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kittyhui · 3 months

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ur sk drabble wow 😵‍💫😵‍💫 if it’s okay could i please req a hard dom!kwan drabble or fic where ur at a restaurant with him and get needy when he innocently puts his hand on ur thigh under the table?

when he realises ur wet and needy from being teased in public he takes u home and fills u up in front of a big open window. making sure everyone can see and hear u moaning and being stuffed with his cum. he’s so possessive he loves keeping u stuffed with his cum and watching it leak out slowly, pushing it back in when it does….

god 😵‍💫😵‍💫 just thinking about that makes me dizzy. seungkwan would be such a mean dom idc what people say.

meandom!seungkwan x fem!reader

(a/n seungkwan has an big ass oppa kink LOL)

“as i was saying before Kwon Soonyoung rudely interrupted, he just didnt have the……..” you couldn’t even hear the rest what your boyfriend had to say; you were too distracted. his big hand had found his way onto your thigh as he got wrapped up in the conversation he was currently having with his members. the touch was 100% innocent on his side: just supposed to be a confirmation that he remembered you were there, but it wasn’t to you.

you’d been needing him since you saw him getting ready for the dinner. seungkwan in a suit was definitely a sight that made you hot and bothered, you just couldn’t look away. you wanted to ask him to just stay home and fuck you but you knew its been a while since his members hung out and you didnt want to ruin that. but his hand on you right now… it was making this hard. it was moving up and down your thigh, not even getting close to your clothed heat but you felt yourself getting wetter by the minute. you rest your head on his shoulder trying to get a hold of your emotions. he looks down at you with a look asking ‘are you okay?’, patting your thigh again causing you to press them together.

“can we go home?” you whisper into his ear with desperation. he raises an eyebrow at you.

“just one more hour. okay, baby?” he rubs your thigh in comfort, a whine bubbling in your throat. “rest on my shoulder if you’re tired.”

you can’t hold it in anymore, letting out a quiet whine that only the two of you could hear, “oppa, please. wanna go home.” you can feel his hand tightening around your thigh and his eyes darkening at the name you had called him. months into your relationship you found out about seungkwan’s not so subtle oppa kink and of course, you used that against him at any chance. but tonight, it was unintentional; you just needed him so badly….

you gasp at his sudden action, standing up abruptly announcing that the two of you had to go home, putting cash on the table for your part of the bill and dragging you out of the restaurant and into his car.

it’s quiet the rest of the way back to your shared apartment; your lover’s jaw clenched and his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. the moment you close the door to your apartment, he’s on you.

“can’t even last a three hour dinner? you’re that much of needy baby?” you moan at his words, wrapping a leg around his hip and letting him bring you to the bedroom.

“do you even deserve to be fucked like a good girl? you haven’t been very good today?” he scoffs as you whine for him, bringing you over to the huge window at the edge of your bedroom, “gonna fuck you right here” he mutter into your ear, “gonna let everyone know how fucking slutty you are, baby.” he kisses you hard, making you back up into the glass, his hand stabilizing you movements.

“oppa, please.. need you- need your cock.” you moan into his mouth, his hand digging into your hip. not wanting to waste anymore time, he flips the skirt you’re wearing up and practically tears your panties off, inducing a choked moan from you. his own pants and boxers are soon off aswell as he slowly plays with your sopping cunt, cries coming from your whiny mouth.

“wan’ you to turn around for me, baby. want you to see the people walk by and see you. see your slutty body. that’s what you need right? need a audience? i bet you do.” he groans into your neck, turning you to face the window. you can see the street and sidewalk underneath you; wondering if anyone could see your tear streaked face from all the way down there. you could barely even think before your oppa’s cock was inside you.

“fuck- kwannie-“ you try to find purchase on the glass to no avail, seungkwan pushing you up harder against it as he pulls out and pushes in deeper

“not my name, baby” he groans, kissing your nape, sucking on the skin before thrusting in again. “so. fucking. good. your desperate little hole was made for me, huh?”

“fuck- yes, yes, oppa! it was made for you! only for you!” you clench around him, sobs falling from your mouth at the intensity. you thought about being seen by somebody; what they would think; what they would do. the thoughts of being watched turn you on even more, clenching around kwan even more, feeling your release coming just moments away. “gonna… cum”

“not yet baby.” he moans at your tightness, feeling himself about the burst aswell, “gonna cum in you, okay? gonna fill you up, nice and good. does that sound good, baby?” you moan incoherently at him telling him you were out of it. kwan thrust into you hard and deep with a high moan, releasing his load into you. “cum for me, baby” he sighs, feeling your on command release on his cock moments later.

“kwannie..” you mutter, legs buckling at the intensity. he pulls out of you and lifts you onto your shared bed, kissing you softly.

“so good for me, my love.” he looks at your ruined cunt again, humming in pride, before stuffing you full of him again. you whine at the overstimulation, hand pawing at his chest and shoulders. “sorry, baby. didnt want it to go to waste. wan’ you to be nice and full.” he smiles at you, and you know in that moment, that you’re his. only his.

—————

that was lowkey bad imo, but i hope you like it! tysm for the love hehe <3

#seventeen #seungkwan smut #seungkwan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen smut #seungkwan is so mean i cant

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oathofpromises · 8 months

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[ REUNITED ] : sender and receiver are reunited at after some time apart. jumping into the other’s arms in a warm embrace, the idea of a kiss is there but does it come to fruition ? — Stella and Data

Crystal City a coveted destination for many, yet most were oblivious to the harsh realities of growing up in such a place. They made the decision to turn a blind eye to the injustice unfolding in their midst. One of the numerous reasons Stella chose to pursue a career as a mercenary. Having spent her formative years on these streets, she possessed an intimate familiarity with every nook and cranny. It has both a blessing and a curse. Everyone in this area was well aware of her identity and the possible peril of engaging in a sword fight with her.

Although it wasn't the most fulfilling job, it provided her with a means to pay the bills and a place to call home. Something she had been lacking for most of her childhood. The only positive aspect that emerged from this place was Data. Having known each other for years, Data, being a medtech, Stella would often turn to him whenever she required injuries patched up. Naturally, the brunet would inquire about the cause of her wound, prompting another discussion between the two about the inherent dangers of Stella's chosen lifestyle. It truly did happen, every day, without fail, she would return from her missions bearing a fresh scar or with blood splattered across her face. Not even her own.

However, it had been quite some time since Stella had last seen Data. For reasons unknown to her, he had vanished from his clinic for a period of time. For months, the mercenary with pink hair had exhausted all avenues in her efforts to find him, but unfortunately, she had come up empty-handed. The indication was a sign that Data had no desire to be discovered, especially by her.

"Ugh...I should have brought better cybernetics with me."

Letting out a groan, she pressed her hand against the sizable, bleeding wound on her stomach. From the very beginning, Stella could sense that something was amiss, even though it was supposed to be a typical escort mission. That's usually how it seemed to go, at least where she was concerned.

The client had not yet met her in person; instead, they contacted a pusher, who then reached out to Stella to handle the situation. Which was odd considering all other missions she had taken would always have her met the client before anything happened. The woman found herself already attuned to the resonant timbre of Data's voice reverberating within her mind, chastising her for daring to embark upon a perilous undertaking. The absence of the brunet weighed heavily on her heart, a constant ache that intensified with each passing day. It was a poignant reminder of the considerable length of time that had elapsed since he was last spotted in the vicinity of Crystal City.

Why had he suddenly left the city and without so much as a word? That was the main question lingering on her mind, like a persistent whisper in the depths of her thoughts. It danced on the edges of her consciousness, refusing to be ignored. She couldn't shake the feeling that it held the key to something important, something that had the power to change her life forever. It tugged at her curiosity, demanding to be answered. As she went about her daily routine, the question followed her She stepped into his clinic, her heart filled with anticipation. But to her dismay, all that greeted her were flickering holograms, repeating the same message over and over again. "I apologize for the inconvenience," the holograms said in unison, "but the doctor is currently away on an extended period of absence."

Without a second thought, the pink-haired woman found herself standing on the doorstep of Data’s clinic. Blood trickling down her side, she mustered every ounce of strength to inch her way through the entrance. As she approached, her heart quickened unsure if he would even be here.

The room dimly lit, the air felt heavy with a sense of mystery. She had seen holograms countless times before, their projections illuminating the walls. It was what she had expected to see once again but this time, something felt different. There, in the center of the room, stood Data. His back was turned to her, while his figure casted a shadow against the wall.

He seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed upon a medical file that lay open before him. The soft glow of the holographic display illuminated his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. Stella hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Should she announce her presence, or simply observe from a distance? The decision certainly weighed heavily on her, what if he didn’t want to see her? It was painful to think about, but regardless, it was the main question lingering inside her chest. As the pink haired woman mustered the courage to take a step forward, her mind raced with questions. What was Data studying so intently?

However, in all honesty, the mere sight of him bestowed upon her the strength to move forward. At this point, Stella felt lightheaded, but needed to see him. Slowly, the brunet turned around, he hardly had time to react before her arms found their way around his neck. So much Time had passed, they both had changed so much, but at least his scent was still the same.

"Data," she whispered, her voice filled with longing. "I missed you. "Stella uttered, her voice barely audible amidst the anguish that consumed her. Her stomach, a crimson cascade of life's essence, continued to bleed out, a relentless torrent that threatened to extinguish her very existence. However, it held no significance for her, for he had returned. The quantity of blood she had shed, however, was beginning to take its toll on her weary body. A part of her wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but that seemed too soon. Another thought maybe he forget about everything that happened between the two.

#— ❛❛ //Final Fantasy XIV ¦ I Really Want to Stay at your House・「 Cyberpunk Au」#— ❛❛ // DATA MOCHI ¦ You are my Star the one I never want to lose ・「diademreigned」#— ❛❛ // STELLA CAELUM & DATA MOCHI ¦DYNAMIC・「Our souls entwined A love so pure forever defined.」#— ❛❛ // STELLA CAELUM ¦ our hearts endure and remain forever strong ・「 Threads」#ooc: Sorry this took a little bit;;#I figured we could start here and expand on it whenever we wish to

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conradball64 · 3 months

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American Hartford Gold Named Top Recommended Gold IRA Firm

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Trustpilot is a site where people can depart critiques for companies. https://irasgold.com/review/american-hartford-gold from an IRA can't be saved in your home. American Hartford Gold has specialists that may walk you through the process and aid you to fill out all of the mandatory paperwork. This also gives purchasers the freedom to choose whether or not to promote to American Hartford Gold or to hunt down one other buyer, so they can really feel confident that they're getting the absolute best return on their funding. If a quick trade and a direct IRA return are your objectives, coins may be a good alternative.

American Hartford Gold does not charge fees to arrange a Gold IRA or rollover a retirement account to a Gold or Treasured Metals IRA. We are a proud multi-year sponsor of NASCAR and is the one precious metals firm really helpful by Bill O’Reilly. They've gold and silver bouillon, bars, and coins that meet IRS necessities of purity. Buyers have the potential to make a profit by means of investing in gold that they wouldn’t be as more likely to make with stocks or bonds. The company delivers quality customer service, business consultants, extensive historic investment knowledge and present market analysis. As a testament to their customer service, you can see plenty of basic details about Gold IRAs on American Hartford Gold’s webpage. Something that you can’t find there is offered by calling the company and talking with one among their many specialists. As soon as you have funded the brand new IRA, seek the advice of one among the company's account executives for advice on choosing the right treasured metals for the account. To incorporate physical metals and other alternative belongings and still get the same tax deferred advantages you require a Self Directed IRA, which is what a Gold IRA is. Some of the most effective gold firms give you peace of thoughts by offering to purchase back your gold.

