#blurb requests
Note
Congrats!!!! How about "You're the most gorgeous person here" with Bradley!
Oh lord, Em. I love this so damn much. Hopefully I do this justice, Rooster Queen! Enjoy your Bradley, and thanks for being a follower, love!
Kiss Me Hello
“Roo? That you, Bradley?”
Rooster can hear the smack of the screen bouncing off the back door frame as your voice chimes through the back of the house. His eyes search for you through the house for a moment as he drops his gear at the door, reaching to scratch at the ears of the dog that nearly killed himself to beat him to the front door.
Without warning at all, the beagle he’s attempting to greet throws himself around at the sound of your voice, tail helicoptering him down the hall as his claws scramble for purchase that isn’t there on the wooden floor.
With a baleful howl Gander disappears around the corner, in search of his momma, who’s voice lifts in that high-pitched, baby way at the sound of him.
Rolling his eyes at the baby talk you’re giving the dog somewhere in the house, he drops to a knee to begin unlacing his boots, listening to you traverse the house looking for him.
Rooster immediately notices the boxes hanging out against the wall by the closet, new additions to the space that weren’t there this morning. Beyond the mudroom, in the hallway leading to the kitchen, there’s plastic bins marked what he thinks says KITCHEN in your familiar chicken-scratch cursive, though he’s never been able to decipher your handwriting, even after two years of hand-written honey-do lists, notes, letters, and general over-your-shoulder peeking.
Gander is bouncing in excitement, leading you down the corridor toward the front mud room, until you’re leaning against the corner, smiling at him with bright eyes and what looks like paint stained across your forehead and nose.
“Hiya,” you beam at him, dropping into a squat to rub the dog’s ears as Bradley is kicking off his boots, “You’re home early,” you check the clock on the phone that’s hanging out in your back pocket before slipping it in the top of your bra, standing to intercept his hug hello. “It’s only 3. Mav cut you loose for the weekend?”
Your arms are snug around the back of his neck and you draw up on your toes as he wraps his around your waist, dragging you closer against him until your hips are flush with his.
The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile as he takes in your appearance—contacts today, probably in favor of the sunglasses perched in your hair, and this close he can tell you’re wearing that tinted moisturizer stuff you really like. It’s doing a terrible job of hiding the slight sunburn on your nose.
You’re not wearing a stitch of any other makeup, which is a little unusual for you. You usually always have mascara or at least some kind of glossy balm or some shit on your lips. Bradley suddenly wishes he’d been home all day, like he does every day, with you to see what you’ve been up to—he’s infinitely curious about the paint on your face, and lifts a hand to thumb the smear on your forehead.
It’s actually spackle. Like, wall spackle. There’s a blip of disappointment that hits his radar, knowing that you’ve actually gone ahead and spackled holes in the spare bedroom without him. It lasts seconds, maybe, before you reach up to kiss the corner of his mouth in that sweet, sloppy way.
He’d wanted to help you with this. It’s one of the projects you’d been hoping to complete before the two of you actually finished the moving process—the room was going to be your in-home office, and the excitement you’ve been exuding about finally having it finished had only been a topic of discussion and pride since you’d purchased the house.
Disappointment is replaced nearly immediately when he realizes that he’s married probably the best woman on the planet. You’ve always been that girl that doesn’t need him, but wants him. Allows him into your world.
Ever since the first date he’d known you were capable of standing on your own two feet with that screwed-on-straight head of yours, boldly independent and determined.
Bradley remembered your second date. He’d probably remember it even in his old, forgetful age, because the humiliation would probably haunt him at least that long. He’d taken you to the South Bay Drive In, thinking it would be a cute second date, after dinner and a walk.
The Bronco had never given him so much trouble until that morning, but he’d figured it was just a fluke and had tossed some coolant in the radiator. No big deal, he’d have his guy check it out later. Thankfully he’d parked no problem, and the two of you had enjoyed the movie, or, what glimpses of it you’d actually managed to watch between talking and swapping life stories.
Rooster had been so enthralled with the animated way you talked with your hands, the expressions on your face, how your tone deepened and lifted when you imitated other people that he couldn’t even remember the movie looking back.
He’d just sat, parked in the driver’s seat, head plunked in his hand, listening to you. Then and there he’d known he could listen to you talk forever and die a happy man. Really, Bradley was sure that date was the date that he’d known he was a goner—you’d stolen his heart in the front seat of his dad’s precious truck, wearing jeans and tank top with your hair pulled up in a cute little bandanna and earrings. He couldn’t think of anywhere better to realize he was in love with you.
Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to take you home he’d started the Bronco, and you’d excused yourself to the restroom before leaving. Idling, thinking you were the hottest thing he’s ever seen, he hadn’t even noticed the temp gauge steadily tick up. It was only when the needle was pegged over 230 and the front of the Bronco was smoking that he realized the damn thing was overheated.
Scrambling to open the hood, you’d arrived just seconds before he was ready to pop the radiator cap. Smacking his hand away violently, you’d screeched “Bradley, no!” like some kind of pterodactyl or shit, hip-checking him aside to stand in front of the motor, hands on the frame of the front fascia as you checked things over. Hands up in surrender, he’d asked you what the big deal was.
“If you’re trying to ruin that pretty face of yours with an explosion of hot coolant, you were close,” you’d said with that little accent of yours that he’d come to absolutely love, “I like the scars you’ve already got, Roo—just don’t add to the collection if you can help it, mkay?” You’d turned, ran your thumb over the faded trace of a pink line on his chin, and winked.
Within a few minutes of bending over the motor delicately, not to get your clothes dirty, you’d determined that one of the coolant lines had completely disintegrated, coolant seeping through the twists and bends of the motor to the parking lot beneath. He was flabbergasted, in awe of you, and so damned turn on that he’d been sure you’d notice the semi aching between his legs.
You hadn’t. You were too good for that, way too sweet to say anything even if you had. Flattening your lips, you’d closed the hood with a sigh, slipping your hands into the front pocket of your jeans as your shoulders lifted, almost sheepishly. He’d asked you if there was any other damage, guessing you knew what you were doing—he didn’t, he wasn’t really a grease monkey to any extent.
He liked to think he was a wrencher, but you’d made quick work of that assumption.
“The old girl needs some coolant lines, but she’s definitely not hot enough to cause any damage. You’re lucky. The engine looks pretty nice, for a Ford.” He’d had the thought to be insulted by the proposed argument you’d baited him with, but your slow smile and another wink had just unraveled him instead, sending the hot blood pumping through his veins straight between his legs.
He’d called Jake, and Hangman had picked you both up at the drive in, in his Ram. That had perked you up.
You’d chatted animatedly about the pickup the entire ride back to your car, which they’d left at the pier, Bradley only a slight shade of green at the way Jake flowed in and out of the conversation about cars so easily.
Hangman had helped him pick up his rig the next day, chuckling as he’d clapped a thick hand on his his shoulder seconds before Bradley dipped beneath the car to hook up tow cables, “Quite the honey you’ve got yourself there, Rooster. I like her. A lot.”
“And that matters because….?”
“Because, since I’ve known ya, you’ve got the same taste in women as you do cars—shitty.” His eye-roll had split the man’s face into that dazzling, shit-eating grin of his, “But she—shit, Bradshaw, she’s a keeper.” He’d whistled between the break in words, head slowly shaking. “You lose that one and it’s fair game for the rest of us, bud.”
The mere idea of Hangman even insinuating going after you had him nearly vibrating. But the entire scenario had him reeling between embarrassment and pride.
He can laugh about all of it, now, because there’s no way you’d be leaving him any time soon for Hangman, but—there’s still that knife of embarrassment that digs into the mesh of his ribs. A wiggle of apprehension in his brain that he’s the lucky one. Doesn’t deserve you, because you’re fucking amazing. That you’re too good for him, always have been, and someday will wake up and remember that.
Warmth from your body against him spreads through his blood, and Rooster tightens the arm around your waist. You’re leaning against him a little harder now, fingers from your one hand playing with the curls at the base of his neck. Tension from the day in the air, from the memory of Seresin nearly promising to steal you, begins to bleed from his shoulders.
“Keepin’ busy, baby?” His eyes cut to the white paste on his thumb and yours follow, and he flexes his thumb to emphasize the point, “Something you want to tell me?” Bradley isn’t actually concerned with what you’ve been doing all day by yourself—the playfulness in his tone matches the curious lift of his brow, and it’s making you smile that wondrous smile that levels him every time you share it.
Color suddenly flares to life on your cheeks and you look away, to your chest snugged up against his. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” You lift a hand to smooth the curls hanging out in a top knot, which he doesn’t understand, because your hair, like always, looks perfect–even if it’s that effortless, messy perfect.
You seem to remember you’ve been painting and spackling, and that he’s wearing his flight suit, because you nearly jump back from him, checking down the front of yourself, an arm leaving its embrace around his neck to swipe down the front of your shirt.
Eyes cutting up to consider the front of his uniform, your blush and the way you gasp is nearly frantic.
“Bradley! Your flight suit!” You hiss under your breath, moving to brush your hand over his chest, where absolutely nothing has disturbed the decorum stitched into the damn thing. He’ll never convince you it’s fine—you take more pride in his clean flight suit than the damn Navy or any CO he’s ever seen.
“Damnit, I didn’t even think—”
He’s laughing at you, “Baby, it’s fine—”
“It isn’t fine!” You protest, your remaining arm around his neck falling away as you pick at the dried spackle and paint staining your shorts and bare legs. Your eyes track to him, head popping up before you wave your finger over the length of his body, “Here. Strip it off, I’ll put it with the stuff to take back to the apartment. I’ll wash it tonight and you can take it Monday.”
That sounds like more work than necessary—laundry in your apartment is on the first floor, and you’re on the third floor, which means you’ve been hiking laundry back and forth the four years you’ve lived in the damn place. He has other suits on base, in his flight locker, and he can launder them himself—he’s been doing it since before you came into his life. Kind of a pro at it, really.
