#even though this account has been dead for ages

[heatheniousmaterials]

Hungri girls make Ravioli. Ravioli makes stuffed girls. Stuffed girls make gaming. Gaming makes hungy gorls.

#this came to me in the middle of the night #woke up to post it #even though this account has been dead for ages #time to go back to sleep #see you in another 4 months #tara says shit

[bvbygrl-writes]

Wrong House

Pairing: Stu Macher x Nerdy!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: A step into wrong house leads to a night of the right fun.

A/N: I was not supposed to upload this tonight but I'm too excited about it. I'm not proof reading this long ass shit either so if something is spelled wrong use your imagination to fix it, mwuah! <3

Warnings: reader has afab anatomy breaking and entering, knife play, homoerotic themes (they kiss but nothing more than that), mentions of murder, eiffel towering, loss of virginity, coercion and ultimatums, rope bandage, panty kink, and panty sniffing.

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE.

(Y/n) was naturally an anxious girl but, with her parents out of town and the string of murders happening, she was on edge. She had every single light on in the house, the downstairs tv on, anything to make it seem as though the house was full of life. The reporters on the radio had told people to stay together and while most of the students in school had that option, she didn’t. Nobody wanted to be friends with the quiet girl who still wore Care Bear sweaters and could recite Star Trek lines from memory.

Nibbling the end of her pencil, she let out an exasperated sigh. She had been staring at the same math problem in her textbook for a good 45 minutes. “Focus, (Y/n/n), focus. If you do end up living through all of this, you’ll want to get into a good college.If you fail, mom and dad will make you wish you were dead.” she said out loud to herself, a sad laugh falling from her lips. At that same moment, her stomach began to grumble. When was the last time she ate? Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number to her favorite chinese food place. She loved it because the food was cheap and they were one of the only places that delivered something other than pizza after 10PM. 

“Alright, thank you!” she said, placing the phone back on the receiver. It’d be about a 20 minute wait, giving her time to focus more on her work. Sighing she sat back down in front of her textbook, staring at the page until the numbers started to blur together. “Well, that’s enough of that! I should get the money for the delivery driver seeing as it’ll be here in…” glancing at the clock on her wall she sighed, “Twenty minutes.” ignoring that face, she stood up, bunny slippers stomping over the carpeted floor to the piggy bank on her dresser. She pulled out a 10 dollar bill along with a 5 for the tip. But before (Y/n) could even get to her door, she heard a noise at the front door. 

“Th-that’s weird. There’s still nineteen minutes an-” she shrieked at the sound of the door bursting open. Every anxiety filled thought she had had since being home by herself was coming true. The blood drained from her face, her body growing light at the sound of the voices coming from the living room. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as she turned off the lights and closed her bedroom door. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put in perspective just how real this all was. She silently cursed her dad for never fixing the damn lock on her window. She might’ve broken a few bones from jumping, but that’d be better than being completely dead! Looking around her room she made the decision to jump in her closet, closing the accordion door.

She became aware of how loudly she was breathing, clamping her hands over her mouth. Her body trembled with terror. ‘Is this how I die? Alone, never experiencing friendship or love?’ Was this really the time to be feeling sorry for her lack of social and love life? ‘Well to be fair, this may be one of the last times I’m able to feel anything whatsoever.’ The sound of her bedroom door opening instantly made her mind go blank. The girl felt as though she was having a heart attack and honestly? She would have preferred that to whatever death she was about to experience.

“Are you sure this is the right house? This doesn’t look like Chelsea’s room.” A male’s voice remarked, the lights flicking on. She could see through the small slots on the folding door that there were two men. One had dark hair and a knife in his hand. The other one was taller with blonde hair and a backpack with god knows what inside of it.

“Yeah, dude! This is 345 Avalee Lane.” the other one exclaimed, an almost sinister grin on his face. The dark hair one made a sound that was a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“You fucking idiot! Chelsea lives in 348, we’re in the wrong house!” he pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking over the little trash can near her desk across the room. (Y/n) relaxed a bit. Maybe since they weren’t looking for her they’d just leave?

“Well at least no one’s home, we can just get out of here.” The blonde one rasped out, eating a piece of candy off of her dresser before tossing the wrapper on the ground. ‘Rude’ she thought.

“The lights and the tv were on. Someone’s definitely in this house. I’m going to go check the other rooms and you look around this one a bit better. We can’t take any chances.” The brunette exited the room and in the distance he heard the sound of different doors being opened. 

The blonde one began to hum, snooping around her room. He walked over to her dresser, opening up her panty drawer. A smile grew on his face as he held up a pair of white ones with a pink lace trim, shoving them in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “Cute.” he said to himself (or so he thought). Walking over to her bed, he tossed the covers back before bending down to check under the bed as well. Next, he walked over to the cupboard of her collectable figurines, opening up the door. “Hm.” he shrugged before beginning to exit the room. She removed her hands from her mouth, placing them on the floor beside her as she let her body relax. However, before he could leave, she could see a lightbulb go off in his brain as he turned around walking towards the closet. The girl’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. As he opened the closet door, she couldn’t even manage to make a sound. A look of surprise made its way onto his face before he began to grin. “You’ve got cute little undies. Hey Billy!”

All (Y/n) could do was sit there in shock. She recognized this boy, he was in her art classes although he rarely showed up. Now that she could really see his face, he was quite attractive. Before she could delve into why she was letting herself think that, the other one (who she assumed was Billy) appeared right next to him. Although he had a scowl on his face, he was just as attractive. ‘Well, you always said you wanted a cute guy to notice you. There’s two! But you should’ve been more specific, huh (Y/n/n)?’ 

“She’s kind of cute in a dorky little way, ain’t she?” Stu commented as Billy used his knife to lift her chin. She didn’t dare stop making eye contact with Billy for fear of what he might do with that knife the second she did. He tilted her face around, examining it from all sorts of angles before he chuckled.

“She is. (Y/n), right? You’re the girl that’s always winning those sciences awards at school. We have AP English together.” he said in a calm tone. This was the strangest thing she had ever experienced. Why were they dragging this on so much when they could just kill her and get it over with?

“M-mmm-mhm!” she stuttered out, nodding her head ever so slightly so she didn’t cut herself on the blade. 

“Although I agree with my friend here, you still find yourself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I’ve got a plan and if I let you live, there’s a big chance you’re going to blab and ruin it for me.” he said, his words coming out through gritted teeth towards the end. “So unfortunately, your time’s up.”

“No, no please! I-I-I won’t blab and tell! I don’t have any friends or anyone to tell I won’t tell please! I promise!” she sobbed, begging for her life as he pressed the knife against her neck harder. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which would also explain the sensation happening between her legs. Fat tears continued to stream down her face. “I promise please there’s gotta be a way!” she continued to plead for her life, waiting for something, just anything to happen. Whatever it’d take for this situation to be over. However, she was surprised when the knife suddenly was no longer pressed to her neck. Looking up, she saw the blonde one’s hand had moved it away and he was whispering something into Billy’s ear. Their eyes kept flickering to parts of the room and then back to her before Billy gave a singular nod. 

“It seems my friend Stu here has taken quite a liking to you so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a bit of fun with you and if we enjoy it, you live and we’ll be back to get you after we finish some…business. And if not, I’ll slit your throat right after we finish. Does that sound fair?” Billy said, tugging her from her sitting position to be in between the both of them. She nodded frantically, happy to have even a small chance of living. She knew they were probably going to kill her when they were done, but at least that moment was suspended for a bit longer.

“Wh-what do I need t-to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she looked up at the two of them. They were completely dwarfing her with their size, it was like being trapped between two incredibly hot trees. Stu grinned at her once again before stepping back a bit.

“Well you can start by stripping!” he instructed, phrasing it like a suggestion even though she knew it wasn’t. She nodded, taking off her cream colored sweater, sliding her Power Rangers pajama pants down right after. She began to hesitate slightly as now she was just in her slippers and underwear.

“Allow me.” Billy said, using his knife to snip off her bra. He started at the shoulder straps, taking a moment to stare at her breast before tearing the backband as well. She didn’t try to cover up, knowing her chances of survival would dwindle to none. He went to pull down her panties but Stu stopped him, shaking his head.

“Leave those on her.” he said, before getting down on his knees in front of her. Billy held her arms behind her back with one of his, peeking over the girl’s shoulders to see what his moronic friend had planned. What she didn’t expect was for him to bury his face into her underwear-clad pussy and sniff. Stu let out a low moan as he did, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continued to sniff at her front, his nose nudging her clit through the fabric. “God that’s amazing. Looks like she’s enjoying it too.” he said, rubbing his finger on the wet spot forming on her panties. He gently pressed his fingers against the fabric causing (Y/n) to squirm a bit, a gentle moan falling from her mouth.

“Oh, that’s such a pretty noise.” Billy purrs lowly in her ear. Standing from the floor, Stu lifts his fingers up to Billy’s mouth and without thinking, he opens it. The girl watches in awe, her clit beginning to throb at the way the two men were interacting with one another. Stu slowly pulls his fingers from the man’s mouth, biting his lip as the other man licks his. “Did you want a taste?” he asks in a deep tone. At the same time, they both lean over and begin to share a passionate and heated open mouth kiss. Little moans and grunts fall from them, a gasp falling from her own lips as Stu grips at her waist, beginning to grind against her front, his bulge slotted between her slit. Billy mimics his actions, grinding his cock against her ass. She was glad the two were holding her up, because at the current moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would work. This was a whole new world for her. She had never been kissed or even touched by one man let alone two. The noises falling from her mouth were completely out of her control, the sensation of their rhythmic rubbing along with the scene of them kissing above her was all too much for her to handle. 

As though they could hear her thoughts, they pulled away from their kiss, turning their attention back to her. She hadn’t even realized that the knife was completely gone now. If she wanted to, she could’ve ran and gotten away. If she wanted to. Billy gripped her arms once more, beginning to walk her over to the bed. She felt her face grow warm at the collection of stuffed animals, causing her to look at the ground. “They keep me warm at night.” she defended weakly. Stu laughed, cooing at her before picking one up and turning it to face the wall, repeating the action several times with the other one.

Billy groaned, annoyed. “Seriously?”

“What? I know how the girls get about that sort of thing.” As Stu continued with his antics, the brunette reached for his friend’s bag. (Y/n) eyed him curiously, thinking he had changed his mind on their deal but was relieved when all he pulled out was a bit of rope. Wait, rope? He tossed it up and down smirking at her before positioning himself behind her as he began to tie her hands together. ‘This is better than whatever they usually probably use this for.’ She tugged at the rope, the friction causing a mild irritation from the action. He pushed her a bit, causing her to fall forward onto the bed. Her ass was in the air while the upper part of her body fell down due to having no support. She listened to the sound of belts and pants clambering before feeling the bed dip down behind her. At that same time, a pair of legs kneeled in front of her as well. She felt as a hand carded it’s way through her hair before tightening, lifting her face to be eye level with a cock. Peering up, she saw that it was Billy.

“Are you gonna open up or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked, causing a bit of panic to flash through the girl’s (e/c) eyes.

“S-sorry. I’ve never done any of this before.” she muttered, causing a whistle from behind her. She could imagine the grin on Stu's face.

“A cute virgin?! How lucky are we tonight? Oh this is going to be fun. I haven’t popped a cherry in quite a long time.” Stu gushed, rubbing his hands together. “I can barely contain myself!” her panties were then pulled to the side, long fingers beginning to rub all along her slick covered folds. She let out a whimper, her knees trembling as he began to rub circles on her clit. As he slid a finger in, her mouth fell open which Billy saw as the perfect opportunity. Gripping her hair a bit tighter, he began to slide his cock into her mouth slowly. He stared down at her face, watching as her mouth began to struggle with the girth of him, tears falling down her face.

“You better stop with all those tears, I really don’t wanna cum this early.” Billy teased, beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He hissed in pleasure at her tight and warm little mouth, tossing his head back as he let out a guttural moan. Behind her, Stu had managed to work the third finger in, stretching and scissoring them around.Gripping her hip with one hand, he used his other to glide his cock along her lips causing them to both moan. “Hurry up, I wanna pick up the pace but I’m trying to make it easier for you.”

“I’m going!” and with that, Stu slid his cock in with one swift motion. His grip on her hips tightened at the same time her walls did as he fell forward for a bit, head resting against the small of her back. “G-god, oh fuck! You’ve got a tight little pussy, huh?” he said through gritted teeth, beginning to pound into her at an almost animalistic pace. Her pussy drooled around his cock as she continued to moan around Billy, choking as he also picked up his pace. Their thrust were alternating. As Stu would pull his cock out some, Billy’s would enter her throat deep, barely giving her a chance to get used to anything. She had already came around his cock twice, the feeling being overwhelmingly pleasurable. 

They were using her like a doll, holding her up and angling her just right. All she could do was sob and take it, the only thing on her mind was their cocks and her life. She didn’t even care if she was going to die after this, this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life. 

“You look so helpless when you cry. God, Stu I wish you could see her right now.” Billy moaned out, staring down into those wet (e/c) eyes. Picking up his pace, he gripped at her scalp, full on skull fucking her now. His thrust had grown sloppy and so had his counterpart’s. 

“Tr-trust me, my view is just as good. I’m cl-close!” he whined out, reaching a finger down to rub at the girl's sensitive and swollen clit. (Y/n) screamed around Billy’s cock sending him over the edge. Pulling out, he coated her face and hair in a load of sticky white cum. Watching Billy stroke his cock over her face pushed Stu over the edge as well, causing him to bounce her back on his dick, whimpering as he came deep inside of her. 

The room fell silent and as (Y/n) came to her senses, the question of the hour came back to haunt her. Was she going to live?

“Are you satisfied, Stu?”

“More than, man.”

“Well..” Billy trailed off, stepping off of the bed. As Stu pulled out, she felt cold and exposed. Both men stood behind her, staring as the load of cum began to roll down the back of her legs. The brunette reached forward, grabbing her wrist rather roughly before untying her. “I guess you live. We’ll be back. In the meantime, get cleaned up.” the sound of the doorbell ringing caused the two men to look out the window, thinking she had somehow managed to get in contact with help. However, they both relaxed at the sight of the delivery truck on the outside of the house. 

“Make sure you save me some chow mein!” Stu said. The girl rolled over on her back, letting out a breathless laugh watching as the two quickly got dressed. Before they headed for the bedroom door, Stu took her panties off of her, sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans. 

“For good luck!”

#scream #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis x stu matcher #stu macher x reader #stu macher #stu macher x you #stu macher x y/n #stu macher x billy loomis #scream imagine #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy x reader x stu #stu macher x reader x billy loomis #stu x reader x billy

[captainfern]

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part One - Pink Tape •

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - your introduction to the rugby union team and your new job as their physiotherapist. and the team winger ensures you have a warm welcome lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], gaz has insane rizz in this, f!masturbation, oral [f!receiving], fingering?, praise, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Gaz is a winger, or wing – fast, agile and play on the "wing" or outside edges of the field. this position tends to score the greatest number of tries.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

part two ->

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When you received the phone call that you had been hired by one of the best rugby union teams in England, you were overjoyed.

It was a dream come true to be a physiotherapist for a professional sports team, and although you were excited to be apart of such an incredible work environment, you were also excited to see a significantly higher amount of money enter your bank account on paydays.

Your first day, you woke up earlier than usual, a good twenty minutes before your alarm. Nerves swirled in your stomach as you got ready for the day, completing your usual morning routine and getting dressed. Putting on the team's colours, with staff across the back made a smile grow wide across your face. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a while, butterflies fluttering rapidly around your stomach as the time ticked closer to the start of your workday.

Before you headed out, you pulled out your phone and searched the team up one last time. You tapped on the first link, and then proceeded to find the team list that had every player and their statistics available to the public. Their age, height, weight, the amount of games they've played, the amount of tries they've scored. In most of the photos, the players were posing in ways that made you roll your eyes– pointing at the camera, shouting with a fist in the air, pointing at the logo on their jersey with a huge grin. You couldn't help but laugh a little.

As you scrolled, perched on the end of your bed, four specific players caught your attention, your thumb hovering over your screen before you could scroll on. There was just something about them that made them stand out, even when they looked similar to everyone else– the same shirt, same background in the photo, same layout of statistics between them.

The scrum-half was posing like many of the others– pointing dead at the camera, a cocky grin on his face. In the photograph, he had a freshly shaven mohawk, too, the sides trimmed neat and the strands on top sitting perfectly on top of his head, as though he had got himself all done-up for picture day. Even in the photograph, you could tell simply by the way he grinned at the camera that he'd be cocky on the field. All good scrum-halves were, to be fair.

The winger held a finger to his lips, shushing the camera with a slight quirk in his lips, as though he was trying not to laugh when the camera went off. He was the only player wearing a cap, one with a Union Jack printed on the front, and you wondered whether he was allowed to do that, or he somehow managed to just keep quiet and get away with it. What amazed you the most though was the sheer amount of tries he had for his age. He was one of the younger players of the team, but his try-count for the previous season was impressive.

The number eight made your eyebrows shoot up as you took in the sheer broadness of him. His shoulders barely fit into frame, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps and pectorals grow bigger in front of the camera. He had a passive look on his face, dark blond hair recently cropped by the look of it, and one of his eyes was bruised and slightly swollen– a recent black eye. His arms were huge, one tattooed, and you couldn't help but stare a little longer at the expanse of his chest before scrolling on.