#american hartford gold complaints

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the-firebird69 · 4 months

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Hellboy (2004) Official Trailer 1 - Ron Perlman Movie

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This is not make up and this is not a hooky act this is a terrifying creatures that is possessing Trump and a lot of times I get bigger by devouring their body and they go and find another one and they fill it back up again on the inside and it's similar to venom no it's the same thing can I eat certain things and they handle things to grow certain things but really this guy is a nutcase he's pretty much lost and he's a jerk and you can hear it in the watchmen and he has a girl stealing each other's watches and it's kind of weird it is they are watches that are sudden his head or someone else but it's kind of stupid and we think it's vulgar but they like to reveal stuff and what their revealing is helping us and it's helping us and it's not helping the max. We do understand what the guy is saying but other people took it the wrong way and they're going after his people and they're putting their heads in a similar bag and they're doing it in Mexico to this idiot and they're going to start doing it here to the idiots people and even cheeseman is a Target and Dave next door and they'll be dead forever and they're saying it if I get them for bags the guy's gone cuz they were saying it to them. Or girl and they plan on doing it to them too or the mix and then some of them and they send them pics and they're doing in Mexico tonight and our son is requesting they send them some pics make sure they keep this place nice and toasty he's sick of the ass over there tired of it and we're going to go after him in a few moments cuz of what he's having to say and really it wouldn't be bad if he just died. He's a f** too I mean what part of the guy has picking on her son and loses all his stuff.

Tonight he's in several movies

Just to be clear there are these three movies and there are several other preamble as in videos and we want to see if people are paying attention and the answer and it probably won't post on our son's site but it does post and we get the information and other people do really sure people that need it and we need to make sure people are watching the morons running the stupid website there's a couple other things that he's going to be in tonight and into tomorrow. We listed several above there's a really big one we're going to list here and it is the movie series The godfather and Scarface and we're going to post what happens to him in the next couple days and yeah he gets brutally beaten and killed and it rolls into a few more movies and videos eventually kill Bill and he gets killed answer cheeseman gets killed and Terry cheeseman becomes Clint Eastwood and shoots Trump about 50,000 times and money train is going to start up in the next couple days and it's because he's becoming weak and a nuisance and today we purchased the companies we mentioned huge steel companies gigantic lumber companies and we're shipping the lumber tonight and he's sitting here trying to threaten for who knows what now he's trying to get out of trouble out of like one court case or two of them and it's not working and the people keep calling him and telling him to shut up. He's starting for stuff as well as threatening for his own stuff to be taken out of the parks and people are already there getting his people and he's now threatening for the abyss and there is a movie about it and it's in the wrong place and it's about something hokey but they do find an alien and it is one of Jason's children and he does flipped them the bird we thought that was a nice touch actually it's not about something that okay it's about the movie sphere and it is somewhat hokey but they're going after other stuff while they're doing that and they're telling people it's deep down and that kind of thing it kind of lost it but really they're telling everybody and they're getting their asses kicked and they're going after the max by telling people which isn't really that bad but what he's doing to our son and daughter is and he's doing it to us too but he's under extreme duress by this fool so we're taking him to task and we're helping him out in the movies by stopping him from breathing

Thor Freya

Olympus

I didn't pay all this rent to sit here and he says I don't have the apartment on rent and I'm not holding the contract in this subletting was subletting laws in Florida and it says I don't know how to read and it's probably true I'm getting a lot of the stuff wrong people want me out of here he wants me out of here and people are going to take our heads and they said it and they did it in Mexico and they're doing it here already they say I reports say it

So I say I have to get out of here and I'm trying to stay here by saying it and he's not going to tolerate me he says and I'm going to get killed again he says and you're going off to these movies to get killed cuz I simply have to be in an apartment

Trump

So you're very stupid person and Grandpa hands off to bja in order to kill you it's a good thing you're smart and you end up pretty much gone so I'm trying to figure out when that is so you can think about that cuz you're such a prick all right f****

Zues Hera

So the homo is saying no it's not all right and he's being a homo and I'm going to take care of that piece of s*** and Gators is going to get shut down we heard people calling the health department all afternoon his bugs below this s*** below slime rot food beer and who knows what else and bugs get big around here so we heard them saying it and they're saying this we don't think this place is safe he never inspects anything and he's an idiot and so they're calling for people to shut it down and investigate and we heard the pseudo empire get on the line and say we're going to do that now because of what people were saying to his people his other stuff happening to this prick I'm he is not allowed in the sheriff's office and they keep telling him he's not sheriff and a lot of his own people tons of people hate him eventually he's going to get shot everywhere he goes but right now we have to concentrate on getting him out of here so I'm sitting in teams and we have to do it now

Hera

Olympus

#Youtube

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billphxrealtor · 1 year

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Home Staging Secrets: Simple, Available and FREE Decorative Accents

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March 09, 2023

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7r0773r · 1 year

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South to America: A Journey Below the Mason-Dixon to Understand the Soul of a Nation by Imani Perry

In the light, the corners crinkle. Feet hurt; life is a hustle. And that is Atlanta, too. There are lots of poor folks, particularly among the residents whose families have been there the longest. And whether it's in comparison to the nouveau riche or the old money, there is a resentment there as well as an attraction to the unfulfilled promise. The kids who wander around Lenox mall, often with very little in their pockets, have eyes filled with possibility. Hotlanta, ATL, ATLiens, ALANNA. . . the major metropolis of the South doesn't have a sufficient mass transit system or a polyglot culture yet. What it does have is a lot of really nice shit. And listen, dirt roads will not let you forget to appreciate that. (King of the South, p. 151)

***

That's who my people are. You hold your people close, but that, too, is a matter of understanding that they have been ripped out of your arms again and again over generations: sold away, killed by a grinding gear, a careening car, off in the labor camp, off on the chain gang, down from the lynching tree, away to the prison, dead from the sugar, from sepsis, from cancer, from a broken heart. The way life kills, with unapologetic abandon, is precisely why we hold each other so close. And get so angry when our love is riven. In Ralph Ellison's "Harlem is Nowhere," he thinks about how the Black Southerner is ill equipped for the North. According to Ellison, his subtle devices become laughable or even simpleminded there. I doubt that was true, even at the time. But in any case, a Black mind built to handle absurdity is a wonderful thing to maintain. And you need your people to show you how. (More Than a Memorial, p. 156)

***

The driver's gentility, despite the fact that he could have, could still, string me up without the world flinching? That toothless smile that could easily accompany either mirth or murderousness, depending on the eyes? This is what Black folks mean when we say we prefer the Southern White person's honest racism to the Northern liberal's subterfuge. It is not physically more benign, or more dependable. But it is transparent in the way it terrorizes. You never forget to have your shoulders hitched up a little and taut, even (and especially) when they call you "sweetheart." Cold comfort. (More Than a Memorial, pp. 168-69)

***

In the town cemetery, Jonathan Edwards is buried. A president of Princeton, father of the Great Awakening, he met his maker after a bad smallpox inoculation. The sarcophagus, heavy gray and stone, bears a few stilted words. It belies the man. Edwards always had a great deal to say. He wrote on everything. And among his possessions, on the other side of a paper that he had cut into quadrants to write four good sermons, was a bill of sale for an African woman named Venus. What a fascinating example of reuse and resourcefulness: a sermon on top of human trafficking. Historians know nothing of the transit of Venus. Just that she was here and some other there, as Edwards preached the imminent destruction of a reprobate American people who yelled "What shall I do to be saved?!” He thought he knew. (Pearls Before Swine, pp. 179-80)

***

Keep going and make a left on Calhoun, named for, you already know, the South Carolinian vice president of the United States who loved slavery and built the architecture of Indian removal to the West. If you took a right, you would eventually come to Liberty Square. But left, you get to Mother Emanuel Church. Long before Dylann Roof came, I had visited Mother Emanuel Church. As with Savannah's First African Baptist, it is hallowed ground, a church made by a fire-and-brimstone resistance. The self-effacement of the Black and holy is only one side of the story, and if you think all they ever did was pray and forgive, you really do not know the story.

Denmark Vesey, one of the South Carolina's most significant enslaved insurrectionists, was once a member of Mother Emanuel. It had been founded in 1816. City leaders forced them to close their doors in 1818. Too much freedom happened there. And after Vesey's revolt, the building was burned to the ground in 1822, only to be rebuilt. The parishioners persisted.

But you also have to understand that, before Dylan Roof, the termites had taken over. They had eaten Mother Emanuel from the inside out. The wood could have been struck, and it would have given way, bending back into the imprint of a hand or a foot. History sometimes tends and sometimes distends. Sometimes repairs are done to physical structures that also ought to be done to human ones. And Dylann Roof is and was the product of an American house eaten out by its choices and built atop the graveyard of what came before. He, too, was called an outsider by locals, rather than an alarming testimony to American violence. This vanity of innocence is like guarding a gate when the warriors are already inside.

Roof says he thought that his prison sentence would not be carried out because of the coming race war. Denmark Vesey could never have approached "the Rising," what he and his compatriots called their planned slave insurrection, with such confidence. It was always a gamble for freedom. Vesey had bought his own freedom with his earnings from a local lottery, but hadn't been able to free his first wife and children, or the members of his church. The revolt he planned had the ultimate goal of, after freeing the enslaved, sailing to Haiti. The plan was squashed before it began. Thirty-five Black people, Vesey among them, were hanged in penalty for plotting their freedom.

Roof is alive. I'm not saying he shouldn't be, just that he is.

Historians think Vesey was born in Bermuda in 1757. He was sold to a planter in Haiti, who ultimately returned Denmark to his original owner because he had epilepsy. Once Vesey's master settled in Charleston, a cosmopolitan hub, Vesey became literate. At a crossroads of history, his story is yet another reminder of the breadth of the antebellum Southern world. After Vesey was executed, one of his sons was deported to Cuba. One of his wives went to Liberia. One of his children helped rebuild the historic African Methodist Episcopal Church, where Roof enacted a time-warp revenge against Black freedom.

