#i know its so silly and i know i need to be grateful this job pays me well and shut up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sully-s · 24 days

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Batman Quest To Get A Birkin Bag

Ok so I have a very indulgent, SuperBats head fanfic that keeps me company on days that I forget to charge my earphones while walking my dog and to bore my wonderfully accommodating friends over dinner.

Long story short it’s a character study about Clark after his death. Doomsday kills him becuase we do not subscribe to Synder movies in this household.

Mostly its about Bruce grieving and reflecting on his ten+ year marriage with the man of steel with a large helping of the Justice League members bonding and finally getting to know Bruce and in turn Clark. (Kal never really got to say specifics about his life because Bruce wanted to keep his identity secret therefore a lot of Clark's life was private.)

For most of the fic Clark’s dead. But I'm one for angst with a happy ending so he comes back. How he comes back I have all kinds of versions but I just want to share this really silly one that I’m slightly obsessed with.

It’s about two years after Clark died. Currently, Bruce and Hal are off-world for a two-month mission. Shortly after they leave the League are battling some sorcerer who's in possession of a Jinn. During the battle two of the three wishes are used and at the end it's Flash who gets to use the last one.

He wishes for Clark to be revived back to life.

Jinn says he can't do that

Flash thinks of course just like in Aladdin you can't bring the dead back, make someone fall in love or wish for more wishes.

The Jinn is like how dare you think that's not within my power of course I can bring back the dead, I can't bring back Superman because Clark's not dead. he's just in his grave too weak to break out of his grave due to the lack of sunlight.

Flash hears this and immediately rushes over to dig up Kal.

The next month and a half are all about Clark adjusting to the changes over the last three years (Like having a new kid at the manor: Tim) Meeting new members (Green Arrow, Martian Man Hunter), and really bonding with his teammates ect.

While waiting for Bruce's return Clark asks Barry what he'd like.

Barry is confused

Clark clarifies that Barry was able to bring back one of Bruce's loved ones “to life.“ That’s never happened and for a man like Bruce who loves deeply for his family he going to be very grateful and he will not take “I’m just glad I could help” for an answer. So Barry needs to think of something or Batman will.

Barry doesn't know what to ask for but knows that Bruce is rich. He figures this would be a great time to get that designer bag that Iris always wanted but they could never justify ever buying. (Listen I don’t know if Iris is a designer girly but in this fic she really just likes this one bag.)

So Bruce and Hal get back and after the big celebration party, the JL held for Clark and Bruce's reunion. Bruce approaches Barry thanks him and asks if there’s anything he can do.

Thinking Barry is going to ask for a house, pull some strings with his Brucie persona so he can better his life at his job or status. Maybe ask for Bruce to fund or set up a wellness program for people in Central City.

But Barry is just like: Uh well Iris has always liked this bag.

And Bruce is thinking Really Barry You brought the love of my life back to life I’d move mountains (without Clark’s help) for you and you want some designer bag for your wife?

Bruce: Do you have a picture?

And as soon as Barry shows him the bag Bruce knows moving mountains would be so much easier.

The bag Barry wants to get is a Birkin Bag.

Now if you know anything about Birkin bags 1. they’re stupid expensive. 2. If you can afford one that doesn't mean you get to buy one. Hermes the company that makes them has this irate practice that you have to work up a good relationship with the store and the sales associates in said store to even get the privilege to buy a Birkin (usually by buying a ton of other Hermes products you don’t want.) Sometimes you buy half the store but if you’re not a high-profile client or they don't like your image they just brush you off and postpone your chance to ”buy” a Birkin. And if you do all of the above prerequisites You don't even get to pick the bag they "give" you one. Want a pink colorway? Sorry here's lime green you're welcome.

Now Barry has no knowledge of any of this and just thinks a Birkin is just some overpriced bag. The problem is Iris only likes this one colorway ( Size 35cm, Red Alligator Exterior, Gold hardware, Yellow Slik interior ect.)

This is going to be near impossible.

But In Bruce's mind, Flash did the impossible in bringing back Clark (Bruce thinks Clark was wished back to life because that's the story everyone is sticking to. Because the emotional trauma of letting Bruce know that Clark was alive the whole time rotting away in a grave for 2 years is not on anyone’s todo list.) So he will get this bag Even if it kills him. He's the goddamn Batman.

And all this lead up is to what I'm actually obsessed with

I just love the idea that Bruce is running around Brucie-ing it up to try to get in Hermes' good graces but his image of being a drunk playboy is activity stopping him from buying any bag.

He calls up the Daily Planet and starts setting up all these puff PR-boosting articles to up his image. Which starts rumors becuase Burce Wayne doesn’t do interviews so why now?

Gotham elite catches wind that Burcie Wayne wants a Birkin richest man in America can't get one. So they all start getting Birkins. They ware them to his galas, just to troll Burcie. The elite jump on the waitlist inflating the list to stupid long. Hermes starts to wear the exclusivity of Brucie Wayne as a sign of good taste and prestige. Bruce searches the second-hand market and can't find the colorway Iris's wants.

Bruce goes undercover as a worker for a local Hermes store to become his own sales associate just so he can get around the prejudices of Bruce Wayne image and start racking up a sales history. (He just selling and buying to himself lol.)

So Bruce is playing a luxury salesman using his background of old money and Alfred’s butlering to woo potential buyers. Working his first retail job ever. Having to suck up to management so he can plead his case about Bruce Wayne. Using his access to get informed on what bags are currently available, who’s on the waitlist, where they rank, and criteria on how and what moves you up the list ect.

After months and becoming the number one salesman, he makes his case to allow Brucie Wayne to buy a bag.

It’s declined.

So he switches tactics.

He just makes a new cover as a recently won lottery winner looking to burn cash and wants to burn it with Hermes. And starts a new sale history. Using all of his knowledge and intel about what gets you on the waiting list.

He gets stonewalled a few times by former co-workers that he gets around by blackmailing them with gossip and infractions he witnessed or was told In confidence when he was a fellow sales associate.

Finally, his lottery winner persona is put on a waitlist. The only problem is he’s at the very bottom.

So what does he do?

He suties up As Batman and starts intimidating all those who are higher on the list than his lottery winner cover rocketing him up the list.

He hits a roadblock when he tries to scrace a woman on the list who doesn’t believe he’s actually Batman becuase “Why would Batman even want with a Birkin?”

Which leads to an escalation that gets him an earful from Superman who’s called to the scene by said woman whos terrified after Batman strings her upside down over the edge of her high-rise penthouse.

Clark offers to buy the bag becuase who wouldn’t want that kinda of PR endorsement?

Which Bruce vittamently refuses becuase it would cheapen the gift.

Finally, after a week of terrorizing wait-listers, his lottery winner persona is “given“ the opportunity to buy a bag.

But disaster strikes when that lucky break he thought he got because he was next on the list was actually bad luck becuase the person was bumped off becuase they bought the bag that Bruce had painfully calculated to purchase which was the only bag that would be made in the next 3 years that has the colorway that Iris wanted.

So Bruce tracks down and comforts the buyer in the dead of night as Batman. The buyer freaks out and says they didn't even want this colorway and really wanted a Caranery yellow ostrich skin colorway and if he could get her that one she'd trade for it.

This leads Bruce to play matchmaker for a series of buyers that have Birken Bags they don't love and would trade for their dream bag. And after months of fetch questing and matching sad Birken owners around the world with their dream bags Bruce he pulls it off. He finally gets a Canary, yellow ostrich skin colorway Birkin bag trades it for Iris’s dream bag. Only to find out it was ruined in a car crash that was caused by an alien invasion 2 months before that the JL had a particularly nasty time with and it was Bruce’s Batmobile that was thrown into her parked car.

The bag is a mess the zipper borken, missing hardware, leather scratched. But Bruce so done with everything accepts the trade and takes it back to the cave. Where he proceeds to 3D scan the bag then composite a CAD model and starts to collect all the raw components of the bag himself.

Getting only the best materials (much better than what Hermes was using) Talking to Killer Corc on how to find the best alligator pelts. Flying to India to personally pick out the red dye for the color. Mining the gold for the hardware from an asteroid that was threatening the Watchtower.

After he has everything Bruce proceeds to by hand construct an exact replica of Iris's dream bag. Essentially making the most over-budgeted fake to exist. Where he finally gives it to Barry (who has no inkling of the time and effort Bruce has put into this side project that has taken the better part of a whole year) who jokes in saying “Oh wow takes 12 months to run to the store huh?”