The flanker, and captain, was the fourth player that caught your attention, especially with his neatly-kept facial hair. Like the number eight, he had his arms folded across his chest and his face was void of a smile or a wink. He looked serious, definitely, and you wondered what kind of a captain he was to the rest of his team. He was in his late thirties and would be probably nearing retirement, but he had played a large number of games over the years, so his experience would be unmatched.

You looked up briefly at the small time at the top of your phone screen, and jumped to your feet when you realised that, holy shit, you had to go. It'd be so embarrassing if you were late on your first day of work.

Quickly, and with first-day nerves churning in your stomach, you grabbed your bag and all that you needed before sprinting out the door, the cool morning air kissing your skin as the sun peaked over the horizon.

•º•º•

Meeting the team was even more nerve-wracking than you thought. When you arrived, the coach welcomed you and gave you a rundown of all you needed to know about the players and other staff. He then introduced you to the other staff, assistant coaches, team physicians and nurses, sport directors and personal trainers. There were so many people that worked with this team behind the scenes, it almost made you feel a bit out of place.

Sure, you were qualified and literally one of the best sporting physiotherapists in the United Kingdom, but the idea of working with such an infamous team was making doubts worm into your head. You shook your head and took a deep breath as the coach led you into the main meeting room of the stadium, where the players talked strategy and game plan between games and during the off-season.

The room was full of players, nearly forty of them if you had to make an estimate. The main thirty-three, including the starting fifteen and the bench, as well as other players that looked to be recovering from injury or training to become apart of the main squad in the next season.

The murmur of conversation died down when you and the coach entered the room, and you suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious as all eyes fell onto you. The coach stood beside you, patting a comforting hand on your shoulder as he got his players attention with a short whistle.

"Lads, meet our new physio," he said, and then introduced you by name, urging you to smile and offer a polite wave to the crowd of sportsman sitting in front of you. The coach continued. "She's bloody good at her job, so she'll be able to get you lot into working shape quick as a flash. But, that doesn't mean you can go 'round acting like idiots and getting hurt by doing stupid shit–"

You laughed to yourself as the coach divulged into a very coach-like rant, grilling the players about looking after themselves and taking care of their bodies, especially with the start of the new season rapidly approaching. They all needed to be in top shape.

"And remember," the coach said, and then pointed at you. "Physiotherapists are not doctors or nurses, so don't be crying to her with a cut finger, got it? You roll an ankle or strain your neck, or something– god forbid– worse than that, then you make an appointment to see her, got it?"

There was a collective murmur of acknowledgment from the team, many eyes still focusing on you. You smiled politely, and thanked them for their time before the coach was gently leading you back out of the room and into the spacious hallway. The walls here were lined with photos and trophy cabinets detailing every win and award this team has ever had.

The coach shook your hand one last time. "It's a pleasure to have you on, miss. I appreciate you taking the job at such short notice, too. Our last physio..."

You stifled a laugh at the disbelief on the coach's face. "What?"

"Our last physio got scared off," the coach almost laughed. "She was an older lady, real nice too, and had been with us for a while. But we've got a new wave of younger players that do stupid shit and get themselves hurt, so she wasn't exactly happy when they'd turn up every day with a new muscle to be strapped up."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "How was she scared off? Surely a bunch of twenty-something year old union players aren't the scariest of people."

"You'd be surprised," the coach joked. "Nah, I'm kidding. She retired, but what I said is true. A lot of the younger players'll probably be knocking at your office door within the next couple of weeks, so prepare yourself for that. Most of them you can just give an icepack and send them on their way, though."

You smiled, nodding. "Right, sounds easy enough."

The coach smiled too. "You will probably have regulars, too, by the way. Players that have had pretty bad injuries that need weekly physio, but the info's all in your books. If you have any questions, come and find me. Or ask Price, I'm sure he'll help you."

"Price?"

"The captain. John," the coach said. "Most of the boys call him Price, or cap, but you can call him whatever you feel comfortable with."

You nodded, eyes drifting down the hallway, admiring the gleam of the silver and gold trophies stacked in trophy cases along the wall. You turned back to the coach. "Do a lot of the players have preferred names?"

"Some, yeah," the coach nodded. "But they'll tell you when you get to know them a bit more. And don't stress if you don't remember names within the first week or so. You have plenty of time to get used to it."

You smiled, the nerves in your stomach beginning to ease. "Thanks, coach."

After the talk in the hallway, the coach led you to your office, which had a large window overlooking the training grounds. The field was in immaculate condition, mowed to perfection with a light veil of due covering the grass. The white goalposts reflected a couple of fragments of golden, early-morning sunlight.

Your office was a good size, which surprised you. You had your desk and shelving units that were stocked full of books and folders, no doubt about each player's injury record for the past hundred-odd years. And on the other side of the room, the carpeted floor shifted to linoleum, cabinetry and a medical bed placed in the centre of it. There was a door beside it, no doubt leading to the cupboard where all your physio equipment would be kept.

"Is this alright?" The coach asked, gesturing to the room.

"Is this alright?" You said in slight disbelief, looking around the room. "This is amazing. Thank you so much."

The coach smiled again. "No worries. Come get me if you need anything but otherwise, good luck and have a great first day."

He left the room and allowed you to be alone with your thoughts for a moment. You took a deep, calming breath, taking a good look around the room. You then looked out the window, where the players were now jogging out onto the field for their first practise of the season. You smiled softly, watching them interact with each other, throwing balls and pushing the scrum-machine out onto the field.

The nerves in your tummy were almost completely gone now. You were going to be just fine.

•º•º•

Your first two weeks were eventful, especially when getting used to a whole new working environment. You spent most of the time researching current players injury history, particularly those who had repeat injuries, or injuries that required extensive physio over the season. A couple of sprained ankles, a few over-worked muscles in the back and shoulders, even a torn ACL which had been receiving extensive physiotherapy for the last one and a half years.

Early into your third week with the team is when you met Gaz.

He had sauntered into your office with the sun streaming through your window, the rest of the team out doing warm-up drills on the training field below. He smiled widely at you, flashing his perfect teeth, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

He wanted to make an appointment for a possible strain to his wrist. He emphasised that it had happened over the weekend after a bit too much to drink. You asked him to elaborate and he simply told you he fell out a window. A window.

"How on earth do you just fall out a window?" You asked, beginning to book his appointment on your computer.

He shrugged, eyes watching you carefully. "Not sure. Can't remember much."

"I thought you weren't meant to be drinking during the season?"

He smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I'm not. You're not going to tell coach, are you?"

He battered his eyelashes, and you rolled your eyes. "I won't. But I'll take a look at your wrist now, if you want."

Of course he wanted you too.

You deducted that it was simply a strain, and nothing that a good, tight bandaging won't fix. You bandaged him up and told him he was good to go.

"Will... will I need to come back to make sure it's healing well?"

"No," you told him. "It's a pretty simple strain. Just make sure to change the bandages, especially after training. You should only have to wear the bandages for a week or two."

"Uh..." He looked from his wrist, back to you. "I... I don't know how to wrap my own bandages."

You raised your brows. "Really? A rugby union player can't tape himself up?"

He shrugged. "Nope."

You sighed, shaking your head. How was it possible that a professional sports player couldn't wrap a simple sprain-wrap around his wrist?

"Fine," you conceded, patting him gently on the arm and slowly leading him towards your door. "I can change it after each practise, but you should definitely learn how to do it yourself, okay?"

Gaz beamed. "Thanks, doc."

"I'm not a doctor, Kyle," you said. "I'm a physio."

"Same thing," he smiled wider. "See you after practise, doc."

And that's what happened. For the next two weeks.

He claimed he just couldn't wrap it himself. It hurt too much, you see. You were the only one who could wrap it secure enough that he felt safe to play.

"I thought I told you to learn to do this yourself, Kyle." You said, wrapping fresh pink tape around his wrist, smoothing your fingers across his hand and lower arm in the process. It was just a few days after he initially came to you.

"You can call me Gaz, doc," he corrected, eyes watching your hands. He trailed the movement of your fingers, before his eyes shifted upwards and scanned your face. He watched you with his warm brown eyes as you fixed the strapping tape into place. "And I just can't seem to do it as well as you."

You scoffed. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere, Gaz. You need to learn to do simple strapping by yourself, got it?"

"Will you be proud of me when I finally learn?" Gaz joked, eyes still on your face as you finished strapping his wrist.

"Very," you said, pulling away and examining your handiwork. It was good, as usual. "Does that feel secure enough."

Gaz was still looking at you, his eyes drifting over your face as you looked down at his wrist. He hummed a reply, and that prompted you to look up and meet his gaze.

"Gaz?" You questioned. "Does that feel good?"

The warmth of your fingertips ghosted over the pink tape, and Gaz could feel the ticklish sensation beneath it, his skin warming beneath the bandage. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, then looked down at his wrist. "I– what–? Doc, pink tape?"

You smiled. "What's wrong with pink?"

"Nothing, nothing," Gaz shook his head. "Yeah, uh, that feels good. Thanks."

•º•º•

The very first game of the season came in your fourth week as the team's physiotherapist. It was against a team from Scotland, that had travelled down to play the team on English soil.

You found yourself skimming your teeth nervously along your nails, your stomach drawing tight and heart racing as you sat on the bench beside a couple of medics, their medical bags at their feet. The sky was a steely grey, the smell of rain lingering in the air and the wind picking up a tad, blowing icy wind across the field. No doubt, if the rain decided to fall today, the field would turn to mud.

The game was held in a much smaller stadium than usual, not like Twickenham in London that could fit upwards of 80,000 people. Nevertheless, the stands were packed full of whistling and cheering spectators. The shouting and waving of colourful flags increased when the teams jogged out onto the field in a line, and you found yourself clapping alongside the crowd. You found Gaz immediately, his wrist bound in white tape rather than the pink tape you had bound it in a couple of days ago. You smiled to yourself, realising that he had bandaged it up himself.

You hummed to the national anthem, too nervous to open your mouth and sing. You had watched this team play a million times before, but this was different. The anxieties were stacking up within your conscious, and you wondered whether it would have been better to have a strong drink before you came.

The game started and within minutes, Gaz had the ball. He avoided one, then two opposition players, before breaking into a sprint along the sideline. You watched him speed past the bench, the benched players up on their feet and cheering. But it was short lived– Gaz was spear-tackled by one of the Scottish players, tumbling off the field and skidding through the grass. The crowd and bench turned from cheering, to jeering.

You sprung to your feet to get a better look, watching as the Scottish player helped Gaz to his feet, giving him a firm slap on the back as Gaz handed him the ball. He looked pissed off as he jogged back onto the field as the Scottish players readied their lineout. You watched as he rubbed at his wrist, flexing his fingers a few times with a grimace on his face.

"Ah, shit..." you mumbled, noticing the way he held his wrist close to his body. Some of the bandaging was slowly peeling away, making you sigh through your nose. Maybe you should have just done it for him, for goodness sake.

England won the lineout, and the ball was passed rightwards through the team. The captain grabbed the ball from the air, taking it to ground as two Scottish players wrapped their arms around his legs and midriff. Other members of his team came to his aid, a ruck building as more and more players attempted to volley the ball back into their possession. But England held on, with Gaz spotting an opportunity when the ball was popped out of the ruck by the scrum-half with the mohawk.

Gaz broke into a sprint just as the scrum-half turned and saw him, throwing an impressive pass over the top of other players' heads. The entire bench let out a sound of astonishment when Gaz leaped, snatching the ball from the air with one hand and managing to hold onto it. The crowd erupted into cheers as the winger dodged one Scottish player, and then took off down the sideline once more.

Take two, and he seemed to be more successful– speed building until opposing players were dropping behind, unable to keep up as his legs blurred with his pace, grass kicked up behind him. He reached the try-line, diving through the air near the corner and slamming the ball down, his body sliding through the grass behind it. The crowd cheered louder, and so did the bench– and you, too. You were on your feet alongside the subbed players and the other medics, clapping as both the captain and the scrum-half ran up alongside Gaz, patting him on the back and the top of the head.

Sitting back down as one of the water-boys ran the tee out for the conversion, you looked up to find Gaz running towards the sideline, beckoning at you to come closer.

You scooped up your medical bag and met him just over the sideline.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and Gaz answered you by outstretching his arm, offering his wrist to you. The tape was beginning to peel off, brushing against his forearm, and Gaz's brows were pinched, jaw clenched.

"It's painful still?" You asked another question as you quickly began to unwrap the tape.

He nodded, wincing when you ripped the rest of the tape off, taking a couple of his arm hairs with it. You whispered an apology as you kneeled down, unzipping your bag and pulling out a fresh roll of injury tape– bright pink, of course. You heard him groan as you stood back up, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"What's with you and pink tape, doc?" He asked you, voice a bit hoarse. Probably from yelling at his fellow teammates over the past ten minutes. The boys all tended to just shout at each other when they wanted something done, which you found incredibly amusing.

"I like pink," you told him, making quick work of re-taping his wrist as the kicker lined up his kick and concentrated on his conversion. Your eyes flicked up to Gaz's face for a moment. "I thought you said you didn't mind me using pink tape?"

Gaz offered you a cheeky smile, and you realised the two of you were quite close. You could see the thin layer of sweat covering his dark skin, his face glistening beneath the strong overhead lights. He flashed his charming smile as he began slowing his breathing, moving out of puffs, the rise and fall of his chest calming. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and smell the light tang of sweat beneath his cologne.

You felt something flutter in your stomach as a smile stretched onto your face. It didn't last, and you immediately felt embarrassed– instead, you dropped your head back down and quickly finished strapping the bandage just as the kicker converted a successful two points.

"No, I like pink," Gaz said after a prolonged pause, eying you carefully as you stepped away and scooped your medical bag off the ground. "It reminds me of you, actually. And it might be my good luck charm, you never know."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed off the field. "Whatever, Garrick."

Gaz flashed his smile again. "If I score another try, it'll be because of this pink tape." Then, he winked and jogged back to where the game reset was taking place.

You found yourself shaking your head, smiling to yourself as you return to the bench. A good luck charm. Whatever.

•º•º•

A couple of hours later, you were back in your office, running through a few extra things before heading home. The team would have nearly finished celebrating their 31 – 14 win, and would soon begin to head home, ready for a new day of training in a couple of days time.

Typing one last report into your computer, there was a knock at your door. It opened, and Gaz stuck his head in.

"Hard at work, doc?" He asked, slipping into the room. He gently shut the door behind him, leaning up against it.

You smiled at him. "I'm finishing one last report, then I'm heading home for the night. Are you boys finished your celebrations?"

Gaz grinned. "Yeah, just about. Just thought I'd pop over and say thank you for redoing my bandages.”

You noticed he looked bashful when he said it, his eyes darting away from yours when the words left his mouth, roaming around your office. His eyes found the medical bed in the corner of the room, staring at it as he finished his sentence.

"It's okay, Gaz, don't worry," you told him, reassured him. "It's my job, anyway." You finished with a laugh, and his dark eyes found yours again. You began packing up your belongings when he shuffled further into the office, his wrist on full display. The pink tape was soggy and mud-stained, and you frowned at him when he held it out to you like a shy child showing they had broken something.

You didn't say anything. You didn't have too. You simply beckoned him towards you, urging him around the desk as you picked up a half-used roll of pink tape from one of your desk drawers. You made him peel the old bandage off.

"I don't understand how you got that so... wet," you remarked, casting a look of disgust at the old bandage now sitting in the waste-paper basket near the base of your desk. "This tape is meant to be water-proof."

Gaz barked out a quiet laugh. "It's probably got a bit of beer on it. And I did spend... you know, a bit of time in the shower, rinsing off the mud and all that."

"Right..." You mumbled, slowly wrapping the pink tape around his wrist.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, except for the low buzzing of the overhead light, and the distant voices from other players beginning to go home.

Gaz watched you silently, his eyes never once leaving your face as you wrapped his wrist. You felt the weight of his stare, the warmth of his gaze, and it made your body slowly begin to heat up, something tight pulling in the base of your gut. You ignored him at first, focussing solely on reapplying the tape. But when you had finished, you made the mistake of looking up and into his deep, dark eyes while still standing in close proximity with him.

His pupils had expanded, his eyes darting all over your face as you gently held his wrist. His fingers had grabbed hold of your arm, the searing heat of his fingertips making heat prickle on the back of your neck in nervousness.

"Does that feel secure?" You managed to whisper, throat drying. "I– does it feel–"

"You gonna let me kiss you, doc?" Gaz whispered an interruption thick with lust, his tongue darting out to swipe against his lower lip. "Please let me."

You bit your bottom lip, eyes scanning his face and waiting for him to tell you that he's joking. But it didn't come. Instead, you were left there, standing in a haze of his cologne and shampoo, his entire body radiating a warmth that made your legs begin to tremble.

"Kyle..." You murmured.

He groaned, eyes closing for just a second. "God, you're killing me here, doc."

"Gaz," you corrected, barely above a whisper. "I– we can't. I'll lose my job–"

"You won't," he responded instantaneously. "You... you won't, doc, I promise. Just... god, just one. Let me just–" he cut himself off with a low groan as he lowered his mouth to yours, brushing his lips so gently against yours that you weren't sure they even touched. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut as he spoke against your lips, his words ghosting across your face. "Just once... one kiss, that's– that's it."

