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norrisleclercf1 · 3 days

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Are You My Dad

Synopsis: The trials and tribulations of being a Grid Dad and sometimes an actual father

Charles and Sebastian: Monaco '24

Sebastian knew that when he watched the interview and that Charles would be partying like the animal he should've immediately stuck an air tag to the little brat.

He kept checking twitter, knowing damn well that everyone would be posting about his wear abouts, Sebastian at one point in his life would've joined, but even after Charles won, the idea of partying made him groan and his bones ache. How Lewis and Jenson were still partying was beyond him. They were crazy anyways, he mellowed out when he got older, no matter what Mark said.

Sighing when Sebastian saw Charles walking around a club with the Monaco, this is when he decided he had to go and gather the little gremlin. Sliding on pants, a plain black shirt, and baseball hat he makes the short walk to Jimmyz, memories of his own partying sweeping him up.

The guard doesn't even stop him, automatically letting him go in and Sebastian flinches at the flashing lights and booming music that makes his blood bubble with the beat. It doesn't take him long, noticing the Ferrari driver, taking shot after shot. Sebastian didn't want to ruin his fun, be he also didn't need the kid ending up with alcohol poisoning.

Moving around, he gently moves his fingers to Charles's neck, who relaxes and turns smiling brightly, and leans into his touch. "You came," He giggles and moves hugging his old teammate. Sebastian chuckles and pulls him close, Charles easily moveable like water, going where you push and pull it.

"Let's get you home," Charles whines, but Sebastian refuses to hear the whining of Charles as he leads him out of the club and out into the warm Monaco air. "Seb?" Charles voice is quiet as they make the short walk back to Sebastian's place. "Yeah?" Charles moves closer, "Are you proud of me? I always thought my father would be proud of me, are you?" Sebastian has to push down tight feeling and burning in his eyes and throat.

"Yeah, Charlie, I'm proud of you," Sebastian whispers. Damn kid.

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Mark and Oscar: Qatar '23

"Are you sure you're okay," Mark fusses and Oscar just sits there, in the ice bath staring up at his manager like he's grown a second head. "Yes, Mark, I'm okay," Oscar whispers dipping down as he feels the heat be swapped for the cold icy chill. This race was hard, with others ending up in medical, or transported to the hospital.

"Oscar, that was...one of the worst races in terms of weather ever, are you sure you're, okay?" Mark pulls at his pants and squats down, becoming eye level with Oscar. This was the thing with Mark, he always got protective of Oscar, when it wasn't even needed.

Mark has watched Oscar grown since he was a young boy, seeing the raw talent, the talent befitting of a champion, the talent Mark had, but was never jealous of Oscar, more so protective of it. "Oscar, when you're finished we're going to the hotel to rest," Oscar groans and dunks under before popping back up. "Mark, really, the team wants to party." Mark raises and eyebrow and Oscar suddenly feels like the karting kid after his first scrapped knee and Mark fussing over it.

"Alright, alright." Mark seems satisfied with that answer and ruffles his hair. "I'll pick up some dinner and all that, anything in particular?" Oscar narrows his eyes, upset about the fact he couldn't go to the party. "Osc, don't be acting like a child. Your mother would thrash me," Oscar snorts at the image of his mother trying to kill Mark Webber.

"Burger, with fries?" Mark sighs, but unable to say no, the kid got a podium and handled the heat like a champ. "Fine, I'll even get you a milkshake." Oscar smiles, knowing that Mark would get him anything he wanted.

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Jenson and Logan: New York '24

"Think I'll do good this season?" Jenson was caught of guard by the question, not expecting the young American to bare himself to openly to him. There was a little break between events and Jenson had been watching Logan all day.

A young man, who shook everyone's hand, asked them questions and was smiling, but Jenson could tell that the smile he had was a little reserved, unable to fully smile. Jenson sighs and rolls his neck, unsure how to answer such a loaded question. "Do you think you'll do good?" Jenson knew how to handle this, he dealt with Lewis, Sebastian, Mark, and Fernando all legends of the sport, all that got ripped to shreds by their teammates at one point.

"I don't know, I feel like....the team regrets signing me," Jenson schools his features, it was no secret that Williams had no one else and simply chose him to be a seat warmer, Jenson wasn't looking forward to watch what was going to happen. "I think I can do good, but I think one screw up and everyone will just talk about it," Logan muses sitting down and taking a sip of water.

"Logan, ignore people, you made it into Formula 1, and besides, if it doesn't work out, Indy could be your thing, you could do wonderful things there." Logan smiles at that, "Yeah, but this is my dream," His smiles falters a little. Jenson groans, dammit Sebastian, he hates that the little blonde bastard was right.

"Look," Jenson sits down and pats his back, "This sport is cruel, far crueler than it should be, and it pisses me off sometimes, but life is hard, and I hate to watch you kids destroy yourselves for something that could never love you back." Jenson sighs, and pats Logan's back.

"But, sometimes it has to be hard before you learn to make it easy, you'll be fine Logan, you've got people that care for you," Jenson whispers and curses the German.

"Careful, Jenson, or you'll be the next one to get a grid kid," Jenson was going to kill Sebastian.

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shadowcitrine · 2 days

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Sunbathing

Before the outbreak there's a girl who keeps teasing Daryl.

Daryl's pov. Angry Daryl. Daryl and named OC. Kind of dirty.

18+ You're responsible for the content you consume.

First post nerves.

Of course she was here! She was everywhere he fuckin’ went. It was like she knew when he needed space and had some sick twisted need to devour what little time he carved out for himself. That stupid fuckin’ Mather's girly is just laying out by the river bank, arms beneath her head like she owns the whole god damned river and the sun is shining down on her over the tree tops like it agrees with her.

Picking up the fishing pole, Daryl's fist tightened around it, his face screwing up in anger makin’ his whole head hurt twice as much. He lets everyone walk all over him, but not anymore, not today. Especially not stupid Mercy who parades around in her dumb tiny shorts and ugly cut off shirts.

Taking the pole over to a shady spot he throws himself down, landing with a grunt. Digging through the little box of feathers he keeps in a tin till he finds a few small ones to tie on. If Mercy is watching him behind those dark glasses of hers he can't tell, not that he was lookin’ anyway. Not that he cares.

He cast the line, sticking the pole in the ground to light a cigarette and wait. She hasn't said a word and it's so unlike her that he thinks she has to be asleep. It's the only time she ain't asking him a million questions or trying to order him around. He stamps out the first butt and lights another. Takes him nearly all of the second one before he can hear the water trickling by beyond the anger pounding around in his head. Takes him even longer to realize his line has too much slack. The reel clicks quietly, a familiar lullaby that usually helps empty his head but not this time, not today.

Mercy still ain't talking. It's the longest they've ever been around each other without her at least sayin’ hi and now it's bothering him. He came out here for peace and now her silence is eating him alive. Not like bein’ around her does him any good. Never has, not even when they were kids. Just to try and take his mind off of her he starts reeling in the line, puffing on the smoke between his teeth but the harder he tries not to think about her the more he does.

That girl sighs and it draws his attention away from his half hearted attempt at fishing. She's still just layin’ there, knees now bent. Her shorts are digging into the upper parts of her thighs making little dips there that make his fingers itch to touch. She's just some annoying girl that he doesn't even like.

Then she moves again, rolling to her knees in the dirt, dead grass clinging to her back she's digging in a small cooler. Picking out some red white and blue ice pop she stuffs the wrapper inside before flopping back down on the ground. Still, not a single word out of her. She sick? High?

The more he looks at her painting her lips with the cherry end of the ice cream the more he's bothered by her silence because he can't help but see something else in his head. The way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip collecting the sticky sweetness there makes him tense in a way he shouldn't be around her but can't seem to help.

“Why ain't you sayin’ nothin’?” He asks. It just sort of bubbled up.

She takes her time answering sucking on the end of it making a soft lewd noise that makes his dick twitch. “Thought I talked too much Dixon?” there isn't even any anger in it. She's acting like she isn't even bothered by him being there watching her suck half the ice cream in to her mouth like she suckin’ cock.

“You do.” He drops the spent butt on the ground, his fishing pole forgotten.

She hums again around her snack, lips making a slurping noise around it like they do on titty channels that come on late at night. “Want me to ask you how you got that shiner?” She turns her head to look at him and if she notices him move his leg to hide his half chub she doesn't say.

Mercy runs a tongue along the underside of it catching drops of it before it can land on her tits and he's silently hoping she misses just one. Then his dick is coming alive thinking of her swearing the melted sugar water across them, swirling the red end over a nipple until it's rock hard. He don't need to be thinking about her like that but he can't look away.

She sits up holding in her mouth, cheeks hollowing around it and he swears she's doing it on purpose. No, she knows what she's doing and this–this tease is secretly eating up the attention. Mercy grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She isn't wearing a bra or even one of her bright colored biking tops, no, she isn't wearing anything at all now ‘cept them frayed shorts of hers.

“Put your shirt back on Mercy!”

She lickin on the end for a moment, watching him watch her. He can't not think about how her ice cream is smaller than his dick. “Stop actin’ all mad.” She drops her head back.

Stop actin’ mad? Stop actin’ mad! She's doing this to fuck with him cause he doesn't wanna talk to her. He can see it in the way she smiles at him before biting off the last of the cherry flavor. Knows it when she leans back on her elbows to push her tits out on full display. She does all this shit just to fuck with him and he can't even figure out why! She treats him like he's nothin’! Tryin’ to push all his god damned buttons! Fuck her and fuck this!

He has to readjust himself as subtly as he can just to stand up. Even being mad at her doesn't stop his cock from throbbing, doesn't stop the ache. Then he's mad all over again because this is Mercy he's thinking about. Bitchy, awful, needy Mercy who comes over and smokes pot with Merle. The same girl who laughs whenever his brother calls him some stupid girl's name. This same girl who tries to lay against him on the couch when Merle leaves to go get more beer because she's lonely.