#Shit I'm never going to write #Fic Idea rambling #Silly Ideas #Superbat #The Flash #Batman #Superman #Burcie Wayne #bruce wayne #Messing Around #DCAU #Stupidly long #I'm great at parties ;)

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sofs16 · 6 months

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our home

part 1: paddock day , part 2: our leclerc win, part 3: our love in photos — next

not proofread, as usual:)

yn.jpg

budapest, hungary

liked by charles_leclerc, alex_albon, carlossainz55, and 392,383 others

yn.jpg beautiful race and driver who man never sits still 😆

view all 82,484 comments

laufeyyn as much as i love you and paddock yn, do you not have a job? 😭

⤷ yn.jpg NOO DW ID QUESTION THIS TOO! i actually still do have a job but it’s mostly online unless there’s a photoshoot somewhere or meeting:) i usually do my work at the paddock (war flashbacks to when i was called a horrible wag for being on my laptop😊) but yes i still work! ⤷ ynml i love how straightforward she is esp w the hate she got at silverstone LOL HATERS

[liked by yn.jpg]

chacha166 i love how its been a year but yn is still so active with us 🥹

⤷ yn.jpg you guys are so kind and silly its kinda hard to stop 🤷🏻‍♀️

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️

july 23, 2024

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, and 7,383,383 others

charles_leclerc P2 at Spa! Huge congratulations to Carlos on his win. Started at P14 and maximized the car. Time to recharge ❤️

Photo 📷: @yn @yn.jpg😘

view all 271,484 comments

yn proudest of you ❤️‍🩹

⤷ charles_leclerc ❤️

yncharles THE PGOTO CREDITS LALALAAJAKAHAHAHAHA

carlossainz55 Why does yn not take photos of me

⤷ yn i do but i havent posted them yet, carlitos :( congrats on p1! yahoooo

july 30, 2024

liked by charles_leclerc, and 6,373,383 others

yn something happened 💟

view all 981,574 comments

charles_leclerc 🏠

⤷ yn hehehe

yncharlesparents DID THEY MOVE IN TOGETHER WHAT

[liked by yn] ⤷ yncharlesparents SHITTING MY PANTS

⤷ yn wear a diaper, it helps

yourbsf i better have a room yn yln

⤷ yn the living room is spacious enough ❤️

⤷landonorris what about me

⤷ yn um we have 2 couches? ⤷ landonorris good enough

august 3, 2024

liked by yn, and 10,483,494 others

charles_leclerc Home ❤️ And can you believe Yn has 2 closets and says it’s not enough? 😂

📷 Photo: @yn @yn.jpg 😍

view all 1,483,695 comments

user11 she’s so ungrateful

user13 I bet she makes him buy all her clothes..

⤷ yn @user11 @user13 Actually, I have a job that allows me to pay for my wants, not that I need to explain myself! And I am very grateful for everything so don’t make assumptions, it was a joke. Hope you have a good life and actually find a job instead of being rude to people you don’t know! ❤️

[liked by charles_leclerc]

⤷ yneditss I fear, she ate. ⤷ charles283 I bet the PR is not happy abt this but we are 😊

⤷ yn i spoke my truth 🤷🏻‍♀️

⤷ynhumor I CACKLED I LOVE HER

⤷ ferrariforza You know she’s serious when she makes the capitalization and punctuations 😭

yncharles16 i love how yn is slowly taking over charles’ insta hehe he’s so whipped

august 6, 2024

f1wagsoft._

liked by yn, and 7,585 others

f1wagsoft._ Yn and Charles ❤️❤️

view all 328 comments

yn 🥹❤️‍🩹

⤷ ynstan yn is always active for f1wagsoft._ AHAHA

⤷ yn loveeee em

⤷ f1wagsoft._ ❤️ august 7, 204

yn.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, and 2,483,595 others

yn.jpg peaceful life 💌

view all 1,385,584 comments

ynzangel SHE HAS CHILDREN?

littlewomennzz EXCUSE ME?

lovelaufhlife WHAT

charles_leclerc Beautiful❤️

⤷ landonorris WHAT IS HAPPENING

yn.jpg IM NOT A MOTHER

⤷ ynschild you’re our mother. ⤷ yn.jpg true dat, child

⤷ ynsfan did she just say “true dat” HAHAHAHA IM GIGGLING I LOVE

⤷ yn.jpg WHAT AB IT ??????? august 8, 2024

liked by charles_leclerc, and 4,484,484 others

yn im sincerely sorry for the fright. i am not pregnant or with child or have child 😭

that was charles’ nephew and niece…

view all 934,484 comments

landonorris Soon?

⤷ yn YOURE LITWRALLY MY CHILD HUSH

⤷ landonorris maybe.. idk

⤷ yn IM OLDER THAN YOU? ⤷ landonorris BY A FEW YEARS

charles_leclerc Cuteeee🤓

[liked by yn]

yourfavynstan All jokes aside, she looks like she’s make a lovely mother:( especially one with those quiet lives away from all the chaos of fame

⤷ charles.updated the day they settle down and charles content disappears 😭😭😭😭

⤷ yn this is so kind omg. and you will never run out of charles content as long as i live and we live together! pinky swear

⤷f1gr1dd I LOVE HER IT HURTS

august 9, 2024

f1wagsoft._

liked by 14,383 others

f1wagsoft._ That… is not Yn Yln with Charles Leclerc.

view all 29,383 comments

ynchar YN? MOM? WHAT

charrrl guys, theres more pics leaked.. it’s him… and not yn.

charlando WHAT

ynupdated @yn pls what. be active. youre always active here

user16 i don’t like charles with anyone other than charlotte and i thought i would he happy about this but im not. charles and yn truly did look like they loved each other

⤷ yncha WE DONT USE “LOVED”. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER

⤷ f111grid delulu is the solulu. we’re the same 😞

ynleclerc1 Not with zandvoort gp 2 days away.

riciando idt yn will respond abt this. sure she seems very open but you can see she’s only open about certain parts of her life. we don’t even know how old she is or where she lived before charles or anything 😭

august 23, 2024

#SOF : is this a bad time to say im a writer who likes to leave cliffhangers ?

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #social media au #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc 16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles lecrelc

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the-travelling-witch · 2 months

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𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary: a siren attack is already unfortunate, but it's worse if it also reveals some truths about your insufferable crew mate

pairing: pirate! hawks x gn! pirate! reader

warnings: just a silly drabble to get back into writing and exorcise some of my hawks brainrot; a little suggestive at the end

general masterlist || bnha masterlist

Getting stuck on the same ship as Takami Keigo was one of life’s most torturous challenges. At least for you. He was obnoxiously arrogant and, much to your chagrin, people flocked to him like seagulls to a forgotten loaf of bread.

Sure, your fellow pirate was quite easy on the eyes and rather charming when he wanted to be; a truth you would only ever admit in the comfort of your own head, lest you inflate his ego even further. Instead, you rather grumbled to yourself, cursing his name for getting to sit pretty in the crow’s nest while you sat on deck and mended a torn net.

“Having fun down there?” If the devil ever spoke to you, you were sure he would mimic the grating lilt of Keigo’s melodic voice. “You know, I’m pretty sure a whale could swim through the holes you’re leaving.”

He was your crew mate, he was an essential part of the expedition, you couldn’t just shoot him down.

“At least one of us is doing their job,” you deadpanned, not even giving him the satisfaction to look up. “You know, I think an island could sneak up on us with how distracted you are.”

“Oh you think you’re distracting me?” Even with your eyes trained on the cords in your hands, you could picture the cocky tilt of his head, a dashing grin playing around his lips. “Is that the kind of effect you want to have on me?”

“You’re the one who’s always coming up to bother me, so if anything you’re the one who’s obsessed with me.” If this conversation went on for any longer, your medic would have to patch up a popped vein on your part.

“Ah there is that wishful thinking again,” he laughed and this time you glared up at his silhouette standing out against the blinding sun. As always, he wore loose beige pants and the top buttons of his black shirt were undone, showing more of his toned chest than you needed to see. His black boots were propped up against the nest’s railing and the crimson head scarf fluttering in the breeze matched the earring dangling from his left lobe.

Just as you were about to retort, another shadow against the sun caught your attention. Drawing your pistol, you undid the safety, alerting the rest of the crew that there was something coming.

But before you could see what exactly was approaching, you suddenly lost your balance as the ship developed a heavy list. Grabbing onto the mast of the crow’s nest, you managed to steady yourself, yet the impact knocked the revolver from your grip. As you looked up, the first thing you saw was the massive cliffs your ship was heading towards, sharp rocks littering the waters, waiting to demolish its wooden bottom.

Then your eyes locked on to the crew’s navigator, whose head lulled from one side to the other as he firmly steered you towards your demise. Next to him, holding his attention, was a beautiful woman sweetly tracing a finger along his jaw as she sang to him. As a feather drifted past your eyes, it suddenly hit you what -or who- exactly you were dealing with.

“Cover your ears!” You shouted to no one in particular as you scrambled for the wax you had stuffed into your pocket. With your hearing muffled, your own heartbeat raced in your ears as you dove for your pistol and breathlessly aimed for the siren attached to your navigator, who by now was half way towards the ship’s railing, his feet dragging underneath him as the woman lured him further towards the water.

You weren’t sure if your bullet was enough to actually kill the siren but upon impact it dissolved into a burst of feathers and released its hold on your crew mate, who dazedly blinked as he tried to regain his senses.

The next few minutes were a blur of talons, feathers and pulling your crew back from the ship’s edge, even tying some of them to the masts to make sure they wouldn’t try to kill themselves again.

Soon enough, however, you were out of bullets and you reluctantly drew the dagger previously secured to your thigh, scanning the area for more sirens when someone tapped your shoulder. Whirling around you slashed your dagger in an arc around you, only to find Keigo standing in front of you, holding up his hands innocently. There was an easy going smile on his face as he said something you couldn’t understand, so you removed one of the wax beads restricting your hearing.

And that was your mistake.

