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anothers-trash-my-treasure · 4 years

Text

Countdown

Back at it again with a fic that nobody asked for lmfao. Can you believe it’s already been like a year since I made this blog? Fucking wild. Anyways, here’s a new year's fic with our main boy Merriell because I am incapable of writing for anyone else it seems #whoops.

Summary: Set kind of in modern times I guess. Reader and Mer go to a New Year’s party in which an ex is there and it just kind of escalates to fucking in a linen closet.

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (femme)

Warnings: Oh god where do I start, filthy dirty talk, possessiveness on both parts, maybe a bit of jealousy, oral sex (male receiving), fingers, semi-public sex, lemme know if there’s something else I should put here

Words: 2540

Tags: @r-ahh-mi @sherlollydramoine @txml @xmxisxforxmaybe @moon-stars-soul let me know if you wanna be added to my tag list or if I missed you!

The New Years party we’re at isn’t particularly fancy, one of Merriell’s old friends from high school. It’s almost a reunion, only far less formal. People are dressed up but most of the party-goers are acting more like it’s the night of their senior prom. There’s beer pong set up on the dining room table, some sort of suck and blow card game being played in the living room and loud drunken conversations are taking place around us. I stand in the kitchen, conversing with some girls I know vaguely from over the years of attending parties like this, making polite conversation. I usually don’t care for small talk, it’s hard to care about why someone you barely know had stopped drinking or how they managed to get insurance payments so low, but the amount of alcohol in my system makes it easier to pretend.

“You must be something special” One of the girls directs at me, I don’t remember her name but I know she and Mer had a brief fling in high school, years ago, “I remember Shelton in high school, no one thought he’d ever settle down. What’s your secret?” It sounds so condescending coming from her. A stereotypical suburban trophy wife. Married a Chad or a Brad right out of high school just to say they were high school sweethearts when in reality they could barely stand each other, cheated on each other every other night. Probably prom queen and he’s probably football quarterback. She’s never had to work for anything in her life. She’s always pissed me off. And right now there’s just enough alcohol in my system for me to clap back at her.

Almost as if he sensed my annoyance, Merriell’s suddenly by my side, arm looping around my waist to settle a hand possessively on my hip to hold me back, “Hiya Darlin’,” he greets, kissing my temple lovingly. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” I answer, smiling up at him, “we were just talking about you actually.” He raises his eyebrows, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he hums in response, “About how I managed to wrangle you away from the bachelor life.”

He chuckles, hand squeezing my waist, “Baby, you know you didn’t have to wrangle me away from nothin’, I knew the second I laid eyes on ya that I’d follow ya to the ends of the world.”

The suburban wife coos, but one look at her face shows barely masked jealousy and I can’t help but feel smug. Just to piss her off a little more, I drag his head down to meet my lips, kissing his just on the side of too dirty for a public place. It’s quick though, and when we pull away he looks at me with a mixture of amazement, amusement and lust.

“C’mon,” I say pulling him towards to door to the living room, “I need a new drink.”

I don’t. But I want to get away from the group of wives before I do something that’ll ruin the night. He follows me, hot on my tail, out of the kitchen, both hands on my hips now. He takes control, leading me to a hallway off the main room, turning me in his grasp to let me rest against the wall.

“Love it when you get all territorial like that.” He smirks down at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign innocence, wrapping my arms around his neck but refusing to meet his gaze.

He doesn’t let me keep my head turned for long, using his nose against mine to turn my head to his and capture my lips in another kiss. He keeps kissing me, each one a tad more urgent than the next and I know where this is going.

“Merriell,” I warn against his lips, “You best turn the heat down, you remember what happened last time.”

He pulls away slightly, huffing in annoyance but smirking as the memory catches up with him. We’d been invited to a Halloween party. And of course, Merriell insisted that I wear the sluttiest costume he could find. Needless to say, he didn’t make it until we got home. He’d gotten himself all worked up and had to take me to the nearest bathroom. Bent me over the sink and fucked the near daylights out of me. It wouldn’t have been a problem; if he had remembered to lock the door.

He hums, “I remember that bein’ kind of exciting’.” He says lowly, rubbing his nose against mine.

“No,” I say sternly.

He pouts, whines while his hands rub up and down my back and down to grab my ass, “Bet I could persuade you.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, “Persuade?” I smirk, “Using your big boy words, I see.”

He growls playfully against my neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there, “Shut up,” he plays, moving his hot mouth further up my neck to my jawline, up further to my ear where he sucks my earlobe into his mouth. My mouth drops on a pleasured sigh, running my hands up his arms and squeezing ever so slightly. I have to bite my lip on a whine when he blows cool air on the spit left on my ear.

“C’mon baby,” he mumbles, breath hot against the side of my face, “I know you wanna.”

I huff, annoyed that he knows me so well, that he knows how to work my body into such a frenzy when he’s barely touched me. He glances down the hallway briefly before move one of his hands around to the front of my jeans. He rubs lightly at the front of my jeans, my hips responding by pressing against the friction. He chuckles darkly, moving his hand up to the top of my jeans and dipping his fingers in past the waistline of my underwear, just teasing. My breath hitches in anticipation.

“We can’t,” I try one last time at feigning innocence, despite my entire body betraying my true desires, “the countdown starts soon.”

That only rips a low moan from Merriell’s throat and prompts him to catch my lips in a dirty kiss, sucking on my tongue slowly, “Wanna fuck you into next year.” I can hear the smirk in his voice and I curse under my breath, knowing full well he has me wrapped around his finger.

He laughs delightfully, knowing he’s won, and drags me to the nearest room. This time, it’s not a bathroom, but a sizeable linen closet. There’s enough room for us, but it’s tight and I have a feeling we’re about to get real hot and sweaty.

