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#angela knows exactly what is going on
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spphirrguearc · 2 years
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so I'm rewatching ST season 4 and by God I hate Angela. it's PERSONAL. it's RAW. I've felt the way El feels and I can tell you this: that scene is Felt and Heard
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fluentmoviequoter · 20 days
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We've Got a Problem
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!fiancée!reader
Summary: When you get arrested on Tim's day off, you have to call someone to get you out of jail. Tim doesn't answer when you call, but when he finds out what happened, he makes it a bigger problem.
Warnings: grumpy!Tim, fluff, mentions of homicide and drug trafficking; reader doesn't commit any crimes, so misunderstanding?
Word Count: 1.1k+ words
Picture from Pinterest
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You can't decide what's funnier: that you are in police custody, that the arresting officers refused to believe that you are Tim Bradford's significant other, or that Tim isn't answering his phone.
When you switch tactics to call Wesley Evers instead of Tim, you decide that the last option is the funniest part of this ordeal.
"Hey," Wesley answers.
"This isn't a personal call," you begin with a chuckle. "Would you believe me if I said I'm currently being detained at LAPD Mid-Wilshire division on suspicion of a triple homicide and drug possession?"
"I really hope for Tim's sake you're joking."
"I'm not. I need a lawyer, Wesley. But I also need to ask you to find Tim to get me out. No one here will believe that he's my fiancé and he's not answering my calls."
"Can't imagine why they're so sure he's single. I'll get him down there and ask for the evidence. We'll get this thrown out, don't worry."
"I'll stop worrying when I'm out of here. Thank you, Wesley."
“Don’t hang up, I’m patching Tim in.”
“What do you want, Wesley?” Tim asks when the line connects.
“I want to know why you answer for him but not for me,” you interject.
Tim says your name before asking, “Where are you?”
“Jail,” you and Wesley answer together.
“What? Which station?”
“That’s your question?” Wesley replies. "Not what she did?"
“Your station,” you answer. “And I’d like to go home.”
“I’m on my way. Wesley, talk to me.”
“They’ve got her on suspicion of homicide and drug trafficking. Angela sent me part of the case file and it seems like you fit the physical description of the suspect, but that’s it. I have no doubt we can get this thrown out by the end of the day.”
“Tim, I’m sorry,” you offer. “I know it’s your day off.”
“At least it’s a good story,” he grumbles.
“Tim, I may have told a few cops that I’m your fiancée. They didn’t believe me, but I- I’m sorry for telling them.”
“Fantastic. I’m hanging up, I’ll be inside in a minute.”
“How mad is he really?” Wesley asks.
“I don’t think I want to know. Maybe I should’ve just asked you to come.”
“Good luck.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim yells your name when he walks into the holding area. He looks at you as you stand, walking to the cell door as another officer unlocks it.
“I’m really sorry,” you whisper as you step out.
“Later,” Tim answers, gesturing for you to follow him.
You walk behind Tim and the officer, waiting by Tim’s side as he completes paperwork.
“And what’s your relationship?” the officer behind the desk asks.
“I’m her fiancé,” Tim answers.
The officer raises his eyebrows but nods as he slides a paper to Tim. Tim carries the paper in one hand, raising his other arm to direct you into a nearby office.
“Sergeant Grey, a word?” Tim asks.
“Sure. Who’s your friend?”
You say your name, shaking Sergeant Grey’s hand.
“My fiancée. Celina and Nolan just booked her on suspicion for Lopez’s case.”
Sergeant Grey presses his lips together but fails to hide his smile as he begins laughing, leaning backward while he wipes an amused tear from his eye.
“Let me guess, you told them that you’re with Bradford and they didn’t believe you.”
“Uh, exactly,” you answer, surprised at how quickly he determined what happened.
“I’ll talk to Nolan,” Grey promises.
“I can do it,” Tim responds.
“No, Bradford, I’ll handle it. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not, or I’ll intervene.”
“I’m sorry,” Grey tells you. “The charges won’t be filed, so you’re not going to be impacted other than the inconvenience this afternoon. I apologize on behalf of the entire department.”
“It’s not a problem,” you answer softly.
“It is a problem,” Tim says before exiting the office. “Nolan!”
“Tim,” you call, rushing out after him. “What’re you doing? They didn’t even believe me about you.”
“Not the biggest problem. Nolan!”
“Uh, yes?” Nolan asks, glancing over Tim’s shoulder at you.
“You arrested my fiancée on a completely baseless allegation. Because she looks a bit like a suspect in a huge case. That is not good police work, that’s being lazy and making connections where there are none.”
“I-“
“Unless you’re about to apologize, stop talking. Care to explain why you heard my name and didn’t do anything?”
“She claimed to be your fiancée. What was I supposed to do, just believe who I thought was a suspect in numerous felony cases?”
“Doesn’t sound like an apology.”
“What are you so mad about? I did my job.”
“You did what you think your job is. As a TO, it is on you to make sure Celina is prepared to do her job without you. Bringing people in because they fit what is possibly the most generic physical description ever is not being a good officer.”
“This doesn’t sound like letting me handle it,” Grey says, stepping out of his office.
Tim clenches his jaw before pointing at Nolan. “For the record, she is my fiancée and I will not forget this.”
“You have a fiancée?” Nyla asks as she stops in the middle of the bullpen. “Wait, are you the one who got brought in for Angela’s felonies? The one who called Wesley?”
“Yeah,” you answer, supplying your name as you introduce yourself.
“Oh, this story needs to be told.”
“Don’t,” Tim warns.
Nyla pulls her phone from her pocket, smiling as she types. “Too late.”
“So much for my day off,” Tim grumbles.
“I got arrested today, and you had a long day?” you ask.
“We’re leaving.”
Tim leads you to his truck, sighing as he sits back in the driver’s seat.
“Tim-“
“Don’t apologize again. I’m not mad at you, for anything. Just… this is so stupid,” Tim concludes, smiling as he laughs.
“You’re telling me. Although Nolan and Juarez got a good laugh out of the idea of you having a fiancée.”
“I don’t think that’s funny,” Tim responds. “I think I just got very lucky.”
You smile, leaning across the console to kiss Tim.
“Excuse me, you’re parked in a tow-away zone. Tim?” an officer asks through the open window. She gasps before asking, “Is this your fiancèe?”
“Bye, Chen.”
Tim pulls out before she can say anything else, and you laugh at his dramatic sigh.
“Can you stay out of trouble for the rest of my day off?” he asks.
“I may need some incentive.”
“Then spend it with me. Not calling Wesley Evers from a jail cell.”
“Deal.”
You take Tim’s hand and smile. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, keeping you close as he drives to his house.
"Wait, we should take a picture," Tim says after parking in his driveway.
"For what?"
"To commemorate your first arrest."
You roll your eyes but smile anyway. Tim takes the picture, and when he looks down to see how it turned out, you cup his face in your hands and kiss him. While he's thoroughly distracted, you try to grab his phone, but he moves it before pulling you closer. Maybe getting arrested and letting Tim's coworkers know he's engaged wasn't all bad.
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forever-rogue · 8 months
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A little hurt to comfort request
A wannabe groupie makes comments about rockstar!eddie girlfriend (aka reader maybe plus-size!reader) eddie ofc defends his lady. But then reader starts feeling insecure about her looks and body she thinks she isn’t good enough for him. But he reassures her that she is the only one for him.
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AN | I hope this is okay! I feel like this would be me too, Eddie would be the best the best 🥰
Warnings | Language
Pairing | Rockstar!Eddie x PlusSized!Fem!Reader
Word Count | 4.1k
Masterlist | Main, Eddie 
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
It had been no secret that you’d been dating Eddie Munson for close to a year now. The Eddie Munson.  Sometimes it still felt like a dream, but then you'd wake up with him pulling you into his chest. 
Life was…pretty fucking good. Or pretty fucking metal as Eddie liked to say.
You'd never thought twice about the fact that you were dating him, or rather that he had chosen you. 
Not until, anyway, one night when you were at one of Corroded Coffin’s shows. It wasn’t odd for you to be there, but you usually watched from the front VIP area or remained backstage to watch everything. Today, something compelled you to go out in the thick of it all, to be with the crowd and experience it from a new angle. 
You were walking in with Jeff’s wife, the two of you holding beers as you went to your seating area. A few curious glances were sent your way, almost as if the people recognized the two of you but just couldn’t quite place you. That was probably exactly what was going on; it was nice to retain some sense of anonymity. 
The two of you siddled into your spots and you heard a burst of laughter coming from a few seats down. The noise was so loud and out of place that it caused you to look down the row. Much to your chagrin you found two women staring back at you, wicked smirks on their faces. 
They were exactly the type of women you expected to be at a rock concert. Scantily dressed with large fake breasts, fake tans, bleached hair and too make-up. These were the type of women that you found after trying to get in with the boys. Groupies, and they were shameless about it. 
You turned your attention back to Angela, but before you could fully do so, you heard a loud moo directed at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard them making very non-discreet and rude comments. They were directed at you, you knew that right away and they were making no point to hide it.
“Can you believe Eddie Munson is dating her?”
“She must be good at sucking dick because you know Eddie wouldn’t keep her around for anything else.”
“She’s clearly good at eating.”
“He could do so much better.”
“What a waste of space!”
“If you’re going to be a porker, you could at least try to look pretty.”
You felt tears prickling at the back of your eyes but tried to push away the feelings that were bubbling up. They were just words after all, they shouldn’t have any real effect on you, and yet…it was the worst feeling. Those girls were purposely being cruel and for no real reason. No reason other than the fact that they were jealous of the fact that you were dating Eddie. 
Angela picked up on your sudden mood shift, and gently put her hand on your arm, “what’s wrong, babe?”
“Nothing,” you lied so quickly that it was clearly not true. A frown settled on her features but you shook your head, “really, it’s fine.”
You could see that she was looking past you and down the row where the two girls were standing, looking smug as can be, “was it them? Did they do something?”
“No - nothing,” you dropped your voice to what you hoped was only what she could hear so they didn’t make anything worse, “just felt a little odd for a few minutes. It’ll pass soon.”
“If you’re sure…” she was a good friend and would have done anything for you, just as you would for her. You took a sip of your beer and tried to put on what you thought would be a convincing smile. 
“Of course!” you had never been more thankful for the band to come out and play. You watched the boys struck onto stage, Eddie looking every bit the showman. Your heart fluttered slightly at the sight of him, “c’mon let’s get this show started!”
It wasn't entirely enough to take your mind off everything, but at least you experienced the momentary happiness of getting Eddie on stage. 
You tried to ignore the horrible girls that continued to make comments throughout the show. But it was fuckin’ hard.
Once the show ended, you allowed the crowd around you to disperse and leave, remaining behind so you could make your way backstage quietly. You really didn’t want to see or be around anyone else right now, especially not ones that were going to throw horrible comments at you. 
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Once the crowd had thinned out, you followed Angela to the back of the stadium. At least you had the promise of getting to see Eddie soon. She was talking about something but you were only half listening. There were tons of people, girls and guys, hanging around the dressing rooms, trying to sneak their way inside. Luckily the security was good and they kept prying eyes and nosey nancies away. 
The guards recognized both of you now and there wasn’t even a need to show your passes. Eddie must have somehow sensed your presence because he opened the door as soon as you were near it. His entire face lit up as soon as he saw you, the beautiful and brilliant smile making its appearance as he studied you. Before you could even say anything, his brows furrowed and eyes grew worried.
"What's wrong?" and you had to fight the fresh wave of tears that threatened to well up. He gently took your face in his hands as he tried to figure out what was wrong.
"N-nothing," you lied and he was able to see right through it. It was the soft look on his face that caused it all to be too much and the tears spilled over. Eddie's touch was nothing short of reverent as he wiped them away, "its nothing, I'm just being dumb."
"It's not nothing if it's making you feel this way," he insisted but you pulled out of his touch and ducked into his dressing room. Angela saw what was going on and walked over to Eddie, "what's going on?"
"There were girls," she explained, "sitting near us. They were making horrible and rude comments about her. Totally unnecessary and I think they really got to her."
"What the fuck-"
"Yeah," she nodded sadly, looking around to see who was hanging around. And, to no surprise at all, the girls were trying to sweet talk their way backstage. Angela grabbed his hand and pointed in their direction, "them! It was the two of them."
A furious look crossed his features as he pulled away from her. Despite the whole bad boy image, Eddie was really soft and kind. But this had brought up a while different type of emotion and Angela had never seen him so mad.
"Hey," he barked at the girls, who immediately pushed to get to him. Little did they know they were not going to like what he had to say to them. The one that had instigated everything came forward and batted her eyelashes at him.
"Hi Eddie-"
"Which one of you was talking shit about my girlfriend?" Their faces paled as they exchanged nervous looks. Eddie raised an eyebrow, "huh? Not so brave now, are we?"
"We didn't say anything mean," the other one lied, "we were just talking. She probably misunderstood."
"Bull-fucking-shit," he shook his head, curls bouncing widely, "I know your type, you're just rude to others for no reason. What did you think you were going to get out of being bitches?"
"Listen, we didn't do-"
"I know you did," he glared at them, "did you think we'd somehow break up and one of you had a chance with me? Are you that fucking stupid?"
"We didn't mean anything by it…"
"Well, that's lovely but you did what you did," he took a step back and shook his head at them, "you're never allowed at another Corroded Coffin show. I'll make sure of that. And if this ever happens and I get word of it, I won't be as nice. Clear?"
Neither of them managed to say anything, only nodding dumbly before turning around and practically running away. Eddie told his security to make sure to get their information so he could make sure they were banned from any future shows.
"You're a good man," Angela squeezed his shoulder before turning around to find Jeff.
Eddie took a deep breath before letting himself into his dressing room. His heart broke a little bit when he saw you sitting on the couch, eyes red from crying. 
"Baby," he came over and sat down next to you, attempting to wrap his arm around your shoulders. You flinched out from under his touch and shook your head at him, hastily wiping away the rest of your half-dried tears. His heart ached; you’d never shied away from his touch before, “what’s wrong? Please just…tell me. Let me make it better. I talked to those girls-”
“It’s not…” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed, “it’s not just them. It’s just…me.”
“You? How is it you?’ he crossed his arms over his chest, pale skin covered in various ink, “you know I’m not going to quit asking until you tell me. I’m a stubborn bastard, you know that.”
“Look at yourself,” you gestured to him and confusion marred his features as he looked at himself. He was still sweaty, in desperate need of a post show shower, only wearing a pair of skinny jeans and his beat up sneakers. He shrugged as you huffed, “now look at me.”
