#but the prices on them were. well. not prices i was ready to pay for shoes lmao

[mayakern]

hiiii it's me! devin! ur favorite!

maya is still banned from doing big business things on social media while she takes time to rest and detoxify from the poison that is running social media full time for ten years. everybody clap! yay!

i'm here to share some info on our button-up shirt and dress preorders!

as many of you already know, i lost my anti-preorder campaign due to the high minimum per design. there's been some confusion and uncertainty. carsyn's doing her best but preorders are overwhelming and i have some time today

SO TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS:

how close are you to hitting the minimum goal for the button-up shirts and dresses?

not close lol. as of 4/26 we're at about 8% funded. i refuse to panic until after may 3rd

why the funeral design?

the funeral design won our design poll

initially we were going to run preorders for two designs: funeral as well as astronauts. when we got news that the minimum would be 400 garments per design (we're able to spread that across the button-up shirts and dresses) we decided to cut back to one design. we're really not big enough to expect 800 orders on an $80-90 item

why not another design?

another design did not win the design poll

what would have been chosen other than funeral or astronaut?

deadly florals, hiss from a rose, microorganisms, and hands were all the top placers in the design poll after funeral

can you do solid color?

yes

why didn't you do solid color?

you can buy a solid color button-up shirt or dress from anywhere. the plan has always been to introduce these garments in solid color after their initial introduction

...so can you do solid color?

we will consider doing solid color preorders if these preorders bomb

how much would solid color cost?

probably the same. it's not much cheaper. it's faster to make tho

how much would the ecovero viscose cost instead of cotton?

maybe like $10 cheaper

it's really soft tbh but it's a different weave from the viscose for the skirts. it's my number one fabric for the button-ups but alas the cotton fandom won for now

what happens if preorders bomb?

we cancel and refund all preorders.

maybe we'll try again with a different design or with fewer features after we have some time to decompress from the nightmare that is running preorders (can you tell i hate preorders). if they bomb bad enough we may completely nix patterned button-up shirts and dresses. we don't know yet!

does that affect the picnic top?

the picnic top is completely separate. since it's made out of a different fabric it has its own minimum, so it will not be affected by button-up shirt and dress preorders

and like, to be totally honest, it's way cheaper to produce. we can eat some of the cost and just make them. they're small enough to store easily and they're at a lower price point so we can expect to sell them after we receive them, like the wrap tops

btw, we have other ready-to-ship things already in production. we've been working on a whole secret project. surprise!

why did you launch preorders for the button-up shirt/dress at the same time as the picnic top?

the picnic top sample came in with the button-up dress sample and it needed very little alteration. also maya liked it. also we may be developing an entire line inspired by the picnic top so keep an eye out for that next spring

why is the new button-up shirt more expensive than the old button-up shirt?

it's more expensive to make

why is it more expensive to make?

this is a different factory from the one we used before. it's more expensive because they pay their staff a higher wage and likely have other costs

this is a different fabric from the one we used before. it's a stretch cotton with a GOTS certification

this is imported from a different country from the one we used before. turkey has much higher import fees to the US

what is a GOTS certification?

the short version is the fabric itself is more environmentally friendly and produced with more fair labor practices than standard cotton

you can read the long version here here

can you do fulfillment from somewhere other than the US?

we're working on it. it probably won't lower prices tho, since fulfillment centers also cost money

anyway...

none of this is to shame someone for not preordering. groceries are expensive and things are tight, plus it kinda sucks to spend on a tight budget and not get what you ordered for a few months

(can you tell i hate preorders)

i think there's a lot of surprise since we've never done preorders on a single design before, and that's fair! we debated on doing a kickstarter but a) i hate doing kickstarters b) kickstarter takes a percentage of sales and our profit margin on these is already lower than we'd like it to be

i'm tired and i can't remember anything else i wanted to say. i may answer any additional questions from my own tumblr (@punchyemblem and now i'm gonna get a notification that i'm gonna be jumpscared by) but carsyn will be handling most questions

also don't worry, when you say nice things we still show maya. also she's fine, she's just in her (forced and highly necessary and possibly permanent) limited social media era

#devin time #store stuff

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

One: “Thanks, I Hate You”

You and your arrogant PR client are bitter rivals, and there’s no length Loki won’t go to just to watch you squirm. Just when you think you’re going to get a much-needed break from the Great Redeemed Prince’s ego, you’re tapped to escort him to, of all things, a peace summit in Australia. 

CONTENT WARNING: Loki's an asshole

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

“Mr. Odinson, tell me, how does it feel to be reformed for eighteen months now?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, actually, and it feels absolutely incredible, it’s as if my soul is free at last!”

“And you have no more genocidal urges or Asgardian instincts to kill?”

“Never again will I do harm to the people of this planet, who have so kindly agreed to give me a second chance after removing the influence of my--err---the scepter.”

Loki’s shit-eating grin unfolded across his face, but to the untrained eye, he looked every bit the contrite warlord who fell in love with the world he’d once targeted for conquest. He could twitch and tweak every muscle in his face into the optimal layout for ass-kissing, and the only ones who were ever wise were you and the rest of the team. 

“At least he plays the part well,” you said bitterly to Tony, leaning over to mutter in his ear while watching the former ‘God’ play up the press like they were at a rock concert. Some of the reporters looked downright charmed, but you knew better. You were more interested in the snow flurries that were falling outside the window.

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, he’s okay.”

You sneered, rolling your eyes with disbelief. “Until the flash bulbs stop. Then he becomes a baboon’s taint.” 

Stark muffled a snort of laughter with his fist. “Always one for eloquence. That’s why I hired you.”

“I’m also the only one around willing to wrangle that,” you paused, pointing at Loki as he folded his hands into a prayer pose, expressing gratitude for the praise he was receiving, “for your pittance of an asking price.” 

“I pay you well,” Tony shot back in defense. “Loki knows how to keep up appearances--”

“--he took off his pants in the lunchroom yesterday to annoy me--” 

“--most of the time.” 

You folded your arms across your chest, glancing at the clock on the wall behind Loki as things in the press room wrapped up. In his very basic outfit: a dress shirt and tie, black slacks, and a tight, professional ponytail, he looked dashing enough. You’d known the truth about him for the eighteen months since you were hired to be his PR manager: Loki had all of the behavioral maturity of an eight-year-old high on pixie sticks.  He loved attention, always jutting out his hips when he strutted about the complex, flipping his hair over his shoulder. 

Loki loved to paint himself as the very model of a modern major comeback story. At first, it was for self-preservation. The terms of his parole as set forth by the UN were strict, and the best course of action to keep his freedom was to play by their rules. Over the next year-and-a-half, however, once it was clear that his image was evolving into that of a celebrity, Loki took the idea and ran with it, and he only used your unsavory opinion of his to fuel the fire he lit under your feet every chance he got.

It was almost as if he targeted you with most of his snarks and jests, always calling you every synonym for ‘boring’ he could muster. For a while, you could brush him off, but after the repeated comments, you began to push back…which led you to your current relationship status: tense at best, resentful and irritable more frequently. 

You could not stand him! He never listened to your advice on how to conduct himself in public. One of his favorite pastimes was inviting the worst kinds of people over for sex, and then making you call them afterwards to dump them. “Loki isn’t sure he’s ready to fully commit to one person yet, but last night will always live in his memory…” It was degrading, gross, and such a slimeball move. You always sent each of his poor conquests a fruit basket the size of SoHo. 

The only reason you refused to resign was that you really needed the money. Despite your repeated complaints, Tony was actually paying you very well. You could afford an apartment with a private toilet in Manhattan, anyway. 

“And that’s all we have time for this afternoon, everyone,” Tony leapt onto the stage and gently nudged Loki away from the podium.  “We’re all proud of Loki’s rehabilitation, as well as his decision to live among us and help the Avengers keep this world safe.” 

The applause was thunderous. You bit your lower lip and got another glimpse of the snow squall outside while Loki bowed and mouthed thanks to his supporters. Every second you could successfully divert your attention away from the Asgardian was a victory. Alas, it was temporary. 

As soon as he left the stage, he gave you a smarmy, evil wink. “Better than ever, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hercules couldn’t clean out all the bullshit in your stables, Loki,” you said with an exasperated sigh. 

“Successfully convincing the world of your contrition is an art, you know.”

“So is painting on walls with shit, to some.”

Loki couldn’t help but snicker under his breath, You were the most feisty woman he’d ever met, aside from maybe Natasha Romanoff. “I see we’re fond of the scatalogical comebacks today. Doesn’t that mean your menses are coming on?”

You could have whirled around on your heels and punched him, but your restraint was enough to keep your professional demeanor, at least until you were out of public sight and in one of the private areas. There were still a LOT of people around and your entire job was keeping up appearances for both yourself and your charge. “I have a headache today, Loki, please shut up and let me do my job.” 

“So it is your cycle!” he chortled, putting his hands on his hips. “Do you know what they say helps with menstrual cramps?”

“Don’t!” you warned between gritting teeth, giving Loki a glare of death. “I mean it!”

Loki paused, as if he was actually going to listen. Then he opened his trap, and it came out: “a good hard dicking!” 

There it was. Your line. Loki had crossed it so far that he was about to meet customs on the other side. 

You slapped him across his right cheek hard enough for his head to whip to the side. Of course, he was able to recover from it quickly, only to pout his lips and widen his eyes when several gasps from the reporters still in the press room silenced everything else. Loki’s snarky smile never left his face, especially as he looked back at you with a somewhat more venomous twinge. 

“It’s 2024,” you scowled, “try something less sexist than blaming my period next time, assbag.”

“So violent,” he said lightly. “So attractive. No wonder you have so many dates…oh wait, that’s me!” he said mockingly, putting a hand over his heart and acting surprised. “I have all the dates, and you’re the one who resents that and takes it out on me by hitting me in front of all of my friends!” 

He dropped his sarcastic smile, replacing it with narrow, threatening eyes and a thin frown. “Embarrass me like that again, woman, I dare you.” 

“I only resent that you make me clean your dirty sheets afterwards, asshole,” you answered. “I don’t really care how many strains of herpes you intend to collect from the Greater New York area. You’re a pampered little twat, and I really do deserve more money for babysitting you.”

You started to leave, but you quickly thought better of it and walked back to say one more thing. “And I will gladly smack you in front of these people any day of the week! No one else is going to put you in your place!”

“And what place is that, Madam?” he asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. 

Nearby, a young blonde reporter who was clearly one of Loki’s fans had taken special interest, and was trying to shoot as many desperate glances at him as she could, asking for her turn in his bed with only verbal cues from across a crowded room. 

“I’d say Hell, but you probably have a permanent residence there already.” 

You noticed the blonde was starting to inch closer, and in her stupid, beady little eyes you saw your escape. “I think I see your Skank of the Day coming in for the steal right now.”

Loki turned to look at the blonde reporter, and he looked somewhat unimpressed. “I suppose. The only other creature in here with any sort of beauty is--”

He stopped mid-thought and decided to go back into his debonair facade, waving you away snobbishly and sticking his nose up. “You’re done for the day, I think. Now please leave me to woo this exquisite little doll who approaches…”

You did have some work you needed him for. There was a peace summit in Australia hosted by Amnesty International, and Loki was a keynote speaker, having been spared from the death penalty and turned into the Earth’s darling. He was the world’s most instantly-recognizable proof that anyone could be rehabilitated, which made him a highly desirable motivational speaker. The summit was in three days, and you needed to brief him on the PR person taking over your duties once he crossed the international dateline. 

He could terrorize the Land Down Under for five days all he wanted. You were about to have your first vacation from the miserable fucker since starting your job. This was going to be your Christmas. 

However, you didn’t feel like dragging him away from the little hopeful moving in on him, and instead you decided to begin packing your bag for your long-desired break from Loki. 

“She what?!” you growled in anger, turning away from Stark and Banner to hide that fact that you were almost instantly upset by their news. 

“Mrs. Donner resigned yesterday,” said Bruce Banner, twiddling his thumbs apprehensively, making him look like a human-sized pangolin. “She’s not taking Loki to Australia.”

“WHY NOT? She’s more qualified than I am!” you bullshitted, doing anything to try and convince these two to go after her. You knew what this meant, but you weren’t ready to accept it just yet. You were a fighter, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sacrifice your time off now.

“She’s also a Mormon. I’m surprised she put up with Loki’s harassment as long as she has,” replied Banner. 

“Or maybe she enjoyed it so much she had to jet off to Planet More-Men or whatever heaven is for them,” Stark mumbled. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, brushing the air in front of you as if erasing something off of an invisible chalk board, “what does matter is who we are going to send him with. His parole terms state he cannot cross international boundaries alone.” 

“C”mon, Y/N, you know where this is going!” said Tony with a wink. 

“No,” you said firmly.

“It’ll be summer down there,” said Banner, “It’ll be nicer than here in New York.”

“No!” you repeated. “My vacation!”

Stark rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, that’s why I’m offering you a month’s paid sabbatical after you return.”

“No…I…what?” your fast, angry thoughts slowed on the conveyor belt as you began processing his counteroffer. “I was only scheduled for a week!” 

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I’m quadrupling that right now, I’ll even get it in writing if you want. I can do that. I’m awesome like that.”

A month! A month without Loki poking fun of your ‘menses’ or humiliating you with jests and quips under his breath. A whole month of sleeping in late, dressing like a slob, and not worrying about how you or any client of yours appeared to the public. Tony Stark certainly knew how to play your game. 

“You must be desperate,” you sighed, thinking about it.

“Well, if Loki can’t attend the summit, it’ll look kinda bad,” Bruce added, his low, bashful voice somewhat harder to hear than Tony’s confident tone. 

“I’ll get you VIP passes to any club in the city for the whole month you’re off,” Tony added. “Four of them. And unlimited cocktail service. Live like a movie star for the next month, and all you have to do is babysit our little horndog for five days in Aussieland this week.” 

“Deal,” you acquiesced at last, not missing a beat. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” 

All three of you turned your heads toward the intrusive new voice in the room. Loki was leaning against the doorway to the office, arms folded, a shit-eating sneer on his face. You felt your skin go hot at his sudden, unwelcome appearance. 

“I was hoping that my exertions manipulating that old dowager into quitting would bear fruit, and now it seems I’m just time for my little trip with my dearest friend in the Realm!” 

“Easy, Lokes,” said Stark, holding back a laugh. “Don’t push it, ok?”

You bit your lip to keep your temper. It didn’t make any difference if you kept protesting. You’d taken Stark’s carrot, and now you had five days of this jester’s extraterrestrial farts to sniff.

“Oh, I’m sure the next few days will include plenty of pushing about,” said Loki. 

Tony raised an eyebrow and began following Banner as he snuck out of the room. “Be on the roof tomorrow morning. Oh, and uh, the quinjet has got some issues so it can’t go any faster than Mach 1.5 right now. Means it’ll take a little longer to get out there. Hope you two can get comfortable with one another real fast.” 

“You…you set this up,” you hissed, your anger bubbling to the surface now that your employer was out of range. “I ought to ask your father to hang you.”

This only made him laugh. “He would only love the pleasure, I’m sure.”

And I would love to see your corpse swinging by the neck, you thought.  “Why? Why did you do this?” you asked with frustration. “You hate me and I absolutely hate you, Loki, so why force us to be in closer proximity for longer than necessary?”

“Oh, I couldn’t stand the idea of being apart from you, sweet pea! It’s my greatest delight in life to always hover five paces behind you and piss you off. The mere idea of being so far away for so long!” Loki brought a mocking hand to his heart, expressing fake sadness in both his body and face. “My heart would only cry for you.”

“I should just make you go alone and make an ass of yourself,” you suggested. “Maybe some Australian hell-beast will swallow you whole.”

“Oh-ho! By all means,” Loki chuckled, throwing his head back. “Let me loose without supervision in a foreign country as the sole representative of the United States, the Nine Realms, and the Avengers. That will go over well for all of us.”

Your jaw hung open, no witty retorts for him, Unfortunately, he was right. Punking out would in one way or another, only serve to humiliate yourself and Stark.

“Ah, ah…” Loki tucked a finger under your chin, nudging your mouth closed by poking your chin upward, “You’ll catch flies.” 

He left you there, speechless in the middle of the room, only turning back in the doorway to add: “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, darling!”