Long before Vesey, there was the Stono Rebellion in South Carolina, in 1739. Those insurrectionists, led by an enslaved Angolan named Jemmy, planned to go to Florida, another nation then, where freedom had been promised. But they were intercepted and killed, or deported as slaves to the Caribbean. Prohibitions on gatherings, education, and group movement for Black people were legislated. A ten-year moratorium on importing Africans was implemented. The point is that there were, of course, cycles of repression and cycles of resistance. I suppose the thing I most want to say is that it is rarely acknowledged that every time that group of parishioners gathered in Mother Emanuel, they stood in a tradition of refusing to be rendered soulless and unfree. No gentrifiers, no hierarchies, no displacement, no new arrivals, and no, not even massacres that laid bodies low, one on top of another, can erase that. Their testimony is already embedded in the land. (Home of the Flying Americans, pp. 276-78)

***

I cannot help but think about sweetness born of the violence of slavery as a metaphor for New Orleans, which is a cradle holding together the South and its strands at the root. Like its native drink, a Sazerac, it's sweet and strong enough to knock you on your ass or knock you out. And of course, as often as people try to cut it off from the rest of the South, it functions like a phantom limb, one that we feel everywhere in the fabric of the country, even when we don't see it right there on us. The graves in New Orleans sit above-ground because of potential flooding. And so the dead are raised and decorated with stunningly bright mausoleums and abundant flowers. The spirits hear the music and might be swaying, too. New Orleans choreography often feels like a dance at the Kongo cross-roads. (Magnolia Graves and Easter Lilies, pp. 342-43)

***

Whatever the case, visiting holy people soothes my spirit. I won't share the details of what [the babalawo, a Yoruban priest] told me; just know that it was all true and useful. And if there is a dramatic difference, besides language, between there and here, it is that the Cubans, no matter how white their skin, do not deny the fundamental Africanness of who they are the way Southern White people do, assiduously. Visiting this babalawo helped me think about that fact. What exhaustion must be required to passionately deny that which has shaped so much of who you are? Maybe this is part of the White evangelical discipline of prayer. To absolve the self-denial. To drown it in catharsis. White Cubans have no need. But I do not think that is a mark of virtue as much as it is a marker of nationalisms. Countries get accorded races, no matter how multiracial they are. And Cuba is Blackish brown. The US is White; we (Black people) are its built-in other. (Paraíso, p. 367)

#imani perry #book quotes

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chestcity89 · 2 years

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Order Checks Online, Business Checks Things To Know Before You Buy

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How examine printing works at Walmart The most convenient means to get your inspections, either as a brand new purchase or as a reorder, is by checking out WalmartChecks.com. You can easily likewise visit WalmartDepot.com. This webpage provides complete printing guidelines, and is no alternative for a wonderful on the internet purchase of inspection, container, or credit history memory card numbers. When to ask inquiries This web page specify the absolute best on the internet order relevant information for you so you can easily supply a in depth response to any question. Certainly there you can look by means of all the styles of checks we have. Listed below is the checklist for what goes on. What can easily be carried out? We obtain our checks back and we put these inspections all together. In the situation where a inspection goes to check out that it did not go with the following actions, we might have only carried out what I do in the instance and it is just at that point that the examinations are performed. In the case where we do check, we begin through inspecting if something went in previously. For service clients, we use high-security examinations, hand-operated examinations and computer system examinations. Safety and security has to be made to assure conformity. The unit does take a little bit more time with each product, but it is all within the body's command to function and we carry out our absolute best to make certain that. Some customer and regulation administration companies would have no confidence in any type of safety examination through any kind of technology, we would prefer that security checks be done through the software program. For personal examinations, there are actually also high security inspections as properly as different check concept, such as those with creature designs, characters, inspirational notifications and pictures as effectively as make your own checks. When it comes down to it, there can be no greater present that is even more vital than a quality examination! I have gotten personal examinations coming from a lot of various people at the outlet and every time I send it over, they inquire if they may give me an additional quantity of funds! Other options for individuals feature inspections that are eco-friendly and general inspections with no concept on them. Such checks are normally designed to ensure individuals that their body does not violate the regulation. Such inspections are typically produced through private merchants, including individual retail stores who have performed different analysis and researches that have confirmed the exact same unit does not function. Consumers can be gotten in touch with by a get in touch with rep that will certainly send out the check with a letter of criticism. Once you have picked the style and design for your examinations, you after that put your order. Click the "Shipping" button (to your right) and we are going to figure out your purchase. When you have placed your purchase you will definitely acquire an e-mail information with the observing relevant information Please adhere to the installment directions very carefully. Once you have added your order, you are going to receive a notification mentioning the rate you have set as part of your settlement within 3 working times. Choose how many packs of checks you would like. When would you as if to play for me? If you are an individual who has actually two packs at a opportunity, there are actually various demands to play for you. If you do not possess one, you might authorize up for a free of cost trial. How does PayPal work? It's merely a course that helps make remittances to your Paypal profile for you to use at my following celebration Is there any type of cost connected along with this plan?

#Check Printing Online

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starmilkman · 3 years

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"YOᑌ ᔕᑌᖇE YOᑌ'ᖇE ᖇEᗩᗪY ᖴOᖇ TᕼIᔕ, ᒪᗩᔕᕼEᔕ?" - ✋

Ford swears this whole “possession thing” is no big deal... reverse psychology works wonders huh? B)

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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Birthday Blues. Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, not SFW implications, some religious mentions. Word count: 1.5k.

If there’s anything you’ve learned from your time with Chrollo, it’s how to pick the lesser of two evils.

You’ve become quite adept in the art of assessing situations and doing just that. Without this ability, you’re certain you would’ve started to pull your hair out months ago. Miraculously, your scalp remains in decent shape, although the same can’t be said for your sanity. You’re convinced that you’re starting to get loopy as the days progress, bleeding into one another like watercolors on a macabre canvas.

Where you used to feel visceral dread in Chrollo’s presence, apathy has taken root and reared its head. How nice of your brain to develop a way to cope with the extremity of living underneath the same roof of a notorious criminal. You appreciate the mass of grey matter enough for trying, but if you could choose, you wish it’d create those strange magical abilities that Chrollo possessed instead. He called it Nen once if memory serves.

Get to it, brain, you think. Then I’ll be impressed.

Running your fingers along the leather spines of numerous books, a thought comes into fruition and manages to tumble past your lips with the grace of a newborn fawn.

“Why does a man like you own so many Bibles, anyway?”

Even if it is for aesthetic purposes, which wouldn’t surprise you since this is Chrollo, you can’t help but find it to be in poor taste. The man in question hums at your inquiry, to which your heart plummets to your stomach. Starting a conversation with Chrollo was akin to opening Pandora’s Box. You curse your inability to control your curiosity. Your primary reason for coming over to this bookshelf was to be free from his thrall for a few soothing seconds. Now you’ll have no choice but to interact with him, a fate worse than death.

“Oh? What do you mean by ‘a man like me’, dear?”

This offer of a mad lib where you get to fill in the blank earns many ideas. Thief, murderer, kidnapper, and lord knows what else is what your subconscious dredges up first to describe the kind of man Chrollo Lucilfer is. Tempting as it may be to sling these insults his way, he never appears the least bit affected, regarding your attempts to rattle him with amusement.

“Let your imagination run wild for that one,” you reply, plucking a King James Version off the shelf and opening it. The leather feels authentic, though the yellowed pages which crinkle at the edges do little to keep its age a secret. You squint to decipher the chicken scratch scrawled onto the dedication page. Chrollo’s obsession with keeping the lights dim makes it challenging for you to read. From how expensive this penthouse must be, you can safely surmise he’s not trying to save a few bucks on the electricity bill.

Today’s atmosphere is different than usual. Almost all the main lights are turned off, with the sole source of illumination coming from the warm glow of scented candles, scattered sporadically in the living space. That, and the skimpy outfit currently hugging your body. Your usual wardrobe of leggings and oversized sweaters was nowhere to be seen upon opening the closet this morning. Instead, your options were narrowed down to a sleek black dress that stopped right above your thighs, or in Chrollo’s impish words, “Wearing nothing at all.”

You went with the former.

“A shame. Yours is so much more entertaining than mine.”

You’re too fixated on deciphering who the previous owner was to humor him with a response. You realize it's dedicated to some Pope you learned about in history class, much to your disbelief. Your intuition tells you this is the real deal too. Realizing that you’re holding what’s quite likely to be a historical artifact in your hands, you meander back to the couch, where Chrollo patiently awaits your return.

With some effort, you turn to a page that strikes your fancy then hand it to him.

Chrollo pats the empty spot next to him on the couch and you suppress a sigh, accepting your fate. You take care to ensure the end of your dress doesn’t rise to reveal more skin than it already does while taking your seat. An arm is snaked around the back of your exposed shoulders, tugging you closer to his side and erasing what minimal distance you were able to maintain. He’s touchier than normal, you think. More annoying too.

“Is this your attempt at flirty fishing me?” Chrollo jokes, a sentiment that earns a visible grimace.

“No, I just thought you might be interested in this section,” you point at the aforementioned verse. “There’s a lot to be gleaned from this.”

“Hm… ‘thou shalt not steal’, or ‘thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife’?”

“If possible, I was hoping you’d learn a thing or two from both.”

He laughs. “You’re unmarried, therefore, under these conditions, I’m not in the wrong.”

“Are you saying if I was married, you would've allowed me to make an argument with this?”

“You could’ve certainly tried,” Chrollo smiles in an eerie manner that makes your skin crawl. “Though I believe marriage is annulled upon the spouse’s death.”

Chrollo did what was seemingly impossible: he left you at a loss for words. You blank, unappreciative of the knowledge that his moral shortcomings would’ve meant pure terror had you been in a relationship while his sickening obsession blossomed. Any lightheartedness you boasted beforehand shrivels up and dies.

The best you can come up with is a mumble of, “Jesus Christ.”

He points to the passage which reads, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.”

… He’s truly insufferable.

You lose interest in the object he holds and fiddle with the edge of your skirt. Your best attempts to conceal your skin aren’t good enough — you wish he’d just give you your pajamas back. It’s late enough into the evening where you think you might have a good argument for earning the comfortable fabric. That hope dies when his hand settles on the smooth expanse of your thighs, earning a graceless squeak from you.

Chrollo squeezes the supple flesh and then reaches for the wine glass you’ve neglected to drink from, his having been long empty.

“Thirsty?” He shifts the crimson liquid in your direction, to which you shake your head. “This is excellent quality stuff, [First]. Why not indulge just this once?”

The thought of being intoxicated while stuck with your captor churns your stomach with anxiety. You’re starting to run short on excuses to get out of drinking, your last one just ended a few minutes prior. He offered you the drink and you mumbled about wanting to find something to read, then scurried off. He hasn’t forgotten his original mission, it would appear.

“You never told me the occasion,” you motion to the specially decorated penthouse. “What is all this about?”

“It’s my birthday.”

Oh. You blink, the honest admission taking you somewhat aback. The word ‘birthday’ had a positive connotation in your mind; thoughts of family gatherings, flickering candles upon sugary cakes, presents hastily wrapped with onlookers excitedly awaiting to see what reaction their gift would procure. Never once had you thought about Chrollo celebrating his birthday. He was just too uncanny, borderline inhuman, a fraud who tried to act like everything he isn’t. There’s no warmth with him nor sweet memories.

That wouldn’t be a statement he cares for, so you think of something fast.

“I… didn’t realize you would celebrate your birthday.”

He tilts his head. “Am I that strange to you?”

You choose not to answer that question.

“If I’m being truthful, I never did care to do anything special on this day,” he closes his eyes as if reflecting. His thumb rubs circles into your thigh while he does so, causing saliva to build up in your tightening throat. Was personal space too complex for him to comprehend? “However, this year, I thought I might try it since I have you.”

Since I have you. For once, you begrudgingly agree with his description of your one-sided relationship. He has you in the same way he has these various facets of history and artwork. Whatever, or whoever they once belonged to no longer mattered. Everything instantly became his possession the moment he decided he wanted it. In many ways, you felt like a glorified treasure, an item polished and put on display to his liking.

“Uh, well, I didn’t get you a present or anything, so sorry about that,” you have trouble meeting his gaze from how intensely his gray eyes bore into you. The corner of his lips curl upward and you swear your heart stops beating. You need to start thinking your words over rather than voicing whatever inane thought comes to mind. You feel like a lamb before the slaughter as his hands venture toward the inside of your thigh, stopping just shy of being indecent.

“It’s quite alright, [First]. There’s plenty you have to offer me that I’d love nothing more than to take.”