He wastes no time, crowding me against the back wall and all but devouring my lips. His hands are everywhere. Sliding up my neck and into my hair, back down my body, along the length of my spine, down to grab my ass and then grabbing one thigh, bringing it up to his hips so he can effectively grind against me. I gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his erection against my clothed heat.

“Can you believe,” he breathes, biting my bottom lip, “that the first thing imma feel going into the new year is your hot pussy around me.”

I choke on a moan, dragging him back down for another kiss that’s just as filthy as his words. He gets to work on my pants, fumbling with the button a bit before finally pulling them down my legs. I kick one leg free to hoist my thigh up to his hip again. We just need enough nudity for easy access. His hand dips down into my panties, fingers finding their way to my clit to rub slow, teasing circles.

He groans, “already so wet for me, cher.” his lips quirk up into a smirk, “wonder if it’s just as wet down...” he trails off, removing his hand from my panties so he can tug them to the side a sink a single finger into me. He shudders on a moan, “fuckin’ hell baby.”

He adds another finger and my breathing begins to pick up as he slides them in and out of my now soaking core. My hands are tangled in his hair, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He crooks his fingers, pressing against my g-spot and my head rolls back on a breathy moan, eyes slipping shut for a moment. When I open them again he’s smirking at me, fingers still moving languidly inside of me.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. His eyebrows shoot up but he makes no move to change his course of action. I whine, rolling my hips against his hand, “fuck me.” I beg, “Need to feel you.” My hand moves to the front of his jeans, where he’s hard and throbbing through the rough material. I scratch my nails against him, watching the shiver that wracks his body, watching his mouth drop ever so slightly on a silent moan, “Need to feel this.” I take a breath before adding, “Deep inside me.”

And then he’s near scrambling, barely getting his belt unbuckled before shoving his pants and briefs to the ground. Before he can do much else though, I sink to the ground, overwhelmed with the need to take him into my mouth.

There is truly not much better than watching his come apart in my mouth. I love watching the way his mouth drops open and his eyebrows furrow when I take him as deep as I can. His hand comes to rest at the crown of my head, just guiding my movements ever so slightly. His forearm of his free arm braces himself against the wall, hand clenched around nothing, hips rocking ever so slightly.

“Such a talented little mouth ya got there,” he breathes, always unable to keep his words to himself, “Always so hot and wet for me. Could stay here all night.” at my answering moan, he smirks through the shudder that wracks his body, “Yeah? Ya like that? Wanna stay on your knees for me? Taking my cock in ya mouth like the perfect little cocksucker you are? Huh?”

I feel my pussy clench around nothing, his words never fail to wound me up. I drag my nails down his thighs, grab his bare ass and pull him further towards me, pass my gag reflex so he can feel my throat work around him. He growls, pulling out and dragging me back up. He claims my mouth, tongue making its way past my lips to chase the taste of himself.

“Gotta fuck you,” he says breathlessly.

I whine, nodding enthusiastically as he grips both my thighs and hoists me up the wall, “fuck me.” I say desperately, wrapping an arm around his neck. The feeling of the head of his cock tease my opening has me going crazy, “Merriel, please.”

I swear, I see stars as he finally sinks into me, stretching and filling me in all the right ways. My head rolls back, thunking against the wall with a pleasurable sigh.

“Yeah,” He sighs, cranking his neck up to kiss me, “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

I wrap my legs around his waist as best I can in this position, wanting to feel him deeper. He starts to move, at first just rocking steadily in and out before starting to properly thrust. It’s a steady pace, but he reaches so deep that I can’t help but bury my head in the crook of his neck, trying to stay quiet. The noises of the party just outside the door blur, not even the footsteps of people making their way to and from the bathroom can tear me away from the feeling of him hitting all the right spots.

I can’t help that sound that’s ripped out of me when he thrusts particularly hard, the head of his cock dragging against a pleasurable spot on my front wall. He laughs breathlessly, “Gotta be quiet baby,” he teases, hitting that same spot again just to watch me bite my lip and dig my nails into his arm, “Don’t want anyone walking in on us this time, do we?”

It always blows my mind how he’s able to talk during this, his speech steady but bouncing with every hard thrust of his hips.

“Or maybe,” he smirks, “You want people to find us? Especially all those girls who wanted me. Want them to see that it’s only you who gets me.”

Knowing there are girls at this party that had wanted him, no matter how many years ago, sends a pang of possessiveness through me. My hand flies to his jaw, tilting his head so I can stare into his eyes, “You’re mine.” I near growl.

He laughs, or tries to through a moan at least, “All yours baby,” he agrees, “But you’re mine too, don’t forget that.” His thrusts slow for a moment, teasing thrusts from the tip of his dick all the way down until skin meets skin.

“Such a nice pussy, who’s it belong to?” he asks, and we’re so close. Chest to chest, nose to nose, breathing in each other's breaths and moans.

“You,” I answer, “It’s yours, Mer, all yours.”

I feel myself getting closer as he speeds up again, taking one look at his face and I can tell he is too. His eyes are shut, eyebrows pulled down into a look a concentration and his mouth is open, letting out a series of soft sighs and moans.

Someone from outside the door yells, their voice barely carrying past the sounds of skin on skin and continuous moans, “30 seconds ‘till New Years!”

Merriell fixes me with a gaze of determination, “Ya close baby?”

I nod, working my hips back against his thrusts desperately as I feel myself climb towards relief, “Yes,” I breath, kissing him sloppily.

His noises are turning desperate, like he’s holding on barely by a thread, “So fucking close..” he whines, head dropping to my chest where he sucks a mark into the exposed skin.

15....14....13....12....11

“Look at me,” I beg, wanting to watch him come apart.

He meets my gaze, our noses brushing together as we pant hotly into each other's mouth.

10....9....8....7....6

“Oh god,” he groans, “Baby, I’m gonna...”

The sensations are adding up, his pelvis brushing against my clit with each pleasurable thrust.

...5....