Before going to bed that night, curled up in your sad little futon in your one-bedroom loft, you prayed to every god that wasn’t Asgardian that there would be some kind of apocalyptic blizzard that popped up out of nowhere, forcing the takeoff to be delayed. Inclement weather was probably the only acceptable excuse for Loki to be a no-show down in Sydney. WHile the city didn;t necessarily get as much snow as upstate near the lakes, it usually took a few inches to shut the whole place down. There was hope. Perhaps the weatherfolks were keeping it a surprise…

This meant, of course, that the next morning was the first perfectly sunny morning New York had seen in weeks. In a small act of rebellion against the little shit you had to babysit, you chose to take your sweet time getting in. You purposefully dragged your feet down to the subway, your suitcase dragging along like a weight tethered to your wrist. You saw an abnormally-long line outside of a coffee shop and decided to stop in for an Americano. 

By the time you made it to the rooftop of Stark Tower, you were over an hour late, which was not typical for you. The jet was otherwise prepped, the diminutive young pilot tapping his feet impatiently by the nose, Stark and Loki just tossing the last of his belongings in around the side. 

“Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” said Tony. 

Loki dropped what he was doing and shuffled up to you. He gave a mock bow, taking your hand and laying a big wet kiss on the back of it. “My escort, how lovely to finally see your bright face ready for our trip!”

“Die.”

Loki pouted. “Oh, is that any way to greet your business partner? I asked for you to be at my side all week long! Don’t you think I’m owed a little more courtesy?”

“Please die.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Just before you boarded, Tony gave you a wink and one last piece of advice: “Remember, when the going gets tough, lie back and think of England.”

The last thing he saw before the doors shut was your middle finger. 

Once the pilot got the quinjet into the air, he announced that he’d need to take his time in order to appease whatever yet-to-be-diagnosed tech issue the plane had, and prevent something from happening. 

“Ugh, so what’s our ETA, then?” Loki asked impatiently, the saccharine facade dropping the instant he was out of Stark’s view. 

The pilot shrugged. “I can get us there safely in five hours, maybe.”

“FIVE HOURS?” you groaned. “This thing is--”

“--gonna disintegrate if I don’t treat it gently,” he shot back. “Relax! It’s still a hell of a lot faster than if you were flying in a Boeing, okay?”

You and Loki looked at each other with annoyance. You sighed and went to sit as far away from the cockpit as you could, taking a green-jacketed book from your shoulder bag and flipping it open a bit too dramatically. 

Unfortunately, Loki didn’t seem to take the hint, sitting beside you and peeking over your shoulder. 

“You kept us waiting on purpose,” he accused. “You’re a bit of a brat, you know.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. Gently shutting the book, you turned to Loki with the most serious expression you could muster without losing your professionalism. 

“Look, Laufeyson, you’re the one who set this up for us. If I had to venture a guess, it’s because you’re bored and needed a new way to make me miserable. But let’s make one thing perfectly clear: I hate you. I can’t stand your smarmy face and how you get off on making me crazy! Every time you open your mouth, it makes me want to drop-kick an orphan! I’d rather have a root canal while on ecstasy every day for the rest of my life than be sitting right here next to you.”

Loki didn’t blink. “...and how does that make you feel?”

“But I’m getting my big payout when this is all over, so for FUCK’S SAKE, let’s make this easy on both of us? You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you. You can find a kangaroo’s pouch to ride around in for all I care.” You went to open your book again, but Loki laid a firm hand over top of it. 

“I’m hurt. Truly.”

You snickered. “Sure.”

“You know what your problem is?” Loki leaned back, crossing his hands casually. “You’re too uptight.”

“Uptight? You call me defending myself against all of your abuse UPTIGHT?” you growled from behind your gritted teeth. 

“Well, it wasn’t abuse at first,” Loki added, “I was only making jokes to say hello!”

“Bullshit,” you said angrily. “The day we met, you called me a servant and asked if I would massage your feet.”

“Well, now it’s just fun for me to watch you lose your temper,” he admitted. “The thought of being alone with you to twist and push every button you’ve got just to see how loudly you’d shout…”

“Stop it, Loki! I’d rather this plane go down right now than be alone with you. Ever!”

Tags: @anukulee @jiyascepter @wolfsmom1 @cakesandtom @holdmytesseract @simplyholl @lokisgoodgirl @mjsthrillernp @meowmeow-motherfucker @foxherder @letstalkaboutshtufff @ladymischief11 @libby-bibby @javagirl328 @crimson25 @lcolumbia1988 @gruftiela @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @loz-3 @kikster606 @muddyorbsblr @sheris532 @lokischambermaid @kneelingformyloki @soulpiercing @goddessgirl43 @canigetanap @theoneandonlythorn @forleiasake @eleniblue @knight-of-the-doctor @goblingirlsarah @clusterfuck-meup @mischief2sarawr

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki/reader #loki smut #loki comedy #island fic #deserted island #alone with loki #enemies to lovers #Avenger!Loki #Avengers #Island AU #Smutty loki #island fever #thor #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #steve rogers #sam wilson #captain america #rescue fic #deserted island trope #marvel loki

[definitelynotdamiano]

.

#i used to wear combat boots or whatever they're called in english all the time when i was younger #i went through at least 3 or 4 pairs #so i felt nostalgic and wanted to get some doc martens as i've never had them before #but the prices on them were. well. not prices i was ready to pay for shoes lmao #but!!!! with black friday promo and a coupon i got from work i paid 450 pln instead of 1200 #so like 90 gbp instead of 240 #love that for me

[fionnaskyborn]

current mood:

#it's about people who have gone through events that are uncannily similar but have dealt it both the events and the aftermath in #drastically different ways. one of them was surrounded by people who didn't look and sometimes didn't act the part but ultimately meant #only well and the other only had one person who cared about him near him and not even that person was in a good enough place to give him #that sort of empowerment‚ the strength to try and fight against impossible odds and an inescapable situation #and i've seen takes (don't remember where) that state that rai is ultimately so much stronger than v because he managed to free himself #from the shackles of his assigned fate whereas v 'failed' to do so but like... i believe that v is equally as strong for just... existing. #and maybe the world would've been better off if he had died as soon as he learned the truth but he lived because he wanted to see a better #world and believed that him being stripped of his identity was a small price to pay for a better world but what makes him even stronger in #my eyes is the fact that he KEPT LIVING even when he realized that there was no way to make things better from his position as much as he #wanted to and when he saw that everything was going to hell and that he was doomed to just... stay there and be trapped and be forced to #work for ideas that directly oppose his own #and DESPITE ALL OF IT‚ HE KEPT HIMSELF ALIVE (until nato called and said ''hey bibo if you don't respond to the allegations we will nuke #your house'' (referring to V's OH) and bibo just. did not answer. and threw v under the bus and let him die like he was nothing #like i need you to understand this man has the mental resolve of joy herself but you aren't ready for that talk #look point is i think that if they were to ever meet rai would initially not like v at all and couldn't exactly pinpoint why he doesn't #like him - he's polite‚ relatively kind‚ a bit sassy at times‚ and really quiet‚ which in a way mirrors his own mannerisms - so he has no #clue as to why he /doesn't like him at all/ (and of course rai being rai would be polite in turn but he'd never be earnestly amiable) #UNTIL one of them tries to start a conversation about more mundane topics like music or movies and as they exchange opinions rai realizes #that he really doesn't have to bother with the whole thing about resolve and determination to pursue your own goals and differences in #ideologies and that he can just talk to this guy as if he were one of his friends from nyc from back when life was relatively normal #(aka before big shell and when the memories of his past were artificially surpressed HMM PARALLELS YES) #in conclusion v is less anti-raiden and more the second coming of joy and also the two of them would (eventually) be friends and talk about #film and music. rai would absolutely DIG some of the 80's stuff v listens to. thank you for joining me on yet another episode of 'insanity #with fionna' #zeta gear tag #i wrote a lot here and i've made some good points so in the tag it goes

[viviennevermillion]

love languages

✧ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: hsr debut post, hope this does well. i'm only at chapter 2 part 1 so pls bare we me. (gn!reader), aeons can walk among mortals for this

✧ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: bloom in the dark — emorie

✧ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: blade, dan heng, jing yuan, luocha, march 7th, nanook, yaoshi

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: some angst & hint at character death in blade's because i'm still figuring out how to write anything but angst for a character whose main objective is that he wants to die, i had way too much fun making the aeons eldritch

✧ giving: gifts

As much as Blade loved you, as much as he treasured the memories he shared with you and as much as he'd hate to cause you pain or grief; you were all too familiar with his predicament. You had been ever since you agreed to stay by his side, to love him for as long as you had together. That was the price you'd pay for loving a man who considered himself dead in spirits already. A shell of who he once was.

Part of him felt guilty for indulging you; how could he call himself yours when he'd take the exit from his cursed immortality if it presented itself before him tomorrow? How could he promise you his heart if he couldn't promise you a future?

He knew there was a chance he might outlive you by centuries. He knew there was a chance he'd say goodbye to you in a month. Still, you were willing to be with him, through all the uncertainty.

So he gifts you things to remember him by, should he part from you too soon for your liking. Some of them were expensive; after all he had more than enough life behind him to no longer be bound by material limits. Some of them were simple trinkets or flowers he preserved using glycerine. All of them held meaning but the overarching message was: "We were born in different times. If it were for the natural order of things, we never would have even met. I've been suffering since long before I met you. And yet, curiously, despite all; I treasure every moment I had with you. I'm glad to have loved you."

✧ receiving: physical touch

One thing Blade would have never expected when he met you; but was more than glad to realize, was that you could make him forget his anger and pain, even if it was for just a while; even if it always inevitably returned.

He loved falling asleep in your arms. It was the closest thing to the peace and salvation he craved that he could currently have. For just a few hours, he was content. He had forgotten what that felt like.

He loved the feeling of your fingers carding through his long, dark hair. And you loved the smile you so rarely saw on his face when you did this. Blade's breathing would calm and he'd nuzzle your neck as he was being held in your arms.

Blade also loves waking up in the middle of the night, feeling you shift in bed beside him and pressing a few lazy kisses to his lips before he fell back asleep.

He loves the way you tend to his scars, how you seem to wash the pain off his body with your caring touch; despite feeling guilty for how he has made you worry again. You'd end up disinfecting and bandaging his wounds and sometimes he had to chuckle at how you treated him as if he was fragile, despite having likely seen more hardships than you could ever imagine.

✧ giving: acts of service

Dan Heng doesn't really know how to express his love for you at first so he defaults to helping you out however he can.

He helps you with little jobs around the Astral Express and loves to team up with you for any missions or chores that fall on both of your plates.

Especially with all the knowledge he gathered from the archives and basically living in there; he's more than ready to help you figure out any mysteries you encounter on your journey with the Astral Express.

If he needs to explain anything to you or answer a question you have about stuff like the Aeons or any factions you encountered, he'll often pull you onto his lap at the desk and show you important info about it in a book or online. "I hope I could answer your questions. Did this help you?", he then asks you, looking into your eyes. "Yup!", you shoot him a smile and give him a quick kiss to the lips which leaves him blushing and just staring at you for a while.

"Hey, Astral Express to Dan Heng, you still there?", you chuckle and wave your hand in front of his eyes. He just blinks like, twice and then picks you up bridal style: "Come on, let's figure out that task Himeko gave you." He's just trying to distract from the fact that you flustered him.

Sometimes he tries to cook for you. The emphasis is on tries. You'll walk into the train kitchen and he'll be there stirring something in the frying pan and glancing at a recipe. "What are you doing there, love?", you ask and kiss his cheek. "I'm making lunch for you", he states and you hug him. "Aww, that's so sweet of you!", you press a few appreciative kisses to his lips, "wait why does it smell burnt?" "What-"

✧ receiving: quality time

Dan Heng is what we call 'a good listener'. He's not the best conversationalist but he likes to hear you talk and he remembers stuff you told him that even you have forgotten about until he one day just brings it up out of nowhere.

He loves to spend the time between trailblazing expeditions just hanging out with you. You check your phone and receive a text from him like "Hey, want to come over to my room? 🫀"

"?" "March told me that I should add a heart to my messages to make you feel more loved. Did I not do it correctly?" "Dan Heng, sweetie, no..."

You enter his room and he has made you two cups of coffee, the only thing he's actually good at "cooking". The two of you have decided to watch a movie and lay down on Dan Heng's mattress. "I can feel the bones in my back snapping in half, how do you sleep on this?", you raise your eyebrow. "I don't think it's that bad", he mumbles, seeming lost in thought.

While watching the movie, he has his arms wrapped around you. His only opinion about it is "it was good".

Also enjoys playing board games with you, specifically card games. You're pretty equally matched so there's no telling who wins this round. When he wins, you ask him what he wants as a reward and he just gives you a soft smile and tells you a kiss will do.

✧ giving: physical touch

Jing Yuan is a fairly affectionate man behind closed doors. He doesn't leave for work without giving you as many goodbye kisses as you want and doesn't let go of you throughout the whole night while he sleeps. You could get up and grab a glass of water from the kitchen, as soon as you return, Jing Yuan wraps his arms around you once more; even when he's in deep sleep.

He enjoys just sitting idly with you, both of you doing your own things and he's just holding your hand or has a hand resting on your thigh. He also loves when you lean your head on his shoulder and as soon as he feels you do that, he turns his head to place a kiss on your forehead.

Sometimes you'll be reading a book while sitting between his legs and he ends up pressing multiple kisses to your cheek or trailing them down your neck. He smiles against your skin everytime he does this. He's not always seeking to touch you but he has his clingy 10 minutes where he wants attention and sometimes that happens to interfere with whatever it is you're doing at the current moment.

Most of the time you can't resist indulging him and just kissing him for a while, burying your hands in his hair or cupping his cheeks gently.

✧ receiving: quality time

Jing Yuan loves those days on the Xianzhou Luofu that are so peaceful that he gets to spend the entire day with you. You decide to take a nap during noon, falling asleep in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. You feel Jing Yuan press a few soft kisses to your forehead while you're dozing off.

When you awake, he's no longer next to you. You get up and find him in the kitchen, preparing a late lunch for the two of you. You wrap your arms around his waist from behind and glance at the frying pan to see him fry some eggs.

You hear a chirping sound and fish a small finch out of your boyfriend's hair. "Don't worry you, we're not grilling your brethren", you whisper softly and put the bird on the windowsill, "fly free, my little friend." The bird lifts off. You raise an eyebrow at Jing Yuan. "Was this the last one?"

He chuckles. "Should be." This at least gives him an excuse to take a bath with you and maybe you'll volunteer to wash his hair. He loves the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair and just relaxing and letting you pamper him. "You know, if that's what you want, you can just ask right?", you remind him, "you don't need to call your woodland friends for help." Jing Yuan just laughs and gently guides your chin closer to his face so he can kiss you softly.

He enjoys playing chess against you, though you tend to suggest to play a die-based game instead so you can win by having good luck, because Jing Yuan has several centuries of chess practice under his belt. "You know that still doesn't mean you'll win", he watches you unpack the Ludo game with an amused expression. "I have good luck, I got you after all", you say confidently. "Well I've heard an old saying from a distant planet that when you luck out in love it means you have bad luck when it comes to games", he argues and crosses his arms with a smile on his face. You roll your eyes and he responds by kissing your lips.

Sometimes he watches you play chess against Yanqing. "Does it hurt to lose to an 8 year old?", he teases you. "Silence, Jing Yuan, you taught him this stuff." Your lover lets out a laugh. "And yet he still has so much to learn before he can beat me."

✧ giving: words of affirmation

When Luocha loves you, he doesn't hesitate to tell you. After all, his companion in the coffin consistently reminds him that life is short and he better have no regrets, should misfortune strike him tomorrow. Luocha adores you and in his mind, there's nothing stopping him from letting you know.

He's also a bit of a smooth-talker to you and you only. He never gets overbearing with his flirting, but you can expect a few cheesy compliments followed by a kiss to your hand. He'll pick you up for your date, takes your hand in his and leads it to his lips. "You're as beautiful today as the first time I saw you", he smiles and whispers against your skin.

Getting together with Luocha could take ages if you insist in knowing why he's being so suspicious first; but once you do he's ironically an open book for you. He has shared his greatest secret with you and you've given your hearts to one another, so why should he hold back now from telling you what's on his mind?

Sometimes his words are on the nose, such as cupping your cheeks and telling you that he loves you with all his heart or that he wants you to traverse the stars with him from now on. Sometimes the love he has for you is put into telling you how he remembers certain areas around the Xianzhou Luofu as "that place where you surprised me with a bouquet of flowers when we met up for tea" or "that shop where you almost made the coffin fall over". You learn with time that there are a lot of things he associates with you and your memories together.

