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bluecollarmcandtf · 2 months

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Dads, Dads, and more Dads

I did something I shouldn't have! My buds all bailed on our night out, so I hit the bar and got hammered by myself. Somehow, I ended up blackout drunk in a fortune teller's shop. I remember crying about how much I wanted a fatherly figure in my life. She did this weird ritual to make me feel better. I thought it was a joke at the time, but I know now it wasn't...

"Buddy, get out of bed! Breakfast is ready!"

A pang of guilt empties my stomach. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling with absolutely no urge to eat. It's been two days since that fortune teller put a curse on me, and I have no idea how to live with myself. I obviously can't pretend her little ritual wasn't real anymore.

"Hey, Josh," I nervously answer, stepping into the kitchen to look at my roommate.

"Can't sleep all day, buddy. Eat up!" Josh gives me an endearing smile that sends shivers down my spine.

A few days ago, Josh was a lazy, rude asshole who was only good for paying his part of the rent. We were chill enough roommates, but he only ever talked to me when he wanted a second opinion on girls he saw at the gym. The guy was easily the biggest douchebag in our friend group, always showing off and making someone else the butt of his joke.

Looking at him now, I'd laugh! If only I didn't feel so guilty for his personality's erasure.

"Look at the time! I better get moving. That yard won't maintain itself!" Josh flashes the brand new watch on his wrist. The thing is clunky and old: the kind of wristwatch you'd expect a dad to wear.

"You know we're only renting this place for the semester, right?" I search his expression for any trace of the slimy old Josh, "The landlord is supposed to take care of the yard!"

Josh just chuckles and mutters something about wanting to impress the neighbors. He even has the audacity to reach out and tussle my hair. My face gets hot as a guy, only a month older than myself, treats me like a child.

That curse really screwed up his brain. When Josh found me the morning after, something just broke in him. He immediately jumped to my side and promised to help me nurse my hangover, and it didn't stop there. After he tucked me in for a nap, he drove straight to the mall, buying a whole new wardrobe of cargo shorts and polos. I thought he was just hitting the gym like usual, so when he came back dressed up like the suburban father he hates, I barely even recognized him.

"Have a good day, buddy!"

Josh ignores my protests and plants a big smooch on the back of my head before marching out of the kitchen. It was bad enough my roommate was calling me buddy! Does he really have to kiss me like that too? It makes me uncomfortable to see my scummiest friend infused with such insane paternal instincts, but this is kind of what I asked for. Right?

I slam the back door shut and look at my rusty old bike. Today is already getting on my nerves and I'm not in the mood to peddle all the way to class. Maybe, that guy next door hasn't left for work yet...

"Oh, hey there, Kiddo!"

The deep voice of my neighbor makes me relax a little. I see all six and a half feet of him climb out of the car and stare at me with the same look Josh had on earlier. He's a father of four, but ever since my night out, he looks at me like I'm him his only real son.

"Hey, Mr. Jones," I mumble back.

"Glad I caught you, Kiddo. I was just about to pull out of the driveway," he explains, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "You want a me to drive you to class today?"

I push aside my feelings of guilt and manage a smile, "That'd be great."

Mr. Jones beams back brilliantly. He claps me on the back, which knocks me a bit off balance. Before I know it, he's guiding me into his passenger seat and asking me to hold his briefcase.

"Just let me text work to let them know I'm coming in later than normal," he adds while texting on his flip phone, "How are classes going, kiddo?"

I shrug off the question with a one-word answer. Now that everyone's forced to act like my dad, I get asked about my classes like twenty times a day. My thoughts drift, but Mr. Jones keeps up the conversation, lecturing me about good grades or something. I don't know how a guy who barely knows me can have so many opinions about my academics!

"You know what!" I cut him off just before he starts reminiscing on his own college years, "Just drop me off at this cafe."

Worry lines form on his forehead, "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you the whole way?

"No. Just give me some cash."

Mr. Jones gives me a look of disappointment before shimmying his wallet out of his khakis. He counts off forty dollars and hands it over.

"Can I have a little more?" I press quietly.

Look, I know it's wrong to abuse this bizarre new dynamic between us, but I'm a poor college kid! If he doesn't want to give me his money, he can just say no. It's not like I'm holding a gun to his head!

"Sure thing, kiddo," he gives me a dry smile and pulls out a couple more twenties, "Don't spend it all in one place!"

"Ok, bye," I awkwardly announce and hop out.

"Wait!" his husky baritone calls from the car window, "You want a ride home after class?"

"Nope! Just go back to your own life," I yell stiffly. Even though I don't turn to watch him drive off, I hear his car pull away. It's just a car, but it somehow sounds disappointed in me too. I try to swallow the growing lump in my throat and step into the cafe for some much needed coffee...

"Morning, young man. What can I get you?"

The lump in my throat seems to get bigger when I see the waiter. He's a lot hotter of a man than I expected to find in this little cafe.

Already, the way he looks at me is shifting. That curse is transforming whatever thoughts he'd just had in his head. He's feeling more and more protective and responsible for me with every second he looks at me. At this point, I've grown accustomed to the mysterious effect I have on older guys. It's only been a few days, but I've seen so many random dudes go through this psychological transition. It's like they're discovering a new purpose in life: me.

"Uh yeah, I guess a cappuccino would be nice," I mutter with a dry mouth.

"You got it, young man!" he gives me a friendly wink, "Anything else I can get you?"

I know I shouldn't push my luck, but I can't help myself with this guy, "A hug would be nice! I've been feeling a bit isolated lately..."

The waiter instantly puts his pen and paper down and holds out his arms. His welcoming smile is gone, and a look of genuine concern waits for me, "Come here."

I practically leap into his arms, and he eagerly accepts me, pulling me into his chest like it's where I belong. It feels amazing to be held by this man, even if I don't know him at all. I could stay here all day if he'd let me.

"Seems like you're enjoying the hug," the waiter eventually chuckles into my ear.

For a second, I'm confused, but then I realize I'm fully erect and the waiter can definitely feel it poking into his waist.

"Sorry!" I jump back, searching for any other witnesses.

"Hey, don't be!" he assures me, "It's a completely normal part of life, ok?"

"You're not mad?" my voice comes out more timid than I expected, but I can't help myself. I just accidentally boned up someone who was trying to be nice. What makes it worse, is that he's probably only trying to be nice because of my ridiculous curse.

"Of course not," he affirms, "I can help you take care of it, if that's ok, young man?"

"What do you mean?" My face burns red hot.

"Oh, let me show you," he grabs me by the hand and leads me away from the table, "There's no need to be ashamed of any part of your body! In fact, this part can be a lot of fun."

I'm left speechless as the waiter gives me another fatherly wink, but I can't linger on what he's said. I'm being pulled into the men's restroom. I hear the click of the door locking behind us as he pulls me in front of the mirror, sliding up behind me. I can feel his chest on my back and his thighs against my ass.

If I was hard before, I'm practically bursting now!

"It's time you had the talk, young man," he calmly speaks in my ear like this is a completely normal thing for a waiter to do.

He starts droning on about men, women, sex, and where babies come from, but I'm not listening. I obviously know what sex is, and I think I'm having it right now. His hands slip under my arms and wrap around my waist to unzip my pants. My rock-hard cock bursts out of my jeans the second they're open, and a moan of surprised ecstasy fumbles over my lips just when the waiter gets to his point on male anatomy.

Does the waiter really believe a dad should do this for their sons?

He starts talking me through how to jack off. He must think I've never masturbated before, and I'm sure as hell not telling him that I have! Hearing him narrate every wrist movement, every ball tug, every nipple pinch is just too much fun! Before long, the waiter has me violently shooting on our reflections in the mirror.

"And there you go," he pats me on the back while I stand there stunned. The waiter steps back and looks at me like he's proud of the great life lesson he'd just taught me, "Now you know how to get rid of those boners of yours. Let me go get your coffee started."

I stand in the bathroom, collecting myself, as the waiter finally tends to my coffee order. This dad-curse the fortune teller gave me might be more fun than I originally thought. If I can get one daddy to randomly jack me off, then who knows what else I can do! Rushing out of the bathroom, I already have so many ideas flooding through my head...

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Sorry!" I shout.

In my excitement, I almost crash into the cafe's porter. A little less graceful, and I would have sent every single dish crashing to the floor. Glancing at the face of my would-be victim, I almost moan when I see get a good look at him. I can tell his head is already filling up with the same artificial need to be my father.

"No damage done," he assures me, lingering back to stare at me like I'm some lost puppy.

"Don't you...um...have to bus some tables or something," I breath nervously.

"Oh yeah," he frowns, "Sorry to get in your way."

He shakes his head like he's trying to lose the strange new thoughts in his brain. I stand there frozen like a deer in headlights as he walks away. He glances back at me before turning his attention to a cluttered table.

"Wait!" I yell, "Come back!"

The busboy drops the tub of dirty dishes and rushes back over like his life depends on it. The sight of this worried hunk running back to me makes me hard all over again.

I grab him and pull him into a hug, but his arms quickly take over and support me. Once again, my boner is rock hard and poking into the body of some random guy I just met!

"You have a car?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"You want to drive me around?"

"Of course!" he yanks off his apron and puts a hand on my back.

The waiter comes back around and hands me my coffee, looking at his coworker in utter confusion.

"Cover his shift," I demand, "He's driving me to school."

The waiter nods with an open mouth. He does look completely confused, but there's also a hint of jealousy in his stare. I think he's mad the busser gets to chauffeur me around: poor guy.

The porter doesn't seem bothered to be walking out of his job. He's busy smiling at me like I'm his whole world. I slide into his humble car and tell him where my class is. Before long, he's pulling out of the parking lot and driving me to school. I use our time to get to know him. I'm honestly not all that interested in learning about his life, but I do enjoy watching him talk. It doesn't take a while for us to get to campus, but before I get out I grab his hand and put on my best puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know when you get off work, but I'd love it if you came by my apartment. My roommate is trying to clean it up, but he could really use the help of someone more experienced."

"I love housework!" he just answers, "I'll be there!"

I snicker and slam the car door shut. I might be an hour late, but I'm finally here for class. It's time to give my professor a visit...

"Yeah, I can unbutton my shirt!"

My professor fell under my spell just as fast as the others. He had a look of anger when I walked in; probably from me skipping his class, but that expression quickly warped as he looked at me. Within seconds he was rounding his desk to give me a big old hug. Apparently, he "forgave" me for being so late.

"You like what you see?" he asks, gesturing to his hairy chest, "Trying to check out your old man?"

"You're my old man?" I ask, kind of surprised by the goofy smile on his face.

"Well, no," he bumbles, "But I am a strong male influence in your life! I'm like your dad!"

I nod my head like he's just made a really good point, "Oh. Then you probably want to treat me like your son. Right?"

"Yeah!" he holds his arms out to animate his enthusiasm.

Professor Reid has a reputation for being stiff and demanding in the classroom, so his new personality completely contradicts his true character. The man I know would never smile at a student, let alone bare his chest to them.

"So, I'm off the hook for missing today's class right?"

"Well," he pauses, "Sure."

"Can I skip the rest of the semester?"

"What, no. I want you to have a good education, my boy!"

I creep up to him and place my hands on his hairy torso, feeling the fur and the weight of his body. Professor Reid sure has a lot to hide under all those dress shirts he always wears.

"I'm just so lucky to have a daddy like you," I purr, "A daddy who's willing to do everything he can for me."

My professor grabs my arm and stares into my eyes. With a serious tone, "I am willing to do everything for you, my boy."

"Alright," I smile, "You should give me private lessons then..."

"What a great idea," he's back to grinning like an idiot.

"...and you should always do it in your underwear!"

"I can do that. From now on, I'll be stripped and ready before you come in!" He smiles at me like this is the best decision he's ever made in his life.

"Alright, now pull the rest of your clothes off," I command, "I want to see what the rest of my daddy looks like."

Mr. Reid doesn't hesitate to start stripping in front of his favorite student. I could probably get this guy to do anything now. I can already imagine our private lessons; me lounging in his leather armchair and him on his knees with his mouth full. Maybe that curse isn't a curse at all. Maybe it's actually a gift...

"Hey, buddy! How was class today?"

Josh looks tired from a long day of yardwork, but he still seems excited for me to come home. The lawn looks immaculate compared to our neighbors', and I have my roommate to thank for that.

"The grass looks great, dad."

"Dad! Woah!" Josh yells ecstatically, "Buddy, I can't tell you how much it means to hear you say that."

Josh sweeps me up in his arms. Apparently, it doesn't bother him to be the father figure of a guy only a few months younger than himself. It doesn't bother me anymore either. I kind of like that he smells like aftershave and bacon now instead of weed and sweat.

"Let's go inside, buddy. I'll cook something up for dinner," Josh says with a hand on my back. I'm already growing so accustomed to being guided around everywhere.

"Actually, I invited a guy to come over," I admit, "He can cook. You should relax. You got a lot of work done today, dad."

"I did, didn't I?" he smiles proudly, "Let me grab a beer, then. We can watch TV."

"Actually, I thought there might be something else you'd enjoy."

"You know me so well, buddy. What are you thinking?"

"You could bend over the couch..."

Josh cringes and shakes his head. Once again, it's like he's fighting the foreign thoughts entering his head.

"...I know how much you like to make me happy, and I really want to pound ass right now."

For a second, a look of horror flashes over his face, but it's gone in an instant. A bright fatherly smile spreads between his cheeks.

"That sounds perfect, buddy. Enjoy yourself."