“Are you gonna...?” he asks,

I nod.

....4....

“Yes,” I whimper, “God, Merriell.”

....3....2....

“Oh fuck,” he growls, teeth latching onto my shoulder hard, and my nails dig into his bicep.

....1....

Relief crashes over us simultaneously. I can’t stop the moan that leaves my lips as I cum around him, clenching tightly, feeling him throb and twitch and fill me with his own. The party outside rages but we’re too caught up in our own euphoria to notice it.

Merriell’s thrusts turn shallow as he rides out our orgasms, capturing my lips in a sloppy kiss, muffling our moans and whimpers. We breathe heavily against each other as we come down, hips twitching with aftershocks.

His eyes flutter open and he looks at me with a sated and satisfied smile.

“Happy New Year.”

#Merriell Shelton #Merriell Snafu Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton smut #merriell shelton/reader #rami malek smut #rami malek x reader

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gunkyengines · 4 years

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4, 7, and 9, for the s/i questions if you're still taking them!

Ohhhh my gods @jetsetspy I’m so sorry for answering this question so late ;-; My answers are under the cut!

4. Does your insert have a backstory? Tell us about it! How does their backstory, if any, define who they are? How does it reflect their relationships now? Their hopes and dreams?

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

Bellamy doesn’t have much of a backstory just yet, but I do know this:

· Their family isn’t a huge part of their life, aside from a younger sibling, who, to this day, I have not yet named.

· They want a sense of belonging somewhere, and have a number of self-image complications (it’s not really a set of “issues” to them, because they’ve found comfort in their body and self over time, but they still have wishes about what they could be seen as—androgyny is a tough line to straddle).

· They hate the nickname “Bella”.

· Bells, as far as I’m concerned right now, finds their sense of belonging amongst the ‘Bros ever since they just sorta started… tagging along, I guess? It was just an act of good will from the prince and his guards and a bit of hitchhiking on Bells’ end that got them where they are now.

· They were originally a bit of a vagabond prior to meeting up with the guys. Hitchhiking, walking absurdly long distances, camping out often, all that jazz.

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

Junko is a character who I largely based off of my late-high school self for both self insertion and coping reasons, but a few things do set her apart from me. As in, she’s a pretty close approximation, but by no means is she a direct, direct copy of me.

She’s a student at Kosei Academy, simply due to the fact that I read on the wiki that it’s speculated to be a catholic school (I was brought up in the catholic education system, so, I could find some accuracy and likeness in that), and attended meetings at both the drama and art club there. She has bitter memories of the two clubs, as she was betrayed by the one major figure in both: her childhood friend Hideo Sunjaya. Since then, she’s taken to expressing her creative outlets in circles outside of her student life, and finds her passion in writing. At the time of Persona 5 canon, she’s set on becoming an editor. In the future canon, she does in fact achieve this goal. In this way Junko’s less of a model of who I was, and instead she’s what I hope to be.

She comes from a somewhat broken home, but has a strong relationship with her mother. Despite her current disconnect, Junko feels that she owes it to her parents that she has such a good understanding of her own identity, as they were supportive when she first came out as sapphic, and continued their support when she decided to be GNC and soon after came into her identity as a demigirl.

Elizabeth Beaufort – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

Lizzie is a pretty lighthearted simulacrum of a more feminine version of me, translated loosely into the scope of the year 1899. I’m by no means a historian, but here’s Lizzie’s life.

Elizabeth Beaufort is a born and raised resident of the town of Valentine. Her mother is whatever the RDR2 universe’s equivalent of Quebecois French is, having moved to Saint Denis due to a family matter down there, and subsequently met her father. A Valentine resident himself, he beguiled her mother and convinced her to move to Valentine and live as the wife of a livestock owner (he comes from some blue blood ‘round those parts—as mentioned by the VDL in Chapter 2, the town is a goldmine of trade).

As a lady of relative privilege, life was… well, it was what a privileged life is. Sheltered, simple, and for the most part pretty damned easy. However, her naivete wasn’t something that her mother would stand to see Elizabeth keep, as she wanted a strong daughter who wouldn’t simply bend to the hand of tradition. Would I say that Lizzie would’ve most certainly rallied with those girls in Rhodes? YES. I’d rather die than portray any iteration of myself as complacent rather than progressive lmao. Elizabeth Beaufort flows in the vein of RDR2’s… I guess, progressive* writing? More** on that below, I guess???

*I don’t actually know how well it was received by everyone else, and honestly, I’m not even gonna try to speak on anyone else’s behalf but my own—I found that RDR2, despite some shortcomings, made itself a relatively hospitable environment for me as a white queer.

** Lizzie does struggle a lot with her internalized homophobia? Like… she had a lot of difficulty when she was younger coming to terms with the fact that she’s bisexual. This is less prevalent in her backstory considering it only ever surfaces post-canon. Yes, my SI and her FO came out to each other at random after being married to him for approximately 3 months. And it went fuckin’ great cos guess what!! Theyre both bi!! WLW/MLM solidarity!!! Don’t @ me.

Gillian Wright – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

· Gilley was brought up amongst a gang of outlaws, and her being born a woman changed nothing about the things she was taught by said gunslingers. She left the group she once called family because of the leadership turning sour. From that point forward she went it alone, shifting in and out of her identity as Gilley Wright and her masculine persona (a pseudonym-turned-identity) Giles Kingsley, to keep herself straddling notoriety and anonymity.

· Gilley only started wearing her hair short because of an encounter in which her longer hair was used as a means to pull her back into harm’s way. She lopped it off shortly after out of the feeling that it was a necessity, but soon found that she preferred it that way.

· Thaddeus, her large draft horse, once pulled carts. She took him during a robbery so that she’d have an adequate mount for her getaway. The connection was instant between them.