✧ receiving: physical touch

Luocha loves your affections. He's the least grumpy man ever in the morning. You could wake him up at 3am for kisses and he'd be down for it. He loves when he wakes up and the first thing he feels is your lips on his cheeks or your fingers running through his long blond hair or your fingertips drawing circles on his bare shoulders.

He pulls you into his chest and you can hear his heartbeat while he holds you close. He lifts your chin up and his lips meet yours before he even opens his eyes. He kisses you softly, his tongue circling around yours as he tries to pull you even closer. "Good morning, my love", his voice sounds raspy before he presses a kiss to your cheek.

Luocha loves to take a walk through the city and hold your hand in his while doing so. He doesn't say it but he definitely melts if you stop your walk for a minute just to give him a hug or kiss him gently.

One time you get caught in the rain and Luocha finds shelter for the two of you under a secluded pavillion. You are cold so he wraps his jacket around you and holds you in his arms until the skies clear. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Are you still cold, my dear?", his voice sounds so soft and he gently squeezes your shoulder. You shake your head. He lets out a chuckle. "That's good, then", he replies before resting his head on top of yours and closing his eyes for a while.

He enjoys resting his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair. You might be busy with something else, not noticing how he smiles up at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen (you are). He eventually closes his eyes and rests his cheek against your stomach.

✧ giving: words of affirmation

March 7th talks quite a lot, especially if you were to ask Dan Heng about it. So if she's in love with you; her feelings are bound to slip out with her words. It wasn't hard for you to become aware of her crush on you because she just accidentally blurted it out one day. She was so happy when you told her you felt the same; even if this conversation was the furthest thing from planned.

March loves to explore the civilizations you travel to on the Astral Express and buying lots of souvenirs and clothes from there. So sometimes she'll drag you from shop to shop and often finds things she thinks would look good on you. No matter if you're wearing a fancy suit / dress or a 5 credit neon green "I survived the Belabogeyman attack" shirt from a shady souvenir shop, she hypes you up like you're on the front cover of a popular magazin.

"Aw look, you're so cute", she squeals and hugs you from the side, trying and failing to lift you up. There's at least 5 people in the shop staring at you and the shopkeeper glares at March, silently reminding her to keep her voice at an acceptable volume for a public building. "Oops... sorry", she cringes slightly and then turns to you again with a bright smile, "you should totally get this!"

Everytime you enter her room after a trip you find a new photo you took together on her wall. "Look at your smile on this one", she holds one of them up, "it makes me happy whenever I look at it."

Dan Heng told her to stop talking about you all the time so now she talks with you about you.

Definitely tells you she loves you plenty of times.

✧ receiving: gifts

March loves gifts. She's the kind of person who can't wait to open her birthday presents so you guys have to hide them from her every year; preferably somewhere where she can't reach or won't find them.

So when she receives gifts from you for no special occasion, she's gushing so much.

She loves flowers and chocolates. She definitely has a sweet tooth but will still share the chocolates with you. She is very interested in the meaning of the flowers you gift to her so if you can tell her about that, she'll be all the more happy. She loves romantic gestures like this. She has mostly read about them in romance novels and she's more than thrilled to finally receive them herself.

March also adores jewelry, whether you bought something for her or crafted it yourself. She'll wear it everyday and she's very proud whenever someone asks about it.

She posts about the gifts she receives in her status online as well. She'll be like "y/n got me this! 💓💓💓"

She dm's the pictures to Dan Heng as well and he leaves her on read.

When you gift her something, she gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before opening it. Once she opened it, she smiles at you brightly and kisses you on the lips. "Thank you so much for this!", she takes your hand into hers and squeezes it.

Receiving gifts from you makes her so happy. But being loved by you makes you feel like every day is her birthday either way. And for you, every day was March 7th.

✧ giving: quality time

Loving an Aeon wasn't the easiest endeavor. Especially not Nanook. But somehow you had touched the destructive god's heart and for the first time since they became what they were today, there was a life they wanted to treasure and protect.

They don't understand much about the human world as it was today, having mostly spent their time on a different plane of existence. It was only when they connected with you and took an interest in you; that they decided to walk among them for a while, to be able to spend time with you. At first their bitterness became apparent every day they spent with you, only scoffing at the people they saw going about their daily life and the things that they had built; which all would be wiped away by destruction if Nanook were to have their way.

But you took that as a challenge. You wanted to see if you could find something they liked about life, unaware that you had become that very phenomenon.

You made it your favorite pastime to show them all sorts of things from the material world and see their reaction to them. "What do you think of this painting?", you ask them, holding up a work of art you got from a market. "I'm not too fond of the sound it makes and the cosmic essence it depicts", they respond with a deadpan expression and you just look at them in confusion, "right, I forgot you can only perceive three dimensions."

Nanook, despite not letting it show, enjoys spending time with you; even though it could be challenging sometimes considering they were an Aeon and you were not. Sometimes they would ask you about things you couldn't see and other times they struggled to discern what things they saw you could pass through and which ones you considered "a wall".

✧ receiving: physical touch

Nanook loves your touch, much as they would like you to never notice that. They're not used to any physical sensations so they're very sensitive. They're unable to form coherent sentences when you so much as press a kiss to their lips. According to them it was very difficult to convey their thoughts in your way of speech when you were "trying to overwhelm them like this"

Giving Nanook affection also proved to be a challenge in more ways than one. The first time you tried to rest your head on their chest, your cheek touched the golden essence flowing out of them and you could perceive what you could only describe as the worst sensory overload anyone has ever experienced; a colorful mix of incoherent screaming and the faint sound of explosions; the feeling of all-encompassing despair and grief.

"What was THAT?", you stared at Nanook in shock, panting. "The entirety of traces left behind by destroyed worlds and ending lives from at least the last couple millenia", they answered very casually. You sighed and held your head, now suffering from a migraine. "At least it doesn't disintegrate me", you took a deep breath and started rummaging through your closet. "Only if I want it to", Nanook explained. "Charming", you whisper to yourself in a sarcastic way and toss them a shirt, "put this on."

Kisses are such a novelty to them. They're like "what was that?"

"Affection." "Do it again."

One time you pressed several kisses to their shoulder and Nanook just slow-blinked at you for like 5 minutes, before resting their head on your shoulder.

✧ giving: gifts

Yaoshi loves to bestow "blessings" upon you. Though, you have to teach them at first what you would consider an acceptable present.

The first one is immortality if you want it. Yaoshi would love nothing more than for you to be by their side forever.

Their next attempts at gift-giving left you feeling a little lost. They manifest before you, excitedly grabbing your cheeks and your waist and your shoulders with their hands and pulling you into a kiss. "My dearest, I made you a creature", they exclaim and reveal a Frankenstein-esque abomination the size of a volleyball. You can't quite discern what it actually is but it looks like an abstract mixture of a hamster, frog and a dragon. "Uh...thank you?", you try to be as polite as possible, unsure what to do with the creature as it spits a smaller version of itself onto your bedroom floor and then disintegrates. "It reincarnates out of itself", Yaoshi explains. "I can see that", you nod with wide eyes, patting Yaoshi's head.

One day, Yaoshi guides your spaceship to a distant location. "This is a planet I renovated for you", they join you as you land and explain their thoughts behind all the different new kinds of flowers they created specifically for you. "You're my greatest inspiration", they kiss your cheek and wrap their arms around you.

You eventually sit them down and calmly explain to them that one planet is more than enough and that you definitely do not need another creature. You teach them about your customs of giving gifts and they listen attentively. Maybe a bouquet of flowers would do next time.

✧ receiving: quality time

Yaoshi wants you to stay by their side forever. They perceive the passage of time very differently from you, yet they treasure and vividly remember every second by your side. Your bond of love is a sacred one in their eyes and they want to feel as close as possible to you.

They especially love talking to you and learning about your experiences that are so vastly different from their own. Despite being so intertwined with life itself; Yaoshi learns so much about life just from being with you. They never would have imagined you could give them so many new perspectives on the universe just by sharing your thoughts and beliefs with them.

Yaoshi always listens to you attentively and you see a sense of childlike wonder in their eyes when you speak about the way you experience the world, the things you value and the memories you treasure.

"Isn't it marvelous; how we see the world through such different lenses and are entirely different entities, yet we love each other so deeply and unconditionally", their voice sounds soft as they pull you onto their lap, holding you with their six arms and planting kisses on the back of your neck repeatedly.

Unlike Nanook, Yaoshi is very clingy. Quality Time with you always involves touching you in some way, be it kissing you repeatedly or holding you tightly within their embrace. Sometimes they sing you to sleep with a gentle voice, running their fingertips over your shoulder.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #blade x you #jing yuan x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng #dan heng x you #jing yuan #luocha x reader #luocha #luocha x you #march 7th x reader #march 7th x you #nanook x reader #yaoshi x reader #yaoshi #nanook #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff

[rboooks]

Alfred's Boy: Part 2

Bruce felt his blood pressure rise as Damian shoved another pair of swimming trucks into his cart. His youngest insisted that he needed something flattering, as his previous outfit was "functional but not attractive to the youth of today."

Damian had never cared that he wasn't up to the trends, but that was before Danny moved into the manor. Now he had to wait hours for Damian to find a satisfying outfit, knowing darn well its only because Danny mentioned he was interested in taking a dip in the inner pool.

The boy, technically being staff, felt it was essential to ask permission before taking a swim. Bruce had spent years telling Alfred he had free range over the manor, only to always have the man ask before doing anything. He hopes Danny won't develop the same habit.

He wanted the young man to feel at home with them.

His younger children- who honest to God forgot they even had a pool- had all scrambled to go swimming with Danny. Tim had practically thrown himself over the table to change from his WE suit into his swimming wear, Duke use his grappling hook to zoom up the stairs and Steph begged Cass to lend her a bikini.

Damian remained seated, despairing that his old swimming shorts had been bought by Dick the year previous. Dick had gotten him green shorts with little cats and dogs. Damian- who refused to even go near public pools- wore them to the family pool with no desire to purchase new ones since he saw no point in it.

And now he was paying the price for keeping childish wear. Personally, Bruce thought they were adorable and perfect for his fourteen-year-old son, but being two years younger than Danny gave him a terrible disadvantage, and Damian could not afford falling futher behind.

He just sat there, staring longingly at the retreating back of Alfred's assistant after telling him he had nothing to wear. Danny had told them he could join the rest another time before scurrying away to finish his cleaning of the right wing.

What else could Bruce do besides offering to take him to the nearest outlet mall and get him something nicer?

"Damian are you almost-"

"I am ready, father. Make haste to purchase our wears. Daniel must be finishing his duties, and I wish to get back." His son announced, yanking the cart out of Bruce's hand and practically running to the cashiers.

Bruce sighed.

It's not that he minded his son's crush on a boy or that it was Danny. It just felt like he shouldn't be encouraging his children to try and romance someone going through a lot.

Alfred had forbidden anyone from looking into Danny's background, and he had respected the request. There was a lot Bruce and Batman were willing to do but defying a direct order from Alfred was not one of them.

(Honesty, if Alfred ever turned evil, Bruce's contingency plan for him was simple: Die.)

Danny took his assistant butler job very seriously. Often wearing a neat and pressed suit, finishing his work in record time, well mannered and very intelligent but kept a distance from the family. Alfred also had a small wall of professionalism but he would crack a joke and be in their presence like a grandfather.

Danny only spoke when spoken to, tried to refrain from being notice and basically kept the reminder that while he liked them all he was always going to be a employee first and foremost.

Maybe it was due to his parents? Danny probably couldn't relax until he felt safe once more. Not for the first time, Bruce wondered what type of monsters the Fentons had to be to make a boy capable of discovering the Batcave without so much of a blink, flatter.

"Father!" Damian called impatiently, tapping his foot before the nervous-looking teen who what been attempting to ring him up.

The Wayne's made everyone nervous.

"Yes. Yes. Here put It on my card-" Damian snatched it out of his hand before Bruce even took it out completely from his wallet.

Suddenly his phone rings. Seeing that Damian could handle punching in the Pin, he accepted the call, not bothering to check the screen.

All his children have personalized ringtones, so only one person would cause Gun and Ships from the Hamilton musical to blare from his phone.

"Jason-"

"Bruce!" Jason yells in a wheezing voice "Tim almost drowned!"

What.

"Is he alright!?"

"He's fine!" Jason assures, voice breaking to manic cackling. "He's just really embarrassed. He forgot about the bruise on his back, so when he tried to do cannonballs with Danny, he cramped up. Danny had to help him out of the pool and then lectured him about jumping in the deep end because of peer pressure. He thinks Tim can't swim, Bruce!"

Bruce felt a headache building behind his eyes. "Jason-"

"Wait, wait, there's more! Do you know how Steph never wears bikinis because she is uncomfortable? Danny clocked that as soon as she walked in and offered her the old t-shirt he was wearing. Took it off right then and there, and do you know what Steph did!? She walked into a wall! A wall Bruce!"

"Jason-"

"Duke hasn't stopped staring at Danny. I think his brain is in a permanent blue screen. I'm actually thinking he's-"

"Jason!" Bruce cut in which finally seemed to get his second oldest attention. Don't get him wrong, he was thrilled that Jason was spending so much time around the manor but the constant updates on his children tripping over themselves for Danny was not well for his heart. "I think you need to make sure your siblings give Danny some space. The poor chum might not be comfortable-"

"I'm not helping you stop Danny from finding true love, old man"

Bruce rolled his eyes as his son hung up. He can't wait for school to start up again. Danny will be homeschooled by his own request and Alfred's agreement but at least most of his kids will not be around him as often.

His phone started playing Sk8er Boy and he considered not answering. He really did but honestly his son probably needed him.

With a sigh he presses the accept call button "Tim-"

"He thinks I can't swim Bruce! He banned me from the pool!" Tim sobs and Bruce sees Damian perk up, happy Danny had put distance between one of his suitors ans himself.

Was it too late to ask Alfred if he was sure his contact Clockwork had no where else to foster Danny?

Being Batman on the night all his rouges broke out was easier then this.

( Part 1) (part 3)

#dc x dp crossover #Alfred's boy #part 2 #Bruce is tired #Jason is having the time of his life #Danny just wants to work #hes not aware they like him #he just thinka rich people are weird

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one. 

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand? 

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by. 

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely. 

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

#i love the idea of jaheira and astarion being best friends because they are both incredibly sincere people who are allergic to sincerity #also I imagine that astarion's filing system is like 'i was wearing a purple scarf when these files came in so they go in that pile' #this is just a silly little headcanon i had #jaheira #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[charcoallbaby]

fake marriage

smuttyyyyy ofc so 18+ also a lil toxic

tired asf i’ll do a spelling check tmrw thx for reading!

having a fake marriage was definitely one of the best thing to ever exist especially since i get paid to pretend to love a man who is basically heartless, well to most people he is.

i get to live in a giant penthouse in the city of boston, i get a huge bedroom, with a ensuite plus a balcony, free clothes, mostly everything gets handed to me.

as much i love being in this fake marriage, there are some cons mostly because of matt. i mostly hate hearing him fuck girls in the room next to me, when i can’t do anything like that, he’s very protective of me, he gets jealous very easily, he doesn’t really let me talk to any male being while he’s with me. he punishes me by not paying me that week which doesn’t really effect me, the amount of money i’ve made since this marriage is insane, it would take me months to run through it. but in matt’s eyes he’s somehow “punishing me.”

tonight was a black-tie event for one of his many company’s. he got me a vintage chanel dress from the 90s. it was the most beautiful dress i’ve ever laid my eyes on, i knew the price of the dress would be nothing to him, he just wantedme to look good standing beside him.

“ready?” matt asked while fixing his cufflinks on his wrist. “yeah, i just need to get my heels on.” i grabbed my silver heels from my collection of different types of heels.

“the cars outside y/n.” he looked me up and down. “fuck, can you grab my bag?” i asked slipping myheels on. he rolled his eyes and grabbed my bag off my vanity. “thank you.” i took my small clutch from his hands and made my way to the elevator.

“behave tonight,” matt whispered in my ear before placing his hand around my waist, smiling for the cameras. “i always do.” i say through my teeth. “we’ll see about that love.” he pressed a light kiss to my cheek.

everything is for the cameras and i mean that. the touching, the kissing, theres no contact between us at home. before today i hadn’t spoken to matt in probably 3 days. not that he would talk to me anyway. he only talks to his parents, his 2 brothers, the maids who clean the house(mostly flirting) and the girls he fucks in the guest bedroom, matt would never dare to fuck a girl in his own bed, he’s really weird about that type of thing, he hates when anyone goes into his room well everyone but the maids, as i said he flirts with them a lot, just to make them blush, it boosts his already massive ego. after i come home from picking up some groceries up or going to visit my friends, i hear him making up some story of how he saved an animal or how much money he gives to charity which i know he does. but he hates people, hates them other than the couple people he talks to.

mine and matt’s hands were interlinked as we walked into the building.