He looked you over, the same look as always in his eyes. You were gorgeous and he honestly had no clue what you were going on about, “umm…baby, you’re beautiful. You know that.”
“No,” you stood up and shook your head, “I’m…fuck, Eddie, you have eyes, I’m not skinny and I don’t look like all those other girls who throw themselves at you. I’m-”
“Fuck that,” he shook his head, “so what? I love that you don’t look like any of them, I don’t want them - I want you. I love you, baby, all of you.”
“You could have someone better,” you turned your back to him and hid your face in your hands. Eddie didn’t even know how to possibly respond because you were so wrong - so wrong, “someone that looks good like you and that deserves you.”
“I don’t know how else to tell you this, but I don’t want anyone else but you,” Eddie’s hands found your shoulders as he gently turned you around, so he could properly look at you. He put a finger under your chin and turned your face up to his. He hated seeing you cry and even more he hated the idea that you could ever think so lowly of yourself. You were everything to him and he wished he could make you understand that, “only you. You’re it for me, baby.”
You knew Eddie, and you knew that he wasn’t lying to you. But it still didn’t help the feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness that was settling into the back of your mind. Instead of arguing with him or pushing the issue further all you could do was nod in response, “me too, Eddie. You’re it for me too.”
He relaxed slightly before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Despite Eddie’s reassurances, the run in at his show stuck with you. You weren’t able to completely shake off the feelings that those cruel words had brought up. Despite trying to hide them and pretending that they weren’t there in order to trick yourself into letting them go, nothing worked. Instead, it just kept getting worse and worse and you found yourself drifting apart from Eddie. 
You felt like you were suddenly aware of every single time someone else looked at him, or read too much into everything that was said to him. You couldn’t help but think that he deserved someone better, someone different - someone that wasn’t you. You wanted only the best for the man you loved so much. 
That’s how you made the hardest decision of your life. 
Eddie practically bounded to the door when he heard the silly little knock that the two of you had come up with. He wasn’t expecting you, but he was always more than happy to see you. He threw open the door, ready to wrap you up in his arms.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the somber expression on your face. You caught his eye for just a moment, looking away and staring at your feet, “h-hey.”
“What’s wrong?” of course he dove right into it; not that you could blame him. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be doing the same thing, “baby?”
“L-listen,” you swallowed thickly, “I’m sorry to do this so late, but umm…I think - I think we should break up.”
“What?” his doe eyes grew wide as you rocked back and forth on your heels before stepping back from him. Eddie ran a hand through his dark curls, trying to rationalize why you were suddenly breaking up with him. He never once thought about the two of you breaking up; in his mind it was forever, and that’s what he had always planned on, “what are you talking about?”
“I’m breaking up with you,” your words caught in your throat and it sounded even more harsh and choked. This time you hadn’t even bothered to hold back your tears, instead they fell down your cheeks and landed onto the marble of the apartment building’s floor, “I can’t date you anymore, Eddie.”
Eddie was a smart man; it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his tired face, “can’t date me or won’t  date me?”
“What’s the difference?” you threw up your hands in exasperation.
“You know what it is,” you groaned. You loved his tenacity but right now you just wished he’d accept what you were saying, “either way, Eddie, this is over.”
“Baby,” he tried to grab your arms but you just pulled away, “baby. Is this about what happened a few weeks ago?”
“No,” the blatant lie was obvious, “I just…I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“Give me one good reason,” he asked, some desperation creeping into his voice despite how cool he was trying to play it, “give me one good reason why we can’t be together.”
You looked at him, squarely in the face, “I don’t love you.”
And that, those four simple words, cut deeper than anything he would have expected. He knew - or at least desperately hoped - that you were lying to him. Right? Right? The last three years you’d spent together couldn’t all have been a lie, surely. The love you said was real…it couldn’t just have been pretend. That might have actually killed him.
“That’s a lie,” he said through gritted teeth as you shrugged at him, “please, wait, I…we can talk about this and figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” your voice was barely audible as you created an even larger distance between the two of you, “it’s done.”
Eddie watched silently as you walked towards the elevator. When you stepped inside you turned around so you could face him before pressing the button for the lobby. 
“I’m sorry,” was the last thing he heard you say before the doors closed, “I’m sorry.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
It felt like an eternity since you’d last seen Eddie. In reality, it had only been four months, but it felt like the longest time in your life. Every day without him felt achingly long and dreadful. The fact that he was famous and you had to see him in magazines, on TV, in advertisements and posters didn’t help. In some ways it was a small comfort getting to see him, but it also made your heart ache more for him. 
You had been tempted to go to his apartment and explain and try and work it out but you stopped yourself. All of this was because of you; and now you had to live with the consequences of your actions. The fact that he was on tour again helped your dilemma slightly - he wasn’t going to be home. 
Even if you were miserable, you hoped that he would be happy. He would find someone that was worthy of his love and that matched him as best as possible. Someone that wasn’t you. Maybe one day you would have your turn too…maybe.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
You groaned as you heard knocking at the door. You set down your glass with a huff before pausing the movie you were watching. You’d already gotten the pizza you ordered and had no clue what this could have been. Whatever it i was, it better have been worth getting off the couch.
“Hang on,” you called out before opening the door; you didn’t even bother to look to see who it was before opening, “what?”
“Hi,” and there stood Eddie Munson. A small, tired half smile was on his face; he looked like he’d just come from a show, that similar glow on his face, “h-hi there.”
“Eddie?” you asked softly as though it wasn’t obvious that he was standing right there in your hallway. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before leaning against the doorframe in disbelief, “w-what are you doing here?”
“I was just in the neighborhood-”
“Bullshit,” you cut him off softly, “you’ve been on tour. I thought your last show was tomorrow night?”
“Still keeping track, huh?” he teased as warmth crept into your cheeks before offering him a single affirmative nod, "the last show was umm…tomorrow but I just…I wanted to see…you."
"Me?" You pointed at yourself and he nodded with a smile, "why? After everything I said and did. I was awful to you."
"It wasn't you," he stated simply, "I mean it was you but it was…circumstances."
"Eddie-"
"Can I come in?" You stepped to the side and motioned for him to come in. Once inside, he took a look around the familiar space, feeling more at home than he had in a long time. You went into the living room and plopped on the couch. He sat down on the other end, keeping a bit of distance between your bodies, "so…"
"What are you doing here, Eddie?" you allowed yourself one little look at his face. He looked tired and run down, but there was an expression of fierce determination on his face.
"I'm here to see you," he was never one to beat around the bush, "and I guess…asking you to take me back."
Your tummy erupted in butterflies and your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. You turned to him, "I - what…you want me to take you back?"
"It's been four months and everyday has fucking sucked," he admitted, letting out a shaky little exhale, "and its because you're not there. I…my life isn't complete without you."
"But…I," he really had to go and be the best man ever. You smiled softly at him, "why would you want to be with me?"
"Are you kidding me?" He sounded offended, as though the answer was so obvious. To him it was obvious - you were everything to him. You looked at him, searching his pretty brown eyes, "babe, I'm in love with you. Everything about you, I'm so fucking in love with you it scares me some times. I don't want anyone but you. Like ever."
"But…"
"But what?" He asked gently as you searched for the right words, "tell me, baby."
"You deserve better."
"Why?"
"'cause," you shrugged him off but he wasn't going to have it.
"Nuh uh," he moved even closer and reached for your hand, "I'm not going to let it go until you give me a real answer."
"Look at me, Eddie!" You hung your head before sighing heavily, "I'm not skinny and pretty like all those other girls! You could have any and every single one of them. They'd be so much better for you and they'd be more like you. You'd have someone that deserves you."
"Is that what…baby, is that what this has been about?" He had his light bulb moment but it was a harsh reality. This was still bugging you for so long and he hadn't even realized, "you should have…fuck, I'm so sorry I didn't realize."
"It's not like you can fix anything," you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, "I am what I am and I don't want to feel like I'm holding you back."
"Fuck that," he shook his head, "I barely deserve you, you're so much…you're everything. I know you don't look like some of those other girls, but so what? You're gorgeous, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I don't want anyone else."
"What if you change your mind one day?"
"I hate to break it to you, but that's never going to happen," he promised, "I love you and that's it. Nothing else matters. If anyone has anything to say, fuck 'em. They don't matter."
"Eddie…"
"Here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, holding it out to you. You raised an eyebrow but took it gently and opened. Staring back at you was a beautiful diamond ring. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as you looked at him, "yeah. I was, ugh, I was actually planning on asking you before you broke up with me."
"You were going to ask me to marry you?" Your voice cracked as you came to the realization that he really was in it forever. Not that you had any reason to ever doubt him, it was the voices in your head that grew too loud. 
"Yeah," he whispered, his own throat thick with emotion, "I just…I wanted you to know."
"I'm sorry," you closed the box and handed it back to him slowly, "really, Eddie. I went and fucked things up."
"No, you didn't," he promised, touching your cheek, "your feelings are valid. Even though I don't agree with how you've been feeling about yourself. It also makes me mad that those girls, or anyone, would ever say something like that about anyone else. It's immature and just shows their own insecurities."
"Thank you," you put your hand on his wrist and squeezed gently, "you're the best, I hope you know that."
"I do," there was a playful little smile on his face, "because there's this amazing woman that constantly reminds me of that."
"You silly man," you couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled, "someone is going to be very lucky to have you one day."
"Yeah, I sure hope so," he snorted in amusement, "and I hope it's you."
"Me?!" 
"Of course," he was beaming at you and it was enough to make your entire body feel like jelly, "did you really think you were just going to get rid of me like that?"
"I should have known better," your heart felt lighter than it had in months, "you're a stubborn man, Eddie Munson."
"Maybe so," he traced his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, "I'm also stubborn enough to think that you might still marry me."
"I think that might be something that could happen," and yeah, you were definitely and madly in love with this man, "its definitely in the cards."
"Hmm," he mused gently, "well, it's getting pretty late…I guess I should get going."
"Stay," you held onto his arm and kept him anchored towards you, "stay."
"Are you sure?" 
"Positive," you nodded, never more sure than anything else, "please."
"I love you, baby. So much."
"I love you too, Eddie. So, so much."
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sshadowritestoriess · 10 months
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Hey! Do you think you could write some NSFW headcanons for Widow, Mercy, Kiriko, Lifeweaver and Genji (gender neutral afab reader) please? Feel free to ignore if that's too many characters or if you just don't want to do it. Have a great day, and don't forget to drink water dear author!
Sure! I did my best, sorry they’re all so short. I just didn’t want a super long post 😅
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Widowmaker NSFW
She can quite literally take you out in ‘one shot’— you’re not certain how exactly she does it, but she touches you in all the right places in quick succession and finds exactly where you need her most in just an instant. You’ve lasted about thirteen seconds at most with this technique of hers, and it was quickly banned from the bedroom unless you asked for it
She’s a very hard biter, like she doesn’t realize she needs to be a bit more gentle. You often wonder if she thinks she’s actually going to inject venom into your bloodstream this way
Eerily quiet responses toward any pleasure, even if you’re doing everything right she makes it hard to tell if you’re doing anything at all. So she tends to be the one in charge, that way you don’t end up questioning your capabilities or doubting her reactions
A slowed heartbeat seems to increase her stamina, though. It’s only somewhat annoying, especially in addition to her lack of emotion toward intimate times. But you refuse to believe she’s not feeling anything at all, either— otherwise she wouldn’t be stepping on you ‘for fun’ unprompted, or initiating half of these encounters
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Mercy NSFW
An unpredictable switch— everything that happens in the bedroom is a flip on a coin based on what she’s feeling and when. You never know if you’re about to give or receive, but either way it’s extremely rewarding and it’s hard to discern any complaints out of a night with Angela
She is pretty vocal, makes the nicest noises and lewd sounds you’ve probably ever heard. She definitely sounds like an angel, and it’s worth every touch to hear her sound off while completely red in the face
Maybe a bit too in love with pegging you. As a doctor and being very knowledgeable about the body, she’s rather enthusiastic toward loosening you up and talking about safety before giving you the ramming of a lifetime. Certain recommended positions even relieved your back pains somewhat, to your astonishment
She highly prefers to schedule these exchanges, rather than doing them on a whim. She refuses the ideas of quickies or anything with risk— especially in communal/public areas. You’d need to absolutely guarantee no one will be walking in or she might not ever forgive you for the embarrassment
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Kiriko NSFW
Absolutely a brat, and we all know this. You’re not getting anything done without force or a trade, and she clearly relishes in those methods— always a “no” or a “why”, and then the “what will I get in return?”
Hugely into degrading and she’ll meet you halfway, criticizing your every move as if it doesn’t have her writhing in euphoria. She’s mostly in control of the sounds she makes, but when you get enough of a rise out of her the high-pitched noises are totally worth the struggle to get them in the first place. But she tries really hard to pretend like you don’t have an effect on her
She totally abuses her abilities to make you both finish faster, and especially against your will if you intended to take your time. Everything she does in bed is completely in spite of you— you’re fighting to earn the outcome you want, so hopefully you’re up for that kind of challenge
Her attitude is to make up for her low libido, and especially in her inability to last very long. She’s super sensitive, but she’ll never admit it. You’ll figure this out sooner than later though, and she’ll put up even more of a fight with a smirk on her face before you get anywhere near the brink of relief
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Lifeweaver NSFW
Undoubtedly has a preference for being on bottom, but absolutely more than capable of being a top if he’s in the mood for it.
He’s sort of a pillow princess, likes having all the work be done for him. Much more of a receiver than he is a giver, but only in intimate moments— he’s much more giving outside of private moments that heavily lack clothing
But he is extraordinarily talented with his mouth, and he knows this. Yet he won’t offer such services without being asked politely, which must include a ‘please’ or he may remind you of your manners. It’s all in good fun though, he likely wouldn’t have refused either way (please ride his face)
He makes a lot of sounds, though they’re always muffled by his hand or pillow— or you. He also super loves using rope for things, like being restrained, and shibari. He gets more excited when he’s trapped and vulnerable in front of someone he likes
And while he’s a gentle top, he makes sure to return every favor you’ve given him on the occasions he does take over. These sessions last significantly longer than when he’s on the receiving end— edging turns out to be a specialty of his. And along the way, he’s more than happy to remind you of your previously indulgent behaviors
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More Genji NSFW
Genji is still Genji, and even under all that metal he’s still pretty full of himself. So he totally, secretly, has a mask kink, and goes a bit feral when you wear his helm along with a lingerie or something else enticing (maybe even his hoodie lol). There’s just something about seeing his own visor on you that makes him want to pounce
I don’t imagine he’s super into wireplay/anything that has to do with his mechanics, but he’s not against it. He’s fine with it enough and appreciates you’d find these parts of him just as attractive, it just doesn’t get him going as much as other things do. He will happily indulge you though.