He's shaking his head. “I ain't in the mood for your shit. ‘M goin’ home.” He hates her. Hates the pink strip of colored hair that falls over her shoulder. Hates the way his brain has already memorized the trail of blue melt that's dripping on the swell of her breast and racing for her dusky nipple.

“If you stay–” she shouts loud enough for him to hear. “I'll let you touch em'.”

He even hates himself at this moment because now his feet are planted in the ground. Needing a distraction he lights a cigarette he doesn't even smoke. “The fuck you think I wanna touch your tits for?”

Mercy shrugs. “You keep staring.”

He snorts a breath of air through his nose. None of it even means anything to her, she's just messing with him. Always messing with him and he was tired of being nice. “You're the one who whipped em’ out to get me to look. What did you expect?”

Her face twists up. “I'm sun bathing asshole! I was the one who was here first!”

“And you ain't pretending to give the world's shittiest blow job with that thing?” He takes a hit off his cigarette nodding to the sweet melting in her hand. Her face is turning red, the tips of her ears are burning in embarrassment. He's turned the tables on her, called her out on her little game and she can't take it. Some distant part of him feels an inkling of pride at that. Her lip curls and he's moving towards her one slow step at a time.

“I changed my mind. Get fucked!” She throws down her ice cream in the grass.

Letting out a soundless laugh he's next to her now. Daryl's looking down his nose at her, the blue melt finally falling off the tip of her breast. “You wanna suck cock? Here it is.” Then he's grabbing himself through his jeans.

He blames the fact that there's no blood left in his head for why he's acting like this. That he needs her good and pissed off and disgusted all so she'd quit trying to get on his nerves all the damn time. He wants her to hate him as much as he hates her. Only, she ain't pushing him away. No, she's licking her sticky lips as she looks up at him behind those big ugly glasses.

“What? Can't figure out how a belt works?” He asks her. He's goading her to yell at him, but she hasn't yet. He sticks the smoke in his lips bending down to grab her hand. He pushes her fingers against the buckle when he stands back up. “C'mon! You want it so bad you're going to have to take it out yourself.”

Mercy bites her bottom lip as she twists to sit on her knees in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest when she begins to tug on the strap and he nearly laughs. She was so desperate she was actually going to suck him off. She's silent for probably the second time in her whole life as she undoes his belt.

#daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dix pov #daryl x oc #the walking dead #firstpost nerves #i'm working on it #kinda dirty #daryl pov #short

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yuri-is-online · 1 day

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I know you're not doing requests, but I love to Ramble Aceyuu thoughts with you (and just imagine me scattering aceyuu birdfeed for the lovelies to nibble on too)

But! For a few weeks now, Yuu's been, well, "harassed" probably isn't the right word, but there's a MobStudent from Pomefiore who just keeps on asking them out. Because the NRC guys are so quick to fight, Yuu's been trying to be gentle with their rejections, but c'mon man, gentle doesn't mean subtle! Take a hint!

Eventually PomMob gets frustrated and asks why Yuu won't date them, do they have a boyfriend already? Instantly Yuu snaps balcony with a "Yes, actually! I'm dating Ace Trappola!"

Yuu doesn't know why they had to say Ace's name (they do know, actually. But they'll die before telling Ace the reason his name was on their mind) and when telling Ace about this, they try and play it off as no big deal. "You swore off dating because it was a hassle, so it's not like I'm cockblocking you or anything!" (The Heartslaybul students watching this go down are all mentally going "Well no, but yes, actually" to eachother). Look, Ace helping you out, especially in warding off some guy who can't take a "no" was never in question. You both know you'd be the first to help the other. What is the question, however, is whatever Ace did that was so awful the Seven felt it was right to answer his wishes of Yuu asking him to be their boyfriend with the cruel twist of if being a fake relationship. He agrees, as much as part of him would love to see you squirm in trying to explain to PomMob about you lie, he's been trying to get the guys to agree to jumping PomMob with him for some time if he kept not getting the hint (and if this as close as he gets ro dating you? Well, Ace always takes an opportunity when he sees it).

Meanwhile, Yuu is just so happy that Ace held their hand to class and PomMob seems to be taking the hint now that they almost forgot they were faking it until Malleus asks if Ace is okay with their nightly walks or should he stop lest your paramour get the wrong idea and as Yuu explains the situation to Malleus do they realise they asked their crush to be their boyfriend, he said yes but only because its pretend. Malleus doesn't get why Yuu's so upset but tries to orchestrate a real love match for his bestie anyways.

Fast forward five years as Deuce walks into Aceyuu's apartment, seeing one on the others' lap cuddling and just goes "you know PomMob is like, engaged now, right? You can stop pretneding" (Honestly, Aceyuu forgot the pretend part like, 2 weeks into the plan and just never told anyone).

:D I already see you that way furu, I am always happy to receive your breadcrumbs. As should be the aceyuu stans! they are always very good everyone say "thank you" to furu ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

Fake dating isn't my favorite trope but... the idea of aceyuu just going out to get someone off yuu's back and then like. Not ever fake breaking up. It is the exact type of classic dumbassery they would participate in, Ace shifts from joking to how he doesn't have time to date because he's "taking care of you" to joking about how you can't break up because "who else will take care of you this good." And you know what? You agree. He's stuck with you now. And he isn't complaining.

Deuce is though you could have at least told him.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trapolla x reader #ace trapolla x yuu #aceyuu #talkin w a friend

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put-me-through-the-wall · 8 hours

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Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

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Part I

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Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house.

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands.

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events.

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass.

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No"

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass.

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist.

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit.

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish.

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind."

"I do," he says simply.

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much.

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it.

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again.

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal.

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence.

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed."

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge.

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?"

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's.

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze.

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert.

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath.

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter.

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue.

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?"

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops.

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair.

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer.

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides.

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes.

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him.

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door.

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand.

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it.

Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty.

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help.

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

@azkza @neurolept @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @stark-red19

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2

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lis-likes-fics · 3 days

Note

We love clingy, small, sweet Wanda in this house so how about one where precious little bean is having a cold but refuses to rest and follows Reader instead until they give in and take a bath with her or something like that 🥹💕

this has been in my ask box for like...two years and i'm honestly so sorry i didn't answer this sooner but here it is. i hope you like it (if you're even still active) 😭

tw: fluff, brief suicide joke, sick fic. 900 words.

You glance over at Wanda at the corner of your eye. Her nose is red, her eyes are droopy, and she's bundled up with at least three blankets as she lays in bed. The TV plays quietly in front of her, a dimly lit lamp providing whatever light doesn't come from the television as you try to watch for her tired gaze.

Picking up the remote, you pause the movie and shift in your chair to look at her better. “Sleepy yet?” you wonder gently, concern written all over your face.

Her answer is prompt. “No, turn it back on.”

You sigh. “Baby, it's almost two in the morning. You need to sleep.”

The night outside of your bedroom window is full of crickets and twinkling stars. As Wanda glances at the time on the wall, she just mumbles under her breath.

“I can't,” she complains, looking at you with tired eyes. “It's too cold.”

“Do you need another blanket?”

She nods meekly, her green eyes so full of her adoration for you. It both warms your heart and saddens it to see her like this. She's so pretty, you want to kiss her.

You take the blanket off your lap and drape it on top of her. You know she feels bad about taking yours, but she accepts it anyway because she loves you and she does feel a little better. Besides, the blanket smells like you, too. It adds another layer of comfort.

You watch her wiggle her nose, her eyes filling with tears and her lips parting as she moves to sit up. The first sneeze racks through her whole body, and you almost feel bad about the way you just watch her. The second sneeze has you pitying her. It follows in quick succession, and you know it hurts by the way she hunches over and stays hunched over. The third and fourth sneezes are definitely nothing to envy.

The look she gives when she opens her eyes is downright murderous as she stares at nothing in particular. She sounds strange when she speaks, like she's holding back a yawn.

“If I sneeze one more time, I'll kill myself.”

“Baby–”

She does, in fact, sneeze one more time. You watch her eyes light in a scarlet red, her fingertips dancing with wisps. You don't appreciate her joke as much as she wishes you would when you roll your eyes and thrust a box of tissues toward her.

“Quit it and blow your nose.” She eyes you as she plucks a tissue, folding it up and bringing it to her nose. She blows hard, making the most pitiful sound as she wipes her nose. As she reaches over to throw it away in the trash bag by the bed, her eyes glow suddenly and the whole bag disappears, along with the used tissue in her hand.

The both of you freeze, staring at the place where the bag once sat in silent suspense.

“Where did it go?” you ask quietly.

Wanda shakes her head gently. “I don't know, but I think that's for the best.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, then.”

Wanda's magic has been acting up since she got sick. You don't know what to expect, and you're slowly teaching yourself not to question things.

Wanda lathers a generous amount of sanitizer in her hands and then picks up the remote once more. She hits play as the movie starts up again and she sits back. You take the remote, turning it completely off this time.

She looks at you, both offended and confused. “Hey–”

“You need to sleep,” you tell her, determined.

“But–”

“Move over.”

She pouts, genuinely worried this time

“I don't want to get you sick.”

You pull back the covers, “If I get sick, then I'll just make you take care of me.” You point at her. “Now move over and let me get in with you.”

“Honey–”

You scoop her up and deposit her a little further on the other side of the bed before crawling in yourself. You wrap your arms around her aching body and lay your head against the pillow. Wanda immediately melts against you, accepting your warmth as the deepest sigh eases from her body.

You feel the mattress beneath you slowly start to warm, a very steady heat that adds to both your comfort as you cuddle her closer. Enjoying the moment, your words come out more as a mumble. “Better?”

“Mmm.”

You smile a bit, carding your fingertips through some of her hair. “Can you sleep for me now, sweetheart?”

She glances up at you through heavy lids. Even the gentle light of the bedside lamp illuminating the light dust of freckles over her cheeks. “Can you sing to me?”