But, since being married, you’d become nearly obsessive about the basic duties of domesticity—you cooked for him. Cleaned the apartment, even though he’d been living out of a duffle since moving in, waiting for your lease to expire. You did the laundry. He’d had to fight you to take over the bills and finances, otherwise you’d do that too.
Rooster hadn’t ever had a wife before, but he was sure that sharing last names didn’t make you his live-in maid. He would’ve been ecstatic if all you’d done is cook. Not that he was ungrateful, having someone who cared and cleaned his house was nice, but—it wasn’t expected. He was as capable of cleaning the bathroom as the next guy. Actually he enjoyed cleaning, he was a neat freak.
When he’d failed to do as instructed, you stepped up to reach for the zipper on his suit. “Rooster, I said—” He grabs your wrist, halting the action. You blink at his hand around your wrist.
“Bradley, c’mon—”
“I know what you said,” he challenged softly, eyes firmly holding you as the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, knowing smile. “Can you quit being Betty Crocker for two-point-five seconds and kiss me hello, or will that disturb the cosmic balance or somethin’?”
Blinking in surprise, you register the words for a heartbeat before more color spreads across your nose. The little blue ring around your eyes sparkles in the light strobing through the windows of the front door, creating the dark pools of life he remembers. You’ve always had gorgeous eyes.
You break out into a little giggle, rolling your eyes before he tugs at your arm, shuffling you the few steps it takes before you’re pressing your chest up against his again, hand on his pecs as his settle in around your waist again.
Your lids drop to a lusty half mast, head tipping back slightly in a way that says you’re ready for him to kiss you. “Hi, Rooster,” you greet him with a soft coo, a little chuckle in the back of the words that spreads fire through his ribcage.
“And?” His brow pops up, expectantly. You know what’s missing from the greeting.
You smile. “I’m glad you’re home. Happy Friday.” Nose scrunching up adorably, your tongue peeks out between your lips, teasingly.
The running tradition of wishing him a “Happy Friday” when he leaves for work, be it through phone call, text message, or your infamous sticky-notes in his duffle bag, has been going on since the two of you were dating. You conclude the workday with a “Happy Friday” when he’s dismissed for the day and off work, whether he’s seeing you or staying on base.
He loves it, and is pretty sure he can’t live without it. Like air, he craves everything you say.
He angles his head and leans forward to kiss you, softly at first, gently sucking at your bottom lip. The sigh you elicit is deep as you fold against his chest, your hands slowly dragging up his neck to play with his hair. Your tongue darts between his lips, playing at his front teeth in that subtle little way of yours that tells him you want to be Frenched, and he obliges, the gasp in the back of your throat bleeding into a moan that shoots straight to his cock.
Your nails are tugging at his scalp delightfully when you break the kiss, head tipping back to chuckle at the ceiling. Rooster’s half thinking about lathing his tongue across your clavicle, suckling at the hollow of your throat when you hum pleasurably, hand smoothing over his cheek.
Righting your head, you feel for the sunglasses on top of your head, and once you confirm they are present and accounted for, you reach to swipe the pad of your stained thumb over his mustache.
You’re looking at his lips again in that way, but his gut releases a growl that snaps your attention downward, and you’re laughing and pushing him back with a shove before he can reach for you again.
“Hungry much, Roo?” He was. He’d skipped lunch.
“Let’s get out of here for dinner,” he decides, checking his watch. “I’m starving.”
It's early for dinner, and if you leave now, there's plenty of time for that thing he's been trying to convince you to do all day.
The look on your face is horrific, like he’d just walked over your grave. Something in your jaw twitches, and the color on your cheeks deepens even more, if possible. Standing there, unmoving, your eyes drop to consider yourself again, and you laugh genuinely, shoulders shaking before you shake your head, no.
“We’re not going out—look at me! I am covered in plaster, paint, and God knows what else!” Your hands flow over your body, gesturing to the current state of yourself, “And not only that, my hair isn’t washed and I—”
You freeze at the look he’s giving you, like a predator seeking prey; like he’s got you on target lock.
His eyes zero in on you backtracking out of the entryway, and he moves to intercept you on quick feet. You're shrieking with laughter as he attacks you in a hug from behind, arm snagging around your waist to draw you back against his chest. Bradley’s burying his lips against the crook of your neck, and knows it’s a sensitive spot—you erupt in laughter, squirming against the mustache tickling the soft skin behind your ear.
“You’re the most gorgeous person here, baby, and we’re going out to supper,” he enunciates the order with peppered kisses up your neck and along your jaw, gently swaying you back and forth on his feet. You’re curled against his chest, giggling, hand reaching up to play with his hair again. “Get your shit. Let’s go.”
He halfheartedly releases you to do just that. Stripping off the flight suit that stinks like jet fuel and sweat and the stale air of his cockpit, he watches you snatch your purse from the island counter, looking around the floor until you spot the absolutely offensive Crocs you’ve discarded by the fridge.
Why you love those damn things he’ll never know, but you do. And, he can’t help but think you look like a million bucks as you call for Gander to follow you. He’s already clipping on the leash and slipping on his work boots that have been living by the door.
You stop to check yourself in the mirror you must’ve hung in the entry sometime this week.
He drapes his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to press a firm kiss against your cheek while chuckling. Rooster pulls the door closed behind him with the toe of his boot as he hands you the keys to the Bronco that have been looped around his fingers.
Slipping the aviators low on his nose, you match the action with your own as he guides you to the truck, your arm through his. Helping you into the passenger side, he swats the door closed and leans through the open window, reaching for a curl that’s fallen from your messy updo.
There’s spackle dried around the curl and you brush his hand down, rolling your eyes. “It’s gonna take forever to get this shit out of my hair,” you whine.
A devious smile splits his lips. “I think we’ll manage,” he winks over the dark lenses as you sit back in the seat, offering him a smirk. “If you even remember it’s there by the time I’m done fucking you senseless, sweetheart.”
You snort, loudly laughing at the ridiculous attempt at an innuendo.
“Get your ass in the truck, Bradshaw.”
#100 followers celebration#100 followers#blurb requests#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun fanfiction#controlled chaos squad#call sign meerkat#answered asks#i love chickens#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw imagines#bradley bradshaw imagine#roosterforme
535 notes
·
View notes
Note
i meant cozy making dinner at home/movie night blurb with ross my bad 😭😭😭 still love matty tho lmao (now that i think about it can we make it dad!ross too 👀)
aaah lol got you!! i love writing dad ross very much 🥹
april is always a little ball of excitement—even at almost three years old, she wants to know everything! from “why can’t i eat the ball from the avocavo, daddy?” to “can i help?” even when she barely reaches his knees and is strictly not allowed near an open flame.
you, at 10 weeks pregnant, dread stepping foot into the kitchen at the risk of angering the tiny fetus inside you who has not stopped making you throw up every single item of food they do not like. (the list is long)
and ross happily takes care of it all, one hand holding april’s as he stirs the stew with another and answers her endless questions without faltering.
you can’t exactly see them—what with your reluctance to go near food smells—but you can hear her babbling away, mispronouncing words and using some big ones (albeit incorrectly) that she’s no doubt learned from her uncle matty. you decide to pick a film instead.
the little mermaid is the obvious choice considering your daughter’s newfound obsession with the ocean and her self-declared wish to become a “sea expert” when she grows up but there’s also coco, which you’ve cried over multiple times both before and after april’s arrival. you even remember the day when she declared that uncle matty should sing poco loco at the next show. today, however, you do not trust pregnancy hormones enough to put that on.
“picked a film yet?” ross calls from the kitchen and you frown.
“not yet, can you send april here?”
there’s some shuffling, and then the sound of you baby toddling over to you. the second she sees her picks on the screen, her eyes go round and she lets out an extended oooohh.
“feel like watching any of these?” you laugh at her and then make room as she climbs onto your lap.
at this stage, there’s still space on your lap for her to snuggle in but ross has told her endlessly to be careful around you now. (“we can’t let mummy get hurt okay? you and me, we have to take care of her.” which makes your heart melt every time.) so even when she wiggles around, she’s careful not to do it too much.
“ooh, ooh,” she claps her hands, “can we watch daddy’s show? please please!”
now you know what she means by this. every once in a while she begs and begs to watch the msg recording, singing along to whatever songs she can with broken lyrics that she doesn’t fully know yet. if ross is home, he lifts her up in his arms and dances with her, singing the songs to her in a soft voice and changing any not safe for children lyrics at the last minute in a way that makes you laugh every time.
from the kitchen ross cheers. “yeah! that’s my girl.”
and so you relent, quickly finding it and putting it on amidst the sound of your husband and daughter cheering.
“right!” ross appears dramatically from the kitchen, food in hand and right in time for the claps and cheers on screen to echo around the room.
he grins. “my biggest fan! learn a thing or two from her,” he teases much to your indignation. but then he sets the plates aside and bends down to kiss her and just like that all of it is melted away leaving you a pile of mush.
while april puts on her own show, singing and dancing along to the songs on tv, ross makes his way to sit next to you. the food on the plate actually does look really fucking nice, and for the first time in days you feel the urge to eat properly.
“keep this down for me, will you? i don’t like seeing you so uncomfortable.”
the concern in his voice is heartwarming, and your bottom lip starts to wobble at the thought of how sweet he’s been to you so far.
“your baby thinks the food looks good,” you joke, “i might even go for seconds.”
the palm of his hand rests flat against your stomach, caressing the bump that’s barely even there at this point but he’s attached to it just as he was the first time with april.
“good,” he smiles, “just wanna see both my girls happy.”
#asks#blurb requests#the 1975#ross macdonald#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald x you#ross macdonald fluff#ross macdonald blurb#dad!ross
101 notes
·
View notes
Note
harry teasing the shit out of her (like eating her out SLOWLY, circling her nipples but never with his mouth, uses a vibrator on her but at the lowest level) and finally gives in and fucks her HARD for hourssss. 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 this would make my day
jeSUS harry would literally be the BIGGEST tease and you can't tell me otherwise
he would literally tie your hands to the headboard so fast so you can't push him away or do anything about his incessant teasing.
"Harry please," you beg, your chest heaving, "This is getting ridiculous."