Josh doesn't look away as he unbuttons his cargo shorts, smiling at me with love and devotion the entire time. He seems completely relaxed as he bends over the couch, and he only seems to become more comfortable as he spreads his cheeks apart.

Once again, I'm rock hard as I stare at one of my dads. This curse might have made me feel guilty before, but Josh said it himself.

I think I will enjoy myself.

Thanks for the ASK, Vebrendos

#hypno story #gay mind control #gay hypnosis #hypnotized #gay ai art #gay dad and son

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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erwin is the definition of dilf with no kids like this man is old school as fuck. definitely calls you sweetheart and honey. makes you tea with a side of ibuprofen in the morning because ain’t nothing old about his sex drive baby

look…LOOK! papa erwin? That man is from a lost breed of men we ain’t gone never see in our lifetime 😭 fine, rich and funny. This man SPOILS you so badly, it don’t make sense. Like you said, straight from the old school! I’m talking comes to the doorstep with flowers in hand and kisses it when he greets you. Ain’t no sneaky links or dating apps around him. If he wants to see you, he’s always weary of your time. Once you let him know that schedule is open, oh baby wastes no time preparing to woo you. “I’ve planned a wonderful evening for us. Reservations at that place I heard you talking about at eight and a boat ride around the city? How’s that sound?” And you just wanna cry because where did this man come from?! One thing about Mr. Smith, he stays looking good and smelling even better. Button downs, slacks, gold wristwatches and Tom Ford cologne. Never catch him looking shabby even on an off day. When you go out, it’s the finest that his money can buy. Top shelf wine, fancy entrees..the works. And there ain’t no $200 date debates. He gone run it all up for his lady. Bill splitting? Please. If you pull that purse out in front of him, he’d stare at you like you’d lost your mind! “(Y/N) sweetheart, your money is no good around me. What type of man would make a woman pay for a date?” The evening is literally perfect. The two of you explore the town from his yacht cause yes, big daddy got it like that! you already know. Holding you close and constantly pouring on compliments. It’s not until he gets you alone does that sweet, seemingly shy demeanor fades and that freak he’s been waiting to unleash on the right woman comes out.

you’ll be kissing all over one another, touching and being all handsy. Sitting on the couch in his spacious living room, where he gently disrobes you..layer by layer peeling off that sexy dress and even sexier lingerie underneath, you wore just for him. He’s complimenting you on your skin, telling you how soft and beautiful you are…ugh he’s the sweetest. But that’s nothing when he starts to lick and kiss on your neck, work his hands up your body and massaging between your thighs. You’d expect him to be into more vanilla sex…that even though he was absolutely perfect in every aspect, he had to at least lack in that department. Not the case at all! This man’s head game is literally lethal; putting it in his face and feasting until you start coming all over his mouth. “Don’t run from me, darling. I’m not done yet..” giving you a stern look with his fingers locked into your own. He folds you in about five different positions; from missionary to where he constantly dotes on how beautiful you are. Wiping away your tears when it becomes too much. “Just breathe with me, okay?” To giving some very heavy backshots and even hitting from the side with a hand to your throat. Mr. Smith is no amateur, baby! By the time you finished, your lashes are stuck to your forehead, you’re breathing heavy and have his sheets fucked up. He makes sure you’re okay, doing after care like no other man ever has. Wanting to ensure that you’re fine before you go to sleep. And even wakes you up with breakfast in the morning! Yeah, he’s husband material for sure.

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sinon36 · 15 days

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Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine

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biteofcherry · 10 months

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No better gift

part of Nesting universe

soft dark mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Steve likes the gift you gave him for his birthday, but there's something else that he wishes go. And he will take it.

warnings: soft dark Steve Rogers; established relationship; intimacy; some things are implied and some of them are kinky 😏

Sweet raspberry scent of your lotion soothes you as you rub it into your skin after taking a shower. It wasn’t exactly a tiring day, but exciting enough to have you craving the peace and quiet of your home.

Steve’s birthday was a rich celebration, though not like one might expect.

There was no grandeur, or flamboyant displays of wealth. No business partners to pledge fake vows, nor celebrities to take hundreds of photos with. Quite the opposite, it was a rather small affair with family and friends only.

But Steve’s family and friends are a bunch of joyous, often loud people. So despite the celebration being somewhat nostalgic - held at Steve’s mom’s place - it was a lot. From the laughter and teasing stories, to the small display of fireworks that Steve’s people organized.

What you have learned over the past year is that while they are lethal criminals, they are fiercely loyal and surprisingly loving.

And though it was Steve’s birthday, the true star of the party who stole all the attention was your baby boy. You could really catch a break and indulge (and Sarah’s cake was worthy of all the indulging), because others occupied him for hours. At one point you mentioned to Steve that he should find Bucky a girl, before Barnes really steals your kid.

All the fuss was exhausting enough for the baby that he fell asleep before you even got into the car.

Back at home, Steve told you to take your time in the bathroom while he puts the baby to bed. One of the things which surprised you at first, was how present Steve is - both for you and your son. Not only dutiful, but openly loving and enjoying that time. And watching him with the baby melts your heart each time, as well other parts of your body.

When you exit the bathroom, Steve is already back in the master bedroom. Half undressed.

His shirt is on the back of the armchair, the button of his dark slacks popped open, but the zipper still up. Your gaze appreciatively roams over the wide planes of Steve’s chest, taking in the outline of corded muscles and the few, ornate tattoos on his body.

Left corner of Steve’s mouth curls in a smirk when he catches you staring. He crooks a finger at you and your feet move on their own accord, stepping between him and the bed.

You lift on your tiptoes, pecking Steve’s lips sweetly. You’d like to maybe kiss him more, but your mouth also craves that huge slice of birthday cake which Sarah packed for you and at the moment the taste of it is kinda winning with the taste of Steve.

A little.

But you also want to cherish this quiet moment with him, soak up this warmth radiating off of him. You put a hand over his sternum, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart. Then slide your hand down his muscular arm.

“I hope you like your gift.” You tap the wide band of the black wristwatch on Steve’s wrist, shiny with novelty and black sapphires.

“It’s hard to find a present for a man who has everything. Or who can afford anything.”

You still consider it cheating, since to buy it for him you used the black card Steve gave you over a year ago.

“I do like it,” he assures you, stepping so close you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact with him.

He places a hand on your hip and skims his fingers up over the delicate fabric of your hand-painted, silk robe (Steve’s Valentine gift to you). He pinches the end of the silky belt between his fingers and starts tugging slowly.

“I love your other gift much more, though,” Steve’s voice drops to that low tone, thick as molten chocolate - and just as delectable.

“Other gift?” A small frown forms on your forehead, quickly smoothing out as a shiver of pleasure spreads through your body when Steve unties your robe.

Warm, calloused hand slips beneath the fabric, touching your naked skin. It’s a gentle, yet so characteristically possessive touch.

Over the months, even as your body changed with pregnancy and then after giving birth, Steve’s demand for your body never shifted. Not only it didn’t lessen, but at times it felt as if it grew.

He could be tender, especially when your body was the most sensitive, but there was always that control and possession; which both scared you and aroused you.

Your nipples harden into stiff pebbles as Steve’s fingers brush over your breasts, your breath hitching a note when he pushes the robe off your shoulders completely. His touch travels back down, more brazen. His blue eyes darken as he takes in your naked body, so vulnerable and all his to play with.

Hands flying to Steve’s shoulders, to keep your balance when he cups your tits, you gasp and arch. Heat unfurls in your belly in a wild burst as he pinches your stiff peaks.

With how Steve’s eyes are focused on the darkened nipples and his tormenting squeeze, you know he’s remembering how milk spilled between his fingers when he did that to you just a few months prior.

“I track your calendar, little bird,” Steve’s lips ghost along your jaw, as he slides his hands down your sides and over your ass.

At the brush of Steve’s lips over yours, your brain stops following the line of thought. You nearly whimper, chasing his mouth when he holds off the kiss.

“You’re ovulating.”

Your half-closed eyes snap open at his hungry tone. Shocked with the revelation and the obvious indication behind Steve’s words, you arch back. But you don’t have the slightest chance of putting any distance between the two of you.

Steve’s hands grip your ass and he hoists you up easily. A squeak escapes your lips when he tosses you onto the bed.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you watch him climb after you - a deadly predator, determined on devouring his prey whole.

The mattress dips under Steve’s weight and you feel yourself melting into the soft sheets, your pussy already weeping from the sheer sexual power of his aura. Still, instinctively your legs close. Steve yanks them apart.

He settles above you, heavy and warm, pinning one of your wrists down. His other hand slips between your thighs, nimble fingers teasing your folds and clit until your hips rock back against his hand, pleading for more.

“This will be your gift to me, little wife,” Steve’s eyes lock with yours as he pushes a single finger inside you.

“Swelling with my seed again.”

Steve’s triumphant chuckle seals your fate as your pussy clenches around his finger eagerly.

#Nesting #Steve Rogers birthday drabble #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x female Reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers imagine #soft!dark steve rogers #soft!dark steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

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Maybe some headcanons with Blitz having an S/O who's a big volleyball fan? :o Like imagine Blitz, his S/O, Moxxie and Millie having a volleyball match for fun

(I saw in your pinned post that you wrote for Haikyuu and Helluva Boss so I combined the two :3)

Oooh! Yaaayy! Let’s gooo. I love Blitzø so much! He is my favourite from Helluva! Thank you so much!

Blitz- Guns & Volleyballs

Blitz is a very troubled one. Having a lot of problems on the inside whilst establishing himself as a pure prick on the outside but when he finally willingly let you in, he dropped most of his self-defensive behaviours… around you

Blitz actually finds your little passion adorable. You’re a demon, you can do ANYTHING you want but yet, you chose a human sport? How precious

Blitz always falls on his face when it comes to your volleyball games as a result of him playing with you to cheer you up or to bond or to help you. He may dislike this but hearing your joy through those cute laughs makes the embarrassment change to worth

Blitz legit has a volleyball snuck away in his office so when you want to practice with him or practice in general, he’ll get it and toss it to you

Blitz is that type of boyfriend. Trust me, he may seem like the very cold and harsh type who wouldn’t be included in his partner’s hobbies but he is, even if he doesn’t get it

Blitz is already arranging a holiday for I.M.P and not even so they can enjoy a day off work, just so you five can go to the Envy Ring, go to the Beach in order for you and him can kick the M&M’s ass in a Beach Volleyball match

Blitz considers you, his lover and his daughter, Loona on the same level of importance to him, so he tries his darn best to make sure you and Loona get along. He even encourages Loona to try play volleyball with you. You’re her step-parent, you need to be liked by her

Blitz happily listens to you ramble on about all the volleyball facts you love and have memorised whilst you’re both alone and spending time together, and I swear to Satan, this man has never looked more in love in his entire life

Blitz believes himself as a good opposite hitter but he’s actually a real good libero. His childhood gymnastics and circus skills make him really flexible and let him cross long distances quickly so he can do digs effectively. His circus skills is the main reason you and him win volleyball games

Blitz will buy or make you cute little volleyball outfits. Your jersey, your professional volleyball outfit and you know it that he puts his name in a specific but noticeable corner on the inside so everybody knows you’re his

Blitz is naturally protective of you so when you accidentally collide with your teammates and it ends with you briefly concussed or when you’re genuinely accidentally hurt during the game. He is pointing his gun at your teammates to fend them off and carrying you off the court to look after you

Blitz will sneak you out to Earth, with his Asmodean Crystal wristwatch and disguise both of you, so you can play on Earth and try out human Volleyball. He’ll either play, as he honed his skills, or he’ll play your manager and take care of you after the match

Yeah. Blitz goes inbetween your partner teammate and your manager but he somewhat more prefers being the manager so you can shine in your favourite hobby

“Hey, Bae. How did the volley tournament go? Yes, of course, I went to it but I want to hear your view, ‘kay?”

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 16 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/sadie-bug345/747512319142232064/can-i-get-a-sugar-mommydaddy-gn-so-x-greasers

Twinning with @sadie-bug345 for this head canon go check out her super cool blog!! (The link is above!)

Headcanons for greasers x sugar daddy/mommy (aka super rich soc who buys them anything) s/o!

Ponyboy Curtis

-so grateful

-he’s not really used to having nice things

-but now he has you

-you make his day whenever he comes home to find a pile of brand new books on his bed with a sweet letter

-you also come to his house one day and look at his clothes are are like no

-you buy him a bunch of new clothes and he’s sooo grateful

-“I-I mean gee you didn’t have to do that.. I mean it’s wonderful and all but… wow”

-“I know, I wanted to.”

-he feels so spoiled oml

Johnny Cade

-the least used to having stuff done and paid for

-he wears clothes two sizes to small because his mom forgets to make or buy him new ones

-so when you come into his life and start buying him all this stuff

-new clothes, whatever he wants, a nice watch, fancy dates

-he’s so overwhelmed he doesn’t know even what to do about it

-he always says thank you

-he’s so cute about it honestly

-he also feels super spoiled and uncomfortable when you pay

-but he gets used to it after a while

Sodapop Curtis

-loves it

-like he enjoys it a lot

-he cherishes everything you give him and wears it all with pride

-jeans you bought him? New favorite pair. Wristwatch? He’s always wearing it. Fancy date? He’s gonna remember that for life

-he’s so proud and loves shopping with you, and sometimes feels guilty for how much stuff you buy him

-but he quickly gets used to it with reassurance

-he’s always grateful and always bragging about you tbh

Darry Curtis

-at first he refused to let you pay

-but after repeatedly insisting on it he finally gives in

-still only lets you pay for the bare minimum, a few gifts, a few fancy dates

-it’s nice that he can finally get things he wants without having to save up for months

-he appreciates it

-he is a hard worker and used to working for what he wants

-so having things just appear in the palm of his hand… it’s new

Dallas Winston

-nah because he does have such an ego

-refuses to let you pay for most things

-sometimes you sneak paying for dinner and he takes it as a personal offense

-then you have to apologize… for paying for dinner?!