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer imagine #hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #my stuff #not sfw

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lavishedinjimin · 3 years

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bts reaction -> you do something that upsets/angers them

woah! finally, a new reaction post??

(all gifs used are not mine!)

Namjoon:

Well, well, well, what could you have possibly said to create an argument with Namjoon. He, for one, doesn’t like arguments. He would instead talk to you and settle all the problems without raising his voice.

But if the argument does get too far, he’s making sure that he gets his point across, even if his words might sting.

Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at you who was standing in front of him with your arms crossed.

“I did nothing wrong, Y/n,” he states with a deep yet calm tone, “You didn’t tell me that I had to run errands. How would I when I’m in the studio with the boys?”

He raises his brow when you stomp your feet on the wooden floor. Eyeing you up and down, his blood slowly rises when he feels like you’re acting insensitive.

“But you knew that we had no groceries left!”

Namjoon suppresses his anger like he always does, “Stop being selfish, Y/n. Tell me, who’s paying your bills?” he points his chin out.

“Hey, I pay half of our bills!”

“There you go. That just means you also shouldn’t be depending on me so much when I’m busy doing work, okay?”

(aln: this gif is so fucking hot istg i’m on my knees)

Seokjin:

You feel the other side of the bed dip, signaling that someone had come into bed with you. Peeking your eyes open just slightly, you feel your body relaxing as you finally saw Seokjin after a long, hard day.

“Hey, darling,” you whisper, scooting closer to him to hug his body. Seokjin murmurs something under his breath, but you didn’t quite grasped what it was.

Seokjin moves around, furrowing his eyebrows as a groan escapes his mouth. “Please…”

Ignoring the word, you instantly scatter his face with kisses, kissing his forehead and down to his plump lips.

“Not now, Y/n.”

“Why?” you pout, “lemme kiss you. I haven’t seen you all day.” You continue your mischief on him, placing open-mouthed kisses all over.

With eyes still closed, he pushes you away with both hands.

Shocked, you look at him in awe of what he just did.

“That’s so rude,” you scoff.

“I just want to sleep, Y/n. I’m tired and I don’t want to talk.”

Silence fills the room as you sullenly observe him pull the covers over his body. He rubs his face with his hands as he lets go of an exasperated sigh. “Get over it. I had a bad day, okay? I just want silence and a night of good sleep, that’s all I want right now.”

You know how Seokjin gets mad. His words are his weapon. You think that it’s much better leaving him alone than further pushing his buttons. Tomorrow will be another day.

Yoongi:

Yoongi doesn’t get angry that often. It’s quite impressive how he can calm himself down and avoid the anger. But it’s also alarming – because whenever he does get angry, he can become outright terrifying and a guilt-tripping madman.

“Is it because I don’t talk to you enough?” Yoongi alarms through the phone, the rage in his voice evident even though you can’t see his face. “Huh? Is it because I don’t give you enough attention?”

“It’s not like that! You have to understand that he’s just a friend!” You grip the phone tighter in your damp hand.

“I bet that guy treated you better, hm? I bet that’s the reason.” Yoongi’s voice was filled with bitter sarcasm as he speaks. The tone of his voice makes you clench your fist in annoyance. It was clear that he was manipulating you with his words, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

“You know what? Whatever, Y/n. You do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care. But get ready for when I get home, you’re gonna get some serious fucking punishment.”

There was a long, thick silence after his sentence. You can feel your heartbeat thump loudly in your chest, upset in both yourself and in Yoongi.

“It isn’t my intention to upset you,” you sigh, “you’re the one that I care about. Always.”

“Then show it to me.”

You gasped. Are your actions not enough for him to believe you?

Hoseok:

Hoseok can be immensely intimidating when angry. Those eyes that can show the sweetest candy smile, with a single wrong move, they can turn into the most devilish gaze someone has ever seen.

Even his members find him scary whenever he’s mad.

As you watch the band practice their choreography for their performance next week, you couldn’t keep your eyes on Hoseok. The way his body just moves smoothly without any imperfections at all, it was clear that he was made for dancing and performing on stage.

Park Jimin calls off for a break and the members rush to their respective corners to catch their breath. Hoseok walks to the other side of the practice room where he sits down. Until suddenly, Jimin comes to your direction with a sly smirk on his face.

“Did you like the choreo?” he says, voice sort of raspy and out of breath. You giggle, “Yes. It was fire.”

“Mhm…” he places his hands on the table in front of you and leans forward, making your eyes widen. What is he doing…?

His eyes were almost slitted, licking his lips. You can’t help but notice small droplets of sweat trickling down from his temples and to his jawline, and how the light reflex the dampness of his neck. “Were you watching me?”

“H-Huh?” You stutter, mouth agape. “Yeah. You’re so good, Jimin, as always,” you respond while tucking your hair behind your ear.

Jimin’s grin widens, satisfied with your answer. Before he can give a verbal reply, Hoseok was right behind him and he swiftly pushes Jimin aside. He gives him a ‘look’ paired with a shake of his head. He whispers something to Jimin as he walks away.

Hoseok lifts his chin whilst he looks down at you with those menacing dark brown eyes. “Are you enjoying your time here?”

“Well,” you gulp, “Yes.”

He looks away for a second, brushing his hair back. You can hear that he took a deep sigh. Placing his forearms on the table, he stares directly into your eyes. His irises burn deep into you as he takes a heavy breath, “You know how possessive I am of you, Y/n. Only—” he lifts his right hand and caresses your cheek, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, “only look at me.”

Jimin:

Jimin was clicking away on his laptop as he sits on the barstool, eyes glued on the screen for he didn’t even notice that you’ve walked up behind him. Slowly, you wrap your arms around his waist. His body jumps in utter shock.

“Babe,” he groans, “don’t do that again. Don’t surprise me like that.”

His tone was plain and sharp, bringing an attitude that signifies that he is annoyed.

Perhaps he needs more love and attention?

Inhaling his scent, you rest your cheek against his back. The sounds of the keys clicking were slowly becoming irritating, so you snatch his hands away to hold them in your grasp.

“Wha—Y/n!” he yells, but you unrightfully ignore him.

“C’mon, baby. Just rest for a while and come cuddle with me instead—”

“Cuddle?” he turns the stool around so he faces you. He scoffs, “You really want us to cuddle right now? When I’m in the middle of work?” he raises his voice at you, making you feel small. Trying your best not to be hurt by his razor-sharp timbre, you stand your ground. “Stop fucking annoying me and let me do my job, okay?”

“I’m just trying to—”

“—Just trying to help, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Please just, just leave me alone for a couple of minutes.”

But he will feel so fucking bad afterward, though. Jimin lets his emotions get the best of him and he used you to let it all out. You understand him, nonetheless. He is the type to bottle up his feelings. But deep down, you wish he would tell you everything that’s been bothering him, without having to keep them for himself.

Taehyung:

Taehyung rarely gets mad at you. But whenever he does, he’s quick to apologize and forget about the situation because he doesn’t want to cause a much bigger problem.

So, stealing his food from the fridge wouldn’t annoy him, right?

He was supposed to come home early for tonight, but he informed you that he’ll be a little bit late because of traffic.

Although your hunger couldn’t wait any longer.

Taking the box of food out of the fridge, you did not hesitate to gobble them all up to feed your rumbling stomach. You know for a fact that he’s going to empathize with you anyway.

As he comes home, though, you weren’t still finished and he stops his tracks when he sees that you were eating his meal.

“Y/n!” he gasps, “This one is yours!” he says, raising the takeout box he bought on the way home. “You said you wanted Chinese, didn’t you?”

Uh-oh…

You slowly stand up from the dining table, walking your way out of the area with his food still in your hands with a little cheeky grin.

Taehyung pouts as he whines out your name, “I hate it when you do this! I was craving for that!” He stomps his foot, “This is so upsetting, you know.”

You feel your heart clench at that, “I’m sorry…”

“Come here, you!” Taehyung all of a sudden, runs to catch you, signaling your fight or flight response. You shriek and dashed all around the dining room, trying to avoid Taehyung as much as possible. He had his arms sprawled across like an eagle, cackling.

Once you let him catch you, he hugs your body tightly in his grasp. “Hmm? You’re so naughty, babe. You know I can’t get mad at you for too long.” He grabs the food box away from you and sets it aside. He whispers, “But don’t do this again.”

Jungkook:

“I mean, look at her, Jungkook. Doesn’t her face irritate you?” you inquire at him, showing an Instagram picture of that one girl you despise. She had her whole butt on screen, tongue out, showing off her long acrylic nails.

Sitting on the couch beside you, Jungkook purses his lips and looks at the screen. “Hmm.” He says plainly.

“Goddamn, whenever I see her in real life my saliva turns sour, y’know? Ugh¸ I hate her so much.” You can feel your nerves rile up, throwing your feet on the coffee table in front of you.

Jungkook speaks, “What has she done to you?” he says in a monotone voice.

“Uh,” you turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow, “Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Just wondering.”

“Okay, fine,” You roll your eyes, “She has done nothing, all right? But—”

He laughs unexpectedly, making you crease your forehead both in frustration and perplexity.

Jungkook himself was never the type to create arguments or say what he feels out loud. He would most likely internalize his thoughts and opinions and waits for the perfect timing to affront.

But if there’s a moment where he a situation feels unfair, he’s not afraid to stand up for what he believes.

“You know that’s wrong, darling,” he sighs, scooting over to you. He swings his right arm around your shoulder and tugs your figure closer. “There’s no reason to hate someone without having a definitive reason. C’mon, just ignore her if she bothers you so much.”

You frown, “But…”

“But what? Baby, if you do this one more time, I’ll be very upset. More upset in you than I am right now.”

Immediately, you jerk your head to look at him. With puppy dog eyes, you apologize, “Sorry.”

#jungkook reaction #jimin reaction #taehyung reaction #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #yoongi reaction #seokjin oneshots #namjoon imagines #bts reactions smut #bts angry #bts

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cowboycostume · 3 years

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Written for @spnpocweek day four: "what should have been"

Two minutes before Lilith walks into the building, Henricksen goes out back for a smoke. That’s what saves him, a habit he’s been trying to kick for three years, and it saves his damn life. Well, the cigarette and the unbroken salt line he’d been smoking behind.

He watches the news coverage of the explosion from the relative comfort of cheap vinyl in a diner two towns over, and it hits him, all at once, that he no longer exists, that this identity has been well and truly burned. He drops a twenty on the table as his face flashes across the screen. There’s only a couple folded bills left in his wallet, but he doesn’t wait around for change.

When he climbs behind the wheel of the car he lifted from the impound lot behind the precinct, he heads north, for no reason other than to go; to put as many miles between him and the demons he can’t help but feel on his tail, whether they were or not. He stops for gas somewhere in Wyoming and debates using the payphone to call Valerie. In the end, he doesn't, afraid of putting his sister in any more danger than she already is.

Victor counts the swiftly dwindling supply of cash in his wallet when he pulls into a rest area in Nebraska for the night; he's down to eighty-four dollars and sixty-eight cents. It should be enough to get him to Ohio, to the safe deposit box with all the details of Vance Waters' life locked inside. He's never been more thankful for the ingrained paranoia that accompanies a life spent in the Beauru.