He closed the gap all the way this time, slotting his mouth against yours with a hum from the back of his throat. You were still surprised, struck across the face with confusion as he moved his lips against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your brain short-circuit. His hands moved to cup your head, holding your face to him as he licked your bottom lip and attempted to slip his tongue into your mouth.

"God, you're so good." He whimpered against your mouth, before shoving his tongue further inside, yours meeting his with force.

But with a low whine, you stopped him– placing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. He grunted, breathing hard as he opened his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours. He dropped his arms, grasping at your hips instead, trying to bring you closer, but you resisted with a stab to your heart.

"We can't..." You breathed, slowly backing away. Gaz dropped his arms and watched you shift away from him, the corners of his mouth downturning.

Gaz exhaled with the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of of his cheek. "I know."

"M'sorry–"

"Don't you dare apologise," Gaz said sternly. "I'm sorry. I'll... I'll see you later, doc. Have a good weekend."

You sighed. "Gaz–"

But he was already gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the rich smell of cologne in his wake, lingering around your office like incense.

•º•º•

You thought about the kiss the entirety of the weekend, and it was like it was eating you alive. Every time you got a message from the staff group chat, or an email from the coaching administration, your heart lurched out of your chest. Not because you were scared that you'd somehow been found out, but because seeing the name of the team pop up on your lock-screen make you think about him.

The winger. Gaz.

You couldn't help it– he was just so warm against you, his mouth soft and inviting as the solid, wet heat of his tongue slipped into your mouth and drew the breathiest of whimpers from you. Your body grew hot at the memory, and the memory of his hands on your face, holding you, cradling you as though you were the most perfect thing on earth. All for him, too.

You expected a wave of regret and humiliation to his you over the weekend break, but nothing came. The only thing that did come was, pun absolutely intended, you.

You just couldn't help it. The memories of the way he made you feel, how he felt, had been festering inside your brain long enough that it needed to be expelled someway. And that way was best fit for the later hours of the night, when you were curled up beneath the covers of your bed, your fingers teasing the wet hole of your cunt, another on your puffy clit.

You just couldn't help it. Rethinking the kiss again and again as you sunk two fingers inside yourself, pumping them at the phantom feeling of Gaz's lips against yours, the muscular plains of his chest and abdomen pushed up against the soft curves of your body, his hands keeping your face against his. He felt so good, smelt so good.

The noises slipped from your mouth as you fucked yourself with your fingers, the sheer amount of your arousal evident by the soft, wet squelches and the sensation of it rolling in pearls down your bare thighs. Your clit was so puffy, so sensitive, that you were coming around your fingers in barely a minute, moaning Gaz's name into the dark emptiness of your bedroom.

You needed him. So bad.

And that's why you called him the following morning. Why you picked up your phone, still in bed with your blankets bunched around you, and dialled his number. Why you waited patiently until he replied with a deep, sleep-clogged voice and why you invited him over. Why you got excited when he accepted almost right away, and why you showered with your heart thrumming, buzzing, racing in your chest. Why you answered your door with a bright smile and allowed him to crowd you back into the entrance hall of your flat, closing and locking the door behind him. Why you let him back you against the wall, his hands straight away grabbing your face, fingers warm on your soft skin, and especially why you let him slot his mouth against yours.

You weren't thinking about anything but him at that point. Not about your job, the coach, the captain or any other player. You were thinking of Gaz, the winger, the rugby union player that was currently dropping to his knees in front of you and pulling your trousers down with him. He kissed your bare legs as he helped wriggle your trousers away from your ankles, kissing the sides of your knees as his hands roamed up your legs.

His face trailed up your inner thighs, dragging his nose against the smooth skin, eyes flicking from your clothed core to your pretty face. You partially gaped down at him, chest heaving, your palms flat against the wall to ground yourself. Gaz's mouth found your core through your underwear, already soaking the fabric, and he nudged it with the point of his nose, catching on your clit. He smiled against you as he pressed a kiss to your clothed cunt, and you rewarded him with a pretty little moan that echoed through your quiet flat.

"Mm, jus' so wet already," he said it as though he was in genuine disbelief, but the smile never left his face as he placed another hot kiss to the underside of your underwear, his hands now kneading the fat of your arsecheeks, pushing you away from the wall and closer to him. "Soakin' these pretty little things, hm? Don't want to ruin them, do we, baby?"

You mewled down at him, one of your hands settling on his shoulder as he gently shifted your underwear to the side, exposing your glistening core. He groaned, low and breathy, eyes transfixed on where your leaking hole clenched around nothing, your clit sitting all pretty between your puffy lips. He groaned again, pushing you closer to him and settling his face right up between your legs, his mouth immediately attaching to your clit.

He sucked it into his mouth with a gentle scrape of his teeth, a scrape that sent bolts of electricity through your system, your back arching off the wall as Gaz's hands returned to your arse, groping. You could vaguely feel your underwear pushed into the crevice of your thigh, but you weren't focussing on that– you were focussing on the way Gaz circled your clit with his tongue, before he dragged his tongue through your wet folds and around your hole.

You moaned loudly, and Gaz hummed in response against you, his tongue running in tight circles around your slick hole, licking over it. The sensations were making your body light up, fiery hot pleasure coursing through your veins and you were worried that you were going to come before he even put his tongue inside you. You gripped at his shoulder as finally, finally, he slipped his tongue inside you, a loud whine ripping from his throat.

You could barely keep your eyes open, trying desperately to remain eye-contact as he held your gaze, tongue moving in and out of you, lapping up each drip of your arousal. He was vocal, too– grunting and whining as his tongue moved, his lower-face no doubt drenched. His hands gripped at the flesh of your arse like it was his lifeline, his fingers squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing each time his tongue licked into you.

The world around you was spinning, the morning light streaming in from the small window above your front door. You can't believe you were in this situation. But here you were– leaning against the wall of your hallway, one of England's best rugby union winger's gripping your arse, his face buried between your legs and eating you out the best you'd ever had.

"Gaz, Gaz, oh my god–" You whispered, honeyed with your on-coming orgasm. It was building, burning hot inside you, slowing the thoughts of your brain and forcing you to hone in on the feel of Gaz's solid, wet tongue inside your cunt.

He only broke the movements of his tongue for a moment, his nose still nudging your swollen clit. "Tha's a good girl, baby. Say my name while you're comin' round my tongue." Then, his tongue was back inside you, thrusting in so deep that stars burst behind your pupils and your body wracked with shudders.

You came, moaning out a blissful "Gaz–!" as your orgasm washed over you– no, slammed over you. You gushed around him, your legs trembling in his hold, sweat beading along your hairline as the warmth overtook you. You moaned out again, stretched around a desperate whine, as he licked you through it, sucking up as much of your arousal as he could before he reluctantly pulled away, placing one last kiss to your clit before sliding your underwear back into place.

His entire lower face was wet, glistening with you. You groaned, shutting your eyes as he got to his feet and proceeded to kiss you, rubbing your slick all over your face as well. He smiled into your mouth, tongue probing for yours, meeting it and passing on more of your slick. You moaned, and he moaned too.

"Been wanting to do that for so long," Gaz said in between kisses, his hands on your hips now, rubbing you against his front. You could feel the tent growing in his trousers, and a whimper escaped you. He dragged his mouth down your neck, sucking and biting and licking, spreading more of your sticky arousal across your bare skin. "Pretty little thing she is too, isn't she?"

One of his hands dragged down between your legs as he said that, fingers rubbing through your folds over your soaked underwear. You whimpered, and he hummed, increasing his speed. He still didn't move your underwear, just kept rubbing at your wet, puffy clit with his fingers, his hand moving back and forth between your legs.

"I– I take it your wrist is all better now?" You questioned him, almost out of breath as he rubbed your clit. He was using his injured wrist, the pink tape still visible working between your thighs.

Gaz smiled against your neck. "I had a great physio, didn't I? The best physio..." he increased the speed of his fingers, rubbing you quicker, circling your clit. Your arousal was further dampening your underwear, small whimpers falling from your lips, overstimulation creeping up. Gaz licked at the pulse point behind your ear. "You're just so good, doc. Such a good girl. So fuckin' good letting me play with this pretty pussy, hm? So fuckin' good."

You mewled, turning your head so you could kiss him. This time, it was your tongue shoving into his mouth, and he moaned quietly around your tongue as your lips moved together. His fingers sped up, circles deepening.

"M'gonna come, Gaz..." You whispered, and he shushed you with a kiss. When he pulled away, he did so with a low whine, eyes raking down your body, absorbing each and every little bit of you with his dark eyes.

"You can come, baby," he told you softly. "Come in these pretty things–" he punctuated his sentence by pinching at the fabric of your underwear, pulling it back and letting it slap against your clit, before resuming his previous movements. "–and ruin them for me, yeah? Come all over them and I'll take them home, how's that sound?"

You moaned loudly, clawing at his clothed back.

He chuckled deeply. "Yeah? You like the thought of me takin' these home and wrappin' them around my cock? Hm? Want me to fuck them while thinking about this pretty pussy? O'course you do, doc, cause you're just such a good girl for me. So good, 'n such a good fuckin' pussy too."

That made you come– slick flooding the gusset of your underwear, soaking through and dampening his fingers. He hummed, pleased, against you, his mouth roving over your neck and jaw again as you came. You were breathing hard, and the weight of Gaz's hard cock was making you even more breathless, pushed up between your thighs.

Heaven on earth, it felt like.

But it ended all to soon. Way to fucking soon. Gaz's phone began ringing in his pocket, and he fished it out with his fingers still tacky with your arousal. He kept you pinned to the wall with his body as his eyes swept over his phone screen and he sighed, showing you the screen too. It was the coach, and he mouthed an apology as he answered.

The phone call felt like it went on for an eternity (it was probably just over a minute) and you watched as Gaz's brows drew together in frustration. When he hung up, he angrily shoved his phone back into his pocket and rested his head against your shoulder, groaning as his hands circled your hips, massaging the pliable flesh there.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and he groaned into your neck again.

"I forgot I had sprint training today."

"Oh..."

"Yeah... fuck, m'sorry–"

"Don't apologise," you said, taking his head into your hands. "You need to stay at the top of your game, don't you? And you don't want to make coach mad, either."

"S'pose you're right," he mumbled, and then leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. "See you tomorrow?"

You smiled. "See you tomorrow."

•º•º•

When you got to work the next day, you found a new set of folders on your desk. Placing your belongings down, you picked up the next folder, which had a new patient for you to begin working with, who had received a small injury during the last game that had gotten a bit worse over the weekend.

Your mind was still lingering on thoughts of your and Gaz's encounter yesterday morning, but you picked up and opened the file anyway, intent on not letting sex, and that handsome winger, distract you from doing your job.

"Pulled muscle in the calf, hopefully not a tear..." You read through the file. You flipped the file shut, reading the name on the front. "MacTavish, nicknamed Soap," you laughed. "What kind of name is Soap?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

my first chapter of this series. let me know what you thought, and stay tuned for the next one !!

#captainfern #141rugby!au #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fem reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod smut #cod gaz #gaz x female reader #gaz call of duty #gaz smut

[theelazaruspit]

Lazy Sunday | Husband!John Price x Author!Reader

Getting some much-needed stress relief from your doting husband

Warning/content: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, gentle dom!price, established relationship, porn with plot, slow(ish) burn, angst, hurt/comfort, reader wears glasses, discussion of self-doubt and insecurity, cunnilingus, fingering, dumbification if you squint? (You’re just really relaxed), creampie, squirting, no use of y/n, they’re grossly in love idk what else to tell you honestly, but if I missed anything, let me know! Word count: 4.9k.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for ages, and I've been chipping away at it slowly, but after seeing @ghosts-cyphera 's husband!price drabble, I rose from the metaphorical dead, and here we are, so thank you, Alora, for being a fellow price enjoyer and just a gem, and I hope you all enjoy <3

Everything was just too much.

You’re stiff, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and you can feel a migraine forming between your eyes. It’s a little ridiculous, really. By all accounts, you should be more relaxed. The hard work was finished, your novel was complete, the accompanying art had been chosen, and all the finer details were squared away; now, all that was left was publishing, though that was the publisher’s headache, not yours. It was the waiting that always got to you.

No matter how many times you’d gone through the process, no matter how many works you published, the anticipation never failed to eat away at you. There is a special kind of stress that comes with releasing your art into the world, in having people get a glimpse into your mind. While it’s gratifying to share your hard work with the masses, once it leaves you, it’s no longer only your own, and others are free to interpret it as they please. It’s deeply personal and scary like you’re bearing your soul to the public, but what’s done is done. All the late nights spent writing were over, and now you’re alone with your thoughts again. 

You’ve tried everything to keep yourself busy. Your office is far cleaner now than it was before your husband left, both of your laundry was done with all the garments being put in their rightful place, and there was a cake on the counter from your late-night baking excursion a few days ago. 

All of your usual distractions failed you. Nothing has been able to loosen the knot coiling itself in your chest. It’s silly; this is not your first book. The first was well received, a fact you should be grateful for, and you are. However, its success set a precedent. What if this one wasn’t as good? What if it didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations? The more questions you considered, the more withdrawn you became, allowing your doubts to swallow you whole. And that’s how you ended up back where you started, staring blankly at an empty document. You (foolishly) believed that writing could help, thinking a fresh idea would clear your conscience, but nothing comes. So you sit, hoping for anything to inspire you, but all you hear is the voice in the back of your head taunting you. 

For a fleeting moment, you consider seeking the comfort of your husband; however, you quickly decide against it. 

Not at all because you didn’t think he could soothe you. If anything, he knows better than anyone else how to keep you grounded, but you’re painfully aware of how rare it is for John to get time off, and it would be unfair to take that much-needed relaxation away from him with your problems. Still, you yearn for the solace he provides you. It’s absurd to miss someone who’s a mere twenty feet away, someone you could easily see. But, you stubbornly resist the temptation to steal his time, even if you know he’d want you to. He was insistent that you could never bother him, but you still had your doubts. 

Compared to everything he goes through, your insecurities are small and insignificant; you can handle this on your own, even though you feel your eyes beginning to dry the longer you stare at the bright white void in front of you. A long groan escapes you as you toss your glasses unceremoniously onto your desk (had they fallen? You couldn’t be bothered to check) before burying your head in your hands. 

“You’ve got this,” You mutter to yourself. It’s hardly convincing. Did you actually have this? You’re not entirely sure, but it doesn’t hurt trying.

You’re unsure how long you wallowed before your husband appeared in the doorway. Despite being uncharacteristically patient given the circumstances, you knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come to you. Rarely would you hide away in your office while he was home; usually, you’d rushed into his arms to steal his warmth every opportunity you got, but he tried to be understanding. Having him back in the house was just as much of an adjustment for you as it was for him, and he wanted to be considerate of that. Though his comings and goings had slowed considerably over the span of your relationship, he knew they still weighed on you, and he also knew you’d sooner die than admit that, so he gave you space.

But after another hour passes, his patience wears thin. This was a while even for you, and he wanted to make sure you were alright. So, ever the diligent lover, he prepares you a peace offering, a perfectly brewed cup of your favorite tea, and heads to your door. 

His suspicions that you weren’t as well off as you claimed are confirmed when he’s greeted with the back of your hunched-over form, papers strewn across your desk. It takes one glance at you for John to know the kind of evening you’re having despite your best efforts to hide it. The stress practically radiates off you, casting a thick layer of tension in the room. The last thing he wants is to startle you, so he watches, waiting for you to acknowledge his presence. But the longer he rests against the doorframe, the sooner he realizes you haven’t noticed him yet, another sign that something isn’t quite right. 

You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were thinking. He can practically hear the voices in your head lying to you, slowly breaking you down, and he feels his heart clench. It’s times like this when he wishes your mind was kinder to you, that it afforded you the same kindness you so freely gave others. He also wished you would let him help you. Your independence has always been something he admired and was one of the first things he noticed that drew him to you. You were radiant, ethereal, having an air of confidence and grace about you that followed you wherever you went, practically lighting your path. 

However, your independence made it difficult for you to depend on him. He told you no fewer than a million times, practically pleaded with you to let him shoulder your burdens, to tell you that no problem was too small to tell him about, and while you’d opened up over the years, he could see that your walls were up. Nevertheless, he would do everything he could to chip away at them, to take you out of your head for a while.

He walks over to you slowly, placing the mug down before lightly rubbing your shoulders. You know he’s there, immediately feeling comforted by his presence, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want him to see you like this, not while you look like a sad puppy, but he persists, taking your silence as an invitation to speak.

“Made you some tea, love,” he says softly, receiving only a muffled hum of acknowledgment. Undeterred, he keeps massaging your shoulders, applying a bit more pressure, a soft smile gracing his features when you lean into his touch. His movements are slow intentional, wanting to ease you into the feeling. 

He doesn’t have to look at your face, which has since been laid flat on your desktop, to know your brows are furrowed, and he wants nothing more than to smooth away the creases with his fingers. 

Instead, he turns your chair to face him, forcing you to pick your head up. He ignores the whine you let out upon realizing that he’s not going to let you bask in your sadness in peace, as well as the glare you give him as you put your glasses on. There’s no malice behind your gaze, and he can see you fighting back a smile, causing his grin to widen.