You'd like nothing more.

You reach over and turn off the lamp, allowing the calm darkness of the night to wash over the both of you. A gentle song arises from your throat as you begin to hum “L-O-V-E” in the quietest voice you can manage. It's one of her favorite songs, and she's moments away from rest already.

You continue to run your fingers through her hair, ignoring the slight ache in the back of your throat that you've been ignoring for the past couple of hours. You'll make Wanda hold you when you wake up in the morning with her cold.

please support your content creators and give your feedback!

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff drabble

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honeygrahambitch · 3 days

Text

"One day you will have to tell me how your adversity towards lamb meat has commenced." Hannibal said as he watched Will washing the dishes. He grabbed a towel to dry them.

"We had this lamb." The response came unexpectedly. Hannibal believed Will would just make a snarky remark and change the subject, just like he always did when it came to things that were actually deeply rooted. "When I was a kid, I mean. I named him Popcorn."

Hannibal realized the story wouldn't have a happy ending. "Because of what he looked like or did he actually have a preference for popcorn?"

"Both." Will said and even though Hannibal could not see his expression, he could tell there was a bittersweet smile on his lips. "His mother died soon after he was born. And we became very attached to each other. My mom was very much alive but it's not like it made a difference."

Hannibal felt a note of resentment in Will's tone.

"So you and Popcorn were both lonely. You had that in common."

"Indeed. I learnt to sneak him into my bedroom. He even learnt to be quiet when we were inside. He was quite smart now that I think about it." Will took a break for a few seconds and Hannibal noticed the way his fingers tightened their grip on the dish he was holding, his knuckles turning white. "My dad would often get drunk. I learned that hiding into the barn through the sheep was my only escape."

Hannibal frowned at the image of a young Will have to run away from a drunk violent father. He put down the dish he was drying and opened one of the kitchen cabinets. He grabbed a whiskey bottle and two glasses.

"Your mother was distant and your dad was violent."

"My relationship with my dad improved after my mother left one day. He was more sober. Anyway, doctor, this is not about my relationship with my parents, as much as you would love to hear that." Will said and imagined the way Hannibal was smiling, guilty in charge behind him.

"I love to listen to everything you say, Will. I am not only hearing." Hannibal said. "And then?"

"And then what? Ah, right." Will said and cleared his throat. "Popcorn grew at some point so sneaking him indoors became impossible. His horns were showing and he learnt that he could try them on me. Got a lot of bruises cause I never saw him coming."

"Sounds like you ruined a lot of trousers."

"Oh, trust me, I did. I got into a lot of trouble because of that." Will replied and remembered how many times he had tried to make up excuses about why his pants were so messed up. They were poor, but for as kid it didn't make sense why his parents would get so angry.

"One day I came from school and I wanted to go see Popcorn, just like I usually did. It was raining so my dad insisted that I get inside and see Popcorn after dinner."

Hannibal listened in silence as he felt like the story was approaching its end. "We had dinner and then I sneaked out to go look for Popcorn. And I couldn't find him anywhere. So I asked my dad."

"No." Hannibal heard himself whisper.

Will let out a deep sigh.

"He wasn't sober. He laughed and told me that Popcorn was in my stomach by now."

"Oh, dearest."

"So to answer your question, that is why I don't eat lamb. And to answer your unasked question, yes, I would like a glass of whiskey."

When Hannibal said nothing, Will turned to face him. He hadn't moved an inch since Will had finished his story.

"Are you okay?"

"I imagined this would be the way it would end." Hannibal said. "I am sorry you had to go through all of that. Can I ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you decide to tell me now about it? You always brush it off."

"I just felt like sharing it. And I knew you wouldn't find it stupid."

"Darling, of course not." Hannibal said as he welcomed Will into his arms. "And it also answers my other curiosity."

"Which is that?" Will said as he buried himself into Hannibal's shoulder.

"I now understand why you don't eat popcorn either."

"Did you make a list of everything I don't eat?"

"Mentally, yes. I pay lots of attention to your preferences."

"I am not even surprised."

#i feel like putting a trigger warning #cause this gets pretty sad at some point #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal fanfiction

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hawkinsbnbg · 3 days

Text

Steve was a good friend, so he decided to show Eddie—a virgin—the rope.

nsfw, edging, masturbation, voyeurism (not sure about this one but rather be safe than sorry)

It started out like this:

They were both smoking in Eddie's bed and talking about everything and nothing at all. Just a picture of two friends chilling out together.

But maybe something had gone sidetracked, because Steve had turned to look at him and asked calmly.

"Are you a virgin?"

There was no warning, nothing for Eddie to brace himself for that kind of question. So with a loose tongue and heavy eyelids, Eddie had nodded.

"Yeah, sex is overrated anyway, man."

And that was it. They moved on to different topics after Steve just hummed noncommittally in response.

A few days later, they were back in Eddie's bed again but before he could light his joint, he was asked to show Steve his cock.

As confused as Eddie was, he didn't ask any questions but complied because he was weak to doe-eyes and a pretty face.

And unfortunately, Steve was the combination of both.

So, he just put his joint away for later use, unbuckled his pants, and pulled his cock out, already half-hard just by the idea of Steve watching him.

"Fuck," Steve breathed out softly, eyes tracing the girth and length of Eddie without shame.

Eddie squirmed slightly, not knowing why Steve reacted like that.

"Uhm, is there a problem?" Eddie asked uncertainly.

"No," Steve finally met his gaze, dilated pupils almost eating up the hazel. "Just... I know you’re big, but not this big."

Eddie blushed. "Well, is that a thing?"

"Is that a thing?" Steve mimicked his perplexed tone and snorted. "Jesus. Yeah, Munson. You're fucking hung and girls really dig it."

Eddie wanted to ask, "Does it also include you?"

But he bit his tongue before he could blurt it out. Instead, he said, "So, what are we gonna do now?"

Steve smiled at him, pretty and a little mean, "We're gonna teach you how to not come prematurely so you won't be laughed at for it."

Eddie was quite sure he only complained to Steve about that problem one time. Like months ago when he had been high off his ass and unable to see straight.

He had assumed that Steve must've forgotten all about it by now. But apparently, the younger boy had a better memory than he thought.

"How?" Eddie frowned in bafflement, half anticipating and half afraid of what was to come.

"You're gonna jack off," Steve answered casually, as if the sky was blue and Eddie wasn’t having his cock out in the air. "And when you're close, I'll tell you to stop. We'll keep going until your endurance improves."

"Wait, isn't that–" Eddie spluttered.

He wasn't an idiot. He had read too many skin mag to not know what it was.

"Yeah," Steve nodded calmly. "I know, but edging does help cases like this. I've done my research, Munson."

There were too many things to unpack from that one sentence and Eddie certainly was too sober for it.

So he filed it away to the back of his mind to visit it later when he wasn't both turned on and embarrassed by Steve's insane proposal.

"Do you want me to help you or not?" Steve cocked his eyebrow when he remained silent too long.

And wasn't that a million-dollar question?

Because Steve was sitting on his bed, asking to watch him jerk off, and expecting his brain to not fucking combust.

"Okay," Eddie exhaled shakily and looked up to meet Steve's waiting gaze. "When do you want to do it?"

"Whenever convenient for you," Steve shrugged like he hadn't been eyeing Eddie's half-boner until it filled out and started leaking steadily between them.

Before Eddie could second guess himself, he shimmied out of his pants and boxers. Then, under Steve’s watchful gaze, he wrapped his hand around his cock and started pumping.

He closed his eyes, head knocking back and mouth dropping open in silent moans.

It didn't take long, much to his humiliation, when Eddie felt the telltale tingles prance down on his spine. He was gonna–

"Stop."

Eddie's hand fucking stopped and he had to yank it away from his cock or he was gonna spill just from a small contact.

He shook his head at Steve. "I can't–"

"It's alright," Steve grabbed his hand and guided it back to his throbbing cock. "I know you can do it, Eddie."

Jesus Fucking H. Christ.

The look Steve gave him was so different from before, so soft and so tender.

At that moment, Eddie knew he'd do anything Steve asked him to.

And he was also pushed closer to the edge because of it.

"I'm sorry–"

Steve acted too quickly. One second he was holding Eddie's wrist, one second later he was grabbing Eddie's balls.

"Wha–" Eddie groaned out loud when Steve squeezed them, causing his cock to wilt immediately.

"The fuck are you doing, Harrington?!" Eddie moaned and glared at Steve.

"I'm helping you," Steve answered matter-of-factly, but his eyes gleamed with mischief. "In case you forgot, Munson, we're training you to hold out longer than one minute. It'd be for naught if you come right now."

"You're evil," Eddie mumbled, but secretly hoped that Steve wouldn't stop holding his balls. He could already see himself jerking off to this very moment later.

"I'm just being a good friend," Steve snorted and retreated his hand. "Go on. Pick up from where you left off."

And Eddie obeyed.

He stroked his cock slower this time, hand moving with more purpose, teasing the sensitive slit, squeezing the flushed tip, spreading the slick along the rigid shaft.

He grunted, sighed, and moaned, letting out small noises that were just a bit more breathy.

He bucked his hips and started thrusting, wanting to show Steve that he had the potential, that he could fuck Steve the same way he was pistoning into the loose hole formed by his hand.

His performance was cut short, however, when he was close again, too keyed up to last more than a minute.

It was hard to ignore those hooded eyes when they felt like a physical touch on him.

As predicted, Eddie wasn't allowed to come.

Every time, Steve would tell him to stop again and again and again until he was desperate for relief. Every time Eddie failed to halt his movements in time, the younger boy would aid him by gripping his balls painfully.

It was a bittersweet torture.

Eventually, Eddie couldn't hold back anymore and shot despite Steve's order.

"Fuck, shit, m'sorry, m'sorry," Eddie babbled as he experienced the most intense orgasm in his life.

He convulsed and fisted his cock, seeing stars beneath his eyelids as he tried to drive out the high.