Vance has a modest savings account, a mid-grade credit score, and a Ford Taurus in storage just outside of Cleveland. Victor has nothing. His death means the forty grand he has in savings will go to his sister in Norfolk, along with the condo in Annapolis, and his ex-wife is doubtlessly already filling out the paperwork to collect his pension. If his mother hadn't passed three years ago, the news of his death might very well have done her in. Victor can't help but feel relieved she didn't live to see his death on the news.

He locks the doors to the car, pulling the sunshade from the passenger floor over the windshield, and wills himself to get a few hours' sleep. Tomorrow, he'll haul ass the last fifteen hours to Ohio, and Victor Henricksen will no longer exist.

The first thing Vance Waters does is get a room at a Howard Johnson. The front desk is gracious enough to provide a disposable Bic, and the in-room soap creates enough lather to erase the last traces of Victor Henricksen from his face. The second thing he does is take the silver charm in his pocket to a tattoo shop downtown and get it permanently affixed on his skin. He will never again know the greasy hot feeling of demonic possession, no one else will ever be in control of his body.

#spnpocweek #victor henricksen #this was supposed to be longer but alas #m.fic #ficlet #supernatural

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queen-haq · 3 years

Text

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 10

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~2000 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10

Hot on your trails, Billy followed you to the women’s bathroom. When the bathroom attendant chastised him for barging in there, he shot her an irritated glance. “You want to help her puke?” Billy asked pointedly as you ran to the toilet. The attendant put her hands up in the air and moved back, leaving him to take care of you. He pulled your hair back, holding the strands away from your face while you retched.

You groaned, sounding like you were dying.

“I know. It sucks. Just let it out. You’ll feel better,” he consoled, rubbing your back.

“Didn’t… even…drink… so… much… want… to… die…”

He chuckled.

“I’m sorry… don’t want you to see me like this…”

“I’ve seen worse,” Billy assured. Serving as long as he had with the guys from his unit, puke was nothing new to him. He flushed the toilet using his foot after you’d finally stopped gagging. After he helped you to the sink and you washed your face and hands thoroughly, he patted your face dry with napkins. There were a bunch of supplies on one corner of the table. Spotting the mouthwash, Billy picked up the bottle, handing the attendant a $50 bill, and brought it to you. You rinsed your mouth while he studied your reflection in the mirror. “You okay?”

You nodded your head ‘yes’, almost like a child. You were usually so calm and collected around him that it was strange to see you ruffled like this. Actually, it was adorable.

When he saw you close your eyes, he snaked his hand around your waist in case you lost your balance again.

“I want to go home,” you mumbled, turning around in his arms.

“I’ll take you.”

Your eyes were wet and glassy, filled with sleep. You gazed up at him with the dopiest expression on your face and if you hadn’t just puked, he would have kissed you. He was used to feeling all kinds of emotions when it came to you, lust, anger, frustration and so much more, but this was the first time he felt a pang of tenderness towards you and he didn’t know what to make of it. This wasn’t something he was familiar with at all.

“I have to tell Davina. She’ll worry.”

Smoothing your hair, he tucked in a loose strand behind your ear. “Want to go say bye?”

You nodded your head.

Billy held you in his arms as he led you back upstairs to the club, stopping at one of the bars to grab water for you. He spotted Davina sitting at the booth, talking to some guy, but she stood up immediately when she caught sight of him and you. Billy noted the immediate disapproval on her face. Frankly he didn’t give a fuck about what your friends thought of him but he knew how close you were to Davina. Her opinion mattered to you, and so he had to play nice and learn to get along with her.

Davina stood up and met Billy and you halfway, her eyes full of concern. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I think I’m done,” you sighed. “I want to go home.”

“I’ll go with you,” Davina offered. “Let me just grab Kiran from the dance floor-”

“No, you stay. Have fun with your cute guy.”

Billy scowled. Apparently you weren’t so drunk that you didn’t notice other guys. “I’ll take her home,” he said, tightening his grip around your waist.

Davina cast him a suspicious glance before shifting his attention back to you. “You don’t have to go with him. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not going to rape her when she’s asleep if that’s what you’re worried about,” he snapped, trying - and failing - to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“He won’t, he’s not like that,” you assured, shaking your head vigorously.

So you were angry enough to block him but at least you still trusted him. That was something, he supposed. “Can I take her home now? Or are we gonna keep discussing if I’m a rapist?”

You turned to look up at him, your intoxicated eyes pleading with him. “Can we leave?”

Davina grabbed his elbow, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t you dare touch her when she’s wasted!”

“I won’t. Unless she begs me to,” he smirked, purposely goading your friend. Even though he had no intention of taking advantage of you when you were hammered, he felt no need to justify his motives or actions to another person. Before Davina pissed him off any further, he started leading you out of the club. You were resting your head on his chest while he retrieved your jacket from coat check. When he wrapped the coat around you, you snuggled into the fabric and moved away from him.

It was freezing cold outside and you started shivering. Immediately he pressed you flush against him to keep you warm. As the two of you walked down the street, his eyes fell on the very high heels you were wearing. “You okay to walk on those? My car is a block away.”

“Do you like my shoes?”

He smiled, indulging you. “They’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Like you!”

“Did you just compare me to your shoes?”

“As if,” you snickered, your voice simultaneously naughty and sweet. “My shoes mean a lot more to me than you.”

“Bitch!” he scoffed.

As you giggled in response, his attention was drawn to the low-cut neckline of your outfit beneath your open coat. God, your tits looked absolutely amazing tonight. He was struck by the memory of the time he’d made you come by simply sucking on your nipples, teasing them with his tongue, and you had spent the entire time moaning underneath him. You fucking loved it almost as much as when he ate you out. Billy gave himself a mental shake, telling himself to snap out of it. “How come you never dress like this when we go out?” he asked, hoping for a distraction.

The smile on your face disappeared, you didn’t say anything. You were quiet, too quiet. He didn’t like it when you were all in your head with your thoughts, shutting yourself off to him. The last time you did that, you stormed out of his life and blocked him. Fuck if he was going to let you do that again. Reaching for your hand, he laced his fingers through yours.

“We never went out. All we ever did was have sex.”

He flashed a cocky smile. “Oh, yeah.” He squeezed your hand. “I miss that.”

“What? Sex?” You sniggered. “It can’t have been that long. When was the last time you slept with someone?”

“A week ago, with you.” He felt your body tense at his answer. “And then you told me to fuck off and stopped taking my calls.” A bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Guess it wasn’t as great for you as it was me.”

You didn’t respond, quiet again, and he didn’t feel like pressing the matter in case you got angry.

Finally reaching his car, he opened it remotely. “Y/N, look at me.” You turned to him, staring up at him all doe-eyed again. “You can’t get sick in my car.” He palmed your face, trying to impress upon you the importance of his words. The Wraith was the first thing he’d bought when he finally started earning enough money and it meant the world to him. Next to Anvil, it was his most treasured possession. “Okay?”

You glanced at the car, exhaling a heavy sigh. “I should call an Uber.”

“No, I’m taking you home. You just can’t puke in my car.”

You turned back to him, frowning. “But I might and I don’t want to ruin it.” You pulled out your phone. “I’ll just call-”

He snatched the phone away from you, sliding it stealthily inside his jacket pocket. “Fine. Don’t worry about it. I can get it cleaned.” He walked to the passenger side and held the door open for you. Seeing how hesitant and worried you appeared, Billy regretted broaching the subject in the first place. “Hey,” he stroked your right cheek. “It’s not a big deal, I swear.” He noticed you swaying on your feet without his support and he moved to help you get in the car, covering the top of your head so you didn’t hit it against the roof.

A few minutes later he’d maneuvered the car out of the parking space and was on his way to your place.

Casting you a side-long glance, he noticed you had removed your jacket, which now lay bunched around your waist, and your head was leaned back against the passenger seat. Your eyes were closed, but he knew you weren’t asleep.

“You keep staring at me,” you finally spoke, turning slightly to look at him.

Billy’s eyes trailed down to your breasts again and he felt that familiar ache in his cock. “Maybe I miss you.”

Your mouth parted slightly, like you were contemplating what to say next. “Liar.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I am lying. I don’t miss your voice, your body, your smell, your laugh.” Maintaining a steady tone, he stared straight ahead. “I don’t miss the taste of your sweet cunt, or the filthy moans out of your mouth when I’m sucking your clit. I don’t miss how good you feel when I’m inside you and you’re begging me to fuck you harder.” Coming to a stop at a red light, he shifted his attention to you. Your breathing was shallow, your piercing gaze locked with his. “I don’t miss how you always razz me, how snarky you are, how you bite your bottom lip when you’re thinking. I hate when you come into a room and put on your charming act, everyone just gravitates towards you like you’re a fucking ray of sunshine or something. I hate how fucking brilliant you are, how smart. Your mind doesn’t fascinate me at all, and I don’t spend any of my fucking time thinking about what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Billy noticed how you swallowed thickly, how you were squeezing your thighs together. Your skin was flushed, your breaths coming out in shallow spurts.

“I don’t want you. I don’t like you. I don’t miss you,” he murmured, his voice rasp with lust.

His words had the desired effect. You couldn’t take it anymore. Desperate to get off, your hand slipped between your thighs and you started rubbing yourself.

“Take off your fucking pants,” he growled. “I want to see your pussy. Want to see how wet you are.”

“Can’t… one-piece…”

As frustrated as he was at not being able to do what he wanted, he was still mesmerized by what you were doing to yourself. Your quiet moans had grown louder, more desperate. It was heaven watching you come undone. It was also sheer hell because he couldn’t fuck you himself.

As if reading his mind, you shifted closer, your body facing him. His eyes drifted down to your breasts again, barely covered, and he reached out to touch them. His fingers delved beneath the fabric of your top to tweak your nipples, playing with them, caressing them, until they were hardened nubs, ready to be sucked and licked by him. His mouth watered at the sight of your puckered nipples. God, he was so fucking hard.

Then you took his hand and guided it down to your cunt, urging him to play with you. He felt how wet you were through your clothes, you were so fucking turned on. He rubbed your pussy expertly, tapping and teasing your clit, and the guttural moans that were coming from your mouth only aroused him more. With you, even dry humping was hot.

It only took a few more seconds for you to come, and when you did you were all soft murmurs and tender sighs and it took everything he had not to pull you onto his lap and fuck you right then and there.

His hand crept up to your breast, resting over your heart as you slowly returned to the world. When you opened your eyes again to look at him, they were brimming with emotions. “Thank you.”

He smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you a blow job.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Suck me off because you want to, not because you think you owe me.”

The innocence displayed in your smile completely belied your wicked words. “I like sucking you off.”

His hand reached out to play with your hair. “Good.” He winked at you. “Feel free to start any second now.”

“I’m not blowing you when you’re driving! I want to get home alive.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, pouting.

You simply smirked in response.

Soon, a comfortable quiet fell over the two of you which was an unusual experience for Billy. Years of working recon meant waiting, watching, studying the enemy, the atmosphere charged and tense before chaos struck and the inevitable happened. But this was different. The tension was sexual, the dread non-existent. There was just him and you, and it was perfect.

Your phone buzzed in the inside pocket of his jacket, which made him wonder if the loser you’d been talking to was now calling you. Fucker really had no game if he was calling you so quickly. Eager prick.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“What you said in the club. About killing the guy who was hitting on me.”

Apparently you could read his thoughts now. “Every fucking word.”

You sat up, your eyes fiery and volatile. “You have no right to interfere in my life, Billy.”

“I have every right.”

“How would you feel if I started harassing you about the women you sleep with? What if I went all psycho on them?”