Taeko Atou – Tokyo Ghoul OC

Taeko went by another name before her time in the 20th ward. She had another face, another life. But that was a self she had to leave far, far behind. Before “Taeko”, she was a reckless twentysomething ghoul living off of her father’s money, basking in the upper echelons of society, indulging in Scrapper shows and seeing humanity as nothing but an unprepared buffet. The danger ranking on her CCG profile demonstrated as much.

One night, however, her cushy life changed drastically. She went out drinking after a Scrapper show with one of her friends and decided to go hunting with her. Things were as usual, they stayed in their territory, but ended up getting apprehended by a group of Doves. During the getaway, her and her friend were separated, and she had no way of knowing whether her friend was alive. Drunk, desperate, and rather terrified, she decided to abandon all else and ripped her mask off to taunt the officers. They deserved to see her face, covered in gore and as ghoulish as they came! Nothing mattered to her at that point and she wanted to give them a scare…!

That is, until the next morning, when she recovered from her hangover and realized what she’d done. One of those Doves got a picture of her. In a panic, she called her father to ask for some sort of mercy money to clear the issue up. He’s frustrated with her constantly getting into increasingly worse trouble and tells her this: he’s going to pay for her to completely change her identity and her face so that she can move elsewhere, completely out of the way of harm. After that, he’d be cutting her off, leaving her with only the savings that she had prior to the cut-off. No more handouts.

This is when she became Taeko Atou, a pseudonym based off of her Scrapper show guest alias, “Miss AT”, and moved to the 20th ward. She has to adjust to average life a la Schitt’s Creek or Arrested Development.

7. What kind of clothing style do they like? What would they never be caught dead wearing? What’s likely in their closet right now?

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

· Bells LOVES anything that’ll make them look cute and androgynous. They’re super partial to a femme prince aesthetic. Blouses and linens and vests and suspenders and a bunch of that cute shit. (Yes, this is my preferred fashion style and I wish I could look like that all the time.) They’re also into stuff like your average sundresses and such when it’s too hot for “princey” attire because hell yeah.

· They’d hate to wear… hm… short party dresses? Cocktail dresses n shit. (No shade to those tho theyre cute. Just not Bellamy’s style.)

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

· Junko’s super masc and butch in her presentation, binds her chest, does the simple graphic tee + jeans thing a lot. Think “Kanji Tatsumi but a lesbian”.

· She lowkey doesn’t like wearing overly feminine clothes, like, she does not vibe with dresses.

Elizabeth Beaufort – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

· Lizzie is pretty standard when it comes to clothes: blouses and skirts, dresses, all just… really basic stuff. She likes simple and solid colours, maybe simple patterns. She’s also like… very cottagecore. Probably likes overalls if she ever wears ‘em?? I’m not a frickin’ historian and I’m not gonna google early 1900s clothes styles at this hour don’t @ me.

· This is literally just because I’m basic as all fuck and I like a skirt/blouse or sundress style outfit. I don’t wear it often but that’s my jazz y’know?

Gillian Wright – Red Dead Redemption 2 SI

· Gilley’s another one of my more boyish characters. She doesn’t deliberately go out of her way to look like a man unless she’s under the guise of her male persona Giles Kingsley. But let me tell you—she goes all out for those occasions, even electing to simulate stubble on her face with cosmetics. Think “cowboy drag king” and you’ll hit the mark.

· Other than that, she just wears whatever’s convenient and comfortable.

9. Their favorite foods? Colors? Activities? What do they enjoy in life? How do they express their joy for things they like?

As dumb as this sounds I completely burnt out after writing only 2 self insert likes/interests profiles, forgive me lol.

Bellamy Amplexus – Final Fantasy XV SI

· Favourite Food: Bells is indecisive, but they will gladly eat anything Ignis puts in front of them. They’re thoroughly convinced he uses magic in his cooking. (They’re only half joking about that—it’s so good!) If they were made to decide a top three, it’d likely be Garden Curry, Broiled King on a Stick, and Moogle Mousse with Kupoberry Sauce. Honorable mention being Gyashi Chips (yes, they like what’s effectively Eosian kale chips).

· Favourite Colours: ANYTHING PASTEL will win Bellamy over, along with any colour considered light and airy. White, silver, pale green, soft gold, baby blue, lavender, and also whatever the sky has going on at any given time of the day—they’re an aesthetic little shit.

· Favourite Activities: Travelling, leisure shopping when funds allow it (if given the means, Bellamy will 100% engage in excessive retail therapy, no joke), swimming, loving their friends, talking about books and music, gardening, and (I know this sounds vain but bear with me) preening. Yes, they’d be a vlogger in another life. Don’t @ me

· Bells loves to talk in excess about what they like, and on occasion, when words fail, they tend to express it through squealing, jumping, etc. If someone points out how passionate Bells is about these things, they’ll end up flustered and ask the person if they could continue. I guess you could say Bellamy stims? I’m not diagnosed with anything, so take this with a grain of salt, but I do have stimming habits.

Junko Hisayo – Persona 5 SI

· Favourite Food: Junko’s pretty partial to miso soup. It’s one of her weaknesses. Total comfort food. (Bro I fuckin’ love miso soup.) As well as baked goods like cupcakes.

· Favourite Colours: Red, black, silver, pink, blue, purple.

· Favourite Activities: drawing (sketches, scribbles, doodles, colouring, etc., singing, baking/cooking, writing, and she learned to love gardening after getting close to Haru.

· Junko tends to show her happiness through verbal and artistic expression, she’s also the type that tends to crack jokes (mostly shitty puns followed up by finger guns).

Again, thank you so much for asking, thank you so much for asking! QwQ Asks are still open, everyone.

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klobsquad · 5 years

Text

If its clean, its Gronk

Warnings: Gronk spikes and tide pods

Word count:1694

Summary: a fantasy/horror/drama based completely on our experiences with Gronk’s cursed tide pod commercial

Notes We apologize in advance for what you’re about to read

i awake suddenly, sheer panic running through me. ripping the blanket off my body, the layer of sweat that lays on my skin is immediately hit with the frigid air of my room causing me to shiver. After a few moments, i start to realize where i am.