He’s dangerously easy to arouse. Drop one hint, playful or not (but only after the first few intimate exchanges) and he will find someplace to make it quick. Of course, he’s fluent in consent, so he’ll back off if you really were only joking. But otherwise you may often find yourself getting that super-enhanced-ninja special in the strangest secluded areas
And he makes it his job to make sure you cum before he does. On occasion he slips up, and if you’re competitive like that then it can be pretty 50/50. But he praises himself as a gentleman who treats his lover with the utmost care, and will deliver to you everything he has before taking you for his own pleasure
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ddollipop · 9 months
Text
I DIG MY NAILS IN DYNAMITE. . . ! — ( MOIRA O'DEORAIN. )
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#. synopsis! — if moira’s going to be forced to work the clinic, she’s going to do things her way: no matter how unconventional her methods may be. (malicious fucking compliance) .
#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , lesbian smut, female on female, dirty talk , slight begging , implied age difference , slight power imbalance , subtle medical setting , oral sex , cunnilingus , fingering , dom!moira , sub!reader , nipple sucking , some wall action , one-sided stimulation , giving preference (moira) , slight praise , sex in the workplace , finger sucking , sort of revenge sex .
#. word count! — 5.1k .
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The clinical wing is hardly any of Moira’s responsibility. It wasn’t her idea, she had no intention of utilizing it herself, and the fact that she was being forced to work it alone for no less than ten hours a week was something akin to infuriating. If she didn’t already loathe Angela Ziegler and her fluffed up ideals about peace and prosperity, —she certainly did now. Because this was cutting into her time, and if there was one thing Moira couldn’t stand more than working with incompetent people: it was squandering her waking hours on fruitlessness. It was always the same things over and over and over again. You’d think a building full of well-educated men and women of science would have a better understanding of their own petty ailments by now, but no. . . 
Every slim bout of nausea, every headache onset, every tiny papercut, it seemed, was good enough a reason to come crying to her. And she’d had enough. It’s not to say that you were any more or less annoying than anyone else who’d stopped by that day, but there was something so nerve grinding about your presence, about the way you glanced around the white-walled exam room, that set Moira off.
“What’s wrong with you, exactly?” She questioned, —though it was painfully clear she was only asking out of obligation and was none too pleased to be doing so.
Her stern, uncaring expression almost had you forgetting the lie you’d cooked up while sitting there alone for a good ten minutes.
“I’ve got um. . . A headache and I’m feeling a little dizzy,” you reply.
She notices how uncertain you sound of it, and her eyes narrow at you, regarding you suspiciously.
“Is that a question or a statement?” She asks bluntly, mincing no words in the process.
“A statement,” you answer, tacking on a soft apology that she doesn't care enough about to acknowledge.
“How long has this been going on?” 
“A few hours, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
You’re really starting to wish you could just sink into the exam table and disappear. Even more than that, you’re cursing Doctor Ziegler for putting you up to this, —for deciding that you were just innocent looking enough to play a fools game with this woman before you. You’re certain now that the extra pay is hardly worth putting yourself through this just to see if Moira is really taking her position in the clinic seriously.
“A few hours,” you repeat, dropping the rest; but you know it’s already too late.
She’s annoyed with you. She’s sick of it here in this tiny room, and all she wants to do is put a stop to this ridiculousness and make use of her time her way. . . Which gets the cogs turning in her mind. If she has to be here, Moira’s going to make the most of it, —and what better way than to indulge herself in the sweetest little patient that’s set foot in here all day? It’ll be a bit before her clinic hours are up for now, and she’d much rather spend that time tying up some of her own loose ends than playing into Angela’s surprisingly spiteful hands.
“It’s a bit warm in here, no?” She says suddenly, straightening her back and standing to her full height as she shrugs off her lab coat.
“Uh. . . Yeah? A little, I guess,” you reply uncertainly, trying your best not to stare as she drapes the shed garment over the back of a chair and masterfully unbuttons the top of her white dress shirt.
The fabric is loose, and it sits against her pale skin like silken sheets atop a mattress. For all Moira is known for being: —cruel, sarcastic, brilliant, blunt— you can’t help but wonder why attractive doesn’t tend to make the shortlist. It’s far from the first time something like that has ever crossed your mind, of course, having worked in her vicinity for several months now, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt your insides twist themselves into pretzels at the sight of her.
She’s so tall, and even without the height, her personality alone commands the space she physically takes up. Moira is the kind of woman who doesn’t ask for what she desires, but simply demands it, and there’s something very stirring about that in a way you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.
“You guess, do you?” She raises an eyebrow, throwing you a blank glance.
Her hands come down to grip the edge of the exam table, the crinkly paper shuffling under the new pressure. She’s close enough now that you can feel her breath ghost against you, and somehow, her unchanging expression feels ten times more spine-tingling now that she’s less far away.
“Is there anything you’re certain of, y/n?” She questions, —and heaven help you, the way she says your name has your thighs itching to squeeze together where you sit.
“I-I. . .” You stutter pitifully, lost for words now that she's this close, eyes ghosting around her face, then around the room, just hoping to avoid her gaze.
“You. . .?” She prompts in a surprisingly gentle tone, removing one hand from the exam table to grab your face.
It's not a violent gesture, nor much of an unwelcome one, as her thumb sits on one cheek and four fingers press against the other. She steadies your head with the grasp, forcing the direction straight ahead, and your eyes naturally follow in suit. Moira can feel the way you swallow, watching as your throat moves to push the saliva down, and something akin to dangerous blossoms within her.
“You're a pretty girl,” she tells you. 
Somehow, the tone she uses when she says it makes it feel less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact.
“It's too bad you're such a quiet thing. I'm sure under the right circumstances, your voice is quite sweet.”
Anything you could have thought to say in reply seems to all but die on your tongue or lodge in your throat. A shiver creeps up your spine, tingling under your skin, scattering goosebumps all across your body.
“Do you have any idea how tiring this is?” She asks, standing to her full height again, clarifying quickly: “Working in this clinic? When I, of all people, should be doing something of actual substance. Forgive me if your headache isn't as interesting to me as my own endeavors, —but you must realize how pathetic it is to come crawling to me about something so minute.”
Finally, you work up the nerve to speak back again.
“I'm sure it must be frustrating,” you answer. “I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, Doctor, I just. . .”
I didn't have much of a say in the matter. 
She sighs. 
“Did nobody ever teach you how to finish your sentences?” She asks, sounding rather incredulous. “Either out with it, or let me put your mouth to some proper use.”
You're not really sure what that's supposed to mean, but it's not as if you have much to say at the moment anyway. Anything you could have mustered up has gone out the window, drained like a pin-pricked egg.
A smirk tugs on her lips at your silence.
“Open,” she directs, a folded index finger sneaking under your chin and a thumb dragging your bottom lip down a bit.
In the moment, you hardly register the command, but somehow you manage to blink yourself back to reality fast enough to part your lips without her having to ask again. (Though asking wasn't really what she'd even done in the first place.) 
“Good,” Moira hums, appearing all too pleased with herself, “it seems you’re capable of following directions.”
Having acknowledged that much, she sneaks that thumb up, letting it pass your lips and nudge at your tongue, feeling the warm wetness of your mouth. You feel yourself burning up, and Moira presses in until the pointed middle knuckle of her thumb is barely ghosting below your cupid's bow.
“Close,” she demands, —and you do, suckling on the heat of her hand, eyes scaling up to her face.
She seems much too delighted by this, albeit in a subdued sense of the word. There’s always been an air of cockiness about her, but this really took the cake and ran with it, like she was so proud to have suckered you in even this deep. It’s then that you’re forced to question whether this is some kind of sick joke, or if she’s truly just that bored here in the clinical wing. It’s obviously not her favorite place to be, but doing all of this on the clock to make the time pass by faster is a little bit of a stretch, even for someone like her.
Moira glides her thumb to and fro, watching the way your lips move with her, still clasped around her digit so beautifully. She thinks to herself that you really are just such a pretty girl.
“Aren’t you just a sweet, obedient thing?” She muses, finally letting her lips curve upward completely.
You hum instinctively, and she can feel the vibration as it resonates from the back of your throat.
“Oh?” She cocks her head to the side, raising a single eyebrow, “was that meant to be defiant? Or perhaps just a correction, —that you’re only this malleable for me?”
She loves the way you look so dazed by every word she speaks, like you’re trying to interpret a foreign language. You’re so mystified by her very presence this close up, as if you can’t decide if she’s real or not.
Eventually, Moira decides she’s had enough and utters “open” again, to which you comply quickly, letting her thumb make its way out from between your lips. Ever the inquisitive woman, she rubs her thumb against her index finger, tapping them together, letting your leftover saliva string between them.
“Y/n,” she murmurs, turning that duel-colored stare directly on you so intently, “—don’t play so coy. There comes a time when every woman must stop begging for the things she desires, and I’m tired of your eyes begging for what your mouth refuses to ask of me.”
Your lips part now, brain convinced you have a solid idea of what you’re supposed to be requesting of her. Though your head is still swimming and a part of you just knows you’re better off leaving things here, as they are, you’re only human. . . So you let your shaky hands come up to grasp at the fabric of her partially unbuttoned shirt, and you pull her inward, not once, but twice, until her face is so close to yours that you’re practically sharing the same breath.
There’s a pause when you don’t make the final move to kiss her, half expecting that she’d have taken over by now, but she offers a low chuckle and snakes a hand up her torso, grasping at your own. It’s gentle for a moment —but only for a moment— before she forces your grip away in a single motion, the other hand wrapping around your free wrist, and pinning either of your hands down against the examination table.
“Go on,” she presses, “stop being so polite. Take what it is we both know you want. Do lions ask nicely before they tear their prey apart?”
You wonder which one you’re supposed to be in this scenario, —the lion or the prey. With the way she’s staring at you, you get the feeling it’s the latter. . .
Closer, closer, you lean, until Moira’s mouth is barely touching your own in a sort of off-handed, almost kiss that isn’t quite coming to fruition. Your neck is craned as far as your body will allow, and you feel the little tuft of amused breath that passes her nostrils ghost against your skin.
“You really are just incredibly novel, did you know that?” She asks, pressure increasing on your pinned down wrists as she finally goes in for the kill.
Her lips are surprisingly soft, and slightly sticky from the remnants of her off-orange lipstick. Even the way she kisses you commands a certain level of respect, and you hope to honor that by keeping up, letting your body react naturally to any and all of her ministrations. When her tongue slips into your mouth, you hardly startle at the feeling, letting her lick and taste as she pleases. The way she does so is like she can’t get enough, —and it crosses your mind very briefly that you may be the first person she’s come on to in quite a while.
Her job is demanding, and overwhelmingly isolating, after all. ..
Having stained your lips enough, both with her bruising kisses and the tangerine-ajacent cosmetics on her mouth, she pulls away for the briefest of moments, only to descend upon your neck like it was glazen with sugar. You can’t help the little gasp that escapes you, or the soft moan that follows, —or the way your hand reaches up to bury the fingers in those fiery strands of hair now that hers are no longer pinning yours down.
“Moira,” you hiss lightly, “—ah.”
Under any other circumstances, you’d have never uttered her name so plainly in lieu of her title, but with the way she was wearing you thin and prying you open with such apparent ease, you doubted she’d care much if you stepped over a line previously drawn in the sand. As far as you could tell, you were already lost at sea anyhow. 
It’s not much of anything, but you feel her smirk against your skin, then murmur: “She does speak.”
You’re on fire, inside and out, burning up so badly you fear there’ll be nothing left but ashes by the time she’s finished with you. Silently, you think it might be best for you to put a stop to this before it ends up going too far; before each of you are drowning so deep there’s no way to break the surface. Your lips part, ready to put an end to it all, —knowing you should. . . But you can’t. Not when she looks you over like you really are just her prey for the taking, for the feasting, the devouring.
“Darling,” she murmurs, tracing the back of her finger down your cheek, caressing you softly, “don’t be so shy. Learn to take what you want without pleading.”
Even then, it’s less of a suggestion and more of a subtle demand.
“I—” you start, but swallow just as quickly.
Sucking in a breath, you let your hands do the talking, gracing the flushed skin of her neck, then ghosting just above her sharp collar bones that peak out from her unbuttoned blouse. Before you have the wherewithal to tell yourself to stop, your shaky fingers begin fiddling with the rest of the clasps, going further down until you see the top of her bra (a simple, black garment, in true Moira fashion.) There’s something so stunning about the way colors lie against her, as if melding into her flesh, bending to her will.
She doesn’t stop you from unfastening the buttons, revealing more of her as you continue downward. She’s got no complaints to utter, no reservations present in her body language, and she sheds the top entirely when the last one has come undone. Moira takes a step back, tossing her shirt onto the small countertop, one of the sleeves dangling over into the sink. You take her fleeting absence from your body as an opportunity to admire her, —the sharp, almost jagged edges she carries around like swords. She’s so tall and slender, so striking in the way she moves as if everything is calculated and she doesn’t doubt for a moment that the world is ready to mold to her every wish and whim.
“Something to say?” She cocks a brow, tone smooth and almost melodic, that hint of an Irish accent clinging to every word.
Your mouth still feels dry, but you force yourself to say what’s on your mind, —even at the risk of coming across like some lovesick schoolgirl.
“I just think you’re pretty,” you answer.
Her lips quirk into another smirk at the compliment, and she runs a hand through her hair, letting you admire the motion.
“That’s very kind of you to say,” she replies.
It didn’t feel kind when you said it, really. . . It just felt true.
“Come,” she beckons, coaxing you off the exam table and closer to the wall, pressing your back against it.
It’s cold to the touch, but it does little to quench the fire still roaring in your guts. What’s more, you’re not entirely sure you want it to stop now anyway. From the corner of your eye, you can see one of Moira’s lengthy arms reach out to tap the middle of the doorknob with a long-nailed finger, popping the lock into place. You assume that signifies a sealed deal of sorts. . . That there’s no going back now; and heaven knows you’re not trying to.