He smirks, looking up from between your legs, his mouth slick, just as his tongue pushes past his lips and licks once across your center, as slowly and torturously as possible.
"Are you not enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" He questions, a certain taunting fire burning in his eyes.
"I would be enjoying myself more if you would get on with it." You spit, getting closer to the end of your rope with every bit of edging.
He simply laughs, pulling his mouth away from you and planting his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his lips trail delicate kisses across the span of your neck. He lifts one hand from the mattress, tracing over your nipple with the tip of his finger, causing goosebumps to form on every inch of your skin. You keep waiting for the sensation of his mouth, but it never comes, and instead you open your eyes the second you hear the familiar tone of buzzing.
He's kneeling back on his heels, the bright pink vibrator grasped in his right hand and a devilish smirk plastered on his mouth.
"Harry-"
"Hush pet," He says sternly, placing the vibrator right where you need him most, "And don't take that tone with me."
You heave out a moan at the contact, your entire body squeezing in on itself as your brain repeats his words in that deliciously condescending tone over and over again.
"Is this getting on with it enough for you?" He taunts, pressing the vibrator directly against your clit with a wicked smile.
You feel your insides start to twist but it's just not enough, he definitely has the stupid vibrator set on the lowest setting just to edge you even further, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
You swat at his hand trying to get him to speed it up or move it all together but it only makes him more persistent. You feel your stomach tightening, climbing towards that climax, yet falling short every time. You don't know how much more teasing you can take before you shatter from overstimulation.
"Harry please," You beg, your voice coming out raw, "Please, it's too much."
He grins maliciously, pressing the vibrator against you once again, making you cry out as your eyes roll back in your head, "What do you want darling?" He asks, "I want to hear you beg for it."
His words alone are almost enough to push you over the precipice and you're cursing his name as his eyes rake over you awaiting your response, "I want you to," You pant, your words dying out the longer you hold his intense gaze, "I want..."
"Go ahead darling," He grins, pinching your nipple between his fingers, "Tell me what you want me to do to you. I want to hear it."
"Fuck, Harry," You gasp, your core tightening with his words, "I want you to, fuck-"
"You want me to fuck what exactly? Hmm?" He taunts, removing the vibrator from your sensitive bud and instead leaning down between your thighs again, "You want me to fuck you? Is that it?"
You nod your head vigorously, not trusting yourself to form words as his tongue licks up your center again, painstakingly slow and gentle. Your hands flex against the restraints holding you to the headboard as you imagine grabbing his head and shoving it against yourself to finally get some relief.
He chuckles as he pulls away from you, his lips slick again and a single string of saliva connecting his lips to you, "I said I want to hear it," He says sternly, reaching up to grab your chin with his thumb, "Let me hear it, darling."
You take a steadying breath, unable to break contact with his intense stare, "I want you to fuck me."
"Good girl," He grins, "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Your face heats with his words, that spot between your legs aching, and you barely have a second to breathe before he's thrusting his length into you. You cry out into his shoulder, your hands flexing against the restraints holding you in place.
"Fuck," He moans, his arms already shaking, "You feel so fucking good, darling."
Your stomach is already twisting, that familiar fire set ablaze in the pit of it as small moans and whimpers fall past your lips with every thrust. Your mind is shattering, your eyes clenched shut, your vision white as you ride out your high. Your breath is panting out from your mouth in labored heaves and suddenly everything is amplified. The once-dim lights are too bright, the air too hot, the mixture of both of your moans too loud.
"Harry," You wheeze, "It's too much-"
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He growls, his thrusts quickening, his grip on your hips tightening to keep you in place, "Wanted me to fuck you, right darling? Wanted to cum for me?"
You watch as his hand reaches between the two of you, his finger tips circling that oversensitive bud in time with his relentless thrusts into you. You cry out, your back arching, your core aching as your legs start to shake again.
"You practically begged me to fuck you," He grins devilishly, grabbing your ass roughly and flipping you onto your front, your face shoved into the mattress to stifle your whimpers, "I'll decide when you've had enough, darling."
*my face after posting this knowing i might have taken it too far*
#this one has me SWEATING#i'm a little out of practice so go easy on me pls#pls send me more asks i fucking love writing little blurbs like this#harry styles#harry smut#harry styles smut#harry styles writing#harry styles blurb#harry styles gif#harry styles picture#smut requests#taking requests#blurb requests#asks#ask me!!#harry oneshot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry gif#daddy!harry#dom!harry#sub!y/n#self insert#self insert smut#harry styles y/n#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine
562 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey bestie! for your little blurb thing how about mountains with marc spector? i’m excited to see what you come up with <3
Searching
about this: marc spector x gn!reader. prompt: mountains. cw: meetcute, awkward flirting, coffee mention. wc: 918. not beta’d!!
send me a prompt from this list + a character!
There could be a lot of things wrong with the man in front of you right now. He certainly is much stronger than you, possibly faster. Usually, running into a person on these trails— especially a man— would make you bolt back the way you came. You come here for solitude, are always hopeful for safety. But, there’s something about him that’s different.
Endearing even.
He’s built well, with broad shoulders and hands. He’s holding a map, his thick eyebrows furrowed together as he attempts to read it. His full mouth is moving, like he’s whispering to himself, talking through where he is. He looks so incredibly serious— not to mention handsome— but even so, something about him seems calm. Gentle.
As you wonder how to approach him you shift slightly, and he looks up at the sound of your sneakers scraping together. All of that gentleness is overflowing in his deep brown eyes, and it sends a round of butterflies through your stomach.
The two of you simply stare at each other, like two startled animals. When you think about it…that’s exactly what you are. You smile at him sheepishly but still, your mouth moves to say nothing. You think he tries to smile back, though it seems he’s a little out of practice. It makes you curious, and a little sad.
“Hi,” He says finally, awkwardly. His voice is much softer than you anticipated even with your kind conceptions about him. It’s sweet.
You clear your throat, twisting your hands together, “Hi. First timer?”
He grimaces, “That obvious?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with a map on these trails.”
He gestures around with one of his hands, the softest edge of playfulness in his voice, “Everyone just knows where to go, huh?”
You grin, shrugging, “Something like that. You aren’t from around here I imagine?”
“No. Chicago.”
“You’re a long way from home,” You murmur curiously.
He shrugs, his eyes going past you as if he’s thinking about something. Then he says, “Home is where you make it.”
Humming softly in agreement, you take another step toward him. “Want some help?”
Marc hesitates but then your smile widens, head tilting in encouragement. He sniffs, nodding, “If it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not at all. Where are you trying to go?” You ask, coming to stand beside him to take a look at his map.
“If I’m reading this right, there’s supposed to be a coffee cart about 10-15 minutes from here.”
“Yeah, here,” You agree softly, pointing to the landmark on the map. “It gets a little convoluted around this part with all the different shoot-offs. I was headed that way, I can just walk with you.”
Marc looks up from the map to glance over at you, his cheeks tinging a soft pink at your offer. It’s been a long time since he’s been interested in anyone, and though he doesn’t expect this to go anywhere his heart flutters in his chest. So far removed from any action that just a stranger simply asking to help has his palms sweaty— Steven and Jake will never let him hear the end of this.
“Sure. Yeah. I’d appreciate that,” He nods, quickly folding up the map.
You and Marc start the correct way, exchanging names as you put one foot in front of the other. You point out how confusing it can be to pick the right path as you all pass a bunch of off-shooting trails. It makes Marc feel a little better about being turned around, though your kindness has been helpful in batting away his shame.
The walk flies by, conversation coming much more easily than either of you anticipated. Marc is reluctant to let you go, wishing that the coffee cart would materialize a mile away. There are few patrons in line, waiting to order so you both linger— you’re not quite ready to end your time with him either.
“Uh, thanks for helping out there, usually I’m not so turned around,” He says after a few beats of silence.
“Hey, no problem. If you keep heading this way you should make it back to the beginning of the park.”
“Right, yeah. Thanks,” He holds out his hand to you.
“It was really nice to meet you, Marc,” You say earnestly, shaking his hand firmly— it’s warm, a little calloused, fits perfectly in yours.
“Yeah, you too,” He says, and he means it. For the first time in a long time, Marc is content to interact with someone other than his alters. It feels like a breath of fresh air.
You give him a genuine smile despite your disappointment in him not asking you to join him, the tiniest wave before you start back the way you two came from. He watches you, watches as the first person to make him really feel something in ages starts to walk away from him.
This whole hiking though the mountains, getting in touch with nature thing was part of his soul searching after everything. And though he hadn’t been completely sure what he was going to find when he stepped onto this trail that much is clear now.
“Could I buy you a cup of coffee? You drink coffee don’t you?” He calls after you before you can get too far.
You let out a breath you don’t realize you were holding in then, turn back toward him, the smile on your face returning. Nodding softly you call back, “Yeah, Marc, I drink coffee.”
#thank you for sending this in here you go my love!#mimi 🦚#marc spector x reader#marc spector x gn!reader#marc spector fanfiction#moonknight fanfiction#blurb requests#replies#arson writes
52 notes
·
View notes
Note
"If we die, I'm going to spend the rest of our afterlife reminding you that this was all your fault."
"That's cool, I wouldn't mind having company while being a ghost."
With Hangman, please and thank you🥰
You stared across the darkened elevator at the green eyed Texan who just flashed that perfect smile back at you. It had been what felt like days stuck in this elevator when it all reality it was probably no more than an hour or two.
That was far too long than you wanted to spend in the presence of Hangman. The man who managed to irritate every last one of your nerves. And you were pretty sure st this point he enjoyed it.
It was his fault you guys were stuck in this elevator. It was an old, rickety thing. One that likely had very little maintenance since the day it was put in. You barely took it but your legs were still burning from your workout the day before and you had opted to take the easy way up the stairs.
Unfortunately for you, Hangman decided he need to take the elevator at the same time. While the elevator plaque said it was capable of carrying upwards of six-hundred pounds, the way it croaked and groaned when it went to lift you both up had you thinking otherwise.
An opinion you had voiced out to Hangman who insisted the two of you were fine and then jumped as high and as hard as he could to try and prove his point. Of which he failed when the elevator suddenly stopped and the doors refused to budge open.
