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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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Blind Offer 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: I've been feeling a bit off lately so thank you all for distracting me. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won’t reveal which one right away because it’ll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

After closing, you’re due for an opening shift. The abrupt shift in your schedule leaves you little off-time but right on the other side, you have a much needed day off. You’re relieved not to be left to think too much in the unfamiliar house and hopeful that by the time your time off comes, your apartment will be ready for your return.

That morning, you’re running on coffee and the promise of the cinnamon bun you bought on your way in. You work through the price changes in the digital imaging section. The cameras are the biggest pain as you have to unlock the cases to replace the old tags.

You get to the Sony section and end up on your knees, fighting the glass door as it rolls off the track. The podcast buzzing in your ear fades as your frustration gets the best of you. You lean back, your shoulder brushing against an unexpected presence behind you.

You wince and pop your earbud out, craning to look over your shoulder at the man browsing cameras past you. His eyes meet yours with a twinkle as he points to the case, “you know much about these?”

You shake your head, “sorry.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirks, the expression made devious by the trim of dark blond across his lip. He squats down beside you, “nah? I was looking for a starter camera but I need something with strong range.”

You nod and force a smile, “um, well, these are pretty basic, I think. They don’t have any extra lenses,” you look around, searching for one of the DI salesmen, “I could find someone–”

“I’m asking for your help, honeybun,” he coos, “what’s the zoom on these things?”

You feel heat speck on your forehead and cheeks. You’re not the best with customers. It’s easy enough if they know what they’re looking for but you’re useless with telling them what they need. You turn back and grab one of the small boxes. You turn it over and read the specs.

“Uh… 30x zoom…” you say, “I guess that’s pretty good.”

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue, “I’m looking for something stronger. Stronger’s always better, isn’t it, sugarpie?”

His strange pet names put you off. Some old ladies will call you hon and some old men will call you young lady, but he’s a lot younger and not as endearing. You put the camera back and look along the row.

“Yeah, I think maybe you need to look at the bigger cameras,” you point over the case, “they’re along that wall–”

“You like it bigger?” He intones with a snicker, “you a size queen?”

You recoil, taken aback by his suggestion. Ew. You shake your head and turn back to the case, “sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about cameras. I’ll see if I can get a salesman over here.” You grab the wire of your headset and hit the button, “can I get someone over to DI?”

You let go of the button as the earpiece crackles. The man doesn’t move, “you know, I don’t mind a little extra. Especially in the trunk.”

You ignore him as you peel away the fresh stickers and press them to the front of the shelves. The heat of his lingering figure has you unable to get your fingernail under the corner of a label. You want to run and hide in the warehouse. You’re just too nervous to tell him to go away, Gwen would write you up.

“Hey,” Jamie appears from the other end of the aisle, “looking for a camera, sir?”

The man behind you doesn’t stand right away. When he does, he reaches close to you, gripping the top of the case to push himself up to his feet. You turn and mouth a thank you to Jamie as he gives a long look at the man behind you.

“Sure am,” the customer brushes by you closely. You watch the back of his head, shaved close around the sides, the top pieces longer and slicked back neatly. He walks with a certain lean to his step, his shoulders squared, his gait confident but casual. He gives you the ick.

You focus on your sheet of price changes. He’s not your problem anymore. You just hope you can through that section before he finds what he’s looking for. You somehow suspect he’s in no hurry to leave.

🖤

You get back to the townhouse just after five. It’s later than you usually get in but you’re just happy to be done. You haven’t been able to shake that feeling that’s followed you all day. Ever since that man approached you in the store, you’ve felt as if you’re being watched.

You walk the block and a half from the nearest stop and turn onto the quiet street of newly built townhouses. Despite the sighting of a neighbour, it still feels derelict. You check the number beside the door as you head up the walk to the doorstep. As you do, you hear a whistle.

You stop and turn back as you hear footsteps approaching. It’s only then you notice the white van parked along the far curb. A man runs over in a blue uniform with a box under his thick arm. Burly and broad, you almost cower as he waves and approaches.

“You live here?” he asks as his eyes flick up to the iron numbers mounted besides the door, “number four?”

“Um, I’m… crashing here, yeah,” you swallow, “it’s actually not my place–”

“I got a package,” he shifts the parcel and reads the label.

You can just see his features beneath the shadow of his cap brim, long lashes, square jaw, a touch of stubble and a thick mustache across his lip. You hate that those are making a comeback. You shiver as it reminds you of the man in the store, but this man has darker hair, a curl poking out from his hate.

“For Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah, erm, that’s my landlord. This is his place,” you point over your shoulder with the thumb.

“Right, well, it doesn’t need a signature, so if you could pass it off to him.”

“I don’t know–”

“I don’t really feel like driving back out here tomorrow. This isn’t my route,” he says tersely.

You snap your mouth shut. Wow, okay. You shrug and reach out to take the box.

“Sure, I can get it to him. Sorry.”

“Thanks,” he hands it over and looks back and forth down the street, “quiet neighbourhood, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess… just finished development so–”

“Fancy places. Expensive,” he continues on, “your landlord must really like you.”

You frown and hug the package, “uh, he’s nice. Anyway, I’m sure you got other deliveries to make.”

He scoffs as you turn away. You’re succinctly aware of him as you move your body to block the code as you punch it in.

“Too good for the delivery boy,” he mutters darkly, “have a good day, miss fancy pants.”

“Have a good day,” you squeak and push your way into the townhouse, spinning to shut the door.

You twist the latch as you lean on the door. You slowly lean over and peek past the curtain. The delivery man smirks at the barrier between you before turning and strolling back the way he came. You shudder and turn to put the box down. You really thought for a moment he might try to follow you inside.

You shake out your nerves. It’s just been a really weird day. Well, few days.

You pull out your phone and text Steve to let him know he got a package. You put your cell on the counter as you enter the kitchen. You planned on ordering food to celebrate your coming day off but it’s too much trouble dealing with another stranger.

You go through the fridge and cupboards and settle on the bag of hand rolled tortellini with the jar of alfredo. You’re no expert chef but you can follow instructions. It’s a quick enough dinner. You eat it at the table against the wall, a video playing on your phone.

A notification pops up at the top of the screen, Steve saying thanks. You don’t bother replying but another flips up in quick succession. ‘How is everything?’

You finish your pasta before you reply. You rinse your dishes and leave them in the rack. You take the phone upstairs, typing as you climb.

‘Doing fine. Everything’s well. Thanks for checking in.’

Easy and to the point. You don’t want to have some stunted text chat with your landlord, you don’t even want to talk to your friends, you’ve been dying all week to try the bathtub.

You turn on the faucet and the water spills out, steam quickly rising as you adjust the temperature. You go to the counter and search your pouch for your body scrub. You pause as you find it empty. Weird.

You look around. Your toothbrush is in the cup and your toothpaste and mouthwash on the small shelf that holds it. Where is everything else? You check the drawer, your face creams and cleanser are all there. Even your deodorant and body lotion.

You peek at the tub and see your jar of scrub already sitting on the sharp edge brim. You don’t remember putting all that away. Why would you? You’re not going to be here forever. You don’t know, you were so tired that morning, you can’t even remember brewing your coffee.

You blow out the tension. Stop worrying. It’s fine. It’s little things that you’re overthinking. As usual.

You undress and leave your clothes on the counter. You approach the tub and lower yourself down with a sigh. Oh yeah, this is living. The tub is nice and big, you don’t feel crammed in like your own place. You better enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

The bedroom becomes a haven in the large house. You go downstairs in search of snacks, planning to veg out a bit before you inevitably fall asleep watching Youtube commentary videos. You find some trail mix with M&Ms mixed in it but are disappointed to discover a dearth of carbonated beverages in the fridge. You opt for the tropical twist juice in the sleek glass bottle.

You retreat with your meagre haul and create a nest in the bed. You grab your phone and flip past the several notifications waiting on the home screen. You scroll through Youtube until you land on something suitably dramatic. You pull down the taskbar and flick away several notifs.

Steve’s message is the last. It kinda creeps you out but the time stamp assures you it’s merely a coincidence. ‘I bought some snacks. Hope you found them. Wasn’t sure what you liked.’

You resist clicking on the bubble and swipe it away with the rest. You don’t want to leave him on read and you don’t think he’d appreciate your response. Granola and coconut water aren’t much of a snack.

You shimmy down under the covers and prop up your phone on the bedside table. You lean into the pillow and lazily munch, Your mind wanders away from the petty online drama. Work, your apartment, several strange encounters… hopefully life calms down soon. You mind your business, you don’t need the trouble. You prefer to be a witness, not an active participant.

You drain the last of the juice as the mix of almonds, peanuts, and cranberries leaves your mouth dry. You get up to brush your teeth as you listen through the open door to the edited clips from TikTok. As you come back to bed, you feel the day catch up to you.

You yawn and shut off the light. Ugh, you’re so suddenly tired. It’s not unusual to be wiped after clopening but damn, you’ve never felt this heavy. You pull the blanket up to your chin and your phone screen blurs in your eyes. You let the low drone ease you down to sleep.

It’s as if no time passes at all. No dreams, no awareness, just a thick void that makes your head hurt. You wake with a start.

Your phone gleams from beside you but Youtube is no longer open. The light is on, blaring in your vision as you sit up. Jeez, you must be totally zonked. You probably got up to go pee and don’t even remember.

You reach for your phone and check the time. It’s just after midnight. An hour or two since you passed out. The blanket falls away from your shoulders and you look down at the cold wash across your chest. The straps of your tank top droop down your arms as the fabric is wrinkled below your tits as they hang out.

You fix your top, it’s not unusual. You’ve woken up more times than you count with your shirt all twisted. It’s why you never had roommates. You shove the blanket further down, your shorts are askew as well, caught in the crease of thigh and pelvis. You fish around to tug the loose opening free and find it damp. Ugh, you’re sweating from your little cocoon of body warmth.

You push yourself towards the edge and pause. You feel oddly sensitive, almost raw. You rise and stretch, reaching down to check yourself. You’re wet. Like really wet. You must’ve had some wild dreams but you can’t remember any of them.

You take your cell to the bathroom with you and relieve yourself. You pull up your cycle tracking app. Ah, first day of ovulation. Horny time.

You come back to the bedroom and burrow back under the blankets. As you wiggle down, you feel something roll against you. You put your phone beside your pillow and snake your hand around to grab the tiny cylinder. You raise the small bullet vibrator and frown. Wasn’t that in your beauty bag?

You place it on the night table and take your phone. Well, you seem to be pretty absent-minded lately. First your toiletries, now this. You’ll have to do a sweep of the house tomorrow and make sure you have everything together. You won’t be there much longer.

Still, you’re unsettled by the momentary lapse in consciousness, but your lingering grogginess keeps you from panicking. You’ll just put on another video. It should distract you enough to calm you down.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve roger #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #blind offers #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #multifandom

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astraltrickster · 11 months

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A guide to crediting art for Reddit users

Because this isn't Pinterest, okay? Like, as an artist, I know damned well I can't STOP people from making memes of whatever they want without credit or permission...but most artists find it really, really rude, at best. I know it's normalized over on Reddit, but that's, uh, something a lot of us have been aware of and HATED for a while.

So, here's the deal.

Things where credit is optional according to the typical rules of etiquette:

Official assets from well-known published games. Screenshots of real anime and movies and TV shows. Big name published manga scans (but make sure it really is an official manga scan - just because it's a well-known character and on-model doesn't mean it's official; some doujin are VERY on-model). Arguably, official art book scans, but that one is a bit more controversial. Basically, if it was made to be an official part of a big name Thing, credit isn't considered to be necessary, because we all know where it came from, or if we don't it's only a matter of checking what tags someone has reblogged with once it gets more than like 20 notes.

But anything else? You need to credit the artist, and before you even do that, you need to make sure they're okay with reposts in the first place.

Now, this is common sense to most people on tumblr and other sites with a large artist population, but I've learned the hard way that it's...really not to a lot of people on Reddit, or Pinterest, or many other communities: most art you find online is not done by Recognizable Industry Professionals, and even a lot that is, well, they're not recognizable enough that even people who care about art in their circle are going to see a repost - even with the artist's signature - and go "oh, yeah, I know that guy!" Many artists rely on online traffic to bolster their careers. In fact, reposting can hurt starting professional artists - there have been plenty of cases of artists accused of plagiarism because their work got reposted so far and wide that no one believed they made it anymore!

Even outside of that, many artists don't want you reposting their work, even with credit, for many reasons - not least of which being because it's easy to lose creative control in some truly horrible ways. Remember what happened to Pepe the Frog? Did you know about the similar case of Trash Doves? You may say "ew, wtf, I'd never do that, I'm not hunting for stuff to bastardize into a hate symbol, I just want to make silly memes" - but that doesn't ultimately matter. It's not about whether you'd do it or not; it's about the fact that there are people who would.