He turned into the parking lot of your building and parked his car at a visitor’s spot. After unbuckling his belt, he turned to you, fisting the back of your head. Your breath hitched in your throat, like you weren’t prepared for his close proximity. “Ask me, Y/N. Ask me how many women I’m fucking.” He waited for you to speak, to ask the question, but, instinctively, he knew you wouldn’t. “You’re not going to ask me, because the truth scares you.”

“Of course it scares me!” you snapped. “I have no idea if you’re using condoms with these other women, if you’re exposing me to god knows what.”

Your defensive tone meant he was getting close to the truth. His fingers started playing with your right ear. “If I’m only fucking you, and I only want you, then you can’t use me as an excuse to run from us anymore. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

Fear flashed across your face, all your emotions on display for him to read.

Billy leaned back and winked at you, smiling smugly. Jackpot.

Part 11

A/N - Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope you guys are still reading and enjoying the fic. As always, thank you for the likes, reblogs, the comments that I cherish so much and your asks/messages. If you’d like to be add/removed from the tag list, please drop me a note.

Tag List:

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Gif Credit: @bilyrusso

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #the punisher

145 notes · View notes

lihikainanea · 3 years

Note

LEIIII, CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT BILL AND TIGER GOING THE THE MET GALA BILL FuCkINg HeR iN ThE ReStRoOm????????????????

FIRST OF ALL, I have this like, weird interest in fashion over the past two years or so. I've never particularly been into it, but now my instagram is mainly fashion inspo and like, who is this person???? I've never considered myself fashionable, much less interested in fashion and now I swear to god I spend Sunday afternoons ~judging people~ and looking up latest fashion trends and how to wear things and I am just LOVING IT. And since nobody asked, I'm going to go ahead and list you my top fucking fashion ABSOLUTELY DO FUCKING NOT pet peeves:

1) Matching pantsuits. Hello, no. I know the designers that are trying to bring this back, and it's a hard no for me dawg. I am in my almost mid thirties and I ain't trying to look like a fucking old maid, thanks. These will never be fashionable. Just stop.

2) Derby shoes. These literally don't go with anything. I'm not sorry. If you're that committed to huge, clunky, ugly fucking shoes, get clogs. I ain't saying you have to wear heels, not at all. But find yourself some nice oxfords, a nice loafer, hell even some mules--and they will be infinitely nicer than fucking derby shoes.

3) Layering. No, kids. Baum und Pferdgarten, I love you. I do. I have a few of your dresses. But ya'll motherfuckers need to stop with this pajama-esque, mixed and clashing pattern, oversized bullshit looks that you call fashion. There is a way to wear slouchy, and babes, THAT AIN'T IT. YOU LITERALLY LOOK LIKE A FUCKING WARHOL PAINTING THREW UP ON YOU. Mixing patterns is cool, we like that, but Jesus Christ it has to have some consistency.

alright, now onto the actual ask.

All of this to say, I kept a keen eye on the Met Gala this year and I was...perplexed. At best. Horrified, at worst.

So like, tiger right? There's little else in the world that tiger hates as much as Bill's outwardly Hollywood side. The parties. The schmoozing. And I mean, she knows it's part of his life so that's fine, but in fairness--Bill also abhors this side. He loathes it. And he's been to the Met gala once, which notoriously never allows a +1 unless that +1 is famous, but low and behold--by some stroke of luck--Bill's invitation this year allows for it.

"No." tiger says immediately.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask!" he exclaims.

"I know what that is," she points to the invitation in his hand, "And no."

It's a hard no. It takes Bill weeks--because like, tiger ain't Hollywood. She doesn't want to do the dress. She doesn't want the mingling with fucking celebrity guests. She doesn't want the paparazzi. She wants none of it. But like, eventually--after so much begging--eventually Bill gets her to agree. His stylist will get a dress for her. Hair and make up is taken care of. Bill promises her that she can just slip in the back, sit at the table, and have cocktails to her heart's galore while he walks the red carpet. She doesn't have to be photographed--and truth be told, tiger's a nobody so people aren't really interested in photographing her anyway. That's fine by her.

The dress worries her, because tiger isn't exactly celebrity material but the stylist is so kind in taking measurements. Bill handles everything--the flights, the make up reservations, the hair appointments. On the day of, he checks them into the Bowery Hotel and then tiger doesn't have to worry about a thing. He shoves a fluffy robe at her, and then there's just a flurry of activity--massages first. Breakfast after. A stint in the steam room--which they absolutely have sex in. Facials. Manicures--for both. A light lunch. And then the bell rings and in come a flurry of a team ready to glamorize them--Bill's favourite groomer, his stylist, tiger's make up artist, her hair stylist. The primping process is the longest tiger has ever been through--but there's wine, there's snacks, her Big Dude is right beside her looking handsome as all hell. And when tiger puts on a dress that is worth more than she makes in a year, when her hair is all done up and her make up is perfect--she begrudgingly admits to him that yes, Beeeeeel, she does feel pretty.

"You look stunning kid," he praises, pressing a gentle kiss on her cheek. To her slight embarrassment (but secret joy), he hands his phone off to his assistant and asks for a few pictures.

And like, here's the thing right? The Met Gala has a strict policy: no spouses or couples seated together. Seriously, it's a thing. Look it up. And while tiger is mildly freaking out about that, she calms down considerably when she does see a name tag at her table that she recognizes.

Alex. Skarsgård.

Tiger smiles, Bill grimaces.

And that's what starts it, right? Bill is at a table far away but not too far, and right where he can keep her in his line of sights. He knows she wasn't looking forward to this so he wants to keep an eye on her, but then like....why the fuck does she look like she's having so much fun? Alex is cracking the whole table up, being his usual charismatic self. Tiger is laughing, guffawing actually, beyond control--her hand on his, clutching his forearm. Bill barely even makes conversation with his own table, he's staring so intently at the two of them and tiger looking like she's having the best night of her life.

Bill's blood is boiling. It boils even more when he sees tiger make a face at her main plate--her nose wrinkling, her lip curled in disgust--and without missing a beat Alex's fork swoops over, plucks all the green onions from her food, and tiger smiles gratefully at him. Bill slams his napkin down on the table.

"Excuse me," he mutters in response to the curious glances. And then he stalks over, heads right to her table, and he's so silent that she jumps a mile when she hears his voice in her ear from behind her.

"A word, kid?" he says.

"But the food just--"

"Now." he says insistently. He holds a hand out to her, helps her push her chair back and stand. But then he's basically dragging her to a restroom, and poor tiger isn't quite used to heels this high.

"Hang on bud," she pleads, "I'm not that coordinated."

But he doesn't hang on. Instead he reaches back, loops a strong arm around her waist and basically carries her on his side to the bathroom. Tiger's feet don't hit the floor for a good 200 feet. And once inside the bathroom, he locks the door and glares at her.

"If that dress wasn't couture, I'd have you on your fucking knees kid," he threatens. Tiger's eyes get wide.

"What did I do?" she asks innocently. Bill just glares.

"Having a good time, are you? Having the best night ever?" he accuses.

Tiger is starting to get a feeling what this is about, and oh man--she's about to rile her Big Dude up. Dressed to the nines, in a public place, surrounded by riches, and Bill is about to get a bit possessive over her? Tiger is a sucker for it every time.

"Yes," she plays into it, "Alex is being amazing. He's so--"

She doesn't get to finish the sentence, because Bill growls and lunges for her, pinning her back against the cool tile.

"You are mine," he snarls. Tiger just tilts her chin up, bites onto his bottom lip.

"Prove it." she challenges.

The roar Bill lets out is fucking feral. Tiger doesn't even have time to react before her dress is pulled up, he yanks his belt undone, and he's slamming into her. She moans, and he grabs her face in his hand.

"Don't come," he snarls, "Don't you dare come."

And like the good girl she is for him--she doesn't. She grits her teeth, tries to stave it off even as he slams deep into her, growls as his release fills her up, bites her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She whimpers, her knees wobbly, and tries to reach for a tissue.

"No," he grabs her hand.

"But it's messy," she pleads. But another glare is enough to silence her, and he swiftly pulls her panties up, smoothes her dress back down.

"You're going to sit there, full of my come for the rest of the night," he tells her, "And I want you to think of that, I want you to feel it, every time you look at him."

"Bill--" she whimpers. He silences her with a rough kiss.

"Go on," he said, "Back to your seat."

On shaky legs, she turns and tries to walk out as nonchalant as possible. He waits a few minutes before exiting, going to find his seat and sitting back down. He keeps an eye on her for the rest of the evening, but he doesn't even have to--every time he looks over at her, she's already staring at him--her eyes wide, needy, her knees pressed tightly together.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #sub tiger #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

Text

Venti: First Meeting and Friendship HCs

First Meeting HCs

————————————————————

The god of freedom certainly lived up to the title. A truly free spirit who only wished the same for others. He shaped the many hills and cliffs of Mondstadt with his own hand, and graciously bestowed his powers unto those he deemed worthy. And yet…there he sat - teetering on the edge of a barstool, completely and utterly intoxicated.

The red-head manning the bar rolls his eyes at the sorry display the archon was creating, and resumes cleaning the glass in his hand. However as a bell rings out - signaling a new patron - he looks up.

You enter the famed “Angels Share”, the best tavern in Mondstadt - or so you’ve been told. Really, you’ll decide that for yourself - is what you think as you slide into an empty seat at the bar. Eager to unwind after a long day of adventuring, you order your drink and attempt to relax.

But really, your night didn’t end how you’d hoped at all. You ended up with a loud and incredibly clingy bard hanging off of your shoulder spouting barely comprehensible rhymes and poems. You would’ve found amusement in the spectacle if you weren’t so tired. Shrugging him off did no good, as he was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Thankfully, you got your sweet freedom as the bartender cut him off for the night, presenting the smaller boy with the shockingly large bill. A wave of pity washes over you as his face drops at the number.

He laughs awkwardly, attempting to convince the bartender that he could pay by other means, but the stoic man only sighs, trying to explain to the drop-dead drunk bard that he cannot keep the tavern open with “songs and sonnets”.

Really you were quite done with your failed attempt at relaxation - wanting to go home and just sleep the night away. Sliding a bag of Mora across the counter you state that it should be enough to cover both of your tabs. That was essentially all you’d earned via commission today, though, you can’t really find a reason to be mad about the extra expenditure. Helping people out - that’s just what you do. You don’t look twice as you exit the bar, though you feel a pair of eyes on your hooded figure as the door swings shut.

And that was that - you never saw the drunken bard again. Or so you thought. As the very next day you spotted him out of the corner of your eye while scouting around a Hilichurl camp, but as soon as you looked he was gone. And then that very same evening as you sat down for dinner at Good Hunter. Then several times over the next few days.

It was ticking you off, not just the fact that you had pretty much obtained a stalker, but the extra stress he brought with him as you now had to worry about his well being on top of yours during battle. You even started taking less dangerous commissions to further guarantee his safety. You didn’t really know or like the guy, but you certainly didn’t want him hurt, or worse; dead.

And by that point he wasn’t even trying to hide or disguise himself - trailing a few feet behind you nearly everywhere you went, drawing perplexed gazes from the townsfolk as you wandered from store to store for supplies. You were trying your best to keep your composure - to pretend he wasn’t even there in the first place - but the longer the charade went on the more cracks that appeared in your mask.