I'm in my living room on the couch. This is the first wink of sleep i've had in nearly 2 weeks. i think at least. time has started the run together after it, well, he, showed up. why haven't i slept? i've been too scared to let my guard down.

My phone lay broken, having thrown it against the wall several moons ago. Broken glass and piles of clothes are strewn throughout my apartment. Every electronic in my house has been either broken or hidden, yet somehow he’ll still manage to find me. i haven't left my apartment in weeks even though i ran out of food 4 days ago. I can't go to the store. I'm too afraid he'll be waiting at the end of the isle. I've been wearing the same outfit since it started, too scared to do even the most basic of household chores. doing laundry was banned a months back as an attempt to stop him.

The couch i lay on is pushed up hard against the wall, i'm laying on my side facing the back of the couch. the only electronic that hasn't been thrown out is my living room TV. I swear i've tried discarding it countless times, yet it keeps showing back up. The entire apartment, scratch that, city, is dead silent.

rumor has it, it started in new england, moving fast throughout the country. What started as random disappearances eventually became nationwide panic.

it wasn't long until he reached my home state of Texas. Most of the town had evacuated when the marks started showing up. Crater-like holes in the ground. 11 inches deep and 22 inches wide. The ground cracked and glowing around the marks, showing that he was getting somehow stronger.

Although I boarded up my windows when I caught wind that he was moving towards Texas, I still took a board down every so often. From my third floor apartment, I could see the marks starting to fill the town. He marked his territory right after he struck. Entire families disappeared at a time. Only once was a survivor found. She was found in the same clothing she was wearing when she went missing though they were suspiciously clean, almost as if they'd been washed then returned. She spoke in a hurried whisper, as if he was still watching her. Rumors soon filled the streets quicker than his markings. Apparently after her interrogation she was left alone in a cell at the local jail. When the officer came to retrieve her for more questioning, she had scribbled the number "87" and "bands a make her dance" on every square inch of the cell. Investigator after investigator was brought in, yet none of them could decipher what it meant. After three days of questioning, the only valuable thing they got out of her was a description of him. He was large, solid, his muscles constantly glistening. He towered over everyone, though he wasn't intimidating, the exact opposite actually. He had a boyish charm, soft brown eyes and youthful smile. Apparently he loves to dance, frequently droppin' it low and booty poppin' on them haters. Most notably was his hands. In her words they were "damn near leviathan. I never knew someone could have hands like that. It ain't normal. I'd be lying if it wasn't hot though.". The police were immediately on even higher alert. With such a specific description, it couldn't be hard to find him right? Wrong. She forgot to mention one detail. His speed. For a man of his size, he's unusually nimble.

I snap back to reality at the sound of the metal entrance door 3 floors below me opening and closing. My heart pounding. "Maybe it's just the neighbor" I tried to tell myself, though deep down I knew it wasn't. Even if they hadn't evacuated with everyone else, there's no way Mr. dolly, an 96 year old war vet could open and slam that door with such little effort. my gut and my head were at war. My gut was telling me it was him, the man I spent months hiding from. Yet my head was trying to come up with any other possibility. They were coming up the stairs, fast. I was paralyzed. Still laying on the couch, i covered my head with the fleece red sox blanket I got last Christmas, before this all started.

*BANG* *BANG*

They were knocking. I could barely hear the pounding on the door over my racing heart. Seconds feel like hours, waiting for the sound to stop, for whoever it is to go away.

After what feels like an eternity, the pounding stops. I exhale for the first time in minutes. Moments later a loud scraping sound fills the room.

He's here and he's removed the door.

There was nothing besides me and my red sox blanket separating us both. His presence sent chills down my spine. I could feel him standing in the corner of the room.

He was waiting for something.

*click*

The dim light of the TV immediately filled the dark room. I open my eyes suddenly as patterns of colored light dance off the walls. He's still waiting, but he keeps going back to the hall he came from. Almost as if he's loading something into my apartment. Suddenly the room goes yellow and orange. He gets into position. I turn around slowly, not knowing what to will be waiting on me when I turn around.

There he is, in all his glory. The survivor described him perfectly. He was dressed in a fitted grey tank top, joggers, and sneakers. He was oddly handsome given the circumstances. Unmarked boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, covering ever surface. One box, the one closest to him is open. He grabs a handful of whatever is in the box.

I'm frozen. Horrified.

The tv shows a laundry room.

He looks at me intently, his boyish smile shining full force in the low light.

It's time.

"Hi! Welcome to tide pods talk with Gronk. I'm Gronk. I'm big, *flex* and awesome. But this guy-" he chucks a fist full of tide pods at my body. I'm utterly speechless. "-Is little, can it really clean?". He rips the doors off my linen closet, scooping every single piece of laundry up in one scoop, even the clothes I'm wearing. Opening the washer, he throws the clothing in with a loud boom before dropping a couple Tide Pods™️ into the load. Im left sitting on the couch, ass naked, as the New England Patriots Tight End does my laundry.

He resumes his spot at the corner of my living room. Staring blankly at me as we both wait for the washer to finish its cycle.

45 minutes of silence later, the washer pings signaling the end of the wash. He once again grabs the entire load of laundry in one incredibly toned arm, spiking it into the dryer like it's a ball into the end zone. He spots my stained patriots jersey in the load. Pulling it out, he slips me a note then once again goes back to the spot in the corner. I'm still naked.

Clearing his throat, he make gesture with his hands I take it as a cue to open the note. It reads "ask Gronk if Tide Pods™️ really clean" in very messy handwriting that I'm pretty sure is done in crayon.

