fics and stuff and I had an idea with Danny being kinda adopted/brother-napped by Dick involving it.

The thing?

Falling.

Someone he loves falling and he's not able to help. Sure he's spooked his family as a joke pretending to fall off things. But here's the thing, they all KNOW that they'll all find a way to catch themselves.

But what if Dick had gotten a harsh hit from whatever rogue decided to play whack-a-mole with the birds and when he saw a kid on the roof where they were fighting (idk why they're up there, ask the riddler or two face or whoever-) and his already slightly concussed brain starts to work overtime.

The kid is on a roof, which is already a bad sign! The kid looks kinda...strike that a LOT like Jason before he died? Even worse!

So when whatever stray attack ends up sending the kid tumbling over the edge, Dick is literally milliseconds behind him. It's not a tall roof, and even if Danny was a full human, he likely wouldn't have suffered too badly from the fall if he didn't land completely wrong.

Probably.

Reason Danny isn't flying? Something triggered his fight or flight and his body chose to freeze this time, falling did not help that. Maybe it's the Joker doing all this, we love clown trauma.

Either way, Dick is oh so quickly grabbing this random kid who he can only register as Tiny Jason he had failed to be a good big brother tm too, and is literally just taking the impact of the fall in favor of ensuring Danny didn't get hurt AT ALL.

Danny is now emotionally attached whether he likes it or not because hey! A random hero saved him and is still hugging him and he feels like safety, so he will cling on just as hard, and no Jazz! He definitely isn't crying-

Dick refuses to let go of the kid, muttering apologies to Jason, which the others are pretty quick to realize why when they see the kid's face. It's a whole mess. Partially because they have a delirious Dick who won't let go of this random child and said child hisses at them when they try to get him off just as much.

For a lil extra spice you could make it that Danny and Jason are related somehow and Jason upon seeing the kid both KNOWS they're similar and recognizes him as his kid brother and is just like "Oh god- oh god he's alive(questionable) and traumatized(definitely)-"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc #dc comcis #danny phantom #danny fenton #nightwing #dick grayson #richard grayson #red hood #jason todd #idk what I'm doing #but I never have so run wild with this one #maybe I'll post more of these blurbs for you all to crawl from the void and scramble away with #Dick being a very overprotective brother is my soul tho #you will all pry this from my dead cold hands and even then I will put up a fight #let the trauma center circus child have his brother moments #even if it's with a random child and he's 100% concussed for it

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ageofstarkey · 8 months

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mattheo riddle is 100% an “i can fight” type of bf and no one can convince me otherwise

#like if you were wearing something revealing #you’d ask him if it’s too much or wtv #and he’d 100% just shrug n say something adjacent to “i can fight #because he’s SECURE #(and because he has ANGER ISSUES)#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle headcanon #ageofstarkey headcanons <3 #mattheo riddle blurb

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pray4saint · 9 months

Note

Can I please have a tall latte with a dash of cinnamon with a cupcake and fortune cookie on the side? Thankyou

For the 100 follower celebration (congrats)

guest of honour

masterlist & descrip. pg-13. 13+. streamer!reader. ted nivison x reader. jschlatt x reader. mentions of alcohol, bongs, vapes and implied mention of weed.

a/n. tysm! here's your order anon :] (i did do these separately but if you wanted them together you can send another request! also i picked the prompts since you didn't add one)

prompts: ”you look stupid as fuck right now.” / ”that could be us.” ”that is us.” / ”can you repeat that? i don't think i heard you..” / ”my kiss?” ”right, sorry.”

ted

your fans knew you had a boyfriend, they knew he was also in content creation, they knew you loved him, and they knew he was always texting you during your streams. since he'd always been faceless, voiceless, and nameless, it was a shock for the viewers to see the door open and someone walk in, head cut off by the camera placement.

it was planned, to a degree.. you knew ted would show up on your stream, in your office but you didn't know when, and that's what made it fun. ”oh my god, hey babe!” you spun in your chair and got up to hug him, the height difference clear to all. and now your fans knew he was tall too. before you were able to get back to your seat, ted pulled you back to him. ”excuse me? sweetheart my kiss?” you smiled and got up on your tippy toes, ”right, sorry about that.” hands flat on his chest when you kissed him.

you walked back over to your desk to see how the viewers were taking the small interaction, and from how you were positioned leaning over your desk, ted was able to pad over next to you, still out of view of the camera. when you realised how close he was you pulled a chair away from the all beside yours and you sat down. ”oh chat did i mention my boyfriend was joining today?” you gave the camera a cheeky smile, watching as chat was still trying to put the voice to a face.

ted leaned down into frame before he sat down, smiling at the camera with a wave. the moment he sat down, he started a bit. ”do you have audio listeners?”