-he’s so silly goofy like that

-also wouldn’t let you buy him gifts

-but if you did it would literally be like this

-“Dal… I got you a wristwatch!”

“I’m not really a watch guy, y/n”

*look of hurt* “Fine, I’ll keep it!”

*he yanks it out of your hands* “No, I want it!”

Two Bit Mathews

-out of everyone loves it the most

-he loves going out and getting new jeans with you

-you give him a shit ton of money sometimes and just are like go ahead

-he spent it on candy and a bunch of stupid stuff (same thing as @sadie-bug345 ) BC ITS SO TRUE

-like prank stuff too

-and food but like shitty food like fast food

-he would 100% spent it like he just stepped out of Fred and George Weasleys shop

Steve Randle

-also a heavy bragger

-loves it when you spend on him

-prideful like soooo much

-he loves it whenever he can fix your car in return when you buy him things

-it makes him feel less guilty

-you also bought him his first car, it was a real nice blue mustang and he’s in love with it

-he adds upgrades and things to it all the time and you watch in joy

-he’s lowkey hot when he fixes cars n stuff

#the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs #ponyboy curtis #Ponyboy Curtis headcanons #Johnny Cade #johnny cade headcanons #sodapop Curtis #sodapop Curtis headcanons #Darry Curtis #darry curtis headcanons #Dallas Winston #dallas winston headcanons #two bit mathews #two bit Mathews headcanons #Steve Randle #Steve Randle headcanons #urlocalnonbinarybastardwritesanswers

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starlightshadowsworld · 3 months

Text

The first thing Atsushi buys for himself that isn't food, is a wristwatch.

The wristband is white with black tiger stripes on it. And the watch itself is white with a black cat.

It's digital because he never quite learned how to tell the time.

Kunikida notices Atsushi messing with it and asks if he can see it. He sets it to the current time and tells him its a good step forward in being punctual.

Whenever they have some free time, Kunikida starts to teach Atsushi how to read an analog clock because he's noticed him struggling.

He doesn't know how much it means to Atsushi to be able to tell the time, but he can guess.

Kunikida ruffles his hair and tells him not for the first time he's glad they met.

#Idea comes from beast #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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mandoalorian · 1 year

Text

Look For The Light [Joel Miller x F!Reader]

Prologue: Part I

Summary: You are a hardened survivor trying to navigate your way in a post-apocolyptic world when you bump into an old friend who goes by the name of Joel Miller.

Warnings: the reader is slightly younger than Joel, say a 10-year age gap? All TLOU relevant warnings such as gore, violence, guns, drugs, and cursing. Joel has an anxiety disorder which parallels his portrayal in the games. Diet talk. Expect smut later on… [Please do not read if you are under the age of 18!]

Author’s Note: I can’t believe it has taken me so long to write a full-blown Joel fic. Those of you who know me well know that I became a fan of TLOU in 2019, just a year before I became a fan of Pedro. I was elated when it was announced he’d been cast as Joel and thus far, I am thrilled with his performance and the many themes of the TV show that have stayed true to the game/s. It is everything I could��ve asked for, and more. I feel as though there is no better person qualified to write a ‘re-write’ per-se of the game/TV show, and I aim to release chapters in time for the new episodes coming out.

Word count: 6,800 words.

Masterlist | Want to support me? | Listen to 'Look For The Light' on Spotify

________________________________________________

Sarah had been sitting on the patio since she finished middle school at noon, waiting for her dad to come home from work. Every school in the US was let out early today for some unknown reason. Government orders. But when Sarah’s dad called her at four-thirty and told her that he’d be home at nine, she thought little of it. This often happened, especially this season. With it just being him and Tommy, working on big contracting jobs often took some time, but Joel often reassured Sarah that it was better that way. Despite their constant brotherly bickering, Joel and Tommy were hard workers and made an excellent team. When Joel heard how disappointed Sarah was that he would be home late, he told her that she could take some money out of his wallet, which was located in his bedside drawer. He told her she could order a pizza and stay up late to watch a movie, and if she got bored waiting up for him, then she could visit their neighbours—the Adlers. They weren’t remarkable company, but they were kind people and they adored Sarah.

Sarah’s mind worked fast as soon as her father hung up the call and it didn’t take long for her to concoct a plan. If she recalled correctly, there was a cheese pizza in the freezer, so instead of ordering take-out, she opted to take her dad’s money and his favourite (yet broken) watch to the jewellers to get fixed. Luckily it wasn’t too far and she managed to get there before five, which was closing time. Sarah was elated that she was able to do this for her father. He always complained about his broken watch, and he was so busy that he was never given the opportunity to get it fixed.

She placed the broken watch on the counter, alongside a twenty-dollar bill, and she offered the gentleman who worked in the store a small wave ‘hello’. He was an older man with white hair and crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes, a sign that he’d smiled a lot during his lifetime.

“Oh, hey Sarah. How’s your dad?” The man, who according by his nametag, went by Eric, enquired while picking up the wristwatch and examining the damage.

“He’s good, thanks. Working late tonight,” Sarah hummed absent-mindedly while she admired the many antiques and trinkets which were dotted around the store. This wasn’t your traditional jeweller—but somewhat of a pawn shop where you could buy the occasional bracelet or diamond ring. “Actually, it’s his birthday tomorrow. Was hoping to get his favourite watch fixed.”

Eric chuckled heartedly. “Well, you’re in luck, kid. Looks like it just needs a new battery. That’ll get it ticking again.” After a few short moments, he returned the repaired watch to Sarah. Eric slid the twenty-dollar bill back over to her.

“No no,” Sarah surrendered her hands. “That’s your payment,” Sarah put the watch in her backpack. “Please take it.”

“Your father is a good man, and you’re a sweet kid—doing this for him. Don’t worry about the payment, I—” Just as he was about to finish his sentence, an older woman came charging into the front of the store, appearing panicked and dishevelled. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

Sarah identified the woman as the shopkeeper’s wife and noted her shaky hands and rapid movements. She was in a frenzy.

“We have to close the store,” the woman said quickly.

“What? Why?”

“We have to close the store!” the woman repeated this time shouting, and switching over the ‘Open’ sign to read ‘Closed’. She then turned to Sarah and grabbed the young girl by her arms. “You need to go home. Now.”

“Wh—is everything—” Sarah couldn’t even finish her sentence when the lady began to push her out the front door. Within seconds, the door to the store slammed shut and locked, and the blinds flew down.

Sarah stood outside the jewellers for a few moments, her brain trying to register everything that had just happened. It wasn’t until an abundance of fire trucks and police cars zoomed past her; their sirens were deafeningly loud. Sarah heard some screams in the distance and took that as her sign to head home. She hoped that her dad would get home at nine as he promised.

The streets were eerily quiet on the walk home, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Sarah noted the lack of cars on the road. She wanted to take her time to travel back to her neighbourhood—after all, her father wouldn’t be back for hours and she had plenty of time to kill, but the more she began to think about the things she had seen, the more she found her footsteps were speeding up into a fast pace.

When Sarah arrived home, she fumbled with the keys to unlock the front door. The sky was growing dark now and she wondered what she could do with herself to keep occupied while she waited for Joel to return home. Mrs Adler, the Miller’s neighbour, called for her, and Sarah turned to see the nice lady relaxing on the front porch, next to her mother who was much older. Sarah picked up the keys and pondered across the Adlers’ front lawn, and over to their porch, greeting Mrs Adler.

Sarah spent the rest of the evening with the Adler’s and their dog, Mercy. By eight-thirty, Sarah headed home, but not before taking ‘Curtis and Viper 2’ from Mrs Adler’s DVD shelf. Mrs Adler was fine with Sarah taking the movie. She described it as a boyish film, anyway. Sarah watched the movie and cooked her frozen pizza. By midnight, she found herself becoming increasingly worried about why her dad hadn’t returned home at nine like he had promised. Usually, she would be okay with it, knowing the nature of his job-- but with the strange occurrences that had been happening today, something felt off.

The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the velvet night sky. When Joel finally pulled up into the driveway, he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He wasn’t getting enough sleep, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the long laborous hours on the same damn job. Tommy left at nine but Joel stayed back for a few hours to tie up loose ends. At least now he was paid, and he could forget all about it. He remained in his seat for a little while, listening to the end of the radio broadcast.

“—Indonesian minister of health released a statement today stating that the government is doing everything in their power to maintain the spread of the Cordyceps infection in Jakarta.”

Joel turned off the radio and left his truck. His mind was far too preoccupied to understand the severity of what was going on in the world around him. As he sauntered to the front patio, he cursed himself for being home so late knowing that Sarah would have been disappointed in him.

To his surprise, he heard Sarah’s voice the second he opened the front door. She’d stayed up for him.

“You said you’d be home at nine,” Sarah grumbled, her lips pulling into a frown as Joel walked through the front door. Her eyes felt heavy but she had stayed awake this long, anticipating her father’s return. She wasn’t going to fall asleep now. Her determined mind stopped her from doing that. The young girl looked up at the wall clock above the television and her frown deepened. “It’s almost one in the mornin’.”

Joel removed his brown work jacket and brushed down his t-shirt before sliding out of his shoes and shuffling into the living room. The room was illuminated by the amber lantern on the coffee table. His gaze was immediately drawn to a little brown moth, hazily dancing around the lantern before settling down atop it. If he was in his usual teasing mood, he would have pointed the moth out to Sarah, knowing it would scare her, but instead, Joel just ignored the insect and slumped down onto the sofa. Joel spread his legs and leaned back, pulling out a yawn. What a day.

“I’m sorry kid,” Joel finally said, feeling a genuine sense of guilt. “Rough day. Bad traffic.”

At least that wasn’t a lie. The roads had been hectic, with people swerving chaotically and more sirens in the neighbourhood than Joel had ever heard.

Sarah hummed knowingly. She’d been hearing the panic outside too, and the news broadcasts on the television had been secretly terrifying her to the point she couldn’t bear to watch. Something about an infection from Jakarta having sightings in the city. Not much was known about it, but Sarah was just glad she lived on the outskirts of Austin, Texas.

She’d be okay and so would her dad.

That’s all that mattered.

“Sweetie, what are you still doing up? It is way past your bedtime.”

“Oh! But I got you something,” Sarah beamed and reached down the side of the sofa, bringing up a white box. Joel looked at Sarah with surprised eyes and held the weighty box in his hand.

He opened the box, not exactly sure what to expect from his fourteen-year-old daughter, only for it to be revealed that she had gotten his favourite watch fixed. The watch had been broken for quite some time and Joel, being the busy man that he was, never got the chance to fix it.

When Joel didn’t respond to the gift, Sarah interjected, feeling the need to explain herself. “You kept complaining about your broken watch so I figured…”

“I—honey, I love it but I think it’s broken,” Joel tapped the watch face and held it to his ear, checking to hear for its ticks. Sarah, in a panic, grabbed her dad’s wrist to inspect the watch for herself, only to see that it was working in perfect order.

“Oh ha ha.” Sarah mocked as her father snorted a chuckle.

“Where’d you get the money for this?” He inquired, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs.” Sarah joked with a smirk, pleased with herself for getting her dad a present that he truly liked.

“Oh good. You can help out with the mortgage then.” Joel countered and Sarah laughed, snuggling into her dad and resting her head on his lap.

“You wish.”

Joel turned on the television and despite it being late, settled on an old war movie to watch. Sarah hated those old black-and-white films, and it didn’t take her long to fall asleep. Taking his daughter in his arms, Joel picked up Sarah, carried her upstairs, and tucked her into bed. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Joel remembered just how lucky he was to have Sarah in his life. She kept him grounded—she kept him sane—and she gave him reason to keep going.

By the time morning rolled around, Sarah was the first to wake up, as usual. Joel pressed snooze on his alarm three times, before his fourth and final alarm—being Sarah—came into his bedroom, opened up the curtains and let in the blinding golden sunlight which enveloped him. Joel winced as he felt the rays burn his skin, and turned over, putting a pillow over his head in frustration.

“Get up, dad,” Sarah announced. “It’s your birthday and I am making you special birthday pancakes.”

The pancakes were more so for Sarah, but her dad’s birthday was the best excuse to make them. She’d make rainbow funfetti pancakes with cream and syrup and strawberries. They were her all-time favourite breakfast. If he was lucky, she might have even stuck a candle in the top and sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

That got Joel’s attention. “Birthday pancakes?”

“Be downstairs, dressed, in five minutes,” Sarah said before leaving her father’s bedroom.

Joel crawled out of his warm bed, the pancakes being the only motivation he had to actually get up, and pulled over the same navy blue t-shirt that he was wearing the day before. Buckling up the belt of his dark wash denim jeans, he shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I don’t smell pancakes,” Joel frowned. “But I do smell coffee.”

Already preparing her father’s daily black espresso, Sarah sighed. “We don’t have any flour,” she replied, just as disappointed as he was. “You must’ve forgotten to pick it up. I guess you forgot the birthday cake too?”