I'm once again stunned. He holds up the jersey. My once beer and chicken wing stained jersey is now completely clean. He makes another gesture, prompting me to speak this time. "D-do Tide Pods™️ really clean?" Im shaking at this point, not because I'm nervous, but because it's 68° outside and I'm still naked. With the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high, he answers the age old question I just asked. "Heck yeah they do!" His eyes twinkling as he speaks.

The boards blast off my windows. Rainbow light streams into the room. I’m still naked. The missing people immediately flood the streets. He's smiling again, and you guessed it, I'm still naked. A chorus of cheers fills the streets "You saved us! We were stuck in the realm of stained laundry! Bless you!" A tear runs down his cheek as he falls to his knees. "I've been searching for you, thou chosen one. If you may take me, I ask for you hand in marriage. Together we can continue to bring stain free clothing to people across the land!" The crowd outside cheers, completely ignoring the fact homie refuses to give me any clothing. Instead he whips out a ring, and by ring I mean a ring pop band with a Tide Pod™️ hot glued to the top. He slips it on my finger before I can respond. I'm soon being twirled in a blinding golden light. I emerge, fully clothed in a ball gown made completely out of Tide Pods™️. He picks me up bridal style and runs out to the hallway before quickly bounding down the stairs four at a time. In the way down I look at my ring. After not eating for days it looks surprisingly tasty. Bringing my left hand up to my face, he stops dead in his tracks and drops me. My cat like reflexes come into play and I land on my feet, breaking both my legs after falling from such a height. Somehow I'm still standing, the power of Tide Pods™️ holding me up. I immediately pop the ring into my mouth and before chewing. The detergent rolls down my chin. His screams fill the room as he realizes what I've done. "How could you do this to me?!" I look up, like really far up because I’m literally 5’0”, and meet his eyes. I match his boyish smile from earlier, though this time my smile is filled with detergent.

"What can I say? I'm Gen Z."

#🤠#we apologize #fics #gronk #rob gronkowski #new england patriots #patriots #nfl #highkey a cursed post #tide pods #oof

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wishingforatypewriter · 6 years

Text

Compulsions

Sorina Week 2017: Day 3 (Dorm Life)

It had been a little over two weeks since Azami returned and cast his long shadow over the culinary paradise her grandfather created. With each day she spent at the Polar Star—after Alice and Hisako rescued her from the mansion—she felt a little braver, a bit stronger. Not enough to let her leave the dorm or attend classes, not with Azami’s lackeys patrolling each academic building, his roving eyes and sharp ears mounted on every wall.

But she was slowly finding it in her on some mornings to venture out of her room and cook or help out in the garden or even tussle with that demonic washing machine.

However, on one such morning, the Nakiri heiress was met with a shocking sight. When she went down to the kitchen, Yukihira was there—as he had been since before she had gone to bed the night before—testing recipes for his upcoming shokugeki against Eizan Etsuya.

As they did during their every encounter, they had exchanged a few lines of banter. But then, inexplicably, Yukihira promptly passed out on the kitchen floor, leaving Erina with a pressing question.

What the actual fuck just happened?

She knelt down next to him, and after making sure he wasn't dead—the steady rise and fall of his chest told her as much—she did the only rational thing one could do in such a situation. She called Tadokoro-san.

“Nakiri-san,” the cherubic girl answered on the second ring. “How are you this morn-”

“T-Tadokoro-san! Yukihira passed out in the middle of the kitchen! He's just on the ground a-and what should I do? Should I call an ambulance? Or maybe an ambulance is too much. I'll just get the limo to come around. At any rate, what's the closest hospital to here?”

Oddly enough, Tadokoro gave a small laugh. “Please don't be alarmed, Nakiri-san. This happens all the time before big matches.”

‘What is it?’ Erina could hear another person, probably Mito Ikumi-san, talking in the background.

‘Souma-kun passed out again,’ Tadokoro whispered to her.

‘The idiot never learns,’ Ikumi groans. ‘Probably pulling double all-nighters to work on his dish.’

‘Well, at least he didn't almost drown in the sink this time.’

The sink? WHAT?

“Tadokoro-san,” Erina prompted, bringing her friend’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “If this is truly an everyday occurrence…” She paused, glancing down at the unconscious boy. This was about as strange as Isshiki-senpai gardening half-naked, and perhaps even more disturbing. “What should I do? Do I just leave him?”

Truthfully, no matter what she was told, her gut—which she trusted almost as much as her god tongue—would not let her get behind that option.

“Let's see,” Tadokoro started. “He’ll probably get up on his own in a few minutes, but you could maybe put a pillow underneath his head. Oh! And check to see if he has a fever.”

“Ok...I can do that. Probably.” She hadn't done anything of the sort before—everything even remotely medical was strictly Hisako’s territory—but she was competent enough to watch over a friend acquaintance...associate. Even if it was Yukihira of all people.

“N-Nakiri-san,” Tadokoro said. “I can try to come back if you don't feel comfortable. My professor will probably understand.”

“No, it's fine,” she assured. “We'd do well not to give Central any intel on how things have been going on our side. I'll let you know if anything comes up.”

After hanging up the phone, she went up to her room and brought down one of her custom made memory foam pillows. After haphazardly stuffing it under Yukihira, whose head was incredibly heavy for one who knew so little, Erina stared at her handiwork. It felt...incomplete.

In the next few minutes, she brought down another of her memory foam pillows, then two plush accent pillows, a top sheet, and a duvet. By the time she stopped moving for long enough to question what in the world she was doing, a considerable nest of bedding had formed around Yukihira Souma...And he was waking up.

Just as Erina was considering hiding away in the broom closet to save herself from the mortification that would surely ensue, his golden eyes were fixed on her.

“Nakiri...why is your bedroom on me?”

She honestly didn’t know. She hadn’t thought it through. Her body just...moved. Now that her wits were about her again, she knew she would have to put all those linens through that infernal washing machine when this ordeal was over.