“If we die in this fucking elevator I’m haunting your ass in the afterlife.” You grumbled over towards from your spot on the elevator floor.
Hangman just shrugged. “Fine with me, at least you’ll be the prettiest company a ghost could have.”
You didn’t bother responding to that with anything more than an eye roll.
A few more moments of silence passed before Jake’s voice cut through again.
“How long are you goin’ to keep up this ‘I hate Hangman’ charade?” You gave another eye roll.
“It’s not a charade.”
“Sure about that? Didn’t seem like you hated me much last night when you were begging for cuddles after I fucked you dumb.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. And sure as shit when you finally did look at him there it was. That signature shit eating grin plastered across his face.
It was at that moment the lights flickered back on and the elevator started moving again. As if your life depended on it, you scrambled to your feet.
“Shut up!” You huffed a little flustered at him for even bringing that up loudly enough someone could have heard. If they’d had their ear pressed against the elevator doors, maybe.
No one else on the team, or anyone at all really, needed to know that you’d been dating Hangman. Partly because you’d hated him for so long you weren’t quite ready to admit that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as you’d originally thought. And partly because you didn’t want it to have any negative effects on this mission.
Jake just chuckled and shook his head. “See you at home, sweetheart.” He murmured against your temple as he kissed it.
“See you at home, flyboy.” You whispered back, placing your own kiss to his cheek. Both of you entirely unaware that Rooster had witnessed the exchange.
350 notes
·
View notes
Note
In reference to that list post, Nr. 50, Astarion covering Gale's mouth to make him shut up 😳
AHH hello!!! Thank you SO MUCH for my first blurb request! <3 I don't write exclusively bloodweave, but I DO write bloodweave + tav, so I wrote a little scene from something that happened in camp precluding these (1 , 2 - NSFW) bloodweave + tav fics I've already posted! Astarion and Gale are still the stars of this blurb, and Tav just makes an appearance. Tav is Gender Neutral here. I hope you enjoy, and thank you again for sending in an ask!
The wizard wouldn't shut up. He had been prattling on for ages now about gods know what, his voice a grating edge in Astarion's ears. He was attempting to enjoy his evening reading, Tav on the blanket beside him outside his tent. Gale had come over, of course, to flirt with Tav. Although the wizard had been talking mostly to him this whole time. "Not a very useful form of seduction," Astarion thought. "Not even speaking to your target? Gods, this man is stupid." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and stretched.
Anyone else would have taken the hint. Anyone else would have left him alone in peace. But Gale of precious Waterdeep had the audacity to pause in his endless query and self response, to utter, "Struggling to trance, Astarion? I have several spell remedies that might assist in that regard, let me-" He was put to an end by a sudden hand clapped over his mouth and a tight grip on his collar; his eyes widened substantially.
"If you had any sense, wizard, you would have crawled back to your tent when I was being nice. But your foolishness has led us here instead, so perhaps it would be wise for you to fuck the rest of the way off before I go from insistent to cruel, hm?" The vampire seethed into Gale’s ear, menacing promise dripping from every word. Narrowed sanguine eyes locked with large chocolate ones for a moment before Tav's voice reached their ears and broke their stance.
"Come on, Star, he didn't know any better. Gale? It might be best if you leave for now. I'll come see you about the book later." They soothed the two men gently, a finger or two to Astarion's shoulder breaking him from his anger enough to let Gale’s mouth and shirt go with a harrumph. He turned away, back to Tav, and Gale scurried off, a shudder running through him after a sudden and unexpected brush with death.
~
Tagging Darlings: @ollypopwrites @knightofmight01
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#astarion ancunin#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 astarion#bg3 gale#bloodweave#bloodweave + tav#blurb requests#thank you so much for being my first blurb request love!#hope you enjoy#<3
25 notes
·
View notes
Note
🐾
🐾 - Pet names
Thanks for the drabble request, anon! I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing something this lighthearted :)
Also I totally went over the word count here but since it took me less than an hour I've decided no one can question or judge me about this >:)
Honeyed Words (I'm Yours)
rk boys (Nines, Connor, Sixty) x Reader
Word Count: 1,849 (yeah... I know)
Leaning forward against the back of Hank's sofa with your arms folded over one another, you couldn't help but roll your eyes and fight back a sigh at the sight of the movies that Gavin, Tina, and Chris were saving to tonight's potential watch list.
"All rom coms? Seriously guys?"
You scoffed, watching as Gavin all but sneered in response, turning slightly to face you as you continued.
"Come on dude, where's your Halloween spirit?"
You teased, nudging him with your knuckles gently as he rolled his eyes at your antics, clearly far less amused than you were.
"It's September 23rd, don't you talk to me about Halloween until the month is over."
Groaning, you flung your body to the side, pressing your spine against the back of the couch and extending your arms straight out to either side of you as you pouted exaggeratedly,
"C'mon Reed, do you have to be such a stickler for seasonal deadlines?"
Instead of responding, your coworker just flipped you off, opening his mouth to call into the kitchen where all three of your boyfriends and their familiarly gruff father figure were standing around like divorcees at a barbecue.
"Hey robo cops, could you please come get your feral creature before I put it down myself?!"
He shouted, a smirk crossing his features when you pulled away from the couch to glare at him, already hearing the familiar sound of slightly swishing fabric and nearly silent footsteps that signaled the oncoming arrival of one of your partners.
"Y'know Reed, if you're really so worried about her being feral, you could consider getting a rabies shot. You've been looking a little sickly lately."
Sixty countered easily in response to your coworker's previous quip as he flung his arm across your shoulders, pulling you against him with a slight smirk.
You smiled at his easy embrace, nearly vibrating with joy as he kissed the top of your head, smiling down at you with that lopsided grin that always made you feel so giddy inside.
"Oh fuck off bullet brain, you're the one who let her do three shots of tequila tonight, don't act like I'm not allowed to be annoyed by her weird ass antics."
Sixty hummed in response, clearly feeling no urge to argue as he began guiding you towards the kitchen.
"C'mon Sugar, lets get some real food in you hmm?"
He purred against the shell of your ear, instantly lighting your cheeks on fire both with his proximity and his use of one of his favorite pet names for you, which never failed to give you butterflies.
As you grew closer to the dining area, he pressed gently on the small of your back to urge you past the threshold, though clearly you were a bit more tipsy than he'd realized, because you absolutely would've toppled over if not for the pair of familiarly strong hands that caught you by your shoulders.
You looked up slightly, taking in the sight of pale arms dotted with freckles that were barren of sleeves all the way up until just above the elbow, kept in place solely by the incredibly thorough job this individual had done while rolling them upward.
And that could only be...
"Nines."
You breathed out softly, feeling yourself melt a bit as you looked up into his eyes.
After well over a year of affection from all three of your partners, you just never got used to the way they all looked at you, or the sweet and familiar things they would call you in favor of your name.
And speaking of...
"Well hello there, Darling."
Nines spoke gently, quirking a brow at you in minor amusement as he looked you over for any signs of injury just in case he'd missed something during your brief fall.
You felt your cheeks grow warmer as the sound of his affectionate pet name for you passed his lips, making you melt even further beneath his persistent gaze.
"I uh, got kicked out of the living room."
You explained quietly, watching as Nines tilted his head slightly in response before looking towards Sixty, who shrugged before taking a few steps closer and placing his palm on top of your head affectionately.
"Gavin wasn't impressed at her input regarding tonight's films of choice. I figured if she was being that disruptive she likely needed something to eat. Isn't that right, Sweetheart?"
You blushed harder as yet another pet name passed his lips, but nodded nonetheless, hoping they hadn't noticed just how much you enjoyed it when they spoke of you so sweetly.
Of course, they had long since noticed your reactions, in fact, it was almost a bit of a game now to see who could get you to blush the hardest with affectionate nicknames alone.
Not that they would ever tell you that.
"Is that so?"
Nines questioned gently, his hand raising to your face to push a stray hair of yours behind your ear before his thumb and index finger trailed down to your chin, which he caught with ease between the two, tilting your face upwards to make sure you were looking at him as he spoke.
"Have you been up to no good, Little one?"
He all but purred, making you squeak a bit in response as you attempted to find words that just wouldn't come.
Thankfully though, you did have one saving grace, and his name was Connor.
"Are you two tormenting her again?"
He asked as he stepped away from the stove, wiping his hands off on a nearby dish rag before he moved closer to you, offering his open arms for you to all but leap into, happy to have the opportunity to hug the one android who you hadn't gotten the chance to be affectionate with since before you'd even arrived at the house earlier.
Sixty scoffed at Connor's question, but Nines simply gave a dismissive hum, leaning back against the counter and watching as you nuzzled against his predecessor's chest with a content sigh.
Meanwhile, Connor glared at his successors with mock disappointment, hoping to appease you and your childish attitude (tipsiness) by offering them a fake scolding.
"You both know better, look at her, she's being perfectly good tonight."
He said pseudo-sternly, smiling down at you with a grin that immediately left you breathless the moment that you looked up and took it in.
God, why were they all so damn beautiful?
At the sight of your eyes meeting his own, Connor leaned down to kiss your forehead, bringing one of his hands up to palm your cheek lovingly as he did so, stroking is softly with his thumb all the while.
He continued this in silence for a few moments before giving you yet another reason to attempt melting into the grout marks in Hank's kitchen floor.
"Don't you worry about them Honey, they're just being difficult because they want to see you squirm."
You swallowed thickly at the familiar and yet still immensely impactful nickname, which never failed to make your heart leap in your chest.
"O-okay."
You whispered, watching as Connor nodded in satisfaction at your response before guiding you back into the waiting arms of your other two android partners, who were watching you with marked amusement.
"I'll bring dinner out to you in just a few minutes."
Connor murmured against the back of your head as he pressed another gentle kiss to it.
"I was thinking you could go pick a comfy spot in the living room for all of us to sit together while you wait though. Does that sound alright, Baby?"
He asked gently, taking you by surprise yet again with his use of another pet name that made you feel like you were left gasping for air.