“Damn it,” Joel huffed, realising that hopping to the grocery store yesterday must have completely slipped his mind. “That’s okay baby girl, I’ll make eggs.”

Eggs were fine, but they weren’t part of her convoluted plan to give her dad the best birthday imaginable. Sarah supposed that it would be okay and that the both of them were still able to spend the day together.

Sarah placed her dad’s coffee on the table. “Your shirt is inside out.”

The young girl helped her dad set the table and poured out some orange juice before taking her seat and eating her breakfast. After fixing his shirt, Joel sat down and turned on the television before digging at his eggs.

‘BREAKING NEWS: Cordyceps Brain Infection comes from contaminated food, spokesperson says. Total number of infected rises to 5000.’

“5,000?” Sarah repeated in disbelief. “Where is this infection spreading?”

“Jakarta,” Joel replied, stuffing a mouthful of bacon into his mouth. “Heard about it on the radio yesterday. Those poor people…”

“What kind of food is contaminated?” Sarah asked, to which Joel could only shrug in response.

“I don’t know honey, but don’t worry. We’re fine over here.”

Just as Joel and Sarah were finishing up their eggs and bacon, they overheard the front door swing open.

“Well well well, happy birthday old man,” Tommy Miller strolled into the kitchen with ease ruffling his older brother’s already messy bed hair playfully.

“Old man?” Joel countered, dropping his fork to the plate and acting mockingly offended.

“Old. Degenerate,” Tommy corrected and Sarah stifled a laugh. “Hey, I thought we were having birthday pancakes.”

“No flour.” Joel and Sarah replied simultaneously knowing that those two words offered enough of an explanation.

Tommy grumbled in dismay. “Well, in that case, I’ll see you guys later.”

When Tommy left, Sarah and Joel erupted into a fit of laughter. Tommy lived in the neighbourhood so it was often he would just pop in for a few minutes only to leave again. Now that he had the day off, Tommy would most likely spend his day in a bar playing pool, or hitting on girls that were way out of his league.

“No but seriously, what are we doing today?” Sarah asked, clearing her plate and heading over to the sink to wash her dishes.

“Well I got to pop out to the city for a little while. I promised an old friend I’d help her with a favour. You remember your old nanny?”

Sarah beamed at the memory of her. “Of course! Can I come with you?”

“No darling, I won’t be there long. She just wants me to take a look at her shower. She’s got a place up in Austin now.”

“Nice,” Sarah smiled. “She always did want to move to the city.”

“I should be back in time for dinner, and this time I’ll grab a birthday cake from the grocers,” Joel promised. Sarah offered him a hug.

“Okay daddy, do what you gotta do. I’ll see you later.”

The traffic was even worse than yesterday. The roads that led into the city were filled with people who were seemingly fleeing, all speeding in opposite directions. There was an accident on the quickest route so Joel found that he had to go through back alleys and side streets in order to get there as quickly and safely as possible. He didn’t understand why the roads were so hectic, and his mind was too preoccupied with the thought of seeing you again after so long.

Joel wasn’t sure whether or not he had done the right thing when it came to rejecting the new contracting job that was proposed by a local business, only to take on a free favour for the girl who used to babysit his daughter. You had done more than enough favours for the Miller family; having been there for Sarah ever since she was a little girl. If Joel had to be honest with himself; you were as much of an influence on Sarah as he could’ve hoped for. Being a young, single dad had its difficulties and Joel’s job often meant that he had to work long hours away from his daughter. As Sarah got older she understood why her dad would have to leave so early in the morning and come back so late at night. He was simply doing it to take care of her.

But when he wasn’t around, you were the reliable force that protected Sarah and watched over her during the day. You took her to kindergarten and later elementary school. You sat with her during the late evenings, helped with her homework and even cooked her dinner. Despite the ten-year age gap between you and Sarah, the two of you had become quite close, and according to Joel, you were simply a terrific girl; well-mannered and gentle. Your personality had an influence on Sarah, and Joel certainly couldn’t complain about that. He was so proud of his daughter. That’s why Joel was prepared to do this job as a favour to you, much to Tommy’s dismay.

Tommy being Tommy, always had something to complain about.

“This is un-fucking-believable. You got to earn a living Joel—and I do too. You sacrificed a legitimate job to help fix Sarah’s old nanny’s bathroom plumbing. And shit man, you ain’t even a plumber.” Tommy was midway ranting to Joel on the phone when he pulled up outside your apartment. After moving out of your family home, you found a place in central Austin, where you were living with your boyfriend. The commute to work was much easier now that you lived in the city. You’d scored a secretary job in a corporate office down on Congress Avenue.

“We are doing fine for business,” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It was times like this when Joel would wonder about the fine line between love and tolerance. Tommy was never going to let his brother forget about this. “I just owe this girl some favours.”

“You just want to get in her pants.” Tommy snarked back, the vulgar words dripping from his tongue.

“And you better watch your mouth boy,” Joel warned, his tone darkening as he immediately found himself getting ticked off by his brother’s comment. Tommy was always one to jump to accusations. “Just a favour.” Joel reminded before promptly hanging up the call.

Joel slid his cell into his jean pocket and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since you moved away. He felt his palms get just a little sweaty with nerves as he approached the front door to your building. Apartment number 13. After a brief moment of coaching himself, Joel pressed the button to buzz into your apartment.

“It’s me—Joel—uh, Miller—Joel Mil—” where were these nerves coming from?

“Come up!” your cheery voice interrupted him and he heard the electronic front door click open. Joel said a silent prayer hoping that you couldn’t sense his anxiety through the intercom. He had forgotten to take his medication that morning.

Noticing the elevator was out of order, Joel had no choice but to take the many flights of stairs that led up to your place. The walls in the hallway were painted a dingy brown and several cracks laced the webbed corners. When he got to your floor, he wiped away the beads of sweat that laced his hairline and noticed that the door to your apartment was already wide open, beckoning him to come in.

He lingered outside for a moment hesitantly, peeking around your front room; but you were nowhere in sight. He scratched the back of his neck before calling your name. It would be rude to just enter your apartment without you knowing.

When there was no response, Joel called your name again. He proceeded to take a step into your apartment and shut the door behind him. It was very small; just a sofa and a small TV and a bookshelf in the corner. Your kitchen was adjoined to your living room, and there were only two rooms towards the back. He assumed one must have been your bedroom, and the other… he heard a rush of water running. The bathroom.

The door was shut and Joel took a few steps, calling your name as he got closer and closer to the bathroom.

“I’m in here!” you called back. “Uh—you can come in—but please don’t laugh.”

Joel quirked his eyebrow as he pondered what could be beyond the door. He slowly reached down to the door handle.

“Are ‘ya… are you decent?” Joel asked awkwardly, noting that the shower was still running.

Another moment of silence before your timid voice responded. “…I suppose…”

Joel pushed down on the bronze door handle and let himself into the bathroom, only to be enveloped by warm, thick, humid air coming from the running shower. His immediate response was to choke back a cough as he squinted his eyes, trying to navigate where exactly you were hiding. You were behind the fogged-up shower glass, on your knees and sopping wet. You made no effort to remove yourself from the running water, even when Joel had already entered the room. You were adamant you could get this fixed yourself.

“Damn it!” you cursed loudly, finally withdrawing yourself from the shower and crawling out of the bathtub. You were never one to give up easily, but meddling with this shower was like fighting a losing battle.

You looked up at Joel whose large hand was covering the smirk that grazed his lips. He was trying so hard not to laugh at you. His broad shoulders were adorned by a brown jacket and his dark locks of hair seemed to be adorned with just a few grey specks—and hell, if he wasn’t staring at you with the utmost judgement—you might have even considered just how attractive he looked.

“You good?” Joel chuckled, the corners of his chocolate eyes creasing with elation. You stood up to meet his level, ignoring the fact your t-shirt was now stuck to your skin and water droplets were falling from your hair.

“Do I look good?” you snarked back, narrowing your eyes.

“Well—” Joel raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you sheepishly looked down at your feet, hoping he wouldn’t catch your earnest reaction. “What happened?”

“Thought I could be all big and clever and try and fix this damn shower by myself,” you admitted, feeling silly for even giving it a try. “Thought that if I fixed it, I wouldn’t have had to waste your time.”

“Ah,” Joel nodded, stepping aside from you and hesitantly approaching the shower. A few stray streams of water jumped out at him. “You ain't ever wasting my time.”

You fiddled with your thumbs as Joel pulled out a wrench from his back pocket. Without hesitating, he stepped under the hot water and began to adjust the shower faucet, tightening the metal valve located under the head of the shower. The wrench kept slipping however and Joel ended up placing it on the side of the tub, opting to use his strength to tighten the valve. You watched as his grip tightened against the faucet controls, his biceps flexing as he let out a quiet grunt. The main flow of water came to a halt and the condensation in the room began to slowly fizzle away. Small drips of water fell from the leaky showerhead, but for the most part, Joel fixed your problem in just a matter of minutes.

Scratching the back of his neck, Joel ran his finger down one of the pipes that joint into the valve. “You might need to get your pipes checked, could be rust or—”

“Fungus,” you cut him off. “It’s gross, I know, but a neighbour was telling me she had the same problem with the faucet in her kitchen. Damn water wouldn’t stop running. She had some guys come around and they found this gross, fungus-type thing growing in the pipes.”

Joel made no effort to hide the disgusted look on his face.

You sighed, knowing you’d have to call a plumber over to investigate your shower further. You really didn’t need the extra expense right now. But then you remembered just how grateful you were that Joel travelled all this way to do you the favour of fixing your shower—even if it was a temporary solution. You walked over to the man and gently interlinked your fingers with his, your cautious movements taking Joel by surprise.

“Come on,” you said softly. “It’s slippery. Let me help you out of the tub.” You noted how your hand fit in his. It was much smaller, and even though you wanted him to hold onto you for support, it felt more like you were holding onto him.

Joel graciously took a step out of the tub, and you realised he didn’t need to hold onto you whatsoever. You took a towel from the radiator and wrapped it around his shoulders; a pathetic attempt at getting him dry.

“I should’ve brought a change of clothes.” he huffed, running his now empty hand through his short hair.

“I have something that might fit,” you smiled. “I mean—not my clothes of course, but my boyfriend, Michael… well, he’s probably the same size as you.”

Boyfriend?

It took a second for Joel to register the word. For some reason, he’d made the assumption you didn’t have a boyfriend. But then again, it had been a while since he last saw you, and now you lived in the city with your corporate job and your brand-new life. Just when Joel thought he knew everything about you, he realised that there was now so much more for him to learn. He followed you into your small, box-shaped bedroom and into the closet.

You searched through a pile of clean laundry that was mixed with both yours and Michael’s clothes.

“If you see anything you like, just take it. Michael won’t mind.” You offered.

Despite your assurance, Joel reluctantly knelt and searched through the pile of clothes. Amongst your many shirts, pants and colourful pyjamas, Joel finally found a light grey sweater and a pair of matching sweatpants to wear. As he pulled them out from under the pile, he couldn’t help but notice a lace lingerie set that was placed delicately underneath. Deliberately, at the bottom of the pile. His eyes were drawn to the piece and his grip on the grey fabric tightened as he imagined you wearing the set. The thoughts invaded his mind without choice and Joel cursed himself for not fighting them away.

He finally stood up and turned to face you, only to immediately retract back when he saw you pull off your t-shirt. Catching a glimpse of your bare back, Joel swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the poorly painted wall behind him, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable upon you discovering that he had seen you like that.

You had in fact told him that you were going to change out of your wet clothes too—around about the same time he noticed your lingerie. He was just too distracted to have heard.

Dropping your soaking wet jeans to the floor and letting them pool around your ankles, you pulled up your favourite, fleece-lined black leggings and wrapped your wet hair into a towel. Now dry and cosy, you turned back around to Joel who was staring at the concrete wall, waiting patiently for you to have finished.

“Joel?” you asked.

“Y—yeah?” Joel stuttered, clutching onto the sweats.

“You found something to wear?”

“Yeah.” Joel confirmed, smiling softly and showing you the grey sweats that he had picked out, almost as if he was asking permission—again—as to whether or not he could take them.

He was such a sweetheart.

“Perfect,” you returned his smile. “You can get changed in here. I’m going to head into the kitchen.”

Before Joel could reply, you left your bedroom and gently closed the door behind you, allowing Joel to get changed in privacy.

You opened up the refrigerator and took out a batch of chocolate chip cookies that you’d baked the night before. Heating them up in the microwave, you prepared them neatly on a plate and placed them down atop the small table that segregated your kitchen from your living room. Just as you were finishing up presenting the cookies, Joel exited your bedroom and you felt your heart blossom in your chest when you caught sight of him.

You were so used to seeing Michael wear those same grey sweats all the time, you hadn’t even prepared yourself for how they’d look on Joel. For the same garments, you’d imagine they would look identical—but you couldn’t have been more wrong. They fit on Joel’s body like a glove and tugged on him in all the right places. The light colour highlighted his slender waist and broad shoulders, and the way the waistband around his sweatpants was just ever so slack…

Joel cleared his throat and you felt your cheeks heat up as you snapped out of your daydream.

“Looks good,” You nodded your head with positive affirmation and then your eyes quickly darted to the cookies on the table behind you. “Cookies!” you announced, happy to have found a reason to change the subject. Joel shuffled towards you and eyed up the plate of cookies.