Therefore, if you see a piece of art you want to use for a meme, you have to check the source. If it's already a repost, reverse image search it. If you still can't find it, don't use it. If you can only find it on Pinterest or some other repost-heavy site, don't use it.

Check to see if the artist SAYS "DO NOT REPOST" or "REPOSTS OK WITH CREDIT" somewhere on their profile. If they don't speak English, machine translation will probably suffice. If they don't specify, ask. If the answer is no, find a different piece of art from someone who allows it or a "safe" source as listed above.

Now that you have permission, make your meme, and LINK TO the original piece in the post body. Remember: "Credit to the artist" is not credit. "I didn't draw this" is not credit. Link to where it came from, there is no substitute.

So, with that, go forth, and happy memeing!

#reddit migration #internet etiquette

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mysticstarlightduck · 9 months

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OC Name Meaning Tag Game:

I was tagged by the wonderful @lola-theshowgrl for this one!

Rules: give us your characters' names and definitions and vote whether or not they fit the meaning.

When I choose the names for my character cast, I usually try to consider the sonority of it, but also the names that would fit the time period, how it fits the character's personality, and the vibe of the world the story takes place. Most of the times I do search for character names with a certain meaning in mind, while some rarer times I do not.

Julyan - (A variation of the name Julian) The name Julian basically means Jove's son, but it is linked to the meaning of youthful, dedicated, and devoted, but also the word shiny/bright.

9/10 It's pretty perfect for the character of Julyan Ashiren. He's a very dedicated and devoted person throughout pretty much his entire life, especially when it comes to family. After his parents died, he raised his sister and later on their adoptive brother to the best of his ability, even though he was barely an adult himself. Plus, he has a very lively personality among those he trusts, so the "youthful" description of his name is rather accurate too.

Raelen - (A variation of the name Raelyn) The name Raelyn means, in general term: beam of light, divine light, embrace and it also can mean ewe of the lake (due to the names it is derived from).

8/10 Rather accurate as well. In the series, Raelen is also Mageborn with connections to the fire sources - though not nearly as much as Julyan - and her role in the coming war is literally tied to the meaning of dawn. She is also a very bright and energetic person, so I would say that the name fits the bill!

Vallerius - A Roman/Latin name that means: strength, power and health. The name "Vall", which is his nickname in the series, is also associated with the meaning of valiant, and brave.

7/10 It works. Vallerius does have a very brave personality, especially when it comes to saving others and protecting those he cares about, and he does have an obsession with always seeming unmoved by things that bother him (being strong for the sake of others).

Ansell - A variation of the name Ansel, and deriving from the Old German name Anselm, this name literally means protector, helm, "with divine protection".

10/10 It's one of the few names that I deliberately chose for its meaning. In TLW Ansell serves as Princess Ellinor's knight and bodyguard, being her protector at all times, despite the princess being a trained assassin. He is also her closest friend and most trusted confidant throughout the books. Not only this, but Ansell has a very selfless and noble nature, being willing to sacrifice his well-being if it means others will be safe and protected, something that worries his friends a lot.

Jamie - This name means "he who supplants", supplanter, the one who replaces. It's also, in real life, a short form of the name James, but this isn't the case for this character, as Jamie is his given name.

6/10 I mean, it fits, but it's not that amazingly connected to his story, it just sounds right for the character. He does "take his older brother's place" (replace) as the one who protected them both after Zephyr was cursed, but that's it. In TLW Jamie would never purposefully replace/take the place of someone else unless it was for their own good or if they asked him to.

Nadinne - A French name that is a variation of Nadya, but also commonly used in Arabic, that means hope and messenger.

9/10 Fits Nadinne's character pretty well honestly. Everything about her personality is centered around having hope for a better future and believing that there is still good in the world. Also, she happens to be a link between one of the character groups and the rebellion, which is befitting of her name's meaning of "messenger". And, after she falls in love with Morwan, she makes it her life's mission to make the jaded warrior learn that there is still hope for her future, she just has to just to follow it.

Sybil - This is a name that means prophetess and oracle, as well as to a sense of mystery and alluring.

7/10 As a bard whose lyrics often speak against the current status quo, the meaning of alluring, but also of oracle/prophetess is quite fitting, even though she does not possess such gifts. She also happens to be best friends with one of the last living Fae in the world, which does add to the mysterious sense of her name.

Peregrine - This is such a perfect name for this character. It literally means traveler, foreigner, or wanderer.

10/10 When the story starts, Peregrine has been wandering the continent for the past recent years of his life, hoping to find a way to redeem himself for his dreadful mistake. Also, even before he was put in this situation, he was a very restless teenager, filled with a sense of wanderlust, as if his mind could never quite be tamed in one place.

Trystan - A variation of Tristan. This name means sorrowful, sad or melancholy. It is also associated with the legends of King Arthur, as Tristan was the name of one of his knights.

7/10 It fits, surprisingly. In TLW, Trystan is a knight, a Mageborn knight who takes his duty very seriously. I mostly chose his name due to its association with the legendary knight, for that reason. But in TLW, Trystan does go through more than his fair share of tragedy and sorrowful situations, which did cause him to despair/lose hope more than once, especially when he is captured and tortured by the Morosyn Empire. He also knows that, should he sacrifice himself, such is his duty to the Order, and that he shouldn't hope for rescue (he is wrong, because his brother and their friends would go to hell and back to save him). He's not depressive, just unhealthily fatalistic.

Yuna - This name means superiority; gentleness; kindness; desire. It also means dream, illusion, and visions. This name has mostly Asian origins.

5/10 I MEAN... Yuna is a mystical character, especially coming from a line of sorcerers and runic weapon smiths, but that girl is FAR from gentle and subtle. She is very blunt and to the point, so the name fits partially, but not nearly quite as the others.

And the list goes on, but these are the ones I researched today (:

Tagging (gently with no pressure): @tabswrites, @writernopal, @rickie-the-storyteller, @clairelsonao3, @elshells, and @cabbojage

#writing #writers #writeblr #my characters #my writing #character writing #my wips #writerblr #writers on tumblr

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rodeoxqueen · 3 years

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Of Lacking Spectacle(s)-Vergil/Reader

Summary: Vergil is a lot of things. Vergil is the Dark Slayer, The Alpha and The Omega, and the eldest son of Sparda. Vergil is also….in need of glasses?

Tags/Warnings: Suggestive Ending, Gender-Neutral Reader, Dante Read The Lord Of The Flies, Inspired By Vergil’s Buddy Holly Glasses Mod

Read It On AO3

Thank you @drusoona for sending me the pictures of Vergil that inspired this. The title is a reference to Gus Dapperton’s song Of Lacking Spectacle.

-Rodeo

(Picture Credits: @drusoona)

Vergil was always so precise and capable, sensing demons from distances away and predicting attacks with pinpoint accuracy.

He was intense, his eyes purely focused on the task ahead of himself. A man of pure drive and prowess. And he was your man.

It came gradually, something he tried to ignore. A few sentences of blurred lines would quickly flicker back to clarity. A small pain that flashed behind his eyes after reading in a room too dark.

It didn’t look obvious to anyone. Even to his ever-doting beloved. He was the son of Sparda, a demon that surpassed Death multiple times. There was no way he could have failing vision. Impossible, he would scoff to himself as he rubbed his eyes.

This statement soon turned from ignorance to denial of a very real problem Vergil avoided showing. His always narrowed stare hid it quite well.

An anthill turned into a mountain he could no longer stamp down. And his beloved had already watched it build up for some time, waiting for the stubborn devil to say something about it.

Which he didn’t.

So when you were cooking some mac and cheese from a recipe you found from a friend who knew a friend who knew a friend who asked her son for the recipe, you decided to strike up the question.

“Vergil.”

“That is my name, yes,” Vergil said from the couch, enraptured in a new book you bought him. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Are you having vision problems?”

“Of course not.” Hand on your hip, you pointed your rue-covered spatula at him.

“Then why is your nose literally in that book?” Vergil used to always be found with his book at arms-length as he would silently recite the words.

He stilled. He quickly readjusted himself and coughed.

Jackpot.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me in front of my macaroni.” You threaten, stirring the pot. He sighs.

“My vision is just fine.” Vergil insists, squinting at the blurred words.

“Vergil, I think you have vision problems.”

“That’s foolishness.”

“Why so?”

“My father was a powerful demon, bad vision should not run in our family-”

“Didn’t your dad wear a monocle?”

His mouth dries and his eyes widen in realization. Oh god it was genetic. You have won the tirade and you puff your chest out.

“How about I take you to the eye doctor? I can call later and set up an appointment.” Vergil has closed the book and chosen instead to look at you.

The macaroni is boiling, a u-shaped pasta you are rather fond of. Your apron is speckled with flour and you twiddle the spoon in your hand.

“Come on, it’ll be super quick. Just read some letters off a wall.” You say as you add burrata into the cheese blend. Vergil always liked that kind of cheese.

When you went grocery shopping, he really thought you wouldn’t notice him taking more than three samples of it when no one was looking before walking off like a successful sample thief.

Upon the sound of a bag of his favorite cheese opening, Vergil got up. You smile. You go to offer him a bit before quickly snatching it away from his hand. He tuts at you.

“You can have some if you agree.”

“Agree to what?” You sigh.

“Eye doctor.”

“No need. I am fine.”

You turn to stir the pot of delicious pasta before going back to lecturing this stubborn devil.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been squinting more and having headaches.” You state. Vergil scolds himself, thinking he was much more hidden about his new problem.

He is quiet as he stares off into the pot of macaroni.

“Please? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You put your other hand on his cheek. He looks at you finally, ice-blue glaciers warming at your loving and concerned expression.

God, his mate was so soft. He pulls your non-occupied hand to his other cheek-

And snatches the bit of burrata out of your fingers with his mouth. You make an offended noise at his trickery.

“Very well.” He muses.

You call up a local eye doctor after a hearty bowl of mac and cheese.

Taking Vergil to the doctor was like taking a cat to the vet. He sat in the waiting room with his arms crossed and eyes intensely out-alphaing everyone in his general proximity.

When they finally call your names, the ice was broken and people finally felt safe to breathe in his absence.

The eye doctor guides Vergil to the examination room. Vergil does not like it already. Why would you do this to him?

He waits at the door, waiting for you to come in with him.

“Sir, this is more of a personal test.” You shrug and blow him a kiss as he is ushered into the room

“How long has it been since you’ve had an eye test?” The doctor asks, Vergil taking a seat with a strange contraption before him.

“I have never had an eye test.” Vergil declares. The doctor laughs and swings the phoropter down. Vergil flinches slightly.

“Whoa now. Just set your chin here and look into the eye holes. This isn’t some medieval torture device.” He growls at the humiliation before doing so.

A series of lenses swiping through and the repeating question “which one looks clearer” later, Vergil is liberated from the examination room. He is greeted to you sitting and waiting for him.

“It wasn’t too bad, right?” You ask. Vergil nods. You turn to the doctor.

“So how is his vision?” The doctor flips through a few notes.

“Well, the letter Z was on the board and I asked him what he saw and he said triangle.” The doctor flips through a few notes.

“Your husband is in dire need of glasses.” Vergil raises an eyebrow at that statement.

Your husband, he likes that. You don’t even correct him.

Luckily, this clinic also sold frames and Vergil is able to pick out a few while you do the paperwork.

You remember Vergil has no taste and quickly go to help him.

“No, no, well maybe, no, ew.” You respond as Vergil swaps various frames about.

“My love, I simply need the lenses. These materials mean nothing.” He argues as you deny the tenth pair of frames.

“Well, you’re very handsome and I’d like you to get a nice pair that matches.” You say. You go to make a smug face at him when you realize he has finally walked away to pick out his own.

You immediately drop the frames you were holding when Vergil places a certain pair of thick black-colored glasses upon his nose.

“We’ll take them.”

Several weeks later, Vergil is bestowed his new reading glasses. He finds his problem vanishes quickly and he can now read at a decent distance away. You seem to greatly appreciate them. Strange. On jobs, he usually takes them off and stores them in the little case he was given.

He thought of it as weakness. If his own body was failing to maintain 20/20 vision, he should be ashamed. In the demon world, any bit of weakness meant imminent death.

Yet, he told himself he wasn’t in Hell anymore. He was having breakfast with his beloved and he was safe. And he was privileged to be allowed for his body to take a break and age as it should have, his vision waning as a normal man would have at his age.

You kiss him goodbye for another day of work and you push his glasses up as they tip slightly down. His nose does the little scrunch you love so much. So much, you kiss him on the bridge of the nose. He purrs and promptly cuts a portal to work.