The overwhelming pleasure rendered him speechless, making his head spin and his body tremble. He felt like his brain had liquified and streamed out from his ears.

By the time Eddie regained his senses, he was handed tissues and a water bottle.

Once done with wiping himself down, he took a long gulp from his bottle before grinning at Steve, "That was really something, man."

"You tell me," Steve huffed out a laugh that echoed by Eddie.

They sat in companionable silence until Eddie cleared his throat slightly.

"So I finally lasted longer than one minute."

"Yeah," Steve patted his arm lightly. "Good job for that."

"Thanks," Eddie ducked his head to hide the blush on his cheeks.

"It's nothing," Steve smiled at him kindly. "You really outdid yourself, Eds."

Eddie's stomach felt warm and fuzzy at that. "So what's next now I passed your test?"

Moving closer, Steve hooked a finger under his chin to make him look into those hazel eyes.

"Next time, we're gonna do it with my hand."

Eddie took in a sharp inhale. "You're not joking, right?"

"No, not with you," Steve chuckled lowly.

The sound rattled Eddie down to his bones.

"And what's about next next time?" Eddie couldn't help himself. God dammit.

If all of this was just a dream, he was gonna rip God a new one. Because fucking Jesus.

"Eager, aren't we?" Steve arched his brow. "But I think you already figured it out by yourself."

Eddie groaned and reached down to squeeze the base of his cock. It seemed to be quite eager with what Steve suggested.

"Can we just do the second test right now?" Eddie licked his lips, knowing full well that he wouldn't last long, but he’d be damned if he didn't give it a shot.

Steve just laughed and patted his cheek lightly. "Nah, today's enough. We'll continue tomorrow."

"Promise?" Eddie asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Steve pecked the corner of his lips. "Promise."

And Eddie knew he was gonna set up a one-hundred-step plan to woo Steve Harrington however impossible it was.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #sionewritesatmidnight #steve: oh you're /this/ big?#eddie: is that a bad thing? :(#steve: it is. lemme help you put it down :)

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scribbledghost · 3 days

Note

it’s me again. you said fem!simon and i came running. my brain’s been cooking this up—simon forgot her lunch at home so reader brings it to base.

let’s say price brings reader over to where simon is helping out with training, demonstrating to the recruits how the drill is done. all reader sees is this masked soldier absolutely RIP through the obstacle course with impressive timing, moving effortlessly and making it look easy—while having no idea it’s their beloved simon.

“who the hell was that?” reader asks price, who simply chuckles as this masked soldier catches glimpse of reader and approaches, takes mask off—surprise! it’s simon, who immediately turns to mush when she sees reader brought her lunch, meanwhile reader is equal parts stunned and turned on

I love this idea so much asldkjfalsh

Just imagine here. You're bringing Simon her lunch, completely unaware that she was scheduled for training duty today. All you'd known was that she had some sort of work on-base to do, and quite frankly you also knew that basework was her least favorite part of the job. So naturally, once you realize she'd forgotten her food, you made it a mission to get it to her.

You tell the attendant that you're there for Lt. Simon Riley, ignoring the skeptical look they give you as they page for her.

But instead of your girlfriend, you're greeted by Captain Price, who tells you he'll take you to where Simon's currently working.

"Bit of a busy day," he says. "She gave me the go-ahead to be your escort."

You follow him through the base until he leads you to the training area, where you stop dead in your tracks.

You spot a mountain of a soldier going through the training course, head almost completely obscured by a black balaclava. They breeze through it, doing things you're sure would break a weaker person.

If you'd been looking anywhere other than the soldier, you would've noticed Price giving you a knowing look out of the corner of his eye.

Anyway, you wait patiently for the demonstration to be over before turning to the Captain and asking why he brought you here. He opens his mouth to answer, but he's interrupted by a very familiar voice shouting to the recruits on the field.

"There. That oughta be enough to show you lot it can be done. Now move."

You'd know that voice anywhere, though the gruff, commanding tone is distinctly different from the softer one you're used to at home.

"That answer your question?" Price asks.

You watch as Simon catches your eye, walking to you as she removes the mask to give you a smile.

"Hey there, love," she says, wrapping an arm around your waist to press a kiss to your forehead. It's as if her temperament has switched on a dime, going immediately from no-nonsense drill sergeant to the woman you know so well.

"I see you brought me lunch."

"Yeah, I noticed you forgot it at home. Figured you'd prefer this over whatever they're serving," you say as you hold up the bag.

She thanks you, taking the food from you as Price offers to take over her training shift.

"Give 'er a tour," he suggests.

"Show 'er the barracks," he adds slyly.

It's not lost on you how Simon gives a sly grin of her own in return. But as you follow her across the field and inside, you continue to think back to her display of physical prowess.

Maybe a barracks tour wouldn't be half bad.

#bless you for always indulging my fem simon brainrot ily #fem simon #fem reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost scribbles

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thepalerimitation · 5 hours

Text

Let Me See Some Hands:

Why SydCarmy is the most controversial dish served on the Bear

When the Bear came out, I didn’t watch it. The most I heard, it was a show about line cooks and it had the guy from Shameless. I wasn’t interested, I’m a self proclaimed cooking snob and wanted to see a tv show that had a little more flair in cooking.

But then it was 9 pm, and I was bored.

BAM!

I watched both seasons in a week.

I was obsessed, I was absorbed, and I was deeply and truly in love. The show captured everything gritty and everything beautiful with both hands and threw them into a pan to sear at high heat. It was sexy, it was hideous, and it was mind blowing.

Then the age old question.

What’s going on with those two?

Sydney Adamu, the raw ambition and talent to Carmy Berzatto’s genius and finesse. They’re well matched in the nonstop heat of the kitchen, with an easy dynamic that snags on their jagged edges like fabric on a nail.

In the first season, they’re awkward and magnetic, drifting together and falling apart, shattering and putting the pieces back together. By the second season, they’re starting to click. They dress the same, they finish each other’s sentences, and they argue like people who have known each other for twenty years.

So yes, I did pose that particularly debase question.

Can men and women be friends?

It’s a question that gets thrown in front of the runaway train. It’s the conversation-ender and argument-starter. It’s dynamite. It’s catnip.

The warning signs were there. Shots that focused for a beat too long on him looking at her, or her looking at him. Her embarrassingly admitting he made her favorite dish of all time. Their sign language communication. The season two conflict as a girlfriend was thrown in the mix with Sydney flatly saying “I need your focus, I can’t share, I’m sorry.” I’ll admit, I’ve made more out of less.

But what’s the counter argument?

Well, for one, the girlfriend. Claire (no last name), a nurse and childhood friend who approaches him at a grocery store. She asks for his number, he gives her a fake one. She finds his number anyways and calls him.

Yeah…

There’s some moral arguments. As coworkers, a romantic relationship would be inappropriate. As partners in the restaurants, a romantic relationship could fracture the Bear. Then there’s the purist argument. It’s a cooking show about found family! Let it be that. Romance doesn’t have to be in everything.

“Well gee, which do you think people are pro or anti SydCarmy?”

Well I can tell you why I’m pro.

To me, romance doesn’t demand satisfaction. There’s no need for boyfriend/girlfriend hand holding and playful arguments about doing the dishes. I’d like a kiss, but I’ll take a heated conversation in the walk-in and longing glance.

They’re young and crazy, and HR violations can shove it.

But I also think romance has killed some excellent plots.

Platonic representation is important, especially male-female relationships. I think a lot of platonic relationships are fetishized in media or misinterpreted to add intrigue or interest to audiences.

But can Syd and Carmy be friends?

The short answer?

Who Cares?

The long answer?

Whatever Storer’s design for the show, whether he moves forward in the unclear relationship between Syd and Carmy or buckles down on either platonic or romantic, he’s definitely won.

The show has buzz. It’s got attention and heat.

You hate the romance, so you watch it to prove it’s not there. You love the romance, so you watch it to prove it IS there. You’re curious because every news site talks about it, so you just have to watch it.

Even I’ll admit, I’ve rewatched it and stayed hooked to prove my little delusion. (And because it’s beautifully acted, but who cares about that).

So whether you’re pro or against, just remember:

There is no controversy that wasn’t first stirred up by a clever strategist.

#the bear commentary #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy x sydney

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togamest · 1 day

Text

-> first meeting: first sunset | 1,425 words. gn!reader, reader wears a bikini, alcohol consumption.

author’s notes: he’s so summer love, god. i’ll probably expand on this eventually but this is very selfship coded,,,also semi-inspired by @dearkiryu and i's convos abt him 🤭

you remember the first time you met jo togame.

you’d just gotten off the plane, the smell of the sea tingling your nose as you had bounded into the terminal, your carry-on in tow. you make it to your hotel without issue, and spread out on the bed, rolling around the soft sheets and smiling to yourself.

the beach had drawn you in quickly, pulling you by the strings of your bikini as you wander across the sand. a few chairs are set up, scattered across the beach in speckles of blue and white and teal. you’d sat for a long time in the spot of your choice, sipping on one of the beers in your cooler.

you’d been swiping through the matches in your phone absentmindedly, not really invested but interested to see where things go. you don’t even pay attention to what the guys look like; many of them look so similar. surf body, blonde curls, blue eyes. “yes, i get it, you live in california,” you mumble to yourself as you toss your phone in your bag, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and settling back into the chair to drift off for a little bit.

a shadow casts over you, and you squint, looking up.

it’s a man. and he’s pretty.

you lean up, squinting. “can i help you?”

the man shrugs, moving out of the sun’s way and sitting on the chair next to you, the supports squealing under his weight. he was tall, muscles rippling underneath his skin; at least six feet with pretty braided black hair, wisps of it falling across the sides of his face. he’s wearing those translucent sunglasses, tinted orange as he leans over, wiggling his phone.