“Oh wow—chocolate chip?” Joel smiled. “Those are my favourite.”

“Sarah’s too,” you beamed. “I remembered. Would you like to try one?”

“I—I would love too,” Joel grinned and extended his arm over to the plate. But then he abruptly stopped himself. “But—ah, I’m on Atkins. And I’m doing so well…”

“What’s that?”

“Oh,” Joel grumbled. “Just this dumb diet thing. I’ve basically been cutting out carbs. Lasted nearly two weeks so far.”

Your frown deepened at his admittance. “That doesn’t sound healthy…”

“No, well, neither is this.” Joel prodded his tummy.

You wanted to tell him not to diet—that he didn’t need to. That his body was damn well gorgeous just the way it was.

But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Take them home for Sarah?” you offered.

“She’d love that,” Joel smiled and inched towards you. There was barely any distance separating you both now, and you couldn’t recall a time when you had been this close to one another. “Thank you.” His words were so genuine, so real, that they sparked butterflies in the pit of your tummy and you held back a smile. You held it back because, without any restraint, you’d be grinning like an excited little girl.

“How is Sarah?” you asked, looking up at Joel.

If you took just one step forward, your chest would be touching his.

“She’s good,” his voice had lowered an octave and that Southern twang in his accent became all the more prominent. “I’m sure she’d like to see you. You should come over sometime for movie night.”

“I—I would love that,” you admitted. Movie night with Joel and Sarah… just like the old days.

“She’s really into those horror movies now she’s getting older…”

It was like some kind of mystic energy was pulling you both closer to each other. It wasn’t conscious, and the movements were small, but as your bodies got closer together you noticed the way Joel’s voice trailed off into eventual complete silence. And then, like magic, the curve of his nose bumped into yours and you let out a small giggle. The proximity of each other felt so intimate and yet you couldn’t bear to draw away from him. You wanted him to touch you, hold you, bump noses with you again…

Joel’s eyes became dark and lust-filled as his gaze flicked down towards your mouth. Your eye line followed his and you observed his pretty pink lips that were framed by his moustache, all the same. You both wanted the same thing. He wanted to kiss you, softly and delicately—and he wanted to cradle your face as he relished the moment. And equally, you wondered what it would be like to kiss him, if his light stubble would graze your skin or if it would tickle you and make you erupt into a fit of giggles. You wondered if his hair would be rough and brassy or soft and fluffy.

You cautiously extended your arms and placed both your hands into his still-damp hair, threading your fingers through the roots to the tips. As a response, Joel closed his eyes and hummed in contentment, the vibrations in his chest sending chills through your own body. His own hands swung down to your hips and he bravely pulled you in closer to him.

Joel opened his eyes and brought one hand up to your shoulder and then gently cupped the side of your cheek. You leaned into his palm and he swept his thumb over your bottom lip. Bumping noses with you again, this time he did not draw back. You could feel his breath fan over your lips and you pushed your chest into him and opened your mouth when---

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The alert of Joel’s ringtone made him jolt back from you and stumble even a few steps further. You stood there, as still as could be, your brain desperately trying to piece together what just happened.

You almost kissed Joel Miller.

“Shit, it’s Tommy,” Joel explained. “I should take this.”

Breathlessly, you nodded, and all Joel could do was shoot you an apologetic look before flipping open his phone and holding it to his ear.

“Joel—Joel—I need you to come to pick me up. I’m in jail.” A brief moment of static buzzed through the line but Joel heard Tommy loud and clear. He wished he had misheard.

“You what—” Joel placed a hand on his hip, taking a second to process his little brother’s words. “Why the hell are you in jail, Tommy? What did you do?”

Your eyes widened when you heard what was going on. Tommy in trouble?

“I—it wasn’t my fault—”

“It never is,” Joel grimaced.

“I was at Linkin’s Bar down by the Creek and some guy just started attackin’ Isabella. Grabbed a hold of her and wouldn’t let go… so I smashed a bottle in his face. Knocked him to the ground. That showed the fucker.”

“Jesus Christ Tommy,” Joel sighed.

“You’d do the same,” Tommy called out. “Isabella’s only small, and she couldn’t defend herself. Anyway—I need you to come to the County Jail and bail me out. I’ll pay you back, I promise. I just can’t stand to spend another moment in here.”

“Alright, I’m on my way, but I’m in Austin. Will take me a while to drive back up that way.”

“Just get here quick,” Tommy practically begged. “I—I think there’s something wrong with the officer. He keeps twitchin’ all funny. People have been acting weird, Joel.”

Joel shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Whatever Tommy, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Joel put his cell back in his pocket, you placed a caring hand on his forearm. “Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s always getting into trouble, that boy.” Joel sighed.

“You take care of your brother. You’re a good guy,” you said softly. “Maybe… maybe we can plan that movie night for tomorrow, huh? I get off work at five.”

Joel smiled. A good guy. That was all he wanted to be. And making plans for movie night with Sarah? Joel felt a buzz in his chest. She would love to see you again. “That sounds good.” He said casually, trying to hide the fact he was beaming inside.

“Alright,” you returned his smile and then nudged his side playfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. And I’ll bring the cookies.”

“See ‘ya.”

Joel turned around and left the apartment without another word and you stood there, your heart racing, still reeling from what had happened just minutes prior. You’d hardly lost track of time when Michael came through the front door.

“Hey, who was that guy I just saw leaving? He kinda looked like me.”

Michael wished he looked like Joel, but you assumed that remark was made in reference to the outfit that Joel had ‘borrowed’.

“I—” immediately you felt defensive. Not that you needed to be, because technically, nothing happened. Was there any need to be defensive over mere feelings? “It was the plumber.”

“Oh. He fixed the shower?” Michael asked, stealing a cookie from the batch you had baked.

“Yeah—hey! Don’t eat those. They aren’t for you.” You warned, but Michael was already swallowing his first piece.

“Huh?” Michael chortled. “It’s not like you need to eat them, looks like you’ve eaten enough already.” He said with a snide look.

You felt your jaw slacken slightly at the comment and resisted the urge to tell him exactly just who this ‘plumber’ guy was, and how much you wished you had kissed him in that heat of the moment.

You didn’t respond but instead watched Michael eat two more cookies. Your lips curled into a frown, knowing you’d have to bake another batch, but at least this time they would be fresh for tomorrow’s movie night.

For the first time in weeks, Joel felt he was finally able to relax. He took the drive home slow and steady and turned up the car radio to drown out the ongoing sirens in the distance. The song ‘Future Days’ by Pearl Jam played, and Joel decided he would take up learning it on the guitar when he got home. Now that he had a few days off from work, he could put his feet up and do whatever he wanted. He looked forward to seeing you tomorrow, but now he just had to head on to the grocers, like he had promised Sarah, and pick out a birthday cake.

He found a red velvet one with buttercream icing, knowing it was more Sarah’s favourite than his own. Joel liked fruitcake but he knew that if he brought a fruitcake home for Sarah, she’d just sit there disgusted and pick out the raisins. He’d rather she was satisfied.

Joel brought the red velvet cake to the cashier and opened up his wallet, preparing to pay.

“I’m sorry sir,” the lady behind the desk said. “I can’t sell you this. I’m afraid all wheat-based products are being recalled due to the Cordyceps Brain Infection.”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment. “The Cordyceps--? I thought that was all the way in Jakarta?”

“You haven’t heard--?”

Just then, alarms began ringing in the grocery store and an automated voice boomed through the speakers. The cashier froze and her eyes widened as soon as she recognised the voice. “This is an automated message. This is a red alert warning from the United States government and the CISA. Please stop what you are doing and return home immediately. Lock your doors. Do not let anyone inside.”

The message repeated repeatedly, and the entire store erupted into a panic; including the cashier standing before Joel.

“What the hell is happening?” Joel asked, his gaze darting around the store. He watched a stampede of people head towards the fire exit, clambering and yelling frantically.

“You have to go.” The cashier replied before running off into the crowd.

Joel headed towards the entrance, thinking he could leave that way where it was less crowded. He had no comprehension of what was happening, but he knew for certain he wouldn’t leave Tommy behind.

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

Prologue: Part II

#Joel miller #Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #smut

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redmyeyes · 3 months

Note

Hey Red! It's Tim's watch anon again! So, I think I've found it ahgairgairtgiart. I went down a hole and did a reverse image search on Google lmao. Prepare for some infodumping!

I really think it's either a Timex self-wind watch like this one https://cdn.watchcharts.com/listings/eb578671-c4fa-46e1-8d77-0ddfccfa4714.jpg or a Timex automatic watch like this one https://www.watchrepairtalk.com/uploads/monthly_2020_05/20200331_104721.jpg.f1f0b0e48234c80ce990c78230b6f557.jpg based on how the numbers alternate with the dashes. Apparently, the Timex watch was released in 1950. I'll bet Tim either treated himself to a new watch as a college graduation present in 1951/52 or it was gifted to him by his grandmother. Or his dad. (Unrelated, I really want to know about Tim's relationship with his dad.)

According to an article I found online (because I'm a fucking nerd), "the Timex watch would be the cheapest watch on the market, thanks to clever manufacturing practices and those wartime innovations". I really think this fits in with Tim's background because he wouldn't want some big, gaudy watch that looked good. He would want something that's practical and will last him a long time. (Also, the article says the Timex watch “takes a licking and keeps on ticking.” Is that not Tim?)

Also, in the article, which is here https://www.heddels.com/2019/08/cheap-tick-history-timex-watches/ in case you want to read it, there's a picture of a watch that's just like Hawk's. Imagine if they got to have matching watches if things had gone differently. Wow.

Which brings me to Hawk's watch! artgiartaoirtoart. Considering we saw it close up when he was practicing for the polygraph, it was an easy find. He had a Bulova military automatic watch https://www.ebay.com/itm/185976377415. Apparently, it wasn't the Most Expensive Brand™ but it supplied wristwatches as "official gear" to the American troops during World War 2. So. Specifically, it's called a "Hack" watch, which is a "reference to the hacking seconds function that permitted soldiers to synchronize their watches for coordinated timekeeping on missions." If that isn't Hawkins Fuller in a personal possession, I don't know what is.

Anyways, this was fun aortiotairotirot. I feel like I have a peace of mind knowing what their watches are? Lmao. I may need to go track down Tim's 70s watch. Watch this space.

anon, I LOVE YOU. and i am madly impressed with your research skills (coming from a research librarian, lol)

(re-posting the images here so everyone can see)

anon, you found it, it's perfect!!! and i love the self-wind option for tim, i think he would've loved the self-discipline of it. also really love the idea that it was a college graduation present. (something something tim wearing gifts from the people he loves). you're right though, it suits tim so well -- simple, elegant, functional, long-lasting.

and hawk's!

"Hawkins Fuller in a personal possession" lmao, you're so right. the costume/props department did such an amazing job on both of them!

"Imagine if they got to have matching watches if things had gone differently. Wow."

anon, this is my new headcanon. they lived every day of their lives together, and when tim's old watch finally broke, hawk persuaded Tim to let him buy them both matching new ones. more proof (without rings) that they belong to each other. <3

#thank you again for this! amazing work!#i love getting lost in these tiny details #the fact that someone CHOSE these watches for hawk and tim and they're PERFECT makes me 😭#fellow travelers #ft meta #asks

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bubuslutty · 1 year

Text

Day 2: I 💜 DILFS

All Parts

pairing: angel/demon fem!reader x 141

word count: 2.2k

tags: semi-canon compliant, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Angel', 3rd person pov, minimal description of appearance, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warning: none

summary: This is day 2 of meeting 141 and Angel starts her assignment, officially.

a/n: can u tell im British when reading? sometimes I accidentally spell words in the American way cuz English is my third language but I swear I live in the UK 😀

It was Saturday, and Angel didn't have to be anywhere. After getting settled in her new home, she woke up excited to start her assignment officially. She stared at her huge wardrobe and at the ridiculous amount of accessories. Hands on her naked hips and hair sticking to her face and neck, she was humming while her cat, Kuromi, was making biscuits on the unmade bed.

“What should I wear today?” She mused out loud, the sunlight coming from her bedroom window warming her semi-wet skin pleasantly. She grabbed a very short jean skirt and held it in front of Kuromi, “What about this?” She asked, laughing.

“You’re right, this is not very grocery shopping friendly.” She nodded, putting the skirt away and grabbed a pair of baggy jeans, underwear and stopped herself before reaching for a bra. Her eyes landed on a cropped t-shirt that fit her like a glove. She grinned while holding the garment in front of her, “Oh, yeah, I’m wearing you today, and no bra.”

Angel giggled, while Kuromi was busy playing with a loose thread she found on the floor.

“Alright, lads, who wants to go to Tesco with me?” Price asked while wearing his wristwatch, already dressed to go out.

“Me!” Gaz exclaimed, looking up from his phone on the couch and running upstairs to get his hoodie and a jacket.

“Ghost, are you going?” Soap asked the man, who was watching a random show on the TV.

“No, are you?” Ghost said, looking over at the man.

“Yeah, I want some snacks. They provided us with old people food before sending us here, no offence, Captain, I want some chocolate and biscuits.” Soap complained, slipping on his jacket, making Ghost chuckle.

“Fuck off, Johnny.” Price said, without looking up from checking his wallet.

“D’you need anything, Simon?” Gaz asked when he walked back down, fixing his hood over his head and checking he had his phone on him.

“No, thanks, Gaz.” Ghost shook his head and shifted his attention back to the TV.