”no.”

”what a shame.” you rolled your eyes at him before pulling yourself towards the desk to move apps across your monitors. ”shit, almost..” your voice trailed off, neither ted nor your stream heard what you said and while it's easy to ignore chat's pleas, it's a little harder when it's your boyfriend. ”what was that angel?” you hum at him, question in the sound. ”can you repeat that? i don't think i heard you.”

this wasn't a bit, but it sure as hell was clipped a ton. ”i said,” you began, voice louder than it was most of the time. ”'shit, i almost leaked our discord dms.', happy?”

”very.”

schlatt

your boyfriend's fanbase knew of you, but they didn't know anything about you aside from that schlatt loved you. of course it had to come sooner or later, but after a long talk about the consequences, you'd talked each other into a deal for you to go on his stream with him.

for awhile schlatt streamed and you sat just off camera, looking at your phone and back up at him from time to time. it was something that your best friend had sent you that made you scrunch your face up, and your boyfriend noticed immediately. ”you look stupid as fuck right now.” it was the first time he'd acknowledged you were around on stream and his chat was freaking out. of course it didn't stop you from getting up and slapping his arm. ”ow. you're mean.” he didn't mean it, yet it only made you hit him again before you finally pulled your chair out to sit with him.

once chat had gotten a good look at you and you waved and said hello, schlatt pushed his phone up to the camera before giving it to you. ”hon' that could be us.” it was a picture of two cats; one holding a bong and two vapes while the other held a case of beer. ”j, baby that is us.” now you show the camera the picture of the cats and schlatt takes the opportunity of being hidden to press a quick kiss to your cheek, making you gasp.

”chat did you see that?! did you hear that?!” they all seemed confused as you went off on your tangent, face making the :o while schlatt's mouth twitched up into a smirk, bordering on the grin as you tattled on him to his viewers. ”he kissed me when you guys weren't looking!”

oh boy did twitter have a fun time over analysing the clip of the short kiss sound, trying to figure out if it was true.

pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.

#pray4saint #saint's 100 celly :o #saint's inbox !!#chuckle sammy #chuckle sandwich #ted nivison #ted nivison x reader #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #ted nivison fluff #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #ted blurbs !!#schlatt blurbs !!#s.ted #s.schlatt

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mxlti-fand0m-imaginess · 2 years

Text

Clarke Griffin Masterlist

Clarke Secretly Dating Raven's Sibling

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bcyhoods · 3 months

Note

lovefool — “you’re welcome to stay, if you want” w eddie!!

librarian!reader is always calling my name so i needed to do something before i combusted | 1.1k fem!reader

Eddie’s got his feet propped up on the study table and his chair teetering on its hind legs. The dull sound of his rings tapping the hardcover in his hands fills the immediate space. Despite the fact that he’s actually read this particular horror novel at least thrice before, today it only serves as bookworm-ish guise.

The boy aimlessly flicks through the pages, eyes reflexively leaping over entire paragraphs to peak over at the reception desk. With each glance, he feels his heart start racing, his stomach starts flipping. And it has nothing to do with Stephen King, everything to do with you.

You’re sitting behind the polished wood with a pair of deep auburn-colored reading glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. Every so often, they slide down and prompt you to scrunch the muscles in your face and wiggle them back up. Whenever you ultimately give up and push them back into place with your finger, Eddie smiles to himself.

The pair of you have spoken quite a handful of times, but it only took Eddie seconds within that first interaction to be smitten. You’d worn a pretty color on your lips, an even prettier smile behind it. Your eyes lit up upon seeing the tower of Tolkien novels he’d placed in front of you to check out, then you’d complimented his taste, then his hair. Then as if to seal the deal, you reached underneath the desk to retrieve a flimsy bookmark with a map of Middle Earth and placed it on top of the stack.

Now, he’s proud to be a frequent library-goer. Admittedly he feels a little silly about it, at first. But the flash of recognition that crosses your face before you wave at him makes him forget.

You float through the building, burning hot under his watchful eye, shutting off yellow desk lamps and bidding farewell to patrons with a sweet smile. The closer you get to him, the more the familiar aroma of cigarettes and his cologne seem to engulf you. It’s your turn now to have your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“Hi, Eddie.” Your saccharine voice cuts through the silence and has him immediately closing his book. He gazes up at you, big brown eyes boring right into yours. Like he knows you’re about to swat his feet, he grins and kicks his legs down onto the floor.