Only a few heartbeats after his velvety voice reached your ears, your dagger clattered onto the deck as Keigo reached out to unplug your other ear as well, his fingers grazing your cheek with nails much sharper than you expected. You wondered if his lips would be as plush as you imagined them to be or if his hair would be as soft as it looked when you buried your fingers in it.

His amber eyes were trained entirely on you as he gave you a coy gaze, inviting you to take another step towards him, to find out for yourself, to sate your curiosity. Likewise, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him either as your feet followed his graceful movements, the light reflecting of his golden hair like a halo, the crimson wings on his back completing his angelic appearance—

Then, Keigo dissolved into a burst of those same scarlet feathers as two sharp swords sliced through his torso. For a moment, you thought you had imagined it when the same face came back into view again.

With full force, the noise of the ship reached you again and you staggered backwards at the sudden onslaught of stimuli. Around you, the crew was running around, untying people and frantically steering the ship back onto the right course as you raced to regain your bearings, disoriented by the orders being bellowed around you.

“That should be the last of them,” Keigo ripped you from your daze, his voice clearer as the sea as he sheathed his swords again. “Nasty creatures, those sirens. Though I guess this one was a handsome fellow, considering you were dazedly mumbling my name on your way overboard.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line when your brain caught up to your current situation. Perhaps the siren had been taken care off, yet you were still tempted to throw yourself head first over the railing. Justifiably so, you thought when your eyes darted to the man’s face long enough to confirm the self-satisfied expression he was wearing.

“I am quite flattered really,” he mused, one hand reaching out to tilt your face up so you’d meet his eyes as he stepped closer to you. For a split-second, the thought that it was still a siren in front of you crossed your mind. “To think that a siren would choose to wear my face in an effort to seduce you… now isn’t that quite the compliment?”

“Just… shut up and let me die in peace, would you?” You rolled your eyes, ready to retreat into your little cabin and try to grapple with your near-death experience, this confrontation included. If only the rocky spikes had ripped open the bottom of the ship, you could sink to the sea floor in quiet solitude.

“No no no, why would you do that when you can stay right here with me? C’mon just see it as my reward for saving your precious life, treasure.” He sent you a cheeky wink, drawing your attention to the sharp slant of his eyes and your heart, the treacherous thing, skipped a beat.

“Is your idea of a reward torturing me further? Or what could you possibly get out of this?” Your shoulders sacked with your sigh, resigning to your defeat.

“What I’m getting out of this? It’s quite obvious isn’t it?” Slinging an arm around your hanging shoulders, Keigo pulled you flush to his side. Warmth and the scent of salt mixed with something woodsy radiated off of him and you could admit this wasn’t the worst position to be in. “Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company.”

“That is hard to believe, you’re right.” You cocked your head in suspicion. “Normally you do everything to get under my skin, so what changed?”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is,” Keigo’s melodic timbre lilted before transitioning into his typical pearly laughter. Then, as if sharing a secret, he leant down so his lips were dangerously close to your ear, his voice dropping low. “You know, you weren’t the only one visited by a siren. As tempting as that version of you looked, I must say I prefer the real deal.

“Do you think I could get you to sing for me as well?”

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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strawbsj · 1 month

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hiii i love your account!! can you please do gp stepsis hanni taking readers virginity?? 🥹

Aww thank you so much love!!🤭❤️

Pairings: G!p stepsis Hanni x fem reader!

Warnings: somno, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), babytrapping, reader bleeds a little, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, thigh fucking, tit job, p in v, not proofread, virgin reader, step cest and just filthy smut!!!

Word count: 1k ish

—————————————————————————

She was the sweetest Step sister you could ever have, she was truly sent from heaven and the sweetest girl you’ve ever met.

She’d make you breakfast with little motivational notes, she’d do your laundry knowing how much you don’t like doing it, she’d spend hours to help you if you need help in your school work, she’d take you on little dates where she’d buy you lunch after a hard week of school to make it less stressful and she’d clean your room so you could have a better environment to work at.

She truly was one of the best people in your life that you adored a lot, your stepmom was as sweet as her, you were grateful for both and grateful that your dad found great people to bring into your lives.

You don’t know the twisted truth about this, the not so sweet or innocent reality why she’s doing all of this.

She has had her eyes on you from the very first time she laid her eyes on you. She found the sexiest fucking woman on this earth.

Something about your gorgeous body, that anyone would kill for and your mesmerizing features was something anyone would wish to have.

She wanted to fucking ruin you, because how dare someone be this perfect. Ruin and show you things you’d never think your own step sister would do to you.

Get you a dumb cockwhore for her dick and ruin that little virgin hole of yours, stuff you full of her babies and take your whole innocence away.

She brought you her fresh orange juice, that you didn’t take a lot of time to down. The sudden urge for your lids to shut and your brain to become all numb was something you couldn’t fight.

And suddenly you were softly breathing, chest inhaling and exhaling softly and peacefully while your eyes tightly shut, and body in a deep slumber.

She peeked her head from the little gap in the door, seeing you in the deep sleep you were in. She smirked to herself her plan working successfully.

She tip toed in, closing the door behind her and twisting the lock. She gave a wide grin at the sight in front of her, your tiny little fragile body laying there helplessly, your cute hello kitty shorts riding up your thighs, your white v-line top hugging your breast and waist perfectly, your soft mounds almost spilling out from the top.

See you begged her to do this! She undressed herself, dick finally getting freedom. Her aching tip that’s spilling precum and her length that is uncontrollably upward. She hissed in pain, her finger smearing the precum all over her cock.

She hovered over you, your plush thighs right below the head of her cock. She let her desires win, and thrusted her cock right between your pillowy thighs, a loud moan falling from her lips.

She continued the action, now grabbing the sides of your thighs to push them tighter against her aching dick. Lewd sounds coming from her lips, and the area of your inner thighs turning a pinkish color from her relentless thrust. She stopped quickly as soon as she felt her cum ready to spill from her tip. If she was going to cum, it will be inside your virgin cunt.

Your hello kitty shorts were now on the floor next to your white top. Your bare body under her mercy. Your nipples hardening at the sudden cold air, she swirled her tongue against one of them before moving to the other. Sucking you like a baby. She promised to herself that at the end of the night she will make sure that those plushy tits will be full of milk that she can suck.

Her angry red tip found its way to your swollen cunt, pushing its way past your folds. Your pussy swallowing her length and squeezing it. A groan left her lips, her head falling back at the sensation and her eyes giving a peek at her brain.

You let out a soft whimper that only made her dick twitch inside you, more precum gushing out. Even when you’re asleep you made the cutest sounds. Her tip pushed out of your cunt before slamming back in. She couldn’t contain herself and be gentle, the head of her cock meeting your opening with harsh thrust. She continued the abuse of her cock and the knot in her stomach started building up.

Her balls were slapping against your ass, begging to release. The idea of getting her sweet step-sissy pregnant with her child and forcing you to be stuck with her for the rest of your life, made her white thick liquid paint your walls full to the point that it spilled out with a mix of your blood.

She kissed the top of your head before whispering the dirtiest little things that she was going to do to you, her step sis that will be pregnant with her kid.🫣

#pham hanni smut #hanni pham smut #pham hanni x fem reader #pham hanni x reader #pham hanni #hanni pham #hanni smut #hanni x fem reader #hanni x reader #new jeans hanni smut #new jeans smut #new jeans x fem reader #new jeans x reader #new jeans

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deathblacksmoke · 6 months

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call me when you get the chance

pairing: noah sebastian x nick ruffilo x fem reader

cw: polyamorous relationship, long distance yearning, it’s pretty fluffy my friends

taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @lma1986 / @monotoniscreaming / @xxrainstorm / @agravemisstake

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics!

author’s note: thank you lady v once again for the beta; i added some pitt back in just for you. and thank you @darksigns-exe for the poly boyfriends brainworms. no smut in here - wild change of pace. and i’ll probably be writing more little bits of these sweet babes at some point 🤍 i got euclid on the brain so title from that, obvi. enjoy!

**************************************************************

Nick sends a postcard from every city.

Missing you from Atlanta! Love, Nicholas.

It makes you feel warm and loved, every time you open your mailbox to another card from another city, with your partner’s pretty writing on the back.

You imagine him standing in the store for ages, sifting through the cards, trying to pick the perfect one for your gallery wall. You imagine Noah picking one out as a joke, and Nick scoffing, putting it back irritated.

No, man, she’s particular about her wall. Remember?

It makes your chest swell. You long to be there, to play mediator like you do when they’re both home with you. They need it sometimes, and you’re sure Jolly could use the break every now and again.

Noah sends memes. They’re ones you would never see otherwise because you won’t step foot on Twitter, but they make you smile and remind you of him, his stupid sense of humor, and the way his face lights up when he laughs. You close your eyes and imagine it, his eyes scrunching closed with his laugh, and your chest tightens.

They always send a selfie when they get off stage, and another before bed, sometimes a FaceTime if you’re still up. They don’t show you their intertwined hands. They know it makes you jealous and weepy, but you’re so grateful that they have each other. You imagine them kissing when the call ends and you cry anyway.

***

When you couldn’t make it to the show you had all planned for, you thought that was it. Work gets in the way again, sends you out of town, but you’ll see them when they come home to you and all will be okay.