He walks into Devil May Cry to work with his brother. Dante is upstairs, the sounds of a shower happening.

Vergil takes to the paperwork his brother has ditched doing once more, typing on a clunky keyboard. You had insisted to pay extra for blue-light protection and he finds it is so much easier to see the computer screen.

Finally, the water is shut off. His idiot brother is done wasting work hours. Well, when is he not?

Vergil continues looking through yellowed documents as Dante passes by, smelling like strawberry soap marketed for children.

Dante walks forward but then puts himself in reverse to see Vergil with glasses on again.

“Yes?” Vergil grits his teeth.

“Those are glasses.” Dante starts.

“Yes, yes they are.”

Dante snorts and points at him.

“Buddy Holly looking ass bitch.” Vergil stops and glares at his brother.

“I don’t even know who that is.”

Dante wheezes at he keeps looking at Vergil.

“Of course you don’t, you bag of bones! You look like a college RA.”

“Dante, get to work-”

“What are you going to do? Tell the dean on me? Is that why you were gone a couple weeks ago?”

“I had an appointment-”

“I hAd aN aPpOiNtMeNt.” Dante mocks.

“That’s rich coming from someone without insurance coverage-”

His spectacles are snatched from his face. Dante puts them on.

“How do you see with these on? Damn, you’re legally blind.”

“That’s why they’re mine-hand them over!”

“You sound like Piggy from Lord of the Flies. My specs! My specs!” Dante mocks in a terrible English accent.

Vergil growls in anger.

When Vergil comes home with his glasses off, you wonder why. The blue devil comes behind you while you make some soup, hands on your waist and breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

He’s quiet and in a way that is not his usual silence. He seems to have something on his mind. This time, you choose not to push it and let him be.

It isn’t until you’re both in bed, the lamp on as Vergil goes to take out a new novel. He hesitates when he reaches for his black glasses.

“My love?”

“Yes, Vergil?”

“Who’s Buddy Holly?”

Weird question but okay.

You search up the name on your phone and show him a picture. He puts on his glasses.

“Why would Dante think I look like that?” He asks himself with a frown. Upon realization, you put your hand on your mouth and fight back a laugh.

“Did Dante say that?” Vergil rolls his eyes.

“Of course he did, amongst other things.”

“Well, I think you look very nice. Like a very sexy college professor.” Vergil smugly looks at your bedroom eyes. The novel is long abandoned on the table.

Before he can pounce on you, he goes to take off his spectacles. You snatch them and place them back on his face.

“Keep them on this time.” You bite your bottom lip teasingly.

Vergil purrs.

He might get used to this.

[More Photos Of Vergil’s Mod-Credited To @drusoona]

#vergil x reader #vergil sparda #vergil imagines #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry imagine #dmc vergil #vergil #fluff #devil may cry #devil may cry vergil #gender neutral reader #rodeo used butcherknives' recipe for this fic #rodeo is lactose intolerant and a bite of mac and cheese will vibe check her straight to hell #drusoona's pictures

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dayglovv · 3 years

Text

—𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Guido Mista x Reader

desc: you’ve been there for Mista for as long as he can remember. that’s just what best friends do. he wants more, but is it worth sacrificing the friendship for his feelings?

wc: 5.5k

a/n: based on the songs Fuck Up The Friendship and Lo Que Tú Me Das! I love the friends to lovers trope, and considering I’ve been wanting to write something super long, this was the perfect opportunity to capture both. likewise, I’ve been a lil sad lately so I hope this cheers you up as it did for me 💕 please enjoy, and if you can, spare a lil extra love!! this bad boy took three days to write.

tags: cunnilingus, fingering, hand job, dirty talk, stretching, premature ejaculation, creampie, minor dom!Reader

tw: not sfw, vomiting, mentions of death and alcohol

HIS MOTHER ALWAYS used to say that burying someone was the living’s way of returning the dead to the Earth. “Back from where they came,” she murmured. “Two meters deep — enough to have the soil hug you.”

He first heard it when his nonno died 11 years ago, and again when Nonna died two years later. To be honest, Guido Mista never understood what his mother was talking about.

Not until he met you.

You were a storm in the simple life that Mista had so carefully crafted. So full of energy, so full of life. You forced him to feel alive. Your laugh sounded like a million bells chiming in his head. Your ideas, for as dumb as they were, always matched his pace.

For as chaotic as you were, it felt as if you had always meant to be a part of his life. Which is why he’s in the midst of dragging you back to his apartment.

“You didn’t have to come to pick me up, yanno,” you slur, the stinging smell of alcohol laced between your words.

“Yeah, I know.” Fuck, when did you get so heavy? He once read that babies can make themselves heavier when they’re having a tantrum, and honestly, that fits at the moment. “But Trish can’t carry you herself, so. Just shut up.”

Trish’s text came about an hour ago.

Trish hey [Name] drank a little too much and I need help :( can you pick us up? ill pay for gas

Needless to say, Mista was out the door 55 minutes ago. He made it to the bar 30 minutes ago. 20 minutes ago did he drop off Trish. And finally, after force-feeding you water and dabbing the sweat from your forehead, he finally made it home with your arm around his shoulders.

You’re wearing the perfume that he bought you for your birthday. Spicy yet warm, something he found so perfect for you the moment he found it. He can remember how wide your eyes opened the moment you saw it, how you threw your arms around him and thanked him over and over again for such a thoughtful gift. He’s happy that you’re wearing it now. But that doesn’t negate how fucking pissed he is at the moment.

That smell permeates his nostrils as he frantically searches for the keys in his pockets. The loud jangling and your heels would surely wake his landlord on the floor below. Mista clicks his tongue at the thought of another scolding — and because of you, goddammit — but he tries to push the idea out of his head. The last thing he needs is another headache.

His front door creaks open, but with a swift kick, he shuts it back close. It slams within its hinges, causing you both to flinch. Shit. Okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to get a scolding in the morning. Though that’s not his priority at the moment.

Mista sits you at his kitchen table. You’re still swaying, even in the chair, but he’s glad that you’re at least conscious. He removes your shoes from your feet, and taking a napkin from the table, he dabs that last bit of sweat from your forehead.

“You’re really stupid, you know that?” Thankfully, you’re functioning, too. That’s why he’s being so mean. Partly because yes, he’s pissed, but also to get it through your thick skull. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Midnight thirty,” you mumble. “It’s not even that late. You’re just old.”

Mista doesn’t even grace you with a response. He simply heaves a long sigh, then fills a glass of water for you. The water finds itself in front of you, with the gunslinger taking the seat beside you.

But before you can drink it, your hand flies to your mouth, your feet rushing you to Mista’s sink.

He only sighs again.

Nonetheless, he stands up from his seat, following you to the sink. His fingers comb through your hair, pulling strands away from your sweat-soaked face. Your hair bunches together into a ponytail held only by his fist, his other hand running along your back. The warm smell of your perfume is replaced by the foul smell of stomach acid and overpriced mixed drinks.

Christ. Even when you’re vomiting in his sink, you’re beautiful.

...

Wait.

Ew, what the fuck, Mista? Don’t be weird. You’re his best friend! The gunslinger mentally slaps himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

It is true to an extent, though. Even when you’re messy and being so stupidly difficult, he can’t help but be in love with you. He knew that loving you would be difficult. He’s always known. You’re a tempest in his neatly-organized, simple life. Accepting you would make that life so much more complicated.

He’s never been good with words, but with you, he feels as though he’s being buried. Even though it’s suffocating and it’s dark and it’s scary, it’s where he’s always meant to be. Returning to the Earth as his mom used to say. Right with you.

You’ve always been there for him.

Like when Nonna died. He can remember feeling you entwine your fingers with his as they lowered her casket. It wasn’t raining, but it sure felt like it. His tears wouldn’t stop coming. His nose wouldn’t stop running. And for as pathetic as he looked, you refused to leave his side.

And at the end of the day, you gave him the most bone-crushingly tight hug he had ever had in his life. When he asked what your deal was, you only smiled and cupped his cheeks between your soft, little hands.

“To squeeze all the sad out, dummy!”

The least he could do is be there for you, too.

Your drawn-out exhale brings Mista out of his thoughts. You sit up from the sink, your hands gripping its steel rim. You’re okay now, mostly sober. He’s seen you drunk out of your mind enough times to know that you are.

“Here,” he says, reaching back to the table for the glass he brought you. “Drink.”

You do as told. He knows that the water is too cold for your liking, which is evident enough from your flinching at the cool taste. But you still drink it, forcing down the acidity back to your stomach.

You finish the water with a long “Ahhh!” before leaving the glass in the sink. Mista knows that your headache will set in soon, and while it’s too soon to give you any painkillers, he places the medicine on the kitchen counter regardless. Just in case you want them sometime in the night.

“Let’s go lay down,” he continues. He swings your arm around his shoulder once more (not before flushing your mess down the sink drain, of course), and leads you to the humble living room he’s assembled behind his kitchen.

His couch feels plush against your stiff figure. Mista leans you against the armrest, just in case your stomach acts up and you need to vomit again. The last thing he needs tonight is for you to choke and die. After everything that he’s done? Think again.

He stands back, satisfied with his work. “Here, I’m gonna grab you something else to wear. Hold on.” But before he can run off to his closet, he feels something tug on his shirt.

“Wait.” Your voice is raspy and your grip is weak, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “Stay with me.”

“It’ll just be a couple seconds.”

“Please, Guido.”

You never use his first name. Ever since he’s asked you to call him by his last name because that’s what all the cool football players do, you’ve happily obliged. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you were kids.

Mista blinks. Nonetheless, he relents, taking his spot next to you.

You return his gesture with a smile. “Here. Let me just…” And with the dip of your head, you’re laying on his chest, your arms wrapped around his figure.

You’ve hugged Mista several times. More times than he can count. That just comes with the territory of being friends for over five years. You’ve hugged him after nights out and many celebrations, but never like this.

He covers his hand with his mouth, his gaze turning to anything but you. “What is with you tonight?”

“Why are you taking care of me?”

Ah. Ignoring his question, he sees. Mista removes his hand from his mouth, placing it on your arm and giving it a squeeze. Keep it cool, Mista. Keep it cool.

“Because we’re friends and that’s what friends do? C’mon, [Name]. You’re smarter than this.”

“But this isn’t the first time.” Your grip tightens. “You’ve never left me hanging. Even for all the stupid things I do, you still find me and take me home. I don’t get it. I’m not worth any of this trouble.”

Not worth any of this trouble? If only you could see his face. His features softened as you said that, his brows knitting and lips forming a tight line. You’re worth all of this, he thinks to himself. I want to do this for you. Because I love you.

He just can’t get himself to tell you.

“Not to me.” He moves his hand up and down your arm. It’s his way of comforting you. He’s never been the best at it, admittedly. But he does try.

“But you called me stupid. Shouldn’t you be spending your time on someone else?”

“Well, yeah, you’re stupid. But your stupid meshes with my stupid, you get me? I wanna help you because I can. I’m not gonna let some other dumbass try to take care of you. That’s my job.”

“But why? No one is forcing you to take care of me.”

That just comes along with my feelings for you. “Like I said, I can and I will.”

“You don’t have to.”

Sure, but I love you. “But I want to.”

“I just don’t get why.”

Because I love you. “Because I love you.”

Wait.

Did he just say that out loud?

“I mean! In a platonic way! The way friends are supposed to love each other!” Mista’s desperately trying to take back everything now. That’s what he gets for narrating everything in his head. Who’s the stupid one now?

“Mista.”

“Love is subjective anyway, right? There are so many ways to see it.”

“Mista.”

“Like, how I love you is definitely not like the romantic kind of love. It’s the 'take care of your friend when they’re stupidly drunk'-type, you know?”

“Mista.”

“What?”

“I love you, too.”

“...What?”

You sit up from his chest so that you can face him. Your legs come up from their places, folding themselves in a cross-cross. Your eyes are watching him carefully, the way that always makes him nervous. He always thought your eye color was beautiful, but seeing them look at him the way he’s always wanted them to… He’s overwhelmed, to say the least.

You try to break the tension by offering him another smile. Mista’s shoulders relax, and he returns your smile the best way he can.

“I love you, too,” you repeat. He watches as you take his hands in yours, just as you did all those years ago. “I’m sorry I got mopey… I just really like you. I have for a while now. I couldn’t comprehend someone like you being there for someone like me and. Um... I wasn’t expecting you to confess, but I’m glad that you did.”

....Is he dreaming? This can’t be real. He has to play back everything to make sure that he heard you right.

So there you are. Sitting across from him. Voicing everything he’s thought about back to him. You love him. He loves you. And he’s wasted years pining over you, when he could’ve had you here, with him, this whole time.