“how long have you guys been married?” the older women infront of us asked. i looked up at matt before speaking, “well me and matt have been together 3 years, married for 1,” i gave a fake smile to the women. “that’s just so beautiful!” she chimed. matt gave the women a small smile. “wait!” “what about kids, do you have kids?” matt’s let go of my hand and put the hand i just holding around my waist. i cleared my through before awkwardly laughing. “no, no,” “not as of right now,” i smiled. “maybe soon,” matt finally spoke. “oh really!” she exclaimed. “yes matt really!” i looked up at him, he looked down at me before looking back at the women. “maybe not soon, but in the future.” he licked his lips. “wonderful!” “it was nice talking to your mr and mrs sturniolo, i’m going to find my husband he wanders off!” she laughed. “you too.” matt gave her a straight lined smile. “bye.” i smiled.

me and matt watched her walk away. “fuck,” he took a deep breath. “having kids soon are we?” i turned to him. he moved both his hands around my waist as he looked down at me. “only said that for people to have something to talk about,” i could feel his warm hands through my dress. “it’s crazy how such a cold hearted person can make something up like that,” i teased him. he looked away from me, chuckled before looking back at me again. “you look good.” he licked his teeth. “yeah you too.” i touched his right bicep.

“thank you everyone for coming tonight,” matt awkwardly had his hand in his pocket as he gave a speech. “i would like to thank my team and my wife,” “thanks.” he awkwardly put his drink up in the air before taking a sip.

the room was filled with people loudly clapping.

“what’s wrong?” matt asked as he came down by from the stage. “my feet hurt.” i whined. “y/n baby, i didn’t marry you to whine about your feet come on let’s get a drink.” he put his hand on my back and guided me towards the bar.

“what would you guys like?” the bartender asked. “scotch on the rocks,” “y/n?” matt asked. i looked at the bartender. he smiled at me. i gave him back a small smile. i cleared my throat. “i’ll have a-” “she’ll have a glass of white wine,” matt interrupted me. “alright, that’ll be coming straight up,” he looked at me. “are you trying to piss me off?” he leaned down and whispered into my ear. “no,” i gulped. “you were flirting with that guy,” “matt i just smiled.” “we’re going home, come on.” he grabbed my hand.

the car ride was silent. matt was on his phone making the back of the SUV slightly light up. i looked out the window, mostly trying to notfall asleep.

matt pressed the button for the elevator. he stood there my heels in his hand while looking down at the marbled floor on the lobby floor.

the elevator opened, no one inside. we both walked in. matt pressed the number for our apartment before leaning his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes. he looked so sexy, his jawline was sharp as fuck, his long hair falling over his eyes and his tie wrapped around his shoulders, he took it off when we got in the car. i pressed the emergency button making the elevator immediately stop. matt’s eyes darted open. he looked at me.

“why’d you stop the elevator y/n?” he groaned. “why are you so overly protective with me matt?” “you know i don’t flirt with guys especially in front of you, you love to make shit up did you see me flirt with that bartender?” “i simply smiled at him as a nice human does,” i crossed my arms. matt rolled his eyes. “what would you like to pretend that i don’t care?” “y/n, you think i care about who you flirt with?” “i actually couldn’t care fucking less, i just you know like to make this marriage look a little bit realistic,” he leaned over and re-pressed over apartment floor button. the elevator began moving again. “this marriage would be a little realistic when i have people over for you to not be fucking some girl,” i looked down at my nails. “what’d say?” “you heard me loud and clear,” the elevator doors opened. “thanks for holding my heels baby.” i grabbed the heels from his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek just to piss him off even more.

i made my way to my room before matt grabbed my arm turning me around. “who do you think you are?” matt asked. i shrugged my shoulders before turning back around. “y/n!” matt yelled, pulling me back and pressing me against the wall beside us. “come on baby, tell me,” matt roughly held my waist. “i’m your wife matt,” i looked up at him. “your my wife y/n and i would like if you actually listened to me when i talked to you,” his grip on my hips became softer. “i’m sorry, i promise i’ll listen better next time daddy,” i batted my eyelashes. his eyes rolled into the back of my head. “i’m going to bed.” he backed away from me. “sweet dreams husband.”

after the little scene matt made, i changed out of my dress and walked into the kitchen to find a snack to eat.

i sat myself down at the kitchen island, a bowl of ice cream in front of me, my phone in my left hand, the spoon in my right. i had been thinking of eating this ice cream all day and now i finallygot a chance.

i was nearly half way through the bowl before shirtless matt walked into the kitchen, he had those plaid pj pants he loved with of course the waist band of his boxers sticking out. i rolled my eyes before focusing back onto the ice cream. i could hear matt open the fridge. i quickly looked at his back. it was so defined, his tattoos making it way hotter that it actually had to be.

“do we have any spare batteries anywhere?” i spoke. matt turned around, opened-water bottle in his hand. “why?” he asked. “for my vibarator,” i popped the spoon into my mouth. matt choked on his water. “do you know?” i asked. he cleared his throat. “yeah, there’s some in the uh-in my office on my desk.” he swallowed. “okay thanks!” i cheekily smiled. matt mumbled something i couldn’t make out before walking back to his room.

i opened matt’s office door to find him sitting on one of the couch’s controller in his hand playing his playstation. hm coincidence.

“sorry i just need to grab those batteries,” i walked past him and looked around his desk. i couldn’t see them. “matt where are they?” i turned around and looked at him. “they should be there,” he said not taking his eyes off the tv. i rolled mine while looking back down at the desk. “matt it’s an empty packet,” i held it up. he finally looked at me.“oh shit yeah- i was just being a nice husband, i already put the batteries in for you there sweetheart,” he flashed me a smile before looking back at the tv. i stomped over right infront of him. “i can’t see the tv princess,” “pause it then,” i bit the inside of my cheek. he paused it, placing the controller beside him. “you went through my stuff?” “you held my viborator!” “yeah, it was a nice one,” he smirked at me. “what the fuck!” “your insane!” i yelled. “eh,” “i’m not that bad love.” he opened his legs, man spreading.

i exhaled. “why would you think that would be a good idea?” i put a hand through my hair. “it was a nice gesture, don’t you think?” he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. i groaned. “it’s fucking weird!” “your not even my real husband!” “well if this makes you feel any better i did it so it would make the marriage more realistic,” he titled his head at me. “don’t bring that shit back up matt!” i whimpered.

“come on, it’s okay,” matt pulled himself more towards me. he placed his hands on my waist while looking up at me. “matt what are you doing?” i groaned. “it’s okay.” he pressed his warms lips against my stomach. i slowly closed my eyes. his lips stayed on my stomach while he slipped a finger up my shorts and into my underwear. he slid his finger into my soaking core. i let out a moan. he moved his finger inside me. after a few seconds his finger left me. i opened my eyes. his finger in his mouth. “oh fuck, you taste good,” he moaned. “let me eat you out,” he pulled me by the waistband of my shorts towards him making me fall down onto his lap. i quickly felt how hard he was underneath me. “lay there,” he said moving the controller onto the coffee table in front of us. i nodded my head. i layed myself down. matt licked his lips before pulling my shorts and underwear off. he placed himself between my legs. he was quick to slowly suck my clit. i cried out. “all you do is touch yourself y/n, i bet your dying for this,” matt groaned against me. he slipped his tongue into my licking up all my juices like it’s the best thing he’s every tasted. my hands were pulling onto his hair while parting my mouth open in pleasure. “ma-matt!” i cried out. “nearly there baby?” he pulled away from me making his warm breath hit off the pool he was between. “mhm.” i mumbled.

matt gave me one long stride between my folds before pulling away from me. i opened my eyes and whined. i was on the edge of coming. “i wanna fuck you,” matt said feeling his hard on through his pants. “okay-okay.” i breathed out. “not here, in my room.”

matt placed me down onto his bed, his lips softly meeting mine. we’ve kissed before around people but not alone, it felt so much more different this time.

“you on the pill?” he asked pulling his boxers down. i nodded my head. “i’m gonna fuck you without a condom cause to be fair, i don’t really care if i get you pregnant, your my wife after all.”

matt was inside me, not moving. i was trying to adjust his size. “you can do it, i know you can, matt whispered into my ear. “mhm,” i mumbled. he started to move inside me slowly but then started to pick it up. his arm was hovering over me, grabbing the headboard for support “fuckkkkkkk,” he moaned. “y/n, i’m gonna fuck you until the sun rises okay?” he grunted. “y-yeah.” i let out. “such a girl good for me.” he placed a kiss to my lips. his necklace that had a horse pendant was dangling over me, i got him it for his birthday that he claimed to only wear when we have to put our act on but he wears it all time.

i clenched around matt for like the 4th time in the last 2 and half hours.

matt dropped himself down beside me. “it gets better every fucking time y/n i swear.” matt said before sucking a nipple into his mouth. “mhm, i know baby.” i closed my eyes and put a hand through his hair and down his neck.

he popped my nipple out of his mouth before looking up at me. “you wanna order food, we can fuck inbetween don’t worry, i just hungry as fuck when i have sex,” he leaned his chin between the gaps my boobs. “yeah i could eat something i’m starving,” i ran my hand over his cheek. “your choice to pick.” he said before kissing my lips and getting up to throw his pj pants back on. i looked up at him sprawled out on his bed, naked. “am i the only girl you’ve had in this bed?” i asked. “pretty much,” he grabbed his t-shirt from the ground. “i feel special,” i grinned. he jokingly rolled his eyes. “don’t worry, not gonna happen again,” “that’s what you say until you hear me moan your name while my vibartor is between my thighs,” i sat up. “you think of me?” he chuckled. i nodded my head. “my wife actually thinks of me while masturbating, im a lucky man.”

“yeah, no more sex.” i spoke before rolling my eyes.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #imagine #smut #matt sturniolo smut #pov

[love4thetinas]

INKED ( Pt. 1 ) - a jake webber story

summary: jake is in need of a new tattoo artist, and he thanked his lucky stars to be blessed with such a beautiful one.

WARNINGS: slight spiciness, mentions of needles, idk just a bunch of flirting

4.4k words

┌──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┐

Jake was an addict.

Well, a tattoo addict. He would get at least one new tattoo pretty much every week. He loved looking at himself in the mirror after a shower, admiring the myriad of small colourful drawings along his arms. His roommate, Johnnie, even walked in on him doing this the other day and saw him flexing in the mirror - a story they both agreed would stay strictly between them.

But unfortunately, his usual artist closed up shop in the last month, and he was craving another fix of ink on his skin. So he searched around for a new one to fulfil these needs of his.

He opened up Google on his phone - ‘tattoo artists near me’ - and checked the first few results and their reviews.

The first two looked pretty decent, however, there were some mixed reviews about either the cleanliness and/or hospitality. Jake figured that if he was going to get stabbed a few thousand times, it might as well be in a nice enough place.

So he checked the third one.

It was close (only about a 10-minute drive), the photos on their website and Instagram looked awesome, and it had almost perfect reviews:

‘Brilliant work! Will definitely come back’

‘Incredibly talented artist, well done’

‘Friendly, hospitable environment 5/5’

“Hm,” he hummed to himself, going to check their prices which turned out to be reasonable as well.

DM FOR SAME DAY BOOKINGS

‘Perfect!’ He thought as he followed the link on their website to the shop’s Instagram, crafting a message to send.

Hi there, I want to get a couple of tattoos done and was wondering if you had any slots free today ?

He sat with the chat open for about a minute, crossing his fingers as he waited.

But soon he saw three dots appear by his keyboard.

Manager here, of course! We’d love to take your booking,

But just a couple of things before i put you down, can you give a rough idea of what tattoos you’d like and where you would like them?

“Yes!” Jake cheered for himself in a whisper, punching the air in front of him triumphantly before he replied.

I was thinking just some red and black stars on my lower lower stomach? Maybe like 3 on each side if that’s alright?

Jake responded hesitantly, hoping there would be enough time for him available since he didn’t want to have to come back on another day. But his fears were settled promptly,

Perfect. That’s all fine to go ahead, I actually have a slot for you myself at 3:15 this afternoon if that works for you? You’ll have to put down a small deposit and then you pay the rest in full once it’s all done :)

They sent over the transfer details.

He checked the time at the top of his screen, 11:42, he had plenty of time to get ready and he didn’t have plans for the rest of the day. Looks like he would be coming home with yet another colourful trophy on his skin to show off to all his friends and fans.

Awesome, that sounds great thanks a lot man! I’ll pay you now

He replied happily as he walked up to his room, watching as they typed on the other end.

No problem, see you later :)

He huffed a breath out of his nose at the little emoticon smiley face; who would’ve thought a tattoo artist would text so cutesy?

Later that day Jake got in his car, ready to drive over to the studio, quickly fixing his hair in the rearview mirror and chucking on one of his Spotify playlists before he set off. The address was on their website and he put it in his phone for directions.

After roughly 3 songs had finished he spotted the shop, going to park up on the curb across the street. But as he went to open his door he noticed that it was still only 3’o’clock and he had maybe been a little bit eager with the time he left the house, so he went and got himself a coffee at the Starbucks across the street and had a cig outside while he waited.

But as soon as the time on his phone ticked over to 3:15, he was up there.

He looked around the room where there were three other people he could see getting tattooed. The walls were covered in posters and graffiti, loud music playing over the noise of the tattoo guns and artist/client chatter - it was like some sort of vintage, punk hangout, except it was most likely a lot more sterile and visibly a lot cleaner.

Jake walked up to the counter where he figured he was supposed to wait for the guy he spoke to on Instagram to come meet him.

His foot tapped nervously on the ground as he waited. Tattoos didn’t usually scare him, but it was more the fact that he wasn’t used to this new environment and artist. But he was sure it would be fine, they sounded nice enough over text.

A door opened up towards the back of the space from what he assumed was one of the private rooms and a guy and a girl came out, both covered in tattoos, chatting as they made their way to the front of the store.

But to Jake’s surprise, it was the girl who came up to the desk to greet him.

“Hiya,” she said with a closed-lipped, pierced smile, “How can I help you?”

“Uh…” Jake stuttered, he was always prone to that, but especially now, talking to her. “I’m Jake? I messaged your guys’ manager earlier for an appointment at 3:15?” he confirmed as she looked up at him from over the desk.

“Oh perfect!” she exclaimed, “I’m Y/n, the manager.” she clarified.

“Now, we don’t have any more space out here so we’ll have to be in one of the private rooms towards the back, is that alright?” she asked, gesturing to where she had just come from as she started to walk back out from behind the counter, but Jake didn’t hear a word she said.

He felt bad for even thinking it, but he expected some sweaty, bearded biker-dude to be the manager of this place. He was taken back as soon as she had told him otherwise; not in a sexist way or anything, but the image he conjured up in his head beforehand could not have been more different to the woman before him.

She was quite frankly gorgeous. Dare he say it the most gorgeous girl he’d ever met. And she was so… cool, you know?

With black hair, a few piercings, and some tattoos visible on her forearms and collarbone, and as she turned around to lead him away he noticed the small one behind her ear. Not to mention her fashion sense. But it was the way she carried herself that really drew Jake in.

Not once did she break his eye contact, not once did she walk without a strut in her step. Not once did she falter in any way.

“Uh- Sorry, what did you say?” he laughed nervously, having been too distracted, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as she turned back to face him.

She laughed as well, only for a second, but that was enough for Jake to decide that it was the prettiest laugh he had heard in his life. But he forced himself to snap out of it this time for he could not ask her to repeat herself for the second time.

“I said we’re gonna have to go in one of the private rooms at the back ‘cause there’s no space out here,” she motioned to all the occupied seats. “Are you okay with that?”

“Oh!” he managed to hear her this time and nodded. “Oh, yeah, of course,” he smiled widely.

And gosh, was Y/n just trying to stay professional.

She hoped that her client didn’t pick up on the way her eyes scanned his body when she walked up to him, or how her stomach flipped as he ran up beside her and she saw how tall he was, or hell, how good he smelt.

“So,” she started to make conversation as she led him towards the door to the private tattoo room, “how’s your day been so far?”

Jake's ears perked up at the sound of her voice once again, snapping himself out of a daydream to answer the question, “Alright. Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

His smile. Fuck, his smile.