The show looks incredible. You brave social media just this once to see clips of your boys, weep in bed in your hotel room. You stay up late to see them before you sleep—they tell you they wish you were there, they miss you, they love you. You catch a glimpse of a love bite on Nick’s chest and wish it could have come from you. You fantasize about quitting your job. You get closer every day.

The postcard comes two days later, a pop-art rendition of the Pittsburgh skyline, Nick’s little note scrawled across the back. It feels silly to have but you knew he wouldn’t dare to break the tradition he’s created.

Wish you were here! Love always, your Nicholas.

You don’t know how much longer you can go without them, holding back tears as you put the card in its frame, giving it its place on the wall.

You feel helpless and hopeless until you get an email, the airline notifications you had set up on cost changes doing you a solid, for once. Flight to LAX, suspiciously affordable, landing at 2 PM on the 8th of October.

It’s not a question. You don’t think twice. You have the PTO, and your boss can’t possibly deny you again. And if they do, fuck it, you’ll really dig your heels in about them needing another girl working on the tour. You’ll get Lana on your side this time around. They can’t say no to you both.

You book the ticket, arrange a guest list spot with Matt and buzz with excitement in preparation for your surprise.

***

You never tire of watching them perform.

The way Noah owns the stage, running from stage left to stage right, commanding the crowd to chant and jump with him. Nicholas, his long hair swaying with each rock of his neck to the beat of the song. His slender fingers grip the neck of his bass as he bounces his leg, growling backing vocals going straight through you. You wish you could be at every show. You swell with pride and know you couldn’t have picked two better boys to share your life.

You head to the green room when they come back out to say their thank yous and goodbyes. You hate to miss the photo slides but you helped pick most of the photos, anyway. Lots from your private collection and you think maybe you owe some of these people a “you’re welcome.”

Sitting on the old, worn leather couch, you start to panic. You’ve never surprised them before. Noah hates surprises, but you hope at least you’re a good one.

Folio comes through the door first, followed by Jolly, and the door swings back closed. Shocked at first when they see you, Folio’s face breaks out into a huge grin before turning on his heels.

“Yo, Noah, you’re gonna wanna see this—” he yells as he swings the door back open, to reveal Nick, sweaty and looking exhausted, but when his eyes land on you—

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You can barely make it out above the roar of noise in the hallway. You don’t know where Noah is, but Nick looks as gorgeous as you’ve ever seen him. You need to take a deep breath but find your throat stopping you as your vision starts to blur. The look on his face as he crosses the room to you melts your anxiety in an instant. You haven’t seen him in so long. And he’s here. He’s right here with you.

When he reaches you, he sinks to his knees at your feet. His fingers digging into your thigh, eyes glazed over as he looks up at you, you lean down to meet him halfway.

The feeling of his lips on yours makes you feel dizzy. The feel of the wetness on his cheeks when you cup his face makes you want to sob, but you don’t, you lick into his mouth and bask in the sound of his gasp.

“Where the fuck were you,” he speaks into your mouth when he pulls away from you.

His fingers are gripping your thigh painfully. You know you’ll bruise, you wince, but it’s Nick and you don’t care. You’ll press your fingers there when you get home and you’ll think of him and—

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was flirting with the pretty bartender. I think you’d like her, Nicky, do you think Noah will go for a fourth?”

He’s leaning in for another kiss when you hear the green room door slam back open, thundering steps getting closer and closer until Nick is jostled forward, Noah’s head resting on his shoulder, eyes focused on you.

“You were a very naughty girl, keeping this secret from us,” Noah says, his head angling to press kisses and nip at Nick’s neck. Nick grins and you watch as the hand that was digging into your thigh takes Noah’s hand and laces their fingers.

When you’re far away, it makes you jealous. When you’re right here, when you have them both in front of you, that’s the furthest thing from your mind.

When you kiss Noah and he smiles into it, when the hand not laced with Nick’s threads through your hair, when Nick nips at your neck while Noah kisses you, you’ve never felt more at home.

Because they are your home.

“Nicky let me pick your postcard this time,” Noah tells you when he pulls away.

“You’ll hate it,” Nick says, but he’s grinning as he stands up to rummage through his backpack.

When he returns to you and holds it out, it’s a silly little card, but both their names are signed this time.

Loving you from LA. Love, your Nicholas and Noah.

Noah’s grinning as wide as you’ve ever seen. It’s your favorite of the bunch.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #nick ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo rpf #nicholas ruffilo fic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo rpf #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian rpf #nick ruffilo x reader #noah sebastian x reader #nicholas ruffilo x reader #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo x reader #deathblacksmoke works

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themotherofhorses · 4 months

Text

paloma: first meeting

— simon "ghost" riley x oc!silentdove reyes.

summary: he's not annoyed, per se, but ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the american airman scurrying around the base. at best, he tolerates them.

(or the first exchange between ghost and his montanan woman.)

warnings: none, aside from explicit language.

note: okay, so despite this being an obvious OC-insert series, i invite anyone and everyone to read it :D this is actually my first time tackling an OC-insert fanfic (as well as writing ghost) so im still trying to get the rhythm of things.

dividers by: @saradika

paloma (masterlist) | main masterlist

[2021]

Simon Riley won’t ever admit it — never aloud, anyway — but every time he steps foot on American soil, he feels more akin to a wolf draped in sheep’s clothing.

In his mind, he sticks out like a sore thumb. He is not a hero, really; unlike the lot teetering around the military base he is currently stationed at for the next five or so weeks, he is less flesh and blood, and more a phantom. Or something along those lines. Actually, that could explain why there is such little traffic aimed his way. But he doesn’t particularly care. His schedule lacks the room to voice any complaints.

Right now, his main concern is doing his job, and doing it right.

Two weeks back, Price had him fishing out his passport tucked away inside his bedside table. “Fancy a two month getaway to the States?” Great Falls, Montana, to be exact. High west, nearing the border of Canada, and surrounded by land he’s only ever seen in those silly ass spaghetti western movies.

The view is nice, he’ll admit. Beautiful, even. Exhilarating. He now understands why they refer to Montana as “Big Sky Country.”

Malmstrom is much smaller than he imagined, and homier too. The Air Force base is nestled within the city’s east side, offering its own museum and park. He’s quite grateful for the latter; the trails allow for his nighttime walks when the nightmares prove too shitty to sleep.

Great Falls is pretty as well. Price would like it, maybe Garrick too. He knows the two are big on history, and almost every inch of the city is drenched with some memory belonging to the old frontier days.

Upon arriving, the yanks provided him with his own private office, housed in the back of the 341st logistics readiness squadron. It’s nothin’ fancy, really, just a wee room furnished with a dark mahogany desk, two windows, a steel cabinet, the Montana flag to his left, and the American to his right.

Again, he’s not one to complain. Something’s something.

Earlier, one of the higher-up airmen, a Staff Sergeant Benson (he believes is the name), had handed him a folder jam-packed with a shit ton of mission statements — logistics, strategic planning, reports of previous global concerns, and reviews of the base’s Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile. All the documents are dated in a time range varying between two months ago to 0800 this morning.

In the back of his mind, he can already hear Price chuckling.

“Have fun, Simon.”

Bloody bastard.

So now, Ghost sits hunched over the desk, feeling a little too damn big for it. All the paperwork is strewn about messily around him, with sticky notes, a pen, and some other random shit of his. No one has yet to visit him; until that happens, he feels little need to remain organized.

His boot taps against the floor. “—Initial efforts to clean polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) from launch facilities at Malmstrom AFB are ongoing but seeing success…” Ghost reads under his breath. PCBs? That’s nice to hear.

“...after PCBs were detected on surfaces in launch facilities at all three of the command’s missile wings.”

PCBs. Polychlorinated biphenyls — man-made and highly toxic, consisting of carbon, hydrogen, and chlorine atoms. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he flips onto the next page.

“We know they’re present on what appears to be otherwise pristine surfaces, due to the survey—”

—a sudden knock interrupts his reading.

With a curse on his tongue, Ghost sets down the report. He quicks a sneaking glance at his watch. 1342 hours. He’s due in a meeting at 1700.

“Come in.” His voice sounds low and raspy, the two words sounding more like a growl than a greeting. He’s not annoyed, per se, but Ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the American airmen scurrying around the base. At best, he tolerates them.

(In his mind, they’re all little Graves, ready to stir up a headache.)

The door slowly cracks open.

“Lieutenant Riley?” A female voice calls out — soft and cautious; Ghost’s chin drops against his knuckles. “Apologies for the disruption, sir, but I have some additional paperwork I need to drop off with you, at the request of my superior.” He grunts, and the airman then steps into his office, quickly shutting the door behind her before meeting his eyes.

It is entirely unlike him, Ghost knows, but his brain almost short-circuits right then and there. Two dark brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, peering up at him. Shit. He’d always thought brown was such a pretty eye color on a woman, but hers stretched further across common compliments.

Both of ‘em — they held no animosity, no uneasiness or fear, nothing.

That, itself, is quite fucking bizarre. He’s not used to that.

Ghost is .... well, Ghost. He knows the mask he is always donning on his face isn't exactly a sign of welcomeness. Just his mere presence is enough to startle the living shit out of rookies, baby recruits, wide-eyed sergeants, and the like. There is something inherently unnerving when you are unable to get a good reading of the person you're standing across from.

She’s brave, he thinks. Or merely oblivious to who he is.