“Hey,” he sighs out.

“Carrie’s that good, huh? ”

Eddie’s head twists in confusion. It’s like your presence sent him face first into a stupor, and now he’s racking his brain trying to figure out what you were asking. Only when you smirk and point at him does he realize you’re talking about the book. The book that’s in his hand, that he was meant to be reading this whole time.

“Oh! Yeah, Carrie,” he confirms with a gummy smile as he waves the novel up, “What can I say? The lady calls to me. You finished it yet?”

You wince at the question. A few weeks ago you’d each recommended each other a book, per Eddie’s suggestion. He’d read your recommendation within the week, returning it with a broad smile that made you feel giddy. It’s taken you a little longer. He sees it all over your face and gasps.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t read it, yet? You’re really hurting my feelings here, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your heart catch in your throat and stumble on your words for a second. “It’s—I just…I started it! I promise. I just haven’t had time to read the whole thing,” you explain through a shy smile.

Eddie chuckles at your suddenly bashful demeanor before an idea pops into his mind. Even thinking about it makes him blush. He doesn’t give himself much time to dwell on the idea of your rejection before he’s blurting it out.

“I can read it to you.”

You watch him, surveying his expression to find any hint that he’s joking. But he’s got a doe-eyed look on his face. He’s dragging one of his rings across the curve of his lips with uncertainty.

“You’d…? You’re kidding,” you decide matter-of-factly.

He vigorously shakes his head, hair flying in every direction as he throws his hand over his chest. A bright smile shines across his face. “Cross my heart. I’ve been told I got a shot in the audiobook industry. Might even hear me on one of those little cassettes in the future.”

The boy is lying through his teeth. It’s rare that someone indulged in a positive conversation with him, let alone complimented his voice. Though, it makes you huff out a laugh, maybe a little too loud for a library setting and he swears his heart is about to break out of his rib cage.

You nod at him rather emphatically and agree, “Must be your charisma.” Your hand drops to pick at the chipped wood of the table and your gaze drops with it to hide from him.

“Hey, your words.” He tosses his hands up in the air, smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He clears his throat before asking, “What do you say? Think it’d be good practice for me to have a live audience.”

He looks so genuine, a soft expression taking over rough features. His leg bounces under the table with anticipation. His fingers move to where yours are, and he hesitantly reaches his pinky to your own. It’s just a tap, but it sends a tingle up your entire arm and has you reciprocating the touch.

He’s making it so hard for you to say no. You glance up at the clock on the nearby wall and frown. “Well, right now I’m kinda supposed to tell you that the library closes in a few minutes.”

Eddie spares a glance behind you and realizes that he’s the last person on this floor, maybe the entire building.

“Oh. Yeah, well…some other time.” His shoulders sink just slightly before he’s standing upright and smiling at you. “I’ll get out of your hair, m’lady.” He bends at the waist to bow at you, waving his arms theatrically.

You’re smiling at him again, something warm and entirely too sweet. As he turns to the exit, you feel something tug at your chest. Like he’s taking a piece of you with him. It has you calling out before you’re able to stop yourself.

“Eddie?”

He twists back and hums.

“You’re welcome to stay, if you want. I mean I’d love to take you up on the offer, if you don’t mind following me around while I reshelve some returns?” A nervous laugh falls from your mouth as you hitch your thumb towards the non-fiction shelves. Eddie spots your other hand still picking at the chipped wood.

He beams at you with flushed cheeks and a puffed chest.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#the long forgotten celebration……………#im workikg throigh them! im motivated mow! not to fret!#ily roma thank you for sending this in <4333362525 #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #✸ 100 celebration!#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson hc #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #stranger things blurb #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #joseph quinn

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gojoest · 1 year

Text

oliver didn’t have relationships. he was never someone’s boyfriend and he never had a girlfriend. an actual girlfriend. what he had was numerous flings that never made it to the 5th date (rather a booty call than a date) because oliver got bored and ghosted them right after the 4th. and maybe also because he had another fling the next day. and the day after.

he was unfamiliar with labels such as ‘dating’, ‘being in a relationship’, ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ simply because he never stayed long enough to play the boyfriend. if by any chance he lingered longer than usual, well, it was probably an accident, a fluke if you will. labels meant commitment and commitment meant being greedy enough to claim someone as yours and let them be greedy enough to claim you back. the thought itself made oliver throw up in his mouth a little. the only label for him was the expiration date he put on girls — five dates. at best, that is.

but then the cliché happened — you came along and taught him about greed, made him want to call you his. he had actual dates with you. outside the bedroom. you had brunch, went bowling, watched a movie, had dinner, slept together, woke up together, ate breakfast. these mundane activities did not happen in the course of one week. they did in a day. and on daily basis. he even introduced you to his friends and hung the words ‘my girlfriend’ like a collar around your neck that said mine. i have her — flesh, scent and soul — i have her. mine.

you made him want to put a label on you. one that, he hoped, would never expire. just like honey.