“And you?” he returned as they got up to the door which was slightly ajar so he skipped in front of her and held it open, like a proper gentleman, waving a hand for her to go inside as if to say ‘after you.’

Y/n giggled to herself under her breath as she followed him through the door, taking over to close it behind them, turning back to face him as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Same old same old,” she answered his question with a shrug, “but it’s not too bad.” she smiled.

“Take a seat in my office,” she laughed and gestured towards the tattoo bed as she sat down in her own chair beside it.

“Cozy office,” he matched her energy after looking around the room and taking note of the decor, picking up the pillow that lay at the head of the bed and fluffing it a bit, then holding it on his lap.

“Thank you,” Y/n said quickly as she took the iPad from off the table next to her, along with the stylus, and opened up a drawing pad. “So, you said you wanted some stars, yeah?” she looked up at him.

He nodded as he peeked over to see her screen.

“Sick. Alright, can you show me where?” she asked while once again making the same eye contact, tilting her head to the side and resting the end of the stylus on her teeth, making Jake’s brain go blank.

“Oh- yeah sure,” he tilted his head down, flicking some hair from his fringe out of his face as he lifted up his black tank top. “Just like, three stars on each side,” he traced along his pronounced V-line, even bunching up the waistband of his jeans to reveal more skin. “I was thinking they could be bigger at the bottom and get smaller at the top? And like alternate between black and red with a black outline.” he described in detail what and where he wanted them, but all Y/n could see were his slender fingers running over the prominent trails leading to his pelvis.

All she could hear was his deep, deep voice, with that Southern twang that could lull even the most chronic insomniac into a peaceful sleep.

Of course she was still listening, in fact, it only made her pay even closer attention to what he was saying. She watched very intently as he described the size and placement of it all.

Once he was done explaining he looked back up again, “Yeah, that’s about it,” he shrugged.

However, she was still looking at where his hands had just been - it was only when he dropped his shirt back down that her head flicked back up for her to meet his gaze again, one corner of his mouth being upturned to the slightest degree, but it was enough to catch her attention.

She got to sketching on the iPad, and because it was a relatively simple design it didn’t take long. Soon the template was printed out and she brought it back to Jake who was still sitting patiently on the bed, swinging his legs off the edge but stopped as soon as she came in, leaving her no choice but to stifle her giggles.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to bunch up your shirt a bit and loosen your belt as much as you can so I have some room to work with, alright?” she asked him as she walked back to the table beside him, putting on some black latex gloves from the drawer.

“Alrighty,” he sang as he did exactly that, standing up briefly and turning around as he adjusted the tightness of his belt and the height of his underwear. “No peaking,” he teased with his back towards her.

She scoffed at his words, but she could not help thinking, ‘You think he saw me staring?’ Because where usually she didn’t care about such a thing, she felt the need to keep everything strictly business.

After he was done he sat back down in his previous spot.

“Could you lay back for me?” she asked politely as he gave her a little salute as he followed her command.

“Yes, ma’am,” he joked as he followed her orders once again. She scoffed to hide her smirk at the nickname - she knew he knew what he was doing.

She moved her chair over and placed the stencil over where he wanted it, then asked him to sit up and check if the placement was all right and he assured her that it was perfect.

So without another word, she started to print the stencil onto his lower stomach.

“Tss-” Jake hissed slightly as she rubbed the drawing onto his skin which made her head flick up to him.

“Cold?” she chuckled, assuming his noise was due to the gel used to transfer the image.

However, Jake cursed himself internally for his reaction. “Nah, it’s all good,” he replied honestly. He thanked God he managed to play it off because he truly didn’t know what caused it - perhaps it was her hands touching him so delicately…

“Okay, you ready?” she asked as she picked up the gun, dipping it in the ink and moving it closer to where she would start.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said cockily as he put his hands behind his head.

So she counted down from three and got to work. But something she noticed was that when the needle pierced his skin his breath hitched.

And he was typically good with pain, but this was something different.

“Does it hurt?” she chuckled, not stopping as she angled her head to the side to look up at him, making him deny it quickly.

As she continued tattooing she tried her best to tune out the slight huffs and groans coming from the man below her hands, and instead focussed on asking him questions.

“So, what do you do for a living?” she asked casually as she stared only at her work.

This gave him the opportunity to look at her instead, watching her skilled hands draw such perfect lines. “Oh,” he wondered how in-depth he should go with his answer, “I do YouTube, I make some music too.”

“Yo, what? Awesome!” she said excitedly, “You’ve gotta be pretty good to live out here in the Hills.”

He laughed slightly, “I’m alright,” he stayed humble as to not come off cocky. “What about you-” he started but kicked himself immediately after he said it.

She laughed this time, looking up to meet his eyes, “What do you think?” she held up the gun.

“But you’d think this would be easier by now,” she mentioned, “you chose the most awkward angle in the world for me to work with.” She was half-joking, but she also tried to readjust her arm positioning on his torso to make it easier.

“Sorry,” he chuckled as he watched her struggle, he was going to suggest something to make it easier, but he decided against it.

As she kept going he had to keep telling him to stop fidgeting because he would squirm and move practically every two seconds, but he swore it wasn’t hurting that bad.

As he kept apologising and they kept making small talk she butted in with another question, “You’re not from around here, are you?” She didn’t want to sound rude, but she could not focus on anything else but that hint of country in this alt boy’s accent.

“Nicely noticed,” he praised with a hum, “I’m from Kansas in the midwest, out in the sticks and the mud!” he put on a heavy country-boy voice as he said it, making her cough out a laugh.

“What about you?” he flipped the question back on her.

“Born and raised,” she smiled sarcastically. She’d always wished to go somewhere else but never had the chance. “I’ve lived in this same area my whole life. Still live in a house just down the road,” she shrugged and nodded in the direction she meant, returning to focus on her work.

“Oh yeah? D’ya live with your boyfriend…?” he asked slyly, slightly hesitant but he figured it could just be an innocent question. And while she wasn’t looking at his face she could practically sense the smirk on his beautifully plump lips.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she tilted her head and replied, “I don’t have a boyfriend, I live alone.” she clarified.

“Hm,” he replied simply as he laid his head back again.

“What about you then?” she started the conversation back up, “Live alone?”

“Nope,” as soon as he spoke her heart dropped, shit. Was she misreading all of this?

“I’ve got two roommates, but no girlfriend,” he said confidently, making Y/n’s heart rate go back to normal.

God, he was good.

“Hm,” she mimicked his response in him same tone and carried on.

But after a couple minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, while they both listened to the music playing through the speakers, she piped up again. “Ugh,” she exclaimed, making Jake open his eyes and look back down at her as she moved her chair back and forth, “you really did choose the most awkward place for me to tattoo! You know that?” she complained light-heartedly with a laugh at her inability to find the right position. “It’s hard for me to reach across like this,” she demonstrated the tricky angle for him to see.

“You keep saying that,” he laughed deeply and then went quiet once more, but when she looked up at him she saw that the cogs in his brain were spinning rapidly.

“You know,” he started, making Y/n turn her attention back to him as he spoke, “you could always just sit here,” he nodded his head down to his legs and her eyes followed.

He said it. He finally said what he had been thinking for the past 30 or so minutes.

“Uh… what?” Y/n said nervously.

There was no going back now.

“You heard me,” he smiled, trying his best to stop his lips from curling up into more of a smirk so as to not intimidate her, but he definitely knew he wasn’t alone in feeling like he was. “Listen, it doesn’t have to be weird, it just might be easier for you, yeah?”

She thought about it, she really really did, but she knew she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, it would be unprofessional of me,” she said, still trying to convince herself not to just straddle his lap right there and then, having to look away from him because she knew that if he looked at her one more time with those puppy-eyes it would be a whole different story.

“I assure you it doesn’t have to be,” he persuaded. That voice of his smooth like silk - the most enchanting, compelling silk ever spun.

She bit her lip and took a deep breath in, then she looked at the camera in the corner of the room. No one else saw the footage but her, it’s not like she would lose her job.

Fuck it.

“Fuck it,” she said as she climbed on, carefully placing a knee on either side of his long legs and leaning forward to test how the new angle worked for her.

“Better?” he responded in a ‘told-you-so’ type of way - he was getting cockier by the second now he had gotten what he wanted.

She got back to work and looked up at him this time through her lashes, flicking some hair out of her face, “It is, actually.”

She noticed the way he looked down at her every now and again and recognised what went on behind his dark brown eyes - but she paid no attention. Y/n figured that the best course of action was to act as if this was a perfectly normal day and that she did this with every client.

She didn’t.

Her best efforts were put into ignoring his burning stare, and his gorgeous hair, and his perfect nose, and his sexy smile; his arms, his revealed torso that she was constantly touching; him.

But he, on the other hand, used her beauty as a way to distract from the pain of the relentless needle piercing his skin. Her face, her eyes, the expression she made when she concentrated, her body on him.

And time flew, meaning that in what felt like too soon, it was done.

Y/n wiped away the final bit of ink and admired her work, scootching back so Jake could sit up a bit and see for himself, “What do you think?” she asked nervously, as it was always a bit scary showing clients what you’ve etched into their bodies for life.

He shuffled up to have a good look at it, then at her, then back at his stomach. “It’s…” he drew it out, “Perfect!”

A wave of relief washed over Y/n as she sighed, noticing Jake’s line of sight had been aimed at her again.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he said sincerely.

She just smiled, listening to the way her name fell off his lips like it had been waiting on the edge for a lifetime. But then she looked down and realised that she was still practically sitting on his guy’s lap, so she quickly scrambled off and stood next to the bed again, going to fetch a ‘second skin’ from her drawer.

Jake could not help but feel a little disappointed when she seemed so desperate to get it all over with. The last thing he wanted was to have made her at all uncomfortable.

But she wasn’t. As soon as she came back and put the protective layer over his tattoo she looked up at him again from her chair, “You’re very welcome.”

They both made their way back into the main room, smiling and laughing with each other as they continued talking, but in the cold outside room, the burning hot rope of tension that tied them together became even more astoundingly apparent.

She tried to break the tie by going behind the till, leaving him on the other side.

His total appeared on the screen and he paid. He actually paid a lot more than he should have, not taking his eyes off her even once as he did so.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/n,” he said somewhat solemnly. He knew he was most likely going to see her again, this definitely wouldn’t be his last tattoo, but it felt akin to saying goodbye to a loved one, even though they had only been in each other's presence for less than a few hours.

“Have a good rest of your day, Jake,” she returned, a similar feeling rising within her, but she couldn’t let that through to the surface.

And just like that, he was turning around and walking out of the store, walking away from her as she watched him from the back as he left.

Both of their stomachs turned as they suddenly felt incomplete, like there was something left to do but now they’ll never have the chance to do it. It was crazy how before today they had never realised there was a hole in both of their lives to fill until it had been satisfied for the first time. Yet, their time together had been so brief in the bigger scheme of things.

Jake would not let that slide.

As he was halfway down the stairs something in his brain set off an alarm and she shot back up the stairs and back up to the desk, catching her just before she walked away.

What’s the worst that can happen?

What’s the best?

“Oh,” she turned and saw him again, slightly surprised, “did you leave something?”

“Yes,” he said very quickly. “No,” he threw in shortly after, shaking his head rather frantically, leaving her slightly confused and letting out a chuckle.

“Do you think I could…” he clenched his teeth and decided that he would regret not shooting his shot if he left now, so he told himself to just come out and say it.

“Do you think I could get your number?” he blurted out, a hopeful glint in his eyes that made her body react with a physical response.

But she couldn’t, this was her job, and she could get in a lot of trouble, even as the manager. “I-” she stuttered, not knowing what to say, and then took a breath. “I’m sorry but it would be wrong, I’m at work,” she sighed, and he could clearly see that’s not what she truly wanted either.

At least he had done it now and he wouldn’t have to live his life in wonder. “That’s alright,” he said half-heartedly, but trying his best to play it cool.

But he decided to try just once more.

“Uh,” he started again, making her gaze fix back on him. God, those eyes of hers - he had the feeling they could settle wars with just a glance if they let her. “What if I asked you after your shift?” he proposed, crossing his fingers behind his back, praying to whatever was out there that she would just say yes.

And as he asked again something within her screamed at her, ‘Just say yes!’, a doubt inside her was settled and happiness took its place, but she remained collected. She tried to stop the smile from rising on her lips, but as she spoke it was audible in her voice, “It would still be unprofessional,” she started and watched as his face dropped, so she quickly finished her sentence, “But… I get off at 7.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

my first ever fic ! hope you guys enjoyed, comment if you wanna see part 2 i’ve already got it all planned out.

all requests taken in my bio !! xx

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

#jake webber #jake webber fluff #jake webber smut #jake and johnnie #colby brock #johnnie guilbert #sam golbach #sam and colby #fanfic #fluff #tattoos #jake webbers tattoos are so sexy #jake webber is just so sexy

[starry-eyedblog]

Flying with the guys from task 141!

here are some random headcanons of what they are like flying. there are two where the reader is the anxious flyer and two where the reader helps calm the anxious flyer!! i was on a plane earlier so it inspired me to make this :3

simon -

he’s a seasoned flyer so he’s not anxious at all. he just gets on the plane and instantly puts his headphones on, zoning out because he’s so used to the demonstrations from the stewards

he notices the frantic eyes and bouncing leg of you next to him so he slips his headphones off and asks “first time?”

he tells you how low the chance of crashing is, how he flies so often and nothing has ever happened

let’s you hold his hand during take off because you are almost crying from anxiety

because he’s so fucking tall and big he cannae help but man spread, his legs pressing to yours and his arm pressing against yours on the arm rest

he means well though, he’s apologetic about it and grumbles about how tiny airplanes are and how they aren’t built for people like him

soon enough you fall asleep and your head rests on simons shoulder. he doesnae mind it one bit and let’s you sleep, making sure the stewards don’t wake you up with questions about wanting any drinks or food

kyle -

he is the one who’s nervous, his hands gripping the arm rests before take off

poor thing throws up into the paper bag after taking off

you smile sweetly at him and offer him a sweet to suck on so it will help with his ears popping which he gratefully takes

he is stuck to your side after that, trying to avoid looking out of the window too much

you ask him questions and distract him, smiling softly at him and he thinks he’ll be safe since theres obviously an angel on board with him

you convince him to watch a movie while sharing a blanket and he finally is able to relax and laugh

at some point you fall asleep with your head resting on his shoulder and he is so so careful to make sure he doesn’t wake you up

price -

he’s very relaxed, leisurely takes his time getting comfy in his seat and making sure he has a book laid out and ready

he doesn’t pay much mind to who’s beside him until he sees how nervous the person in the middle is, you

you explains that you’ve never flew before and price pats your thigh with a warm smile “you’ll be alright kid.”

he orders a beer once the plane takes off and offers to buy you a drink. “drink will calm your nerves love” he tells you with a cheeky smile

makes conversation with you to help keep your mind distracted. asks about work and your life, where you are flying to and why before he tells you where he’s off to

he falls asleep after an hour or two, snoring lightly and his head falls onto your shoulder. you blush softly but let him rest while you watch a film

he defo makes some flirty jokes after he wakes up as he realises how he slept on your shoulder

johnny -

he likes to play tough guy, says he’s fine but at takeoff he’s grabbing your hand so tightly on the arm rest you worry he’ll cut off the circulation

you laugh softly and tell him it’s okay to be nervous, that you were like that when you flew for the first time

anytime there’s turbulence he lets out a squeak and reaches for you (it’s adorable)

you share audio through your own headphones by syncing them up to your phone and listen to music together to help calm his nerves

soon enough he’s feeling pretty calmed down, until he looks out the window and almost shits himself when he remembers how high you guys are

after awhile of listening to music together he’s asleep, your presence calming him down immensely and he’s snoring into your shoulder, holding your hand tightly

when he wakes up he’s blushing red, apologising profusely and you laugh, shrugging him off

#simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #kyle gaz x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #gn reader #flying

[ashersanity]

I need more Yan Bailey content sir. And Briar... Remy... if you write for them...

Let's say PC is working in the brothel, So what type of yanderes are they? Will they even let anyone see PC in those skimpy outifts?

I wonder how contradictory it will be for Briar... (Bonus: Avery will probably go furios mode because it's dragging his reputation down?)

bailey deserves a post of their own, planning a part 2 for the shitty caretaker. Just for you @mellowwillowy. part 1 is here.