“Here you go, sir,” the airman says while placing the packet of new documents down on his desk. Her lips are shaped prettily, plump and shining with a fresh layer of gloss, and across her nose is a splatter of faint freckles. Under a different circumstance, maybe he would’ve taken the time to try and count them all.

Ghost swallows hard, incapable (for what feels like the first time in his life) of mustering up an appropriate reply. “Ah, thank you, ma’am.”

The airman's brow lifts.

“Reyes,” she then corrects him with a kind smile, gesturing to the name badge sitting above her right chest pocket. Sure enough, in bold military lettering, reads Reyes. “My name is Senior Airman SilentDove Reyes. I am actually a cryptologic linguist analyst here on base; but sometimes I run errands for others, when not needed for a translation, of course.”

There is a slight chirp in her voice that Ghost picks up, along with the way she casually rocks back and forth on her feet. She seems awfully young, no older than 22, possibly 23, but even that's cutting it; a kid, compared to him. Maybe 5'7, with dark hair pulled back into two tight braids that fall at her belted waistline.

A stark contrast compared to him.

He's oddly curious now — about her age and first name and those long braids and why she stands before him, calm, collected, and sure — but he knows damn well this is not the time nor place for any questions. Both of them are on the clock, and it is likely she’ll need to report back to her supervisor soon.

He offers her a curt nod. “Well, thank you again, Reyes,” he states, keeping his voice flat.

“You are welcome, sir.” She turns to leave, but when her hand latches onto the doorknob, Reyes glances over her shoulder at him, “—oh, and Lieutenant? If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

–

The successful cleaning came after a bioenvironmental team at Malmstrom AFB …. Malmstrom AFB .. consulted with engineers and ….. and medical experts on the cleaning …. cleaning processes and–

–and agents most likely to effectively remove the chemicals….

He knows his mind is wandering off, in desperate search of that pretty senior airman from fifteen minutes ago. “Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost grumbles, leaning back in his chair. His head lolls back as he blinks upward, studying the ceiling overhead. The texture is popcorn, a creamy color, with a simple fan jutting down. One light bulb, probably a recent replacement.

Fuck. He doesn’t need this shit. Not one bit.

Five more weeks and he’ll be gone from here.

Ghost rechecks his watch, feeling a bit peeved at the time. 1411. He has several more hours until he can leave all this work shit behind for the evening, and maybe catch a short walk before hunkering down for the night. He doesn’t like sitting down for too long; it causes him to become restless. Agitated. Overthinking.

He doesn’t want distractions. He doesn’t need ‘em. Distractions ruin work ethic; clouding up the mind while fucking up all sense of responsibility. Price will have his ass if he – somehow – becomes compromised. And he'll never hear the end of it from Johnny.

Settling back into the paperwork, he decides that he won’t allow himself another second thinking about all that – the American airman and her pretty brown eyes and high cheekbones and first name.

Something tells him that’s easier said than done.

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shootybangbang · 5 months

Text

The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.

--------

The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]

for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted

This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.

More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again.

broken cabinet.

Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.

broken cabinet. sorry. :’(

[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]

You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.

Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.

How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.

And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.

Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.

This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma.

God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–

Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.

Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…

…Oh.

It’s Morgan. What the fuck.

“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.

“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”

Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”

He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”

Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”

The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.

“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”

His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”

As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”

Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.

“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”

He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency.

A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.

“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”

You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”

This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.

It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.

“Are you, um…”

Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”

Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”

“Yes,” you reply weakly.

For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”

He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.

The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?

I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.

Oh. He hates it.

Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”

“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”

“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”

You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”

“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”

You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.

Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”

“Catsitting,” you say.

“’…s’cuse me?”

“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”

“Cats can get anxiety?”

“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.”

Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”

You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.

He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”

Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.

Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.

You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.

“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.

“No?”

“Figured you’d prefer snails.”

“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.

“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”

“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”

He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —

“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”

“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”

“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”

The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”

He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest.

For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”

“You’re not what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you say weakly.

He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”

Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–

But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”

Huh. What.

“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.

“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”

When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.

***

You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.

“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”

Sebastian stretches and yawns.

“I hit on the maintenance man.”

He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you.

“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”

Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.

“Okay, one bottle drunk.”

He sniffs haughtily.

“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.

“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”

***

You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?

The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath.

You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.

But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.

The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.

Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.

“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”

“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.

Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.

You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.

Of course my mind goes there.

Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.

“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours.

“Mr Morgan—”

“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”

You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.

Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.

Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—

The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.

For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.

“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”

“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”

Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.

“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.

“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”

You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .

***

Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.

A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.

“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”

Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”

He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief.

“Do you like her?”

He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.

“Because a girl as pretty as her…”

“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”

As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #modern au #verai-marcel #upsides of property damage

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itachi-with-a-chicken · 8 months

Text

Today I'm here to traumatize you with something probably not so groundbreaking but!! It broke my mind!! So I'm gonna share

I've been thinking about the sentence "you said 'trust me'" and why it felt a bit strange. Like, sure, Crowley trusts Aziraphale. We know that, we know Aziraphale knows that, they say it explicitly for once, so what is the matter

Well, the matter is that Aziraphale asked Crowley to trust him, like it was Aziraphale shooting the shot, but in reality we know it was Crowley the one with the loaded gun

So what was Crowley trusting?

Well, Crowley was trusting Aziraphale, who in return was trusting Crowley with his - technically only corporal - life.

Now, aside for the entire ordeal of not being actually dead only discorporated and ecc ecc, let's speak symbolism

Because in my humble opinion, this is the closest thing we have to an admission of feelings from both of them.

On one side, we have Aziraphale - who is having a quite exciting night between the nazis, the show, the miracle not working, the hots for his knight in a shining armor - who is saying "I know for sure you will never hurt me, you'll find a way, everything will be fine"

If we ever gonna get Aziraphale admitting he's lost his faith, I believe he's gonna recall this moment. He's not praying God, he's on his own, and he's not afraid

(what was it? Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me)

On the other side, Crowley is just having a nightTM: saving their angel in distress (nice), him being grateful (NICE), contraband gone wrong (less nice), flirting with the angel (I don't know how else to call it)(niiice)

A normal tuesday.

Then, the miracle stopped working and they are on their own and they're pointing a loaded gun to their angel and oh boy things are going south fastly. The camera does a great amazing job in expressing how stressed Crowley feels with the trembling and the movement, just right on the spot. It starts trembling from the moment the gun is passed to Crowley, and its underlined when they cut to Furfur and it's perfectly stable, and stops only when the trick is done (amazing I love it)

Crowley is terrified, but Aziraphale said "Trust me" and he did. Only, it's not Aziraphale who is doing the risky part in theory, by shooting and aiming while never firing an arm before. But in practice? He totally is.

From facts, it's not news for us that they'd do anything to keep the other safe, but they can never acknowledge it, right? But here he is, entrusting his very own existence in Crowley capable hands and not only it's risky for a number of reasons, no, that's straight away nuts from any point of view. And it's even nutter (ehehehe like Agnes) when you realize he's doing the very same thing in the 67 by gifting him holy water.

I've always found odd that change of heart by Aziraphale. I couldn't only be because he found the entire heist thing silly, but it's not like they gave us more material to work with.

But in the light of what we saw in the 41 I feel a little bit more certain to say that Aziraphale is moving on the same feeling he moved in the bullet catch.

"I trust you to not hurt me, I trust you to not kill yourself because you know what it would mean to me"

Of course, they cannot speak of it. Of course, all they have is flirty banter and Crowley hyping Aziraphale up for his show. Of course, when Aziraphale gave them holy water, he nearly couldn't stop their feelings from coming to the surface and Aziraphale needed to be the one to put a break on it. They had one (1) public appearance and it took an earthly miracle to not get discovered.

All they had, for so much time, was those silent confessions and those candle light lit and glasses of wine shared. Someday, tho, they will dine at the Ritz (metaphorically, too). (And maybe have some go--sat--damn explicit conversation about their mutual feelings towards each other)

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rubylovessharks · 2 months

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Fun fact: you can train crows to bring you money! I don't exactly know how, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with food.

Anyway, may I please request Ruggie, Azul, and Lilia reacting to a reader who managed to train the local murder to bring them money?

Hope you have a nice day/night! And feel free to ignore for any reason!

heyheyy i do know about that crow fact!! its pretty cool yeahh :3 im not sure if you wanted this to be an x reader or not but i will keep it platonic If thats ok. im not sure how well i can write for ruggie or even lilia but i think i can manage :) again sorry if this didnt turn out how you wanted :( but i do hope you enjoy 🩷

gn!reader, reader can be read as the mc

Azul

Ruggie

I don't think he knew that crows can even do that- it's totally new to him. He was weirded out by how you always have so much money, like do you even have a job? He did try to make you tell him your secret but you never did.

It turns out that the crows you hang out with thought he was the ideal guy to take money from, cuz they tried to rob him. He was running after them to get his money back until he saw you. You saw the group of silly little crows you so dearly love and you immediately said "oh hey babies!" and Azul just looks at you in pure confusion. "What...?" "oh I know these crows, I feed them around this time of day" You know them??? Maybe you could tell them to give him his money back??? "How about you and I make a deal?" "I don't need to though??" "I know there's something you want, everyone wants something."