#ઈઉ — ai writes #last min silly blurb before i go to sleep #he's been on my mind lately <3 #not proofread :')#he would 100% call you honey after this btw #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #oliver aiku x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #oliver aiku x you

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msmoony7 · 3 months

Note

Hi! Resident George Weasley Wife over here 🤪 I was wondering if you could like do headcanon/snippet thingie of George Weasley with a partner who’s gifted with baking. Which, by proxy, means they do well with potions. Since the boys are brilliant potion/bakers as well, example being WWW, I thought that could be something so soft and sweet. George gives me the vibes that he’s the one who more so bakes, while Fred cooks. Yin and Yanging and all that. Thank you, and Congrats again one the Milestone!!! 🥂 🎉 🍻

George Weasley Baking Headcanons

I kinda didn’t really know how to write this so I hope you like the bullet notes LMAO

I feel like while growing up, his mom taught him how to bake the “wizard” way with magic. But once he learned the muggle way, he loved baking without magic. Just like potions, he loves following recipes and getting things right.

He’d love going grocery shopping together to get all of the ingredients. You two set aside one day a week where the two of you bake something.

Every week you would experiment with different flavors and recipes and never made the same thing too close together.

He loves sharing the deserts with other people and would make trays of sweets to bring to his friends and family.

George loves red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting.

George also loves to be goofy in the kitchen and your baking days would usually end with the kitchen, and yourself, a mess. He would cheekily spread frosting onto your face and try to lick it off.

There would be countless times you check the batter to make one last cookie and you find the bowl empty. You look up only to see George smiling back at you with cookie cough in his hand slowly making its way into his mouth.

I think that although he loves baking without magic, he likes to experiment with magic in his baking as well (and he definitely set up a small cafe in WWW with these magical treats)

One day, the two of you experiment by brewing Amortentia and putting it into cookies. You can only imagine where that takes the two of you. Ultimately, you decide not to put this cookie in the cafe.

A best seller in the joke shop is cupcakes that change flavor with every bite

George loves baking together with you, but he also loves making it into a competition. He often pulls Fred and his other family members in to judge whose creation is the best

#ang’s 100 follower celebration #george weasley #george weasley headcanon #george weasley blurb #george weasley fluff #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction

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bunting27 · 1 year

Note

can i request 🍓- “"you have something on your face." "what?" "me." and 🍄 - “you look good like this” with trevor zegras?

dramatics ✏︎ t. zegras

bunting27's 100 follower celly !

a/n: been having absolutely zero motivation but i'm trying to get the last handful of celly blurbs out <3

prompts: "you have something on your face." "what?" "me.", “you look good like this”

wc: 0.4k

taglist: @sidcrosbyspuck @kenanlotus0 @whourfeyrac @kay-23-kay @huggy-hischier94 @fratboyharrysgf0201

✏︎

“come on, just one kiss” trevor was getting ready for a ducks event the two of them were going to, and he was trying his absolute hardest to avoid kissing her, since she was wearing what appeared to be a deep red lipstick that would no doubt leave his lips the same colour.

the last time the two of them had gone to something like this, she’d given him a quick kiss before they left, and he never heard the end of it from his teammates when they saw that his mouth was stained with her lipstick.

tonight, she was wearing a lip stain, having remembered the moment. trevor, wanting to play it safe this time around, didn’t believe a word she was saying.

“no way, now you’re just sabotaging me,” she giggled at his tone, following him around their bedroom until she could finally grasp his wrist

“how are you gonna blame me for embarrassing you when you have something on your face already?” he frowned, wiping his mouth and then looking at it, seeing nothing.

“what? what is it?” she grinned, grabbing his face and then kissing him, feeling him finally give up in her hands and kiss her back. when they pulled apart, she couldn’t keep in her giggles. she had him wrapped around her finger.

“me” she mumbled, kissing him again. he shook his head against her, leaning his forehead onto hers once they pulled away.

when she was at a good enough distance to get a good look at him, she covered her mouth, as if she was trying to keep herself from laughing. his shoulders dropped, a dramatic look taking over his face, under the impression that she had made a mess of his lips.