Moira’s hands find their way to your waist, pressing firmly for a bit as she kisses you again; albeit somewhat slower and more intimately than before. It feels more like the kind of kiss you’d give a lover to show affection than one you’d throw at a midday fling. There’s little time to dwell on the thought, however, as she snakes herself between your thighs, dancing over the fabric of your dress pants.
Your breathing hitches a little at the feeling, your skin heating up, and Moira grins to herself before letting her fingers trail upward and curl inward, grabbing at your sweater. Untucking it from your pants, the elder woman pulls it up, looks to you for approval, then finishes the job as she yanks it over your head and tosses it back onto the examination table. The crinkly paper shuffles for a moment, and the sound is almost thunderous over the duet of breaths and heartbeats across the room.
She murmurs something about how lovely you are that you don’t quite catch, —but the real compliment comes from the way her eyes trace across your body, soaking up every inch so earnestly.
When you reach behind her slim back, fiddling with the clasp of her bra, she gives a hum of amusement.
“Eager one, aren’t you?” She asks, voice dripping with the only kind of condescension that tastes so sweet.
“I can’t help it,” you breathe quickly, almost in embarrassment, but still lacking the humility it would have otherwise carried.
You manage to tear the clasp open and the straps on her shoulders slump off. Moira readily tugs them down and sheds the last garment on her upper half, letting your eyes rake over the slight curve of her breasts. They’re not large by any means, but they suit her body so nicely, sitting perfectly on her chest with pinkish nipples you can’t help but think about clasping your mouth around.
She seems pleasantly surprised when you make the first move to do just that, even placing a long-nailed hand on the back of your head, guiding you to her body. As you offer a lick to the left one with the flat of your saliva-laden tongue, she lets out a soft breath, stroking your hair softly as if to encourage you to keep going. You do as she silently asks, parting your lips again and taking her in your mouth, suckling on one, then giving the same attention to the other. She seems to like the way you swirl your tongue, so you do it again, and again, and again, until Moira decides that this just isn’t suiting her fancy any longer.
“Good girl,” she mumbles, even when she’s pushing you away and tugging your bra off with ease.
This time, she doesn’t bother tossing the article of clothing onto the exam table behind her, she simply lets it hit the ground to join her own. Thankfully, the sanitation of the labs, and subsequently the clinical wing, has always been solid as can be.
With a clawed hand, she covers your mouth and keeps your head pinned back against the wall, ducking down to repay the favor. She takes her time reaching your breasts, but it’s hard to mind when she’s busy sucking love bites in a trail down your neck and upper chest. She bites your shoulder, feels you moan against her palm, then does it again to draw the sound from your throat once more.
When she finally takes a single nipple between her teeth, the sensation alone has you seeing stars. Her mouth is so wet and warm, so surprisingly inviting, and she’s so skilled with every little flick. Her free hand works what her mouth doesn’t, careful not to scratch or jab you with her nails. She stays attached for much longer than she allowed you to be, and it crosses your mind that Moira may not be much into the whole receiving end of things. Whatever the case, she looks too pretty like this, with her mouth leaving the rest of her faint lipstick around your nipples and on the column of your neck, for you to think too much of it (or be disappointed by it.)
You really couldn’t tell if all this passion and fervor was born of spite against Angela for setting this clinic up in the first place and making Moira work in it, the general frustration of being away from her own endeavors for so long today, the pent up ardor releasing after a dry spell, —or maybe some mixture of all of that and then some. Whatever the case, Moira wasn’t skimping on a single detail, and you were going to be the last person on the face of the planet to complain about that.
As she unbuttoned your pants and began to tug them down, allowing them to cling around your thighs, you were quick to take over and shed your own clothing at her silent demand. You were thankful you’d worn open-toed heels that day, knowing it wouldn’t have been as sexy if you’d had to have taken the time to slip your socks off during this little process. Moira doesn’t make any moves to mimic you, instead resigning herself to watching and holding herself back from touching.
When everything’s shed, you unconsciously cover yourself with your arms a bit, not necessarily to hide away from her gaze, but out of little more than whatever few shreds of humility you have left.
“Don’t be bashful,” she says firmly, grasping each of your wrists and planting your arms at your sides.
The transition back to the table feels like a blur, —a rush of so much at once that your mind goes a little foggy and the sound of that damn crinkly paper being pushed back to the top, along with the stray clothes, hardly registers above the ache in your core and the coolness of the floor beneath your bare feet. She instructs you to sit, and you do, and when she tells you to come closer to the edge and spread your legs, you do that as well.
“You’re so obedient,” she comments with a half-smile, trailing a finger down the barren skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers across your skin. “We could use more employees like you around here.”
A part of you can’t help but hope, in the moment, that those people never come around, that they never land positions in the lab, just so this endeavor can be your burden to carry alone. This side of Moira is still intimidating, but there’s a softness to be found in the way she looks at you, the way she mumbles little compliments against your skin, —the way she treats you like you’re made of something fragile.
She parts your lips with two of her long fingers, taking a moment to admire the way arousal has slicked your folds up so beautifully. It’s been a while since she’s seen firsthand the impact she can have on a woman, and your wetness strokes her ego more than it probably should have.
The moment the flat of her tongue pressed against you, your toes curled inward and your head fell back, a few breathy moans making your chest stutter. Through half-lidded eyes, you could only watch in bliss as Moira glanced up at you, her mouth suctioned around your needy little cunt, feeling every twitch and licking up every bit of juice.
“Oh my God,” you huff, reaching forward with one hand to grasp at Moira’s hair.
She seems to like the way you vocalize, and the way you grab at her like it’s something natural, even when it really isn’t. Her tongue works in circles, then lines, then a million other shapes and directions in a single moment, and you feel your body quiver from the tension.
A part of you feels pathetic, but it really can’t be helped that she’s already pushed you to the edge. Weeks of work had given you little time to yourself, and what time you had managed had been spent sleeping, eating, or trying to catch up on things you enjoyed in your personal life. Taking care of your more intimate needs just hadn’t really entered the equation as of late, but now all of that build-up was really showing its true colors (and so quickly at that.)
“I—” you suck in a breath, “I’m gonna cum—”
And she reaches around from the top, her arm hooked under your left thigh, pressing the pad of her thumb ever so carefully against your swollen clit.
You toss your head back and bite your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Your free hand grasps for one of your breasts, pinching a nipple between your fingers, letting her drive that stake in so fucking deep that you can feel your insides melting away into ecstasy. Her thumb massaging your clit, her tongue swirling around just below, and the utter depravity of having sex with your boss’s most disgruntled co-worker leaves you cumming on her face, muscles releasing all their tension and melding away into this fantasy world with her.
Oh, but she’s not done, —because of course she’s not. The quiver in your thighs isn’t steady enough, and she hasn’t felt you clench around her fingers, hasn’t felt you tug on her hair hard enough to rip some of the strands from her scalp, hasn’t quite had her fill of you just yet.
Moira brings her hand to her mouth, tearing the middle two nails off with her teeth and spitting them onto the ground beside the examination table. That’s probably a lot hotter than it should be right now, but there’s something about the way she tugs them off so effortlessly, grasping them between her canines, that has your core sopping at the sight of it.
“Just lay back,” she requests.
You do, without question, and you hear her offer up a low chuckle that resonates from the back of her throat.
“You’d just do anything I asked of you, wouldn’t you?” She asks, amusement clinging to every word.
“Yeah, probably,” you reply breathily, —and perhaps a bit too honestly.
But she likes that.
Moira pushes your thighs apart like they’re less so parts of your body and more so obstacles getting in the way of what she wants. She stands to her full height for a moment or two, but her back curves downward and she lowers herself over top of you as she flips her hand palm-side up and sinks those two de-nailed fingers inside your cunt. Your accumulated wetness allows for such an easy entrance, and she pauses for a moment at the hilt of her hand to relish in the way your walls thrub around her digits, almost pulsating, begging for more.
If there’s ever been something Moira has been happy to comply with, —it was this. She lets you adjust, but just barely so, and then pulls back a bit, letting the friction elicit a few soft moans from you.
“Fuck,” you whimper, eyes rolling back a bit, cunt clenching around Moira’s lengthy fingers, the ones she knows how to work so well inside you.
It once again seems like every move she makes is calculated and precise, evoking something so primal inside you, unleashing some kind of desirous beast that just can’t get enough of her.
And there you are on this uncomfortable exam table in this God forsaken clinical wing that neither you nor Moira have ever been very fond of, bare back pressed against the weirdly textured leather, dripping and convulsing around the lecherous fingers of the same woman you’ve heard nothing but complaints about from your boss since you first began working under her. You’re sure that if Doctor Ziegler could see you now, she’d have you fired on the spot, —and something about that makes this so much fucking hotter.
You’re whimpering at every touch, so vulnerable for her eyes only. She prods at every inch of your insides she can touch, moving her fingers in time with every little noise that’s ripped from your throat, leaving you moaning like a slut in heat; and the cycle continues until your body has just had more than enough.
“Moira, I—” a breath cuts you off, nails scraping against that odd-feeling leather beneath you. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, holy shit—”
She doesn’t stop. She wouldn’t even dream of it when you’re begging like that, when the pretty pussy she’s hammering out with two fingers is just begging for every ounce of her desire and attention.
The knot inside you unravels, and she basks in the way you spasm around her digits, back arching up off the table. Moira lets you ride it out before slipping out, drawing a few lines up and down your glistening slit before pulling her hand away and reaching for the paper towl dispenser that hangs on the wall. She pats her hand dry and silently collects the clothes strewn about the room.
It takes a moment for you to get your bearings, but you manage to redress without making a fool of yourself.
“A word of advice,” Moira finally speaks, “you’re a good time, and I’m sure an adaquate employee, —but acting isn’t much your forte. Next time Angela sends you here to spy on me, spare me the pleasantries and let’s just skip to the good part.”
You can feel your ears burning, but you force a nod anyway.
“Yes, Doctor.”
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pascalsbby · 7 months
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Hot Single Dad of The Neighborhood
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Summary: It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller.
Warnings: mdni, 18+, eventual smut (c’mon…wouldn’t be a celebration without it)
This is satire. Kinda. It’s me laughing at myself & my love for this fictional man. But you’re laughing along, because you get it. Let me know what you think!!
This is a part of my 700 follower’s celebration. Read the detailed description here 🩷
It all started with this:
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Let me set the scene:
It’s 9:45pm on a Friday, and this is better than having the house to yourself. This is the time of week where we tuck our children (and husbands) in, and we gather around this shitty glass table as the tales are whispered through. It starts off with your usual: sugar-salted peach margaritas turned to two, a joint, and then the riveting conversation of, “now who would leave that dick?”
We call ourselves ‘Joel Miller’s Neighborhood Wives’. It’s a mouthful. But we like a mouthful. So- sit down, have a smoke, a wee little drink, and listen to the goss.
The neighborhood wives (Kat, Kali, Chloe on the right of you, Kit, Vic, Bug & Angela to the left) are all cuddled around Kat’s patio, enacting a dramatic retelling of ‘who the fuck is Joel Miller?’ Himself, somewhere across the street, wondering why every now and then he hears a chorus of squeals. Then, he smiles to himself and wishes he had the guts to grace y’all with his presence. He’s not invited though.
This is the first time you’ve hung out with them, and maybe the last, tbh. No way this Miller guy is worth all this fuss.
And, action.
It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller. We take whatever we can get from him, between when we hear his truck two streets over, lightly running across the hollow wooden floors to put on our slippers. The low growl from his truck pipes (or yours) grows louder as he turns the corner onto the street. We watch as he drops out of the truck and thuds against the concrete, slamming that damn door closed. Probably how he lets all his ladies know he’s home. Our eyes follow his form, tapping all the way up to his front door before he takes those goddamn cowboy boots off. We stumble out of the front door and check the mail. Well, only for the third time that morning. What? We are all always expecting something, alright? You catch what you can before his shoulders disappear through the blue-chipped front door, right back into his house. We close the mailboxes simultaneously and sadly drip back to our front doors. No hello’s today.
Sometimes later in the night before supper, you’ll see the door shaped hole widen in the darkness, warmth boasting from behind as Joel’s form takes up the light, smiling as he pats Tommy on his way inside. Tommy usually drinks too much and stays the night, so we sit back and tend to the family. We ride our delusions in the meantime. Then, the cycle continues. It’s like… the cycle of life. You know?
He seems like your typical gentleman, Joel. A Southern-raised man, one who would let you be his nuclear-family sweetheart. Cook for him, clean for him, spread *it open for him, let his massive fucking hands feel any part of you they wanted. Especially if that meant they were to explore more under the stiff shirtwaist dresses. Or in. We would all rather him in.
Spread, what, exactly? Oh yeah dude, sorry. I meant: *Cunt, asshole, any part of you he wanted to look down the middle of and split open, really. We aren’t shy about it when it comes to talking to each other. Obviously.
The aforementioned Tommy?
That’s his brother, probably about seven or eight years younger. He is a beau too, but he doesn’t seem the type to really fuck it out of ya. I mean sure, he has done his fair share of fucking around with the moms’ of the neighborhood, too. Bug even whispered a tale of Tommy going after those mom’s college daughters, swooping in to help clean the pool before setting them gently on the concrete and swiping their panties to the side as he buried his face in them. He always made sure they were at least 22. This is only moments after the pretty younger girls make their way back into the pretty, white iron gates afront their parents' houses.
Fair enough, he has the same curls wrapping down the base of his neck, kissing the skin beneath them. He has the ‘Miller Smirk’ - what the town wives call it. The Miller brothers are known throughout the neighborhood for their distinct brand of charm. Both possess an effortless charisma that begs you to get on your knees. But they never let us. Sad. Their shared features aren’t few, but none are as similar and charming as their half-smiles. Grins always slightly tilted, as if they were sharing an inside joke with each other but not the rest of the world.
So of course Tommy is desired to an extent, physically, of course. Emotionally? Probably not. But shit, you’d have both if you could. Paris looks great this time of year. Anyways.
He wasn’t the Miller we all grappled over and wanted so deeply, despite a metal band around our fingers (or not). His competency and willingness. They way he looks at his daughter. Oh yeah…girl dad. The way he looks in the Texas heat. His back, flexed and sweating through his too-tight shirt. “The day that man wears a white shirt and it’s over 90 degrees- I will drop fucking dead. Someone take care of the kid for me,” Kat.
There’s been one story about Joel that is retold over and over like it’s fuckin’ Genesis Chapter 3, creation and all. The story on how, why, we all got here to begin with. No one can agree who first told it. Angela or Bug, shit…was it Chloe? Okay, okay, it really doesn’t matter at the moment. Just listen.