“didn’t think i’d meet one of my matches so soon.”

you gasp, looking through your phone. sure enough, there he was, looking exactly the same as he did before you. except in his photo, he’d had brilliant green eyes.

the same ones that held your gaze now, with nothing but kindness behind them.

“s-sorry,” you manage to stammer out, embarrassment flooding through your system. “i didn’t think i would either.”

he chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as he leans back. “don’t worry ‘bout it. did ya mind if i kept ya company for a little while?”

there’s something about him that pulls you in. it could be his voice and its lilting tone; perhaps his eyes? or maybe even the way he’s holding the same beer you’re drinking right now, as you look down and notice there’s one extra missing.

you gasp again. “did you steal one of my beers?”

he answers with a shrug, a smirk tugging at his lips as he cracks the can. “maybe.”

you huff, rolling your eyes. “you’re a piece of work already. jesus, accosting me where i can’t say no to you, and then taking one of my beers? you’re ridiculous.”

he doesn’t respond, but instead chooses to smile again at you. “yeah, but i’m hot, so sometimes i can get away with about ninety percent of that.”

“don’t talk yourself up so much. it’s egotistical.”

he takes a sip, smacking his lips. “that may be, but i like t’ go after what i want quickly. i like opportunity, y’know? and ya seemed pretty bored out here, anyway.”

he’s right, you are bored. solo traveling has its perks, but people watching can only get you so far. you hum, bringing your own beer to your lips. the chill and carbonation make you feel a little less nervous with every moment that passes.

“what’s your name?”

“togame. jo togame. you?”

you tell him yours, and he smiles again.

“pretty name for a pretty thing like you.”

well, that was something else. having a man come on so strong to you wasn’t unknown to you, but it felt odd every time it happened. like you were unworthy of such praise and attraction due to, well, you.

he relaxes after that, simply basking in the sunshine next to you, asking questions about where you’re from and why you’re here. you don’t answer him honestly, of course; he seemed fine, but you can never be too careful. he doesn’t chase after more answers, seemingly satisfied with the short responses you’ve given him.

what a weird guy.

ironically, it had been a long, relaxing day with togame; contrary to popular belief, he was quite charming. and his slight ego interested you deeply, to the point where he’s stood and offered his hand to take you for a walk across the beach.

your legs are warm as you walk beside him. there’s a smile plastered on his face, soft with the edges of his lips slightly upturned, his eyes gentle behind his sunglasses.

“so, what’re ya really here for?”

“what do you mean?” you take a sip of your beer.

he shrugs, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back just a hair, his eyes sliding shut. “dunno. jus’ curious.”

you hum. “curious, huh?”

his hand scratches the back of his head. he looks embarrassed, his eyes darting to you and away, as if he’s scared of what he’s about to say.

“someone like you shouldn’t be alone.”

you can’t tell if it’s sunburn or blush that’s making your face feel hot and red, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “unfortunately, many people don’t tend to agree with that statement.”

you avoid his gaze. you can feel it sizing you up, but it feels nice. it feels like he cares; a stranger, whose taken you on silly errands of his own within hours of knowing only his name. you’d taken a risk, you know that; you know what could have happened.

but it didn’t. somewhere, some solo traveler god has you in their thoughts. and they’d sent him, with braided black hair and pretty orange sunglasses that do nothing to hide the way he’s eyeing you.

instead, he takes your beer, ignoring your protests as he places it on one of the tables between deck chairs. the look he gives you after fills you with dread. you know what he’s about to do. every neighborhood boy had that same look at every pool party you’d been to, when things got a little too laidback.

“jo, don’t you dare—“

he completely ignores you, choosing instead to pick you up like you weighed nothing. your vision goes awry, the world rolling around in your line of sight as he walks into the water, ignoring the battering of your fists on his back.

then, the cold water hits you, saltiness stinging your tongue and your skin as you gasp, hitting the wet, sandy floor of the shallows with an oof.

after some spluttering, you wipe your face and glare at him from where he’s standing, a few feet off to the side with a horrific grin plastered across his face. he thought it was funny.

let’s see how funny he finds this.

you stand up, clothes sticking to your skin as you shake your head to get the water out. then, you lean down, arms in the water.

he looks at you. “oh, seriously?”

his tone is too teasing to be serious, so you smirk, letting loose a spray of water that slaps him all over, particularly in the face. he staggers, removing his sunglasses as he splutters away, spitting the sand and salt out of his mouth. giggles erupt from your chest as you hold your stomach. you haven’t laughed like this in a long time. a very, very long time.

you ignore the forlorn feeling present there. there’s no time to dwell on those thoughts right now.

you had something right in front of you that could take your mind off of it.

you both play around in the shallows for a long time. so long, that the sun begins to set on the horizon, setting the ocean ablaze in shades of red, yellow and orange. togame’s hand is in your own by then, his chest pressed skintight against your back. you’d slid between his legs on the bench, right between his thighs, making yourself comfortable. your beer is long gone, having been finished hours prior.

you fold your fingers between togame’s, resting your intertwined hands against his thigh. you don’t want to leave, but you know you should. not to mention, you could work up the courage to invite him in by the time you arrived at your hotel if you ask him to accompany you.

“walk me home?”

he nods. “thought ya’d never ask.”

divider credit: @/benkeibear networks: @enchantedforest-network

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

#togame jo x reader #jo togame x reader #wind breaker x reader #ari's autographs #god he is so. holding my head in my hands

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siconetribal · 15 hours

Text

Put it on My Tab 13

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali @antiquecultist

Warning: Mild swearing, Dick being Dick, Y/N will never have another dull evening ever again

Author Note:

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters or find chapter one here.

Y/N cautiously sat in the chair he motioned towards, keeping her hands flat on her lap and back pin straight. Though the detective showed a friendly and possibly flirtatious disposition, there was something about him that had her on high alert. She was not sure if this was some facade of his and in actuality he was some sort of brute, but there was something hidden. Something that made her gut scream that there was something dangerous about him and she needed to take caution. Silence filled the little office, her palms growing sweaty as she pressed her back into the chair.

Am I supposed to speak? Is he going to speak? He didn’t really ask me a question, or was I supposed to confirm that’s my name? I have a name tag though. What am I supposed to do?! The panic started to settle in with each passing second as she internally struggled in figuring out if this was some sort of tactic or did she miss something.

Dick quietly watched Y/N, impressed by her natural instinct to stay alert with him. There was no reason for him to suspect that she knew of his nightly profession, so he took the time to carefully observe her. Her gaze shifted between him and a spot on the floor as a slight crease began to form between her brows. She was thinking of something and he really wanted to know what it was.

“You can relax, you’re not in any trouble. Well, so long as there's no footage of you breaking the glass anyway.” He chuckled.

“I definitely did not do that!” She quickly responded and leaned forward.

“I believe you. Your boss wouldn’t just throw the names of two vigilantes into the ring if you're the one at fault. So, just take a deep breath and relax. This is just a small chat to get some facts for now.” He chuckles.

“Yes Detective Richard Grayson,” she nodded her head.

“Just call me Detective Dick or Detective Grayson.”

“Right, ok,” she nodded her head. “So, do I just start talking? Or do you ask questions?”

“I’ll ask the necessary questions for now.” He pulled out a small top spiral notepad and pen, the sight of which made the corners of her lips quirk up. It was a bit old-fashioned and stereotypical, but it was comforting because it was expected. Had he pulled out a tablet, she might have been more on edge. “So, your name is Y/N, correct? That's a pretty name.”

Her confirming answer was cut short like the screech of a record needle across a vinyl disk. What had he just said? He complimented my name the same way Nightwing did! Am I in trouble? Does he know the Bat group? Sugar and spice, what do I do? Is this a warning to keep silent or vague? Or does he actually think it’s pretty? Why would he just say that though?

“Did I pronounce it wrong?” He frowned, snapping her out of her second spiral of thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, no! It’s just, you’re the second person to say that to me. It’s not something I commonly hear.”

“Really? That's a shame.”

“Uhm, right, anyway, yes, that’s my name.”

“Why were you here on the night in question?”

“I was working.”

“Were there any customers in the shop?”

“No.”

“Were you in the front when the incident occured?”

“Yes.”

“Briefly describe to me what happened.”

“I was standing at the counter when I heard and felt glass go flying everywhere. I ducked for cover and only got up when I heard a voice. I saw Nightwing and Red Robin. I gave them drinks and they left.” Was that vague enough? What do I do if they start digging into why I didn’t talk about the guy they took down? What if Nightwing and Red Robin found out I said something though? Do I hide for the vigilantes and potential get time for lying to an officer or do I risk becoming the next target to be silenced?!

“That’s all?”

“Basically,” she shrugged. “Uhm, if you want to know what they were doing, I’mma bet they were doing whatever it is that vigilantes usually do? Which…I’m sure you’re more knowledgeable about…than me since you deal with them more than me?” Her tone wavered between sassy and questioning, not wanting to insult the detective, but she was not sure if he directly dealt with them either.

“Yes, I am fairly well informed of what vigilantes do.” He tried his best not to laugh. “You could say I’m someone very close to them. Don’t worry about the details, just follow my lead.” He gave her a wink and flashed a million dollar grin that usually made the ladies weak-kneed. Y/N was certainly not blind to his charms, but she was not so easily dazzled by something so simple and superficial. There was a lack of genuineness to his mannerisms. It all seemed a little cold and detached, almost like a show.

The last time I ‘just followed’ a guy, I ended up with a 4k bill I’m still paying off! And the time before that, I was tricked into stealing from the Penguin! Who knows what following Dick Dick’s lead will do! I’d rather not risk my life again, I like my head where it is. She smiled at him and nodded her head. “I feel better knowing someone as capable as you is handling this situation, thank you. Do you need anything more from me?” I need to get out of here, fast.

“Glad to be of service and that’s all for now. If you think of anything or remember something, please don't hesitate to give me a call.” He pulled out his business card and handed it to her. “I'll make sure to wrap this all up quickly for you, but for formalities sake I'll need to call you in for a recorded interview. I’ll be in touch.”