“oh, baby” she giggled, the reaction honest because of how much joy she got from working him up like this.

“you look good like this” he rolled her eyes at her and made his way into their ensuite, looking at himself in the mirror just to see that there was nothing on his face.

should he have noticed it hadn’t smudged on her own lips? maybe. he wasn’t all that perceptive, though.

“now that i’ve proven i would never lie to you, can you kiss me on purpose?” he glared at her, going over to her and lifting her over his shoulder, throwing her onto their bed. she squealed, giggles being cut off by his lips on hers once again.

“so, to prove that you’d never lie to me, you lied to me, like, a gazillion times?” she bit her lip, cheeks red from how hard she was smiling

“you’re so dramatic, trev,” she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling him drop his weight on her and attack her face with kisses.

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #t zegras #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #anaheim ducks #bunting27's 100 follower celly

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ughthisisntright · 8 months

Note

Hello There ! 👋😊

May I ask you a humble request ? 🙏

NSFW Silco seducing and fucking Finn's girlfriend please 🙈

YES. THIS. THIIIIIIS. I made reader gender neutral - I was on autopilot and wrote it like that!

NSFW below the cut!

You felt the watchful gaze of Silco as Finn berates you in front of the entire society of chembarons. You had little to do with the operation, with the cause, but Finn still loved to assert his power over you. Something he'd been doing since the very beginning. You loved him. sure, but there was something eating away at you that made you want to... rebel.

As the man huffed away to join the rest of the chembarons, you were left with an uneasy feeling in your gut. The way he made you feel - small, unimportant, a burden - it was not an easy pill to swallow that your boyfriend was as cruel as he was. It seemed that being part of a covert operation to bring forth the greater good was not something he was suited for. And it angered you.

And still as you ruminated over the horrible display of toxic masculinity, that feeling of Silco's eyes on you burned your skin. You turned your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze. He wasn't even listening to the meeting. He didn't care what Finn had to say. He would never care again.

When the meeting concluded, and Finn tossed his coat at you before leaving, you sank into an empty chair. The room was empty, the rest of the more important people going to finalize plans for another shimmer plant, and all that was left was you and this stupid fucking coat. You gripped it in your smaller hands, wishing beyond anything that you would be able to tear it into pieces and cast it into the River Pilt.

You screamed in agony before slamming the coat onto the table. It felt good, but not good enough. And before you could even allow yourself the joy of letting some of that go, you heard clapping behind you.

Turning, you laid eyes on Silco. So the room wasn't empty. He stalked toward you with a smirk on his face. The older man always carried himself with such bravado, such confidence, not unlike Finn. But there was a key difference between the two: Experience.

Silco was successful long before the chembarons came together. Independently achieving goals left and right before any of them had even had the chance to taste Topside. Long before Finn was even born.

And here he was, stalking toward you like it was nothing. You watched him come closer, clasping his hands behind his back, and looking you over.

"Quite impressive the way you stand your ground in the face of something like that. Are you quite alright?" His low voice reverberated off the walls of the room, as large as it was, and you could feel it in your bones.

"Well," you began, trying to find your words. "I'm fine, but... That's him I guess."

"Regardless, it was quite the sight to see. I don't exactly know what the cause was for that kind of reaction, but it seems if I know Finn enough, it was likely his fault." A smirk lifted his features as he gave what you assumed to be his version of comfort. A smirk to which you responded with a small smile of your own.

"That's very kind of you to say," you admit softly.

And that was how you found yourself bent over the table - on top of Finn's elaborate coat - in the meeting room. The same meeting room where Finn had berated you earlier, the same meeting room where the meeting between the society of chembarons had taken place, and the same place where Silco - of all people - had given you comfort.

The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming. You didn't exactly expect him to be as large as he was, but you also thought you'd seen all you'd ever get with Finn. And now, with his hands around your waist and his hips against the swell of your ass, you were sure that this wouldn't be the last time this kind of meeting would occur between the two of you.

Heavy breathing and grunts behind gritted teeth sounded out from behind you as harsh snaps of hips shook your entire being. You could feel the hard edge of the wood digging into your flesh as you were pounded into the surface of the table like a thing to be used. And you were loving every second of it.

At the height of your ecstasy, when Silco was growling the filthiest things in your ear, you heard the sound of the heavy door being opened. Your eyes opened and you caught sight of your boyfriend standing in the doorway.

Ex-boyfriend, that is. It's a fair trade-off for this kind of lust.

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