It was late August, three years ago. Hot and dripping with the dead-end heat of summer. Almost as if it was giving all it could before the last of it sputtered out and away, knowing Fall was right around the corner to take its place- happy to finally have a rest. A for sale sign that had been smiling at you for months was suddenly gone, the dirt still fresh from where it had been happily ripped. Joel Miller, Mr. Texas cowboy himself showed up one day as the crickets started singing, he kissed the cicadas goodbye for the season, unloaded the Miller Construction van and then he never left. A few weeks later after he and his brother fixed up the place, a little girl was running up the concrete to the front door. But there was no wife.
When he moved into the neighborhood, a new era dawned. It was one where the wives would rather mow the lawn, take the trash cans out on Wednesday nights, and tend to the long-forgotten garden. No really, all of our gardens are pristine now. Because somewhere not too far away there was a beautiful, muscular man with a mustache you wanted to wet, and God, his nose. A nose that was prominent even a few houses down, sun setting behind as it sat there strong and just uh- you knew a nose like that would be tickling your clit while he used his tongue other places. Or the other way around, whichever way you were sitting. Whatever way he wanted you to sit.
It was something about that deep navy cotton shirt his chest and shoulders grace about once or twice a week. The other is some form of a Lakers’ tee, yellow or purple, love-worn but scrunched up and stretched in the right places. You’ll see. Maybe that in itself, how it wraps around his sun-bathed/loved/kissed skin is the reason for everyone’s fever induced fluster. Maybe it’s the drawl, and the fact he absolutely drips of sex.
Most interactions end with deep breaths leaning against the door, knocking on your chest. Or texting the group message (we’ll add you in a minute, it’s called JMW)((Joel Miller’s Whores)). He always has something to say, something to coo at you while you in turn try not to purr back… at least with your mouth. Although no, because you would purr around him with your mouth if he’d only ask for it.
But you? Metaphorically, denoting us all. No, he would never look down upon you, between his eyelashes and brooding smile, dark, tanned skin smelling of the day- “want you to pull the pretty dress up and get on your knees. I’m tired from the day, workin’ so hard for this family. Leas’ you could do is suck my cock, no?” And he didn’t know it, but he was right. He did work so hard for this family. He was your maladaptive daydreaming, he’s what you giggle at during fake conversations, he was the cock slipping between your hungry folds at night.
Instead, it was half-baked smiles and short waves in the drop off line in the morning. He walks Sarah in, every single day. She’s getting to the age where she seems like she’d deter the sweet action, but she doesn’t- she loves him that much. We never see him in the afternoon, his barely-present wife (he has to have a wife, right? Like Bug says, “I mean look at him”), was probably the one picking up Sarah. Probably taking her to some even bigger house on the richer side of town because it's her turn to watch her. How the hell could you leave someone like Joel?
But regardless, we never see her. Never have the entire time we’ve peeked out of our blinds, running to turn off the lamp so no one can see the strip of light coming from the window.
He has never brought a woman inside of that house, let alone has anyone left it. Once, Tommy brought a girl to their Thanksgiving dinner and Vic told Kit she had come alone, first, and hugged Joel. That “Joel was extra smiley to her.” Moral of the story, we don’t know for sure if he’s still married or he’s just somehow keeping that dick to himself.
Jesus, Kat retold that story for three fucking weeks. But, we don’t really blame her. It was how it all began.
Don’t get me wrong, Joel Miller is available- if that pesky little wasp hive directly atop your living room window is getting out of hand, and you just happen to be a single mom who so desperately needs a man’s touch. Not like that. Well, yeah like that. Then, you could count on Joel Miller to back up his old blue truck bed into your driveway, set up his ladder, and allow you to spend the next hour watching through the window as his shirt pulls up his stomach as he does his diligent work.
His v-lines kissed by veins and tufted black hair towards his middle, peeking up and saying hello every time his jeans got a little too low. Musta forgot his usual belt. Or maybe his work belt was a tad too heavy today. Uh, to take that pressure off of his back for him, and into your hands.
-
But him owing you? That’s a different kind of available. It was a week later, the morning before the mom gathering, and you had only seen Joel once. Yes… peaking through your blinds. Then you heard his voice.
“Hi ma’am,” he waved, turning your attention from where you were setting your bags in the car. “Sarah, ask the pretty lady what you wanted, don’t make her wait any longer in this heat.” He was loading his work tools into the bed of his pickup. Another bed of his you’d like to grace.
Shit. Maybe this Miller was worth the fuss.
-
Part 2 later this week babes <3 It will be an actual fic, hehe.
@justagalwhowrites @cool-iguana @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @netherfeildren @chloeangelic
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esamastation · 5 months
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Part thirty-six of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.
Ao3 link.
Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five
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What do you get when you take the random encounters of a turn-based RPG and add a hefty dose of action RPG, and then turn that into a semi-realistic world? You get absolute shitton of critters.
There's so many. Not just types, of which there admittedly aren't that many. There are lizards called Tail Vaults that try to headgrab you, there are huge beetles called, weirdly, Bizarre Bugs that either try to body slam you or poison you, depending on whether they feel like flying or not, there are birds that try to electrocute you, which are, disappointingly, called Thunderbirds - disappointing, because they're barely the size of falcons and something called Thunderbird should honestly be bigger…
Sephiroth is really starting to feel at home here! While the monsters of Final Fantasy VII so far aren't exactly impressing him with their variety or imaginativeness, they're just about on par with PIDW with how fucking annoying they are.
Because they never fucking stop coming!
"You know, I was really enjoying this," Sephiroth comments after another random encounter with half a dozen or so mixed mobs. "I was having such a good day. But these things just don't stop coming, do they?"
"Welcome to Wutai, it's all bugs and angry grasses from here to the bitter end," Angeal agrees. "Just be glad there aren't any Adamantaimai here."
"What's that?" 
"Big turtle with a bunch of shield magic that throws all your attacks back at you."
"Ooh, I want to see one!" Sephiroth says excitedly.
"Sephiroth, no," Angeal says firmly.
"But -"
"Firstly, they live in the northern end of Wutai, so it would be a week's trek there, and for two we have our hands full here," Angeal says. "We're not going to see Adamantaimai."
Sephiroth sighs. "Fine," he mutters and looks ahead. "Oh, look, more bugs."
"Back to it, then," Angeal agrees, adjusting his gloves.
Though they can't seem to take more than twenty steps before running into more monsters, the fights themselves aren't hard. It's actually really cool, to just mow them down in single swings like he can! The Liu-shidi vibes are incredible, just, ten out of ten. And the more Sephiroth fights, the more comfortable with his body he becomes. He can almost feel his meridians unwinding!
It's really quite something to be in a body that feels so at ease, swinging a sword around. Though he could've done without the whole villain alien hybrid who will one day try to destroy us all thing, there's something really nice about fighting now. Like Shen Qingqiu felt at ease reading or painting or playing music, Sephiroth's feels most comfortable swinging a sword.
It's really becoming more and more apparent by the moment that Sephiroth's body is best suited for physical cultivation. He can just feel his stress levels coming down!
Ah, but he would really like a little break to take in the rest of what Wutai wildlife has to offer too! The forest around them isn't just a backdrop in a battle screen, there's all kinds of interesting plants, and he's pretty sure he's seen some familiar trees, and Sephiroth would really like to take a closer look!
"Can we take a break?" he asks, trying not to sound too plaintive after the umpteenth fight against endlessly spawning mobs.
"Are you getting tired?" Angela asks, alarmed.
Honestly he doesn't even feel like he's been exercising. Sephiroth has a fucking golden body, it's ridiculous. "No. I just want a break."
"Yeah, sure - we'll take a break," Angeal says and deals away with the rest of their most recent patch of enemies. "What's going on - are you alright?"
"I'm fine - I just want to take a look at that tree over there," Sephiroth says, nodding. There's a really huge tree a little ways from them, big enough that it's visible at a distance and past the other trees. 
"Huh? I mean, sure?" Angeal says and looks. "I guess it's pretty impressive - is there something wrong with it?"
No, it just looks like a ginkgo tree. Sephiroth shrugs and, after making sure they're not about to be stormed by another swarm of low-level mobs, walks over to the tree.
It is a ginkgo tree, a really old one - old enough that if it was in PIDW, the locals would've already started giving it tributes in expectation of its awakening. It's so big it's starting to push out other trees around it, outcompeting them for space and sunlight, and so creating a clearing around itself.
It really… looks like a stray piece of home. Though there weren't that many ginkgo trees on Cang Qiong Mountain, there were some - including one really impressive one on the Beast Peak, which they were expecting to awaken any year now. The disciples used to hang charms from its branches.
Sephiroth puts his sword away as he approaches the tree. Feeling a bit silly but also not wanting to be rude, he bows to the tree before going closer. Gently, he rests his hand against the tree trunk. It takes some effort… but he can feel the Qi flowing in the tree trunk. There's a lot of it, too.
The tree is not awakening - but at the same time is not… not awakened already? 
Probably something to do with the cyclic nature of souls in this world. Everything is sort of reincarnation of everything else - so the Qi in the tree is thousands of years old, thousands of lives lived.
"... Sephiroth?" Angeal asks quietly. "What are you, um…?"
"This tree is old. Very old," Sephiroth says - then bites his tongue on the natural conclusion of that statement in old as balls. Trying not to lose his composure, he looks up. "No trees like these near Midgar."
"... No, there aren't," Angeal agrees, eyeing him. "Can you… feel something from the tree?"
Sephiroth looks down at him. "You mean the Lifestream coursing through it?"
Angeal looks a bit startled at that before shrugging, uncomfortable. "I know they all say that Lifestream is just a bunch of nonsense - but it's like you said," he says. "No trees like this around Midgar."
"Mn," Sephiroth hums.
"You know, sometimes I wonder what might've happened if they built a reactor in the Mideel Islands," Angeal says, considering the tree. "They say the ground is too unstable and there's too many earthquakes, but… if they had…"
Mideel is this world's version of the Pacific islands, right? "All your weird apple trees would've died, probably," Sephiroth muses.
"How dare you call our apples weird, sir," Angeal says, mock offended. "I would have you know, Banora Whites are my hometown's main export!"
"Don't you call them stupid apples or something?"
"Dumb apples," Angeal says with a huff.
"I rest my case," Sephiroth snorts and looks up at the Ginkgo tree. Sunlight is screening through the leaves, like dancing sparkles of gold, and if he was Shen Qingqiu, he'd try his hand at a poem for it just about now. Maybe he could do a bit of meditation here…
And of course that's when there's a sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling somewhere behind them as something large and probably angry comes their way. Damn.
"I guess break time is over," Sephiroth mutters and grabs his sword. "I know there's an Enemy Lure materia - is there an Enemy Repellant one?"
"If I ever find one, I'll let you know," Angeal says, putting his fists up.
And they're back into the fray.
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kawaiisadoglu · 7 months
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Lewis is constantly checking his phone, waiting for a message or call from you, or taking and sending photos for you. Can you write something where everyone around you is aware that Lewis has a different mood than usual, but they don't understand what it is or they can't find out who that person is? I hope it's clear 💜 have a nice dayy
Who Is She?: Lewis Hamilton x Black!Reader
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Everyone knew how unfocused Lewis was when it came to relationships. Before now he had taken a break from that part of life and had become a bit distant from a lot of things and people to focus on himself as he said, but what if that wasn’t the full truth?
These days, Lewis could be spotted always typing away on his phone, the AirPods are no longer in use for music, he is always in a way more positive mode than usual as he just overall looked extremely happy it almost hurts.
Toto, Bono, Angela, Susie and George watched on as the Mercedes driver smiled every time he read a message, replying quickly before waiting impatiently for a reply from the person involved in the conversation from the other side.
He was as giddy as a high school boy who finally got recognised by his crush and they were enjoying the view. At first they had no idea what was going on and so it wasn’t until George had secretly overseen Lewis receive a message one day that it was cleared. From the understanding of George the name of the girl was Y/n and that was all they know.
Today was the same with Lewis walking around grinning widely as he typed away at his phone while everyone watched on with smiles and smirks at his behaviour. Angela and Susie however we’re very impatient and wanted to find out about the girl in all seriousness so they grabbed him by the shirt and had him sit in the centre of the garage as all eyes were now on him for the interrogation has begun.
“So Lewis, it’s been a couple of weeks that we’ve been noticing your mood change. Not that we don like it, it’s just that we are concerned about what exactly you got yourself into. Now tell us, we already know it’s a girl no need to hide. We want the details sweetheart” Angela urged him softly. “Well…her name is Y/n L/n…she’s 26 years old…she’s a lawyer and real estate agent…I had been speaking to her for a couple of days before she gave me her number and now we’re dating” Lewis blushed as his team awed at his confession. “That is so sweet Lewis. We can see that she really has you locked in, BUT is there any chance that we’ll see her in the paddock?” Bono asked eager for the response. “I was thinking about inviting her to the next race”Lewis replied making the garage irrupt in cheers as they begged him to make the call now.
The phone rang once, twice then a third time before it was answered “Hey Lew” Y/n greeted making the garage awe at the cute nickname. “Hey Y/n/n I always wondering. Since you mentioned that you work from home, I was wondering if there was maybe a chance that I could fly you out for the next race, that’s if you’re interested?” Lewis asked nervously as the line went silent for a while after. “Umm… yeah, sure I’ll be able to come over as long as you send me the information at least least two days before so I can prepare” Y/n answered and everyone was feeling excited at this point waiting for the call to end.
“Ok sweetie, that’s all I wanted to confirm with you, thanks and have a good day yeah?”he nervously said as she replied “No problem, thank you and make sure that you have a good day and don’t go stressing your teammate and team principal out ok? Bye bye” as the phone hung up everyone erupted into applause and cheers as they now had a guest to prepare for leaving a shyly blushing Lewis to go hide away in his drivers room until he was next needed.
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Text
Chasing After You
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warnings:none
summary: Fred has made it his goal to get with the good girl, and deep down she wants him too.
part 1?? maybe- 
A/n I know this isn’t hotd but I love Harry Potter so... REQUESTS OPEN 
Ever since he met you, he knew he had to have you.
You were too good, too pure, you were a straight A, goody-too-shoes student and that intrigued him, or maybe it was whenever he cracked a joke in class or pulled some insufferable prank on a professor you always seemed to smile, and try to hide it, but he could see. 