Cmon, you knew what you were doing when you requested for Remy.. Wait, no one knows that im a Remy enthusiast, do they? Fuck. Well, here I go then. - @princesstokyomoon :)

SHADY BASTARDS AS YANDERES

asher is on a roll.

content warning! dub-con/non-con, mostly non-con really, mentions of violence, murder, kidnapping, marking, anal play with a bottle?? if that’s even a thing, possessive and abusive behaviour, you know the drill already.

pc and the bastards are gender neutral as always unless explicitly stated otherwise.

Briar

“Pretty little thing you are, aren’t you? Come to my office, baby. Let’s get you all cleaned up for the show.”

yandere type : sadistic, possessive, manipulative

Somehow always has you sticking by their side whenever you’re not on stage, which they make sure to limit of quite a bit, not wanting their precious little thing wandering off without their watching eyes. It becomes increasingly clear to the other employees that you’re Briar’s favorite, whispering among each other, referring to you as the boss’s bitch, not that it’s all that far off. Oh? Bailey wants you back at the orphanage to pay your dues? Don’t worry, Briar will take care of that. They’d like to talk business with the caretaker anyway, namely about your price. Name it, they’re willing to pay anything for you.

Drastically increases the costs of your shows despite not wanting you to perform. You may be theirs completely, but Briar cannot abandon their principles over cash since money is money for the brothel owner after all. Wants everyone to know that you’re not just some cheap whore. No, you’re fucking Briar’s whore, the one they call in whenever they’re feeling bored, slender finger idly tapping against the cushioned arm of their couch, outstretched arm ready to take in you for another one of your daily sessions. Aren’t you obedient too? Wearing the preferred outfit that they like to see you in. What a doll.

Addicted to having you on their lap, comfortably seated on the brothel owner’s spread thighs, smooth hand resting on your hips while the other is holding a bottle of wine. Of course, considering how they’re a sadistic bastard, doesn’t only involves sweet nothings whispered into the shell of your ear or soothing rubs over your back. You’ll never forget that one time, how they pressed the rim of the bottle against your tight entrance, eyes going wide once you realize what they plan on doing. Smallest of smirks forming on Briar’s usually calm face, throughly enjoying the cute whines that come out of you as they thrust the neck of the glass bottle into your used hole, wine sloshing inside. A real treat that you are.

Never actually shares you. Sure, those bystanders admiring your dancing form as you perform on stage is still a thing though it doesn’t bother them the same way it does whenever a potential customer is reaching for their pockets, waving their wallet. Forbids you from going to them, instead, Briar, the one who usually never steps onto the platform, now joining on stage with you. Makes it clear to everyone that you’re theirs as their hands trail lower over your waist to your hips, lifting up the fabric of your skimpy leotard, giving the others a ‘quick’ peek of the marks they’ve left onto your skin.

There’s no need to know what happened to that one individual who got a feel of your behind on stage, shamelessly groping the soft flesh in the palm of their hand just as Briar is watching. Might’ve resulted in the other’s bodyguards accosting them right then and there, bringing them over to the basement where the real fun happens. Shove them in the hole with ease, ass sticking out for anyone to use as they please and Briar’s sick grin appearing on their lips as they call you over to them as usual. Better keep your lips sealed tight if you know the full story, missing body who has yet to be found, buried deep in the woods. Briar likes to be thorough in their punishments.

Remy

“Look at that, perfect for breeding and milking. Fuck, you’re going to be my fucking star.”

yandere type : obsessive, possessive, overprotective

Keeps you away from the other cattle in the farm, your own personal pen that Remy built just for you, there to satisfy your every single need. Obviously they couldn’t possibly let you be after that one incident, catching one of their workers’s pesky hands gliding over your precious body, seeing red. You, you poor thing, utterly ignorant as you snoozed away, deep in slumber. The farmer wasn’t having any of it, gave that fucker what they deserved, having cleaned themselves off of that distasteful encounter. No one entirely knows what ever truly happened that day and it’s better not to ask around. Remy will simply shut you up with more gifts, your dumb cow mind too foggy to remember much of it anyway.

Tattooed their name on your asscheek, forever imprinting themselves into your flesh. It was done the minute they saw you, a sort of hunger in their eyes, the need to own you, for everyone else to know it. Affectionately traces a gloved finger over their lettering of their name ‘Remy’s bull’ permanently etched on the reddened skin, giving it a playful slap. It comes in useful in certain situations, the other animals and humans knowing to keep away from you as they get a glimpse of your tattoo, not wanting to face the farmer’s wrath by the risk of touching you.

Absolutely does not want you breeding with another cattle. Yeah, they do sort of feel bad when they isolated you in their barn, left with stacks of hay, a warm blanket over your frame and plenty of other supplies to keep you entertained, but it was for the best. Knowing every creature eventually goes into heat one day and so did you, caught you uselessly humping at one of the cows, mounting them even! If it weren’t for Remy that immediately stopped it, who knows what would’ve happen?? They know.. Yes, they know that you’re suffering from being deprived like this and so they’re happy to help, letting you get a feel of what real breeding is like at night, as they return from a long day of working on the fields.

Favours you, giving you special treatment and well, the entire farm is aware of it. Muttering about how you’re the only one who actually gets Remy to smile, their usual stern face and their lips who are meant to be pressed in a straight-line now curling up at the sight of you. Everyone shooting each other weird looks as you nuzzle against the farmer’s hand, demanding for attention and they don’t push you away. Just what the hell kind of trickery is this?? Turning the owner of the underground farm into mush, Wren constantly teasing the other about it, but they just scoff and play it off. As if you don’t have them wrapped around your finger, stupid cow.

Cherishes every single drop of milk that you produce, wherever it’s made from, your genitals or chest. Either way, they’re squeezing it all out of you, making extra sure not to waste a droplet of it as it drips down in the numerous cylinders. Such a prodigy too, milking the copious amount, thick consistency on the verge of spilling out from the plastic containers. You don’t know it though, how Remy succumbs to temptation, mouth watering from your organic milk, pink tongue dipping down to get a taste of it. How fucking sweet it is, they’ve never tasted anything like it, swallowing it all in one go. Actually never puts your products on the market since all of it is sloppily consumed by Remy, greedily lapping across their upper lip.

Avery

“There you are, darling. Looking sweet as ever. Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are? My prize.”

yandere type : self-indulgent, impulsive, controlling

Is in charge of everything that you wear, make it known to the town that you’re Avery’s first and foremost, gifted clothes or lacy chokers to place around your neck, the one they like to admire with a well manicured finger. Your closet now consisting solely of the expensive items that they’ve bought for you, stuffed away in the tight confines of the narrow space. It’s better to wear the suit or dress that the businessperson got for you, for they always know when you don’t, frown appearing on their face whenever they see you walk to school with that annoying orphan. What’s their goddamn name, Rowin? Robin?? God, they don’t care, pulling up next to you with their limousine, tinted window rolling down to greet you with a serene smile, completely ignoring the other standing next to you. They’re not worth your attention, you are.

Is the one to pick you up everywhere and they mean, everywhere. School ends, approaching the school gates and luckily not encountering Whitney in the process, met with Avery waiting in their car, telling you to get in. If they can’t manage a car, let’s say, for example because they’re away from town, coming to pick you up instead in a helicopter, ignoring the awed looks that attracts from others. If their rage is low, which you better hope it is, they’re giving you the full prince/princess treatment, treating you like deity even. Whatever you want, they’re here to provide. Oh, you want this new bag that everyone else has at school? They’re already sifting through their thick wallet, handing you the green notes with a pleased smirk. Buy it, doll. It’s their treat.

Would never let you work at the brothel, not on their watch. Are you crazy? It’s not entirely a lie as one would say, that Avery does hire a few whores on certain nights, crumpled bills stashed away in their pockets. Not with you though. You’re different, special, even if they never openly say it. They’ve never been ready to admit but the idea of you going there every Friday night, sleazy hands trailing over your naked body, no their body. The thought makes Avery grind their teeth, sick at the mere suggestion of you even possibly working there. Why would you? They’ll give you everything you need, pay twice, three times, ten fucking times more than Briar could ever share with you. Out of pettiness however, they do bring you over, in front of Briar’s own watchful eyes, possessive hands placed onto your hips. Loves glancing over to catch the brothel owner’s scowling face, watching on as you grind on the businessperson’s crotch.

Traps you in their manor, turning you into their little, obedient maid that’ll follow their every word and order, the one to come to them at a snap of their fingers. A servant needs to look presentable too, don’t you think? Forcing you into some fetishy maid outfit, silky, feminine lingerie regardless of gender, barely hiding the flushed skin beneath. Skirt is so short that you have to remind yourself to pull at the hem, fabric riding up your plush thighs and exposing your bare flesh to Avery’s hungry eyes. They’ll be such a bitch about it too, crotchless panties, putting your hole on display for them to leer at whenever you bend down to pick something up or are busy dusting a corner that’s particular hard to reach. Earns you a smack to the ass, Avery whistling to themselves as they walk off with your shocked, humiliated gaze on them.

Marks you in a.. different manner than the others, more sophisticated they’d call it? It’s subtle at first, hickeys and bite marks left on your collarbone, shoulder blades, inner thighs, places that usually wouldn’t be visible to other people, not unless you’re wearing something revealing which they don’t allow in public. Escalates to your neck, wrists, maybe corner of your lips, your huffed complaints bringing a smirk to their face, claiming that you’ll be forced to wear a turtleneck from now on to hide the evidence of those traces left behind. Why hide it though? It’s there to be flaunted, meant for the town to know, darling. Won’t take it kindly if you ever do try to worm your way out of it, theirs to own, their precious doll. Makes it official once they tuck the leather collar around your neck, tightening it with a click. Look at you, so pretty. Avery’s prized blue ribbon bitch.

Masterlist

[END OF POST]

#fucking finally #finished it #it may not look hard but I had too many ideas #couldn’t organize them all at once #but here it is #I guess #or whatever #dol #degrees of lewdity #briar the brothel owner #remy the farmer #avery the businessperson #avery the businessman #bailey the caretaker #sort of #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #asher writes #asher gets asks

[toxicanonymity]

virgin patrol

2.9k / dark!Joel Miller x f!reader /master

he could be doing anything with his left hand here 🥵

CW/Notes: he's a creep!, dubious consent, virginity loss, unsafe P in v, violence (NOT joel vs. reader). I8 + mdni. same reader from Patrol. loosely edited.

You pull your arms into your jacket.  It’s colder than the first time you patrolled with Joel.

"Damn it's freezing," Joel says.  "Ya know, we really helped each other last time up in the shack."  He tugs on the flaps of his trapper hat. "Felt good too, didn’t it?”

Against all odds, you were hoping somehow this wouldn’t come up.  It sounds like the sick charade is fading, at least.  No point in pretending it was just to stay warm.  You don’t acknowledge him.  

“I know you’re cold, darlin’.  Why don't we go on up and take a break now?"  

You remain silent. 

"We can help each other. . . Got somethin' you're gonna like up there, too." You can only imagine what.

Your face is so numb you can barely get the words out.  "I think . .  I'm okay. I'm. . . not that cold."  

"Suit yourself," Joel says and starts heading toward the shack alone, cruelly taking one of the blankets with him. 

"You're gonna leave me here alone?"

"Sure. You've had training. You'll be alright.  Come get me in an hour.  We’ll switch off." He starts walking away, then calls back, "Or you’re welcome to join!" 

Last time, he got you naked under the pretense of huddling for warmth, gave you an orgasm with his hand, then convinced you to keep his most precious appendage warm with your mouth. You managed to get your assignments shifted away from his zone until now.  You don't want to be alone with him in the shack, but you really don't want to be alone on this windy hill with a rifle you can barely fire.  You're not sure you can fire it at all with your hands this cold. 

"Wait," you say.  "I'm coming."

He stops in his tracks and he turns enough that you can see half his face, enough to see his self-satisfied smile.  "You sure? You really wanna help each other."  His words make your stomach turn, but against all logic, you're also tingling between the legs and not from the cold.  Physically, he made you feel really good that one time, and your body seems to remember.  But it felt so. . .dirty. So dirty and strange the way he went about it.  He’s a creep. 

Your heart sinks. "I, um. . ."  

-

You're fighting with yourself, thinking it over when both of you hear something down the hill.  It's three men headed your way and they look like trouble. 

"Shhh," Joel says, and you're relieved that he doesn't keep walking up to the shack. He's more than capable of taking care of these guys himself. Your heart swells with appreciation for him.  Maybe you’ve been too hard on him in your mind. 

"You remember how to aim and shoot, right?" He whispers to you, no sign of getting his own rifle ready. Your heart drops.

"You're not gonna shoot them??"

"Well I'd love to, darlin',  but it can't just be me doin' everything or you'll never finish learnin’.  Be right up there if ya need help." The men are getting closer.  One of them notices the two of you and starts to load his gun.

"Joel, help, please!" 

He looks at you, intrigued by your plea.  "We've gotta help each other though, right?" 

"Please, I'll do anything.  Anything"

"Anything…" he takes his rifle off his back and sighs.  

The men are climbing up the ridge.  Joel points and shoots one of them in the forehead with an instant kill shot. But he doesn't continue shooting.  One of the men fires at the two of you and misses. 

"Anything?" He says. "Cause I wouldn't want these men to take you."

You can't even remember how to shoot. Even if you could, you're too numb and distracted to take a good shot. 

"Yes, anything."  It feels like a tiny price to pay in exchange for your life. 

Joel aims and takes out a second man in one shot without flinching.  Then he pauses again. 

"You're gonna take it like a good girl for me, aren't ya?"  The lack of pretext startles you.

"Y-y-yes." Your heart might beat out of your chest.

"You don't sound too happy 'bout it."  The last man fires and it's a near miss.  

"Yes, yes!"

Joel aims at the last man, and the man falls to his knees begging for his life.  Joel shoots him in the head without even blinking much less saying a word. And just like that, all three of them are dead.  It was a piece of cake for him.  He gathers their weapons.  Joel carries their guns over his shoulder and hands you their knives. 

"Let's go then," he says flatly. 

"Aren't you worried there are more of them?"

Joel's eyes narrow, scanning the horizon then he adjusts himself in his pants.   "We'll just have to keep an ear out." 

He can't get you into that shack soon enough.

-

Joel is already unbuckling his belt as he leads you into the shack. You try not to look at him. Your body is buzzing with its own heat from the near-death experience.  But even without the adrenaline, you have to admit the shack would be far more tolerable than the ridge.  There's no wind.  

"Hey," he turns around and stops you, standing there with his belt undone.  He cups your cheek. "You're alive, darlin'." Yeah, you have that going for you. He smiles with a twinkle in his eye.  

He puts down the guns and walks to the forlorn couch, his belt jingling ominously with each thud of his boot. 

“See what I got for us?”  

He holds up the corner of a bigger, thicker blanket.  Your eyes widen. It looks like such a luxury compared to the one you've been huddled under.

“Thought you’d like it.”  He’s pleased with himself, but he’s a jerk for keeping it up here.

He takes off his trapper hat and smoothes his hair. Then he starts undressing and you look away.

"Go on now, take off your pants. Then under the blanket.  We’re gonna get real warm...”

True to your word, you’ll do what he wants. You begin removing layers and watch his face change as he sees you in just your underwear, and his voice lowers, too. 

“Sure are pretty, aren't ya,” he says. 

You get on the couch and climb under the blanket. 

“Come on now, don't be shy. Take’em off.” 

You take off your bra and panties. 

“Good girl. How ‘bout a drink?” He hands you a bottle of whiskey and looms over you shirtless. You study his scars.  There are two longer slashes on his right side, one across the outside of his pec  down his ribs and one closer to his pants.  He drops his jeans to the ground and steps out of his long underwear.  He stands before you naked, already aroused.  His arms flex as he tenses them near his crotch then rubs his hands together in an exaggerated display of how cold he is.  He looks at you like a hot cup of coffee. 

-

You scoot over to the back edge of the couch, practically falling into the seam, and Joel slides under the blanket.  Then he coaxes you halfway on top of him.  His hard cock presses into your hip and sends a pang of desire between your legs.  When you settle onto his warm chest, your whole body gets a rush of heat.  You both have on socks. 

He mercifully allows a few minutes for the two of you to just lie there.  In that time, he’s getting harder and harder, and you're getting wet.  Then he adjusts your body, bringing you further on top of him for full contact and his hips begin to move, grinding his arousal into one side of your lower abdomen. 

He looks down and lifts your chin with his finger, then quietly announces, "I'm gonna put myself inside ya, darlin'.  And I think you're gonna like it."

"But, I - I don't think I can."