“Are… Are you for real?” A beat. Should he just come clean now? Ah, fuck it. “I've, uh… I’ve thought the same thing about you. But you’re so smart and gorgeous and I’m just… not. I don’t have a lot to offer.”

You don't even hesitate. “You’ve already offered me more than enough. You don’t have to be smart or rich to impress me. You’ve done so much already.”

“I could say the same about you. You really are amazing, [Name].”

“Pfft, and so are you, Guido.”

There you go again, using his first name. You follow this brief moment of intimacy with bringing the gunslinger’s knuckles to your lips, leaving a soft peck on both. He’s dreamed of this moment for so long, to admit to you how much he’s loved you for all these years, only for you to steal his thunder. How typical of you. But he’s not mad. Not any more. Not in the slightest.

And while you might have taken the spotlight on sharing your true feelings, he can at least steal the show.

Mista takes his hand, placing it on your cheek to bring your face to his. He feels you stiffen at his touch, but you return the gesture by cupping his face with your own hands. Within seconds you’re melting, and he can’t help but smile as he kisses you.

Funny how you did the same thing all those years ago — press your palms against his cheeks to squeeze the sad out — only for you to be doing it again. Yet this time there is no sad to squeeze out. Maybe a little, but only because he’s kicking himself for not confessing sooner.

And God, you are just so fucking warm. You make him feel warm. So many years of friendship, so many moments he’s thought about how much he loves you and yet you still manage to give him butterflies. He loves kissing you. And he knows you love it, too. Hearing you hum onto his lips as he slips his tongue in is more than enough of an invitation to press further. He wants more.

“I love you,” he repeats. He moves his hand from your face to the back of your head, supporting your figure as he kisses you. “I love you so damn much.”

His kisses migrate from your lips to your cheek, then to your jawbone and finally, your neck. You take this as your own invitation to press further, moving from your spot and onto his lap. Mista groans as you do this. Fuck, that’s hot. And there’s so much more he can offer you. He knows you’ll let him. You’ve both spent far too long waiting for this moment.

His kisses are light and delicate, as small as the baby’s breath blossoms he’d pick for you as children. He loves feeling the rumble of your moan from your throat — so much so that he’ll do anything he can to get more of it.

So he moves one hand to your ass, while the other gets to work unbuttoning your shirt. He hums as the last button unfurls with a tiny, little pop!, and within seconds, his hand finds itself under your bra.

“Ah… Guido…” His name sounds so beautiful on your tongue. It’s been years since you’ve used it, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to it. He needs more.

“You like that, baby?” He takes your sensitive nipple and plays with it, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. Like everything about you, it’s soft. Warm. So fucking lovely. “Say my name again.”

“That— a-ah. G-Guido!” you manage to force out.

That’s all he needed. Mista takes your breast in his hand, bringing that sensitive nub to his mouth. One benefit of being your best friend is that you’ve told him everything. Including how you never felt spoiled by any of your previous exes. Christ, he’s so excited to change that.

So he laps his tongue over your nipple, suckling it, squeezing your breast with his hand. He’s so desperate to make you feel good. There were so many instances where he knew he could treat you better than your exes. Your moans are indication enough that he’s off to a great start. Such a simple sound, yet something that travels to the pit of his stomach nonetheless.

You taste faintly of salt, likely from dancing with Trish, but Mista keeps licking and sucking and licking and sucking until your nipple is nothing but hot saliva. You whimper as your bud grows sensitive, to which Mista flickers his eyes up to you. Ugh. He forgot how cute you are. He was so focused on making you feel good that he neglected to see your lips pouting — those perfect, full lips — and your eyes shining under his dim overhead light.

He moves to your other nipple, gaze unmoving from your face. Yet when he sees you cry out in delight, how your eyes squeeze shut and your teeth bite at those perfect fucking lips, he has to kiss you again.

You wrap your arms around Mista’s neck as he returns his lips to yours, pulling him close to you. He wastes no time slipping his tongue in once more. It’s messy and it’s clumsy, just as he is, but it’s not like you mind, anyway. He knows you don’t. Everything about Mista is improvised. Yet being around him is what coming home feels like. Welcoming. Right.

He pulls away just for the faintest moment, his dark eyes staring into yours. He blinks. And the goofiest smile emerges on his face. “I love you so fucking much, [Name]. And I promise I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

“Pfft, you’re shit at keeping promises.”

“C’mon! Lemme have this moment.”

And with that, Mista lifts you and places you back onto the couch, facing outward. He wastes no time unbuttoning your pants, and you feel as he drags the fabric from your legs and onto the floor. Oh. Getting hasty so soon?

“What are you doing?” you ask with a small laugh. Mista’s taking off your panties now. “Wait—”

“Keeping my promise. Now shut up.”

Before you can say anything else, Mista runs his tongue over your slit. You respond with another moan, and he can feel that rumble in his stomach again. He’s cursing himself for not being more patient and teasing you more but. Whatever. He’s come this far.

So he takes your legs and swings them over his shoulders. A way to help balance yourself, he reasons, but also to feel your thighs against him. He wraps one arm around your leg to reach the fold above your clit, forcing it upwards to help maximize your pleasure. You find the other hand over your tit, his fingers at work playing with your nipple once more.

Within seconds, Mista’s tongue is over your clit. He starts slow, lapping his tongue in long strokes along the fleshy nub. He’s trying to make up for rushing things, to make you feel as spoiled as you really deserve. He’s surprised that you’re this wet already, though not disappointed. How long had you been in love with him? How long had you waited for this moment?

Feeling you grind against his mouth makes him reason that you’ve been waiting a while. “So greedy,” he teases. He continues with that slow pace, his fingers still at work with your nipple. He wants to electrify you with his touch. If he can make you feel as hot as you do to him, then he knows he’s succeeded.

“Please,” you start. Your fingers wrap around his chestnut curls in a weak attempt to hasten his pace. “I want more.”

“Hm.” He removes his hand from your breast, resting his index and his middle finger on the pad of your bottom lip. “You’ll have to do more if you want more.”

He soon eats his words as he feels you take his fingers into your mouth. Your mouth is so warm and so wet, your tongue swirling around each finger so eagerly and salaciously. Fuck. It’s making his pants tighter. Is that what your pussy feels like? Taking him in with everything you have, opening yourself to be fucked by your best friend?

You look so lewd with his fingers. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you bob your head, running his fingers along your own tongue. Your eyes stare back at him so innocently, so cutely, that he needs to wipe that smug expression off your face.

In one last effort to get him to listen, you release his fingers and say, “I want more, Guido.”

That does it. Mista takes his fingers and forces them into your tight pussy, his tongue running over your clit once more. He curls his fingers against the walls of your opening so perfectly, hitting your spongy insides in a way that makes your stomach twist. More is exactly what he gives you, with his adding another digit to your already-tight opening. He curls and he presses, again and again and again until you feel your head become light.

“Sh-Shit,” you breathe. “I don’t wanna b-be fucked by anyone other than you.”

His breath hitches. You know exactly what he wants to hear. The least he can do is reward you.

“Why d-did I wait so long f-for this?” you continue. “F-Fuck! Just fuck me!”

If you say so.

He curls and he presses his fingers, running them along the walls of your pussy. He feels you clench his fingers, your thighs shaking against his shoulders. It’s the perfect view to see the quick rising and falling of your chest, your head thrown back as he finger fucks you. So beautiful, he muses to himself. And your reactions are all because of him.

Mista’s method is, like all else about him, unpolished but entirely eager. He gets so focused on licking your clit that the movements of his finger pulses become jumbled. It’ll be seconds before he realizes that he’s still inside you, yet when he returns to the motion, that lightheadedness returns. He knows that you’re cursing him for being such an idiot, but he’s your idiot and he’s going to make you finish, anyway.

He tries not to quicken his pace on your clit. Tufts of his hair are held by your perfect hands, a sign he takes as this being the perfect speed. Your grinding against his face is only making him more eager, though. He wants to help you finish so bad. To know that he made you cum. You waited years and years for him to fuck you, and now that he’s here, he wants to give you everything you deserve.

“[Name],” he breathes. His voice is low in a way that you’ve never heard before, his tone rumbling against your clit. “Cum for me.”

And that does it. A sudden wetness pools on Mista’s hand, warm and clear, as he pulls away from you. He loves how your thighs shake around his head. Even more, he loves how your eyes are shut, your mouth breathing one last uneven breath. You look even more perfect than how he imagined.

But he’s not done.

And neither are you.

Your hands rush to the bottom of his shirt, sliding it over his head and tossing it onto his rug. He responds by shimmying your unbuttoned shirt off your shoulders, your bra along with it. His lips find themselves against yours again as you feverishly undo his belt.

“See how good you taste?” he murmurs. You don’t say anything; your only response is your pushing Mista’s pants down his toned thighs. “Goddammit... I’ve waited too long to finally have you.”

You’re smirking as he kisses you. He can feel it. Amongst many other things, he loves knowing everything that you like. Years of whispered secrets and quiet giggles have built up to this. He’s not going to waste it now.

It’s a fact that you acknowledge, too. With his boxers off, you hastily wrap your hand around his shaft. You can’t see anything with his pushing into you, his kisses desperate and warm, but. Dear lord. He feels so full in your hand. Much thicker than any of the other men you’ve been with.

Even still, you can’t tell how big he is. 15 centimeters, at least. Average, but you know it’s going to hurt once he inserts himself into you. It’s a thought that makes you excited; excited enough to quicken your pace in the same way that he so generously did for you.

“A-Ah… [Name]...” His joints are so weak under your touch. And even after all this, he still can’t get rid of the butterflies in his stomach. He’s kicking himself for sounding so needy, but with your eager strokes, he can tell that you don’t mind. There are plenty of other embarrassing things Guido Mista has done in front of you.

“You like being touched by me?” You catch his soft tone immediately. “How many times have you thought of this? How many times did you think of fucking your best friend?”

He swallows. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now. “Too many times,” he admits.

You’re not the only one who knows how to use your friendship to your advantage.

Although you reposition yourself to lay on Mista’s couch, your hand remains unmoving from his cock. Mista follows by placing one leg, bent, on one side of your figure, the other standing to keep himself balanced. Curse this stupidly short couch he found on the corner of the block…

He moans again as your grip tights, twisting slightly around his dick. He places his head in the crook of your neck again, his hot breath against your collarbone. Do you realize what you do to him? He’s had this moment replayed in his mind for so many years, rehearsed everything he would do to you. Yet the moment he gives you control, he becomes a panting mess. How embarrassing.

“Sh-Shit…!” You’re rubbing his tip against your wet entrance now. He’s losing more control. But he has to see what you look like, to know exactly how your features twist as he fucks you properly.

Mista pulls himself from your neck, and. His breath hitches. Not in the same way as before, not pathetic and desperate. He’s in awe. Your pretty eyes stare back at him, begging him to put himself inside you. Your cheeks are still flush from before, and God, it makes you look so damn cute. He loves that your face is still dewy, not because of the alcohol, but because of him. You’re so spent. Yet it’s obvious you want more.

Despite all that, you take the moment from him again. You place his dick at your entrance and pull him toward you, effectively pushing him inside you. Mista’s breath hitches (just the same as before), and while it takes him a moment to compose himself, he takes this as his cue.

He knew that being inside you would be good, but he’d never imagined it’d be this good. You feel so tight around him, so much warmer than he anticipated. Every part of your cunt squeezes his dick in just the right way. It’s evident from his uneven breathing as he thrusts in and out of you.

“I— ah! I-I love you!” you cry. You wrap your arms around his neck in a poor attempt to settle yourself, but let’s be honest, why should you even try? He’s as thick as you thought he was, and even though it stings as he pumps into you, fuck if it doesn’t feel good—

“Goddammit, I love you too...!” He’s never going to get tired of that confession. He could hear it a million times and it would still make his heart race. And it just makes him even harder. You want him. To be fucked by no one other than him. Only him. And he’s going to make sure he’ll be your last.

One hand remains on the couch to keep himself steady, while the other is on your cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. Everything he’s said is true. Even if he’s pumping into you wildly, there’s still that part of him that wants to take care of you. It’s evident in his movements.

Mista takes this opportunity to deepen his thrusts. Despite his pace, your pussy still clings to him. He can feel it. You’re so moist under him, covering his cock in that same wetness he forced from you as he ate you out. Your cunt makes such lovely sounds as he pushes into you. And while he can feel the coolness from his apartment as he pulls out, he’s not going to deny you those long, fast thrusts he knows you deserve. After all, he wants to take care of you.

“You were made for me,” you breathe, your pretty eyes staring back at him. “S-See how perfectly— a-ah! Shit…!” You pull him closer to you. “See how perfectly we f-fit?”