So, he made it a goal to get you to like him. He knew you had a boyfriend, but he was a twat anyways, smug and entitled. 
.............
You were walking to your charms class, books in hand and pushing a loose piece of hair behind your ear, when he approached. “That’s a lot of books you have there,” you looked up at the tall redhead, and smiled slightly. “You mean, the ones your supposed to have for this class?” 
“I’m not one for books,” you shook your head, “why don’t you help me? From what I hear, you’re quite the smart one,” he put his hands in his pockets keeping up with your fast pace. “Or you could use the books assigned to you,” you both walked into class, and you sat beside your friend Angela giving her a smile as you opened one of them, he sat next to you placing both hands on the desk and connecting them together. “This isn’t your seat,” you looked at him with an unamused face, “I bet you he won’t notice, and if he doesn’t you have to help me,” 
“And if he does?” you raised your eyebrows, “then I guess I will leave you alone,” “he leaned back in his seat shrugging his shoulders. “Deal,” You tried to ignore how he made you feel, you knew you had a boyfriend, even though it was a loveless affair. Your parents were practically forcing you into this relationship, both of your families were high in the ministry and highly encouraged you two being together, but he was selfish, and rude, you had always watched Fred, but you had a reputation to upkeep, and you didn’t want to lose what you had.
..........
It was the end of class by now, and there he was, still sitting in the same seat, Professor Flitwick not glancing an eye once he moved closer to your ear as you were gathering your books, whispering, he spoke, “see you in the library by, let’s see- 4? Don’t be late,” and with that he smiled and got up. The skin on your neck was now covered in goose bumps, you knew you were going to go, it was a deal, and you always kept your word, but you weren’t going to let it go any farther than studying.
............
You walked into the library and immediately saw the back of his red hair; his foot was tapping hesitantly on the floor. You walked over hesitantly taking in a deep breath and keeping your books close. You sat down across from him, and he smiled widely, “your late, but I’ll let it slide, this time,” you rolled your eyes and placed your charms books down, “This is what you need, and what exactly did you need help with,” he placed his chin on his hand, “why are you with him anyways, he’s such a twat,” you parted your lips, “Weasley, let’s focus on charms, like we agreed on.”
“Fine, fine, but I’m always here you know.” he smiled, and you ignored the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. 
.........
“So, then you just flick your wrist and do exactly what I told you, got it?” you smiled. The session had gone surprisingly well, he actually listened and didn’t get off topic, which surprised you completely. “Yep, got it,” you grinned, maybe you could let your guard down a bit, it wasn’t like letting go a little was going to affect your whole future anyways. “I don’t actually like him, it’s more of a parent pleasing situation,” you said as you gathered your books trying to not look at his face. 
“Ah, I knew it,” he clapped, and you widened your eyes at him, “not so loud,” and you laughed, he actually made you laugh! 
“So then let me take you out, next time we go to Hogsmeade, we can go to the shops together,” his face was full of confidence, and you knew you should say no, but you had always like Fred. Deep down, you enjoyed his pranks, and admired his confidence, you genuinely envied it. “What if he sees?” you tilted your head, “let him,” you shook your head.
“Fine,” his smile almost made you regret it.
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currentlyfckingurmom · 8 months
Text
Undercover
Angela Lopez x female reader (The Rookie)
“Officer Y/L/N,” Sergeant Grey calls, “Detectives Lopez and Harper want to see you.”
Your eyebrows rise in surprise. “Yes, sir.”
You make your way to the detectives’ desks, swallowing your nerves at the sight of Lopez before standing at attention. “Morning, detectives. Sergeant Grey said you wanted to see me?”
“Morning,  Y/L/N,” Harper greets. “We’ve got a case. We could use your skill set.”
“My skill set? What exactly do I have to offer that you don’t, ma’am? Hard to believe you need a patrol officer’s help. Big case?”
“Don’t undermine yourself,  Y/L/N. You’re smart. You’ve got good instincts. And you know this case inside and out,” Lopez cuts in. You swallow thickly at her praise, forcing the blush off of your face.
“The Tijuana Cartel?” You guess.
Lopez confirms it. “We’ve got an in. You and I are going undercover,” she smirks.
You nod, forcing yourself into business mode. “When are we doing this?”
“Tomorrow night. Which means we have today to prepare you.”
“This isn’t my first undercover op, Detective Lopez.”
“I know. We wouldn’t risk the case if we didn’t have faith in your abilities.”
You nod firmly. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“You’ve earned it,” Harper assures. There’s a glint in her eyes that rouses a curiosity in you. She knows something.
You pull a chair up to their desks and review the case with the detectives. Several hours are spent delving into cover stories and planning before it’s time for a break. As Lopez and Harper bicker over what to get for lunch, you let your eyes trail over to Detective Lopez. Her eyes shine as she smiles at Harper, arguing that they get burritos way too often. Dark hair frames her face as she arches a brow at Harper’s claim that they hadn’t gotten burritos all week. 
“What do you think, Y/L/N?” Harper asks.
“Huh? Oh, uh—I, yeah, I’m fine with whatever.”
“That’s what I thought,” Harper says with a vaguely accusatory look as Lopez shoots you a lopsided smirk. 
“Y/L/N and I will go pick up the tacos,” Lopez says, motioning for you to follow her. You scramble out of your seat after staring for a moment too long, ignoring Harper’s laughter behind you.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. After last time…I can’t mess this up. Diaz needs to go away,” you mumble, remembering the barrel of his gun against your temple the last time you saw him.
“He won’t be there. Don’t worry. We’ll get him. If this op goes as planned, we’ll have enough to issue a warrant for his arrest.”
“Thank you, Detective Lopez.”
“You can call me Angela. We’ll be working together pretty closely the next couple of days.”
“Right, of course. In that case, call me Y/N.” Your eyes meet hers across the center console and your stomach flutters. You do your best to ignore it.
You nervously adjust the black blazer that rests over a lace corset top and black pants. As silly as it is, you’re almost nervous for Lopez to see you in something other than your uniform.
A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You open the door and smile in greeting before the grin drops entirely off your face.
Angela stands there in a long sparkly black dress. A deep V-neck and long leg slit leaves little to the imagination. Your eyes get stuck at the top of the slit where the beginnings of her hip are exposed.
She clears her throat and your eyes dart up to hers, finding an amused smirk on her face.
“You clean up alright, Y/L/N. Ready to go?” 
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. You ready?”
“Always. Come on. We’ve got a party to attend.”
The two of you were undercover as girlfriends—not that anyone would even notice you at this huge party. Lights flashed and music pounded. A couple was having sex in one corner and a group of guys were playing poker in another.
You kept your arm wrapped securely around Angela’s waist—for the sake of your cover, of course. Her hand came to rest on an exposed sliver of skin on your stomach as the two of you stood near the bar. To anyone else, you looked like a drunken couple lost in their own world. But in reality, it was the perfect vantage point to keep an eye out.
Angela’s fingers pressed firmly into your stomach to get your attention. “There. Carlos. Diaz’s right hand man. Let’s go.”
Quietly, the two of you make your way across the dance floor—getting shoved against each other several times—and make your way down the hallway that Carlos disappeared into. The two of you stop outside the door he went into, leaning against the wood to hear what he was saying.
“Next week’s meeting is crucial. We can’t fuck this up. Anyone strays from the plan and Diaz will gut you like a pig, got it?”
You meet Angela’s eyes as another voice speaks too quietly to make out his words.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something before you interrupted me. And she was hot.”
Your eyes widen as Carlos’ footsteps approach the door, and you grab Angela’s hand and drag her quickly down the hall. You slow to a semi-casual stroll.
Footsteps coming from the other direction pull a cuss from your lips as you realize that you’re being boxed in.
“Shit, we should call for backup,” Angela mumbles, her eyes darting around in search of an escape. The footsteps are growing close enough to have your heart thrumming.
“Do you trust me?”
“What? Of course I do,” she answers with confusion. Swallowing your nerves, you duck your head down and bring your lips to hers, pushing her back into the wall. She doesn’t kiss back at first, but then she understands your intentions and reciprocates. 
Her hands run down your sides, pulling you closer into her body. The footsteps fade to the back of your mind as you run your tongue over her bottom lip, moaning lowly when she grants access. With one hand against the wall next to her head, the other hand grabs her hip and brings it into your own. Her hand tangles in your hair as she tilts her head, finding a new angle that has the both of you moaning and pushing desperately for more.
“Who are you? You can’t be back here,” a deep, grainy voice cuts in. The two of you break the kiss but your hands remain on each other and your bodies against the wall.
“Uh, sorry, just got distracted,” you tell him with a laugh. “This dress should be illegal,” you add as your eyes rake over it.
“We just wanted some privacy. Only so much you can do before people begin to notice your hands under the table,” Angela says with a smirk. Holy fuck, I’m gonna die right here, right now, you think.
“Well you can’t be here. Get out. Now,” he grumbles.
“Of course. So sorry,” she giggles before pushing off the wall and dragging you down the hallway. You turn around and give the burly man a half-sorry shrug.
The two of you make it back to the car in silence. Adrenaline lights your bodies aflame and arousal has your hearts beating rapidly. Once seated in the car, the air turns thick and awkward.
“Um, I’m sorry if I crossed a line back there. I understand if you need to write me up, or–”
“Stop right there. It was good thinking. If we had been made, we might not be alive right now. Nobody’s being written up,” she promises. “Plus, it was a pretty good kiss,” she adds with a smirk.
“Just pretty good?” You laugh.
“Yeah, not half bad.” Her eyes dart down to your lips and your stomach tightens.
“Is it bad that I want to kiss you again?” You whisper.
“Yes. Definitely. But I think you should do it anyway,” she urges you.
Without hesitation, you lean in and meet her lips once more, sucking her plump bottom lip between yours and drawing a moan from her throat. Her tongue slips into her mouth as your hands roam desperately over her body that's separated from yours by the center console. Her hand dips beneath your blazer, toying with your waistband as her thumb slips beneath it. Her hand moves to the button of your slacks.
“Can I?” she breathes.
You nod, whispering “please” before a knock on the window interrupts your actions. Your bodies jolt apart at a speed that you briefly think might be inhuman. When you see the face that’s smirking outside the car window, your body fills with fear. “Oh no.”
Angela opens the window and Harper leans down, smiling evilly at the two of you. “So. You two have fun? What am I saying? Of course you are. Enough fun to forget that I could hear everything over comms.”
“Nyla–” Angela starts.
“Don’t. Your little secret is safe with me. It’s about time you two stopped making heart eyes at each other and actually did something about it,” she smirks.
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ambrozjas · 2 months
Note
dallas x shepard!sister (not angela, but reader is exactly like her siblings if that makes sense) if it’s not too much. tysm! ❤️
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kryptonite ꨄ︎
dallas winston x shepard!reader
✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ
i’ve literally never read or watched twttin, i only really know the shepard’s siblings personalities from synopses and the small snippet they mentioned/showed tim in the outsiders? so please forgive me, i tried my best 😭😭
✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ
dallas being a pest (as usual), smoking, curly is in reformatory in this period so takes place during the outsiders and not twttin
✧˖*°࿐ word count ᰔᩚ
584 words, 3264 characters
. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄
you could practically smell the obnoxious scent of the outside and tobacco as you saw dallas winston walk up to your booth. he arrogantly slid himself into the red seat, the material making a crack sound from the worn down leather.
“so, what’s a shepard doin’ ‘round here?” he finally said, leaning over the table and looking you deep in the eyes.
to be fair, you weren’t very quiet, like your siblings. you often acted out because, who can compete with a gorgeous sister, a rowdy brother, and another brother who’s as tough as nails?
everybody’s eyes were usually on you, even dallas’, but whenever you caught him staring, it felt different compared to others’ eyes.
and you hated it.
“get lost, will ya? ‘m tryna enjoy my coke without some hood blowing smoke in it.” you said.
“jus’ tryna be nice” dallas murmured, stubbing out his cigarette rudely on the white table, stained with coffee and various condiments and now, a circular ash mark.
your eyes followed his every move, watching how he looked at you and twiddled his thumbs a bit when silence fell over the two of you.
“you call interruptin’ my peace ‘nice’?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.
his eyes darted across your face, maybe trying to spot some string of insecurity or flaw he could pull.
“‘s tim around?” he asked, looking around the diner.
“naw.”
“what about that kid, uhm.. what’s his name,” dallas snapped his fingers as his mind worked, “curly?”
your eyebrows scrunched, what did dal care if your brothers were around? maybe you should’ve said tim was around.
“curly’s in reformatory.” you blankly stated, tracing your finger around the rim of the coke bottle. you pouted as you felt the body of the bottle, feeling the liquid already starting to grow warm with how long this interaction was. “what d’you care?”
he turned his head back to you, eyes squinted and lips parted in a way where he almost looks offended that you would ask him that.
“i was going to ask for a night or so with you, we could head over to the dingo or a dandelion field or whatever you broads like. y’know, be a gentleman.”
“you could buy me another coke. ‘s already lukewarm from how long you’ve been talking outta your ass for.” you scoffed at his request.
“is that how a lady asks?” dallas snorted, already pulling out another cigarette from a hidden carton in his jacket.
“is that how a gentleman talks to a lady?”
he looked at you. you weren’t a pushover, he had to give you credit for that. he tapped his cigarette while his eyebrow cocked upwards, asking for a light. you simply tapped your bottle on return, silently telling him that if he were to get a light, he’d have to buy you a soda first.
he sighed, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and craning his neck to look behind him at the fearful two old ladies who had been staring at you both the entire time, probably to ensure that you didn’t vandalize the place or hold any customers at gunpoint or steal candy from any babies.
he looked back in your direction so he could snatch the bottle, earning a small ‘hey!’ from you and waving it at the lady, asking for another drink.
“there. y’happy?”
you shrugged and slid out of the booth, grabbing your bag and walking towards the exit of the diner.
dallas just looked back at you, not even sparing another glance at him. did he find you hot? yeah, very much. but did you also get under his skin? of course.
the only thing that could kill dallas winston is you.
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ why am i actually so proud of this tho
kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
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yumedoca · 6 months
Text
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"It's a rumic world!!"
Day 7 of @rumicworldweek - Happy Birthday Rumiko Takahashi!! 🎉
Sadly, no art for today since it seems I've hit an artblock after drawing for almost an entire week 😭, but to be fair everything drawn for this week was for sensei's birthday after all. I wanted to draw art for Mermaid Saga, One Pound Gospel and Rumic Theatre, but unfortunately there's only seven days in a week (though I have drawn art for Mermaid Saga like a week earlier and I have drawn an art for one of the Rumic Theatre stories months ago. Sorry One Pound Gospel, eventually!!) And plus, when it comes to topic of Rumiko Takahashi and her works, I decided to talk about it rather than draw...