You didn’t mean to snap at him, honestly, but you were tired of putting up with a complete stranger following you around for no good reason - so you yelled at him. Right there in the middle of the market, the bard stood stunned - taken aback by your sudden outburst. He recovered quickly of course, smiling up/down at you like he hadn’t just been shouted at in clear view of the publics eye.

He hastily explains his actions, identifying himself as Venti - a travelling bard seeking inspiration for his next story. That night in the bar, he had been there lamenting - drowning his sorrows in wine over his recent pieces. They were all lacking ingenuity - a certain bit of flair that makes a story truly unforgettable. And that’s where you came in. You had caught his attention with your selfless act of generosity, so much so that it had given him that spark he he had been searching for. So naturally, he followed that spark - hoping it would continue to present him with the same creativity as before.

As you listen to his reasoning, the initial anger you felt mellows. You’re more than relieved that he’s not actually a creepy stalker, just a bard looking for inspiration.

Apologizing sheepishly for your actions, you scratch the back of your head. In that moment it was impossible to look into the boys eyes. You felt bad, truly. You had misread the situation entirely - thought it wasn’t all your fault. If the bard had simply approached you in the first place this whole fiasco could’ve all been avoided.

As you voice these thoughts to Venti he hums in understanding. He returns your apology with one of his own - bowing deeply with his beret in hand - shocking you and the few random townsfolk still paying attention to the scene.

Deeply embarrassed by the confused gazes the bard was drawing to them, you hastily accept his apology, tugging your hood further down to hide your hot face. Honestly the idea of just running away from the situation sounded quite appealing, but instead you restrain the urge - opting to walk past the boy as quick as possible.

Just as your shoulders brush, a hand latches onto your wrist - stopping your escape in its tracks. This time it’s Ventis turn to look sheepish, as he officially asks to accompany you on your exploits. He offers you entertainment and conversation, as well as any other skills he may or may not have - the latter only serving to confuse rather than convince you.

“Your journey would be far more enjoyable with a skilled bard such as myself by your side. Perhaps you would even allow me to write a ballad of your conquests?”

It’s not entirely uncommon for a bard to travel with an adventurer for inspiration, you suppose to yourself. Though you’re still more than a bit apprehensive on the matter. It’s not that you don’t want his company - really it does get quite lonely alone out on the road - it’s simply his safety that concerns you. But upon voicing this Venti simply chuckles, exclaiming that he’s much stronger than his appearance lets on.

Now - with no real reason to refuse - you accept his offer, earning a cheer from the bard. And so your joint journey began - you and Venti against whatever tasks or monsters needed tackling.

Friendship HC

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It goes without saying that if you didn’t have a vision before, you certainly have one now. Within the first week in fact. Waking up in the early hours of the day to a soft blue glowing vision beside your head was not something you ever thought you’d experience - but of course you’re not complaining.

Upon shaking the bard awake to show him your discovery he only gives a rather tame reaction - as if he already knew you had it.

“Hmm? You woke up to a vision by your side? My, my - what luck you seem to possess! Perhaps now you may go into battle with less distress.”

Travelling with Venti is never dull, as he fills the silence with stories of old - tales of the long deserted original city of Mondstadt, the creation of the seven nations themselves and other obscurities that you don’t remember hearing about in any history book. Often times he interrupts his own story to spill his own hot take on a major historical figure or deity - hearing him call Andrius a “mother hen in denial” had you spit out your drink. His storytimes often end with you wondering how exactly someone so young would have knowledge of times long gone. He always shrugs it off, quickly changing the subject with a smile filled with secrets. For a boy so young he talks as if he’s been around for centuries.

Any looming worries over his well being are quickly dismissed once you see him fight. His nimble fingers and sharp eyes shoot down all matter of foes in rapid succession, and his skills at utilizing anemo are completely unparalleled. Really, you’re left wondering how he’s not the adventurer here.

You will absolutely fall victim to his pranks there’s nothing you can do about it. Whether it’s the wind blowing your cloak around in your face, extra jueyun chilies in your food or a slime condensate down the back of your shirt - you cannot escape the impish bards mischievous side. It’s when he suddenly falls quiet that you have to worry. A silent Venti is a scheming Venti.

However this is not a one-sided deal at all, he welcomes - no, insists - that you prank him back. He doesn’t want you to be left out of the fun after all! So get him back for that frog he put in your pack, or the time he kept pushing air currents in your direction so you couldn’t land your glider. Really; the more creative the better. If you’re able to prank him successfully he’ll laugh with you as you celebrate, praising you for your victory. But be warned that his next scheme will be twice as good as yours.

If you ever need a break from his shenanigans, go hang out with a cat. He won’t approach you while the animal is around, however he will be pouting up a storm from a distance.

You’ve gotten to discover many quirks of the bard clad in green over time, like how the tips of his hair seem to glow brighter when he’s in a good mood - especially when he laughs, and that he’s completely repulsed by cheese. If he ever bothers you too much you can get him back by chasing him while holding the stuff. Some of that nasty, stinky stuff Sara has at Good Hunter should do the trick. Mind you that the boy is incredibly spry - so good luck keeping up.

Eventually, he ends up revealing his true identity to you after the guilt of lying begins to eat away at his heart - making it harder to keep up his persona. Really he’d wanted to tell you for months at that point, but a lingering feeling of apprehension - a worry that you may no longer see him the same way - kept holding him back.

“Y/N, I wish to tell you a truth I’ve been hiding. You see…in reality, I am Lord Barbatos.”

“…”

“That…actually explains so much…”

He’s relieved to find that nothing has changed between the two of you after his revelation. You still treat him like Venti the bard, just as you always have. It’s a weight off his shoulders to be sure, and you can tell his overall mood has improved too.

It’s still kind of shocking when he switches to “Barbatos mode”, as you’ve taken to calling it. Spouting bars of philosophical gibberish at the most random of times leaves you blinking in utter confusion and often times just hurts your brain.

At the end of the day, the God of freedom is incredibly lonely. The best way to describe it is that he’s detached - he’s out of touch with his ever-changing homeland and the people that reside in it. Only ever appearing to handle a major problem or calamity at hand and then sending himself into a deep slumber for hundreds of years.

Waking up each time is like mental whiplash for the poor god, as he sees towns rise and fall, people come and go and things change again just he’s beginning to get used them. It takes a toll on him - though he won’t let anyone see that.

He craves companionship and the feeling of belonging that comes with it more than anything. Placing unconditional trust in someone else, backing them up when the goings get tough and having them do the same in return. Providing a shoulder to lean on in moments of weakness and being so comfortable that breathing easy becomes the simplest thing in the world. That’s what he wants. Barbatos may not be human but his vessel is.

That’s why Barbatos cherishes his friendship with you so much. He knows you - like all other humans - have a finite amount of time in this world. In time, wrinkles will adorn your face, and strands of silvery gray will appear in your hair. You bones will ache as age seeps into your body. And yet he will experience no such afflictions - forever wearing the face of a young boy from another time. Ever ageless, frozen in time.

The dull ache that spreads through his chest at the thought of watching the one who he considers his closest friend wither away in front of him is…crushing. Even though he knows your time alive is brief, and that your death would only cause him more pain - he can’t stop himself.

He’ll spend nearly every day by your side, telling you tales of yore, pulling pranks and practical jokes, covering your back in battle and being there when you need it most. He wants you to experience the land and all its freedoms. He wants you to get the most out of what little time you have in such a vast and expansive world.

You’re the closest friend he’s had since the real Venti - and he sees bits of him in you too. You help fill the gaping hole of loneliness in his chest - one stemming from a millennia of duty and repressed guilt.

He knows you’ll eventually leave him, and one day hopefully he’ll come to terms with that. But for now, he’s content with you by his side, racing off into whatever dangers lie ahead.

————————————————————

This turned out so much longer that I thought it would I’m so sorry ;-;

I know you said all you wanted were headcannons but I think I went a lil too far…ok ALOT too far

I had fun though…so thanks for giving me something to work on!

—

No need to feel sorry! I loved it so much. Headcanons, fics, whatever you want^^ I stan talent and you have it 💕💕

I don’t know if you lads remember but when I was struggling over Venti HCs, this was the friend I asked for crumbs of inspiration that ended up giving me an entire fic. I went absolutely feral over it and wanted to share it with you all.

So thank you to @fulltimeventisimp [alt account] for your beautiful work and feeding us all Venti crumbs. I swear to god, if there is a Venti re-run and you don’t get 6 venti’s in one 10 roll it’s time to riot.

[No worries about tags]

Also, I know this isn’t my work but I’m going to tag you all in this

@mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @nonniechan @htnicayh @genshins1mpact @morthecreator @aanne2601 @aklxojjk @hanniejji

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

I can't imagine my life without you

Day 13, Story #1 is by @cheesyficwriter

Title: I can’t imagine my life without you

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Song fic (lyric prompt), “Imagine” by Ben Platt

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of postpartum depression

I can’t imagine my life without you

It’s a day like no other, leaving Hermione wishing it could be over.

The transition back to work at the Ministry full-time after giving birth to little Rosie presents more challenges than anticipated. Each day, she chips a fraction away at her massive to-do list, endless amounts of paperwork and research for upcoming trials, leaving her only mildly satisfied with what she’s accomplished.

In reality, Hermione is aware that it’s in her nature to obsess over all aspects of her work that could go wrong. She always prides herself on her professionalism and now struggles with maintaining the work-life balance necessary for a new mum.

Most days, she arrives at the Ministry too tired to think straight. The hours are long, and as someone running on frequent nights with minimal sleep, it’s difficult for Hermione to be as productive as she used to be in the department.

Rosie is a fussy baby, and the hours not spent at work are spent fighting for ways to keep her calm — holding her, rocking, changing her nappy, feeding, entertaining. It’s unnatural for Hermione to feel like she has no clue what she’s doing, and that realization is frightening for a first-time parent.

Ron is a doting father, who seems to be having a much simpler time adjusting to the new addition to the family. He approaches parenting with natural ease. As soon as Ron picks Rosie up, she stops crying. If Ron walks into the room, a smile lights up their daughter’s face. He brings joy into her world, leaving Hermione with an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty if she is cut out for her new role as a mother.

Although Hermione tries to throw herself back into work to escape her struggles in her home life, the exhaustion takes a toll on her, resulting in far more emotional outbursts than deemed appropriate at work.

It isn’t easy to remain patient when challenges seem insurmountable, goals unattainable, and negative thoughts creep in to seep the joy out of her day.

As Hermione walks through the floo network to head home for the evening, she mentally prepares herself for the madness that she is certain she will walk into, if every other evening that same week is any indication.

For the first time in weeks, Hermione doesn’t arrive home to a crying baby. In fact, the stunning silence brings a wave of panic, prompting Hermione to withdraw her wand and call out,

“Ron?“

Soft, melodic music floats through the room, and Hermione begins walking towards the source as she listens for the lyrics.

Your eyes give life a new meaning

It’s like I found the North Lights

I never knew what I needed

Until I felt your hand holding mine

The sight Hermione uncovers has her at a standstill in the doorway of the kitchen.

There is a self-stirring saucepan on the stove and several knives chopping potatoes. The sink overflows with bubbles, piles of dirty dishes sticking out from underneath the suds.

Ron is there in the center of the room, cradling Rosie in his arms. He has a flannel thrown over his shoulder and a dummy in his hand as he bounces their cooing daughter.

A flat disc spirals on the gramophone in the corner of the room, the sound coming from it reverberating off the walls.