“I, uh...” She felt the blush beginning to spread across her cheeks. What was she supposed to say—I compulsively wanted to take care of you but had no idea how? She wouldn’t admit to something like that unless her life depended on it. Maybe not even then.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he admitted, saving her. He got up then and actually went back over to the stove. “I’ll wash those and give ‘em back to you after I’m done figuring out this dish.”

“Oh, you are more than done!” she snapped. “Was passing out not enough of an indication?”

“Look, Nakiri,” he said. “I appreciate your concern and all-”

“Exactly who said I was concerned?”

“Okay, your lack of concern. But saving the dorm is the most important thing right now.”

Erina sighed. He was idiotic, and quite possibly insane, but she couldn’t help but begrudgingly appreciate that kind of dedication. But she supposed she was under some moral obligation to make sure he didn’t work himself to death.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” she said, giving her hair a casual flip as she walked over to what she supposed had been his most recent attempt. “Just this once, I’ll tell you the answer.”

The hanetsuki hyōza sent a shock straight to her core. Erina bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. It seemed that all his self-inflicted suffering hadn’t been for naught.

“I see,” she said, nodding. Oh, wait. She was supposed to say more than that this time. “It requires an additional source of glutamic acid to balance out the flavors. Other than that...” She paused, considering her past experiences with Eizan on the Elite Ten Council. “It’s all a mind game. It shouldn’t take you long to rile him up, impertinent gadfly that you are.”

He glanced at her for a long time after this, until Erina was forced to avert her lilac gaze. “Nakiri, you-”

“I just saved you the next ten hours,” she said. “Get some sleep before you drop dead or something. The academy can’t handle another civil suit.”

With that, Nakiri Erina turned on her heel and retreated back up the stairs. Hopefully that evening someone would tell her how in the world she was supposed to stuff that comforter of hers in the washing machine.

#sorina #sorinaweek #soueri #soueriweek #shokugeki no soma

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zanpyreanor · 7 years

Text

[Story] Enemy Infirmary

Undisclosed Location Around 9pm, Thalassian Time. —— Valthan Featherbane monitored the progress of the three teams through the various scrying devices with a frown.

The operation, as usual, failed to fall into place quite as he desired. However, it was due to the unpredictability of the enemy and the incompetence of the agents coordinating the mercenaries more than anything else.

He looked over his list as one of the healers knocked on his door. "Enter."

"Master, they are bringing in the first person now."

The druid smiled. "Excellent. I'll be right down."

Valthan stood and walked down to the infirmary with his list and a clipboard. The men brought Iviaen in and placed him on the bed. Valthan examined the mage, shook his head as he healed the wounds, and inspected the poison used. It was necessary to inject an antidote, run an IV line, and then add sedative to the regimen-one with anti-magic properties. He didn't want the rotund mage escaping before he could find out what secrets his mind held.

The next carried in was Zandrae, impaled on a sword and bleeding.

Valthan got on his communicator as he healed the ginger paladin and growled, "Idiots, I thought I told you to take them alive."

"You can heal. They'll be fine, Featherbane," was the reply.

"Light-damned bastard," was the druid's response. He clicked off the communicator and finished repairing the damage done by the swords and poisons, and looked the sedated ginger paladin over with a speculative smile when Keylorian was carried in.

"Incompetent fools," muttered the Kaldorei, "I'll kill them when they return."

Soon afterward, he was enjoying a mug of mana tea and watched his patients, as they lay, restrained but able to speak, in the beds. A bag in a locked box held all of the weapons and technical devices on each person, but he did not remove jewelry.

He flipped through the list of people that they had wished to recover from Warden Pyreanor's holding area, as well as other desired persons, and checked off the boxes next to Iviaen Brightblaze and Zandrae Pyreanor.

The druid looked over Keylorian closely, compared his photo to the man on the bed, and frowned. He drew a vial of blood and inserted it into a test device, which spat out an answer.

He checked the box next to Keylorian's name. Valthan paced and then re-checked each man's bindings- at wrist, upper arm, thigh, and calf; they would be able to move their heads when they awakened. He wanted to allow them to attempt to get their bearings before his fun began.

The druid turned, dimmed the lights, and with a fluttering of blue feathers intertwined with his azure hair, he closed and locked the door of the room. The mercenaries would return soon, and he wanted no one messing with his new acquisitions. However, he also desired, very much, to sink his beak and talons into the incompetent agents that had coordinated the attacks.

—— Undisclosed Location The next morning. —— Iviaen stirred first, or rather, his stomach did, magic combat took a lot of energy, as did magical healing, and his stomach noises indicated a need for fuel. Iviaen stirred and his eyes fluttered open, slowly the room came into focus. He sat up, but straps on his upper arms prevented him from sitting up all that much. So instead, he lifted his head and looked around at his surroundings. The lighting in the room was low but he could tell he was in some sort of infirmary, with Zan, Keylorian. Images of the fray flashed in his mind and he closed his eyes, he was possibly held by the enemy or receiving care in neutral territory. The amount of restraint on the bed indicated he was a prisoner here. He lowered his head back to the bed and closed his eyes. It probably wasn't wise to ask for supper.

Sometime later, Zan stirred from his slumber and let out a groan, his stomach hurt and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He shifted in the bed and found himself strapped to it in several places and the reality of his situation dawned on him. He began to pull against the restraints, attempting to break them. He was wide-awake in the darkness of the infirmary.

Keylorian awoke with a start, flinging out a hand to avoid the blade that was no longer there. He was restrained and his ribs hurt. The monk groaned, and the rail of his bed rattled from his sudden hand movement. With deep breaths, he tested out the limits of his restraints in the dim light and looked over toward his right, at empty beds, and to his left, seeing the points of light from Zandrae's eyes. "Bloody son of a troll... They only got three of us."