Rumiko Takahashi... Honestly, all her works mean a lot to me. Each have it's own reasons, reasons why they're more than just mere stories to me. I guess it's mainly because of how good of a storyteller she is. Here's a little tidbit from her which may show why:
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And boy, does it make me feel exactly how she wants it to. She knows what the reader looks forward to and she delivers just that while having fun. The amount of love and passion in her works in insane and the little details put to the story and characters are exactly what I love about her tales. Then there's the amount variety when it comes to her stories which I think is the most obvious when you pick up just one volume of the rumic theatre, one moment you're reading a hijinks story about a boy who just want to deliver newspapers but keeps getting interrupted by invaders and half- fishmen and the next moment you'll be reading a horror where this high school kid who knows archery is trying save his girlfriend from being murdered by his yandere cousin.
Honestly, just the amount of one shots she have is enough to prove how much as well as the number of chapters her serializations have is enough to show how much dedication and passion RT has for manga and this dedication is just what makes their quality so good. Urusei Yatsura makes me laugh and reminds me to have fun and enjoy life. Maison Ikkoku taught me about growing up. Mermaid Saga is a spine-chilling story which talks about the price of greed. Ranma 1/2 brings about the topic of familial love besides the romance itself. I've only watched the OVA for One Pound Gospel, but what intrigues me the most is the fact that the main pairing is a boxer and a nun, it's like the strangest pairing you could make but Kosaku and Sister Angela make it work and let's just say I love these kind of strange pairings, lol. Inuyasha talks about letting go from the past while still keeping the important within you. Kyoukai no RINNE is quite nostalgic to me as someone who grew up in a family who's very keen on saving money and a lot of moments make me laugh because I've been similar situations and it's nice to look back on them. And finally, MAO is the series I'm currently growing up with.
I know Rumiko Takahashi will never see this but.. Thank you so much for everything, your characters and stories managed to lift my spirits in the darkest of times and remind me that everything will eventually be okay. I know I'm not the only one who thinks this and all of what I've said is why I love Rumiko Takahashi and her stories.... ♥
I'm glad that I was able to participate in this year's Rumic World Week. Thanks to everyone who's liked and reblogged my posts and I hope everyone reading this has a great day ahead!! 🌹
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hayleythesugarbowl · 7 months
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please an ian hecox x reader fic i need🥺 maybe like a first date or something like that there’s just not enough Ian fics
First Fake Date || Ian Hecox x reader
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⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ summary: oneshot where Ian finds out his ex-girlfriend is going to be at an upcoming event and when you volunteer to go as his fake-date things don’t go quite as either of you planned.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: none
a/n: thanks for the request babes!! I agree we need more ian x reader fics, i hope you enjoy this one!! i kept the first date theme but i took some liberties and i made the reader female so i hope this is what you wanted <3🍒🪩
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     “Alright the event this Friday, what’s everyone wearing?” Courtney said, putting her legs up on the table in front of her.  
    You were lounging around the studio with almost the entire Smosh cast in between shoots. 
    “Exactly what I’m wearing right now?” Angela lifted her head from Amanda’s lap and gestured to her sweatshirt.
     “Very funny,” Courtney said.
     “Honestly same,” Shayne agreed, looking up from his phone.
     Courtney shot him a look but secretly you agreed with him. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the YouTube event Smosh was going to, it was just that you weren’t exactly excited about it. You kind of had a history of embarrassing yourself at things like this. Like last month when you tripped in your impossibly tall heels and landed in the lap of a very unhappy old man. In his defense, you had spilled wine down the front of his dress shirt.
     “As long as there’re no heels involved, I don’t really care what it is,” You said.
     “You people have no sense of style,” Courtney faked disgust. 
     “Speak for yourselves, this chain begs to differ,” Ian walked into the room, pretending to model the outfit he was wearing.
     “He wears one chain and suddenly it’s ‘his brand’,” Amanda joked.
     “Hey laugh all you want, but this thing’s a magnet for the ladies.”
     Everyone burst out laughing and Ian mocked offense.
     “Well I for one think you look great,” you smiled at him and he beamed back at you.
     “Besides,” he continued, “I have to look good ‘cause my ex-girlfriend is going to be at the event this Friday. I bet she’s bringing that perfect boyfriend of her’s too who ‘has a real, important job’.”
     “Wait, the same girlfriend who broke up with you at the last event?” Damien asked.
     You hadn’t been at Smosh yet then, but you’d heard the story multiple times.
     “That’s the one. And now I get to show up a year later, still without a date.”
     “If only you had a girlfriend you could bring, but oh wait, that’s right—” Shayne teased.
     “That’s right,” Ian agreed
     “I’ll be your date,” you burst out.
     You didn’t know what made you say it. Maybe you sympathized with having embarrassing moments at classy gatherings. Maybe you just felt like helping your boss out. Or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the fact that you may or may not have had a tiny crush on Ian when you first started working at Smosh. 
     But that was a long time ago…ok maybe months ago, and something you’d never admit aloud. You were just offering to help out a friend. Right?
     “Really? You’d do that for me?” Ian asked you.
     “Sure! No one has to know it’s our first date—or not-first-date. We can tell your ex we’ve been dating for months.”
    “That actually might work,” Ian grinned at you. 
    “Ooh, I can pick out matching outfits for you guys!” Courtney interjected.
     “No,” you both said in unison.
     “Well, I’ll pick you up on Friday at 8:00 for our not-first-date,” Ian looked at you, his eyes gleaming.
     “See you then,” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
     “Actually you guys will see each other in like 45 minutes for TNTL,” Amanda said.
     “Right.” You said.
     After this Ian left the room and you turned back to your friends who were all looking at you as if they knew something you didn’t.
     You took in their scheming stares. “What?”
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
     The rest of the week passed fairly quickly with no more talk of the event except for Ian asking your advice on what to wear—which everyone seemed to think so adorable for reasons you couldn’t understand or just refused to entertain. 
     And suddenly, just like that it was Friday and you were answering your door to a nervous-looking Ian holding out flowers to you.
     “Since it’s our ‘first date’,” he winked at you and you rolled your eyes at him, a smile blooming on your face, “I thought I’d bring you these.”
     “Thank you,” you said, “and you look great!”
     And he did. His maroon suit fit him perfectly and you couldn’t help but notice that it did end up matching the light pink dress with a crimson belt you chose.
     “And you look…wow.” He admired you and it took all of you not to blush at his words.
     He took you to his car, and insisted on opening your door for you since it was a ‘first date’. You looked over at Ian from the passenger seat and thought how you were surprised at how much of a gentleman he could be. Your goofy, laid-back boss definitely had a romantic side and would make some girl very happy someday, you thought.
    By the time you arrived at the event, you and Ian had barely said a word to each other. Which was odd, to say the least, seeing as you never really felt awkward around him or anybody at Smosh.
     “You ready for this?” Ian asked you as you stepped out of the car and headed toward the building the event was held at.
     You answered by taking his hand in yours and smiling up at him.
     You walked into the venue together and took in the layout. A makeshift stage had been set up for guest speakers at one end and as for the rest of it—cocktail tables scattered throughout the room, lights hanging from the ceiling and trailing down the walls and onto the refreshment tables lining the edges of the room, and hundreds of people, some who you recognized and others you didn’t, mingling and eating and—in the case of your friends—waving at you and Ian.
     You two walked over to them. Everyone took in your fingers intertwined.
     “Can’t keep your hands off her?” Angela teased Ian.
     “I uh—”
     You thought you sensed a faint blush on Ian’s cheeks as he tried to respond.
     You interrupted. “It’s a fake date, remember? Would you prefer we stood 8 feet apart at all times?”
     “So,” you turned to Ian, “where is this ex of yours?”
    “Yeah, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her yet,” Damien said.
    “And anyone could spot her curly red bush—I mean hair—a mile away,” Shayne joked.
     “Maybe she’s not here yet,” Ian said, and then to you, “let’s go get some drinks.”
     He led you over to one of the refreshment tables, and as you were walking, you saw her.
     A tall, gorgeous woman in a tight green dress stood about 20 feet away from you. This had to be her, you thought, looking at her auburn curls done up in a twisted updo that made your simple bun look…well, simple. 
     You nudged Ian, “Found your ex.”
     He looked over at her, his brow furrowed, and then recovering quickly he looked back at you.
     “Yep, that’s her.”
     “Well, then let’s go introduce ourselves as a couple.”
     “No,” he said quickly, and then added “I mean, no not yet. We don’t want to seem too desperate.”
     You looked at him curiously but figured he was probably right. 
     You had a new idea.
     “Then let’s give her a little show.” 
     “(Y/n), what are you—” 
     You dragged him more into his ex-girlfriend’s line of vision. 
     “Ok, now kiss me.”
     “What?”
     “She’s looking, kiss me.”
      He looked at you like you might be crazy but he also had a look of determination on his face. Determined to impress his ex, you figured. He leaned in slowly and suddenly his mouth was on yours, kissing you quickly. It was awkward at first but as you pulled apart and looked to make sure the woman was still watching you—she was—you thought that it hadn’t been altogether bad.
     “That was, um, thank you for…that,” Ian said, breathless.
     “Sure,” you said, “anything for a good vengeance plot.”
     “Oh, be careful,” Ian said suddenly,
and you looked around, confused. “Old man two o’clock.”
     “Ha ha, very funny,” he elbowed him in the ribs remembering the horrors of last event, but you were grinning as you did so.
     “Hey, ouch!” He laughed, “We’re supposed to be in love remember?”
     And so that’s how you spent the rest of the night. Making sure she could see you when you touched Ian or pretended to laugh at a joke he made or leaned in close as if you were whispering something in his ear. 
     As the night went on it became easier and easier to pretend to be a couple. You hadn’t talked to Ian’s ex yet—he always had some reason for not going over to her. But you thought you’d done a good job of making her think you were dating. 
     And the truth was, you were enjoying yourself. You were having a great time, spending hours with Ian. 
     Like now, as you looked in Ian’s ex-girlfriend’s direction before saying to Ian, “So, since this is a date I guess I should do this.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “And tell you how gorgeous your eyes are.” They really were, you thought as you stared into them.
     Ian leaned closer to you, planting a kiss on your jawline. “And since it’s a date I guess I should tell you how you shine brighter than all the lights in the room and how I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”
     “And I should pull you closer,” you added, grabbing his lapels.
     “And then maybe I would tell you how much I wanted your lips on mine. Again,” he said.
     He leaned farther towards you and your lips met his. He kissed you, really kissed you this time. He was gentle at first, but then his hands were in your hair as he kissed you harder and you leaned into it, kissing him back. 
     “For a fake date this sure seems pretty real.”
     You broke apart, looking up and finding Courtney standing in front of you smiling.
     Your voice came out more breathy than you would have liked. “We were just—Ian’s ex is right there and—”
     “She’s not even over here,” Courtney said looking between you too. “See?”
     You looked around you and realized she was gone. How long had she been gone? You let yourself imagine what it would be like if this was a real first date. Would that be so bad? Was it bad if it already felt real?
     Courtney left you guys with a cryptic smile before walking over to a table with drinks on it. 
     “So,” you started, “I—”
     “I’ll be right back,” Ian said, then quickly walked towards the door at the back of the venue.
     You stood there for a second. Was he avoiding you? Just leaving after you’d shared a moment like that? Was the kiss that bad?
      You walked back over to the table where all of your friends were standing and chatting. 
     “Hey! Where’s Ian going?” Courtney asked you
     “Bathroom?” You guessed.
     You scanned the room. There was Ian’s ex again. Now she shows up, you thought wryly.
     Courtney followed your gaze, “You know her?”
     You looked at her, “That’s Ian’s ex-girlfriend.”
    “No, it’s not,” she said.
    “What? Yes it is.”
     “Here,” Shayne pulled out his phone and a moment later showed you a picture of your boss with his arm around a short woman with red hair, “that’s Ian’s ex.”
     You were shocked. “But then who’s she?”
     “That’s a question for Ian,” Angela said, pointing towards him. You saw him walking towards you and you met him halfway.
     “Ian? Who’s the woman in the green dress?”
      He looked taken aback by the question, and putting his hands in his pockets, he said, “What do you mean?”
     “Well, apparently you never dated her.”
     “Um, about that” he started, hesitating, and then taking a deep breath he answered you. “I don’t know that woman. I’ve never seen her in my life.” He admitted this in a rush, looking for your reaction.
     “Why did you tell me she was your ex-girlfriend?”
     He looked down, almost bashful. “My ex isn’t at this event.”
     You took a step back, in shock, “Then why did you need me to be your fake date?”
     He looked at you intently, “I didn’t…need a fake date, I mean.”
     “But—”
     “I did, originally. But then I found out my ex wasn’t going to be able to make it because her and her boyfriend both have the flu.” He started to smile, then stopped himself, coughing, “Which is really too bad.”
     Another time you might have laughed, but now you stopped yourself, rolling your eyes at him.
     “So you lied to me?” You asked him, hurt.
     “I didn’t mean to—
     “But if you knew your ex wasn’t coming, then what’s this?” You gestured between the two of you. You were asking yourself just as much as him.
     “I may have—withheld the truth—because I,” he cleared his throat, “I may have wanted to go on a date with you.”
     “What?” Of all the answers you were expecting…
     “I think you’re great (Y/n), and I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while but I never quite knew how, and then you offered to be my date to this thing and it was going to be perfect—even if it was fake—and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. I’m sorry.” 
     “So yes, I lied to you. But I meant what I said though,” Ian said softly, “about you being beautiful and about wanting to kiss you.”
     You thought back through the night, taking all this in. All the fake moments that apparently weren’t so fake. For either of you, you realized. Because you had enjoyed being his pretend date, even if at some point you stopped pretending.
     “I just wish you would have asked me to be your real date. I would have said yes you know,” you told him.
     “Really?” He was definitely blushing now and you grinned up at him.
     “The night’s not over yet, we could still make this an official first date,” you said. 
     “(Y/n), will you go out with me?”
     “I’d love to Ian.”
     He began slow dancing with you even though this most definitely was not a slow dancing event. 
     “Ian!”