“Alright, if you need anything, call us. Let’s go.” Price said to Ghost who hummed in acknowledgement and the three walked out of the house, closing the door behind them.

“I call dibs on the passenger seat!” Soap quickly said, making Gaz laugh, the two walked towards the car in their driveway before Price’s voice made them look back.

“You’re alright, there?”

Price was standing with the car keys in his hands, looking at his very attractive neighbour, who was frowning down at her phone, standing in front of her door dressed so much more casually than the first time they met.

When Angel heard him, she lifted her head and immediately smiled, “Oh, hi! I’m just trying to get myself an Uber but the app’s acting up.”

“Where are you going? Maybe we can drop you off if it’s on our way...” Price suggested, and completely missed how both Gaz and Soap glanced at each other, smirking.

“Aw, that’s so sweet. But I’m just going to Tesco’s, I need to buy a few things so don’t bother yourself with that, I can try again on the app.” Angel said, sheepishly laughing.

“Oh, we’re going there too!” Soap loudly said, making Gaz grin when Price took a deep breath.

“Yeah, we also need to buy a few things, come with us!” Gaz said, grinning and looking at his Captain then his hot neighbour.

“That would be amazing! if you don’t mind of course.” Angel said, looking at Price and his eyes widened, "Why would I mind? Come on, get in."

When Price unlocked the car, Soap opened the passenger's seat door wide and spread one of his arms, "Please, allow me." He said in an overly posh accent which made Angel laugh.

"Thank you, Johnny." She smiled and got in, buckling herself in.

When everyone buckled in, Price started the car and drove out of the driveway. "Which Tesco's are we going to, by the way?"

"We're going to take the M25 and go to the one outside the area. Is that alright?" Price said, stealing a quick glance at the woman seated next to him.

"Wait, isn't that far? Aren't we in inner London?" Angel frowned, confused.

"No, love. We live in the outer circles, it's only going to take us 20 minutes to get there if there's no traffic." Price said.

"Sorry, first time living here." Angel apologised, feeling sheepish.

"It's alright, you don't have to apologise." Price said, making her smile.

"Sorry to interrupt, but am I dreaming or does your t-shirt say 'I heart DILFS'?" Soap asked, leaning forward from his seat at the back.

Both Gaz and Price seemed to be taken back by the question and also very surprised. Angel glanced down at her t-shirt and smirked, "Yeah, it does."

Right as the words left her mouth, Gaz started laughing and Soap had a stupid grin on his face. "That's an interesting choice of clothing, don't ya think?"

"I bought it as a joke.." Angel said, glancing at Price.

"But do you actually love dilfs? That's the most important question, don't ya think so, Captain?" Soap asked, radiating mirth and mischief.

Price glanced at the rear-view mirror and glared at Soap, who didn't seem to be intimated one bit.

"I don't know, maybe?" Angel shrugged while wearing a grin.

Then Angel felt a little evil all of a sudden, and cleared her throat, "Do you know what a dilf is, John?"

In reality, she wore that t-shirt because it reminded her of John. She knows he doesn't have children, he's not even married, never was for that matter. But in the mortal realm, young humans are fascinating on the Internet. Angel when she's bored, she opens up her laptop and accesses the servers on the planet, and sees what they're up to.

Imagine her surprise when she witnessed young mortals calling older celebrities, both men and women, dilfs and milfs just because they were older and attractive. They often claim the label doesn't necessarily mean the said person is a father or mother. Most of the time, it's just pure vibes, and it's honestly just for shits and giggles.

She bought the t-shirt a while back, before even getting her task force 141 wish assignment, and was surprised to find that John Price, could be in fact, considered a dilf.

John isn't even old, he's 37 and would look so much younger than he actually was if he didn't go through so much stress and difficult work for so many years. Either way, Angel isn't even bothered by his age because at the end of the day, she was older than all of the men, ages combined. But obviously didn't look like it, due to her immortal nature. Her files say she's 25 this time, so there's that.

"How can I not? You learn all sorts of new things when you're around someone like Johnny." He said and heard Soap gasp at the back, offended and demanding what did that mean.

Angel grinned at that and remembered to ask them something. "I have a question; Why did Johnny call you captain?"

"We work together." Price answered while Gaz and Soap were watching them in silence.

"Can I guess what work you do?" Angel grinned. She already knew their occupation, but she had to ask, had to play her cards right, use everything to get closer to them and build a mutual trust between them.

"Alright, guess." Price shrugged.

"Okay, uhm, are you….. Rugby players?!"

All three men seemed surprised at her guess, "Rugby players? Haven't heard that one before." Gaz said.

"I mean Rugby teams have a captain, right?" Angel mused.

"Aye, they do." Soap confirmed.

"And you're all very big and strong, so it's very likely you're part of a rugby team." Angel said proudly, with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Ah, makes sense." Gaz nodded, grinning. He imagined his team and himself in the field, wearing tight jerseys and shorts, knees muddy and sweating. It would be fun, playing all together in the base against the rookies to encourage teamwork and healthy competitiveness.

"We'd make a killer team, no?" Soap looked at Gaz who nodded.

"We're not a Rugby team." Price chuckled, making Angel's smile drop.

"You're not? What a shame. Well, I only had two guesses, so that only leaves me with one." Angel pouted.

"What is it?" Gaz asked, looking at her cute frown and shiny pink lips.

"Pirates.." She mumbled, glancing at Price who started laughing.

"Pirates? Why?" Soap laughed.

"First of all, you call him captain, and your said captain has a beautiful beard, not to be stereotypical or anything.." Angel explained making Gaz grin.

"My beard?" Price said, running a hand through it.

"You laughed, so I'm going to assume I was wrong." She said, acting slightly frustrated at guessing wrong.

"You do have a beautiful beard, Captain." Soap smirked, reaching at the front to squeeze the man's shoulder.

"If you said, marines, you would still be wrong but still close." Gaz said, making her eyes widen.

"Really?"

"We're in the army, special forces." Price finally said, glancing at the civilian woman next to him.

"Okay, yeah, my guesses were very wrong." Angel blushed, embarrassed.

Now that they revealed their occupation by themselves, she can get to reveal her occupation and make them share their nicknames. She knows that they're only living next to her for work, for random short breaks, away from their families. And she knows they would prefer for her to use their field names, to protect their privacy but also her, as a civilian, to some extent. The only reason they haven't given them to her yet is to not weird her out. But they'll get to it, Angel will make sure of it.

"Are all of you special forces? Even Simon? Speaking of which, is he alright?" Angel asked and watched them tense up a bit and internally smirked, they're protective.

"What do you mean is he alright?" Soap asked, raising a brow. He thinks she's talking about his mask, maybe thinks she sees Simon as weird. Even though that's ridiculous, he was wearing a surgical mask when she first saw him, and normal people would probably assume he had a cold and didn't want to pass it on. But she knows Ghost's team is used to him wearing his skull mask more often than not, and probably forgot he wasn't wearing one that day.

How adorable are they?

"All of you are out except him." Angel said, voice brimming with innocence and genuine concern.

She noticed how the tension left their bodies and looked at Price for explanation.

"He's alright, just wanted to rest at home. And to answer your question, yes we're all in special forces, we're just here for work." Price said, making her nod.

"What do you do for a living?" Gaz asked, changing the subject.

"I'm a sex therapist and PhD student." She said.

"That's amazing! What's your field of research?" Price asked, glancing at her and back at the road.

"Psychology." Angel revealed, smiling proudly.

The funny thing about realising wishes, is that lying becomes so easy. You get given a scenario to follow, a character to study and become. And then manage to slowly become that character to the point where your reactions are genuine while your mind is fully aware that you're not who you say you are. It's an act, and a really good one at that.

You're even incapable of feeling guilty over lying to humans. Because Wish angels are gifted with powers that allow them to achieve almost anything and everything. I lied about knowing the Royal family? The Wish Office will temporarily tamper with history, memory and fate and manage to make you exist in the mind of the royals, as if they always knew you. It's an incredible power, completely able to create and destroy anything and everything.

But luckily, Wish angels have no interest to mess up with the humans beyond realising their wishes. They can tamper with time and memory, but after their assignment is completed, everything will return to normal, with the exception of the realised wish.

And so far, Angel hasn't felt the need to use any of her powers on the men. And she doesn't think she will any time soon.

"That's very impressive, the dedication you have is admirable." Gaz said and Johnny agreed, nodding.

Angel flushed at the compliment, "I'm just trying my best, but thank you either way."

The car was enveloped in comfortable silence, the big superstore now in view when Soap spoke.

"Why do you prefer Angel instead of Angela?"

Angel smiled, "There was a girl who had the same name as me back in primary school, and since then, I was always called Angel to differentiate us. It feels natural to be called Angel, instead of Angela. That's what I prefer at least."

"Well, in that case call me Soap." Johnny said, grinning.

"Soap.. It's nice, you have to tell me the story behind it one day." She smiled.

"Maybe." Soap winked.

"Call me Gaz instead of Kyle, please." Gaz added.

"Of course, Gaz is a pretty name." Angel turned to look at the man who flushed.

"What about you, Captain?" Angel turned to Price as he parked the car in the huge parking lot in front of Tesco.

"You can just call me John." He said, smiling at her.

"And Simon?"

"Simon will tell you his own nickname."

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay

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meaninglessblah-writes · 8 months

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Jason is Slade's sidekick. Dick is Bruce's sidekick. Jason is perpetually ribbing Dick for his morning walks of shame out of Slade's lair apartment. So he's mortified when Dick catches him trying to drop off the second storey balcony after a night with Bruce.

"Oh," the voice above him purrs, dragging out to an obnoxious number of syllables. "This is just rich."

Jason's head whips up, pinpointing where Dick leans against the balcony railing, cutting an impressive figure in the stark moonlight. The wind tugs the hair away from those burning blues eyes, that smug smile out in full force as he leers down at the caught rogue.

Jason clings tightly to the railing bars, and feels his face wash white. "It's not what it looks like."

Dick cradles his cheek in one palm, elbow propped up on the balustrade. "Oh, I'm so ready to hear this. Do tell me why you're sneaking off Bruce's juliette balcony at three in the morning."

For all his careful planning and desperate stalling, Jason hadn't actually taken the time to think up an excuse for why he's clinging to the side of Wayne Manor in the wee hours of the morning. It's the sort of short-sightedness Slade would cuff him over the head for, but if Jason can play his cards right, maybe Slade won't ever need to find out.

"I'm robbing him," Jason blurts out.

"Of what, his virginity?"

Jason's nose scrunches. "Bruce isn't a virgin."

Dick's grin grows monumentally. "Happy to verify that, are you?"

Jason opens his mouth, recognises the trap, and firmly closes it. "I stole his watch." It's partially true.

Dick hums in disagreement. "A thief like you had to climb all the way into Bruce Wayne's bedroom to steal a wristwatch? The calibre of pickpockets just ain't what it used to be."

He levels a glare at the older boy, abruptly defensive. "You're one to talk. How many times have I caught you slinking out of Slade's apartment?"

"And you've tormented me each and every time," Dick acknowledges. "So I'm sure you can understand why I plan on milking this opportunity to expose your hypocrisy."

"Or," Jason bargains, forlornly hopeful, "you could bond with me over this shared embarassment."

Dick pauses to consider, but Jason doesn't buy the act for a minute. "No, I think I'm going to enjoy threatening you first."

Jason winces, knuckles tight on the metal bars. "Please don't tell Slade."

"You're supposed to say that after I threaten to tell him."

"I didn't squeal to Bruce," Jason points out with the flash of a glare in Dick's direction. "Don't snitch on me."

"Who said anything about snitching? I think you and I can build a beautifully mutually beneficial relationship out of this."

Jason's, "Go on," is hesitant.

"Harder for both our mentors to catch either of us if they're both occupied," Dick proposes, waggling his brows for emphasis. "So how about, I text you when I want you out of the apartment. And you text me when you want me out of the manor. And we both learn to read between the lines, hm?"

"You want me to booty call you," Jason deadpans.

Dick snorts, and manages to look aggravatingly good-looking doing it. "Of a sort, yes."

Jason doesn't trust Robin as far as he can throw him, and he supposes the feeling is more or less mutual. This isn't a relationship built on trust, and the convenience will only last as long as neither of them get caught.

But those are better odds than what Jason's playing with right now.

"Give me your phone," Jason bites out, and Dick fishes into the back pocket of his jeans for his cell, promptly handing it over.

Jason tucks in close to the railing with one arm, manoeuvring until he can punch his number into Dick's contact list under Ravager.

"If you text me for any other reason," Jason warns, handing back the phone, "this deal is over. I'm not your friend, Robin."

Dick gives him a two finger salute, and then offers his open hand.

Jason doesn't take it. "What's that for?"

"I'm giving you a hand back up," Dick purrs. "I'm heading out, so you need to get in there. If you catch my drift."

"Oh my god," Jason sneers. "I hate you."

But he takes the proffered hand and lets Dick haul him up onto the balcony, watching the vigilante hook a leg over the railing he's just scaled.

"I'll be back around six. Keep him occupied for me. I'll owe you one," he says with a wink, and throws himself into the night.

Jason thinks this is the beginning of a terrible relationship.

#meaninglessblah rambles #dick grayson #jason todd #dick grayson/slade wilson #jason todd/bruce wayne

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legalkimchi · 5 months

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Sometimes I hate the world.