“Good morning, lovely.” 

“It’s not morning, and I probably look like shit” You sigh.

You’re right; it wasn’t morning, but the latter was far from the truth. John loved you in all your forms, but this, you at home in your comfy clothes, was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, even if you were being a little grouchy. He doesn’t take it personally. No, he knows you’re frustration is with yourself, which only motivates him to relax you more. 

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; you both know you aren’t, so he settles with a more helpful question: asking what you need. It’s more a formality than anything because he already knows the answer. It’s clear you don’t want to talk because if you did, you would have by now. He’s no stranger to nights spent holding you, listening to you vent about everything troubling you as you lay your head on his chest, and while he welcomes your rambles, you’re too tangled up in your thoughts to get the words out. 

No, you needed something else. You needed a break; you needed someone you trusted to take control for a while, and who was better suited for the task than him? You both knew he wouldn’t move until you asked him to because even when he’s in control, he’s still at your mercy. 

You don’t answer him immediately, not that he expected you to. For all his gentle coaxing, the question was surprisingly direct, and it caught you off guard. You know what you want. You want to climb into bed, wrap yourself in blankets, and sleep, and no matter how much you try to deny it, you also want to melt into your husband’s touch while you do. But with how restless you are, that seems impossible. To do that, first, you would need to relax, something you’re notoriously bad at. John would be eager to assist, to soothe the storm that rages within you, but you also know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t help you if you didn’t ask. So, reluctantly, you confess you’re having trouble relaxing, that there are too many thoughts running through your head to turn your brain off. Once you start, it’s as if you’ve opened Pandora’s box and you just break. All the emotions you’ve tried to suppress come pouring out mostly incoherently. In your frenzy, you barely notice that John moved to kneel in front of you until you feel his hand cup your jaw. 

He doesn’t get too close, not wanting to overwhelm you, because he knows how hard this is for you already. 

You’re a lot like him in that way, birds of a feather, he supposes, as you both have difficulty opening up and trusting others. He’s forever humbled by the fact that you, wonderfully amazing you, chose him, and it’s not something he takes for granted. He values all of the time you spend together, even if you aren’t in the best of spirits. God knows he’s had his fair share of melancholic moments that you worked him through, and it is at that moment he is determined to do the same for you, to help you feel better. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love, I have you. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll take care of everything, alright? I’ll give you what you need,” He reassures you in that low timbre you’ve missed so much. Your nod is rewarded with a light kiss on the cheek before he stands up, pulling you up from your chair with him. 

You let out a yelp of surprise when he scoops you up and carries you towards your bedroom. His strength never fails to surprise you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it when he gently places you on the edge of your bed. For the second time tonight, he kneels before you, taking your hands in his while looking you in the eye.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” His question is met with a scoff.

“Of course I do. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world that loves me more.”

“Well, I’d certainly hope not. Otherwise, we’d have a problem on our hands.” He chuckles, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “I want you to do something for me. You’re so smart, love, bloody brilliant. But right now, I don’t want you to think. I just want you to feel. Can you do that f’me, angel? Let me make you feel good.” 

You nod as you did before, only this time, you’re met with a shake of his head.

“Need your words, sweetheart”

The “please” that escapes you is more breathless than you expected. He had hardly touched you, and you could already feel a bit dazed by the intensity of his stare. Your soft confirmation is met with a smile before he works you out of your sweats and guides you to lay flat on the bed. He takes his time to press kisses up your thigh, slowly making his way to your center, nipping every now and then, eliciting little gasps from you. And while you appreciate his desire to worship you, you were getting impatient. The sight of him so close to where you need him but not touching you was almost too much to bear. 

Before you can protest, he takes pity on you, slips your panties down, and rewards your patience with a long lick up your slit paired with a chaste kiss to your clit. 

Your moment of reprieve doesn’t last long before he absolutely devours you, laving at your folds without another care in the world. The strokes of his tongue are slow but firm, his mouth practically molded to your form, following you no matter how much you move and shake. He wants to get you used to the feeling, give you time to surrender yourself to him, and you’re starting to. He sees the way you grasp at the sheets, mindlessly looking for something, anything to anchor you, and he’s quick to provide. 

You hadn’t realized how much you were squirming until he pulled back, one calloused hand stroking your inner thigh with the other lacing his fingers with yours while instructing you to relax, reminding you to be good for him, to take all that he’s giving you. You look angelic, eyes rolled back, your body flushed, a sheen of sweat forming, and every touch driving you closer to the edge. But he knows it’s not enough. Had you been calmer and less frazzled, you would have reached your peak already, but right now, you need a push to help you over the edge.

When he takes his hand off your thigh and lets his fingers join his tongue, your back bows. If not for his firm grip, you may have fallen off the bed, but there is no need to worry about that. John’s got you; he always does. 

It’s overwhelming having him so wholly focused on you, feeling his deep, muffled groans against your center, and it’s clear he wasn’t faring much better. 

He may be helping you destress, but you know your husband well enough to know he’s enjoying this as much as you are, if not more. John Price is not a selfish man, far from it. Many have speculated that his selflessness will be his downfall. But, at this moment, he can’t help but think about himself. Can’t help but think about how his cock is straining in his trousers, which are becoming almost distractingly tight, about how he wants nothing more than to pump you full of his cum. But he’s a patient man. He understands that he’ll get there eventually. No, for now, he’s more than happy to have you soaking his beard. What’s important at this moment is getting you to cum on his tongue, on his fingers, because he knows the wetter you are, the easier it’ll be to slip into you, leaving him to settle for grinding himself against the bed for relief, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

Despite your whines and pleas for him to speed up, for him to give you more, he knows better. He keeps the same pace, knowing the slow build, while seemingly tortuous, will make you cum that much harder, and that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you boneless, without a single thought that isn’t him and how good he’s making you feel. There was no need to rush, you had all night, and there’s no place he’d rather be than here, with his fingers stuffed in your gorgeous pussy while he laps at your folds.

The sounds you two are making are nothing short of obscene. Your keens and his moans filled the room. And god, you were so fucking wet you were practically leaking down his wrist, and when your moans start rising in pitch, he knows you’re close. All it takes are a few more strokes of fingers before you’re cumming, your body going rigid with a broken sob. John works you through it, lapping up your spend and rubbing barely there circles around your clit to prolong your pleasure while patiently waiting for you to catch your breath. 

When your trembling subsides, he carefully removes his fingers, using his now free hand to smooth over your thighs, murmuring praises about how well you did for him before standing, finally ridding himself of his clothes. You look so beautiful like this, spread out, panting, still glistening with your release. It just makes him want to ruin you, but always the gentleman, he checks in with you first.

“Still with me, love?” he teases, hands soothing at your sides, earning him a laugh, a genuine laugh. One that makes your eyes crinkle, and a chuckle of his own leaves him in response. It’s a good sign; it’s progress, but he knows you’re not entirely unwound yet. He knows you still have more left in you.

You pull him in for a kiss that he eagerly accepts. It’s tender, intimate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and John’s complete and utter reverence for you almost makes you shy. His love for you flows through him and pours into his touch when he deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but lean into it.

“I want more. I need to feel you,” you confess against his lips. 

“How do you want me?” he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down your neck. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask,” and you know he means it. He’d bring you the moon and the stars if you wished. 

“From behind, I don’t want to think about anything but how good you feel,” you said, pulling away to lay on your stomach before being stopped by John’s hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. Your momentary confusion quickly dissipates when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s taking off your glasses. 

Admittedly, in your haze, you’d forgotten you still had them on, so used to the familiar weight, but it makes your heart swell as you watch him place them delicately on your bedside table. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s endearing, and it reminds you how lucky you are to have such an attentive, caring lover, and you can’t help but pull him in for another kiss. John adores the lovestruck look you give him as you pull away, eyes bleary, pupils dilated. And though he could look at it all day, he reluctantly moves away, readjusting you so you’re face down on the bed before slotting himself between your legs.

A contented sigh leaves you as you settle into your plush bedding, feeling thankful you’d insisted on replacing those threadbare monstrosities your husband called “sheets” (he’d huffed and rolled his eyes at your dramatics– “they are not going to rip your skin off” –but deep down he loved them too) and close your eyes, sinking into John’s touch. 

“Ready for me?” He questions, smoothing a hand up your spine, relishing in your shiver.

“Yes, need you to fuck me, John, please,” you breath, and who was he to deny you?

At your confirmation, he pushes in with a languid thrust, pulling you flush against him, giving you time to adjust. He can’t help but let out a low grumble at the view in front of him. He hasn’t even moved yet, and you’re already driving him insane. The feeling of being enveloped by you is indescribable. To be this close, to truly feel you, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and judging by the way you’re whimpering and trying to grind yourself back into him, he knows you feel the same. 

He sets a steady pace, unhurried, leisurely, and revels in the quiet mewls you let out. The tension pulling your muscles taut dissipated with every thrust, and John couldn’t be happier because that’s what he wanted. 

He wants to push all of those bad thoughts away. All he wants you to think about is him and how good he’s making you feel and to make you cum over and over until you’re spent. 

“That feel good, love?” he whispers in your ear, his chest pressed to your back.

“Yes, f-fuck s’good,” you gasp out, followed by a broken “I love you” that he returns while quickening his pace, fucking you deeper. He can’t help it, really. Hearing the fondness in your voice makes him want to worship you more, causing him to aim for the spot that always makes you shake, and he knows he’s got it when he hears your high-pitched keen.

You’re begging now, desperate pleas of “Please don’t stop” and “right there,” and he doesn’t need to see your face to know that your eyes are scrunched closed, mouth agape, to know that you look stunning. He wishes he could see your face, to see you when you reach your peak that you’re edging closer and closer to, and he will, but after you cum again for him.

“That’s it, good girl, always takin’ me so well,” he praises. “Take what you need. I won’t stop, promise. Just want to make you feel so good don’t want you to think about anything but cumming. You close f’me, love? Yeah? That pretty little cunt gonna soak my cock?” he questions, lifting your hips to rub your aching clit, knowing all you need is a little pressure to send you over the edge. 

Your words may be muffled, but your responding string of “yes” s are clear as day and only make him rut into you deeper. He needs you to fall over that edge again. Needs you to alleviate all that stress, and when you finally reach your peak with a muted sob of his name, he slows but doesn’t stop, watching in awe of the way you spasm around him, and waits for you to settle. 

You’re more pliant now, a bit hazy with pleasure, but he’s not done with you yet. No, he needs you, his beautiful, distinguished wife, to fully surrender yourself to him and the pleasure he’s bringing you, even if only for a while. All those years ago, he vowed to protect you, even if it’s from yourself, and he plans to do just that. He knows you have one more in you, and he intends to wring it out of you. 

A contented sigh escapes him as he pulls out before gently lifting you and laying you flat on your back once more. And when he sees your face, he’s reminded of just how breathtaking you are. Not that he ever forgot, but it’s a sight he never tires of. You’re one of the most precious beings he’s ever encountered, a goddess whom he’s eternally grateful has chosen to bless him with your presence, but now? Now, you’re glowing. He wishes he could immortalize the image in front of him, your eyes lidded, with a soft, blissed-out grin playing on your lips, but he’s brought back by the sound of your voice.

“You’re staring,” you tease, voice a little hoarse from use as you re-settle your glasses on your face.

“I could never get tired of looking at you, sweetheart,” he responds earnestly, unashamed that he had been caught because he truly could. There was just something about you that brought out such genuine affection in him. You give so much of yourself to others, and it makes him want to do everything in his power to pour the same love back into you. He can’t help but want to fulfill your every need. You deserve the world. Leaning into another kiss, he tries to convey what he can’t through words through his touch.

This is more passionate than the last, but he’s met with the same vigor from you. It’s easy to forget the task at hand, but your soft moans were enough of a reminder that he wasn’t finished with you yet. 

Lowering you back onto the bed, he guides himself into you, a deep groan rumbling in his chest while your mouth falls agape. There’s less pretense this time. You’re more than ready for him to start moving and thank god for it because as patient as he is, he’s only human, and you’re both getting desperate.

And when he pushes your knees towards your chest, laying your legs over his shoulders, the sound you make is borderline pornographic, and it’s then he realizes you may actually be the death of him. Holding himself back is proving more difficult by the second, so he opts for placing kisses on your calves to ground himself. He moves his hands, one going to hold the fat of your thigh for leverage while the other goes to cup your jaw. Any other time, he’d coax you to look at him, applying just enough pressure to make you face him, but he can see how overwhelmed you are.

Peering down at you, gaze unwavering, he sees your eyes barely open, all cloudy and lust blown, and he can’t help but tease you just a little, not that you mind.

“That’s it, this what you needed?” he practically coos at you, voice low and saccharine and growing gruffer by the second. “I haven’t been taking proper care of my angel, have I? No, no, that won’t do. Gotta make up for lost time. Poor thing, havin’ no one to fuck you properly when I’m not around. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

You try to answer, you really do, try to tell him you’ve missed him more and that no one makes you feel the way he does, but the words are like lead on your tongue, and your head is starting to feel fuzzy. The steady grind of his hips into yours and the feeling of being completely surrounded by him leaves you breathless, and all you can manage is a high-pitched sob that seems to satisfy him enough, and he keeps the pace. 

“Gonna be good and give me one more? Of course, you’re my perfect girl, always so obedient.” Your responding gasp is immediately met with praise. In truth, at the moment, you’d do just about anything he asked, and you could feel the pressure building quicker, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Don’t look away, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes get all teary for me” he murmurs, words slightly slurred, and you distantly realize he’s not as unaffected as you thought. “Look so good like this, just need you to let go. Can you do that? Gonna be my sweet girl and cum for me. Let go for me, love.” 

His gentle command, his firm grip, the pressure of him inside you paired with the almost feral glint in his eyes do you in, and before you know it, you’re back is arching, and you just gush for him with a soundless scream, soaking your lower halves. John isn’t far behind, and the relief of finally pumping you full is almost too much. You always get so tight when you cum, as if you don’t wanna let him go, so he indulges you, lowering your legs but not pulling out yet, instead opting to lay on top of you. 

For a while, neither of you moves, trying to gain your bearings, filling the room with your soft pants. 

Everything feels so serene, as if you two are the only people in the world. You exhale a contented sigh, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of John’s body weight atop you.

After some time, he pulls out, shushing your whine of protest with a quick kiss before pulling you into his chest. As you burrow yourself further into him, John wraps you up in his arms. You always get so clingy after, a fact you’re endlessly embarrassed by, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just another testament to how content, how safe you feel with him, and he cherishes the ability to give you the attention you crave.

Later, he’d clean you up, make you another cup of tea, seeing as the first was abandoned in your haste, get your favorite takeout, and set you up for a lazy night in, but for now, he holds you close. Warmth and exhaustion are seeping into your bones, and you peer up at John through your lashes and utter a quiet “thank you.” 

“No need to thank me, love. I’ll always be here for you,” he reminds, giving you a featherlight kiss on your forehead before continuing, “Get some sleep”

And as you drift off, you can’t help the upturn of your lips. Your mind was quiet, and you finally got the sleep you craved.

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price smut #captain john price x reader #price x reader #price smut #captain price #captain john price #john price

[yuurei20]

Hello!

Bit of a dumb question

I wanted to know if it was ever mentioned anywhere that Jade ate his siblings.. My sister keeps saying he said that he ate everyone but kept Floyd bc he looked like he'd be funny or something. I've never seen this mentioned before and I wanna prove her wrong

Hello hello!! ^^ Thank you for this question!

“Jade ate his siblings” is one of many unproven fan theories, based on a number of comments in the game that might be hints about something that may or may not have happened!

The theory goes that Jade and Floyd hatched from eggs (moray eels can lay up to 10,000 eggs at once in real life, though in-game is unspecified) at approximately the same time.

Jade then selected Floyd as the one sibling he would spare, and ate the rest. (The reason why he chose Floyd is technically not specified.)

This is based on many things that can be found throughout the game, such as this cryptic comment from Jade: “I’m glad I chose you as my partner when we were but little elvers.”

Floyd responds, “Not sure what that smile’s for, but I’m glad we survived together, too,” which may insinuate that if something did happen, Floyd might not know what it was.

Jade also says, “there are five in my family at present.” One interpretation of this line is that their family used to be larger, and might get even smaller in the future, but five is where they are at now. 

The more optimistic side of EN fandom will sometimes theorize that maybe their mother is pregnant and there will actually be a new addition to the family soon rather than a loss, but we have been given a surprising amount of information about how common it is for people to go missing in the Coral Sea, with otherwise zero hints that they will soon be getting between 1 and 10,000 new siblings.

The evidence used for the “hatched from eggs” part of the theory comes from Floyd insisting that neither he nor Jade are any older or younger than the other.

This might seem vague in English, where which twin of two was technically born first might not come up very often, but in Japanese one twin being born first would mean that one of them would refer to the other as something like “nii-san,” like Ortho does with Idia, or "aniki," as Ace does with his brother and Leona does with Falena.

(For a real-world example I recommend referring to the Twitter account of Jamil’s voice actor, Futaba Kaname. He has (弟) in his username for “little brother,” while his identical twin Yuu has (兄) in his username for “older brother.”)