     As you looked into his eyes, though, and you saw the way he was looking at you—like he’d been waiting for this for a long time—you couldn’t ignore how perfect this moment was and you let him sway you.
     “Not bad for a first date, Hecox,” you joked.
     “Here’s to many more?”
     “Definitely.”
     He kissed you, your first officially real first kiss, and you couldn’t have been happier. 
     Cheering erupted and you looked over where all of your friends were standing, whistling and clapping at you. 
     “Still think it’s a fake date?” Courtney called to you.
     You looked at all the people around you, some of which had begun to stare at your display. You looked at Ian looking at you like you were the only girl in the world. You looked back at your friends, still waiting for your response.
     “I think nothing’s ever been more real.”
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ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed!! i love ian so much and im glad someone else does too!! have a lovely day/night <3
286 notes · View notes
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Hey, you could do an Edward Cullen x reader where the reader is his blood singer but, unlike Bella, isn't obsessed with him? As if he really had to work hard to win her over? (sorry if i wrote something wrong, english is not my mother tongue)
Taking It Slow
You dropped Jessica and Angela off at Jess’ car still in the parking lot of the dress shop. They were leaving Port Angeles early while you were going to meet your brother for dinner later. Sometimes you wondered why you agreed to move in with your brother. Well, you knew. It was either go live with your older brother or move to Portugal during your last years of high school. You learned French in school, not Portuguese. Forks, Washington was your only real choice. 
There was still some time before your brother got out of classes and met you. It was nice of him to let you use his car, stating he could take the bus instead. With time to kill, you decided to grab a coffee and just walk around. A gasp left your mouth when you ran into someone. 
“I’m so sorry. Oh, hi, Edward.” 
You looked up to see Edward Cullen, your… you didn’t know what to call him. You guys weren’t really friends. But what exactly were you supposed to call the vampire you knew who claimed your blood was made for them? Aside from telling him that it wasn’t exactly a compliment you were a blood singer, you didn’t know what to do with Edward. He wasn’t mean. On the contrary, he was a decent guy. But you weren’t the type to just fall for someone because they were hot and nice. Plus, you didn’t like your guys having all the girls falling for him. 
Edward scratched at the back of his head. “Hi. Oh, I wasn’t following you, by the way.” 
You pursed your lips for a moment. “I wasn’t exactly worried about that.” 
“Right, sorry, I’m kind of guessing. I promised not to read your mind so I’m not really sure anymore.” 
“You could just ask.” 
“Right, right. Uh, right, do you want another coffee?” 
“I’m actually meeting my brother for dinner.” 
“Well can I walk you?” 
“Sure.” 
The two of you were side by side with each other. You could feel Edward twitching next to you. The vampire wasn’t sure what was going on with him. He had never planned on getting close to you but he couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to want to be near his blood singer. He felt awkward and unsure about everything he did when it came to you. He wasn’t even sure if you were still single because you knew of his feelings for you or if you just didn’t like any of the boys that asked you out. 
Your brother raised an eyebrow when he saw you coming up the street. A sigh left your mouth. He was going to ask about Edward and you just didn’t have the patience to answer anything. You gave a wave to your walking companion and entered the restaurant. Like you expected, your brother didn’t stop asking questions. He wouldn’t even give it a rest when he dropped you off at school. 
You always got to school a little early because of your brother’s classes. You blinked in surprise at a very tall and rather pale man standing next to your locker. Awkwardly, Edward stuck out a hand. He was clutching a small bouquet of flowers. 
“I don’t know what your favorite is but I thought these daisies were nice.” 
You took them from him. “Thank you, Edward.” 
He nodded, walking off. You held the bouquet in the crook of your elbow as you grabbed some books. Not even a minute later, Edward came back. You watched him take in a breath he didn’t need. Edward pointed at the flowers until you got the hint to give them back. He thrusted them out in front of you once more and you had to stop yourself from laughing. How was a century old vampire so awkward in life? 
“I want to ask you out. Do you want to go on a date with me?” 
“Where?” 
“I… I haven’t thought that far.” 
“Well, when, then?” 
“I haven’t thought that far.” 
You took the flowers back from him. “It’s a Teacher Work Day on Wednesday. You pick me up at seven, we drive to Seattle. Breakfast at the Original Starbucks and then we go to the waterfront.” 
Edward was flustered, muttering a small okay. You laughed as you watched him walk away. This was certainly going to be an interesting date. 
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earthnashes · 8 months
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MORE GARGYOLES AU BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I'm holding watch parties on my community discord for the Gargoyles; we're still on Season 1 but even then it's really helping give me some contextual clues I need for building the AU into something more sustainable. I'm super excited to get into Season 2; we'll be finishing off this season next Thursday before we continue on! :)
But ye! For this drawing; an experiment that went a little outta hand, but I'm glad it did. I really like the look of it; giving it some level of polish without resorting to coloring. I've always liked this sort of effect but rarely do I ever do it myself, but I think I'll have to do it more because it was far less time consuming to do! :>
So ye! More lore and brick work is being laid out for the AU, and once again I've written a short story to go along with the art!
For those of you who'd rather skip though, I placed it under the "Keep Reading" line, and for context for everyone here are some AU notes along with a TL;DR summary of what's happening here:
-AU explores the concept of "what if Demona was set onto the path of Redemption?"
-TL;DR for this image: Takes place a few nights after this. Demona confronts Elisa after her talk with Angela. To everyone's surprise it doesn't go south.
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By all accounts Elisa thinks she should've expected this.
Especially with the life she's chosen for herself: top-rate detective with the highest arrest rate and cases solved on the force. In direct contact with Gargoyles-- literal living legends-- on a daily basis and what that typically entails, from revenge plots to sudden trips through the very fabrics of time. Enemies from all and every side, from supernatural to plain old human to the not-so-human and zealous occult.
And traveling Central Park alone in the dead of night? By all accounts, she should’ve expected this. Yet she still wasn’t prepared for the ambush.
One second she's halfway through the tunnel under the bridge. The next? Shoved face-first into grimy, soggy stone.
The taste of iron is sharp on her tongue as her teeth cut painfully into her lip on impact. It distracts her just enough before she finally zeroes in on the claws closed tight around the nape of her neck, another set digging hard into the leather of her jacket at her pinned wrists, easily piercing the material and biting into skin. She barely has time to gather her bearings before a familiar voice is hissing hot against her ear.
"You are not as clever as you think, detective."
Elisa's heart nearly beats out of her ribcage. "Demona," she breathes, alarmed but by no means surprised. It's been months since the last attempt the she-demon's made against her. Once again, Elisa curses allowing her guard to fall; she should've known it was only a matter of time before Demona struck. No matter how long this sudden bout of tremulous peace has gone.
"What do you want."
"That's exactly what I want to know," Demona drawls, pushing Elisa further into the rough stone. There's a seething sneer in her voice. " What are your intentions with Angela?"
Elisa pauses, her unease giving way to her confusion.
"What?"
Demona responds by gripping tighter, the tell-tale rumble of a growl behind her words. "You know damned well what I mean. It's no coincidence Angela has come to me so freely. Not if it meant lowering my guard; you're up to something." The gargoyle shoves Elisa none-too-gently against the stone again, her threat stark and clear. "And I don't take kindly to the thought anyone using my daughter like she's some sort of plaything--"
"--I'd never--" Elisa starts, offended, but she barely gets a word in before she's cut off with her own agonized grunt. Demona's bodily grinding her into the wall, the rough scrape of stone chafing at the skin of her cheek. She can barely breath with how hard the gargoyle pins her, straining for breath as Demona snarls at her, long teeth clacking dangerously close to her eye.
"Liar!" She barks, and Elisa hears how her tail cuts through the air as it lashes. "It's all you humans are ever good for! Weave empty words into pretty things, only to strike when your back is turned. Angela told me herself what you said, and your words ring hollow. You and I both know you don't believe any of it. What's your game?"
"So Goliath is right, then?" Elisa huffs in lieu of an answer, stilling herself and going mostly limp in Demona's grasp. Her common sense screams at her to struggle, to find an opening and break free... but her gut tells her stay put. Her father always told her to listen to her gut when it spoke, and it's never steered her wrong before. So she breathes in as much as she dares and forces each of her muscles to relax, to appear as little a threat as possible in her position.
Not too hard to do considering the circumstances, but it takes several breaths for her heart to stop trying to burst from her chest. Nor does it really erase the glower overtaking her face.
"Is that it? Angela shouldn't be anywhere near you. Shouldn't be allowed to choose for herself and that it was a mistake to even try to talk to you?"
"By the moon we glide under, I despise you, detective!" Demona hisses, and Elisa doesn't need to see her to know her eyes have begun glowing hot red. "I'm no fool; you view me a monster. You have absolutely nothing to gain from encouraging her to see me. Nothing. So why? What do you want with her?"
"Is it really so hard to believe I care for Angela?"
"Yes." Yet there is some degree of hesitance in Demona's voice when she says it, something Elisa nearly doesn't catch. As if the she-demon almost believes her own answer, but not entirely. There's enough evidence with Elisa aiding her old Clan-- never truly for her own gain -- that brings question to her conviction. "Humans don't do anything unless they gain something in return. You are either after her, my life, or something else." Demona allows Elisa's arm free to rake her claws against the stone of the bridge. It gives way easily as if nothing but dirt, leaving deep divots in a clear display of a threat. "Do not make me ask again."
"Then you're right," Elisa replies easily-- or as easily as her position allows-- and of all the responses she could've gotten Demona doesn't expect that. It's clear in how much she loosens her hold on Elisa in apparent surprise, no longer choking her so much as simply holding her in place now. Elisa's instincts flair then; demand she elbows the she-demon in the belly and get distance, yet even still her gut urges her: stay put.
"I do have something to gain. Angela's happiness."
Elisa doesn’t expect her words to have any real effect. Readies herself for Demona to snap at her again. Force her against the unforgiving stone, have her taste her own blood again, maybe even work up the nerve to inflict the bodily harm she always threatens. This is probably the closest she's gotten in a long while.
But Demona does… nothing. Simply a presence behind her. One simmering with barely held anger and confusion and the weight of her own paranoia. But still as stone—listening-- all the same.
Stay put.
Elisa takes in a shaky breath.
"She's miserable, you know. When the clan speaks ill of you," She breathes quietly, surprising herself with the gentleness in her own voice. "Goliath explicitly forbids her from ever trying to talk to you. He thinks you're a lost cause." It’s not hard to think of Goliath’s demeanor in those moments; regret, sadness, guilt, traces of betrayal and anger whenever he speaks of his ex. He's long since given up on reaching out to Demona.
"And maybe I did too, once. But now, I--"
The look on Demona's face when realizing who Angela was flashes through her memory. The shock, quickly replaced with unbridled joy and hope. Something Elisa was unsure Demona could feel up until that very moment.
"--you could've left us to die by Thailog's hand. You could've ended all of humanity with just a press of a button. But you didn't."
Elisa doesn't mention the sudden lack of schemes against all of mankind. She doesn't mention the abrupt disinterest in attacking the Clan. She doesn't say anything about how--even after all this time, even now-- she is still alive, when Demona has had ample chances to rid herself of her. Elisa is no slouch: she's proud enough to admit she's held her own against Demona a fair number of times. But there were times where only her keen eye and years of training caught the very slight hesitance from Demona when she was all but helpless.
"I don't think you're a lost cause," Elisa says unwaveringly. Nothing in her voice gives way to any underlying uncertainty she has. To the questions she burns to ask—why? What changed? -- but won’t. Not yet. "I have my reservations. But I don't think it's anyone's place to make that decision for Angela. Nor do I think it's fair to rob you of the chance to prove to her you're more than your past."
Elisa hesitates for just a second before she says clearly into the silence of the night, compelled by Demona's uncharacteristic show of restraint: "...I-I don’t think you’re a monster."
I never thought you to be.
The thought comes unbidden, and it catches her off guard at how honest it is. She doesn’t put it to words, only remaining in place and holding steady. Waiting.
Demona still doesn't say anything. Doesn't really do anything at first, but there's a very clear shift in the air, subtle as it may be. Elisa's instincts are no longer in overdrive, no longer in high alert of danger. Somehow  --even in Demona's sharp grasp-- there is no more danger to be aware of.
It's in the way the gargoyle's silence turns contemplative and not a raging storm cloud. In how she suddenly doesn't dig so hard in Elisa's jacket, tucking the tips of her claws safely against the leather and not into delicate skin. The intent is no longer there.
Demona mutters something to herself, low enough for Elisa not to hear what she says, but even with her keen senses it still manages to surprise the detective when the gargoyle simply... moves away.
It's by no means gentle. She abruptly drops the human without any sort of care, allowing her to crumple under her own weight when she finally touches ground after several minutes being held aloft. But the principle still stands.
Demona let her go.
"…I don't believe you," She grunts in a voice filled with scorn, but the usual bite is missing. Elisa allows herself a moment to rub at the scratches and welts those wicked claws left behind. She clears her throat before she chances a glance at the gargoyle and finds her back turned to her.
"I'm not asking you to," Elisa says softly. She eyes the gargoyle warily. "And I still don't trust you. But I do trust Angela. She saw something worth her time in you; the least I can do is support her... and be there if it blows up in her face."
When Elisa finds the energy to stand, she musters up a warning glare at Demona, stance cautious but no less filled with promise. "Don't make me regret it."
The threat behind it is barely veiled, and it must be the right thing to say, because Demona only barely casts a glance her way. Her eyes are hard to read. And despite it, Elisa can see the smallest hint of something in them when forest green sweeps over her, foot to face, the faintest upturn to the corner of her mouth.
"Then we are on the same page."
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For some extra context:
-Demona is referring to how Elisa told Angela that she does actually believe Demona isn't pure evil, or a threat to her. Elisa doesn't trust Demona at all, but she recognizes that something has shifted in the gargoyle, and she knows she would never hurt Angela, so she sets aside her own doubts and encourages Angela to seek her mother out. I have plans to draw and write this interaction in the future so we have more context in this regard!
-Elisa strikes me as the type to be able to see things in varying shades of gray: Goliath isn't wrong in his reluctance to allow Angela near Demona, but she honestly doesn't think her heartless or a completely lost cause. Especially after she learns some of Demona's past
-Demona would never admit this, but she does actually respect Elisa. Much to her chagrin. Unlike most humans whom she barely bats an eye toward, she sees Elisa as her equal in prowess and intelligence, and she hates that she does, but she'd be a fool if she ignored it.
The further I get into the show I'll expand on this idea, but that's it for now. :)
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