So I love wristwatches. It started when I found myself working at a mall jewelry story around the recession of 2006. Staring at them for hours, I started to appreciate them. I marvel at the engineering behind them and the artistry of watches. Many luxury watches are hand made by skilled watchmakers. They are superfluous. They don't control time in any way and your phone is more accurate but I love them.

Part of collecting watches is the large portion of the watch community that buys them to flex their wealth. It's an annoying truth of it. Folks like Kevin oleary love showing off their collection of millions of dollars of watches. There are lyrics in songs about Audemar piguet, patek Phillipe and of course, rolex. (Which, by the way, is a nice watch maker but by no means the best or most expensive. They just have really good marketing...)

But that community is plagued with the same issues of any community. Racism, classism, ableism, sexism, etc. There was one time I was watching a video discussing a smaller watch and the reviewer asked "who is this for? Women? Asians?" He was making a comment on smaller wrist size. As an Asian with an above average sized wrist, I was put off by this random comment. But facing that sort of racism is pretty benign, relatively.

I saw a discussion on what is luxury in the watch world. Lots of folks like to wax poetically about it. Be to be honest, most watches are luxury products. Unnecessary pieces of jewelry. To be fair, I think that's fine, but some folks feel the need to say otherwise to defend their spending habits.

But I commented a softball. I merely said, if you have the money to buy a $400,000 watch, you probably have a moral obligation to help people with your money and not buy such a purchase. While some watches get super expensive, when you get to that level you aren't paying for an artists work, or even the gold or platinum of the watch, you are paying money to show off you are paying money. You clearly have hundreds of millions, if not billions, and should probably help people with that money.

I try not to get bullish about socialism in a hobby watch forum. I try to play nice.

But then someone had to comment about they would rather buy a luxury timepiece than "squander it on people who will be hungry tomorrow."

And I wasn't even sure how to proceed. As there are rules in the watch forum that state to be "nice" and "civil" I simply stated that the statement showcased a severe disconnect with our two moral philosophies and out of respect for the forum runners, I would not comment further.

But others joined the discussion to call out, gently, this person's ridiculous viewpoint.

And he doubled down. Saying he felt it was more a "national government" issue and that he felt it was "offensive" to give to someone in need. Stating giving to the poor keeps them poor. And he wasn't going to "gamble on layabouts."

Thankfully there was a block function.

I always try to engage with folks first with compassion and second with the benefit of the doubt.

But there was no use arguing with this vile person. It would have lead to me being thrown out of the forum (which is generally a nice place) and him still being there. Because he wouldn't attack me, just poor people. It is a common rhetorical tactic to exclude those fighting the good fight.

Just an annoying way to start my day...

#watches #socialism

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portraitoftheoddity · 11 months

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Don't Drink The Paint Water

Ok, the title is a little misleading since a lot of the paint I'm gonna talk about in this post would have been tempera or oil, and not water-based acrylic, so there would be no paint water. But as someone who worked in acrylic and definitely accidentally drank their paint water more than once, the warning is what rings in my mind every time I think of this topic.

Art is great for the soul. Art supplies, however, are not always great for the body.

Humans love smearing ourselves and our stuff with pretty colors made of shit that will kill us. Lead facepaint in Queen Elizabeth's court; Arsenic Green Wallpaper in Victorian parlors; uranium in glassware and wristwatches. And of course, all kinds of heavy metals in paints.

I talked in my post about Caravaggio about how a lot of his balls-to-the-wall batshit insane behavior may have been a result of chronic poisoning from his paints. Many artists through that whole era of history suffered from lead poisoning, to the point that "Painter's Colic" was a term for the intestinal constipation caused by chronic lead poisoning.

Now let's talk about that a little, and the various toxins that some of your favorite historical painters may have had in their systems from the creation and application of their paints...

White Paint: Lead

Lead white has been used as far back at the 4th century B.C.E. by the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, and was THE white pigment in western art up through the nineteenth century (and also appeared in works from China and Japan). It's important to note that through much of history, you didn't just go to the store and buy a tube of paint -- you made your own by grinding up pigment and adding it to a medium such as oil. To make lead white paint, artists would grind a block of lead into powder, releasing toxic dust particles into the air. The pigment's popularity largely stemmed from how thick and opaque it was, allowing for dense applications of radiant, warm white.

Lead poisoning resultantly affected a great many artists who worked extensively with lead white paint, with gastrointestinal, neuromuscular, and neurological symptoms. Chronic lead poisoning resulted in abdominal pain, nausea and constipation, as well as neuromuscular issues such as tremor, loss of coordination and numbness. Neurologically, sufferers could experience loss of short-term memory or concentration, depression, fatigue, headaches, stupor, slurred speech, and difficulty with emotional regulation, which may have contributed to the enduring stereotype of artists as erratic tortured geniuses.

Lead white would eventually be replaced by zinc white and titanium white.

Vermilion Paint: Cinnabar (Mercury-Sulfide)

Cinnabar is a form of mercury sulfide (HgS) that can range in color from bright scarlet to brick-red. It is the most common source ore for refining elemental mercury-- and from both its mined form and creation via synthetic alchemy was used to create a range of red 'vermilion' pigments. Cinnabar was used decoratively dating back to antiquity due to its color, appearing in fine craftsmanship and artworks ranging from China to South America, and was the primary source of red pigment in European painting from the Renaissance to the 20th century.

And of course; it came with the fun fun experience of mercury poisoning! While ingesting cinnabar isn't nearly as toxic as other forms of mercury since the chemical composition is less reactive, cutting and grinding cinnabar to create paint pigment would lead to inhalation of particles, and the more it was ground, the brighter the red it would produce. Plus, heating cinnabar would result in the release of highly toxic mercury vapor which would damage the lungs. Long term cinnabar use would lead to renal failure, and likely other symptoms of mercury poisoning such as damage to the brain and nervous system.

Vermilion would eventually be replaced with the less-toxic cadmium red.

Naples Yellow Paint: Lead + Antimony

Here's a two-for-one poisoning deal! Naples yellow -- a saturated, thick yellow that could range from pinkish orange to an almost green lemon-yellow -- is derived from lead antimonate. Inorganic and synthetically created, the pigment itself dates back to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, making it one of the oldest synthetic pigments (it was predated by the Egyptians' use of the yellow pigment 'Orpiment' which was made with arsenic, for even more fun!) It was first referred to as Naples Yellow in the 17th century, and became particularly popular in European painting from the mid 1700s to mid 1800s, used by artists such as Délacroix, Jacques-Louis David, and Goya.

In addition to the joys of lead as discussed above, Antimony can cause vomiting, headache, dizziness, and sleeplessness, with effects similar to arsenic poisoning.

While there were a number of holdout artists who continued to use Naples Yellow up to the 20th century, Naples Yellow was largely replaced by Chrome Yellow and Cadmium Yellow by the late 19th century.

These are just a few of the more popular culprits in western art history -- and not counting fabric dyes such as Scheele's Green which experienced brief and deadly popularity in the Victorian era (made with Arsenic), or Uranium Yellow pigment used in ceramics and glass, which... I think you can guess where the problem with that lay.

All of which is to say, Art Was Hazardous, and a lot of artists through history quite literally died for the dyes, sacrificing their health, sanity, and years off their lives, knowingly or not, for the colors in their masterworks.

#art history #poisoning cw #paint #pigments #lena rambles #renaissance art #baroque art #Y'all loved the crazy Caravaggio post so here's some deets on what may have made him that way

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slaymitchabernathy · 1 month

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His & Hers.

He can’t imagine a time where she didn’t exist. Of course there was a time where she wasn’t born, where she quite literally did not exist on the earth, but she’s here now, and she’s with him more importantly.

He likes to watch her. Watch her take a bath, watch her get dressed, watch her brush her hair, watch her laugh with her friends.

It’s gotten much easier to watch her, admire her now that they live together.

Coriolanus held back on asking Soarynn to move in with him for as long as he could. They’d been together three years and he felt that was long enough to wait.

Now everything they did was together.

They brushed their teeth together, got ready for the day together, ate breakfast together.

A matching set the two of them.

He smiled when he looked down at the side of the bed, he was sitting on his side, and next to his black leather shoes were a pair of her white heels.

Living together meant having one of everything for each of them.

His & Hers.

Their closet was a prime example. Both of them had their own side, their own mirrors, their own clothes. For him, it was dress shirts and neckties. For her, it was dresses and hair bows. Both of them had expensive taste which Coriolanus was happy to finance.

After all, they had to look good together.

She looked beautiful right now, sitting in front of the vanity he’d bought her soon after she moved in. She was doing her makeup, not that she needed any. Just some blush, maybe a bit of mascara and lipstick. A natural color, of course, one that suited her lips and complimented her complexion.

Coriolanus hated it when women wore bold colors on their lips.

Her soft blonde hair was in curlers that sat a top of her head, almost looking like a crown. And he’d gladly let her be his queen.

“You look beautiful darling,” he told her from their bed, watching through the reflection as her lips curled up into a smile, showing off her pearly whites.

“Thank you Coryo, you look very handsome yourself.”

He was supposed to be getting ready for work, to leave for work, to go to work. But how could he when she looked like this? In her red silk nightgown that showed off her collarbones perfectly, that stopped right above her perfect breasts and complimented her skin tone.

She was making it very difficult for him to go to work.

Coriolanus himself normally slept in his boxers but Soarynn had purchased him a variety of pajamas pants to wear if he so wished. They were also silk so that they matched. A matching set once again.

His & Hers.

“Is that a new handbag?” He asked, his attention drawn to the white leather handbag that sat atop the table in their closet. He had a direct view into their shared closet from his spot on their bed and he would’ve remembered buying her that handbag.

Only because he would’ve made a big show of presenting it to her, gifting it to her. There was a large mahogany table that sat in their large closet, big enough to place a vase of roses on it along with the occasional gift he’d leave for her to find.

Soarynn spent an awful amount of time in their closet so he’d found that leaving gifts there was the best way to ensure she’d come across her gifts. They were always well thought out even if it was as simple as a handwritten card.

Sometimes it was a new pair of shoes she’d been talking about with her friends when they all got dinner together. Sometimes it was that dress she always lingered in front of when they’d pass the window display of her favorite boutique. Sometimes it was lingerie that he thought would look ravishing on her and simply couldn’t help himself from buying. Sometimes it was a new wristwatch or a new necklace with his initials carved into the pendant.

But he did not buy her this bag.

The last bag he’d bought her had been rose red with her initials engraved onto the metal hardware. It was a Christmas present and she loved it. This bag was new.

Soarynn leaned over to peer into their closet to look at the bag he mentioned and she managed to give him a sheepish look from over her shoulder, “I simply couldn’t help myself the other day when I was shopping with Clemensia. She pressured me into buying it if I’m being honest.”

Coriolanus chuckled at his girlfriend throwing their good friend Clemensia Dovecote under the bus for her latest purchase. They both knew the raven-haired girl could be quite convincing but he also knew that Soarynn rarely turned down the idea of a purchase once it entered her head.

He slowly stood up from the bed and leisurely made his way over to her, letting the scent of vanilla engulf him once he was close enough to her.

Vanilla seemed to follow Soarynn wherever she went. It was the first thing that had him properly enamored by her. Not her looks or her personality. Her scent. Vanilla.

He smelled like roses. Or so she said. She liked to joke that it was just another thing that made them a matching set. Their scents.

His & Hers.

“It also happens to match my new briefcase,” he noted, gently resting his hands on her soft shoulders, “did Clemmie know that as well, or was it her keen intuition that told her about that?”

He enjoyed the way Soarynn blushed when knowing she’d been properly caught in a lie. It was a small lie so he let it go. He’d only get onto her if it was a lie of greater magnitude. Like the time she’d spilled her tea all over the rug in the living room. She’d tried to blame it on the cat but Coriolanus was able to dig out the truth eventually.

Blaming it on the cat. Please.

Petunia was nowhere to be seen but she liked to watch from her little hiding spots around the apartment. He’s given Soarynn the cat for their two-year anniversary after Soarynn had complained about being left alone for days on end when he traveled to the Districts for business.

To placate her, he’d bought Petunia who was a great source of enjoyment for Soarynn who adored the cat with every fiber of her being.

Petunia was fine to Coriolanus. She was well-behaved when she wanted to be and mostly stayed out of his way once she and Soarynn had moved in with him.

She had scratched up his mahogany desk in the beginning which nearly led Coriolanus to skin the damn cat and sell her fur for a good price but Soarynn held him back.

“Well, she…she might’ve had a little bird tell her about your briefcase. She only wanted us to match!” Soarynn insisted, tilting her head back to look directly into his eyes.

Her blue-gray eyes were so startling to him.

When they'd first laid eyes on each other he was surprised at the shade of blue Soarynn sported. They weren't bright blue like his, no, they were nearly gray. They held so much emotion in them, so much beauty. He felt that he could drown in them forever.

His left hand slid down her shoulders and up to her chin where he gently cupped her small face as he looked down at his pretty girl.

Much could be said for Soarynn Nightingale, but everyone could agree on how gorgeous she was.

Her platinum blonde hair made her stand out amongst other blonde women. Her eyes of course captured everyone in a trance. Her smile showed off her pearly white teeth. Her perfect face was dotted with freckles that gave her a more youthful look. Her nose was slightly turned up, giving her a cute little button nose. Her skin was tanner than his porcelain white skin, but it suited her well.

Her body was a different story.

Her long legs allowed her to reach a height of around five feet and six inches, giving Coriolanus a significant vertical advantage against her. Her breasts fit perfectly into his hands, her waist dipped in the right places giving her a small frame that allowed Coriolanus to hold her whenever he pleased. Her ass was perfectly suited for her body type and was often littered with love bites and small bruises from Coriolanus.