But neither Jade nor Floyd refer to one another as “nii-san," "aniki" or anything but their first names.

While “bro” or “brother” will sometimes be added to their dialogue on EN neither twin has ever actually called the other “brother” in their original dialogue, because the Japanese language makes you specify older or younger (an age-neutral word for “brother” doesn’t really exist) and, as Floyd says outright in the game, neither he nor Jade are any older or younger than the other.

This makes sense if they both hatched from eggs at approximately the same time, rather than being born like mammals.

Another point that is often referenced in the “Jade and Floyd: Dead Siblings” topic is how, on the subject of ghosts they have seen, both twins mention seeing people on Halloween that looked strikingly like each other, only to realize that they weren’t. 

Floyd: “I once thought I saw Jade in three different places at once.”

The theory goes that they saw the ghosts of their dead siblings.

This may or may not be considered evidence of how the twins might have had other siblings at one point and something happened to them, but even if so, it could have just been a Finding-Nemo style incident with a barracuda or something similar.

So why do people point to Jade as the perpetrator?

(Maybe irrelevant, but Rook’s nickname for Jade in the original game is, “Monsieur Premeditated Crime.”)

Jade is a heavy eater, on par with Sebek (another thing they have in common is they have both threatened to eat Grim), saying that people are often surprised by how much he eats.

Jade says this is because his “fuel efficiency is lacking” (low blood pressure?).

Floyd is aware of this and seems to go to extra lengths to make sure Jade eats properly, encouraging him to relax and fetching food for him during Halloween.

The original meaning of Jade’s unique magic is, “the tooth that takes out a bite,” so this is definitely a theme with him.

And his official, disliked food? Eel.

To the original question: no, there is not a definitive line in the game that states “Jade ate his siblings” that we can point to as proof that it actually, canonically happened.

But we do have many cryptic lines that might possibly be insinuating that a infamously hungry Jade chose Floyd as the one sibling he would spare and ate the rest, Floyd may not know it happened, and Jade might be actively choosing not to tell him 🐬

#twisted wonderland #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #twstask

[sugaredrhubarb]

Reading with Ru: Aug/Sept Fic Recs

I know I'm certainly in need of some positivity and escapism lately, so I'm gonna try to do semi-regular fic and book recs! Starting with a retroactive what I've been reading from the past couple of months with this account! (I might go back in time and make an all-time rec list later)

COD

starting with cod because i know most of you go here

Sergeant Squeaks by @charliemwrites - (series of one-shots ghost x reader and price x reader separately) both one of my favourite reader characters and my favourite canon setting depictions of Ghost and Price. their own weird brands of showing love are wonderful; the tension leading to getting together is fantastic, and the sex is super enjoyable.

Ghost Stories by @kneelingshadowsalome - (ghost x medic!reader) I'm repeating myself, but I love Salome's writing. This is where I was first introduced to it, and I think it's really special. Ghost POV as he struggles with developing and then accepting love. felt so real and grounded. angsty and then fluffy, and you can't help but adore the reader as well.

saltwater by @ceilidho - (ghost x reader) It's pretty unlikely any of you don't know Ceil, but on the off chance you haven't given this one a read yet, it really is a must. I lump praise on her pretty regularly, but I don't know anyone who is able to portray their character's emotions as intimately as Ceil. her ghost feels really grounded in all his complexity. there is a common theme in these recs of really enjoyable reader characters, and this is not an exception; the reader feels like a full but still ambiguous character who is vulnerable and strong and really great.

don't leave me locked in your heart by @ohbo-ohno - (ghoap x reader dark!) we all know bo, we all love bo. I always love the way she depicts ghost and soap's dynamic changing and evolving to include the reader. the descent into dark territory in this is really really fun. It's also just hot and well-written! if you haven't read it before, go read it, and then go read all of bo's drabbles and asks on here. genuinely one of my favourite dark but still fun writers. I think she balances it really well.

body electric by @yeyinde and Afterburn by @sprout-fics - (141 + Los Vaqueros x reader) a classic. I've returned to these so many times. sometimes you just want to read dirty, filthy, well done, smut and then warm cozy aftercare. not to wax poetic about pure sex (except that's exactly what one should do), but I think it can be really hard to write group sex like this and still have such insightful and individual glimpses into each character and dynamic, and Lev does it wonderfully. and then it's also hard to find good aftercare fic, and Sprout's feels like literal aftercare for both the reader character and the reader.

other fandoms

tried to curate to themes i think overlap in some of the cod works! and I think most of these can be read fandom blind.

i revisited @winterrose527's fic in August, and even though she already knows how much I love her work, I won't skip a chance to repeat it. Anna writes for asoiaf and is pretty much the queen of Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, but I would say the modern AUs (my favs) can be read almost completely fandom blind. Any contemporary romance enjoyer would love her work. I'm really partial to her kid/single-parent fics. I think it's so hard to get right, and I always adore reading her kid characters and how she approaches love stories when kids are involved. anna's works are always brimming with love and incredible platonic, familiar, parent-child, and romantic relationships (if kid fic isn't your thing she also has a ton of other great fics). personal favs: We Could Be a Little Something, And There They Are, All the Same

Lawless by @goldcranes - (arthur morgan x ofc) age difference, cowboy love story, essentially a romance novel. if goldcranes has no fans, I'm dead. I encourage you to explore her work; very few people write as strongly across multiple fandoms as she does, and each of her works feels like a really strong love story with special characters.

The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock - (bradley bradshaw x reader) 1980's roman literature prof x virgin student - no need to know top gun. katie's work is another entry in the 'feels like it stands really strongly separately from the source material' category. she has multiple ongoing AU's that I really love, but this one is a favourite. i think she does complex characters really well - their actions always feel intentional, and as flawed as they are, I always love them.

Wouldn't it be Nice by allyoops - (m/f captive A/B/O) if you aren't reading original works smut on ao3 you are missing out and allyoops is a great place to start for noncon, dubcon, age gap, taboo etc. enjoyers. they have a ton of works; usually one shots with lots of really delicious dynamics and different settings and tropes.

An Intoxicating Presence by FormerlyIR - (mob a/b/o haladriel) MOB. A/B/O. HALADRIEL. picks up with Halbrand in prison thanks to undercover FBI agent (and his mate!) Galadriel. does that sound crazy and awesome? well it is. mix it with Gal's internal struggle, the added complication of omegaverse, and overall great writing. really fun and really damn good.

civitas terrena by banalityofweevil - (darklina) angel Alina on an exploration of love in immortality with fallen angel Aleks. honestly, it's just a must-read for enjoyers of writing. incredibly creative with divine (literally and figuratively) imagery. i think one of my comments was on the precision of lulu's diction and I really stand by that.

tinsel into gold by ribbonedhare - (darklina) ddlg and cnc friends, this changed me. it is so warm and soft and my god, is it good. just scrumptious.

Be My Babydoll by KittyDruthers - (darklina) ddlg dollification need I say more

check the reading with ru tag for more!

#reading with ru #if you read any of these and wanna yell about em with me my asks are open! #fic rec #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfics #cod #darklina #fanfic recs

[dulcerba]

Why isn't Izuku dead? A Discussion on OFA + Secondary Quirk Characteristics

This is something I've wondered ever since the reveal that Hikage Shinomori died from old age at 40, because of the strain from having 2 quirks. The obvious explanation is that a human being cannot possess more than one quirk (unless you're All for One), because they will experience "quirk overload", where the mind (think like in the Nomus) and body (think like in Nine) cannot handle the quirk. This is the reason why only a formerly quirkless person can safely wield One for All.

But there's something missing here.

Izuku is shown to be the only user of One for All to be able to use past user's quirks. All past vestiges had only been able to use their original quirks and the power-stockholding aspect of One for All, even All Might. One For All has also been confirmed to have reached quirk singularity, which only makes the situation more confusing.

There are other people who have been in possession of multiple quirks without becoming Nomus, such as:

All for One

Gigantomachia

Nine

Number 6 (antagonist from My Hero Academia: Vigilantes)

Tomura Shigaraki

Izuku Midoriya

However, Nine, Number 6, and Shigaraki all underwent severe body modification to be able to handle the quirks. Healing quirks, such as Gigantomachia's Endurance, Tomura's Super Regeneration, and Nine's attempt to claim Cell Activation, are also able to undermine the effects of quirk overload. This leaves us with only two "natural" multiple quirks holders:

All for One

Gigantomachia

Nine

Number 6

Tomura Shigaraki

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku's capability to hold multiple quirks can't be attributed to his prior quirklessness, since he now has no less than seven quirks. Born without a quirk or not, that's still being in possession of more than one. By all accounts, Izuku should be braindead, or at the least, aging extremely fast/being in bad health, but he isn't.

Now, let's have a quick talk about Secondary Quirk Characteristics:

What are they? These are quirk characteristics that are inherited by a person even though they may be unrelated to their own quirk.

Fumikage Tokoyami - bird head that is unrelated to Dark Shadow

Koji Koda - rock-like head that has nothing to do with Anivoice

Mina Ashido - horns, eyes, and skin that are not part of Acid

These are usually traits that belonged to a person's ancestors as part of that ancestor's quirk. Sometimes, these traits will compile with others to form a combined quirk (such as Tsuyu Asui's Frog quirk or Shouto Todoroki's tolerance to fire and ice with his Half-Cold Half-Hot).

Secondary Quirk Characteristics can actually be compared to Darwin's Theory of Evolution by Natural Selection. If the trait aids/does not hinder the body's ability to safely use their quirk (and by extension, to survive), then it will be passed on. There is even speculation that the designs of the cast are due to these secondary traits (like the Midoriya's green hair), making them much more colourful than their Pre-Quirk counterparts. This would mean that secondary traits can be inherited by someone regardless of if they are quirkless or not.

How does this relate to Izuku's strange ability to use multiple quirks?

Because of the theory that he is related to All for One (more specifically, the Dad for One Theory).

His ability for holding many quirks can be logically explained by two things:

He could possess a secret quirk that is a fusion between the All for One quirk and Inko's Attraction of Small Objects quirk. If so, the quirk might not express the same holes as in the palms of All for One and Shigaraki, since Izuku could theoretically "pull" quirks towards himself, or it could be another type of AFO-esque power (can gain quirks though DNA-consumption, can pass on quirks like Yoichi, etc). Whatever it could be, it would have to be something that can provide him with the protection from quirk overload. Even AFO might not know about his quirk, since he wasn't able to detect Yoichi's original Transference quirk. This suggests that All for One can't detect quirks that can actually manipulate the DNA of other quirks (unlike Aizawa's Erasure or Monoma's Copy, which just block/copy their effects), or that he cannot detect quirks that are in held by a family member. I don't really which of those it could be, since canon never really explained why Yoichi's original quirk was noticed.

OR

If he is truly quirkless like the series says, he could have inherited a Secondary Quirk Characteristic that allowed him the capacity to possess multiple quirks, even if he was quirkless on his own, making him the perfect vessel for OFA. Plus, it completes the family trio.

All for One - Takes/Gives Quirks

Yoichi - Passes On Quirks

Izuku - Keeps Quirks

Edited last on March 10

#dad for one #all for one #all for one is midoriya hisashi #bnha #mha #mha thoughts #dfo #dfo theory #theory #midoriya izuku #someone tell me if I'm wrong #please #my hero academia #yoichi shigaraki #i need answers #one for all #boku no hero acedamia #quirk weirdness strikes again

[moumouton4]

"I Have passed by your Demon slayer nsfw headcanon, it was really great! thank you for writing that!🧡

can i request for Muichiro only, one shot nsfw an intimate one? (of course he is aged up, maybe to 18+?) So Muichiro may be comforting the reader after a mission or like could be the reader made a mistake and feels so frustrated with themselves,so Mui will be comforting the reader (they're in a relationship) and will become sweet and intimate with the reader."

~if not possible, it's totally fine~ thank you again! lots of support and love for you writer!🧡✨

A Taste Of Paradise In The Middle Of A Raging Storm || Muichiro Tokito x fem!reader

A/n : Hello lovely ! Here is it and may I say finally ! After 2 days of dealing with those damn cramps 😑 I really hope you'll like it 😍 I don't think I've ever write a fic as a request I think I usually stick with hc 😂

A/n 2 : Muichiro is aged up like all the characters y'all read for and write for from other mangas such as Mha, Assassination Classroom, Gambling School, Tokyo Revengers... so if anyone comes here and complain bro I'mma take the first plane and find you because you've been warned 👀

Summary : Your last mission left you very depressed and doubtful of your abilities. Luckily, your boyfriend is there to remind you what you're really worth. And you'd better believe him, because he's damn right.

Warnings : harsh words in the beginning, reader feels really bad, oral fem!receiver, penetrative sex, Muichiro is aged up, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 2746

Entertainment District a week ago : 

Even hurt and heavily poisoned he said those words loud and clear “You weren’t enough today. I clearly made the wrong choice choosing you”

“No ! I can’t let you say that. Haven’t you seen the devastating force deployed ?!? It swept everything in its p-” you tried to argue back.

“And why are they all dead while you’re still alive ?!?” he bit back. His words were harsh. Your vision blurred with tears and you didn’t even notice his wives who were trying to shush him as best as they could. After this you passed out. Well that’s what Tanjiro told you when you woke up on the way back. Inosuke was kind enough to carry you while you were out.

Back to the Demon Slayer Headquarter :

Since then you have been keeping to yourself. You couldn't stop his words from creeping inside your head. Each time louder than the previous one. You weren’t even angry at Tengen for lashing out at you like this. He was fucking right, you messed up like never before.

You were supposed to keep the people of the area of the Entertainment District your were accounted safe, and yet no one survived. It has left you very frustrated at the whole situation “It’s so damn stupid !” you screamed in your pillow as another rush of tears streamed down your face.

You were so ashamed of yourself. By now everyone must have known what had happened since as a demon slayer you have to write down a report that will be read by the master and the hashiras. Hence the fact you stayed in your room. Little did you know that even Tengen himself in his report stated that the order he gave you back then was impossible to execute. In fact, between the moment he asked you to rush over the south part of the district and the moment the blow devastated the area only 3 minutes had passed. So after running from north to south, you were greeted on the spot by the blast that sent you flying backwards. Your friends could barely imagine how hard it was for you so they preferred not to interfere, leaving you the choice to gather with them whenever you are ready.

There was one person though who didn’t read any of the reports that were written on the said mission, the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito, your boyfriend. It has been a while since you guys have seen each other. Something like 18 days to be exact - 4 days travel to the district, a week of mission, 4 days travel back and the 3 days Muichiro decided to let you rest from all this - but now he started to really miss you a lot so he decided to go to the little place you had in the estate.

The look on his face as he enters your room shows that he's not at all up to date with what happened during your mission. His eyes widen and his mouth slightly hangs agape at the sight of you before him. You are sprawled in your bed, your face buried in your mattress under your pillow as you cry hard. Your body spasming and shivering with force as you pour all your frustration on the wet sheets.

He didn’t hesitate a second before moving swiftly and sitting next to your lying figure on the bed. His hand tentatively reaches for your back wanting to give you some comfort. As it made contact with you, starting to draw slow and soothing circles your breath hitched. You hadn’t heard him with the loudness of your cries. You slowly moved your head from under your pillow to see who it was - even if you had a little idea of who it might be.

Your glassy and red eyes looked up at him trying to focus on his face with your blurred vision. You blinked several times trying to adjust. He instinctively circled his arms around your middle and pulled you flush against him. Your eyes didn’t even have the time to focus, but he couldn’t bear seeing you so sad. Your head was nestled against his neck. As you inhaled the delicate perfume of aloe vera in his hair you were sure it was him.

You weakly responded to his embrace. He didn’t even need to talk, the soothing motion of his hand on your back and the light kisses her peppered your neck with were enough to help your cries subside. He immediately understood that something had gone wrong during your mission. And against his growing curiosity - because when it came to you, he was sometimes curious - he decided not to inquire further.

Once you calmed down you whispered “Thank you for coming over” your voice was quite hoarse.

“Of course Flower always” he said softly, never ceasing the movement of his hand.

After again so time you asked barely above a whisper “D-do you think that I’m not enough ?”

He blinked slowly, trying to process what he had just heard. He wondered if it was a trick of his mind or if you really said what he thought he heard. His grip on you got lighter as he pulled you back to you in the eyes “Reassure me you didn’t just really say that ?” his voice was both soft and firm, his azure eyes fixed in your e/c. He didn’t want to believe the idea could ever cross your mind.

“P-please tell me” you sounded desperate. “Am I not en-” “Rather than telling you I can show you” and as he said that his hands slowly moved from your back to your hips. He massaged you there softly wanting to make sure you were okay with this and also that it could bring you some comfort. He gave your cheek a kiss, before his lips wandered down the side of your neck. He gently nipped at your pulse point. You emitted a soft sound at his ministrations. You were so grateful to have someone like him, who was doing his best to get your mind off of things that bothered you.

“Here let me get you comfortable” he said, his usual tone carrying a hint of affection he rarely expresses openly. He laid you on the bed and continued kissing you. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and focus on something else than what you think is the biggest mistake of your life.

His mouth was soft as he let little kissing on your collarbone. But you couldn’t help but feel them getting warmer as his soft and innocent kisses became open mouthed ones. You could clearly feel him sucking a hickey on your skin. He let it go with a pop before delving back in with his tongue this time to sooth the purplish area. He tried his best to express everything he couldn’t with words with delicate and comforting actions.