“Yes, fuck, yes!” He’s babbling at this point now. He hardly has any control over himself. Your wetness, the sounds your pussy’s making, the slap of your ass against his thighs — it’s all so much. His head is spinning.

He’s given everything to you now. He quickens his pace as much as he can, driving his dick into you with such reckless abandon that your eyes roll to the back of your head. That sight alone is enough to make him tremble with excitement, though he tries to quell it as much as he can.

“Fuck me, Guido! Fuck me!”

He can’t take it.

Shit.

Oh, shit.

No no no no—!

It happens so fast. He’s pumping into you, and suddenly, warmth surrounds his cock. He feels it. You feel it, too.

You blink.

Mista blinks.

“Did… did you—?” you start.

“Yep,” he answers.

Guido Mista did, in fact, just finish inside you without any warning.

Well. That does it. He’s ending his friendship with you, effective immediately. Out of all the embarrassing things he could’ve done, did he have to fucking finish in such an embarrassing way!? There were so many things he wanted to do with you still, like make you cum two more times, or finally know how your lips feel around his dick, or—

“Bahahaha! Are you serious?”

Your laughing snaps him out of his thoughts. Of course you’d laugh at his premature finish.

“What?”

“This is just so… in character of you.”

Hold on. Did you expect this to happen? “...What do you mean?”

You don’t respond, only shooting him a look he recognizes as your ‘you know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb’-look. Your cheeks are still flushed, but he can’t tell if it’s from laughing or from the heated moment before.

Likewise, his own face is beet-red. He’s not just embarrassed, he’s humiliated. He finally has you all to himself, knowing full well that you return his feelings, and this is how he starts it. Way to go, Mista. This must be a bad omen. ...Oh, Christ. What’s going to happen when he has sex with you for the fourth time?

But just as he can so easily read your expressions, you can read his. And before Mista can embarrass himself much further, he feels your palms press against his cheeks. You’re squeezing his face, jutting his lips out in an awfully comical way. You stifle a laugh as you do so, to which Mista raises a brow.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Squeezing the sad out,” you respond.

Ah, yes. Of course. How could he forget?

“Don’t worry about it, dummy,” you continue. You bring his face to yours, placing a kiss on his puckered lips. “I love you, remember? That includes all of you. All your bad jokes, your stinky armpits—”

“My armpits aren’t that stinky.”

“Beside the point. This is one of those moments where I love you most. It’s where you’re the most you.”

He thinks over this for a moment. And then, “You mean that?”

“Obviously. Now help me clean up.”

Where he’s the most him, huh? That… says a lot about his character. He won’t dwell on it, at least not for now. The fact is that he knows you’re telling the truth is enough for him. And the fact that, even after all these years, you’re still there for him even during his most demeaning moments? Well. That says a lot about you.

This isn’t the first time he’ll have you to himself, he admits. Hell, this isn’t even the first time you’ve slept over. There will be many more moments like these, and many more opportunities for him to make it up to you.

For now, he’ll start by helping you off the couch and into his arms. “I love you, too,” he whispers. To you. To himself. There will come a moment where he can tell the rest of the world that [Name] [Surname] is finally his. But for now, all that matters is that you’re here, with him, in his arms and in his heart.

And you hug him back. If he didn’t know any better, it felt like the Earth was embracing him. Bringing him back to where he came, where he always belonged: with you.

#guido mista #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #golden wind #part 5 #not sfw #vomiting /#alcohol /#mentions of death /

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved.

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM.

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope.

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings.

You failed the exam.

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel.

This day could not get worse.

Famous last words.

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag.

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state.

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache.

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought.

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head.

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal.

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes.

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace.

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner.

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes.

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish.

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets.

Interesting.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body.

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt.

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you.

First the dishes, and now a bath?

The boys are definitely up to something.

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable.

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!”

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?”

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist.

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.”

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year.

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.”

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now.

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name.

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward.

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.”

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.”

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath.

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person.

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones.

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on.

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest.

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.”

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.”

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room.

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit.

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you.

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.”

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin.

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played.

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.”

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.”

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.”

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home.

You are home.

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling.

You are the luckiest.

And you realize that every single day.

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.

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alexlabhont · 4 years

Text

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter Eight.

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing: Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i’m sorry fo the grammar errors

CHAPTERS

Chapter seven

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

——————————————————————

When Poppy told that guy to send a pic of her and Farmsville kissing to The T, she wasn't trying anything but to declare a message, to make clear to everyone in Belvoire, especially to that Wonder Warden Wade of theirs, one little thing: Beck was hers now.

But no.

As usual, things with Beck were completely out of her control, whenever Poppy did zig, somehow Beck always managed to do zag. And this time "Zag" were lots of photos where Beck was hanging out, laughing and even hugging Zoey Wade. Sharing classes, walking side by side. Being together.

Students were talking, The T was speculating. That girl’s happy face making fun of her right from inside the photos and that stupid threat of hers didn’t. Leave. Her. Mind! That New Money was winning, and there it was just one person to blame: Beck Hughes.

So when she finally saw them in the hallway, she was decided to tear them down for good, hiding behind her reputation, behind a failed plan, when she knew deep down herself that she was mad for something else… Sometime hurtful…

But it all went down to shit when what she saw a few seconds later was Beck’s back hitting hard against the wall, and that stupid animal grabbing them by the clothes. For a moment, she completely forgot how to breathe, a loud gasp taking all the air in her lungs, and the pain and rage clutched her heart with such a lightning force and speed that Poppy couldn’t understand; all she knew was she couldn't stop looking at the scene, wanting so badly to be in the middle just to kick his balls so hard that they'll stop working forever. The strawberry blonde really tried to end the fight sooner, but that bunch of assholes that Belvoire had as students started to stand around as disgusting moths, hungry for a fight, so the last thing Poppy saw of the attack for a moment were Beck’s smile and then the pain written all over their face.

And that was it.

She could feel her blood boiling, something weird taking over her body. She was familiar to this feeling, the blonde felt it each time Farmsville proved to be a pain in her ass… but this one's was stronger, deeper, and incontrollable. Her nails were eager to meet Carleton's face until nobody could recognize him ever again. But when she finally got there it was Beck who was doing her job, smashing their fists against his face over and over, growling each time. A quick twist.

Naturally, that bastard was expelled latter that day, everyone totally noticed it because… well… she had her ways. And although it was one less problem without him, that didn’t make up for Beck’s rib.

Yes, she literally dragged them to the hospital to get that X-ray, what was that I'm-Tough-I'm-fine shit? Who were them? Rambo? Beck had that stupid frown through all the way, like a spoiled baby, but it didn't matter, because now everyone was sure that Beck didn't have a broken rib. They were fine.

“Told you.”

“I don't fucking care, Hughes. Now hold that tongue of yours, would you?” The silence she asked for only lasted two seconds.

“You know I told you.”

“Oh, my god. What are you, five?” she rolled her eyes quickly. “Why are you so mad about it anyways? Of course I needed to know if you were ok!”

“I told you I was fine!”

“You’re not a fucking doctor!” Neither of them giving a shit about the driver hearing the conversation. “You don't have anything to prove when it comes to your health!”

She said, why it was not basic information? Why was it something so hard to swallow?

“Poppy?” God, this one just won't stop, right?

“What now?” The blonde didn't even bother to look at them, focusing her attention to what was outside the window.

“You’re right.” Wait what? “I shouldn't be upset about it. After all... You were just taking care of me, so… Thank you.”

Poppy will never admit it to anyone… but that weird but honest and beautiful smile she received made her tremble a little~ bit. Just a little bit. It was kind of like seeing them for the very first time, discover them, a fraction of their very own core shown to her…

But anyways

Right after that, just right after all she did, after that fucking day Poppy hadn't heard a word from that bastard.

So all Belvoire may be asking themselves: what was doing the great, the beautiful, the one and only queen Poppy Min-Sinclair walking through the campus with a fruit tree in hands? Obviously not her hands, an employee's hands, but whatever. Same thing.

Well, the answer was simple: Nobody, and that’s nobody…, could ignore her. No one. Poppy can and do ignore people, but be ignored? Hell, no. She hadn't seen Beck in school neither, no text messages, no social media updates, nor shit, so she was going to pay them a visit, giving them something that surely will make them to never forget about her.

So yeah, a fruit tree. That was an acceptable get well gift, right?

Poppy knocked at Beck's place, waiting, of course, for a quick answer… and waiting, and waiting… and waiting.

“Ms. Min-Sinclair…” shyly spoke that man whoever he was. “Can I put the tree down for a second?”

“No.” Maybe if it were any other time the guy could do it, but not today. Today, when she was going to deliver it personally. Today, when she was giving one of the very few gifts meant from her kind spot. Today, when she was getting angrier and angrier because she hated to wait.

She knocked again. Harder this time, but the results were just the same. And that's when something weird started to happen. Yes, she was still angry, but a stitch-like feeling started to grow inside her. She knew for a fact that Beck was in there, the doctor was clear: They needed to rest and there it was no absolutely way Zoey would let them do anything else. So they had to be there.

“Maybe they're taking a nap or something. Nothing weird, right?” She thought while her eyes wandered through the hall, searching for some magic and very hidden way to get inside the dorm. Because maybe… maybe… they weren’t sleeping.

“No. They’re fine! They’re just doing something stupid like playing the ukulele or whatever musicians do.” Her mind chuckled a little, if she could joke about it, then there it was nothing bad going on… But it didn't work quite well. She was starting to feel preoccupied.

“Er… excuse me?” Poppy turned, a deadly, cold, scary glare piercing that poor bastard's self so hard as the blonde knew she was capable of, making him tremble. It would've been funny if it wasn't for the situation.

“You have exactly two seconds to tell me why anything you have to say is relevant or I'll fire you. Starting now.”

“There’s some guy behind that corner watching us for quite a while now.” The employee said, the strawberry blonde followed the man's sight direction, what kind of creep were stalking them? Seriously, fucking weirdo.

To her fortune in at least this case, Poppy recognized that nerdy, greasy hair guy above a pair of glasses and a suspicious look behind them. Ew, Benji What’s-his-name. Well… desperate times call for desperate measures…

“Hey you!” Poppy called him as demanding as only someone like her could be. “Come closer.”

“W-why?” He asked, reserved.

“Because you’re last place and I basically command you. So stop talking and get your pimpled ass over here.” The guy walked towards them, looking hurt, angry maybe, but who cares? It wasn't her fault he was a looser that nobody cared about. Eat or be eaten, there’s people in this world with the potential to be a force of nature, and there it was people like Benji as well. They’re just there to be used. “I need you to open this door for me. ASAP.”

“What?! But that's against the dorm's ru…!”

“Excuse me, do I look like I care?” Poppy was pretty close to lose her patience completely, but she managed to behave a little, after all he was right. If they get caught, most likely the problems would arrive sooner than later. “Just do it and you're free to leave. Nobody’s gonna know.”

“God, they’re gonna know…” he whispered, playing with his own fingers, making then crack. “But let’s make this quick, ok?”

“That is so what I actually asked you to do, you dumbass.”

Benji looked around like if he was about to rob a bank or something, Poppy rolled her eyes at this, tapping her foot to try and give him pressure to do the job in that instant; the only “big move” he did was swiping his master key on the door, then nudged it open with his foot.

“See? It wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it?” Poppy said, not even looking at Benji. “Now disappear before someone see us talking.”

The strawberry blonde didn't even know if Benji did go away or not, she just went straight into Beck's bedroom, opening the door of the first room she saw.

Bingo.

Beck was sitting on their bed, their laptop over their lap; a pair of big, black professional headphones covering their ears and little Fran--- Pepes comfortably sleeping, snugging next to Beck’s feet. When they saw her, their eyes went wide, taking off the headphones completely surprised and confused, a what's going on written all over their face, especially when the employee came along with her gift.

“Poppy? What the…? How the hell did you…?”

“Shht.” She didn't let them finish, chuckled a little of the incredulous expression they had. The reality was that, now that she knew Beck was ok…, she was… weirdly relieved… and pissed, but that's something she could deal with latter. “I want you to place the tree over there… next to the window… perfect! That would be all. You're no longer required.”

The employee left the room almost immediately, the sound of the principal door closing was the only indication that both of them were completely alone.

“Well… are you going to tell me now what are you doing here or not?” Beck spoke.

“I was just passing by and suddenly I wanted to come. Why? Is there a problem?”

“And what's with the tree?”

“It’s a get-well gift from yours truly.” Poppy shooted a playful wink, receiving a flicker of their eyes, disbelieving.

“A tree?”

“It’s a fruit tree.”