"Did they take your money?" Azul was silent for a moment, it wasn't everyday that he needed something from someone else, especially in a situation like this. "Yes..."I guess now you know how I get my money out of nowhere" THAT'S HOW YOU GET MONEY?? "What." Azul was in disbelief. Now that he knows the full story he is kind of interested in them. You can just befriend a crow and they'll give you something back? Not just money? That's pretty useful.. useful in business! Now he's getting all sorts of ideas! Come on show him how to get on their good side, he can already feel the cash he'll get on his- oh no, don't worry he didn't say anything! Just continue to teach him the ways of the crows.

(They in fact did not like him)

Lilia

He himself definitely knows a few murder groups. I just know that he fed some hungry crow one day and then all the crow's friends and family knew of Ruggie so he just became besties with them. I think that he'll befriend tons of groups of them, so one day when he went to feed the local murder he just saw you hanging out with them. But there's something that left him in shock...(they give you more money than they give him)

"I didn't expect to see you here, what are you doing here anyway?" Ruggie came from behind and put his hands on your head as you were sitting with the crows. "I didnt know you even knew of this part of NRC" "oh I came here by accident on the first day here cuz I got lost.." you said as you tried to look up to him, but he was more interested in what you had in your hands. "Heyy tell me what's that in your hands??" he knew exactly what that was, something he really likes in fact. "It's money I get from the murder around here. I trained them personally!" he knew you could do that but.. for years he's been trying! But he could never get any crows to get that much money.

So now you show him exactly how you trained them to give you such great treasures from the smart crows, and now you've got crows who give you money and a grateful friend.

I think that he does know that people can train crows to get them stuff, and since he's really old he probably befriended a crow or two back in the day but I dont think he's super duper interested in this. But I do think that once he saw you hanging out with some crows he thought it was fascinating.

You thought it would be nice to show Lilia the murder you've befriended, so you took him with you when it was around feeding time for them. "May how fascinating! They are quite cute too!" he said as he pet a crow while you sat there getting your daily cash from them, "but I do wonder. How did you train them to get you money of all things?" "oh it was many years ago when I found out I could do that. Around my house there were a bunch of them and I got to know them," you stopped for a moment to continue to feed them "and I thought to myself, won't it be cool that I taught them how to bring me money? So I showed them that I was in need of some and they understood right away!" you smiled to him, he smirked at this probably reminiscing about an old crow pal of his from back in the day, "crows are smart beings, it is even known that Maleficent had a companion crow." "did it also bring her money?" you too, are fractionating he thought to himself. "Who knows? Perhaps it did."

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #ruggie bucchi #ruggie twst #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia

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neonponders · 11 months

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I’m not an OG Harringrove person (I call myself a member of the “second wave” lol I watched ST at the end of 2019 and got into the fandom while Harringrove for Australia was popping off in 2020) but I’ve noticed a reoccurring trend in posts/mentalities.

So many of us question how to be more active in fandom. What can we do differently that will get us more interactions? Really, what can we do to be more appreciated? During my time in this fandom, I’ve gathered good news and bad news:

The good news, is that any negligence we feel, isn’t our fault. We feel like something personal is going on, but really, everyone is just living their lives. So many OG’s are older, married, have kids, and have scary big kid jobs. People’s lack of interaction with us actually has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with them just trying to successfully exist lol

The bad news is that we, for some reason, are convinced that praise is intrusive. That rolling up into someone’s tumblr mailbox is the exact same as unlocking their house and yelling, “HEY. NICE COUCH. GOOD TASTE.”

I’ve been there, and I continue to visit this imposter syndrome place, because I’m a nasty little goblin who needs to be pat on the head as much as anyone else. Now for the deep dive:

Humans are pack creatures with an intrinsic need to create. Easy examples are food, and cliff drawings. It’s not enough to eat a banana right off a tree. We take the risk of putting it to fire and creating a different flavor profile. One of the oldest pieces of human art are some animal outline carvings in the side of some Egyptian cliffs that overlook a stretch of the Nile. Archeologists and anthropologists theorize that these are the first signage we ever made: “Hey heads up, these animals live in this mile-stretch of river. Yes, there’s deer here, but also hippos. Hunt wisely.”

These two traits combine into a neediness that doesn’t know how to be satisfied. Worse, we’re in a broken society that doesn’t celebrate the artist/creative anymore (if it ever really did). And that’s so hypocritical. Artists have kept people alive and happy just as much as the hunter and cook.

We create writing, art, edits, videos, etc and share share share share share....because it’s a stupid little wacky gift of stardust in our brains. This human trait trickles down into us making our silly little fanfics and art projects of rotten characters finding peace, getting plowed after a slow-burn, or just making tea for each other.

The honest truth is that creating isn’t enough. Yes, we do it for ourselves, and we always will. We need to create the same way we need water. The unfair flip side is that we also need our pack to answer us when we ring that bell.

All I can tell you is that life is hard, and more than likely, we see the stuff you’re posting for us. And we’re wildly grateful to you. We’re just trained to think that telling you how special you are, and how grateful we are, will make you disappear.

A star died eons ago and gave us its stardust. It’s unfair that shining is hard but we do see you.

#this is a rant #i'm an ancient history nerd i'm so sorry #fandom #harringrove #do you want more of a metaphor on light pollutions? lol

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blueluneacy · 6 months

Text

its time for my yearly post, real

ive been thinkin about dottore genshin impact lately. hes so silly :) did more of a horror aspect bc i like horror??? idk if youve been around long enough youll notice my slow descent into more horror based writings. but its ok, i like it!

on one hand you might be able to consider this yandere. on the other i think this is just how il dottore is in my mind. just a little creep. i wonder if hes single

tw: manipulation, blackmail, implied human experimentation

You were nothing to him.

In some way or another, you knew that. You knew that you were lowly in comparison to him. You were a student, barely half way into a thesis while he was well… It’s hard to define what he was. An outcast, but a genius. Something out of your grasp, intangible and arcane. Maybe that’s what originally got you interested. You’re a student after all, driven by curiosity and a need for knowledge. Perhaps he liked that about you too.

It was also that which was forbidden that intrigued you. That which you had seen scholars go mad for, he held in the palm of his hand. Things that you knew that were forbidden were always so delicious, weren’t they? You indulged in them, in what he could give you. It’s not as thought you didn’t give what you could in return, but really, what could you give a man whose power rivaled the gods? You should’ve known better. Your tutors, your peers, everyone could’ve warned you, did warn you, but you chose not to listen.

After all, he did tell you that this version of himself was the most selfish.

Perhaps then it wasn’t strange that you never saw what happened next coming. When he told you that it was time to leave Sumeru, you were shocked, almost baffled at the proposal.

“I can’t just leave everything. I’m still working on my thesis, my friends are here, I still have things to do here.” You told him, as if your words would do you any good. He merely smiled at you, shaking his head as if your points were silly, meaningless.

“I think you’ll find your research coming to a halt very soon regardless of if you leave or not. It seems that some restructuring will begin to take place here very shortly. It would be best if you were to leave, while you still had your dignity intact.” He always made himself sound so… Reasonable. It was something you once admired about him, but now, it was grating on your nerves. How easily he tossed aside your concerns. Had he always done that, trivialized the words you were saying like this?

“I can’t just give it all up. I’d hate myself if I did that. You should already know, that’s not the type of person I am. This is my life’s work.” You told him, immediately turning your back to him. He only gave you a small chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh please. It was an average thesis that’s frankly, derivative and uninteresting. Not to mention your advisor is about to lose his job. You don’t really think it’s worth it just to work 10 more years on something new once the dust settles, do you?” He made broad steps to close the distance between the two of you, leaning over your shoulder. You had always known that the man was much larger than you, but it was the first time you noticed that it made you nervous. Perhaps that was the first time you acknowledged him for what he really was. Not as a friend or a lover, but as the Doctor, a powerful, dangerous man.

“Even so, I’m a student here at the Akademiya. I can’t pick up and leave just because you told me to. The answer is no.” You had to firm with him. If you weren’t, if you just went with him, you had a feeling that you would end up as nothing but a puppet, a pretty doll to look at for the rest of your life. What a shame that you hadn’t realized such a fact before it was too late.

“Is that so?” He seemed more amused than he was angry. You winced as he leaned against you from behind, draping his arms over your shoulder in a way that he perhaps meant to be affectionate but felt more imprisoning with his inhuman strength. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. You shuddered as you felt his breath against you , a pit of fear forming in your stomach that threatened to come out as a scream.

“And what are your plans as to what happens next? I’m sure that everyone would love to know how interested you’ve been with the things I’ve taught you these past few months. How interested you’ve been in that which you knew to be forbidden.” You froze at his words. Was… That his plan all along? To lure you in, and then blackmail you into never leaving? “Do you really think you could just get away with a slap on the wrist for this? Something as horrid as this, well, I doubt there would be must hesitation to sign your expulsion papers.”

“You… Why? Why are you doing this? Why me?” You could’ve help but let your questions tumble out of your mouth. You felt betrayed, but why? Shouldn’t you have always known the nature of this man? How he takes and takes, giving nothing in return. How absolutely foolish.

“Ah, look at that expression! How fascinating. I wonder, what else could I do to induce these emotions in you? Such lovely features being distorted with such despair…” He cooed, running his hand over your cheek to wipe away a tear. When did you start crying? You reached up to feel your own tears, attempting to brush the Doctor’s hand away at the same time.