"Oh you can, you can." He slides his hand over your ass and down to your pussy and feels your wetness. "Mmmm.  You can, baby."

"It's too big," you protest.  You felt like it barely fit in your mouth.  

"Let's get you ready then," he replies. He bends the knee you're not on top of to make room for his hand between your bodies.  Then he slides his middle finger into you and his cock swells even harder. "Mmm." 

He adds a second finger as he grinds himself against you. His fingers already make you feel full,  but they're nothing compared to his thick cock. 

"I need ya, darlin," He pants, then adds a third finger. "Need your help real bad. . ."

The third finger is at a rough angle  and you feel his nail.  "Ouch!"

"You're okay. You're okay."  He curls his thick digits and reaches as far into you as he can with them, then mercifully removes the third.  

"Ah, fuck," he breathes as he ruts against you. The horny sound of his voice makes your clit throb, even as your pussy recovers from his third finger.  "I think you're ready for me, darlin'. . ." He removes his other two fingers and eases you onto the couch as he gets out from under you. The blanket goes with him, leaving you cold and exposed.  He sucks his fingers clean then wraps his hand around his cock.  "Nice n' wet for me, hmm?" 

He takes hold of your hips and coaxes you onto your back.  "There ya go.  Won't be cold for long." Then his free hand nudges your thighs apart, and the cold air hits your wet pussy.  He scoots between your legs. 

You've made peace with it. You're as ready as you'll ever be.  He puts his large, veiny hand on your mound with his thumb at your clit  "You're beautiful," he whispers to your pussy. 

Then he nestles the swollen head of his cock at your slick entrance.  Your breath hitches in fear but your lower belly flutters with desire.  It's bigger than three fingers but also smoother, rounder, and hopefully more comfortable. 

“Ready?” He takes a deep breath.  

You bite your thumb and nod.

He begins to push his imposing manhood into you, and it feels surreal, like your body is slowly being divided.  Just the tip of him is already plugging you right like a bottle of wine.

And then there's a sound outside. 

You gasp, and Joel covers your mouth.  Your eyes are wide and your breath is wet against his palm.  

-

Joel pulls out the smidgen of him that was inside you and whispers in your ear, “sit tight for me, baby.”  He pulls on his jeans in a hurry, zips them up, no time to button, but his engorged member helps keep them up despite his belt hanging there heavily, unbuckled.  He steps into his unlaced boots and throws a jacket over his bare chest, then pulls on his trapper hat and puts on his rifle. He looks. . . Hot. 

A low voice speaks outside. Your heart races.  "They're in there," the voice says.  "You go around." 

Joel walks to the door and holds up a finger to his mouth as though to say "shhh." You pull the blanket up around you.  

He opens the door and shoots his gun right away.  A man yelps and someone returns fire.  It sounds like there are at least three of them. You scramble to put on your clothes and grab your rifle. You pull on your pants and meanwhile you lose track of how many gunshots are fired.  A man bursts through the back door and yells "THERE'S A GIRL!" Then approaches you. You don't have your shirt on yet.  The man grabs you by the elbow and forces you up to your feet. He has a knife in his hand. 

After two more shots fired outside, Joel bursts back through the door and yells, "STEP AWAY, NOW!" 

The man raises his hands in surrender.  Joel disarms him, putting the knife in his pocket, then walks him out of the cabin.  You hear screaming, then the man begging for his life, then gurgling, then a gunshot.   

Your heart races.  A second later, you could have been dead.  

-

Joel returns to the shack and closes the door behind him.  You can’t seem to slow your heart rate back to normal.

It turns out you've actually never seen anything hotter than Joel Miller standing there in his unlaced boots, his unbuttoned pants still largely held up by the bulge beneath them but still sagging enough to reveal a peek of pubic hair. His strong, bare chest heaves. There's a little blood splatter on his jacket.  The rifle strap across his chest really completes the look.   He takes off the rifle and jacket.  When he removes his trapper hat, oh god, his mess of gray and silver hair - he looks so, so good.  You feel something happening inside you, your body opening up, making space for him.  Thankfully, he doesn't smooth his hair this time. 

He’s still catching his breath, amped up from the gun fight and anxious to get back in your pants. 

"C'mon now, where were we?" He palms himself as he unzips his jeans and his hard cock springs free as he lets them fall to the floor.  All his muscles are bulging from the fight. His chest is red from the cold.  

He hovers over you, and from the look on his face, you must seem terrified, perhaps even more than you are. "It's okay baby they're gone." He pulls the blanket off,  tugs your pants down, then removes them.  "They're all gone," he repeats.  You're naked again, and he looks your body over.  His thick, messy hair  makes his dark eyes look so intense. 

He wets his lips as he gets between your legs again. He's in a better mood now.  He hovers over you and dips his head down to kiss and suck a nipple with his fingers lightly pinching the other one.  "Prettiest girl I ever saw." 

He feels between your legs and you're even wetter than before. "Good girl.  Ready for me?"

"Yeah," you nod, and this time you kinda are.

You watch the veins on his neck as he notches himself at your entrance and begins to push. You wince at the massive stretch of his girth. Your eyes drift to his muscular arms.  He doesn't wait.  He pushes further, harder.  He plunges into you as far as he can and your insides scramble to get out of the way. 

"Ahh," you whimper and your eyes sting. 

"You're alright, darlin." 

You look at the ceiling and breathe.  It's exactly as big and hard as you knew it would be. It feels impossible.  

"Look at me, beautiful."   You can't. 

"Look at me," he repeats, and his hand on your jaw forces you to. 

"You're gonna take it like a good girl, aren't ya?" 

You nod and your eyes drift to his hair again. 

He pulls back a couple of inches then thrusts his stiff length into you hard with a grunt, but still  doesn't make it all the way.  You're too tight. You can't help it. 

"Relax for me, baby."

He pulls back a little, then plunges into you again, finally bottoming out with a sigh. You never imagined you could feel so full.  As your body adjusts, you marvel at the feeling.  Your walls are still fighting the intrusion, squeezing him, trying to push him out. And he lets it an inch at a time,  but his cock is easily winning. It always reclaims its territory. 

"Good girl," he says.  He pulls back and slams in, to the hilt again. "Yeah," he whispers as he slowly retreats.  "Just like that," as he fills you up again. 

He pulls back slowly then briskly slams all the way into you.  Each time he buries himself inside you, it feels a little better.  You stop pushing him out at all.  After a minute or two, your body allows him a regular rhythm.  He looks at you with a new expression, sighs, and slows down but doesn't stop. 

Catching you off guard, he leans in and presses his lips against yours. You freeze, then he pulls back and says "gimme some sugar." You accept his mouth and he kisses you hard and long.  Something flutters in your chest.  He pulls away then ramps up the intensity of his hips and begins to pound you, grunting each time his balls hit your ass.  It starts to become too much.  

After another minute, his face gets dark, angry.  It scares you. You worry that he's upset with your body starting to reject him.  He pulls out and lowers his head, looking up at you as he pumps himself. Then he shoots his warm load all over your tired seam with a long sigh. 

"Wasn't so bad, was it, beautiful?"  He starts thumbing your clit.  "Now I'll help you back." 

You don't really feel like it, though, you're just spent.  

"Um. Maybe next time," you say, not realizing what you've implied until his face lights up. 

"Any time you want."

He moves to lie down next to you and you make space.  Then he lets you fall asleep on his chest until the shift is almost over. 

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! 🖤

Please check your content settings!!

OTHER VIRGINITY LOSS by me

series: Left in Lincoln (outbreak dbf)

one shots: night talks, Just the tip, Virgin sex worker.

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy

@tonysterco

@dark-scape the hair is for you

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dark!joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #creepy!joel #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #creepy!joel miller #dark!joel #pervy!joel miller #pervy!joel #patrol!Joel☠️ #toxicanonymity ☠️ #virginity loss #virgin!reader #pedro pascal smut

[flowermiist]

A warm heart - II

Click here to check out past chapters if you haven’t ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Hii!! I’m really excited for this chapter (as with every other) I’d like to apologize if this took me more time than I intended, work has been quite heavy lately but all the kind comments make me smile soo much. Enjoy!! And please don’t forget to like, reblog and let me know your thoughts about this chapter if you’d like!

After leaving your car at Harrison’s garage, you take an uber home. The mechanic told you it would take about three days to properly fix what was wrong with the engine, you didn’t give it much thought.

You sit in the back seat of the Uber and place your grocery bags on your lap, you sigh and open your purse, seeing the small note with John’s number – It was written on an old receipt the man managed to find in one of the pockets of his jeans, using a black pen you always keep in the glove compartment of your car.

You sink back into your thoughts while looking out the window. You don’t know whether to call his number or not, you sigh and keep thinking, as intense as it might sound, you know that if you call his number and he doesn’t pick up, you’ll be too embarrassed to ever attempt to call him again – You promise yourself that if he doesn’t pick up, you won’t call again.

It wasn’t like you wanted anything other than to thank him again properly for helping you back there. John was nice, yes, but he was still a stranger and you didn’t really know much about him.

You turn your head to the other window and realize you’ve reached your destiny, you pay the grumpy driver and make your way into place.

The charms hanging from the keychain jingle as you open the front door. You sigh and close the door behind you, locking it before you start walking towards the kitchen with the grocery bags in hand as well as your personal bag that has the receipt with the phone number of certain man – you make sure to place the groceries where they belong and you kneel down to the drawers of the counter where you store the bags you used, might come handy anytime.

The tripod is still on the counter where you left it. You check the battery of your camera before grabbing the ingredients for the homemade sourdough bread you’ve been preparing for your next video.

So after washing and drying your hands, you re-adjust the camera to the tripod and begin recording the process, making sure the lightning looks good enough.

When you try to start the small oven to preheat it and have it ready for the bread, it does not respond which makes you confused since last time you used it, which was over a week ago, it had been working – not anymore, apparently.

What is going on? Why is everything you own acting up? First the car now the fucking oven, great.

Not wanting to get pissed any further, you choose to use the oven of your stove which of course, was bigger and would take more time to heat up.

This was going to be a long night for sure.

John finishes putting the clean dishes away, the TV in the background with some History Channel show he was not paying attention to, but it was just the background noise he wanted.

Not particularly interested in what the telly had to offer anymore, he turns it off and does the same with the lights of the living room as well.

John Price has always had a pretty strict rule for himself and for his house, to turn off every light he wasn’t using – except for the old lamp he had in his living room next to the couch but besides from that one lamp, every other room that was not being used did not need any artificial lighting.

As he’s about to walk towards the stairs, the man remembers the laundry he had put in the dryer earlier, he had completely forgotten about it – “Fucking ’ell…” the words escape his lips as he clicks his tongue in annoyance and moves towards the uility room of his house, where the clothes should be.

After opening the small lid of the dryer, John places the clean clothes in the basket, grabs the old iron and the ironing board. He has never liked to leave things to the last minute, never liked to do things in a hurry and do them badly. John knows it’s better to iron the clean clothes now rather than leave them all wrinkly and forgotten.

Placing the ironing board in the living room, he folds out the winkly t-shirt and connects the iron, waiting for it to start producing enough heat and get this shit over with as soon as possible.

Some steam appears and he grabs the handle, making smooth movements with the iron, moving it from from the neck to the short sleeve of the green cotton t-shirt.

Looking back at it, the material is still the same, wrinkly and with obvious creases. John gathers his patience and moves the iron again, using a rough hand to stretch the fabric more and trying to press one of the buttons to make more heat yet nothing happens.

His mind drifts towards today’s events as all he can hear is the sound of the iron against the clothes – Your smile was still in the back of his mind and the thought of the big possibility of you not calling his number crosses his mind. Was he too forward? Would you call?

Without noticing, he moves the iron over his thumb and part of the back of his hand, groaning out in pain loudly as the sharp pain immediately hits him. John quickly grabs his left wrist. “God fuckin’ damnit, old fucking thing!” – Endless insults rumble through his chest, escaping through gritted teeth as the man is scrunching up his face with discomfort looking at the back of his hand where the bright red mark on his thumb throbs.

The smell of burning fabric and steam catches his attention again, looking down at the iron burning his shirt he quickly grabs it and places it vertically, taking a moment to manage the anger rising inside him, his face almost red.

John lifts up the green t-shirt, his gaze darkens as he sees the dark hole over the sleeve of the fabric. “Awesome.” He states with anger and sarcasm as he throws the t-shirt on the floor and unplugs the iron, contemplating smashing it against the wall for a single second but knowing it won’t solve anything.

Breathing through his nose while calming down, he walks to the kitchen sink, gritting his teeth in discomfort as he washes the burning part of his left hand – A first degree burn, nothing he can’t handle.

The basket with clothes ready to be ironed remains forgotten as John grabs one of the aid kits he keeps inside one of his kitchen counters. The man clearly has experience with dealing with these superficial wounds as he loosely wraps some of the bandage around it, covering the red area.

“What a muppet.” He grits through his teeth, directed to nobody but himself.

When you finally finish the video, you look at the clock, it is around 21:30 and you are tired, however; you aren’t too tired to go to bed just yet – and besides that, there’s still something you want to do before going to bed or rather someone you want to talk to.

The bread has such a good smell, freshly baked as you cut a big piece and put some cheese, tomato slices and arugula over it before biting and almost melting at the delicious flavor filling your palate.

You walk towards your bedroom and open the drawer of the nightstand right next to your bed to grab the pack of cigarettes on the second drawer. You were never a smoker but you liked the taste of nicotine on your mouth from time to time, especially after such a long day like this one.

You open all the windows to make sure the smell does not stay inside the apartment, you may like the taste and how the nicotine relaxes your mind but you still find the smell of it sticking to your clothes absolutely annoying.

Walking back to the living room, you grab our purse as the cigarette remains between your lips, the string of smoke and the smell over you now, your eyes open more when you look at the old receipt with the man’s number and smile, grabbing the cigarette from your lips and exhaling the smoke out of you.

At this point, all you are wearing is a pair of gray lacy underwear and a white tank top.

You look at the wrinkled paper and gather some courage before you dial the number and press on the green phone icon to call.

John sits on his back porch, a cigar between his index and middle finger.

His attention is immediately caught when he hears the ringing sound of his phone back in the living room, where he left it before moving to wash the dishes. Who would be calling him at this time of the night if it was not work related?

He grunts as his knees crack when he stands up and walks back inside, seeing the “unknown” contact and quietly staring at the number. Could it be?... No, he does not want to get his hopes up.

“Hello?” A hoarse, masculine voice speaks through the line with a tone full of curiosity and some clear seriousness, you immediately smile, holding the cigarette as sink down on the swing chair of your balcony.

“Hope it isn’t too late.” You say, bringing your hand closer to your mouth and position and the nail of your right thumb between your teeth when you hear a low chuckle. He recognized your voice, of course he would.

“How are you?” The man immediately asks after you stop talking – If you were able to see him, you’d see the way he scratches the beard on his cheek and goes back to his porch, a small smile between his thin lips.

“I’m good…” There’s a small silence before you speak again, keeping the phone close to your ear with your left hand. “Wanted to thank you again for everything, you know…”

John hums in acknowledgement – “No need to thank me, it was quite an honor for me to help my cooking teacher…” Is he flirting? No, that has to be a trick your mind wants to play with you for fun.

“How’s the car, eh? Hope it didn’t stop in the middle of the road.” He slightly tilts his head to the side while speaking, changing the topic rather fast.

“Well… I left it with the mechanic, won’t have it for a few days – took an uber home.”

You could have asked me to drive you home – He wants to say as he takes a puff of the thick cigar between his fingers. Of course, he would not rush into anything. He was still a stranger to you after all and the thought of possibly sounding creepy cringes him.

“Sounds like you had quite the battle then, with all those grocery bags?” His tone makes you chuckle and that gives him some relief yet he doesn’t want to think much of this call for now.

“I did, actually. Came home and filmed my next video.” You say, forgetting about the cigarette between your fingers and you move your hand away from your face.

“Mhm… Next recipe then?”

“Yes.”

“May I know ’bout it?”

“Nope.”

John chuckles quietly and it makes you smile.

“It’s a surprise...” The calmness of your voice is clear and it resonates in his ears.

“I don’t mind waiting then.” His voice is just as calm as yours.

There’s a comfortable silence through the line when the question pops out and you decide to ask it, to learn more about him.

“You said you had experience with changing tires.”

“Indeed.” John responds, giving you silence of his own for you to speak.

“Well, you got me wondering if you were actually my mechanic in disguise.” It lights up the mood a little bit when you hear a breathy smile. John grins before replying.