“Right…” Beck said, sarcastic painting their voice as they put their headphones around their neck, placing their attention on the screen once again. Like… hello? Poppy was right there!

“I was knocking for a long time out there. Where are your manners? Did you leave them in the farm?” She joked trying to make them mad, while petting Pepes softly, who kept sleeping as if nothing happened right after opening one eye and closing it again.

“No, sorry. I didn’t hear you… How did you get in?”

“I have my ways.”

“Gosh, that’s so messed up…” Beck murmured, their gaze still on the laptop.

“Seriously? That’s it?”

Feeling like a fool, Poppy clenched her teeth. She was waiting for Beck to do something, to look at her again, to ask her to leave, anything! But no, they kept tapping and clicking while biting the insides of their cheeks.

“Jesus, Hughes!” tired, Poppy walked towards them and took drastically their notebook away...

“Hey!”

… and replaced it with herself, sitting over Beck’s lap trying not to hurt their rib. They were warm, pajamas still on, messy hair and even though the bed was made, you could tell they hadn’t gotten up from there in a while.

“Give me that back…” The determination was in their eyes, but Poppy knew better. She knew for a fact they didn’t want her to obey. Their hands around her waist, the whisper in which they were talking and that dork yet attractive smile on their lips were telling otherwise.

“No.” She said. “I came all~ the way here just to see you. The least thing you could do is give your full attention to me.” Poppy demanded.

“I thought you were just passing by.” Beck said, a mocking grin lighting up their face.

“Just shut up already.” She said, causing them to laugh a little.

“Make me.”

Oh… that’s new.

But she was happy to oblige, so she kissed them. A spicy, hot kiss where her lips and her tongue played with theirs, trying to take control, to make them forget about the whole world, their own name, and focus on her taste, her touch on their neck, her fingers caressing their skin, traveling down, discovering Beck’s clavicles… but it was hard, because she wasn’t the only one trying to take over the other one… Beck was doing it so as well, so how could Poppy concentrate if she could feel the warm moves of the tip of their fingers tracing an intense map on her back, that she could almost feel as if it was on her bare skin? How can she prove herself superior when Beck’s slow bites in her mouth, savoring her, burned so good?

“How are you feeling, Tushi-face?” Poppy murmured, ending the moment just before she completely loses control. This was still a plan, and the blonde always had to be the one who they can’t live without. She needed them to be hopelessly devoted to her to make it work, not the other way around. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“Nor a little bit.” Beck took a deep breath, regaining their lost air. But there it was: that lamb face. “I was just trying to pick a good song for an audition.”

“Audition? To what?”

“A metal band. You know, some… stuff.” Poppy frowned, why would them wanted to be on a band? Beck had recognition on their own, fans all over Belvoire and, she can surely bet, even New York. Beck didn’t need anyone else, that’s why she had choose him. Because she knew the potential they had alone. Together… they both would be the power couple of the entire school… and, with her guidance, even more than that.

“Why would you do that?” Poppy asked. Beck responded with a shrug.

“I don’t know. Sounds fun. Besides, there is going to be a battle of bands and I want so badly to show them who's the boss...”

That’s when Poppy saw it for the very first time. The spark on their eyes made of ambition, confidence… arrogance.

“I see…”

All this time, she thought Beck was one of those people that just were going with the flow. A diamond in the rough who couldn't see its real potential… But she was wrong all along… There were more on Beck than they show, and she just figured it out a little more. The music was the answer all this time. She should've seen it before.

“Uhm… Ok. Just pick a song that reminds you of me.” Beck cracked a chuckle, letting their mind wandering thought their music repertoire.

“Oh, I think I have one.” They suddenly said with a playful grin on their face. “I’m sour candy … so sweet then I get a little angry, yeah… Sour candy, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

“Seriously, Hughes? Blackpink?” They didn't care, they even closed their eyes and kept on singing, dancing their arms in a funny, annoying way.

“I'm super psycho, make you crazy when I turn the lights low… sour candy… yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

That was it. Two can play the game just fine.

“Ask me to be nice and then I’ll do it extra mean… tteutbakke pyojeong hanae neon danghwanghagetji...” Poppy sang suddenly, surprising Beck so hard that she couldn’t help but laugh a lot because of their face. “Oh, honey… let me close that for you.” The strawberry blonde used her hand to gentle taking their jaw up. God, how can they be so cute while being dumb?

“You speak Korean?!”

“What kinda question is that? Do you actually know what the Min on Min-Sinclair means?”

“I-I mean, yeah. I just didn't want to assume… what does it mean? That thing you sang?” The blonde raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you knew.” Beck shook his head, that surprised look still into their eyes, but now had a taste of interest and wonder… A chance that she didn't miss. “Well… it actually means this…” Slowly, like a panther hunting her prey, Poppy reach out for Beck's neck, pouring out sweet but dangerous kisses over their skin… Oh, their reactions… Beck sigh, shaking a little, their body was tense, but slowly begun to relax, enjoying the attentions.

Both of their hands started to touch Poppy's body, eager, needy, intensely. Beck's caressed burned more and more over her body to the point where the blonde couldn't take it anymore. She needed them to take her clothes off…

Beck kissed her lips hungrily, tasting her as if they were starving, gripping her hips while doing so. She grinded down on them, stealing a gasp from their lips in between the kisses, driving her mad. Poppy needed to touch them, to feel them, so she put her hands under their shirt, enjoying the burning skin of their actually hard abs… touching careful and slowly up, and up…

“No, Poppy, wait…” Beck suddenly said, nervous and sounding a little scared. Confused as fuck, Poppy moved a little away, shooting them a question-mark-look. What happened? She wanted so badly to ask, but the stupid door opened abruptly, an annoying voice right behind it.

“Beck, I'm home! I got you some soup…”

Zoey was literally in the house. The stupid look on her face when she realized what was happening make Poppy really angry.

“Fuck you, Wade. Don't you see we're in the middle of something?” Something clicked inside the girl, because her astonished expression chance in one second to an indignant one just before slapping the door.

“Shit…”

—-

#poppy x mc #queen b choices #choices #trans #ftm #malemc #queen b benji #poppy min sinclair #bea hughes #Beck Hughes #choices stories you play #choices poppy #choices queen b #choices queen b mc #mc x poppy #queen b

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 4 years

Text

Nekoma Manager Headcanons (Continuation)

The adorable @brakpomyslunalogin slid into my dms to request this and basically read my mind, so thanks love for giving me the excuse to do this 😘

I really, really enjoyed reading your Nekoma Manager Headcanons and unexpectally felt very inspired to another idea (maby part 2 or simple appendix). What do you say about writing SFW and NSFW hdc with Kuroo when his s/o is Nekoma Manager? If its not a problem, I would like it to be a fluff but with a bit of love teasing and friendly sarcasm.

TW: drinking, mild sexual harassment, suggested consensual sex, and a little violence

[Pairing: Kuroo x Reader] [NSFW-ish]

- Although the two of you kept in contact following his graduation, as the years passed you gradually talked less and less

-Kuroo was focusing more and more on college while you were spending your time managing the team and studying for exams, so neither of you really noticed or were too bothered by it.

- It wasn’t until your first year of college that the two of you came in contact again.

- You had just finished moving in when your roommate suggested that you go out for drinks as a celebration and to familiarize yourself with the area and to make some new friends

- It also happened that certain returning students were going out to celebrate the upcoming year of crippling stress and sleep deprivation.

- So with all the commotion the last thing you expected was to see your former team captain getting turnt with a few other familiar faces

- it’s not long before one of those familiar faces a. k. a. Bokuto Koutarou sees you and his face lights up in surprise

- “_________-CHAN?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

- More than a few peoples heads whip in his direction as he bounds over to you in a drunken manner and scoops you up in a bear hug, lifting you a full foot off the damn ground.

- You get a suspicious look from your roommate and quickly mouth “i’ll explain later” before Bokuto’s setting you down and barraging you with all sorts of questions and telling you how grown up you look like a proud mother would.

- Kurro soon finds his way over to the two of you, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders like no time had passed at all

- “Well lookie who we have here, little manager-chan all grown up.”

- You can tell he’s a little tipsy, but over all he’s pretty much the same incredibly attractive dork you remember from high school - with a notable difference in how he carried himself. His disheveled hair hadn’t changed in the slightest, nor had his snarky grin whenever he was feeling particularly proud of some smart ass remark he had made.

- However on the other hand?? Kuroo wasn’t the only one who had changed over the years, and he certainly noticed a big difference from the reserved ______ he had known in high school. You were more confident and much better at biting back when he threw a teasing remark your way, when previously you’d usually pout and chuck the nearest object (usually a volley ball) at his face to get him to shut up. (it never worked)

- One thing that hadn’t changed between the two of you though was the sense of admiration you had for eachother. If anything it was stronger now than it had been years ago.

- as time goes on you start to run into each other more and more around campus, which seems impossible because he’s a chem major and you’re a sports medicine major and both of those are pretty time consuming majors.

- Every time you see each other you end up hanging out for the rest of the day/night and fooling around on campus and getting coffee or going to the nearest convenience store for snacks.

- You start spending more and more time together on weekends, purposely this time, and often go out drinking together as Kuroo is someone you trust to look out for you. Bokuto tags a long pretty much all the time unless he’s too hungover from previous nights to go out again.

- you guys have the most existential conversations

- You think that Kuroo just likes to keep you up at night when he’s studying for a test or something so he won’t be alone.

- eventually you end up asking if he just wants you to come over to keep him company so he can bother you in person.

- he’s more than delighted to take you up on this offer.

- he walks over to pick you up though because he doesn’t want you walking late at night by yourself on a big city campus. This is also an excuse to pick up snacks and more coffee on the way.

- since he’s an upper class-men he lives in a campus apartment rather than a dorm with bokuto and two other roommates.

- Bokuto loves that you visit so often, especially when you come baring snacks he can steal.

- You’ve fallen asleep during these visits often enough that kuroo has a blow up mattress already prepared ahead of time that’s stashed under his bed for convenience. He lets you have the bed, you usually fall asleep first anyways.

- However he forgot you were there once and ended up falling asleep on the bed next to you. You were absolutely mortified when you woke up face to chest with Kuroo, trying with no avail to escape before he woke up.

- and he was surprisingly nonchalant about it?? at least that’s what he projected. In reality he was so damn flustered.

- Bokuto totally walked in on u guys to ask Kuroo to go on a run with him only to stumble upon the two of you tangled up on Kuroo’s bed.

- Kuroo definitely got teased for it

- It’s not long before you both realize that there’s more than just a mutual appreciation for each other.

(A/N: This next part is a scenario because that’s just how this happened)

You had decided to hit the town together one weekend to relax after midterms Bokuto staying back having had a little too much to drink the night before. from the moment you had gotten to the bar though, Kuroo was all too aware of the creep who had his eyes on you the moment you walked through the door.

Was the asshole blind or something?? Did he not see Kuroo walk in with you??

Kuroo had made a point of hovering a little too close to you that night, slinging an arm around your shoulders or waist, and guiding you around by the small of your back to direct you away from the annoyingly persistent dipshit who was following you around

He had only left your side for a moment to get you a drink and the creep had slid into the seat next to you - Kuroo’s seat - and placed a very unwanted hand on your thigh, leaning uncomfortably close to whisper all too inappropriate words into your ear. Kuroo was unbelievably proud when you suddenly shoved him away, but the jerk kept trying. He calmly sauntered up to the two of you, shoving himself between you and the sleaze ball, flashing you a devilish smile.

“Hey babe, I got that drink you wanted.”

“Hey dickhead, do you mind?” The disgruntled drunkard glared up at Kuroo, who towered over him from his seat.

”Huh? Sorry man, didn’t see you there. Do you mind getting up though? I’d like to sit next to my girlfriend.”

“I don’t see your name on the chair, so how about you just fuck off.”

Kuroo just shrugs and turns to you “You heard the man, time to fuck off.”

You’re trying not to laugh at this point. The man is fuming, and Kuroo is as relaxed as ever, completely unbothered by this belligerent fool. You hop from the bar, going to follow after Kuroo who had already started to walk away, arm outstretched as if he was expecting you to find your way underneath it.

However, before you could make it there, you felt a sweaty hand grab at your forearm and yank you back.

Irritated beyond belief and absolutely done with this man’s shit, you whipped around and balled your hand into a fist, nailing him straight in the nose. He stumbled back and fell flat on his ass, staring up at you in a daze

It wasn’t really that strong of a punch, and it hurt your hand like hell, but you ignored it and mockingly leaned down, staring him dead in the eyes

“I’m not interested, so kindly go fuck yourself, because I’m sure nobody else will”

Admittedly, you were a tad harsh, but you were also a little too drunk to care.