His hand didn’t stop either from stroking your sides. But just as his kisses, his touch became bolder as one of his hands gently cupped one of your breasts “Am I succeeding in convincing you ?” he said, his voice slightly muffled against your skin.

But just as you were about to answer, your voice caught in your throat preventing you from saying a word. You were feeling increasingly hot and bothered and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. Somehow feeling your change of state, he looked up at you. His eyes bore into yours and he chuckled quietly at the blush that spread on your cheeks. “Looks like you’re feeling hot. Mind if I take that off” he said, and you nodded allowing him to take your shirt off. 

His eyes sparkled on the curves of your body. No matter how many times he'd done it, he couldn't help staring, as if lost in thought. Like a magnet, his mouth came to rest on your skin, this time inching closer to your chest. You were glad you hadn't worn a bra today, it was a chill day after all.

A low moan came from your mouth as his caught your hardened nipple delicately. He gave it the attention it deserved through gentle suction before moving on to the other. He loved seeing you squirming like that underneath him. It only proved that little by little his efforts were making you relax. His hand snaked up your body before hooking onto the waistband of your pajamas. His mouth kissed its way down your stomach before stopping where her fingers had been. Each kiss screaming at you that **you were enough** that **you were everything he ever dreamed about**.

He waited a beat or two before gently lowering them all at once. Revealing your most intimate part to his - hungry - eyes.

But just as his mouth was about to continue its exploration, this time on your core, you stopped him "Please Muichiro, it's you I-I need. All of you please"

He stopped short, his tongue only inches apart from your already glistening folds. He wanted to make this only about you, but now that you were asking for it, who was he to deny you ? Hashira or not.

But he couldn't resist giving your wet folds a long, lingering lick upwards making your hips buck forward "Mmh sorry that was too tempting" he admits while savoring your sweet taste on his tongue.

After that, he stood up quickly and took off his haori, then his pants. You gulped at the sight of his erection. You always had trouble imagining that an angel's face like his went with such a... well… fit dick. He grabbed a nearby scrunchie of yours that was lying around and quickly fixed his hair.

Once he was ready, he got back on top of you at your level. His body came to rest delicately on yours, mindful not to crush you with his weight. His lips gave a tender kiss to yours as his hips thrust forward, aiming to nestle his cock deep inside you. When you felt the tip of his erection against your entrance you softly whimpered his name. He smiled tenderly "That's it" he thought. You were finally totally focused on him and nothing else that could dampen your spirits.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch. He took his time so that you could get used to his size again, and so that it remained as pleasant for you as it was for him. Even if after so many days of abstinence just want to thrust deeply in one go. He knew it was only a postponement. And right now you needed him. And he was going to do his best to put that smile back on your face.

He, who always had his head in the clouds, was hyper focused on every single reaction of your body. He, who always was so fast during fights. use all his free will to keep his movements as slow as possible. His cock dragging slowly in and out of your tight cunt to let you feel all the contours and veins that ran through them. With words, he couldn't resist using wit, but with gestures, with looks, no filter was possible. Not with you. Not when you're both so vulnerable.

He gently felt your body responding to his, it gave him a confidence boost that he was doing the right thing. Your back arching as he oh so slowly rocked his hips upward rubbing against that spongy spot.

Despite your slow movements, the thoughts in his head kept racing "Do you still have doubts ?", "Why don't you see yourself as I see you ?", "Who put those thoughts in your head ?", "Did he give you enough reason to think that you are enough for him ?"

What snapped him out of his thoughts was your legs tightening around him "M-Muichiro I'm c-" "Shh I know" he said as he felt your velvety walls tighten around him in a delicious way. "Hang on tight" he murmured breathlessly. He has been holding on from pounding into you but as he felt you nearing the edge his resolve crumbled.

His hands found a firm grip on your hips as he began to quicken his pace. In response your arms encircled his body and your nails left red trails down his back. Both your moans grew louder, blending perfectly with the sounds of your lovemaking.

His head nestled against your neck as he kept pounding you. His voice was hoarse like it rarely was - as he didn’t speak that much when you guys usually have sex - “See what you’re doing to me ? I can’t stop myself from having you. So don’t you ever dare saying those words ever again. Understood ?”

Hearing his words you nodded eagerly. You knew that the meaning of his words carried far more than the spoken word in itself. He was demanding not to only say it aloud but never think so little of yourself again either. It was usually with others that he used this kind of tone. But here on you, it just proved that he was really serious and that he wasn't going to be satisfied if you disobeyed him.

"Use your words or I'll slow down" he continued, and you knew that he meant it. He knew how to be stubborn sometimes, especially when it came to taking care of you.

"P-promise... ughh I promise. P-please don't stop !" your voice rushed out in a squeak.

And he didn’t stop. He kept on thrusting with force bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He felt the coil tighten in his stomach and he really hoped it wouldn't be long before you reached your climax because he wasn't going to last long. He did his best to aim well. In a flash of lucidity he brought his hand down to your clit and started to rub it in a rapid circle.

Suddenly, with a strangled cry, you fell over the edge. He felt you tighten even more, milking his cock just the way it needed to make her throb with pleasure. And just a little later with a few more thrusts he came. Pouring his love as he spilled his seed deep inside of you - I like to think Shinobu makes Plan B pills lmao.

He collapsed on top of you, his cock still nestled into you as his mouth left little wet kisses where he had done the hickey earlier. Your rapid breathing mingled with his. Your bodies were sticking with sweat but you couldn't care less. He hugged you even tighter trying to provide you even more affection and strength. He wanted you to be strong and he knew you were oh so strong usually. Hence his original shock.

As he drifted off to sleep, he heard your little voice say "Thank you for answering me". He knew deep down that he'd have to read all the reports on that famous mission to the Entertainment District later. To find out what it was all about. But for now, he was there, letting himself be carried away by your breaths and the warmth of your body. Maybe this was paradise.

Bonus scenes 🤷‍♀️ :

Maybe as you're still going at it Makio, Suma or Hinatsuru ( or the three ) or maybe Tengen himself - but I think he is too proud for that - come to ask you if you're doing okay. Maybe the wives want ask for forgiveness on the account of their husband.

Either you're still going at it and like their hear from outside some interesting moans and slapping sounds, making them chuckle softly - I fell like the Uzuis are fine with sex lmao. I mean they are 4 👀. So they decided to come back later.

Or when they knock no one answers. You guys are fast asleep on your fûton, completely spent. So they open the door slowly. As One of they is about to talk their eyes land on you snoring on your back while Muichiro is sprawled on ton of you, his face hidden in your neck. With a knowing smile they discretly leave the room that witnessed your love and passion, thinking they might come later once you are fully rested.

~

~

A/n : I added some details of the story in the comments. If you're curious about some other stuff

A/n 2 : If you're wondering and didn't notice the title was a metaphora. The raging storm takes place in Reader's head. Just like the storm under a skull from Victor Hugo in Les Misérables

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

#demon slayer swordsmith village arc #demon slayer #demon slayer imagine #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba imagine #kimetsu no yaiba smut #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #muichiro imagine #muichiro x reader #muichiro x reader smut #muichiro tokito x reader smut #muichiro tokito imagine #muichiro tokito smut #tengen uzui #tengen uzui x reader #demon slayer hurt / comfort #kimetsu no yaiba hurt / comfort #smut #hurt / comfort #request #miri-writes

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

holy shock guys you need to restrain me rn

so imagine,

overworked salary man miguel o'hara x reader

day in, day out; from 8 in the morning to 5 in the evening, from monday to friday, miguel o'hara goes to work. not by choice, mind you, but to "serve his purpose in society and keep money and services flowing" for the insatiable society he is cursed to live in. he grumbles every morning when his alarm clock for 6:00 AM on the dot beeps and beeps until he decides to live that morning his mundane existence.

begrudgingly, he gets up and off the bed, dreaming to himself in his half-asleep stupor about how wonderful it'd be to get back under the covers and pretend he didn't have anything worthwhile to do. actually, he didn't need to pretend; his work was just that, anything but worthwhile. miguel has lost track of time on multiple occasions, only checking the calendar when he has nothing to work on, which is incredibly rare, mind you, and the look on his face when he realizes monday wasn't yesterday, for today is now friday.

miguel used to be a more sociable, confident, and sort of cocky guy. before he knew about the turmoils of the real world and lived every day like it was his last, miguel's now counting down his days--many of which has slipped from his mind entirely--until the day of his retirement, or his demise from all the workload he's been getting that seems endless. he wishes he could just have one day where he's not worrying about accounts or reports or having to face empty coffee cups by his table that aren't even his, or having a nosy co-worker look over at his monitor and chuckle about his work and point out his mistakes.

if only he could grab his keyboard and smash it against their heads without any repercussions, he'd do it in a heartbeat. and he'd do it again, and again, and again. he was tired and in need of solitude; though everyone else his age was doing the same thing without audible complaints and without much violent tendencies, he wanted an immediate exit from this hellish routine he was compelled to live out until he reaches his 60's.

he sighs as his virtual assistant, affectionately called lyla, greets miguel every morning--though he wishes he'd hear a voice other than hers the minute he awakes from his slumber, or lack of it. he mumbles back a good morning, not that the AI slept or anything. he makes himself coffee and reluctantly checks his phone for any updates at work. putting on his glasses and squinting, then pulling away from his phone as he adjusted his reading glasses, he deduced that it was the usual mail he received, with a lot of irritating nicknames from his boss. if he could punch him for every time he called him "mike", he'd've murdered him by now. but the man helps him pay his bills and put food on his table, he had to bear it. for a little longer.

miguel sighed as he put away his phone and readied the shower, thinking all the while if he should stop by a convenience store for breakfast or just make some toast. he had some time to kill, maybe he could make himself breakfast. as miguel stepped into the shower, he realized something was wrong. "mierda," he cursed as he grumbled and took off his reading glasses that he brought with him into the shower. all the kinds of things he does when he's out of it are phenomenally funny. yet miserable when you think about he's a man in his early 30's with a dead-end, nowhere job he finds no comfort or excitement in, barely has a social life, no friends that reach out to him for stuff other than high school reunions he has no interest in attending, and no one but a virtual assistant to greet him a good morning like she was coded to do.

miguel sighed as he finished his shower and turned the tap off and dried himself. as he wrapped the towel around his slim waist, he took a peek at the clock by his bedside table. how wonderful, he spent a long while in the shower lamenting his misfortunes, and now, he doesn't have the time to make himself breakfast anymore. could his day get any better?

miguel donned on his white button-up and realized he messed up the order of buttoning his shirt, the bottom most button without its counterpart buttonhole, and the buttonhole on the top most part of his clothing was without its counterpart button. he sighed as he undid his clothing, wishing his office would get rid of this pretentious dress code.

he finally did his buttons right and put on his blazer in an instant not caring to button it yet since he had to catch the commute by 7:00. he took his suitcase and was about to leave his apartment, when lyla appeared and reminded miguel about his dark red and blue striped tie that he left hanging on the backrest of his seat at the dining table. miguel groaned as he re-entered his home, lyla greeting him a welcome home, and him leaving before she could even finish her greeting.

miguel went down the stairs of the underground subway station and huffed as he caught his breath. he used to be so much more active when he was in his 20's, but that version of him has long since died when he signed his soul away to corporate slavery and his only form of exercise now is making his way from his home to the daily commute and back. he tapped his foot against the cement pavements and stood behind the bright yellow line; he hoped he'd make it on time before his boss, his annoying, stupid boss would chew him out for being a minute late again.

there were significantly more people boarding the trains that day, figures, it was a friday–everyone would be eager to go to work for a more rewarding weekend that'd be ahead of them all. however, for miguel o'hara, weekends only last for a minute; that's because he spends them all either finishing up work dumped on him by his extremely incompetent workmates or sleeping all day to make up for the 120 hours he spends in the earlier portion of his week working his ass off.

he barely got any sleep last night, staying up until 1 AM finishing up the organized reports he had to file and sending them to his head manager, that good for nothing, and stayed awake until 4:20 AM, listening to the ceaseless ticking of his bedside clock. insomnia's a thorn in his side, all the time. it also doesn't help that right now, as he's waiting for his daily commute, he felt the lack of sleep catch up with him as he felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier. he opened his mouth a little to yawn, feeling his eyes water as he did, signaling that sleepiness was upon him.

you know, maybe he could just shut his eyes a little and stand right where he is. yeah, he can do that; just giving hid eyes a rest as he–and he just missed his train.

wonderful, fantastic. now there wasn't anyone else on the platform waiting for the next train, it'd take too long. he sighed as he was about to leave, when he heard panting and the clacking of heels coming into the station. "shit!" he heard a voice cry out as the clacking got louder. he watched as you entered the station, exhausted and shaking in the knees. you must've ran a long distance to get here, for your forehead was beading with sweat, your chest rising and falling as you took in copious amounts of air, filling your tired lungs.

"did... did it..." you panted out, your speech broken as miguel approached you slowly, but didn't move any closer when you stood straighter, albeit in a strained and forced manner; pretending not to be panicky right now as your only train that'd get you to where you needed to be on time had just left seconds ago. miguel nodded with a slight frown on his face as he was predicting what follow up insults his buffoon of a boss would throw at him this time for being late, apart from a threat to cut dock him off his pay, or even worse, fire him on the spot–his sloppily done tie? his still tousled hair after probably three bottles of gel? his permanent scowl on his face, and the wrinkles that came with it?

he didn't want to think about it, it gave him headaches every time he thought of it, especially as it was becoming more and more of a reality as he stood there on the station platform with your spent figure from rushing in here, doing nothing. you sighed as you slumped on the mahogany bench nearby, sitting on spilled coffee someone so nicely left for you to sit on. "dammit!" you exclaimed in frustration as you got up, trying to get the stains off, but it merely spread over your clothes, making the mess more noticeable.

miguel wordlessly took off his unbuttoned blazer and offered it to your agitated figure. he looked at you with a nonchalant look on his face. "here, it'll hide the stain." he said as he peered at you, neither amused nor disappointed, just... utterly tired. you hesitated for a moment, but you took his blazer with a nod and a rushed, "thanks" as you wrapped the blazer around your waist and rubbed your face with your hands as you sighed yet again, even longer than the previous one.

"i'm getting fired after this, that's for sure." you murmured as you leaned your back against the wall and shut your eyes as you frowned. miguel, for some reason, joined you by the wall–leaning his own back against the wall and letting out a held in breath. "so am i." he confessed as you looked over at him. "well, guess that makes two of us." you muttered as you looked down at your shoes. "this might not matter to you anymore, but um..." you said as you looked back up at him, who now looked down at you; and as your gazes met, you pointed to his collarbone area. "the... the tie." you spoke as he peered down and noticed that his tie had come undone, what with it hastily being wrapped around his neck.

"well then, a lot of people might have seen it before you did, fuck." he said as he grabbed his tie and fumbled to tie it back on properly, grunting every now and then as his attempts to tie it all ended in failure. you couldn't take it anymore and told him to let you tie it for him. he couldn't resist, seeing as how you wouldn't take no for an answer after watching him fail time and time again.

"you have a... very pretentious looking tie." you remarked with a smirk as you did his tie, with him looking away from you out of embarrassment. a red hue appeared across his cheeks as you said that, and he pushed his glasses up further on his face. "it was a gift from my very competent head manager. they said red and blue were my colors, so they gifted me this. yeah." he rambled with a head scratch. you smiled at his rambling, and as he finished rambling, you finished tying his tie.

"that's better." you said as miguel looked down at his now tied up tie. he raised his eyebrows in an impressed manner. the creases on his tie that were the fruit of his earlier, miserable attempts were obscured. "wow, you... did it so much better than i ever could. thank you." he remarked with a small smile as he took off his glasses and tucked an arm of the glasses behind his button-up's front. he crossed his arms over his chest. "honestly, i'm not scared of getting fired. i'm thrilled about it, actually. i won't have to see those imbeciles at work, gawking over my reports and leaving their trash on my table. i'm just pissed they'll have the satisfaction of cutting me off and not me cutting them off." he said as he looked at your face and down at your waist where his blazer was embracing your curves.

"and... so am i." you said in a rather surprised voice as you said it–almost as if you yourself didn't realize you also hated your job, didn't like nor relate to your brainless co-workers who were suck ups to your equally shitty boss. miguel gazed over at you. "if you want to... wanna get some breakfast with me?" he asked in a gentle, almost as a whisper, tone. "it's okay if you don't want to, i just didn't get breakfast this morning–" "i'd love to." you said as you smiled up at him. "i'll tender my resignation letter all the while." you said as you looked at him with shining eyes. miguel smiled wider than before, hearing your words. he might've just made a new acquaintance... one with a brain and a heart, and has also had enough bullshit from horrible working conditions. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in getting to know you, though.

"um... what's your name?"

a/n: NANAMI KENTOIFIED OUR MIGGY O'HARA LET'S GOOOOOO

@thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @luvstarrstruck@binibinileonara

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction

[tiny-merkitty]

too much

ⓘ i do not consent to k!nk interaction! any nsfw account that likes, reblogs, or in any way interacts with this post or my blog will be blocked and reported.

| Matt's intern gets overwhelmed at work.

| tags/prefaces: sfw age regression fic, matt is aware reader is a regressor, purely platonic/found family, matt is a father figure, from matt's pov, gn reader, overwhelmed/slight meltdown, neurodivergent reader but i dont think i could write a neurotypical if i tried

it'd been a long day, a long day where you had been growing more and more agitated.