Fantastic, another guy I’ll be waiting on to contact me. Hopefully this doesn't take as long as the Little Lordling did. “I get it, sure. I can give you my work schedule so you know when to call here.” She offered, not wanting to give her personal number to him.

“Sure, that’ll make things easier. Or-,”

“Great, one sec!” She pocketed his card and moved towards the computer, printing out her shifts for the next three weeks. “Here you are. If that's all, I better head back to the counter, the morning rush is in full swing. We need all hands on deck.”

“Don’t let me keep you! I know how important that first cup is!” He raised his hands up and nodded to the door.

“Thank you, I hope you have a great rest of your day.” She smiled and quickly left the room, keeping herself from running as she picked up helping with making orders.

Dick stood alone in the office, staring at the chair she was sitting on. Y/N was certainly a very interesting person that did not quite fit the usual females of Gotham that he met on jobs like this. He knew she was not immune to his charms from how she went silent at his flirtations, but she was not charmed by him. She even made sure to avoid giving him her cell number to call her whenever. It was an odd tactic, smart, but odd. She was wary of him and he was not sure if it was because she was keeping her promise from that night or if she had a keen sense of danger.

I’m not a danger to her, but I am dangerous. What are the odds that she would meet three of us by coincidence? Normally I’d be more suspicious, but she's made zero moves to even reach out to Jason and isn't keen on me getting her number. I doubt this is some long con either, she would have focused on one of us or gone after Bruce himself. No, she's just got luck with meeting superheroes. Chuckling to himself, he left the room and followed the sound of Nolan’s voice. “Got the recording? I've got her information and work schedule.”

“Great, let’s go, this list ain’t gonna complete itself. Though I wish it did.” Nolan grumbled, the two heading out when two large cups of coffee and sandwiches were handed to them, instantly brightening the elder detective’s mood. Y/N silently watched the two of them leave, her focus solely on Detective Grayson. When he turned to look directly back at her, she quickly ducked her head to try and avoid being caught.

He didn’t catch me, right? Of course not, he was probably just looking back for nothing. She tried to untangle the knots of unease that started to build up in the pit of her stomach by pushing all of it to the back of her mind and focused on the orders that were quickly piling up.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Jason rolled over for the hundredth time, cocooning himself into a messy blanket burrito. Not only had he failed to message her first, he failed to respond to her good night text. It’s not like I’ve never been told I have a fine ass before, what is wrong with me?! “Dammit,” he groaned as he turned over once more. “And here I thought I had the upper hand and then she just up and texted me a formal ‘your fine ass’?” No, there’s no way I’m just laying around here and letting her win, Magnus was right! I needed to focus on not getting my spine snapped in two so I can actually make up for not texting on time. He wriggled out of the confines of his blanket and swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

“First things first, I need to eat something. I’m starving.” He muttered to himself, scratching at his scalp while glancing at the clock. I got back around 4 this morning, slept for almost ten hours. Must’ve been more exhausted than I thought. Standing from the bed, he glanced around his bedroom before making his way over to the bathroom to start washing up.

As the afternoon rush came to an end, Y/N went to the breakroom in the back and stretched her stiff limbs, plopping down onto one of the chairs as she laid the rest of her on the table. “What a day, what a day.” She mumbled to herself, staring at the wall to her right. Am I going to be called in for a formal interview? Would they believe me not knowing? Does that detective really know Nightwing? How much longer do I have to work like this to finally pay off the bill? If I bring it up to him the next time they meet, would he deny it? Is he even going to text her or was he just saying that because he got caught? The unanswered questions came and went, one by one, when the chime of her phone forced herself to sit up to dig it out of her pocket. Much to her surprise, there was a text from the infamous ‘Your Hero’.

<So you think I have a fine ass, huh?> She nearly fell out of her chair from shock and confusion. There was no way he was watching her or had telepathy, right? She contemplated the possibility for a moment when she saw that he was typing. <When’s your next day off? I’ll make sure to keep my schedule light.>

My next day off will be three weeks from whenever I’m done paying for that crazy bill. She glared at her device. He must know it’s broken, right? It’s not like it broke without him knowing. Maybe he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know how to bring it up? I mean, he did see that I work in a cafe. I’d feel like a real dunce for breaking a simple coffee machine only to find out the person who paid for the room makes coffee drinks for a living. She did not want to bring it up via text nor did she want to give an answer that would seem like she was uninterested. <I’m free in the evening on Saturday and daytime on Sunday.> She offered, figuring weekends would be better options for him.<But if you’re looking for something in the middle of the week, only time I have is next week Tuesday or Thursday in three weeks.>

<Damn, you’re a hard person to come by, huh? You’re not someone who hates doing anything on Sundays just because it’s the day before Monday, right?>

<Depends if I like the plan, you plan on telling me what it is?> She sent back as she grabbed her packed lunch, biting into her sandwich.

<Nope, you’ll just have to meet me Sunday and find out.>

<Noon sounds good? Also did you want to meet somewhere or did you want me to pick you up?> Y/N stared at her phone, blinking as she reread the text over and over again. He wanted to meet up and possibly pick her up from her apartment.

<I’ll need to run it by Cici first, we live together. I’ll text you back later today?>

<Sure, text whenever you find out. Are you at work now?>

<Yeah, currently on break. What about you?>

<Depends, which gets me more brownie points?>

<I’m working the graveyard shift again. Lucky me.>

<That’s good, you’ll have an easier night without him.>

And no vigilantes flying into the store through windows. <Never a dull moment here. I gotta get back to work now, I’ll text you what Cici says later.>

<Cool, hopefully the rest of your day isn’t too crazy.>Oh if you only knew. She sighed, tossing out her trash and pocketing her phone before heading back to the front.

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lotusarchon · 11 hours

Text

loverboy(s) (sun wukong + macaque x reader

content warnings: reader is IMPLIED female, second pov (you/your), foul language, minor threats, mini headcanon for macaque

author notes: to that one anon, happy birthday! i apologize for taking forever but i hope you liked this! its a bit funny seeing a few people who share the same birth month as myself (my fave lesbian genshin impact writer also shares the same birth month with me YAYY). i hope you had a wonderful day today, nonnie <3

“I told you. The cake goes on that side, fucking dumbass.”

“Who the FUCK are you calling dumbass? No, no no, come here. Come here and face me, you snarky little bitch. Come over here right now and tell me to my face I'm a dumbass. You wanna lose your other eye, huh? You want me to beat the shit out of you, is that it!?”

You mentally sigh as the monkey turns away, obviously not in the mood to actually pick a fight. Of course, it could also be because MK had begged the two monkeys to just get along if only for today, just for your sake, which, you won't lie, you did appreciate the sentiment but …

Holy fuck they hated each other's guts.

You won't deny being surprised that they had bothered to show up. MK had insisted you hold a party for your special day, and well. You can't exactly say no to the most stubborn person you'll ever meet. You'd think the party would be small and mainly of the Monkie Kid crew, but god no.

That noodle boy invited everyone he knew.

And I mean, everyone. Even the little Bai He was here, playing with Mo.

And of course, the Great Sage Equal To Heaven and the amazing Six Eared Macaque too.

You almost contemplated making a run for it when Macaque approached you, but Pigsy gave you such a scolding to not break MK's fragile heart (pft), and so, you were trapped in a social conversation.

(Oh, the horrors.)

“Nice party you have here.”

“Thanks.”

…

Yeah, I forgot to mention; you two suck at making a good conversation. Well, not so much you than Macaque mainly, who tried, you know, he really does, but inevitably just sucks.

But that's fine. Macaque's quiet most of the time and it's a little comforting. You don't like speaking much anyway, so it works out for the both of you. A bit.

You can't say the same for Wukong though. He's…well. He's certainly very outgoing. The minute he shows up he goes straight for the food (Pigsy is not gonna be happy about that), and then he finds his way to you as well.

“Hey there birthday girl.” Wukong gently pinches your cheek. He smiles warmly, and you can't help but return his smile with your own. “Nice party you've got going on. How come you didn't invite me yourself, mmh? Too shy to meet the awesome Great Sage?”

Before you can reply, Macaque scoffs, “MK invited most of us, don't be an ass.”

Wukong sighs. He glances at his ‘friend’ for a minute, and glances back at you.

“I can't believe MK invited him.”

“I'm allowed to be where I want, thanks.”

“Uh huh. I call dibs on the cake, by the way.”

“It's not your cake you fucking dick.”

“Blah blah, me and (Name) can't hear you.” Wukong turns with you in his arms, guiding you in the opposite direction of where Macaque broods. You wave at Macaque before allowing Wukong to take you…god alone knows where, and he pats your head affectionately. “Sorry about that. Still, happy birthday (Name)! I got you something!”

He releases his hold on you, and you give him a look.

“Is it made out of hair?” You demand, watching as he pouts and looks offended.

“Hey! Not everything I have is made from hair!” He protests, but you can definitely see the way his eyes dart away―he most definitely did, in fact, contemplate giving you a gift made of hair. You loved the guy but….you really had to question how his head works sometimes.

Well. At least you don't have to worry about hair strands all over your room…

“Is it a peach?”

Wukong groans. “(Name), could you have a little faith in me?”

You look him dead in the eye, and answer gently, “Absolutely not.”

“Rude. But fair. And no, it's not a peach. Those are my specialties.”

A pause.

“And I also ate them on my way here.”

You sigh and move to call Pigsy, but Wukong latches onto your wrist and falls flat on his face.

“I haven't even finished!”

“I'm scared what you even bothered to get me.”

Wukong whines, “It's a cool gift, I promise!”

“Wukong, I am not taking Nezha's fucking brick!”

“I wasn't gonna give you that! Nezha took it back anyway!”

Now you understand why everyone wants to wring his neck every time he appears. Even you, who still admires the Monkey King, contemplated wringing his neck like a chicken.