Kuroo could only stare in disbelief, and growing amusement.

“HAHAHA HOLY SHIT YOU JUST PUNCHED SOMEONE”

“SHUT UP WILL YOU”

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning.”

Kuroo’s nearly doubled over in laughter as the two of you walk back to his apartment, and you can’t help the grin that over takes your features.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue though, I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you babe.”

A flush crawls up your cheeks, “Ew, stop”

“But babe-”

“Kuroo Tetsuro I swear to god”

He only chuckled at your apparent fluster, throwing an arm around your shoulder and tugging you against him. You flash him a look and he grins at you.

“Just in case anyone else gets any ideas.”

“There’s no one around, Kuroo.”

Sure enough as you glanced around the campus, there was no one around other than a few students walking back from their own escapades, completely wrapped up in their own little worlds.

“Well maybe I just want an excuse to hold you.”

You stop in your tracks, glancing up at him once again to find his expression had completely changed from the cheesy grin he wore moments ago. He was staring down at you with half lidded eyes, pools of molten gold looking straight through you. You search his eyes for any sign of their usual joking sparkle and find nothing of the sort, instead they were burning with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“Who says you need an excuse?”

Something sparked in his eyes and the next thing you knew Kuroo’s lips were on yours. There was no hesitance in his movements as he looped his free arm around your waist and cupped the back of your neck with the arm that had been around your shoulders.

You felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and you parted your lips in response, allowing it to slip into your mouth and tangle with your own. However it wasn’t long before you were breaking apart, out of breath and caught by surprise.

“Should we continue this inside?” You suggested between breaths, glancing to his apartment building not far off.

“Whatever ya want, babe.”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

A/N: Not as smutty as I intended, more sexual tension-y but I’m willing to do a part two (three??) if anyone wants it? like a full on ns fw scenario n stuff

#NSFW-ish #Kuroo Tetsurou #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu headcanons #bokuto kotaro

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alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years

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Do you have any advice for greek people in diaspora who want to de-assimilate? My family immigrated to america when my great grandparents came over, and im kinda struggling to reconnect with my heritage when everyone in my family likes to pretend it doesnt exist. I grew up speaking some greek but even my parents admitted they want to forget all their greek and its really heartbreaking to see

I am sorry your parents treat Greek culture like a secret in the family. :/ It breaks my heart as well. But I am actually amazed that some Greek has stayed in the family from the time of your great grandparents!

To begin, assimilating isn’t exactly bad. Many people through the centuries have moved to other countries and became citizens of the new place in every way. Sure, you leave your old customs behind but you get new ones and you become part of a new community. It’s a natural process, happening since the beginning of humanity. Of course, it comes down to personal choice. Your parents want to not stand out. You want to keep the best of the new culture and the old culture.

I don’t want to assume things about you. Ι am saying this just in case you feel this way: please do not scorn the culture of the place where you live. Every culture is different and interesting, even if it seems mundane to you. The new culture is most likely the bigger part of you and it needs some care, too.

For example, I have spoken to many immigrants in the US and most of them dislike the US. At the same time, through our dicussions, they show me - and tell me - they couldn’t be less American. They had a very different upbringing than the people from their parents’ motherland.

I think it would be best if you got comfortable with both sides of you, the Greek one and the assimilated one. If your children and your children’s children live away from Greece, they will get more and more assimilated. It’s impossible to de-assimilate completely and forever. As many other Greeks, I am planning to leave Greece in a very short time. It’s sad to think my traditions won’t continue to the next generations. But it’s a reality we must face - and we should probably try to be positive about it.

That being said, it’s perfectly fine to have the desire to know more about your roots for whatever reason. So here is my advice to you:

1) You may want to read the history of Greece. All of it, not just from 300 BC to 100 AC as most foreigners do. Preferably, find works that have someone Greek as a writer or supervisor (because Greeks usually try to depict accurately what happened), or writers who truly feel Greece, like Richard Clogg. Our history and pain has shaped the way we look at the world and it’s a perspective you should be familiar with, since you are driving in! (Yes, more depression for everyone!)

2) Learn where your family comes from. Maybe by asking your grandparents or your parents you can learn the exact place/town or the geographical compartment of your family. Look for the specific dances and traditional costume of that area from YouTube videos or a Greek community in your area! See if the people there were great warriors, great merchants, great wine producers. See if there are any Greek heroes of the 1821 revolution coming from your place!

That may need lots of Google searching but I think you will get somewhere. I am also availiable if you want me to give you more information about a specific place.

For every Greek tribe there is a tag on my blog, like #macedonia, #epirus, #thrace and more. I have tags for most of the towns, too! You can also search for the different Greek “tribes” (Pontiacs, Kappadokians, Thracians and so on) which are often named after the place they lived. Everyone falls into some of them and you probably come from one (or two) as well!

3) Learn some more Greek. I suggest that because learning Greek means learning how Greeks think. I suppose you know the basics but how about the 20+ weird phrases we have to playfully say someone is gay, like “he flogs the dolphin”, “he shakes the pear tree” etc. What about the Greek phrases which stem from war and pirate raids and… hating the Turks?? How about the Mediterranean expressions like calling a mole “olive” or saying “I am in an open sea” when we feel lost, or saying “he pressed my oil out” when someone tires us?

Greekpod101 on YouTube will help you learn the basics and a little more! They also have a site. But basically going on Youtube and typing “learn Greek” will do the trick. For more weird or advanced stuff you can look at my tag #learn greek and #greek language.

4) Greek memes - Greek diaspora social media. They are surprisingly educational! @hooplagreeks on instagram is one of my fave meme profiles! Watch youtubers of Greek diaspora as “Greek in the City” or the Greek comedian Basile! On instagram you may want to follow @greekfestvictoria (videos of Greek dances and people, and photos of the community) and @newdiaspora (“a digital storytelling platform, focusing on the new generation of Greeks living abroad during the crisis in their homeland”) and @ greek_diaspora (some things for Greek culture).

On my tag #greek diaspora you may find more people like you! Some have asked me similar stuff so I may be repeating stuff in those posts as well.

5) Cook/eat Greek food. If your grandparents and mum know recipes, take them as if they are gold. It’s a great way to get familiar with the local Greek ingredients and the Greek palette. Heck, look for Greek recipes on the internet and cook them! If you don’t know where to start, my tag #greek cuisine may be helpful.

6) Read Greek classic literature (in Greek if you can, but you can also find works translated in English). Elitis, Sahtouris, Seferis, Venezis, Papadiamantis, Mirivilis, Delta, Empirikos, Zei, Kazantzakis are only a few of the literary gems Greeks have to offer. Enjoy good writing, the Greek perspective, and get to know the newer Greek society in a unique and authentic way. Here is a list with more of them (link).

7) Meet more Greeks! Through groups on insta or fb, through Tumblr blogs etc. Watch youtubers of Greek diaspora as “Greek in Town” or the comedian Basile! Maybe there is one Greek community near you area and you can pay a visit for festivals! (No day, Independence Day, 1st of March, Easter meal, Dance festivals etc). Don’t be shy to go there. From what I have seen, people from all backgrounds are welcome there. Plus, Greeks LOVE showing their culture so you are going to learn a lot of things from them.

8) Be proud. I know it may sound kind of weird but I feel being proud is one key element of being Greek. In every anniversary wars we won, in our schools we sing prideful songs and hang posters with our war heroes, always standing proud. The students and the army parade in the streets the small children wearing traditional costumes (parade is kinda of a facist remnant - ew - but it shows that we want to instill pride even in our children. It has a few positive elements I guess :P). To sum up, be proud of a people who endured natural catastrophes, wars, genocide, famine, occupation, slaughters and slavery and can still stand!

9) Travel to Greece? I don’t know how affortable it is for you and how easy it is but I recommend it. Your tickets don’t need to be for summer. (Honestly, you may want to avoid summer. It’s too hot and too crowdy in tourist areas. Spring is our best season ;). You can come off season and just see the place and meet the people. See the species Grecus Hellenicus in its narutal habitat! Maybe you’ll make some new friends to discuss about Greek culture!

10) Search the tags on this blog. In #greek people you will see Greeks of every era, in #vintage you will find old towns and traditional settings. In #paradosiaki foresia await some of the Greek traditional clothes. #greek language, #greek culture and #greek tradition, #greek festival, #greek music are self explanatory.

I think that’s all I’ve got! Good luck in your journey and I am here if you need anything else :D You can dm me and ask stuff, anything you want! I would be happy to help you get in touch with your roots!

#answered #greek diaspora #greek culture #advice #thepostiamlookingfor

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writingsofspn · 5 years

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You Missed Something - Steve McGarrett x fem!Reader

Requested by the lovely @thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch - hope you enjoy! I know you asked for the victim to be flirting with Y/N but it didn’t fit the story so I changed it to one of analysists, hope you don’t mind:D

You’re called in on a case on your day off by your husband Steve. You’re checking out the crime scene when someone fails to notice something.

Warnings: Death, Blood, Suggestion

Y/N = Your Name

———————

“Please?”

“No.”

Pretty please?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Nope.” You answered, popping the ‘P’.

“But this case is hard, we need your expertise on these crime scene photos.” Steve pleaded over the phone, begging you to come into work.

“Steve, you know today has literally been my only day off in like, 2 years. I was really looking forward to staying at home and relaxing. You have competent analysts there with you, surely they can do it?” You rolled your eyes, nestling further into the covers of your bed.

“But no one is as good as you are. Please? I’ll take the day off work next week and you can too and we’ll chill all day. Just please come in today? I really want to get this case.” Steve knew just how persuade you, knowing a day with him would push you over the edge.

“Okay fine, I’ll come in for a few hours. But then I’m going home to enjoy the rest of my day off, okay?” You huffed, getting out of bed and starting to pick out an outfit.

“You are the best wife in the entire world. I love you so much. I’ll see you later, bye.” And with that, he hung up.

You sighed and looked in your wardrobe. You honestly didn’t want to dress up. You grabbed one of Steve’s navy shirts saying ‘McGarrett’ across the back and his navy seal unit on the breast pocket. You threw on a pair of denim shorts and brushed your hair. You grabbed your bag and went out the front door, heading to the crime scene.

———————

Steve rushed out of the house as soon as he saw you. He kissed you repeatedly and told you how amazing you were multiple times.

“Yes, Yes. I know I’m amazing. I just want to look at these photos and go home. Where are they?” You asked. Steve led you through the door of a large house and into the living room where you saw Danny and Kono talking. They both gave you a wave and mouthed ‘thank you’ as you took the photos from one of the tech guys.

You studied them for a while, the case becoming more obvious the longer you looked at them.

“It’s easy. Murder 100% but I guess you already knew that. The...activities were obviously consensual because there isn’t any struggle marks from the ropes around the victim’s wrists, you see it? However, it wasn’t his partner that killed him. You see that tiny spot there in the corner of the window sill? That’s blood. The other person taking part was clearly injured, and my guess is that they climbed out of the window to get away from the attacker. You see the slight disturbance in the grass just outside their window? You’re probably looking for an injured women, mid-30’s based on the indent of the footprint that’s just there, you see that? Most likely with a broken arm, maybe a few broken ribs and a cut on their leg, that’s where the blood on the sill came from. You should probably send some people to search that forest that’s just past the park in the back of this photo, she probably went in there.”

Steve stared at you, he was always in awe of you when you were doing your job. He forgot how good you were at it. He quickly called some men over and told them to search the area you’d told him. He went with them for safe measure, kissing you goodbye as he left.

———————

“So, I haven’t seen you around here before?” Someone said from behind you. You whipped around and found the source of the voice. You read his name tag, ‘Jackson’ and rolled your eyes.

“I’m the photography analyser for this case, it’s real difficult. I could take you out the back and show you some of the pictures if you want..and maybe show you a few other things.” He smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Oh my gosh! Really? I’d love to. You know what? Let me take my wedding ring off first because I don’t want to lose it whilst we’re...and you know what else? I should probably take off my husband’s shirt too because I’d hate to get it dirty whilst you show me your moves!” You said sarcastically, turning around to reveal the ‘McGarrett’ written across your back. You began to lift the hem.

“Woah. Woah. Okay. I get it, you’re married. And to Commander McGarrett. Wow, I really wish you’d told me that one before I made a move.” ‘Jackson’ said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, Jackson, maybe you shouldn’t just assume that every girl wants to drop her panties at the sight of you and maybe you should actually talk to someone before you ask them to have sex around the back of a crime scene.”

By now, Steve had walked in and was watching the conversation unfurl from the doorway. He smiled, knowing you were about to kick his ass.