Matt could tell as soon as you walked in, the way you huffed when you assumed he couldn't hear it, the jumbled whine stuck in your throat when the files he'd given you didn't stack together as neatly as you would've liked. his brows creased whenever he had to listen to your heart rate tug itself between rapid and sluggish.

the tips of his calloused fingers traced over the same three punctuated dots on whatever document detailing the latest case he'd been given, a hasty translation. most of the indentations were confusing or off. he didn't really care about the poor accommodations from his client at the moment, though—— his fingers went over the word 'and' about fifteen times before his mind had actually processed it, he was too focused on the sound of his intern shakily jamming a pod of something into the half-dead keruig Karen had gotten for their depressing kitchenette. it was a sweet thought at the time.

he made sure to politely inform her to avoid the $30 facebook marketplace listings afterwards, though.

an annoyed groan punctuated with a salty scent filled the small space, Matt's footsteps nearly silent as he made his way to the doorframe— his thumbs ghosted over the handle of his cane, his brows furrowed in a concerned expression as you tried not to cry over some coffee not going to plan.

“everything alright, kid?”

Matt asked quietly, his voice holding the same cadence of a worried teacher.

you didn't answer, though the familiar sound of muscles tensing around your face followed by fabric rustling at your hands told him you'd simply frowned and begun to fidget. his mind wandered to a different explanation, his own mouth turning into a frown at the thought.

Matt never saw your regression as something to be shamed—— the opposite, actually. no, he'd gone out of his way to stock the office up with hot cocoa packets and rainbow marshmallows (at least, the cashier told him they were rainbow. her heartbeat at the time didn't help his confidence on the matter.), he'd even gotten a little plush to keep on the office's couch.

still, having to watch you feel so upset never made him happy.

his hand carefully extended, feeling for the accursed coffee machine and gently fixing the top shut, his mouth curving into a line when he felt you sway a bit closer to him in the process.

his free hand reached around your shoulder, allowing you to rest against the worn fabric of his suit jacket. a quick smile from him as he listened to your heartbeat calm in his presence. he couldn't help the small swell of pride knowing he was doing something right to try and help ease your emotions.

“I should ask Karen to replace this soon. I think it has a vendetta.”

Matt chuckled quietly, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he reached up into the cabinet above the counter, feeling around for mugs and letting his hands trace over the ceramic. none of them had any features he could discern by touch, aside from a mug you'd attempted to put braille on in puffy paint, and another with three-dimensional fish scales across the front.

“nod when I get to the one you want?” he suggested with a head tilt as his hand went from one mug to the next, listening for your cue to stop.

he gave a soft giggle when his hand rested on a mug sitting somewhere near the top left row, followed by your hand tugging at his sleeve.

“this one, sweetheart?”

he took the sound of your hair brushing up and down as you giving a nod, moving the mug to the base of the machine and feeling for the indented labels over the buttons, turning it on the listening to the creaky sound of water boiling and hot chocolate dispensing out.

his hand idly traced up and down your left shoulder, absently counting each seam and thread along your shirt as the creaky noises came to a quick halt.

“careful, it's hot.”

he murmured, opting to hold the base of the mug as he handed it to you, waiting a moment to be sure you were holding onto it tight.

“now, we don't have any whipped cream—— but I'm told these marshmallows are shaped like rabbits...”

Matt's voice came out with a smile, his words enunciated with some suspense to try and make you happy, you exhaled a bit out of your nose, so he took that as a win.

he placed a few into the mug and let you hold onto his forearm as he walked you back into his office, sitting beside you on the hand-me-down sofa—— he chose not to ask Foggy where he'd gotten it, but most signs pointed to side of the road. nothing a gallon of lysol couldn't fix, he guessed. the springs prorested beneath the two of you, your head falling onto his shoulder almost instinctively, he was quick to bundle you in a blanket he'd left folded on the arm, exhaling a long breath as he listened to yours beginning to even out, the smell of sugary chocolate and printer paper filling his nose.

“s‘ has cats on it..”

his brows raised when you spoke, it'd been a little bit since you'd said anything today. anything of your own volition, at least.

“the mug?” he asked carefully, his own eyes beginning to droop, you were a welcome warmth against him, your own sleepiness felt contagious.

you gave a nod, felt against the crook of his neck as you sipped from the newly learned cat mug.

“that's nice, angel. are you tired?”

the question was rhetorical, more or less. he knew you were, his hand was already prepping to catch the half-full mug and set it on his desk in the event of you getting too lethargic to hold it up properly.

you nodded again, Matt gave a smile, tucking the blanket up just under your neck, your legs bunched up on the pleather couch.

“I think my client will understand if we take a nap,” his thumb traced over your brow, lulling your eyes shut. “just rest, the case will still be there in the morning.” Matt's voice was a mumble, drifting into soothing murmurs and eventual silence once he was sure you were fully asleep, his free hand underneath the mug, carefully removing it from your limp fingers and placing it on the nearest surface.

he gently laid on his back, letting you bundle up and rest your head on his chest, he didn't mind the cramped space on the couch. you were comfortable and at ease, that was all that mattered to him for the time being.

#sfw interaction only #sfw agere #age regression #merkitty writes #daredevil agere #matt murdock agere #marvel agere #mcu agere #matt murdock comfort #dad matt murdock #safe agere #agere fic #agere fanfic #fandom agere #agere fandom #noncom agere #sfw

[shepherds-of-haven]

Sorry if this has already been asked before, but have you ever thought about writing a sequel to SoH? I know you said it would be a stand-alone book, but I think a sequel where we explore different continents would be extremely cool. I just love these character so much and idk if I’m ready to say goodbye. I know we still have a bit left but still…

Hi there, this message has been sitting in a long queue of messages I've fallen behind on answering for a while now, but I just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to send it! It ended up being extremely thought-provoking for me, and you may have single-handedly made me reconsider my stance on a Shepherds sequel! XD

I always planned on this entry being a standalone game, though I was toying with the idea of eventually writing a sequel that follows a separate cast of characters (aka different protagonist and companions, though with room for potential cameos with the old characters). Pretty much like how Dragon Age does it! I won't go into the potential plot details now, but I was thinking it might take place sometime between 10-15 years in the future, and it would follow "a new generation" of Shepherds in a different locale. I've sort of hazily cobbled together ideas for the story/main premise, but companions outside of the main protagonist have eluded me at the moment--I really need to focus on this game, its DLC, and my next book first, so I haven't given it too much thought!

However, your comment has unearthed some feelings I've been having about a potential sequel, too! It's hard for me to feel like I'd be ready to say goodbye to the cast, as well... It's so easy for me to write them because they've been in my head for so many years, and starting an adventure in the world of Blest with different and new characters admittedly feels a bit strange. It's like having to hang back a grade while all of your friends graduate high school and then looking around at the incoming freshman class like "welp, I guess you guys are my friends now! 😒" lol. I'm torn on the issue: I don't want to not challenge myself or refuse to move out of my comfort zone as a writer--in short, I don't want to be the kind of writer who recycles the same characters and material because doing something new is daunting to me, and I don't want you all to feel like I'm making endless sequels/trying to recapture old magic and should just move on to something new, either--but I do love my cast and I'm not sure yet if I should definitively say, "No, their chapter is done with this game and it's on to the next!", because I can see so many adventures happening to them even after this story is over!

The problem lies with endings--there are so many different endings planned for this game that I hesitate in treating any of them as the true or canonical one, but otherwise trying to account for all of them in a sequel feels quite impossible to accomplish when I wasn't planning on a continuation--along with other logistical concerns that I can't get into at the moment. Like, what if you end the game with all of the Shepherds except Halek dead? What if your friend ends the game with all of them alive, but the MC is dead? This game alone is already 1 million words, but a direct sequel would probably wrack up hundreds of thousands of variations based on all of these choices in its first chapter alone! 🤔

That's why I figure DLC is the happy medium here: you can expand on or create new content and adventures for the characters, but slot them into the timeline wherever you wish, like in between Chapter 7 and 8, etc. And episodic adventures might keep things small and streamlined enough that I can update them more consistently, rather than hacking away at one giant sequel game!

Aaaaaanyway... All this is to say: I have a lot to think about! Absolutely nothing has been decided yet (not even close), but these are just some of the things I've had rattling around in my head. Thank you again for your sweet and honest words: I'm glad you're so fond of these characters and would miss them. I would, too! But whatever ends up happening, I know this game won't be the last time we see them. :)

Thanks again!

#Shepherds of Haven #sequel #FAQ #spoilers #mild #me #personal #writing #it's pretty much a dragon age vs mass effect scenario #if you know what I mean :')

[lila-pitts-apologist]

Not to rise from the dead and post on here after months, but I wanted to touch on an aspect of the show that I feel is misunderstood by the fandom, especially in season 3.

I hate to bring it up at all, but I’m talking about Luther and Allison’s relationship(?). I know it’s a part of the series that most of us ignore or joke about, but in actuality it sheds light on how the siblings were raised, especially Allison, in a sadly realistic way.

While I obviously see Allison and Luther’s relationship as troublesome and unhealthy/weird, I don’t think I have the same ‘gawk in disgust’ reaction other people in the fandom seem to have when the complexity of the relationship is brought up.

This isn’t because I think incest (what I would label the relationship, even if it was more emotional than physical!) is acceptable, but because I think it makes total sense within the show, especially within the character dynamics of Allison and Luther.

Even though it’s a hard thing to bring up, sibling incest is more common than we think. It’s not always full-out or malicious, but it does occur way more often than most of us would assume. Specifically, it’s more likely to occur amongst siblings that are not properly socialized as youths, or ones who are full on isolated.

When we think of isolation we think of olden time families living on a farm cut off from any other societies, and I feel like that makes people underestimate how much the Hargreeves siblings were isolated from their peers and just other people.

I mean, we’ve seen Reginald’s parenting! The kids make their superhero debut at age 11, and by the way it’s described who knows if the kids ever even properly went outside before then. Growing up the Hargreeves had only the seven of them (6 if we account for Viktor’s separation).

All of the personal growth, all of the curiosity about the outside world, all of the teenage melancholia and growing pains, all of it has to occur within the bounds of the seven siblings because there’s literally no one else.

So of course this is going to make for oddly bonded children! Of course they’re going to blur the lines of what siblings should act like, because they know no objective standards! We see this in their competitiveness stemming from being pitted against each other, we see it in their ‘ride or die’ mindset even when they don’t like each other, and we see it in Allison and Luther.

I see the fandom spin it into Allison and Luther being freaks, especially as the other siblings find it odd as well. While I agree it’s weird, I think it’s unfair to paint it simply as ‘grown adults have a thing for their own sibling’ because we’re then ignoring their unique upbringing.

I mean, i find it hard to even treat the siblings as adults on an emotional level, because they were never truly allowed the development needed to grow into stable, mature adults.

You have one sibling who is reared to crave attention and validation, who didn’t see much kindness or empathy due to his envy-inducing status as Number 1. And you have another sibling who is purposely left devoid of proper morals, who is used to getting everything she wants and being wanted by everyone in the way she wants them to, by charm or by force.

Is it really hard to see what those siblings would find in each other, the validation that they surely would’ve found in non-relatives had they been allowed to grow up normally?

One of my favorite parts of TUA is that it’s not afraid to give us a fucked up family, exploring how such an unorthodox childhood allows for ugliness to rear its head in the craziest places. To me, the too-intimate bond of Allison and Luther isn’t something to just be written off as an awkward writing choice, it’s another very real and sad example of how the Hargreeves’ morals and minds were doomed from the start.

#pretty sure this is too long for anyone to want to read #thanks for coming to my TED talk #tua #tua s1 #the umbrella academy #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #is this fandom hibernating until s4 comes out??

[useless19]

Do you think Bowser has hinted at marriage once in awhile randomly or do you think he's chilled out about rushing things finally. Sure he was pretty dead set on marrying the Princess not only from his own interests and political benefits but prehaps abandonment issues caused him to see marriage as mostly a way to insure himself they wont leave him since it a final say writen on papers? (divorce exist but if you got unspoken issues the smaller details are usually ignored)

Honestly I've always been fascinated by peoples take on Bowsers possible attachment or abandonment issues

He absolutely has.

"Or I could just lock you in the dungeon when it's time for you to go back," Bowser said. He laughed when Luigi started to protest. "I know, I know. No kidnapping. It was a joke." -Bowser, in the middle of planning Luigi's kidnapping.

I imagine a lot of the earlier proposals got passed off with a similar 'I'm joking' sort of thing. But because Luigi's still got fairly low self-esteem, he takes Bowser's word when he brushes off Luigi's bemusement with a 'I'm not being serious' or the like whenever Luigi comments on a pretty place and Bowser hints that it might be a good place to have a wedding.

Ultimately, Days!Bowser had a (at his best) distant dad, a mum who died when he was barely old enough to remember her but not young enough to have not remembered her at all, and some relatives who couldn't be around very often for their own safety. And then he only reinforced that by kidnapping people. So yes, he sort of thinks that marriage will make someone stick around (and it did during the main plot!).

(I considered going for a Bowser who lost both his parents at a terribly young age (playing into the fact that some of the Yoshi games refer to him as King Bowser, even though he's a pretty young kid), but a Bowser who has literally never been accountable to anyone is going to be different to the Bowser I was putting together for Day 7/9.)

Anyway, this means it comes as a shock the first time Bowser goes all out on a proposal. Luigi is not a fan of surprises or being the center of attention, and Bowser's not going to half-arse something as important as a proposal. It'll be loud, there'll be a crowd, and Luigi's going to have the frightful time of figuring out how to say 'no' without Bowser assuming that's the end of the relationship. (He doesn't do great).

Luigi escapes the resulting fiery chaos and retreats to his room. He feels awful and has some miserable thoughts on whether or not this relationship is viable if they keep having stuff like this happen. (It's not been that much that often, Luigi's just spiralling here). He gets ready for bed automatically, but doesn't get any sleep.

And trying to figure this out turned into just writing fic... It's first draft, but here you go.

Luigi yelped when his bedroom door slammed open. Bowser stomped in, only to stop short when he noticed Luigi.

"Knock, please," Luigi said.

"You haven't escaped yet?" Bowser said.

Luigi clutched the heavy book he'd been trying to use to send him off to sleep. "Do I have to escape?" he asked carefully.

"Not yet," Bowser said. He began to pace around Luigi's room.

Luigi put the book aside and laced his fingers together. It was hard to even know where to start. How were you supposed to tell your partner that you weren't ready for marriage when they so obviously were?

"I'm sorry I messed things up," Luigi said.

"You should be," Bowser snapped.

Luigi flinched. Bowser stopped pacing and took a deep breath.

"I'm furious," Bowser said on the out breath.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"You said you wouldn't leave without telling me why," Bowser said, looming over Luigi.

"Do you want me to leave?" Luigi asked.

"What? No!"

Luigi patted the bed next to him. Bowser huffed. Instead of sitting next to Luigi on the mattress as Luigi had intended, Bowser slumped to the floor and leant his head on his folded arms on the bed.

"I don't want to leave," Luigi said.

"Then why didn't you say yes?" Bowser asked, a note of hurt in his voice.

"Because I don't want to get married yet," Luigi said. "It's a lot to say yes to. It's a huge decision."

"Figures I managed to bag the one mushroom person afraid of commitment," Bowser grumbled. "What do you think a relationship is except a precursor to marriage?"

Luigi hadn't considered it like that. "I don't know. There's still a lot we haven't talked about with... us and everything it entails."

"The proposal can be a surprise but the engagement shouldn't be," Bowser said.

Luigi blinked in surprise. "Exactly. Where did you hear that?"

"Can't remember." Bowser shrugged, knocking Luigi off balance.

Luigi lifted his hand to put it on Bowser's arm then hesitated. Would his touch even be welcome right now? When he dropped his arm, he caught sight of Bowser's red eye watching him.

"Hate me so much you can't stand the thought of touching me?"

"No." Luigi braced himself. "Do you hate me?"

Bowser closed his eyes. "I asked you to marry me a few hours ago, what do you think?"

"I think a lot of people would hate someone for saying no."

Bowser huffed and reached out to pat Luigi's leg. If he wanted to hurt Luigi, it would have been so easy, but he didn't. Luigi reached forward and threaded his fingers through Bowser's coarse hair. Something he hadn't realised was tense relaxed as Bowser gave a rumble of contentment.

"Was it just a no?" Bowser asked. "Or was it a not now? Because it felt like the former, but you waffled a lot before you got there."

"That's it exactly," Luigi said, relieved beyond measure at finally getting the right words. "I don't want to get married now, but I might change my mind in the future."

The lateness of the hour hit Luigi and he was unable to stifle his yawn. It must have been gone midnight by now. Tomorrow was looking better than it had been, but too little sleep wouldn't help anyone.

"We should probably try to get some sleep," Luigi said, untangling his fingers from Bowser's hair with a pang of disappointment. "Would you stay with me, tonight?" he blurted out before he could wimp out of asking for what he wanted again.