Still, you managed a floundering nod in spite of yourself, and followed Nines and Sixty out into the living room, where they helped you make a rather comfortable seating area on the floor, one that consisted of two huge bean bags, several couch pillows that no one was using, and at least four big blankets, one of which was for you to lay under.
And with that, the seating arrangements were completed, and all that was left to do was actually use them, which with how dizzy you were beginning to feel from the tequila earlier, was something you were quite eager for.
Nines chuckled as he took a seat a bit further back on one of the beanbags, spreading his legs apart for you to sit in between as he held himself up on his palms so that you could lean against his chest.
This was a fairly normal position for the two of you, but even so, it made your heart race as you felt his firm chest press against your back, solidly holding you up without any issue.
Still, even with this added distraction, your persistent urge to celebrate the upcoming holiday had you complaining to Gavin once more about his list of potential options, although this time you were hoping that at least one of your loving boyfriends would consider helping you out.
Sadly though, they seemed far too amused by your insistence to actually say anything, instead choosing to press gentle kisses against your head and the back of your hand as they laid the blanket over you wordlessly.
"Aww c'mon you guys, do you really wanna watch any of this junk?"
You asked, motioning towards the screen with a grumble of annoyance.
From the left of you, Sixty chuckled and raised your knuckles to his lips without a word.
Nines on the other hand, did speak up, placing a kiss to your cheek just before he did so, a certain level of amusement to his tone that had you squirming between his strong legs.
"I couldn't care less about what we watch, Sweetling."
He murmured against the shell of your ear, immediately causing you to shiver.
"And honestly, I think these are all movies Connor has mentioned wanting to see. Don't you want to make him happy?"
He teased, running a finger up and down your cheek as you nodded almost dreamily, sinking into his touch as if your body were suddenly weighed down by bricks.
"Y-yeah, sure, okay."
You said quietly, hearing Nines hum from above you just as Connor came out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of food to offer you, Hank hot on his heels with a large bowl of popcorn for him and the other couch users to share.
You dug in immediately, not paying any attention to the movie choice debate until it was basically over, and by that point, you were already so sleepy that you hardly realized anyone was talking at all.
Drowsy and more than a little bit intoxicated, you sighed contentedly as you moved to squeeze between Nines and Sixty, allowing Connor to rest his head upon your lap as you played with his hair all the way up until you lost consciousness entirely.
Yeah, okay. Maybe rom com movie nights weren't so bad after all.
I hope you enjoyed this little drabble fic! If you want to request one for yourself feel free to check out this post :)
masterlist
AO3
#drabble requests#blurb requests#dbh x reader fluff#dbh connor x reader oneshot#dbh nines x reader#dbh sixty x reader#dbh x reader#dbh pet names
54 notes
·
View notes
Note
request ! reader going all out for peters birthday and making him feel loved and special, mayb a part 2 where peter does the same for his princess <3
Peter groaned as he finally woke up, and blinked his eyes open. "Baby?" he mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep. He fumbled with the covers for a while before he realised that you weren't in bed, which was strange. You always slept in.
He pulled himself out of bed, using one hand to open the door and the other to rub his eyes. "Sweetheart, what are you doing up?" your boyfriend called.
He heard a soft, "oh, shit!" Following your voice to the kitchen, he heard frantic noises as you fumbled with the lighter.
A smile sparked on his face when he realised what you were doing. "You remembered?" he asked softly, hugging you from behind.
"Of course I did. Happy birthday, my love," you said, turning around to face him and giving him a morning kiss.
"You know, you didn't have to do anything," he said when you pulled away, looking around the room to see balloons and a his own homemade birthday cake. He smiled to himself when he saw your handwriting, spelling 'happy birthday to my favourite person' messily on the cake. The fact that he could barely make it out made it all the more special to him.
"I know, Pete." you murmured. "I wanted to." Your boyfriend grasped your chin and pulled you in for a second kiss, one that made butterflies swarm in your stomach.
You pushed him away, giggling as you stood on your tiptoes to cup his face. "Okay, now make your wish, the wax is going to drip everywhere."
He was silent for a moment. More to himself than to you, he said, "I already have everything I want right here."
#when I tell you I love this fic#I mean I LOVEEEE it#peter sutherland#peter sutherland x reader#the night agent#fluffy#fluff#fluff fluff fluff#teeth rotting fluff#night agent#gabriel basso#my blurbs#blurb requests
47 notes
·
View notes
Note
yay!! fluff of any kind with danny. it’s my go to when i maladaptive daydream 😅
Of course!!
+++
The weather had finally warmed up enough. It was finally warm enough for you to open the windows and let the natural light and the fresh air stream through the house. You could hear the bird merrily singing their songs on the warm breeze, the sun warming your bones.
You were standing in the kitchen washing the dishes while Daniel was off somewhere else in the house. You two had a deal: whoever didn't cook dinner does the dishes. And since Daniel had made such a delicious meal, you had no qualms with doing the cleaning up.
The radio was softly playing in the background, you humming along with the music. It was set to the classic rock station, the only station that ever played in your house.
You were so engrossed in the dishes that you failed to notice Danny entering the kitchen. You about jumped out of your skin as you felt his slide his hands around your torso. You yelp, the fork you were washing clattering into sink loudly.
"Daniel!"
"I'm sorry, love," Daniel giggled, his head resting on your shoulder. You could hear the smile in his voice, clearly amused by the reaction he got out of you.
Rolling your eyes, you didn't say anything further. You attempted to fight the smile on your lips, but eventually it won out and you let the grin take over your features. Truly, it was always a losing fight when it came to Danny.
He continued to hold you as you did the dishes, staying silent as he observed. You continued to hum along to the radio. It was truly a moment of perfect reprise.
When the radio switched songs, that's when Daniel broke away from you. For a moment it puzzled you. You looked around for him, finding Daniel standing to your right with his hand extended to you, a soft smile twinkling in his eyes. His hazel eyes caught in the golden hour light, turning them a warm amber as well as accentuating his freckles.
"Dance with me," he offered, his smile turning even softer somehow.
Your heart just about burst at the idea of it. However, the running water caught your attention. You looked back at the dishes, the mountains of soapy bubbles gently undulating with the water and the wind blowing through the open window. But then Christine McVie's velvety tone caught your attention.
Turing off the tap and quickly drying your hands on the towel laying on the counter, you take Daniel's hand. As you did, his smile brightened significantly, his eyes scrunching at the corners just slightly.
You two playfully swayed along to Fleetwood Mac, the upbeat tone of the bassline making you unable to help dancing along. Your cheeks began to hurt from how hard you were smiling, feeling like a fool that was madly, madly in love.
Daniel, with that voice of honey that he has, serenaded you. You couldn't help but giggle along, not much of a singer yourself despite knowing the words. You were twirled as the chorus played, laughing boisterously as you filled with joy.
As the song started to reach its close, that when Danny spun you into his arms. He held you there with your back pressed against his chest, swaying together in that embrace like a buoy on water.
"You make lovin' fun," he sang softly into your ear. Even though it was the lyrics for the song, you knew that he had meant that with all his heart.
It was all you could do not to let the tears fall from your eyes. Deciding to close them, you let your head fall into the crook of his neck, enjoying the moment. The smile never left your face.
You knew even in the moment that this would be a memory you would carry with you forever, replaying it on your deathbed.
+++
Hope I did ya proud!!
song link here
#blurb requests#danny wagner x reader#danny wagner x y/n#danny wagner#daniel robert wagner#danny gvf#greta van fleet#greta van fic
81 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can we get Felipe thinking he can survive two weeks without his girlfriend but the fact is he’s going crazy at home without her acting like the clingy boyfriend por favor
I'm trying a new style for this.
• Felipe knew you couldn't attend the double header with him, and he thought he would be fine
• Wasn't the case
• He kept sending you pictures of everything he could fine saying it reminded him of you
• 1 hours face time calls every night where you tell he was about to hit his head on the phone from tiredness
• "Babe can you please go to sleep you look very tired" "I'll just drink more coffee tomorrow, keep telling me about the nail polishes you got"
• the "can i call you" texts in the middle of the day
• Even the boys texted you telling you to come over already
• Clem having the worse of it
• “Your boyfriend is very clingy you know that?” “yep i know” “he keeps saying how much he misses you”
• When you finally see each other he always has a hand on you
• Either holding hands, one on your lower back, on your thigh, on your hair
• Just has to be touching you at all times
• He even insisted on taking a bath together
• He washed your hair and hugged you the entire time
• For the next few days you woke up to his arms tangled on you not that you mind
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
Drabble/Short Oneshot Requests
So, have been holding back on doing this because I still do have a oneshot req I need to complete, and so many WIPs it's outlandish. That being said, right now, since I'm reconditioning myself to write, it's very difficult for me to tackle those projects and get even a sentence in them at a time. So I'm sort of asking for your help in this in my theory that drabbles are a good medium and that they might help me get used to properly writing.
I'm currently comfortable writing MxF, FxF, and of course platonic relations. I tend to write angst or dark fics so nothing is off limits with me, but if you want to send in something fluffy I can try my best! Anything smutty will likely not be too "in-depth" given the length of drabbles.
I will most likely do these x reader and 2nd person unless otherwise specified.
You can send in:
A GIF or picture prompt
A written prompt (use any but I do have some good angst I found)
A lyric or song + character
A description of what you'd like if the request is more specific (though keep in mind I will be keeping these short)
Fandoms & Characters below!