Wukong holds you still and digs through his pockets for something. You cross your arms, waiting, and when he finally grabs the object he's been searching for, he holds it in the air like it's the greatest treasure he's ever found.

He places it in your hands, and you blink.

“A rock.”

Wukong coughs behind his palm. He seems embarrassed by the obvious remark, and you notice a light flush on his expression, a deep red. He looks away before standing, finally, and turns the rock in your hand.

It's about the same size of your palm and oddly shaped as most rocks are, but this rock is different. This rock is painted white, and on the side is a clearly illustrated drawing of a certain Monkey King, hugging a certain figure that bears a strong resemblance to you. The side you had been staring at has a carving, written in Mandarin, ‘My peach and me.’

You flip the rock back and forth, eyes wide. It looks a little silly to be considered a proper gift, but you've already come to realize that Wukong, for all of his confidence, just sucks at expressing himself properly. He has an ego but you know truthfully, he just has no idea on how to act around others and hence why he's always…a little weird.

The rock looks like a silly gift, but you can't help your smile. He could've given you something extravagant as his title, but instead.

He gives you a rock.

“Um. If you don't like it it's fine,” Wukong tries to say, a sheepish smile on his expression. “I mean uh. I'm the Monkey King y'know? I'll get you another gift―”

You cut him off by blurting out, “I love it!”

“Eh?”

You smile at Wukong, squeezing the rock between your hands. He looks back equally amazed, and equally confused.

“I love it,” you repeat, and kiss Wukong's cheek. “Trust me. You're an amazing artist, Monkey King. I hope you don't mind if I keep this in my room, right?”

Wukong blinks like you'd just told him Pigsy loves him (as if.) A smile adorns his expression and he nods, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Ha! Well!” The Monkey King laughs boisterously. “If that's whatcha wanna do, go for it! It's your gift y'know?” He scratches his cheek and looks away. “I just. Figured you'd want something…from the heart. Ehem.”

You smile, “I do. Thank you.”

You're too busy smiling at Wukong to have noticed Macaque had sneaked up on both of you, making Wukong visibly jump in surprise when he speaks. You look at the dark furred simian who barely spares the Monkey King a glance, and instead looks to you with a rare, barely visible smile.

“Since we're giving gifts so soon,” Macaque muses and pulls out something from behind his back.

Unlike Wukong's gift, which is quite frankly the opposite of extravagant, Macaque's is wrapped in a light purple colored paper, and tied with a neat, darker purple bow on top. It's a bit strange to think the Macaque would actually give you a gift, but nonetheless the gesture is sweet, especially when he seems very proud of himself to even wrap your gift unlike the Monkey King.

You accept it with a smile and allow your rock to sit peacefully in your pocket. You try to take care in tearing the paper, but give up when it tears unevenly.

“Oh? A doll?” You blink and look up at Macaque, who is smiling, but a little more nervously this time.

Even Wukong looks impressed, eying the container with a whistle. “Didn't know you got better at making those. It looks realistic.”

Macaque looks surprised at the compliment. You knew they always had bad blood ever since an incident in Wukong's journey, and yet to think Wukong still seemed to remember his old friend's hobby makes even you surprised.

Macaque coughs in his hand, nodding. “Yeah, I practiced a bit,” he admits and looks at you with a sheepish smile. “I hope you like it. Sorry it's not the best.”

A daruma doll sits in your palm, round as a squash with your brows and a smile to imitate your excitement. It wobbles with any movement, and it's really, really cute.

“It's beautiful,” you say, a smile on your expression as it wobbles. “I love it!”

You pause, and look at Wukong. “Not anymore than I love yours, Wukong. It's not a competition.”

Wukong grins, “But if it was, I'd win, right?”

Macaque rolls his eyes and remarks, snidely, “You painted a rock. Not sure how you'd win with that, dumbass.”

“It's better than yours at least. Suck my dick.”

“You should suck mines cause mine is bigger.”

“Shut up you gay ass!”

“Says the walking fruit―”

They bicker, as they usually do, but you don't stop them. Not when you're admiring your gifts, both made with you in mind, with care and consideration.

A smile adorns your lips later that night, the daruma doll and painted rock sitting on your bedside table.

“Mine's better.”

“Dude shut the FUCK up!”

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faeriescorpio · 2 days

Text

Which Spy & Scout role swap is more interesting?

Class-swap or Age-swap

Class-swap: Spy is the Scout. Jeremy is the Spy. Jeremy doesn’t do so much of the blackmailing part of being a Spy as much as he uses the Sappers and watches and tech and such. Spy is still nosy and he knows Jeremy is his son. Jeremy being the Spy probably knows (canon)Spy slept with his mom but not that they’re related. (Canon)Spy is the world’s quietest Scout. He tries so hard to make a baseball bat look classy. Jeremy is the type of guy who researches at what length a knife is a sword and gets like a 12 inch knife and swings it around. He’s efficient, not elegant. (Canon)Spy despairs over his son being the spy. Man I need to have my own head-canon for Spy’s real name or this is going to get really confusing

Age-Swap: Jeremy always wanted a big family. He marries a woman who has 7 sons. But he’s immature even at 35 years old, and he tells her all about how dangerous his work is with no thought of how it might affect her and her family. So when the woman finds out she’s pregnant with her 8th son, she divorces Jeremy. He still calls her every weekend and devotes most of his paycheck to her. But when he calls she never tells him about her youngest child so Jeremy thinks she only has 7 sons. He’s the Scout, he’s not known for his brains. He does believe in the Waiting Game TM, which “always works, eventually” (I think I’m quoting comic 4). Anyway he gets a job with RED which includes a rather young Spy. Spy being Spy knows that Jeremy is his father but Scout is oblivious. Because if Scout knows then Spy would know because Scout can’t keep a secret to save his life. Spy does everything he can to keep Jeremy from knowing. This does change their dynamic as Scout doesn’t go to Spy for advice, Spy is both more and less aggressive to Scout because he can’t believe his father is an idiot but also is it Scout’s fault that he wasn’t there if Spy’s mother divorced him and didn’t tell Jeremy about Spy? Meanwhile Spy being younger than Scout means Scout’s a little nicer to Spy because Scout’s the kind of person who’s like “you’re younger than me therefore I’m better than you” so he doesn’t take Spy snapping at him as seriously. Why doesn’t Spy tell Scout? It was never in question that Scout wouldn’t love having a son. Heck he won’t stop talking about his ex-wife that he still calls (and she still picks up and talks to him so clearly something is going on there) and his 7 adopted kids. Spy is just… afraid. However if Naked and the Dead happened in this AU Spy can’t pretend to be Tom Jones because Scout would be like “???????” so they’d be forced to have a more real conversation. I don’t think Scout would say he’s proud of Spy, I think he would just say he loves Spy. Because having his father be proud of him is something that matters more to Scout than it would to Spy. Also Scout knows French to impress the ladies and this is one of the few things Spy knows about his dad before joining RED so he learned French in high school. He would not have a Boston accent he would think it’s not classy. He definitely studied abroad in France.

Is this anything

#tf2 #team fortress two #team fortress 2 #tf2 spy #tf2 jeremy #tf2 scout #spydad #I’d like to state for the record that if YOU want to write one of these ideas #or you are otherwise inspired. go ahead lol #we need more absolutely derangedness #poll #polls #tf2 au #au ideas #au idea #fic ideas

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nectardaddy · 2 days

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monsters - yuuta okkotsu

cw: language, blood, death, human remains, killer + non curse au, dark themes/humor, graphic descriptions(!!)

notes: heavily inspired by the book butcher and blackbird by brynne weaver, I genuinely loved writing this and might do another, butcher and blackbird has a chokehold on me

Yuuta Okkotsu was a sick man, a morbid man, one who's dark eyes didn't flicker or hesitate at the sight of the macabre. A man who was, quite genuinely, damned. A damned man with even sicker, more twisted, thoughts than your own that rattled his brain. But no one was the wiser of a man with a sweet smile, a sickly sweetness that oozed and melted hearts. He was so sinister, but so- peculiarly normal. A normality he practiced and honed; sure, the oddities slipped through every now and then, but he was quick to brush it off with a gentle laugh. A laugh that was charming, a tender sound, until it wasn't.

It was never a question on if you could love the monster of a man, it was when you would.

"You killed that man-" you began, voice soft against the chirps of crickets amongst you. "For me?" The air was thick and hot, humidity sticking to your skin as your limbs were slicked with sweat. An iron twinge in the air made you grimace, and you eyes met with the man, who now, had blood coated clothes.

"You're surprised?" He asked, eyes forward as he hunched over the body of a man - if you could call it as much anymore. He was a formidable, wicked, man, one who found himself splayed on the ground. Eyes sunken and blood pooling around his head, never to see such beautiful light of the earth again.

"I said I had it," you countered, a snap to your tone that made dark eyes flicker towards you. Not dodging his question as eloquently as you had hoped, you suddenly felt all too small under his eye.

"You didn't." A tone to match your own, as he rose with a small sigh. Looking over himself, seemingly annoyed he had to get himself so gruesome and bloodied. "Obviously."

"You didn't let-" But his eyes locking with your own made your breath hitch, swallowing hard as you desperately searched to fill your lungs. You hated that the man before you had such a loathsome effect on you; face flushing and breath stolen as if he were a middle school crush. "I could've done it myself," you doubled down.

A hammer in his hand, drenched in gore, was dropped amongst the grass as he took a step towards you. But the moments flashed before your mind quickly: you had the hammer first, swinging with a force to be reckoned with, then suddenly you didn't. You didn't realize, before it was too late, the doomed man had opposed you. "You would've been bludgeoned to death," he quipped. "Dear," he tacked on as his pale lips pulled to a sickly smile.

This wasn't his first slaying, nor would it be his last. Wielding a hammer as if it were a sword, becoming a knight in shining armor as he spilled blood for you. He was a mad man, a delirious one who considered bashing a sport - he didn't consider it entertaining, he found it thrilling. Passionate and wistful - it made you weak at the knees. But you were just as demented as he, if not more in the erratic department. It was miles from normal, but was normality anyway?