"In here?" Bowser waved at Luigi's quite-big-for-Luigi-but-small-for-Bowser bed.

"If that's okay?"

Bowser crawled onto the bed. There really wasn't much room for Luigi, but he'd spent enough time in too-narrow or too-short beds on adventures that he could probably doze off. Bowser curled his hand around Luigi's body. Luigi put his hand over Bowser's finger.

Heavy, absurdly long breaths were becoming a welcome sound to drift off to. Luigi snuggle down, enjoying the extra warmth a fire-breathing Koopa added.

"How long will it take before you're ready?" Bowser asked in a tone that he'd probably meant to be casual but missed by miles.

How long did it usually take before people were comfortable taking the next step in a relationship like this? Luigi had known people with whirlwind engagements who would have had a kid already on the way at this point, and others who had been together more than five years before they even hinted at marriage.

And it didn't matter how other people did it, Luigi had to figure out what worked for Luigi.

"I don't know," Luigi said. He clutched Bowser's fingers. "If I try to pick a date, then I don't know if I'll be ready by then and the extra anxiety over whether or not I'll be ready by then will probably just make it take longer. And I don't think you'll do very well with a specific date to get your hopes up for."

Bowser grumbled unhappily, but didn't disagree. Luigi rubbed Bowser's claw with his thumb and was relieved when Bowser gave him a gentle squeeze in return.

"I can promise that when I'm ready, you'll be the second person to know," Luigi said.

"After Mario?" Bowser said, disgruntled.

"After me," said Luigi.

Bowser laughed sleepily.

#bowuigi #days #fanfic #ask #this got long #would've loved to work in Luigi making a comparison between his certainty that no one likes him with Bowser's certainty that everyone leave #but i couldn't figure out where to fit it in #(first draft problems) #(who knows that it would even make sense here)

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 14th

Day 14: Uniform, Suspension Bondage, Abduction/Kidnapping

Dave York x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Kidnapping, drugging, mentions of murder for hire, hits, imprisonment, exchanging sex for living, coercion.

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The feeling of being drugged is heavy, hard to break free of. Groggy and not wanting to open your eyes, even though you hear a sound. Someone talking. 

Frowning feels like it’s taking enormous effort, eyes still closed and your lids not peeling open like you are ordering them to. 

You sleep alone. You live alone. Why is there someone talking? 

Did you forget to turn the tv off? Your brows scrunch together again, unable to remember even turning on the tv last night. Unable to remember anything beyond getting the DoorDash and sitting down to eat your dinner by yourself. Your normal Friday night routine. 

“You awake?” The voice sounds like it was far away, garbled slightly. Maybe through a door? Why can’t you open your eyes!? “Told them not to mix the fucking sedative too strong.” 

Sedative? What sedative? Why would you have a sedative?

“Come on, now, open your eyes.” That voice speaks again, ordering you to open your eyes and you manage a groan. “Open your fucking eyes.” 

Finally you blink, vision blurry and unfocused until you manage a few times and a man comes into focus in front of you. Obviously watching you with intense eyes. “D-Dave?” You croak out, confused as to why your co-worker is in front of you and talking about sedatives. Were you in an accident? Even if you were, Dave wouldn’t be your emergency contact. “What- what happened?” 

Dave York, quick witted, handsome, slightly stiff office worker. Short and biting when he speaks to you, normally with a file in his hand and questions about how something got this fucked up. He has a charming smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his laugh flat. While he was attractive, he had reminded you of a predator watching his prey and it had made you try to keep your interactions short. 

“There she is.” His smile is even more bland than before. Something to put you at ease, but it instantly raises an alarm in your mind. 

“What?” You struggle to move, finding your limbs heavy and nearly weak as a baby’s. “Where am I? Why are you here?” 

Dave winces, shooting you an apologetic look that hits just shy of the mark. “About that…..” There’s something in his tone that doesn’t sound right. It sounds fake, put on. “I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest about who I am.” 

You blink, frowning at his meaning and wondering what he is talking about. Was he married? He didn’t live downtown? You try to think about what he could have been lying about but you don’t come up with much. 

“I’m not an accountant.” He rolls his eyes and huffs, like the mere idea of being a numbers guy is offensive. “I’m actually here to kill you. Make you disappear.” 

****

“Let me out!” You shout again, banging your fist on the door and look around the room frantically for about the thousandth time. He had told you that he had been sent to kill you, refusing to explain why, and then locked you into this room. You don’t recognize it, nowhere that you’ve been before and there’s no escape that you can find. “Asshole!” 

Why would someone want you dead? What could you have possibly done to warrant a hit? You hadn’t believed him, still don’t but now that you think about it, Dave could be a killer. If his name was Dave. It could be anything. 

The windows are covered, you can’t see out and have no clue what time it actually is. There’s no clock, no tv, nothing but a bed, a lamp and a book. The book is your own, and you wonder why your book would be brought here if he was just going to kill you. 

You grab the handle of the door again and pull on it, rattling it but there’s no give to the door. Tears pool up in your eyes and you wonder if this is the way you die. If he’s just going to leave you here to starve. “Please.” You whimper, dropping down to your knees and letting your head drop down to knock against the door. “I’ll do anything.” 

****

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. It’s been awhile. The dull throbbing in your head has finally settled, the rolling in your stomach gone now that you’ve thrown up a few times and drank about a gallon of water. Still you are alone. Sitting on the edge of the bed and just staring at the door, willing it to open.

When it finally does, you jump. Not expecting it even though you have been wishing for it. Watching it slowly swing open and there he is, standing in the door jam and watching you through dark eyes. 

“Thought you would have been asleep again.” He hums, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. It makes your stomach drop and you slide back on the bed, unsure of if this is the moment that he would kill you. 

There’s not a gun in his hand. No pill bottle. Maybe he was going to strangle you. You shiver and bite your lip when he stands at the end of the bed. 

“Been thinking it over.” He grunts, propping his hands on his hips and tilting his head as he pauses for a moment. “I can keep you alive.” He decides, holding up a hand. “If….” 

You can’t describe the relief and the nausea swimming through you. Nodding immediately and sitting straighter. “Yes, whatever it is. Yes. I’ll do it.” 

He smirks, shaking his head. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” He tells you. 

“It doesn't matter.” You’ve already decided that you want to live. That you would pay him whatever he wants. 

Dave snorts and shoots you a dark grin. “That’s good, really good, sweetheart.” He grunts, admiring the set of your jaw and the determined glint in your eyes. “Strip.” 

The air is sucked out of your lungs, making you light headed as your eyes widen, almost popping out of your head. “What?” 

“Strip.” Dave repeats, reaching for his belt and starting to unbuckle it. “If I’m going to keep you alive, I need you to prove that you’re worth it. That I’ve got something for me.” He makes it sound like you have a choice but it’s clear. Fuck him or die. 

“You can suck my cock or I can fuck you. Pussy or ass, I don’t care.” He continues on, as if he is discussing stock options. “Your choice.” 

He is serious. You bite your lip and swallow harshly, watching as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. Methodically undressing and keeping his eyes on you, watching to see what your choice will be. Waiting for you to move. 

“Were you really paid to kill me?” Why that question was the one that comes out of your mouth, but you have to know. 

There’s a moment. A split second where something dark flashes in his eyes. Blinking his eyes and it’s gone. Nodding once and you know that he’s lying. He wasn’t paid to kill you, he took you for some other reason. Maybe no reason at all, but you’re here and you’re not getting away from him. 

Shivering, you stand up and start pulling your shirt over your head. “Whatever it takes.” You tell him. “Whatever you want.” 

He smirks, nodding happily. “Good girl, sweetheart.” He hums, moving towards you. “You might survive me after all. Now, open that pretty little mouth of yours.” 

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #dave york #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york imagine #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut

[vodika-vibes]

Come With Me

Summary: You're an information broker, one of the better ones in the Outer Rim. Your boyfriend, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter Fox, has finally returned to you with an offer.

Pairing: Bounty Hunter!Fox x Reader

Word Count: 845

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: Do I have requests that I could be working on? Yes. But I'm in a Fox mood, so I wrote this instead. Also, Fox is the love of my life. And, the weather is stupid and I need to move away from the computer to ice my knee, or heat my knee. Real World Tip, from your vod'ika! Don't ignore joint injuries, because you could end up with arthritis! Like me!

Divider by Saradika

You open the door to your apartment, and stop dead in your tracks when you see the beskar armor sitting neatly on the shelf next to your coat rack. And you sigh deeply.

“You know,” You call into the house, “You could call before breaking into my home.”

“It’s not breaking in when I have a door code, mesh’la.” A deep male voice calls from somewhere deeper in your apartment.

You roll your eyes and toss your waterlogged jacket over the drying rack. You kick off your boots, and head into your apartment proper, “Did you at least make me food?” You ask as you walk into your kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, with his hair pulled in a short tail and with his graying bangs falling into his eyes, is Fox. Fox with a shit eating grin on his face, and wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else.

“I did one better and ordered food. It’ll be here in thirty.” Fox folds his arms across his chest, “I did, however, bring your favorite spice mix from Mandalore.”

“Then I forgive you for breaking in.” You say loftily as you walk over to him and try to reach around him to get to the mugs.

“I half pay for this apartment.” Fox counters, amused, as he settles himself, inconveniently, in front of the cabinets you’re trying to get to. “Which means I can come and go as I please.”

“There are literally two dozen people who can make the same claim. On account of the fact that they pay me, just like you do.” You lean your weight back on your heels, “Can you move so I can get to my mugs?”

His grin becomes sly, “Reach around me.”

“You’re so annoying sometimes.” You reply as you step back into his personal space to try and reach around him.

He hums and settles his hands on your hips, “That’s funny, cyare. You didn’t say that the last time I was here.”

“The last time you were here, you weren’t being annoying.” You say in return, but you also don’t fight him when he pulls you closer so that you’re pressed flush against him.

“Yeah I was, but I distinctly remember you begging me for more.” Fox replies smugly.

“I ought to kick you out.”

“But you won’t because no one loves you like I do,” He even sounds smug.

“Stop being smug.” 

“Mm…nah. I have you and I get to touch you and no one else does.” Fox says, his voice low.

You tilt your head back and look up at him, “Possessive.” You grouse at him, though there’s a fond smile on your lips.

“Damn right I am,” Fox leans in slightly and kisses you very, very gently, “So. I have a proposition for you.”

“Fox.”

“Move to Mandalore.” He continues as if you hadn’t spoken.

You sigh, “Fox-”

“Or even just work off my ship.” He adds, “You don’t need to live on this shit-stain of a world to be an information broker. You do everything through droids and messages anyway.”

“Fox,” You repeat his name a third time.

“And I would be able to keep you safe. Safer than staying in one place-”

“I’m not Mandalorian, Fox.”

“You could be.” He replies quickly, “Cyare, please.”

“You’ll get tired of me.” You add.

“Never.”

“I’ll be all up in your space all of the time.”

“I’ll make space for you.” Fox says.

“Fox-”

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you for ages, and I didn’t want to press you into coming with me, because you have a life here, but now I am.” Fox says, “And I know it’s not fair, but cyare, please. Come with me.”

You stare at him and then you sigh and reach up with one hand to lightly cup his cheek, “You’ve never pushed before.”

“Not because I didn’t want to. I never wanted to pressure you into picking me.” Fox replies as he turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand, “But I’m asking you now. Pick me. Please.”

You stare up at him for a moment, and then you smile, “Alright.”

“...really?”

“Really.” You confirm, “After all, I love you too.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and then he crashes his lips against yours and you stumble backwards in surprise. Luckily his grip around you is tight enough that you’re not actually in danger of falling over. 

His hand settles on the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, while his other hand burns a path down your side and over your hips, his grip almost bruising. 

The only reason he stops is because your doorbell chimes. And he groans.

“Food,” You remind him gently, and then you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, and slip out of his grip to answer the door. You had a lot that needed to be done to make his ship friendly for your career, but that is a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight you’re just going to spend time with Fox.

#star wars #tcw #commander fox x reader #fox x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

[sammy8d257]

Did you know that in a recent video Alan made with DJ he confirmed that TSC, Green, Yellow, Red and Blue are around the ages of 10 to 12 years old. He also said that they are just really smart children. I really like that they just young kids, makes their mannerisms and child like behavior make more sense.

Hmmm... okay, I want to preface with saying that I'm happy you find joy in headcanoning the Color Gang to be 10 to 12 year olds. I'm glad you like thinking they're kids.

BUT

I've seen a lot of people use that clip of Alan saying they're 10 to 12 year old kids as canon. And like, frankly, I don't see how it can be.

(Goddamn, this is long as hell. Click on the "Keep Reading" if you want to see my entire rant but

TLDR;

It's fine if you see the Color Gang as kids in the range of 10 - 12, more power to you, but I don't see it as canon because it doesn't make sense to me and I personally can't relate to them. So I see them as young adults. )

First off, I honestly don't trust anything Alan has to say when it comes to what is or is not canon to the videos because Alan has said via his Members discord that there isn't any concrete "lore" for the characters and the world aside from a paragraph of personality traits for the Color Gang. While I myself, am not in the Discord, I have a friend who sometimes talks about stuff in there with me. A lot of the things story and lore things he and the team make up as they go. He will just say stuff without really considering previously establish canon.

(Trust me, I know. I've spent so much brainpower trying to connect the stick figure world together in a cohesive manner, its not even funny anymore aldkglsjsgs /lh)

No knock to Alan and his Team though. I understand that AvA/M is an on-going series with SO MANY videos to keep track of. It'd be hard to keep everything inline with lore if you don't have a dedicated keeper of it. But that's the reason why I take anything Alan says outside of the animations themselves, with a grain of salt.

SECONDLY,

Let's break down this "canon" scene shall we?

Actually, lets start a little bit before the scene, so everyone can get some context:

( https://youtu.be/Oz5mDcDK9I4?t=4668 )

The scene is Purple going off with King, to which DJ says:

DJ, voicing over King: Come on son, let's go

DJ, voicing over Purple: Bye guys! I'm gonna go hangout with my adopted dad. I'm 32.

[Alan and DJ laugh]

Alan: Maybe he is.

DJ: That'd be so weird if you find out all the characters are like in their 30s. [more laughs]

Alan: Yeah even though the internet hasn't been around that long.

DJ: Yeah, that's true. How old are they, like since their creation, I guess?

Alan: Huh, good question. ... 14?

DJ: 15? No...

Alan: Probably like 10, 12, 13,

DJ: Yeah, yeah. Which is cool because I feel like they act around then

[Alan laughs]

Alan: Yeah, they're just very smart children.

[END SCENE]

Just reading this, it looks like Alan confirmed that they're 10-13 year olds right?

Yeah if you ONLY look at this and not take into account the joking and non-serious tone both Alan and DJ had throughout this entire conversation. They like joking around and saying things. That's kinda their whole thing during their reacts. Alan is a more dead-pan but he was definitely making a lighthearted joke or comment playing off of the statement of them being 10.

Actually, lets go look at the question leading up to this.

"How old are they, like since their CREATION, I guess?"

Since their creation. AvA 4 is the video where Second and RYGB were first introduced and can serve as their creation date (assuming we're not taking about lore because while AvA 4 is Second's creation date, I'd argue the Stick Fighters were created prior and would in fact be older). AvA 4 premiered in 2014

Which is almost 10 years ago.

There is a high likelihood that both Alan and DJ were using the upload date of AvA 4 as the Color Gang's "creation date".

And if you want to headcanon a stick figure's age is how many years since their creation date, then more power to you.

To me that makes no sense because then that'd mean King is 2 years old. (AvM Parkour released April, 2021) Which is insane. alskdjglsjglsgd

I much prefer the idea that stick figures are created with an age in mind (baring the born stick figures like Purple).

And yeah, maybe Alan "intended" to make the Color Gang 10-13 year olds, but as I stated above, with how joking Alan and DJ were while discussing it plus Alan's whole thing about making things up as they go, I don't really believe it.

ALSO

Not to get too personal, but I just want to address something that's been bothering me with this whole thing.

The idea that because the Color Gang act childish = being children.

Because the sticks are heavily neurodivergent-coded

And as someone who is also neurodivergent, can act childish, see aspects of themself in these sticks, and is an ADULT.

Saying that people who act like this are children??

FUCKING SUCKS

Now I know, DJ, Alan, and probably even yourself Anon, don't mean any harm when you say the sticks act like children so they must be children.

But there is a LONG history of neurodivergent people getting infantilized because they display more "childish" behaviors like stimming or hyperfixating on specific topics.

So for at least me, someone who headcanons the Stick Figures as young adults, this who "age discourse" feels icky to me.

Plus, I personally can't relate to kids because I myself, am an adult. It's easier for me to relate to characters around my age range.

Listen, this rant is getting too long but here's the long and the short of it

There is nothing wrong with headcanoning the sticks as kids if that's what you want to believe that it's canon,

But it just ain't for me.

#Sammy8D answers #anon #anonymous #Alan Becker #Animator vs Animation #Animation vs Minecraft #ava shorts #avm #ava headcanons #ava headcanon #Anon I'm sorry I just went off on you #But holy shit I was holding more thoughts about this whole thing than I thought I was #Especially about the whole neurodivergency bit #Sammy8D queues #Sammy8D Stick Stuff