- Peaky Blinders -
Tommy Shelby
Arthur Shelby
John Shelby
Polly Gray
Michael Gray
Alfie Solomons
Tatiana Petrovna
Luca Changretta
Aberama Gold
- Game of Thrones -
(since I'm not far in this there are only a couple characters that I feel confident writing for as of yet, since I know their spoilers updated)
(underage characters will be aged up if the request is sexual)
Petyr Baelish
Daenerys Targaryen
Jaimee Lannister
Cersei Lannister
Tyrion Lannister
Jorah Mormont
Viserys III Targaryen
Jon Snow
Sansa Stark
Arya Stark
Robb Stark
Catelyn Tully/Stark
Tommen Baratheon
Stannis Baratheon
Ramsay Snow/Bolton
Theon Greyjoy
Yara Greyjoy
Margaery Tyrell
Bronn
Brienne
Melisandre
- Adrien Characters -
* ones I am more picky with because I have full stories planned out for them, so I might not do the request or might use my OC for said story depending on how the inspiration goes
Henry Barthes (Detachment)
*Jack Driscoll (King Kong)
Clive Nicoli (Splice)
*Dmitri (The Grand Budapest Hotel)
*Peter Whitman (The Darjeeling Limited)
Jack Starks (The Jacket)
Leo Kopernick (See How They Run)
Frankie (American Heist)
Bloom (The Brothers Bloom)
Jack Grace (Love the Hard Way)
Steven (Dummy)
Harry (Oxygen)
Charles Boone (Chapelwaite)
- Aidan Characters -
If you ask me to write an Aidan Gillen character that isn't on this list, odds are I will say yes, lol. I may just have to watch whatever the character is in because I've not seen much with him... yet.
- Far Cry 5 -
Jacob Seed
John Seed
Joseph Seed
Faith Seed
#oneshots#blurbs#blurb requests#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagines#peaky blinders fanfic#game of thrones#game of thrones fanfic#far cry 5#far cry 5 fanfic#tommy shelby#john shelby#arthur shelby#michael gray#alfie solomons#polly gray#aberama gold#tatiana petrovna#luca changretta#petyr baelish#daenerys targaryen#adrien brody#aidan gillen#faith seed#jacob seed#john seed#joseph seed
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
Congrats on 100 followers !!! So excited for you!
Could I get “I think I might be in some kind of love with you.” with Tom? We all know I’m an Ice gal
💜💜💜
Who doesn't love Ice? Here's your fluffy Kazanksy, he's just too much fun to write. Enjoy and thanks so much for your follow and your ask, babe!
Wingman
“Bradley! Bradley, come on—you like peanut butter and jelly, remember?”
The edge of the divided alphabet plate is mere inches from nose diving off the table, threatening a mess of sticky Peter Pan and strawberry jelly on what appears to be bright-and-shiny, freshly waxed linoleum.
Locked in a staring contest with the curlicue of a five-year-old your best friend Nick Bradshaw has entrusted you with, your heart is hammering harder than you ever remember in your short lifespan.
Feet frozen in place, your hand is extended as if somehow you’ve managed to become some kind of Jedi. Attempting to force-control Bradley Bradshaw into cooperation failed, the burp of skin on plastic is nearly deafening as his fat little finger skips across the table, flicking at the separated plate you’d set in front of him moments ago.
“B!” The high pitch of your voice matches the heart jumping behind your ribs–never in your adult life would you have dreamed to ever be so worried about a sandwich, “please—eat your lunch, ok? Your daddy says you like PB and J,”
Time seems to stand still. Exhausted, blood pumping hard through your ears, you feel like you’ve wrestled a bull the entire afternoon. Or maybe a Tasmanian devil. Bradley has been nothing but a high-strung ball of energy since you sent Nick and Carole off for their afternoon, insisting that things would be fine.
In hindsight, maybe you should’ve heeded Carole’s warning of letting Bradley play outside a few hours before lunch. “He gets so cooped up and off the rails if you take him out and let him burn through some of that after-nap energy,” the gall of the woman to actually laugh, “He’s super into Indiana Jones, and you’ll be a great sub in my absence as the damsel in distress.”
But Bradley hadn’t wanted to play outside today. He’d wanted to play dinosaurs in his room with his little green army men, and together you’d both had a blast decimating Sarge and his unit with Tom the T-Rex. Blithely unaware of the gorgeous day outside and its 90 degree sunshine, A/C had been an appreciated alternative. At the time.
But now? You were going to either kill Nick’s kid, or die of exhaustion—whichever came first.
Bradley had started acting up about an hour ago, when he refused to clean up the toys in his room. An all-out hissy fit had transpired as Tom the T-Rex had been violently thrown out the bedroom door, hitting the wall with a thunk.
Feeling sorry for Tom, and staring with popped brows of surprise as Bradley screamed in his bedroom, very quickly your ovaries had shrank into near non-existence at the idea of someday willing choosing this for yourself.
“Pizza!” He shrieks, arms flapping in tantrum like some kind of pterodactyl, which ironically matches the dinosaur on the t-shirt underneath his overalls, “I want pizza!” His little high-pitched boy voice is ringing off the walls of the military housing unit as his bottom lip begins to quiver.
Crocodile tears well up in his soft brown eyes, angry color flaring on his chubby cheeks as he gives the plate one final shove, glaring at it like it has committed a grave offense.
Flinching as the plastic rattles to the linoleum, you puff out a dramatic sigh and scrub your face with your be-jeweled fingers, the cool rings doing little to tame the heat fanning across the bridge of your nose. Your heart has stopped throbbing in worry over the thoroughly dead sandwich, pulse returning to some kind of normal between your ears.
Gnawing at your bottom lip in defeat, you eyeball the splattered peanut butter and jelly and brea. It’s flattened and thoroughly stuck to the floor as Bradley leans over the side of his booster to look at his handiwork. Blinking at it, he looks back to you without even missing a beat, before grabbing the Flintstone cup of milk and taking a long swig.
“Pizza,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes, crossing to the head of the table. “You win, kiddo. Pizza it is.” You’ve never felt more defeat in your life, which is really saying something, because the taste of second place is something you’re all too familiar with being friends with Nick Bradshaw and his motley crew of stick jockey aviators.
Grabbing your purse, you retrieve your wallet and march to the phone mounted on the wall. Spinning the numbers, you order a pizza for yourself and the Bradshaw demon now absolutely adorably singing a song he must’ve picked up from his father, and hung up after the deadbeat clerk monotoned a goodbye.
Plunking down in a chair, your elbows hit the table and cradle your head as you sigh out a breath from the base of your gut. A headache is starting to bloom behind your eyes, and sweat is beading down the length of your spine, drawing your t-shirt and jeans to your skin in the most unpleasant way possible.
Toes curling against the linoleum in an effort to release tension, Bradley begins singing his ABCs in the cutest way possible.
You jump when the phone releases a shrill shriek across the kitchen. For a minute your mind jogs, trying to remember if Carole had asked you to take any calls.
Nick had told you to go ahead and use the phone for anything you may need—slipping out of the chair, you slide across the floor in your socks and pluck it off the receiver, cradling it between your clavicle and ear.
“Bradshaw house,” you sing into the line. Bradley is pushing himself out from the table, scrambling out of the booster to race up the stairs, shrieking for his stuffed animal dog that you have since learned is named Bongo. Covering the receiver, you call for Bradley to please come back downstairs before returning to the call, “How can I help?”
“Sounds like you’re having fun, sweetheart.”
Heart slamming to an all-stop in your chest, you inhale a sharp breath. A surprised squeaks managed past your strangled vocal chords, and heat jumping into your blood is immediate.
Replaying his words through your mind, you imagine him leaning through the doorway of the barracks, phone in hand, dragging the cord along as he talks to you.
Tom Kazanksy has always been a pacer when it comes to talking on the phone. It’s something you learned from Nick himself, who has told you numerous times that Iceman can’t keep it together when he’s on a call. Especially with you.
Goose was practically ass-over-tea kettle about this, Ice glaring at him behind his aviators as you’d given him a goofy grin, picturing the idea as nothing short of hilarious.
The man as cold as ice, tethered by a phone cord every time he picked up the receiver. It was laughable. Actually hilarious. Ice was many things—poised, cool, calculative in ways that were nearly frightening. He seemed far too collected to be the kind that walks when he’s on the phone—that’s your thing.
Fidgeting is a quirk of yours that simultaneously amuses and drives Ice up the wall, which seems counterproductive.
But like many things about Iceman Kazansky, there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense.
Keeping you on your toes is just one of the many things that makes your relationship with Kazansky interesting. He’s the ying to your yang, the cool to your hot. You’re wound tighter than a frickin’ Rolex, and Tom is as smooth as butter in every way that counts.
He’s excelling in his career, making the right decisions, drawing the right attention—and you’re stalled out working at the local garage, tinkering on whatever junk manages to hit the pavement.
Quiet and reserved, Ice is the epitome of charm and elegance. You’re basically the wild card in life’s chaotic game of Uno, forever handing your boyfriend a draw 25 of every crazy thing your life may hand him.
Honestly, how the two of you make it work is unbelievable—you’ve been dating for eight months. You were sure any day Ice would wake up from the hellish nightmare that is your crazy life and leave you, but he'd only seemed locked in for good.
Fairly certain that meeting your parents in NOLA would be the straw that broke the camel’s back, you were dead surprised when Ice had told you he actually loved your family. Your father had done nothing but interrogate the man like a dog with a bone about his career, his plans—all the kills his fancy rank boasted.
And mama? Oh, boy. She’d fussed over him to no end, insisting his skinny ass needed plumped up before your return at Christmas.
“What are they feeding him in California, sweetie? Look at that waist! I could snap him in two. Make sure you feed ‘im good—the way to a man’s heart is through his gut, after all.”
Your mother didn’t understand that you didn’t live together, weren’t cooking for Ice, and could take no responsibility for his eating habits. She’d just pooh-pooh’d your entire protest away, promising to send you both home with grocery money and a few recipes for your box.
You’d stuck them to the fridge with a magnet, Ice just chuckling at your mumble that your parents were the most embarrassing life-givers on the entire planet.
Arms snaked around your wrist, chin on your shoulder, he’d rocked you back and forth on his feet while smiling at the recipes now stuck on the front of your Frigidaire.
“I like your parents, my love. They’re….sweet?” The word was so foreign from him, it had made you snort.
“Overbearing and nosy, but thanks for playing,” you’d shook your head and lazily hung your hands from his thick forearms crossing over your chest, “I can’t wait to meet your folks, Ice. Your mom seems so amazing.”
“You’re talking to my mom?”
Laughing, “Of course I am! You gave me their number, silly.”