She was perfect for him.

"Hmm I'm sure she did," he said with a low voice, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. Soarynn closed her eyes, fully allowing Coriolanus to do whatever he pleased with her.

He liked that about her. How easily she gave up her power to him.

He'd never tell her this, but Soarynn held so much power over him it was damn near embarrassing. The way her lips would form the slightest pout would lead him to go into a frenzy trying to get her to smile. The second a tear formed into those dazzling eyes he was quick to wipe it away. The moment someone made her uncomfortable, well, he took care of them swiftly.

"I like the bag baby," he added, pressing one more kiss to that pretty little forehead of hers, "and I like that we can match."

If he had been with any other girl then Coriolanus was sure that he'd absolutely despise the idea of matching on purpose. But with Soarynn it was different. They had to be a matching set and the handbag to match with his briefcase was just another case of that.

His & Hers.

She smiled up at him when he pulled away, "You really like it? Because there was actually a bigger size as well..."

Coriolanus laughed and released her chin from his grip before walking into the closet to pick out some shoes to wear, "Buy whatever you want darling," he called back, "there's a reason why I work so hard."

Once Soarynn moved in with him, Coriolanus saw no reason for her to continue working. All the Capitol elite and wealthy wives didn't work, and although they weren't married -yet- he felt the need to provide for her.

Coriolanus had the honor of being Head Game Maker for the Hunger Games and with that title and responsibility came a generous paycheck and he was more than happy to let Soarynn spend some of that paycheck on whatever her heart desired.

He did this for three reasons.

One, it made her happy.

Two, he could be the man who proudly provided the love of his life with whatever she desired without having to worry about his financial status like some other men he knew.

Three, it kept her dependent on him, kept her tied to him like a leash.

But he mainly focused on the first reason.

Soarynn followed him into the closet, perching on the small bench they had in there, "Well I actually meant to ask you about this earlier, but there's this trip that some of the girls are taking, and I was wondering if I could go."

Coriolanus pulled out a pair of shoes that went well with his outfit and placed them on the hardwood floor, "Where's this trip darling? Is this another arena retreat?"

To make even more money off the Hunger Games, Coriolanus had suggested that Capitol citizens be able to visit the old arenas, even spend the night. You could watch live reenactments of fights between Tributes, and camp under the arena stars, and the food was amazing.

When Soarynn didn't immediately answer he glanced over at her, she looked...nervous.

"It's in District Four," she said, "and I know you've been there before so it should be perfectly safe and we'll have Peacekee-"

"Absolutely not," Coriolanus stated firmly, cutting her off before she even tried to finish that sentence.

Coriolanus considered himself a very generous man, especially when it came to Soarynn. But letting her leave the Capitol? Letting her go out in the Districts to be surrounded by that filth? He couldn't.

The thought of his sweet, innocent, precious angel out in the Districts without him frightened him to his core.

He didn't even let her travel with him when he himself visited the Districts for the occasional business trip. Too much of a risk.

Soarynn slouched slightly at his tone but he wasn't backing down on this decision, especially since he would be the one paying for this most likely extravagant trip. He knew of the resorts in the Districts but that didn't mean he trusted them.

"I thought you might say that," she mumbled with a pout on her lips.

There it was. That pout.

Coriolanus couldn't even control himself as he strode over to where she was sitting and kneeled down in front of her, "My darling, Soarynn, I...I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you. You must understand my angel, those people out there, they...they aren't as advanced as us. You've seen their children in the arena, fighting like animals. They'd try to hurt you I'm sure of it, and what if they learned you were dating the Head Game Maker? You'd be their first target."

Soarynn's eyes widened slightly at his reasoning, which was slightly exaggerated but who needed to know?

Coriolanus knew those people didn't know the difference between a Game Maker and a Peacekeeper, they were all Capitol in their eyes and that was bad enough already.

He gently took her hands in his, lacing their fingers together, "I know I might seem overbearing, but I can't let you go knowing that you'd be out there without me to protect you. We have so much to look forward to in the future, let's not have it all get ruined by one trip hmm?"

He watched Soarynn's face carefully for any signs of another argument popping up, or tears. He despised both equally. But her face softened and she nodded, giving his hands a squeeze, "I understand Coryo," she said, "thank you for taking care of me."

He smiled at her perfectly crafted words, loving it when she thanked him. Soarynn was very polite and always thanked him for dinner, for little shopping trips, and for visits to the salon. She also thanked him in bed. His perfect, polite girl.

Coriolanus didn't hesitate to lean in and press a kiss to her lips, one that she eagerly returned with passion.

He knew he had to leave soon, she did too. But they should be allowed an intimate moment or two together before they parted ways.

Once they pulled away and Coriolanus felt there was no more room for ridiculous requests they both finished getting ready for the day. He checked his reflection in the full-length closet mirror on his side, admiring how handsome he looked.

He caught Soarynn in the reflection, slipping on a pair of baby pink heels to match her short baby pink dress. She'd taken her curlers out and her hair looked perfect as always, pulled back from her face and tied with a baby pink bow of course.

He allowed himself a small moment to watch her as she picked out a handbag to take with her. She opted for a black one with gold hardware. After filling the bag with her necessities, lipstick, tissues, face powder, and her wallet, she walked out of their closet and back into the bedroom.

A moment alone let Coriolanus carefully walk over to his drawer filled with his watches. In the very back of the drawer he pulled out the velvet box he'd hidden away. Soarynn wasn't one to snoop and she certainly wouldn't go through his watches. She might steal a dress shirt to wear once in a while but she didn't find any interest in his wardrobe. Still, he took precautions.

Coriolanus slowly opened the box, revealing two gold rings. One held a large diamond while the other was a simple gold band.

One for each of them.

A matching set.

His & Hers.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #hunger games #slaymitchabernathy #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #wattpad #soarynn snow #coriolanus x soarynn #ao3 fanfic #drabble #oneshot #coriolanus x original character #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fic #possesive coriolanus

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kumachii · 1 year

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[21:45]

✎ pairing. keisuke baji × fem!reader [no use of y/n]

✎ warnings. swearing, light mention of fighting, blood, surgeries, etc.

✎ notes. takes place right after the august 3rd battle. i was working on an original character when this came into existence. didn't know how an oc would be received so went with the safer choice (・３・) she is called 'ruri' in my head but feel free to imagine your oc/self. luv ya!

It wasn't uncommon for her to dwindle in front of the apartment complex. Or, it wasn't while daylight still graced the streets of Shibuya. At night though, everything became eerily quiet and — be it her so-called masochistic delight of devouring horror movies knowing she could kiss sleep goodbye — every squeak or flickering shadow concocted wild imaginations in her brain.

The swing went back and forth, the rustic joints creaking and clanging. Her feet kicked up dirt, formerly white converses now painted yellow. She checked her wristwatch once again, sighing as another minute ticked by. Still no him.

An old tin box sloppily painted white sat on the seat next to hers, a red cross marked on it to designate its purpose. She couldn't possibly not get ticked off. He was supposed to be there a whole hour ago.

Even then, the worry outweighed ire. Every faint click of the watch's hands added another knot to her wrenching gut. How she wished he would just stop getting into these stupid skirmishes. Stop picking fights at the slightest inconvenience. Stop getting bloodied up all the damn time even if he did emerge victorious.

But normal was just not his style.

No, Baji was loud, wild and somewhere crossed between self assured and entirely too overconfident. Because she'd tell anyone like she told him a million times, one day he would get into a battle he couldn't win. And he would reassure her with a pointy grin, that notion was apparently impossible.

Perhaps it was that rambunctious outlook that both knew was dangerously naive, mixed with limitless loyalty that drove her mad.

And if he was relentlessly capable of anything, it was keeping his word. To his mother who was his greatest hero, to his friends that he adored more than anything and even to outsiders living in his neighborhood who he'd help around without uttering a word — in their eyes he could do no wrong. So, if being the orbit on which all the people in his life functioned kept him from fulfilling just one promise, one made to her, could she really be mad?

The generous rumble of an exhaust stirred her from her thoughts. She had been staring at the one stray cat who frequented the torn down park ad much as they did. The bike stopped at the sidewalk, a little ways away under the streetlight as the engine died down.

"Hey, little guy", Baji greeted the before he acknowledged her. Of course he did. Rolling her eyes, she kicked the ground once again, refusing to acknowledge him or the bruising wound on his somewhat pleasant face.

But her momentary resolve shattered when the cat purred, rubbing its face into the brunette's hand as if she didn't spend the entirety of her pocket money buying treats for him. Glaring at the feline, she cleared her throat in a manner demanding attention.

"Hey", Baji flashed her a lopsided smile, bit exaggerated but genuine. Then there was something else, too — forced down exhaustion evident in his dilated pupils.

She deadpanned at his lacking response. "Hey? It's what...", she made a display of eyeing her wrist, "Almost ten at night. You said you'd be here at an hour tops and all you can say is 'hey'?"

Without waiting for a retort, one that was bound to come, she plucked the first aid kit from the swing, retrieving a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a packet of cotton swabs. She was almost running out from the times she'd cleaned his wounds that month alone.

"In my defense, I was going to make it on time but then Draken decided he wasn't havin it and got himself landed in the E.R. Fuck, you should've seen the paramedics, they were running around like headless chickens trying to stop the bleeding from a stab", he gruffed out.

When he did speak though, she almost tripped over her own feet.

At that moment, whether her blown wide eyes were comical or not, she hadn't the time to ponder. "I— What...", words failed her, coming out in incompressible jumbles. "He got stabbed?! Is he okay?"

"Out of danger", Baji revealed with a huff and her heart finally allowed blood to return to her entire body.

He didn’t explain any further, neither did she probe. It wasn't that she was unfamiliar with the people he called friends. She knew them quite well, the upper echelon of Toman. If anything, the daunting yet kind and sensible boy that was Draken seemed the least likely to end up at the hospital besides perhaps Mitsuya.

She had known Baji for a long time, since they were in kindergarten. And even if memories were a bit blurry from back then, she knew the ceaseless ball of energy that he was, needed some form of outlet. It was at age five he settled on karate which later became his greatest strength behind creating a gang. That also meant she knew about the still juvenile group since it's founding days. And led by these ambitious boys, they were not the bunch who picked fights that ended in bloodbath or fatalities.

Not without a reason far too complicated than just plain fistfight.

With her heart racing still, she worked on his scrapes silently, the furball they'd mutually adopted as their child rubbing up on her left leg.

Her mind was running a mile per minute, still trying to process the little of information revealed to her. He insisted on not telling any more than necessary so as to keep her away from his business and consequently the multitude of people having some vendetta against him.

Thinking back now, she cringed at her earlier display of complete insensitivity. Even without asking first she had jumped to conclusions. Her biggest flaw, though one of many.

"There you go. Don't put soap on them for at least a day. You'll end up agitating the gashes."

With a lump of white hot guilt and — she supposed that's what it was — fear of several what-ifs rattling inside her head, she finally stepped away from standing between his parted legs where he sat on the swing, hands dropping from having tilted his face upwards.

God, what a moron, she thought to herself. Here she was lamenting her rotten fate of getting stood up while he was there in a fight that had equal chances of turning south in anyone's case, sitting through one of his close friend's surgery while said friend grazed death's door.

Caught up in her mental berating, she missed him calling out her name, the syllables hanging in the quiet summer night. It wasn't until he had grasped both her wrists, tugging her closer until she resumed her spot — pressed against him and almost unbearably close. All it took was his lips pressing again her opened palms with all the gentleness he could muster, the smell of chemical making his nose scrunch up, for her to run blank.

"What'cha thinking?" His question was paired with a low hum.

Any other day and she would've lost it, scrambling to mask her reddening face. But not that day. And while her doubts often became her most formidable enemy, she couldn't help acknowledge the reality to them.

She had been bitching about the missed opportunity of wearing a pretty yukata to the festival, having stayed back in school to finish her tutoring. And he was out god knew where, constantly putting himself in situations that now even had the possibility of death, it seemed.

That was where their lives diverged. Because at the end of the day, his unrestrained freedom did not apply to her mundane life. He belonged in loud ruckus, thriving off of chaos and she? She was more than fine with the serenity of daily life as it was, home to school and back. In a sense, she had always known that. But now as they grew older, the fault between them also stretched on.

Sooner or later, they'd stray too far. And while he had the firm belief that they would get back together like usual, she had her doubts.

Uncertainty had never been a friend, but always an unwilling companion. In a world where they were still too young, too inexperienced about real life, what would they even become? Years from now, where would they be? For someone who hadn't known life without Baji Keisuke, what would she do if he ever stopped being that one constant she could always rely on?

"I'm... sorry", she settled on that, a pathetic attempt to get the raging storm of emotions flitting past her across.

His brows furrowed slightly and that was the last thing she noticed before the glassy filter of tears veiled her gaze. She felt his arms wrapping around her waist. This time she melted into the embrace, gripping his shoulders tight as if it were the last link tethering her to the universe as she knew it.

It was exactly that, though, wasn't it?

"Let's just stay like this for a while", came his muffled voice, face pressed against her uniform blazer.

He didn't mention his increasingly dampening shoulder. She didn’t bring up the angry red surrounding his eyes.

For now, this was okay. Not perfect but as long as they were there in the present, it didn't have be ideal. Maybe they could delude themselves into believing this false consistency for a little while longer.

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