“We’ll have plenty of time to look at more of your reactions once we reach home. I look forward to our continued work together once we reach Snezhnaya.” As his words reached your ears, you finally broke out of your fog, pulling away from the Doctor. You backed up a bit, but he so easily seemed to just step forward once more, not giving you any space.

“I don’t care. Even if I become an outcast, I’ll bare with it. I… I can *redeem* myself, I won’t just let you take me away to some lab in a bunker somewhere to do who knows what to me!” You shuddered as thoughts raced through your mind of what might happen. Of how he might cut you open, the fluids he could pour into your body, the *agony* he could cause for you only to stitch you back together. You knew of the consequences though. Why are you so surprised when the chickens come home to roost?

For his part, the Doctor only laughed, leaning down and grabbing you by the chin. His grip was hard, and in the back of your mind you wondered if bruises would form later. He forced you to look up at him, examining your expression with a sort of cold clinical air that you should’ve been used to with him by now.

“Oh, my dear… You act as though you ever really had a choice.”

Despite your best attempts, the dam finally broke, and you let out a scream as the horror of the man in front of you finally set in. You thrashed, squirmed, cried, begged, pleaded, did anything you could think of to try and escape this, this agonizing situation that you only had yourself to blame for.

And for his part, all the Doctor did was laugh.

#mine #writing #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #my writing #yandere x reader

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yanderelionwrites · 1 year

Text

Hairstyling - (Yandere!Nejire Hado x Reader)

A little Nejire drabble cuz we need more content of her 💙

Content Warning: yandere, implied kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, broken-in Darling

Word Count: 739

Nejire Hado yawned as she approached her home’s front door. Still dressed in her hero costume, she was so ready to crash on the couch and demand cuddles from the precious Darling that so dutifully waited for her to return home every day. Her batteries needed to be recharged and they were perfect for the job, after all. She opened the door with vigor, but soon became slightly disappointed at the fact that her honey had not come up to greet her. They had been doing it everyday so far, so what gives?

Upon walking further into her house though, Nejire understood the problem. There, on the couch, was you sleeping soundly. The periwinkle-haired hero practically cooed at the sight as she crouched down next to your face, forgetting why she was even annoyed in the first place.

Nejire poked your cheek and said, “Hey, hey, why are you sleeping on the couch? We have a bed for a reason, silly!”

You slowly stirred awake, hugging the pillow you had been holding closer to your chest. You cracked an eye open, peering up at your captor girlfriend. Mumbling, you said, “Mm…Nejire…welcome home.”

The hero patted your head and smiled. “Hey there, sleepyhead! Have a nice nap?” You nodded, sitting up so you could lean against the arm rest. “Good, because I want cuddles!”

Nejire lunged forward, capturing you in a bear hug as she nuzzled her cheek against yours. You laughed and tried to gently push her away, exclaiming, “Hey, wait a minute! At least change out of your costume first!”

She pouted, but reluctantly released you from her hold. She did as she was told, however, and was soon resting against your chest as you stroked her hair.

“Geez, Nejire, your hair’s a mess,” You snickered. “Rough day at work, I presume?”

She shook her head up and down and pressed herself further into your body, inhaling your scent.

“Want me to brush it for you? I could style it too if you-” The minute you made the offer, Nejire perked up, eyes twinkling.

“I thought you’d never ask!” She blurted, dashing off to find a hairbrush. When she returned, she sat down in between your legs and patiently waited for you to begin.

You grinned at her enthusiasm and began to carefully brush through the strands, making sure to be gentle when coming across a tangle. Nejire hummed while you worked, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment. She was glad that you were openly being affectionate with her. She remembers how just a few months ago, you were begging her to let you go. You refused to touch or even talk to her. But now, you’re doing much better and have settled into this new life. You don’t even know why you ever hated the idea of being here with her. Nejire couldn’t be happier!

“All done!” You stated, finishing the pigtail hairstyle you had chosen for her by tying the second one off. Running your fingers over her hair to smooth it down, it was now back to its soft and silky glory. She turned around and gave you a peck on the cheek, a wide smile on her face.

“Thanks so much, sweet pea! You’re the best!” Nejire vouched. Then clapping her hands together, she suggested, “Hey, I know! Why don’t I style your hair too? We can be matching! Isn’t that such a great idea?”

A smile grew on your face as well and you agreed. The two of you switched places, and you visibly relaxed when the brush scratched your scalp in just the right way. It was better like this; not having to fight and accepting Nejire’s love for what it is. Besides, this situation could be so much worse. You should be grateful for her.

You felt her tie your hair into place, tapping your shoulder to let you know she was done. Once you turned back to her, she gave you another kiss, this time on the nose. She dragged you over to a nearby mirror and squeezed you against her as the both of you looked into your reflections.

“We’re so cute together! Don’t you agree?” She asked, resting her head against your shoulder as she squeezed your hand just a little too tight.

You stared into the mirror, contemplatively. Her grin was infectious as it spread to your own expression. You nodded.

Yeah…it was better this way.

#yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere nejire hado #yandere nejire x reader #nejire hado #yandere x reader #fem yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #nejire x reader #fluff #stockholm syndrome #yandere mha x reader #my hero academia

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quiltedpomegrantes · 1 year

Note

Do you have any headcanons on what Wren, Alex and Whitney would be like in a relationship? I feel slightly ashamed I have so many ideas.

I have a lot, a ton, a million.

Male pronouns for the LI, female for the protag.

Wren is definitely not a good romantic partner, at least not at first. He's the type to want to sleep around. He'll always be apart from you with his jobs. But, holy fuck is he good at sex. You'll see him stare at others, driving you mad, however god forbid anyone even glances in your direction though. His fist will be connecting with their face before they can even look away. Wren's the type to need at least one part of himself touching you. Whether it's his hand on your thigh while he drives, or fully having you, sitting on his lap, in front of everyone he knows.

The Wren we see in game is young. I imagine him to be in his twenties, probably 25-28. But then, as he gets older, as you two settle down, he'll become the man you want. The kind that's always comes home to sleep in your bed. He's a tad old fashioned, wants you bringing him dinner every night. That's just how he was raise.

100% raised in the country. Few grades above Alex, probably went to school with their older siblings. Unpleasant childhood. His previous partners typically weren't serious, not like how he's serious with you. Every time Wren introduces you to someone new, you can tell if they've been together, carnally at least. It's all in the way they look at you. Whether it's how they look you up and down, evaluating your assets, or its how they always seem to "forget" your name. Nothing's ever gotten physical, perhaps only due to Wren's refusal to leave your side. Despite being constantly pulled away, when he's there, he'll want nothing more than to be with you.

-----------------------

Alex. My favorite. They want to take it slow. Not quite virginal, but sometimes it feels that way. His previous partners don't come up much, but when they do, they're typically from high school. Silly little girlfriends that he never got quite to third base with. But a few of the construction workers are a tad too friendly with him, and the cute young waitress at the diner seems to be a little too excited to see him. While he never fully takes a day off, for your birthday, the day will always start late, end early. His presents are typically practical. He's not great with his words, and he's never been particularly romantic but he's always trying to be thoughtful.

From the moment you two entered into a relationship beyond just fucking and flirting, you were his. His woman, his wife. Forever and always.

He wants to provide for you. Take care of you. Even if he doesn't take a lunch break, yours always come on time. Even if you insist. Nothing short of you bringing it to him will make him stop working. Granted, he eats like a pig during dinner. Always wants seconds and thirds.

He's a little bit of an alcoholic. Sometimes if you've been out for the evening, you'll come home to a slurring partner. One that can't help but slip his hands into your jeans or up your shirt. Alex's libido is uncontrollable at moments. Aggressive. Hips pounding into you, handprint bruises on your waist. Hairpulling and name calling.

Alex does want kids. But, until you two fully get rid of Remy, he can't justify having them. His biggest fear is Remy scaring you off, or worse. Sometimes, after an attack, he ends up just staring at you. Slightly afraid, extremely grateful you're there.

(Alex saves his cowboy hat for more formal occasions or riding, whereas Wren wears his all the tip. Wear the cowboy's hat, ride the cowboy.)

----------------------------

Whitney, my latest obsession. He's not the type to really do relationships. But he is, with you. Doesn't bring presents for holidays or your birthdays, but he'll remember them. Every Halloween, Valentine, and birthdays must be spent with him. Typically, presents, from you to him or him to you, are sexual. Whether it's your virginity for Christmas, or him eating you out for Valentines day. However, then you two graduate. You two move into a tiny apartment on the industrial side of town. Then, one Christmas, there's a present under the tree. It wasn't anything ornate or grand. Simply a necklace with his initial on it.

But it made you tear up a little bit. Made you two feel real, like the relationship just wasn't a fleeting fascination for him. You also cried over the guilt you had for not getting him a present. He was stumbling and stuttering, unsure of why you were crying. Years later he told you that he thought you cried out of hatred for the present.

From that point forward, there was always something under the tree. Or a box of chocolates waiting at home. And candles on the birthday cake.

He's never the touchy feely type. Honestly, his libido isn't egregious either. But when he wants you, best believe that he is going to have you. Even if he has to take it from you. You two have probably fucked in every bathroom around town.