“I gave you my parents’ number for when I’m there, princess. I didn’t expect you to cultivate a relationship with Admiral Kazanksy’s wife.” Pressing a heavy kiss to your jaw, the blonde stubble on his cheek was divine as it brushed against the apple of yours.
Giggling in his embrace, your nose scrunches up as you let your head fall back against his shoulder. “Careful there, Tommy. Mrs. Admiral Kazansky kinda has a nice ring to it.”
His eyes had never sparkled so richly as they had that day in your kitchen, catching the insinuation you’d thrown in your little universe. Ice is everything you are not in the way that he is as unreadable as a blank page, whereas you’re easy reading, like phonebook. It goes with his graceful stoicism, his quiet demeanor.
Which is maybe why the two of you work. He balances you out, reigns you in when necessary but loves your unbridled fire. You add color to the otherwise black-and-white pages of Tom Kazanksy’s mission dossier of life, and while you haven’t exactly figured out if that’s a plus or not—Goose, Mav, Slider and everyone else that knows him assures you that you’re the best thing that’s ever stumbled, literally, into Kazanksy’s universe.
You smile at the muffle of voices hanging at the back of the call. Tom is obviously not alone, which amuses you to no end.
“Oh yeah, y’know how it goes, Kazansky—couldn’t be better. Goose’s kid is just the best child a babysitter could ever ask for.” The drama is not lost in your voice.
Tom barks out a laugh, and you imagine he’s shaking his head at you. “I can imagine. Bradley is a little shit when he wants to be.” He says something to someone beyond the call before returning to the phone, “So, about tomorrow. I wanted to ask you—”
Curling the phone cord around your index finger, you check over your shoulder as a shriek erupts from the hallway. Whipping about, Bradley shoots down the stairs, suddenly naked from the waist down and missing the overalls his mother had dressed him in that morning.
Eyes popping wide, he is screaming with a Superman action figure and his father’s dog tags hanging from his neck, face twisted in a horror that you’ve only ever seen portrayed on television.
Somehow, Bradley’s hair and shirt is wet. Which can only mean—
“Oh my gosh! Bradley! Bradley, come back—” dropping the phone and lunging for the toddler, you half remember your boyfriend is on the other end of the call, and right as Bradley races into the kitchen you grab the receiver. Scrambling to right the phone back to your ear, “Ice, I really have–” but he’s laughing. At you.
“This isn’t funny, Tom!”
“It’s fucking hilarious, baby,” his voice is that smooth rasp that makes you shiver as he clucks a chuckle into the phone, “but hold tight. I’ll be over there in fifteen minutes,” he’s calling for someone to tell him the time before he returns. “Think you can keep the gosling alive long enough for me to get there?”
Your eyes are shooting daggers at the wall as you sneer at nothing. “I hate you sometimes,”
Hissing out a noise that sounds like it would be paired with a wince, his mocking, “Ouch, princess,” doesn’t match the lilt in the back of his words. “Don’t burn down the house, I’ll be right there. Hang tight, grease monkey.” He’s been calling you grease monkey since knowing you, and it’s become more of a pet name than anything.
Unraveling, grateful help is imminent, you’re too stubborn to tell him that. Ice is good at everything, and something about watching Goose’s offspring niggles the thought that you want to be better at this than him in the back of your head. Biting the inside of your cheek, you hum suspiciously over the phone.
“Just get over here, Kazansky.” Dropping the phone to the receiver, you turn to rush into the living space in search of Bradley.
You swear to God you can hear him laughing behind the door fifteen minutes later when he knocks, letting himself into the kitchen from the screen door.
Sunglasses on, dressed informally in a t-shirt and tight Wranglers, he’s got a baseball glove under his arm that he drops to the table when Bradley races to the front door, arms splayed wide upon sight.
“Iceman!” Bradley launches himself at Ice’s legs, wrapping chunky little arms around the man’s thighs, “I didn’t know you were coming!”
He’s bouncing as Ice bends to lift him under his arms to his hip, messing the kid’s hair with his fingers.
“You gonna play ball with me, Ice?”
Ice’s smile is genuine as the kid pops off his callsign, no sweat. “You know it, kiddo. Gotta get my favorite shortstop ready for the Phillies, right?”
Bradley’s face couldn’t be any brighter as you lean against the threshold of the living room, arms crossed over your chest as you watch Ice interact with Goose’s son.
“How have you been, Bradley?”
“Gooooood,” the boy giggles and draws out the double-o of the word like children do, breaking off into another giggle as Ice wiggles his fingers into his soft stomach, “can we go play?”
“Yeah, bud. Go grab your mit and we’ll toss a few,” setting Bradley to his feet, he sends the boy off with a light swat to his rear, Bradley beelining past you to whip up the stairs. He's chanting Ice’s name with childlike joy nearly bubbling out of him.
Ice considers the state of the sandwich you still haven’t cleaned up off the floor before looking to you with a raised brow. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a light smirk as he slips the aviators off, hanging them from the collar of his t-shirt as his eyes move about the living space, easily.
You can see he’s calculating, and something shoots down your spine to ricochet off your uterus.
Good god he’s handsome. Sexy as all get out with close-cropped blonde hair, eyes bright enough to melt steel. He can level you with nothing but a smile, make you forget your name the way he kisses you. You might as well be dead when he says your name.
Thinking through all the times he's called you his, wondering if you’ll ever get tired of it, heat in your blood blossoms to your face. You suddenly warmer than you thought possible in the A/C of Goose’s house.
Crossing the kitchen in a few long strides, he reaches for you. Hand sliding home at your hip as you smile at him, he bridges the daylight hanging between you and shuffles your hips flush with his. Smiling at you crookedly, his eyes track yours. Reaching for a curl that’s fallen from your clip, he tucks it behind your ear.
“Help has arrived, princess,” he teases you, low. “Holding up okay?” His voice is quiet, smoky. Dangerous.
Every one of his words hits you right in that little spot between your legs, which has not stopped aching since you laid eyes on this man eight months ago.
“Thanks for coming over,” you coo, lips parting into a little smile. “I’m alright, just tired. Should’ve known I’d need my wingman–you should’ve been here for lunch,” nodding past his shoulder to the mess still living beside Bradley’s booster, your bottom lip rolls inward sheepishly. “Peter Pan and Smuckers crashed and burned.” Your nose scrunches up, teasingly. “I needed reinforcements.”
He snorts a little, brow lifted knowingly. “So I gathered.”
“You’re such a jerk,” you try not to chuckle, but that look he’s giving you makes it impossible.
He shrugs, flippantly. “Yeah, but you like that kind of thing,“ fingers skipping down the full curve of your cheek, they anchor at your chin and tip you head back just so. “I’m here now, love.”
Somehow your eyes just know to drop to half mast as your heart kicks up a few beats against your ribs. His head angles in that kissable way, and before you can even remember to breathe, his mouth brushes against yours tentatively, seeking out a kiss. Grabbing the front of his shirt, fingers fisting into the material, you edge him a little closer until he seals the deal, kissing you long and hard and slow.
His other thick hand is moving to rest at the curve of your neck and shoulder, thumb delicately brushing against the column of your throat as he moans a little into your mouth. Gasping a little, you suck at his bottom lip, tongue carefully slipping between his teeth to lathe a little against his own. Suddenly the room is spinning as he’s bracing an arm against the threshold of the kitchen, backing you against the sheetrock as his hand moves to cup the curve of your cheek.
“Ice,” you whine between his mouth moving against yours. Every nerve is on fire, and you can suddenly taste and feel nothing but his heat as it crashes against your chest. “I—”
“Mmm,” his fingers curl into the flesh of your hip, harder if possible, and he presses his weight forward with his hips, against yours, pinning you against the sheetrock even farther. “It’s okay,” he enunciates with rough exhale, “Bradley is fine—”
Knees basically gelatin and as if on cue, you hear Bradley’s little feet upstairs. He’s talking to Tom the T-rex, looking for his glove before he cries for you to come upstairs. It’s painful, brushing Tom’s hand away from where it’s tracing the soft skin beneath your navel under your shirt, but you have to.
Groaning in irritation before breaking your kiss with Tom, your gaze moves to the ceiling. Tom’s eyes do as well, and he sighs a little in defeat before putting his hands up, stepping back to allow you to slide away, towards the stairs.
“I’m coming, Bradley,” you call up the stairs, your voice not nearly as strong as you’d like it to be. “I’m sorry, baby, I—” His smile is slow as he nods in understanding, and he smooths his hand over his mouth, you not missing the flush on his face.
You rake your hair back as you’re about to take the stairs two at a time, but you stop when Ice’s big hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. Looking to his hand briefly, your eyes track up to find him, your face painted with the silent question of “What’s wrong?” that you don’t even need to ask.
“You know I love you, right?”
Heart skyrocketing into the back of your throat before it melts back between your ribs, the corner of your mouth lifts in a soft smile as you shrug a shoulder. Winking at him, you step forward onto the stairs, hand falling from his grasp as Ice moves to track you up the stairs. Over your shoulder, you smile at him and nod—you absolutely know you’re in love with Tom Kazanksy, it isn’t even a question.
“And I think I might be in some kind of love with you too, Kazansky. Maybe just a little.” Your fingers pinch to indicate a little amount, nose scrunched up in that way you always do that makes him roll his eyes and shake his head. You round the corner of the open staircase, but backtrack a few steps to peek around the corner.
“But in case you forget, Iceman—I love you too.”
#100 followers#100 followers celebration#blurb requests#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun fanfiction#controlled chaos squad#call sign meerkat#tom iceman kazansky#iceman top gun#answered asks#tom iceman kazanksy x reader#tom kazanksy x reader#iceman x reader#iceman x you
224 notes
·
View notes
Note
what do you think ross is like when you’re sleeping together for the very first time? i picture him gentle patient and very sweet
mdni obv
i think it depends on what the context is.
if it's a one night stand or if the attraction he feels for you is purely sexual, it's much rougher and kinkier and definitely more into the hot and heavy territory.
it's a tiny little unknown pub where you first meet. well, meet is not the word for it. he's with friends and so are you. both groups are rowdy and drunk and having the absolute best time on a friday night. drunkenly you reach for the same pool table, about to grab the same cue when one of your friends bumps into you and you bump into him. there's a chorus of sorrys from you until you look at him--the man you'd eyed earlier in the night from the other side of the bar, pouting slightly that he was way too busy with his friends to look around at other people. but he looks at you now and you're suddenly well aware of his hand on your waist that kept you from falling down.