“I could be, you never know…”

“Where did you get the experience?”

He thinks of his answer...

“Different places ’round the world.” It’s vague and definitely not enough for you to figure him out completely and you are eager to do so.

A hum sounds through your throat, you take a drag of your cigarette and exhale. Not keeping the smoke inside for too long.

“You travel a lot?”

“Quite a lot, yes.” His voice is still calm. John is pondering whether he should say more or leave it at that, he is not the most open man when it comes to his line of work.

“Business men travel a lot.” The suggestion arises in the air when your words are spoken.

“They do, don’t they?” The sarcasm he uses answers absolutely nothing, he’s messing with you and you can clearly tell he finds it funny.

“Maybe you’re a famous lawyer traveling from one boring conference to another…” Another one of your suggestions.

John can’t help but grin a little at your response – “No, nothing like that.”

“Doctor?”

“No, not that either.”

You sigh, you won’t deny this is entertaining but you were getting nowhere so you give it one final try – “Well... They say military men travel a lot... Are you one of them?”

“Correct.” A calm voice replies and you try not to cheer loudly at finally guessing a part of this man’s life.

“So you’re in the military?” You want to make sure you’re right, even if he was clear and brief.

“I am.”

The line goes quiet before you break the silence.

“Explains a lot then.” You try to sound unimpressed as you shrug and it does get to him because now he’s curious.

“Does it?” He moves the cigar to his lips again, taking a puff and looking up at the dark sky.

The phone call hides the teasing smile painted over your lips. “Yeah, you look it.”

Before John can question your words any further, you change the topic.

“I’m pretty sure there are evil gnomes messing with my stuff.”

Your words don’t fail to impress him as he exhales smoke through his nostrils.

“You believe in that stuff?” The thick british accent and his raspy masculine voice could not be more noticeable as he tries not to sound rude while making fun of your possible beliefs.

A chuckle escapes your lips and you pretend to act offended by his selection of words “And what if I do?” A brief pause – “First my car then my oven…”

It catches his attention, John tilts his head like some curious dog and keeps the phone pressed against his ear.

“Did the secret recipe go wrong?”

“Well, almost.” You sigh and elaborate. “So I got this… smaller oven, easier to use compared to the bigger one that comes with the stove but as I tried to preheat it, it stopped responding.” “I’ll have to get a new one tomorrow.”

With a sigh, you get up from the swing and get closer to have a view of the street under your building, you take another drag of your cigarette as you place your elbows on the frame of the balcony, feeling the cold breeze embrace your exposed thighs and caress your almost naked arms, moving your hair with it.

“Could help you look for a new one.” The same husky voice sounds through the speaker of your phone. John’s eyes dart around his back yard, a man like him is never fully off guard. No matter where.

“You’ve already helped me enough… I- don’t really want to bother you.” There’s some embarrassment in the tone you use, looking up at the dark night sky while exhaling a slow – thin string of smoke out of your lips.

The man gazes at his bandaged thumb then at his fingers holding the cigar.

“Wouldn’t mind a shopping expedition, could use one m’self.”

This catches your attention, curiosity enters your mind. “Yeah?”

John won’t admit the fact that he burnt his hand with the old iron because he was distracted, he would rather lie that sound like a fool.

“Got this old iron at home, burnt my bloody hand while trying to use it, burnt my goddamn t-shirt too.” Some embarrassment makes the british man scrunch up his face, he doesn’t want to sound like a potty mouth.

He clears his throat before continuing – “Would be good to kill two birds in a stone, ya get your oven and I get my iron… Some advice could be useful too – ’bout the iron, ’course...”

A small smile escapes your lips as you reply to the man on the line - “Sounds like a good plan then...”

“Sounds like it.”

“Could drive you to the store with me if that’s alright.”

Right, you haven’t thought about how you’d get there.

“Will need one.” Of course you will, dummy, You don’t have your car with you – Says that little voice within your head, the one that tries to prevent you from saying too much.

His deep voice is heard again through the speaker of your phone. “Right, no problem.”

John replies, his tone monotone and casual about it which you’re thankful for.

“What time can I pick you up at? Got all day.”

“I get out of work at five, a friend will drop me off at home… Is six too late for you?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it, six ’s fine.” John says calmly and you smile.

“I’ll text you the address then.” You sit back on the hanging chair as the wind moves your hair and you squish the head of the cigarette against the ashtray placed on the small glass table of your balcony.

“Six it is then.” That voice rumbles through his chest and without even knowing you just put your cigarette away, he sticks the head of the cigar against the wood of his porch, leaving a small mark, putting his own cigar away almost at the same time as you.

“Good night, John.”

“Sleep tight, Y/N.”

Taglist: @bumblebeesfromvenus @thesevi0lentdelights @zekes-beard @blckbrrybasket @shuttlelauncher81 @thychuvaluswife @airzonaaa @mamanmae @cadotoast @ateliefloresdaprimavera @heyitsmarimari @markitvz @live-love-be-unique @syoddeye @hyriefortuno (Let me know im the comments if you’d like to be added! Dm me for removals! ♡)

#captain price #john price #call of duty #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod x reader #writing

[palms-upturned]

I’m not gonna jump in ppl’s notes over this bc lord knows I do not want to have a debate about it but seeing someone say “I have qualms about people calling Jean ableist for trying to fire Harry and in the same breath saying Harry is unfit for cop work” is really getting to me. I am practically on my knees begging people to actually engage with what disco elysium has to say about disability and addiction and ableism and policing and social murder because it’s not even subtextual, it’s as blatant and hand holding as it could possibly be. The 41st is an awful environment for Harry not bc him being disabled makes him incapable of doing his job, it’s bc the job is fucking hostile to his existence. Like, no one is “fit” to be a cop because they shouldn’t exist, firstly, and even Harry himself will say as much in the Ruby bad ending. But talking about Harry’s case specifically, we know that this job is part of what landed him where he is to begin with.

From the start of day 2:

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You mean why are you so tired? Too tired and *down* to even think? It *is* worrying, isn't it. You can't be a detective like this -- detectives need to be able to think.

YOU — Why is this happening?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's just that your heart has finally pumped all the *speed* out of your system, buster. Time to get some more.

YOU — Wait. What *is*... speed?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speed is a potent central nervous system stimulant. It kept you propped up all day yesterday despite your debilitating hangover. How else did you think you even got up from this floor?

VOLITION — You got up from this floor because of a holy vow you made sixteen years ago. With *me*. To wake up exactly 07:30 every morning until the day you die.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Don't be silly. There was no vow. You were high on speed. That was the only reason you got up. You can't *detect* without it, it's that simple.

YOU — No. I can take this. I am not going to go looking for speed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Are you sure? Ready to live as this pathetic shell of yourself for days? Basically a week? Let's be honest -- two weeks, maybe three? You won't make it. Half the town will be dead by then. You will be fired.

YOU — That's a lie. I can do this without the speed. Half the town won't be dead... (Opt out.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Suit yourself, slow, sad shell-man. See how you do without your spark.

And from this talk with Kim in Klaasje’s room:

KIM KITSURAGI — "Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"

SUGGESTION — Be honest. He's not grilling you, he just wants to know. Ask if he's ever wanted to take it too.

YOU — "Honestly, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Maybe I should?" He lets out a little pensive hum, rubbing his shoulder...

DRAMA — It's not insincere. He's actually giving it thought.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"

YOU — "I understand it's unbecoming but if I don't perform this job well I am nothing. It's the price I pay."

Harry knows that the cost of getting sober would be that the precinct would let him go. They’re not going to have the patience to deal with him slowing down from the combo of withdrawal and no speed to “keep him propped up.” Not when the reason that he’s stayed on the force this long and risen in the ranks is most likely because he manages such a massive caseload, as we find out from Kim:

YOU — "Is two cases a week a good case load, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."

YOU — "Two cases a week appears to have been my load, lieutenant. I'm not sure I completed them though."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."

And later:

KIM KITSURAGI — "This next row -- the one that wraps all the way around -- is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You've got, let's see..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Wow, more than 200!"

YOU — "Is that a lot?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's *quite* a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of *all* RCM officers..."

Despite the trouble Harry makes, he’s considered an asset so long as he closes cases. To the point where he wasn’t punished for drunkenly beating Burke unconscious and then injuring his knee so badly that he can’t walk anymore just because this allowed them to close the “unsolvable case” of Leslie and Burke. 41 and the RCM as an institution don’t care about Harry’s or anyone else’s wellbeing, they care about whether the pros of having him around outweigh the cons.

From the lazareth call with Gottlieb:

YOU — "Isn't there *anything* you can do for me?"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "What, you want me to do blood work for you again, tell you just how bad things really are *across the board*? You want another rundown of everything collapsing inside your body?"

YOU — "Yes. I want the truth!"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our station is not a retirement home. We don't have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime."

RHETORIC — So it's political! You're being *neglected* because of political reasons...

NIX GOTTLIEB — "And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I've got work to do."

If I were to quote every time Gottlieb was notably uncaring or said something blasé about how you probably didn’t have long to live, I’d have to quote pretty much every word of that dialogue. That’s the whole joke with Gottlieb. That’s just how it is dealing with doctors when you’re in Harry’s position.

From talking to Kim about Uuno:

KIM KITSURAGI — "We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn't have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "They don't do charity for people who're trying to kill themselves. Besides, he'll be dead in a few..." The lieutenant stops, listening to him.

RHETORIC — ... years? Months? Weeks?

“They don’t do charity work for people who’re trying to kill themselves” really sums up the absurdity of Harry’s situation and institutional responses to it. Harry isn’t seen as the kind of person in crisis who deserves intervention. He’s treated as a lost cause who deserves to suffer the consequences of his self harm, even though the unending crisis and the lack of response to it is what drives him to harm himself and hope that he “gets worse.” If he weren’t a cop, it’s unlikely that Kim would care about him any more than he cares about Uuno and Cuno’s situation. Harry’s job is killing him, but it’s also the only thing that gives him access to anything resembling a community or support network (at least at the start of the game). Again, that’s just the way it goes when you’re disabled.

From the second tribunal:

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, Trant, thank you. That's... absolutely meaningless. I'm glad we brought you. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know *that*."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."

YOU — "Line detective is good for now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"

Or, alternatively:

YOU — "He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."

Trant, who, notably, is technically a civilian consultant rather than a cop, (edit: and maybe even more notably, as someone pointed out in the tags, has had experience with addiction, too) suggests to Jean that Harry’s breakdown is a basically inevitable result of his circumstances and the systems that created them, and Jean’s response is that he doesn’t care and all that he wants to know is whether or not Harry can work or if he’s going to be “hogging” resources from other people who are more deserving of help because they “actually gave a shit.” He’s a mouthpiece here for the institutions that he represents and his ableism is blatant and heinous to drive the point home. He denies that Harry’s case is as serious as it is and accuses Harry of faking it, despite the fact that it’s happened (at least) twice before, and very recently:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."

JUDIT MINOT — "But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."

YOU — "I have?"

JUDIT MINOT — "Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."

REACTION SPEED — The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.

And despite the fact that even Gottlieb doesn’t seem shocked about it:

YOU — "I've lost my memory. All of it."

NIX GOTTLIEB — "With all the damage you've been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I'm not surprised."

AUTHORITY — There is no surprise in his voice. Only careless superiority.

DRAMA — It's hard to say if he doesn't believe you -- or doesn't care.

(Considering that Gottlieb’s PSY stat is so high (he’s even eating one of the PSY boosting candies during the call), along with his uncaring responses to all your other problems, it’s more likely the latter.)

Jean also won’t believe that you’re sober even if you haven’t touched so much as a cigarette for your entire playthrough, and even when Judit points out that he’s wrong, he’ll double down and say that it doesn’t matter because you’re going to relapse:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."

JUDIT MINOT — "Jean -- I think he hasn't. I can see it on his face..."

ENDURANCE — The bloating *has* gone down since you woke up that morning...

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, so he's stayed clear for what? A week?" He sighs.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "It's tough. One of the toughest addictions to overcome. Comparable *only* to heavy synthetic opiates. Even morphine is easier to kick than alcohol -- statistically. The odds are against him. Especially at his age."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — He nods. "He's too old. He's been like this for too long. I've seen him try many times. It's a farce by now."

SUGGESTION — They're leaving. They're all turning away from you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

Electrochemistry brings up yet another facet of Harry’s struggles with substances, which is the idea that some of them may be replacements for alcohol. He doesn’t have time or space to try to quit in any way that is remotely healthy. What he has are substances like speed that keep him from collapsing from the strain of it all so that he can keep showing up to work, and other substances that might (he hopes) help him wean himself off the alcohol.

The game explores all of these different factors of Harry’s struggles with addiction and the circumstances that keep him trapped in them exhaustively (and the fact that Robert Kurvitz apparently was recovering from alcoholism during the development probably contributed a lot to that). The structure and culture of the RCM are hugely responsible for Harry’s situation. He’s mocked and berated for being an alcoholic and told repeatedly to get his shit together without actually providing him with the means to do that. Instead, he’s not only enabled but practically forced to keep using just so that he can show up to work at all and not risk losing the only support network he has (even if it’s the shittiest and most unhelpful network imaginable). As Luiga (iirc) said, Harry’s biggest tragedy is that he’s incapable of quitting the force. Many of the reasons for that are genuinely just due to Harry being a class traitor and an asshole, but it’s also true that even if he did want to quit, there is no safety net to catch him.

And then Harry comes to Martinaise, a town that has been “orphaned” by the RCM and neglected by Revachol at large, left mostly to their own devices. It’s not like policing doesn’t still exist in Martinaise, and things are pretty dire for everyone in the community, but at the very least you can see that it is a community. Isobel houses you for free. In Kim’s absence (and after Gottlieb stitches and ditches you), Cuno and Garte take care of you when you’re shot. Acele responds to your breakdown on the ice by saying it’s okay to cry and that you can talk with her about it when you’re ready. Idiot Doom Spiral and co run to your aid when they see you drive your car into the sea and invite you to come drink with them just to stop you from doing it again. Harry discovers that life, while very painful and bleak at times, isn’t necessarily hopeless for the marginalized. You can still find solidarity and support outside of the system.

Meanwhile, if Harry in the end has no one to vouch for him and hasn’t stayed sober, that system will abandon him, a well-known suicide risk with at least one bullet hole in him and severe amnesia, with the promise of nothing but getting served a station call slip. The point is not whether or not Harry “deserves” to be forgiven or even whether he’s a danger to himself and others (to be clear, he is). The point is that this is a system that doesn’t care whether Harry and people like him live or die. That is why, even in a “good” ending where Harry is welcomed back to the 41st, the work won’t be sustainable. It’s going to kill him because that’s what it’s designed to do. The miracle of Martinaise was the realization that he doesn’t have to die. There are people who will help to keep him on this earth. They’re just not members of the fucking RCM.

It’s not a “gotcha” to say that if Jean (and the RCM, and the institutions of Revachol on the whole) is ableist for wanting Harry fired, then saying that cop work is unsustainable for Harry is also ableist. I won’t even say what I personally think of that logic because I’m trying to keep the tone of this post polite. Jean’s dialogue during the tribunal is meant to parrot every bit of ableist rhetoric that the system is built on and that keeps Harry trapped in this hellish feedback loop. He’s a mouthpiece for the general culture of the RCM, just like Gottlieb is a mouthpiece for the shit that addicts and the disabled have to deal with from the medical system. He thinks Harry should be fired because he’s a drunk and therefor a lost cause. The truth is that Harry needs to quit this job because it shouldn’t exist and because it is actively killing him.

In one of Martin Luiga’s articles about the process of creating the game, he brings up the concept of social murder, which is a term coined by Engels:

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains.

None of this is subtext. And all of it is intended to make players actually spare a thought for what it’s like for people in Harry’s situation in real life. For God’s sake, please engage with it. You have to try and understand what it means to be trapped in a life that is made unlivable and to know that your death will be ungrievable. That’s what this whole game is about.

Edit: I’ve seen some ppl say in the tags something like “yeah, I like to imagine a happy ending for Harry, but…” and listen. I am laying a very gentle hand on your shoulders. The point of this post was never to say that there’s no happy ending for Harry. The point is that the first step toward that ending is conceptualizing a life outside of the RCM. In Martinaise, he got a glimpse of what that might look like. Hell, in the bad ending, you can even say to Jean, “fine then. I’ll just live here.” There’s hope for him and for us. I promise.

#meg talks #disco elysium #i have been seething over this all day. sorry. #i’ll be nice and won’t tag any characters mentioned here