Zan was quiet for a moment before he spoke, "I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

"I saw them take Brightblaze, then you, after impaling you on a sword." replied Keylorian.

"Well that's why my stomach hurts, ow," Zan managed a laugh.

"You were dying. I think we've been healed." Keylorian took a centering breath and pointed his hand at Zandrae, sending a wave of gentle mist over the paladin.

Zan continued with his struggles, "They will try to interrogate us, and other such things."

"We will have to be strong. They usually tell you that you're left for dead, branded a traitor. That the rest of your family is dead," replied Keylorian, he thought rapidly about the techniques they used to break Alliance prisoners. "Brightblaze. You awake?"

"Awake and hungry," the Mage replied.

The monk carefully worked his arm, gradually stretching out the material binding him. He thought about using a blade of chi, or Light, but did not want any observers to realize that those abilities were an option for him, so he moved and worked the bonds until a knot slipped around to where he could grasp it with his fingers.

Iviaen sat himself up slightly, "It's only a matter of time until they realize we're awake."

Keylorian nodded. He created a blade out of chi in each hand, an extension of his finger, and sliced his forearms free, then extended the length and sharpness to work on the cloth at his upper arms. The monk sat up and with brief "snicks" the restraints around his waist, thighs, and lower legs were gone. Leaning against the beds for support, he freed Zandrae and Iviaen.

Zan got up and looked to Iviaen, "Portal us out of here, would you?"

Iviaen grabbed the IV line, removed it from the catheter in his arm, then stumbled out of bed and attempted to cast a portal, but the spell fizzled, "I'm not able to cast right now."

Keylorian frowned. He looked at Zandrae and Iviaen, "Blast."

Iviaen looked around, "We could try some other route."

"We need to get a message out," muttered the monk as he looked for his shirt. He found the bloodied robe, tunics, and undershirts in a bin and shook his head.

Zan felt behind his ear, his com device was gone, "Well I don't have my earpiece."

Iviaen touched behind his ear and his was gone too, "No coms." His hand then shifted to his highly decorated ears. He detached one of the charms, in the shape of a phoenix, and looked around the room for a place he could stash it that wouldn't get taken out with laundry.

There were many spots. One was behind a medicine cabinet that was slightly detached from the wall.

Iviaen skittered over to that spot and tossed the little charm behind the cabinet then returned to the others, "So what are we going to do?"

Zan eyed Iviaen up and down but didn't question it.

Key started opening drawers and found scalpels. He handed a few to each, then cautiously tried the door--it was locked.

Zan took the scalpels and looked them over, "This will have to do." Zan looked around for other ways out, all he found was a narrow vent, too narrow to climb through. He also examined the door, and the hinges. Could he pop the pins.

Keylorian looked at it, and at the door. The hinges were on the inside of the room, and it was locked from the outside. He found the footlocker and examined it. It, too, was locked, but its hinges were more easily poppable than the doors. The monk chose to pop them off and then open it, and smiled. "Our things."

Zan looked in the footlocker, there wasn't much in there that belonged to him. He grabbed his leather belt and one of his broken spellguns and threaded the belt strap through the trigger loop and tightened it, attaching the useless hunk of magi-mechanical wonder suspended, "Well. I guess it's a flail."

Key nodded and grabbed a broom and a mop, tossing the broom to Iviaen.

Iviaen grabbed his belt, which had a small pouch on it. He smiled, reached into the pouch, and procuded some individually wrapped pieces of candy and ate a few, "Candy?"

Iviaen then caught the broom, "Uh."

Keylorian took his belt out of the trunk and smiled at his whiskey flask. He took a sip, then offered it to the others, nodding to Iviaen. 'Quarterstaff," he explained, twisting the mop-head off of the handle.(edited)

Iviaen twisted the broom head off, "Yes but I am unskilled in non-magical combat."

Zandrae slipped off to the side of the door so that when it opened he'd be hidden behind it, "So now we just... wait?"

"Unless you can pop the hinges," replied the monk, offering his multi-tool.

Zan took the multitool and began using it to pop the hinges, "I should be able to, yeah. They attacked at a really bad time, I wasn't in my armor at all."

Keylorian nodded and looked behind Iviaen, and at another door. He opened it to a linen and broom closet, which held a familiar looking staff. He passed it to Iviaen, and the blade and shield to Zandrae. His staff was wedged in the back, and he set it, with a jade statue, on the floor, and began to cleanse any inhibitors from their systems while the paladin worked on the hinges.

Iviaen traded the broom for his staff and smiled, he attempted to once again use his magic, it still fizzled but the fizzling seemed a bit more visible at his fingertips than before, "I think it's improving."

Valthan watched as the injured teleported back into the keep. This was taking far too long, and less returned from the Silvermoon squad than he expected. He looked at the time. His patients would be waking up soon. "Take care of them as they enter, and keep them here until I return," he ordered, exiting the room and sauntering back down to his prizes, whistling cheerfully as he walked.

Zan froze, the top hinge of the door unhinged, the bottom not yet done, "Um. I hear someone. Take cover." He moved away from the door and pressed his back against a wall.

Keylorian ushered Iviaen into the closet, and attempted to pull Zandrae inside as well.

Zan was yanked into the closet; he closed his eyes and whispered, "This works, too."

Keylorian enters and shuts the door as the whistling kaldorei enters the infirmary, looks around, and squawks in surprise.

Zan stifled a laugh, barely, at the squawking. He fought back his urge to whisper the obvious.

Key gently nudged Zan and waited, his ears pinned back as Featherbane paced, examining the beds, and stooping to look at the lockbox. The feathers intertwined with his hair swooped up in a crest as he turned toward the closet, and the druid began to transform for battle with a small chuckle. "Come out, my pretties," he called, a coy tone in his voice.

Zan remained perfectly still, he rested his hand over his mouth and fought back his impulses to make jokes, he'd be able to use his witty banter soon enough.

#The Society Storyline

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