"alright there?"
you nod. his voice is even better than you imagined. and you offer him the cue. "here, it's yours."
he shakes his head and it's interesting how he still hasn't taken his hand off your waist. "i'm sure you reached for it first."
"did i?" it's rather nice that your voice comes out confident and sultry which is barely how you feel on the inside because holy shit! this man is hot.
"a compromise then," you step away and hold the cue up. "play against me..."
"ross," he supplies.
you smile, then introduce yourself.
"play against me, ross."
"and if i said yes? what does the winner get?" he's cheeky. you like that about him instantly.
"whatever the winner wants."
an hour later, as you stumble into the dirty pub bathroom, his tongue electric on your neck and his hands exploring every inch of skin he can, it's pretty evident what the winner's wanted all along.
the slight buzz in your head throws all thoughts of hygiene out the window--all you care about is being bent over this sink; right here, right now.
"need you to fuck me, ross," you moan and feel him smirk against your skin.
"gonna ruin that pretty little cunt."
his words are brazen and vulgar. another thing you like about him. most importantly, they're brazen and vulgar words that he keeps as you'd come to find out minutes later while you grip onto the sink for dear life and his cock split you open.
his hips slamming onto your ass, cold marble biting into your skin, a bathroom full of obscene, wet sounds. it's a heady mix that goes to your head, more than any shot or cocktail or pint ever could.
you swear you can feel him deep inside you, rearranging your guts with every thrust (and rearranging your brain chemistry with every "good girl", "fuck you are so perfect" and "so fucking pretty")
his other hand keeps rubbing your clit in that way that makes you gasp and moan and makes your head spin until you can barely even see straight.
anyway... it's a lovely night turned into an unforgettable one.
---
on the other hand though, if ross is genuinely into you and has feelings for you, he's so much gentler. there's time for kinky, rough sex later, first, he needs to relish the experience of being with you for the first time. it can't just be a five minute quickie... it needs to be good. it needs to be unforgettable.
not like you have complaints, you think being with him in any capacity would be unforgettable. still the night you choose to spend over, he's made dinner entirely by himself and opened a fancy bottle of wine. there's amazing dessert--your favourite chocolate cake from your favourite bakery.
the whole evening is so good that you can't help but give him a sweet little thank you kiss before he's even had the chance to clear the plates away. it's not really a surprise when he deepens the kiss and groans into your mouth. it's not a surprise when you palm him through his jeans and find him hard and ready.
"fuck baby," he moans softly, "could spread you open right here on this dining table."
"then do it."
the glint in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine and heat pooling in your stomach.
"don't want our first time to be in a proper bed?" he laughs but his hands are already under your top, caressing the underside of your boob and intensifying all the flutters in your stomach.
"i didn't say that. think of this as an... appetiser."
and ross couldn't be happier with the idea because moments later you find yourself picked up and laid on the dining table. he looks at you for permission and instantly unbuckles your jeans when you nod. it's almost endearing to see how he suddenly looks shy, how his movements (that were so confident and self-assured before) now have a hint of nervousness in them.
and so you lift your hips up and help him take your jeans off.
"you are so beautiful," he smiles. a genuine, tender smile that melts your heart even when you're about to get eaten out in the middle of his kitchen.
"stop making me blush."
"would you like me to make you scream instead?" he winks.
and then that's exactly what he does <3
#blurb requests#the 1975#ross macdonald#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald x you#ross macdonald smut#the 1975 smut#minors do not interact#ross macdonald blurb#♡: ross blurbs#✉
87 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s been awhileeeee since we had blurb night so to say thank you for not forgetting about me and for supporting me while I was inactive, I’ve decided to do a blurb night tomorrow night !
So, send me in some concepts, it can be smut, angst, fluff whatever you want and I will create a blurb for you!!
I’m so excited and tysmmmm again!! 🥺🤍
#thank you 🥺#i love you mwah#harry styles#harry styles au#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles smut#harry styles one shot#blurb night#blurb requests#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi bb, hope you're doing well ❤️
for those prompts, if you feel so inspired, might i request nathan + envelope? please and thank you 🙏😘💖
Skittish
about this: nathan bateman x reader. prompt: envelope. contents: a lot of swearing, angst w/ happy ending, love confessions, kissing. wc: 600ish. not beta’d.
There’s a thick, white envelope sat on top of your duffle bag. Insane, how much time you’ve spent holed up in this compound with Nathan, and still all your belongings left here could fit into such a small bag. Insane, but not unexpected. Not when even in your closest, sweetest moments part of him was still holding you at arm’s length. He watches you as you take it in, pick it up.
You tilt your head at him, holding it up. It’s heavy. Something in your stomach sours, though you hold out hope that it isn’t what you think it is. “What’s this?”
“Money. Lots of it. For all your troubles,” Nathan nearly sneers the last word, his eyes glued to where your fingers hold the envelope.
You blink at him, before frowning. You can feel your eyes burning, but you won’t cry. Not for this, not for his attempts at pushing you away.
“My troubles? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?”
You throw the envelope at the floor with force, the thud of it hitting the carpet sounding through the room. “I don’t want your money, Nathan. Fuck you for thinking that.”
He holds up his hands, rolling his eyes at you and your righteousness, “Yeah, fuck me. I’m the big bad wolf. I fuck up everything I touch— I get it. Just take the money and go.”
“I don’t want the fucking money. I never have.”
“Whatever.”
“And— and you don’t fuck up everything you touch. You fuck up everything you’re afraid of,” You say firmly, taking a step towards him.
Nathan’s gaze falters for a moment before it goes steely again. He takes a step towards you too, his voice low and full of venom. “Why the hell would I be afraid of you? You have nothing to hold over me. No one does, I’m untouchable.”
If this is the game he wants to play, then you’ll match his energy.
You close the small gap left between you, pointing at his chest— at his heart. “You’re afraid of me because I love you. I love you, even though you're a skittish, self absorbed fuckhead and you’re terrified to love me back.”
He scoffs, but he’s losing some of his fire. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. It is right. I’m right this time, not you. I don’t want to hear your snide remarks, or your fucking facts or anything you have to say for that matter unless it’s going to be the fucking truth. So what’s it gonna be Nathan, can you rise to the challenge or have you finally met a task that’s too much for you?”
“You think you’re gonna turn us saying I love you into an accomplishment?”
“You started it. Can you finish it?”
His eyes narrow for a handful of moments, but then he softens— like he does when you’re tucked in his arms while steeped in the bath. Softens like he does when he’s tucking you in. When he’s telling you how good you’re being for him.
“Fine. Fucking fine. Alright, for fucks sake, I love you. Are you happy?”
“I don’t know, Nathan— are you?”
“I…I think I could be. If you…if you ever forgive me,” He grits out, as if admitting his wrongdoings is causing him enough pain to pass out.
“I think forgiveness comes after a person says sorry, and if I’m correct— again, might I add— you haven’t said sorry.”
“You gonna spend the rest of your life’s busting my fucking balls, honey?”
“You think I’ll stay around that long?” You tease.
“Nathan reaches for you then, tickling mercilessly at your stomach until you’re breathless and begging for reprieve. He stops, but doesn’t give you a chance to take in much air because this his mouth is on yours, kissing you with a reverence that floors you. When he pulls away you’re dizzy, your eyes cloudy and full of love. God, he’s the luckiest fucking man on earth.
He smirks at how soft and wonderous you look. “Yeah, you’ll stick around.”
#thank you for sending this in my loveeeeee#i hope you love it 🥺🥺#nathan bateman x reader#nathan bateman x you#nathan bateman x gn!reader#nathan bateman fanfiction#ex machina fanfiction#blurb requests#arson writes
34 notes
·
View notes
Note
Firstly, Danti
Dark's been out all day with client meetings and Anti, not one to be ignored, puts himself on Dark's bed and waits while wearing only one of Dark's ties and smoking one of his cigars
Alright!
.
“Thank you for your time.” Dark said, shaking the petrified man’s hand and escorted him out, “Be sure to keep up with the payments next time. I’m not the one to hold pity on my prey.” He grinned before having Google take him out of the manor. He looked at his watch to see the time, a little later than usual, but that’s the price of a productive day. Maybe he could go in his room, relax with Anti and have a good smoke break. God he needed his cigar.
Dark hummed while walking down the hallway, seeing his fellow colleagues finishing their tasks for the day. He shucked his blazer off, holding the article of clothing over his shoulder as he made his way to his bedroom, not knowing the surprise that was within the room.
He opened the door, eyes widening slightly at the sight. Though Anti looked over with a smirk as he lit the cigar in his mouth with a match. His bare, supple form exposed to the demon at the doorframe, having no care in the world as he sat on middle of the canopy bed naked.
Anti blew out the match and took one good puff from the cigar, holding it between his fingers as he spoke, “There’s the big man.” Dark smirked, shutting the door behind him and dropping his blazer made his way to the bed, “Took you long enough, I thought I was gonna die of boredom.” Anti huffed, playing with the tie that was around his neck.
“Clients are slow learners and you know that,” Dark rumbled, sitting on the side of the bed and placed his his hand just above Anti’s knee, “though I can make it up to you.” he purred, slowly dragging the hand up to the smaller’s thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Anti hummed, moving so he could straddle the older’s lap and let Dark get the cigar from his hand, taking a puff from it as well and placed it on the ashtray, holding the glitch’s hips.
“You better hope you’re done for today, because you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon.” Anti grinned before pulling Dark in for a kiss, starting the long endeavor for the time being.
16 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sweetmotherof
hello folks!
chineseartdealer
Untitled
rinerin
"Life Itself is the Most Wonderful Fairytale" - H.C. Andersen
chineseartdealer
Untitled
magpiefngrl
walking on a single-plank bridge til it’s dark