"Ugh-," you began, rolling your eyes as you watched the man before you slip back into his façade. "Don't 'dear' me, Yuuta," you retorted. "The only man I'm scared of out here, is you. Not that fucker," motioning towards the corpse as your eyes met his again. "You got in my way, I would've been fine."

"That's a compliment coming from you," he mused, tilting his head in what seemed like amusement. "Is that why you haven't killed me yet?" He asked rhetorically, dodging the conversation effortlessly as you failed to do so earlier. "No," he answered himself. "You're not scared of snapping my neck like a twig, you're scared of something else."

His tone made you want to vomit, so eerily sweet and candy coated, until it went sour, it felt wrong - it was wrong. It was wrong to act so apathetic in front of the dead, even more so when it teetered on flirting. "Don't start," you warned, but your mind urged him to keep going.

"Start what?" He asked innocently, juxtaposing himself as his clothes were splattered with blood. Inwardly kicking yourself at the thought of damn he looks good in red. The man knew what he was doing with his words, and he knew all too well as he took another step closer to you.

"You know what," your tone never faltering even though it desperately wanted to crack. "Maybe I should kill you," you suggested. But you couldn't do that, you could never do that; how could you possibly want to? He was so intriguing, so pretty, so daringly risqué it bordered obscurity - and fuck, he looked so good in red. There was no reason a man of his nature should look charming at all, no more so covered in blood. Delicate spatters coating his jacket and creeping towards his face, speckles of the liquid dancing on his cheeks like freckles.

"Probably right," he shrugged, a bit too mellow. Yuuta was odd, a strange man with strange tastes, as he wholeheartedly agreed with you that maybe you should kill him. "But then, how would you to fall in love with me?" Good lord, did that really come out of his mouth? "Dear."

If you hadn't already fallen so deep, maybe you wouldn't have come out with him tonight. But he didn't need to know that, he wasn't on a need to know basis with the the inner workings of your mind. However fractured, grotesque, and possibly similar it was to his own, he didn't need to know. He probably didn't want to know. "This again?" You asked, "god- you've completely lost it, Yuuta." You countered, contradicting your own thoughts. It was strange how you had the confidence and nerve to kill, but not to admit one's own feelings. It was easier to take a life than give your own.

"Kill me then." He proposed, crossing strong, filthy arms over his chest, a syrupy smile hanging from his lips. He was all too chipper about the interaction, dark eyes telling you he knew entirely more than he let on. A small, dainty, hum left his lips from your lack of action. Too confused, outwardly a bit disturbed by his choice words, to act, you only stared. "There it is," he mused, a whimsy in his low voice that made you shudder. "You can't, can you?"

A bit too giddy, and a screw loose in his mind, he took another step towards you. "I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," now only a few feet away from you, you couldn't stop your mind from racing. Somehow, in your own twisted mind, you found the man utterly breathtaking. Handsome, adorned in another's blood, with dark, tired eyes piercing you like a knife, and an, oh so, saccharine smile. "I just killed a man for you," he quipped, watching as his thought process shifted directions with ease. "With a hammer," he added, "all because I thought he'd hurt you."

"How romantic," you breathed, voice laced with a twinge of sarcasm. "A crime of passion."

"Isn't it?" He reveled, taking another step. It was a closeness you expected from the man, as he so often toed the line of boundaries. Because what boundaries could exist within one capable of taking another life? Little to none. Another stride, one more and he would be completely on top of you. "It felt-" you watched him pause, hovering over words in his mind as his eyes refused to leave yours. "Nice."

You couldn't decide whether to feel horrified, or unceremoniously flattered. But as his blood coated hand reached out for your cheek, all thoughts ceased. The warmth of his hand, and the liquid that covered it made you tremble underneath it. Oh, you were in deep. "I would do it again, y'know?"

If you hadn't convinced yourself otherwise now, there was no hope left. You were doomed to fall for the murderous man before you - if you hadn't already.

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ihave-atummyache · 3 days

Note

Recent thought if you need inspiration:

Minho fluff where you’re both nail painting and he can use both hands meanwhile you’re struggling af so he helps😭

ahem… this has been in my ask forever and im just now answering it…

anyways(:

also i’ll go back and edit this later so if theres typos just pretend there isnt.

SOFT FLUFFY CUTE ADORABLE LEE KNOW AHEAD. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

“Babe!” Your voice echoes through the apartment but you get no response. You stand and walk into your bedroom, where you last saw your boyfriend.

“Baby?” Your voice comes out more as a question this time as you enter further into your room. You notice that your bathroom light is on and the door is open.

“In here,” Minho’s voice comes from the bathroom and you enter the room to see him going through a huge container of beauty supplies that you have.

“Watcha doing?” You ponder, leaning in to press a kiss to the back of your boyfriend’s shoulder and letting your arms wrap around his waist.

“I was changing the toilet paper and I noticed this down here and became interested,” he chuckles and glances up into the mirror. You’re already looking at him over his shoulder in the mirror and a soft smile makes its way to his face when he notices you were already looking at him.

“Wanna have a spa night?” You suggest and he laughs before nodding and putting the lid back on the container. You let your arms fall from around him and lead the way to the living room.

“You know I originally came to find you to ask if you wanted to order pizza tonight,” you chuckle and sit down on the floor next to your coffee table. Minho sets the container down and you look up to see if he is interested in your proposal.

He rubs the top of your head before letting his fingers gently rake through your hair. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“What princess wants, princess gets,” his tone is half teasing and you playfully roll your eyes at him. Nonetheless, he pulls out his phone and unlocks it before handing it to you and sitting down next to you on the floor.

As you’re placing the order from you two’s favorite nearby spot, he has started to go through the container again, pulling out the contents.

You had the fluffy headbands, face masks, nail polish, all kinds of body creams and lotions, the works. He chuckled at your collection. He finds your hoarding tendencies cute in the right circumstances.

“Okay. It’ll be here in 20 minutes,” you speak up before locking his phone and placing it face down on the table, “Where should we start?” You finish your sentence, eyes trailing over all the products.

“You’re the slumber party connoisseur, you tell me,” he smiles at you and you cant help mirroring the same expression. You turn to the table and grab two fluffy headbands that he had pulled out. One was Hello Kitty and the other one had frog eyes on it.

You immediately take the frog one for yourself and force the other one onto your boyfriend. Before he can complain too much, you put the head band over his head and around his neck. You spin it around so the bow is to the side, just like Hello Kitty’s, before sliding it under his bands and pushing his hair back.

You lean forward and press a quick kiss to his lips which he very willingly returns.

“You’re so pretty,” you comment, pulling away and smoothing his eyebrows down. He just hums in response, acting unbothered, but you notice the redness creeping up his ears.

You grab your own headband and put it on yourself before turning back to the face masks. You decide to do mud masks instead of sheet masks because they’re a bit easier to eat with and your food will probably be here before you rinse off your masks.

You grab the jar and the spatula and Minho just sits there in silence, watching you. He finds himself genuinely amazed by you, not only your looks, but your aura and personality as a whole. He is the first to admit that he is absolutely infatuated by every aspect of you.

When you turn back towards him, he’s looking at you with the softest eyes and most content and fond face that you have ever seen on him, making you raise an eyebrow.

“What?” You question, unscrewing the lid of the mud mask.

“Nothin’. Just love you is all,” his voice is soft and now it’s your turn to blush. You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head as you scoop a glob of the mask onto the spatula.

“Oh hush, you big softie,” you murmur before adjusting to sit on your knees. Minho opens his legs, letting you slide between them so you can get closer to his face.

His hands instinctively find their way to the tops of your thighs, rubbing and squeezing at the skin absentmindedly as you begin to spread the mask across his face. You finish in silence as he sits there with his eyes closed, completely relaxed in your presence.

“Done!” You finish excitedly and his eyes shoot open, a bit surprised at your breaking the silence. You hold the mask and the spatula out to him and he grabs it, letting out a chuckle.

“Come here,” he closes his legs and pats his thighs. You swing a leg over on either side of his legs before settling down on the muscles. You close your eyes and Minho begins to put the mud mask all over your face, much messier than you had done his.

“Nails are next!” you exclaim and grab the container on nail polish. Before you can start digging through it, the doorbell rings and Minho stands quickly.

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!” you chant and he cant help but laugh at your excitement. God, you really are the cutest.

When he returns, you had already picked out the polish color you wanted, choosing a pretty blue shade. You slide the container to Minho and he raises and eyebrow at you.

“I have to paint mine too?” he questions but still starts to dig through the nail polish.

“Duh! I have some colors that aren’t crazy in there,” you defend, leaning forward and pulling a piece of pizza from the box. It’s still burning hot but you couldn’t care less. It took Minho approximately two slices of pizza (great measurement of time) to decide on a color, and he picked black.

“Boringggg,” you tease before twisting the top off the polish and painting your non dominant hand. A comfortable silence falls between the two of you again as you paint.

Once it’s time for you to switch hands, you’re almost done with your thumb when Minho twists the lid back and tosses the nail polish back into the container. Your head snaps over to see that he had already finished both hands and they looked… great. What the hell?!

“How the hell are you done already!” you object and Minho chuckles before blowing on his wet nails.

“It’s much easier when you can use both hands,” he shrugs and you narrow your eyes at him. Screw you, you ambidextrous bastard.

“Then do mine,” you pout and he can never resist when you give him those eyes. You’re just too cute. He takes the bottle from you before holding his other hand out. You place your unfinished hand into his palm and he gently wraps his fingers around your hand.

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before flipping your hand over and pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. He pulls his knees up and you turn to face him before he places your hand on his knee, giving him the perfect angle to paint your nails.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute, because you’re a spoiled little brat,” he comments before beginning to paint your nails and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And whose fault is that?” you challenge, making Minho glance up at you before continuing to finish painting your nails.

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