Yeah, you say I’m your hero

But you are the one that saved me

If I ever lost you

I’d fall to my knees

Hermione leans against the door frame, her heart swelling with great love for her little family. She watches as Ron twirls around the room with a squealing Rose, and he’s dancing with a rhythm that she didn’t know he possessed.

Covering her mouth with one hand, Hermione stifles a giggle, thinking back to a younger Ron and his clunky two left feet when they danced together at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He was so nervous then — they both were — and she marvels at how far they’ve come.

Dancing is about letting go and being free. When nothing else works — as Hermione suspects is the case with Rosie, who has quite the set of lungs on her — turning on music seems to do the trick.

I can’t imagine my life without you

I can’t imagine one night without you

Seeing her family in the kitchen does wonders to lift Hermione’s mood, and it’s as if all of the stress and negativity just melt away. All she can see is her husband and daughter, and Hermione becomes conscious of the heart beating inside her chest in time with the steady rhythm of the music.

She’s torn between laughing, and crying, and bouncing along, and crying some more. Sometimes the best surprises can change the entire tone of a single day from the simplest of tasks.

In the Granger-Weasley household, dancing is their reset button.

If something happened, don’t know what I’d do

I can’t imagine, I can’t imagine my life without you

Ron has his back towards Hermione, slowly rocking Rosie from side to side with one hand while flourishing his wand towards the plates to start setting the supper table for three.

“What d'ya say, Rosie?” Ron murmurs before plopping a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Shall we tell your mum to stop gawking at us and come join us?”

Your eyes give life a new meaning

It’s like I found the North Lights

Oh, I never knew what I needed

Until I felt your hand holding mine

Hermione gasps as Ron pivots around, meeting her gaze with a lazy grin and a wink.

Rosie squirms in Ron’s arms, and she’s reaching towards her mother with glee.

With a shaky breath, Hermione walks forward to take hold of her daughter, who rests her little head on Hermione’s shoulder.

“She’s missed her mummy today,” Ron comments as he leans over Rose’s head of ginger hair to press a soft kiss to Hermione’s temple.

“Mmm.” Hermione’s eyelids droop to a close. “Is she the only one?“

“Not a chance, Granger.” Ron brushes a hand down her cheek, making her eyelids flutter open. He’s studying her like he has a window into her soul, and it’s as if all of the emotions she’s felt throughout the day are now on full display for him to see.

Ron always does have the impeccable ability to get her, particularly when she’s stressed beyond belief.

“Bad day, love?"

"Better now,” Hermione replies, burying her nose into the small patch of curls on Rose’s head, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh strawberries and warm milk. A smell that is so wonderfully baby.

Her baby.

Yeah, you say I’m your hero

But you are the one that saved me

If I ever lost you

I’d fall to my knees

When Hermione first arrived back at their cottage for the evening, all she wanted to do was fall underneath the covers and wallow. It could’ve been easy for her to fall into a looping pattern of self-pity.

Seeing her family provides a sense of calm in the natural ebb and flow of life. However big or small, bad days are only temporary.

Now, standing with the two most important people in her life, she’s filled with a sense of gratitude for their constant presence. Thanks to them, she knows what it means to be happy and to see the beauty in tough moments.

I can’t imagine my life without you

I can’t imagine one night without you

If something happened, don’t know what I’d do

I can’t imagine, I can’t imagine my life without you

“It’s okay, love.” Ron cradles her cheek with one hand, a gesture that he knows always calms her. “It’s okay to let it all go.”

He rests his forehead to hers, and they slowly start to sway together along to the gentle rhythm of the song playing in the background. Rose squeals from the space between her parents’ bodies, reminding them of her presence. Both Ron and Hermione chuckle, planting matching kisses on both sides of their daughter’s cheeks.

A wide grin spreads across Hermione’s face, and a familiar set of words filter into her thoughts: Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. Fond memories flashing through her mind of Professor Dumbledore — long white beard, spectacles, and all.

It’s easy to lose sight of what’s most important when drowning in negativity. Dancing provides an opportunity for her to slow her thoughts down and root herself in the present.

Her family is the source of light in her darkest times.

I can’t imagine my life without you

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #tw: mentions of postpartum depression #romione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione granger x ron weasley

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billys-mullet · 3 years

Text

"you want to w h a t!?"

"sshhh!"

tw; w/tersports

billy's glare scared away the curious eyes that shot in their direction. sounds of running water and the raucous that tended to follow practice sessions filled the locker room for a moment. and when it appeared that nothing more was going to come from the outburst the gazes turned away. brown bored into blue as billy glared.

it was stupid to have brought this up in a crowded place, but it had been weighing heavy on his mind ever since he saw his ridiculously charming boyfriend yakking away at stephanie's party last week, all eyes within a ten foot radius trained on him. nevermind that steve had supposedly fallen from grace; people still flocked to him for his charisma and his pretty face. there wasn't anybody steve harrington couldn't charm. and that became extremely evident in the way tanya harris had been plastered against his side, giggling away at every little detail of the story steve was weaving.

so maybe billy was jealous. maybe he was a little possessive. maybe he wanted to mark his territory in the most animalistic of ways —

yeah, okay, maybe it was a little weird. the heat clawing up the back neck wasn't caused by the shitty spray coming from the showerhead.

steve breathed heavily behind the palm that billy had slapped over his mouth. they glared at one another for a long minute, and then billy's hand fell back against his side.

'not a word,' his scowl snapped.

'we're talking about this,' steve's glower replied.

billy would rather walk out of the room — but he knows steve will follow. they'll make a scene, one that probably wont end in flying fists like it should. they're past that now. have been for a few months. not even the illusion of the 'shaky friendship' they're putting forward would be enough to keep rumors from spreading.

billy's glare slides to the side and they slow down the pace of their showering until the locker room eventually empties aside from the pair. the door hasn't even shut all the way before steve is turning to explode on him:

"you want to /pee/ on me!?"

"it's not —"

"don't. don't you 'it's not like that' me. what else can it be!? there's nothing else it could be!"

"at least i asked first before whipping out my dick and just /doing/ it."

"you're disgusting."

"yeah? you like it."

steve's silence and the purse of his lips betray that he does, indeed, like billy... no matter how nasty he is. and, god, he was nasty.

"why...? why is that even a thing?"

"it's..." billy feels stupid. this was a stupid thing to ask for. but his boyfriend is hot. and sometimes his mouth got the better of him when he was spewing filth and things just came out, things he should have kept tucked away, things that should never ever see the light of day.

like this, like now. billy begins gathering up his bag, turning away from steve. nevermind. he shouldn't have brought it up. there must be some kind of look on his face because a hand slides up his wet arm and wraps around his bicep.

"billy... you have to talk to me. we're working on that, remember?"

"shut up."

"hey... hey, come here. i'm sorry, okay? i'm sure there's a reason. i'm sure, um, i'm sure we all have our kinks. just... explain it to me."

steve was so— billy didn't deserve him. he should leave this locker room without looking back, make steve crawl after him like a begging bitch.

"iwanttopeeonyoubecausei'mjealous."

"huh?"

"christ, harrington... you're killing me."

"you said it too fast!"

"i want to pee on you because i'm jealous!"

"...wh–... why? that doesn't even–"

"i saw you talking to tanya the other day and she was making these... these..." billy's voice is a breathless rush, "stupid goo-goo eyes at you. it pissed me off. and i cant stop thinking that... you know, you're /mine/. and i can't prove that in any way. and nobody knows. so if i were to just do something, like if i were to mark you then–"

steve's eyebrows furrow closer and closer together the longer than billy rambles. and then they suddenly shoot up.

"like a dog?"

"huh?"

"like a dog. they pee to mark their territory. is that...?"

"you calling me a bitch?"

"something like that." but steve is grinning. the hackles on the back of billy's neck lower. he's scowling, eyes narrowed where they glare at steve. he wants to mop the floor with the smile.

"fuck you."

"i'm sorry! come here. c'mere, i'm sorry. you set yourself up for that one."

as angry as billy is, he allows steve to gather him in his arms. their bodies slide against one another, slick from the spray still raining down on them. steve's mouth finds his easily, their lips moving together in a chaste press before billy pulls away. he's still trying to run, but the leg steve wraps around his waist keeps him rooted.

"fine."

billy's eyebrow arches.

"fine. you can pee on me."

"fuck off."

"i mean it! i mean it, billy. i'm not joking." steve's eyes are wide and sincere. billy rolls his own before going to untangle himself from their embrace. steve still won't let him. he hops up and wraps /both/ legs around billy's waist, taking him hy surprise and causing the two of them to nearly go toppling to the ground. billy barely managed to wrap his arm around that dotted waist, the way he stumbled forward causing them to rest against the tilted shower wall.

"this is as good of a place as any, right? no mess to clean up after. so just... do it. stop looking at me and do it. i'm not going to make fun of you anymore, i promise." steve is breathing a little heavy, though it's unclear if that was from excitement or from the fact that they had nearly busted ass.

billy can't look. the way his hands tremble and his own unsteady breaths betray him. he knows he should be cocky and sure but this is — it's a lot. too much. yet steve was still understanding and too damn sweet for his own good. billy loves him. he hasn't ever said it out loud but he hopes steve knows that.

"c'mon, bills. it's okay." a hand buries itself in the back of his head, scratching at his scalp. it's all the encouragement he needs.

a little maneuvering has the head of billy's dick trapped at the juncture between one of steve's thighs and the softness of his stomach. nerves bite him in the ass, but so does excitement. and it's hard to keep from getting, well, /hard/ when he's got slick wet skin against his own, the smell of steve's shampoo making him lightheaded. he's vaguely aware that steve murmurs words of encouragement against his temple.

it takes him a moment to actually do it. there's a visible jerk to his dick, body shuddering, and then relief floods his lower stomach while ropes of liquid heat spill over a dotted thigh, trickling down over his hip and along his ass.

billy buries his face in the softness of steve's throat, teeth gnawing a bruise. can't help himself as he murmurs a litany of, "mineminemine" as his bladder empties and a different kind of relief fills him. it's the nastiest thing he's ever done. it's the best thing he's ever done.

and steve—

gasps. goes taut. makes the strangest sound in the back of his throat when the warmth trickles over his skin. it might be from the way billy's got a hand fisted in the back of his hair, keeping him pulled close, but billy is selfish and wants to think it's because he's getting off on this too.

"g– od... billy..."

a grunt is the only response steve gets. billy's bladder had emptied itself but he refuses to pull away from his hiding spot.

"billy," steve whines, tugging on the back of his head until he gets the idea. their mouths slot together in another kiss, sloppy and full of teeth. steve rolls his hips forward, half-hard dick sliding against billy's stomach, and it's enough to have his own fattening up where it's still enveloped in velvety tightness.

"that was hot. i've n– never seen you... like that. you really want me that bad?" a strand of dark hair sticks to steve's forehead. his own eyes are heavy with need, lips a swollen pink from their kiss. he slides forward again and makes that noise from earlier, head falling back against the wall. billy wants to devour him.

their bodies move together without any rhythm, nothing but the thought of chasing pleasure in their minds. steve finishes first, his yelp echoing off the walls. billy paints his hip white with a muffled groan a few seconds after, fingers biting into his backside.

they haven't even caught their breaths before steve is leaning down and whining a pathetic, "again."

#harringrove #steve #billy #writing #my fics #lemon #please heed the warning!#this is nasty #sort of #lmao #based on another headcanon of mine #oopsie

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