Fights are explosive, emotional, over the top affairs that lead to slamming doors and cold, empty beds. But you two will always find yourselves back together. Maybe with a few sheepish apologies. You two haven't spent more than two nights apart since moving in together, and at this point, you never think you will.

Eventually, both of you will end up with a tattoo that signifies the other. He's a tattoo fiend. Only a few piercings. I'd imagine him as a mechanic.

#degrees of lewdity #degrees of cowboy #dol alex #alex the farmhand #dol whitney #whitney the bully #cowboy wren #dol wren

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ghostssweetgirl · 1 year

Text

crazy over you ~ simon ghost riley x reader

slow burn/enemies to lovers

taglist: @melaninsugababy @fruitymoonbeams-blog @copiasratscheese @wintersnnowie

description: y/n gets transferred to task force 141 and quickly becomes friends with soap and gaz, but her and ghost "hate" each other for the first part.

warnings: mentions of violence and death (duh), alcohol intake, smoking (at some point), nsfw (at some point), subtle flirting with soap. i'm new to writing? so don't expect this to be the greatest. this is not in line with the game campaigns or missions. the only characters i included are y/n, soap, gaz, price, & ghost. i have no knowledge of the military this is just creativity

disclaimer: i do not own modern warfare or any of its characters.

chapters: next [silly girl] last

You wake up groggy, still exhausted. You needed a pick-me-up, so you went to the kitchen and spot the coffee pot was halfway full, grabbing yourself a cup. You found an open pack of cigarettes that the group shared and grabbed one for yourself, indulging in one this morning. Walking to the small porch of the safe house, you spot Ghost and Price already outside chatting.

"Morning," you greeted them in your sleepy voice, which was somehow higher-pitched.

"Hey, kid," Price cheered his cigar to your cigarette. "Good job."

"Thanks, cap?" you accept the compliment, confused, but you laugh it off. You smile at Ghost who met your eyes with shiny, dark ones, softly laughing as well.

"You fit in nicely here, Diamond," Ghost complimented, using your code name.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," you proudly accept while finishing your cigarette, staying to yourself while they go back to chatting.

You look off into the distance, looking at the buildings, then the bright pink morning sky.

"You two visit Soap, n' then we'll celebrate saving him!" Price exclaimed. He puts out his cigar and walks inside, leaving you and Ghost alone on the porch. He walks over to you and quickly steals a kiss.

"Hey," he softly cooed.

"Hi," you giggle, batting your eyelashes at him.

"I love you, you know that?"he cupped your chin, looking over the beautiful features of your face that were heating up, your heart stuttering.

"Well, now I do," you smirk.

"Silly girl," he chuckled lowly, flicking his cigarette butt out before guiding you by your lower back toward the medic building.

As you visit Soap, unfortunately having a hard time recognizing him by his swollen face, he seems much better than yesterday. He had lost a lot of blood, so you're grateful he's still here. Fuck, you didn't have a gift.

Well, you had his missing dog tag, so that'll do. You felt bad because he had brought you gifts when he visited you, but to be fair, you were thankful yourself for them even showing up.

Ghost seemed to sort of trust Soap again, speaking to him carefully. "Glad you're alright, Johnny."

Finishing up visiting Soap had you feeling happy in your heart. You walk back to the safe house to see Gaz and Price in the common room and a bottle on the table. Honestly, it is kind of weird celebrating without the person you were celebrating but figured there could always be another celebration when he's feeling okay. God knows Soap'd want a drink after this shit.

Price cleared it up, though. "N' when Soap heals, we'll celebrate again! Don't worry."

You and Ghost sit next to each other and Price pours you both a cup of whiskey. Before you know it, you were a couple of cups in, starting to feel a bit tipsy. Ghost helped you up, walked you to his room, and laid you on the bed, getting a cold rag to place on your forehead.

He finally lays down beside you and you snuggle up to him, having missed his touch and being this close to him. You inhale his scent, which again, is like heaven in your nostrils. The mix of gunpowder, slight cologne, and his natural aroma was addictive. You get ballsy and rub your hands down his body to his crotch. His hips buck, but he sighs, gently pushing your hand away.

"You're drunk, babydoll. Get some sleep," he suggested, pulling your head flush to his chest, and resting his chin on you.

You felt frustrated, but you were also thankful. You would probably end up sick from all the moving around, already feeling dizzy. The coolness of his room combined with his body heat was a perfect, comforting mixture. You fall asleep soundly in his arms, in his room.

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dancingwiththefae · 1 year

Note

For the song inspired fic: yennisker + “like to be you” by Shawn Mendes and Julia Michaels, please? :-)

This is such a yennskier song omg

This is set during and just after 1x6 because its the perfect opportunity for some mild hurt/comfort and softness

CW for discussions of infertility, kissing

wc: 1k

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She had been avoiding him for most of the journey. Almost every time she and Geralt ran into each other, he was accompanied bt that damn bard. He grated on her every nerve. She'd made a point as they trekked up the mountain to ignore his presence. If she was honest, both he and Geralt were the last people she thought she'd run into here. Geralt didn't kill dragons, she knew. There was no reason for him to be here. And even less for his ever annoying shadow to be following behind.

But she couldn't avoid him forever. Curiosity was burning in her. So when she caught him sitting alone by the fire, scribbling nonsense into his notebook, she rounded on him.

“What are you doing here?”

Standing tall in front of him, she made a point to block his light. He looked up from his notebook and eyed her with mild confusion.

“That's probably a question you should ask Geralt,” he replied after a moment.

“I would, but I doubt I'd get a straight answer from him.”

She settled herself on the log beside him, internally pleased at the way he shuffled away from her.

“Well, I think Geralt is mostly here because of you.” He waved a hand in her general direction. “I'm here because...well I am. I came along with him because- because- we're friends I suppose."

“So that's it then,” she said in a way that didn't hide how she didn't believe him, “friendship.”

“Does there need to be anything else? You may be surprised to hear that we do in fact enjoy spending time together.”

She didn't respond. She wasn't really in the mood for trading barbs this evening.

“What about you?” The bard asked, breaking the silence between them, “what are you doing here? Surely a powerful sorceress has everything she could ever need. What could you need the coin for? Falling on hard times?”

“I'm not here for the coin,” she snapped.

“Oh?” he smirked in the way that he knew he was about to get a good story out of this, “then what are you here for?”

Yennefer hesitated. She could lie. Jaskier didn't need to know her business. Then again, it was a chance to shut him up.

“Fertility treatment.” The smirk wiped itself from his face. “Dragon hearts are said to help.”

“You want to be a mother?”

The audacity of him to ask outright. She was almost offended. That is if she wasn't already painfully aware of his habit of speaking without thinking.

“I would like the choice.”

His eyes flitted away from her.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know,” he said to the ground.

“There's a lot of things you don't know.”

She stood abruplty and stormed off, not bothering to wait for a reply.

***

She hadn't gathered her thoughts in time to portal away before Jaskier caught up with her. He wandered aimlessly down the mountain, face like a kicked puppy.

“I heard what he said,” she called as he came closer, “you didn't deserve that.”

The bard shrugged, defeated. He stopped right in front of her.

“I'm sorry you didn't get the treament you were looking for,” he said with painful sincerity.

“I'm sorry you were caught in the middle of everything,” she replied.

***

They sat together by the fire. Jaskier was surprisingly practical, building the fire himself and setting up camp. She didn't mention that she could have saved them both time with a wave of her hand. She had assumed that he had Geralt do everything for him. There was a lot about him that said he was completely unsuited to a rough life on the road. It had beena silly assumption in hindsight. Of course Jaskier travelled by himself at times. And he somehow survived before Geralt. He must have picked up a few pracitcal skills along the way.

“I was wrong about you.” He stared into the fire as he spoke. “It's kind of my job to put myself in other people's shoes. For some reason, I never thought to put myself in yours.”

She thought over what he had said. Perhaps that was it. They'd spent so much time at each other's throats they had forgotten that there was a person on the other side.

“I was mostly right about you,” she commented

The bard laughed.

“I suppose... I didn't know what it was like to be you. But I'm starting to understand.”

“Starting to,” she echoed.

“You are an enigma, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he teased. The way he held onto every syllable of her name made her chest tighten. It was only then that she realised how close they were. Perhaps it was the firelight, the way it danced on their skin in the dark. Or the way the silence of the woods made them seem like the only two people in the world. Whatever it was, it brought them closer until Jaskier leaned in to kiss her. It was soft and painfully gentle. She felt herself melt into him. All too soon it was over and the bard was looking at her with a mix of horror and embarrasement.

“I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that.”

“No it's-it's fine.” she pulled on the collar of his doublet to try and bring him closer again. His hand came up to cover hers. She could see how conflicted he was in his gaze. He'd stopped her from pulling him closer, but he held onto her tight.

“We're both just looking for something to soothe a broken heart,” he reasoned, though he sounded more sad than anything

“So?”

“We'd reget it,” he sighed.

“We won't know until after.” She leaned into him until they were inches apart. “A life with regrets is a life well lived, I always believed.”

Jaskier took a deep, slow breath. The hand holding hers let go and he brought it up to her face to cup her cheek. He kissed her like he would never get the opportunity again. Perhaps he wouldn't. But that didn't matter. They could regret it in the morning.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #yennskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #the witcher netflix #jaskier x yennefer #faye writes

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