“And by the way, you’re the photo analysist? Gee, I wish they’d hired someone who was competent because I just solved this case in 2 minutes for you. It was obvious, dumbass. You see? Look, they found her.” You gestured to the HPD members bringing a pale women inside with a sling and bandage around her ribs.

“So next time, instead of looking for your next bedtime quest - why don’t you focus on your job.” You finished, folding your arms over your chest.

The guy was purple with embarrassment as he muttered a quick ‘sorry’ and walked away sheepishly.

“Wow. That was hot.” Steve said, ambling over to you and placing his hands on your waist and his lips on yours.

“Your wife is pretty hot, I guess.” You shrugged, giggling and kissing him back.

“Ew. Would you guys stop that? You’re literally making out in the middle of a crime scene. There’s an actual dead body up those stairs and you two are shoving your tongues down each other’s throats. Animals. Both of you.” Danny shouted, coming closer to break the two of you up.

“Yeah but c’mon Danny. Look at my wife. She’s hot and she’s a genius. How can I not?” Steve grinned, pressing his lips to yours once more, causing Danny to roll his eyes and walk away.

“Well, would you look at that. I was only here for 40 minutes. I guess I’ll just go home and have a nice steamy bath, all by myself...all alone and naked in the water.” You teased, picking up your bag and waltzing away.

“I’ll be home in 10.” Steve shouted.

———————

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lamptracker · 5 years

Text

FIC: Counting Down the Days, part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker/Female Reader

Inspo: “Cancer” by My Chemical Romance

Summary: While visiting a children’s hospital as his alter ego Spider-Man, Peter meets a girl his age. She’s sweet, she’s smart, she’s funny… and she’s dying of cancer. When she laments the fact that she probably won’t get to live long enough to have the typical teenage experiences of prom and a boyfriend, Peter offers to fill those roles for her.

Part summary: Peter tells the reader what it felt like when he got Snapped.

Warnings: Talk of death. The usual cursing (he is from Queens). Endgame spoiler. Making fun of soccer moms who want to talk to the manager.

Tagged: @flokidottir-imagines-br @babyplutoszx2 @musiclover1263 @judemoos @drxgxnslxyer @hollanderheart @thequeensardine @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @captainbuckyy @xxtomxo @deleteidentity @yessterekthings @itsyaspacemom @parrkerspeters @starksparker

Part 1

“Alrighty,” Peter said, webbing (y/n)’s hospital room door shut and peeling off his mask. “One cinnamon chai latte for you, one white chocolate mocha for me.”

“Ew, white chocolate?”

“You’re judging me. This is supposed to be a judgment-free zone, (y/n).”

“Please, Peter. This is a hospital, not Planet Fitness.”

Peter just shook his head and laughed as he handed (y/n) her latte. They’d been texting back and forth over the last couple of days, getting to know each other a little better. She asked to see pictures of his friends; he happily obliged (after telling them what he was up to - sort of, in most cases).

“That’s my best friend Ned,” Peter said, pointing at the pictures he was projecting on the wall from his suit. “He knows I’m Spider-Man too, him and MJ. He’s in Robotics Club and Academic Decathlon with me. That’s his girlfriend Betty, she’s on Student Council and she reads the announcements every morning. This is Michelle, also known as the aforementioned MJ. She’s on Academic Decathlon too. There’s Abe, and that’s Brad, and… oh, good, I see Flash found the phone that’s not built into my suit today.”

“Wow, that is exceptionally rude,” (y/n) said, squinting.

“Karen,” Peter muttered, “delete that.”

“Deleting,” Karen said as the photo disappeared; (y/n) laughed loudly.

“So wait, you’re friends with a dude named Flash?”

Peter scoffed loudly. “Not friends,” he muttered, “he’s been bullying me since the third grade. Did you know, (y/n), that he gave himself that nickname because his real name is Eugene?”

(Y/n) cracked up laughing. “Eugene?!” she exclaimed. “Well, fun fact, I went to school with a kid named Elmer. Heir to the McCormick spice fortune, and about as smart as a container of Italian seasoning too.”

Peter just shook his head. “Elmer,” he muttered as he and (y/n) started to sip their coffees.

“Wow,” (y/n) said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good cup of coffee. The stuff here tastes like it was brewed with dish soap.”

Peter made a face. “We have a coffee pot, but I never drink coffee at home. I love my aunt May, I really do, but cooking is not her forte. And, unfortunately, that includes coffee. I’ve taught myself how to cook some things. Make a pretty mean chocolate chip cookie.”

“Well, I may have to try one of those sometime.” (Y/n) sipped her latte. “This almost feels like a real coffee date, y’know?”

Peter smiled. “Karen, open Spotify and play my Coffeehouse Favorites playlist, please?”

“Sure, Peter.” The air was soon filled with soft, jazzy music.

“Very nice!” (y/n) exclaimed. “Now we just need the middle-aged suburban mom with her may-I-speak-to-the-manager haircut complaining that her cappuccino isn’t foamy enough.”

“Well, I can’t reproduce that, but I can try.” Peter cleared his throat, next speaking in a weird sort of high-pitched voice. “I asked for light foam, does this look light to you??”

(y/n) giggled. “And there are 47 bubbles, I asked for 49. How hard is it to put 49 bubbles in my cappuccino foam?”

And then, in unison, they said: “Where is your manager?”

They both burst into laughter.

“I gotta tell you,” (y/n) said, “that I’ve only known you for, what, three days? And I’ve laughed more in this three days than I have in the last three years. You’re just… you’re so fun to be around. You come here to cheer people up, right? Guess what, Pete… it’s working.”

Peter smiled warmly at her. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Part of me wishes I’d met you earlier,” (y/n) said wistfully. “You know, before I got sick this last time. We could have had so much more time together. But… but I’m almost glad I met you when I did. Being faced with your own mortality really sucks, it’s nice to have a friend.”

“You know the Snap?” Peter said; (y/n) nodded. “I was one of the ones that got snapped.”

“Honestly? When it happened, I wish I’d been snapped. But… then everyone came back. So either way, I’d have to deal with this.” She gestured vaguely at the wires hooked up to various parts of her body. “But the nice part about that was, you didn’t know it was coming. You know? Like it just… happened. You didn’t have to suffer through it.”

“I knew.”

(y/n)’s eyes widened in shock. “You what?”

Peter swallowed thickly. “I knew what was happening. Because of my powers, my senses are, just, super heightened. I feel everything differently than everyone else. So yeah, for everyone else that got snapped, it was quick and painless but for me? I felt everything.”

(y/n)’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, God. What… what was that like? I mean, if you want to talk about it, if not I totally get it.”

Peter sighed. He knew one day he’d have to talk about it. He was kind of hoping he’d never have to. But, if it would help (y/n) feel better, he was willing to push his fear aside.

“Terrifying,” he finally replied. “I was terrified. I felt helpless, alone. Mr. Stark was right there, that helped me feel less alone. Physically it was weird, I could feel myself disintegrating. It wasn’t unbearably painful, but it was pretty uncomfortable. And then my soul just got… I don’t know, transported? Maybe? Sure, transported to the soul world. And it was five years, but it felt like five hours, it was really weird. But then… then I came back. I guess that’s the difference, though, I got to come back.”

(y/n) smiled. “Wow,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet someone that knows what I’m going through. I’ve been faced with death over half my life and it scares me. I’ve felt so alone. But… now I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She reached over, gently grasping his still-gloved hand.

Peter gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Glad to help.” He smiled at her again. “Um, that latte is getting cold. I don’t want to have to go get the manager.”

“Young man!” (y/n) exclaimed, in her fake customer voice. “This went down to 102 degrees, it needs to be at least 115!”

They burst into laughter yet again.

“What was it like, in the soul world?” (Y/n) asked softly.

Peter shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I didn’t feel anything physically. But internally, I felt very at peace. I… I got to see my parents and my Uncle Ben again. But they didn’t get to come back, that’s how the quantum thing worked. If you were dead before the Snap, you stayed dead. You know? But they got to tell me they were proud of me, that made me feel a lot better. I had this overwhelming, just… what was I so afraid of? This isn’t so bad. Then I realized that the thing I was scared of was the uncertainty. What’s happening to me? Where am I going to end up? That’s the part that got me. But once I got there… it was okay.”

“That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, Peter.” She squeezed his hand again. “So what do I do now?”

“I… I don’t really know. What do you think you should do?”

“I think I should make the most of the time I have left,” (y/n) answered. “Not dwell on the dying part so much, focus on the living part. I know that sounds like all the schlocky bullshit they spout out in movies and whatnot but… but maybe there’s some good advice hidden in that.”

Peter just nodded solemnly.

“So,” (y/n) said, gulping down the last of her latte, “any plans this weekend?”

“I… oh, maybe. Karen, what’s my schedule this weekend?”

“You have an Academic Decathlon competition in Albany this weekend, be at the school by 5pm packed and ready to get on the bus. Estimated return time is 8pm Saturday.”

“And I’m co-captain with MJ this year,” Peter said, “so my presence is definitely required. I’ll get you a postcard or something though. And then I should probably do my rounds after I get home, and then I think I’m free Sunday.”

“New event added to calendar by Bruce Banner,” Karen said, “meeting at Avengers Tower at 2pm on Sunday.”

Peter chuckled. “...and I’ll try to stop by after that. If not, I will for sure Monday. But I’ll text you whenever I can, okay?”

“Sounds good.” (y/n) smiled. “Hey, thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Everyone that comes in here thinks they need to walk on eggshells around me, not bring up the D word or whatever, you know? Thank you for not doing that. Thank you for treating me like I’m just an average everyday kid, and not an average everyday kid that happens to be walking around with a commuted sentence.”

Peter grinned at her. “Hey, anytime.”

“In a weird way,” (y/n) continued, “I’m almost glad I got sick.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked, nose scrunched in confusion.

She smiled softly at him. “It brought me you.”

Peter could feel a blush creep over his cheeks as he searched for something to say. He settled for squeezing her hand again and replying, “I’m glad I met you too. Sucks it wasn’t sooner, but… better late than never, y’know?”

“Better late than never.” She grinned at him before releasing his hand. “Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #counting down the days

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jamiemac26 · 6 years

Text

A Part Of Me - Chapter 2

A Taron Egerton x Reader Fanfiction - JamieMac

Summary: Her friends are her entire life. The boys meant the world to her. They had grown up together and were wading through the waters of life together. She watched as they carved their nitch into the world. A new boy came into her life one night… would he be accepted into her world? Would she allow someone new to cause ripples along the smooth surface.

Warnings: Language

The music was loud. She heard it from down the block as she walked towards Tom’s flat. She rolled her eyes and wondered how the boys had convinced the neighbors to let them have this little shindig. “Little my ass,” She muttered as she approached the front door. She pushed into the main room, people everywhere she looked. “I don’t think these two understand what small even means.” She weaved through the crowd, looking for her friends. She was stopped along the way, bumping into bodies with familiar faces, faces she hadn’t seen in months, sometimes years. She lost track of time. She forgot to look for the boys. She was laughing. She was enjoying the company. The drinks were flowing and she had consumed her fair share. She was in the throws of an interesting conversation with some old school friends when a young man walked within her line of sight. She stopped talking, her eyes glued to his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. He was good looking and not just handsome, but fucking hot. She pushed past her old friends, telling them she’d return. Making her way towards the kitchen, she finally found Tom and Harrison.

“Haz, Haz, Haz,” She tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, trying to gain his attention.

“What,” He turned to look at her, the annoyance replaced with a bright grin, “(Y/N), where the fuck have you been?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been here for like an hour,” She leaned against the counter, her shoulder pressed against his side.

He looked down at her, “Why are you now just coming to find us?”

She shook her head, “That is not important.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction she had seen the hot guy. She spied him chatting with a group across the room and she turned Haz’s attention towards them. “Who is that? The one with shorter hair, broad shoulders, wearing the blue shirt?”

Haz squinted his eyes, scanning the crowd before focusing in on the man that his friend was talking about. Harrison stayed silent, searching his brain for the guys name, “Oh, that’s Taron… Taron… Damn what is his last name?”

“Taron….” (Y/N) mumbled to herself before the familiarity of the face and name hit her, “Oh my god, Taron Egerton!!”

Haz snapped his fingers, “That’s his name, yes.”

“How the hell do you know him and why are you just informing me of this now?” Her hands were back on her hips as she glared up at her friend.

“Whoa, calm down there feisty.. Tom invited him or something like that. Probably a friend of a friend situation.” Harrison turned and made his way back towards the kitchen, stopping once he realized she wasn’t following him. “(Y/N) are you coming?”

(Y/N) stayed frozen in her spot, her eyes focused on the man across the room. Harrison’s focus went from his friend to the guy she was looking at. He shook his head as he realized that the guy was staring right back at her. Haz walked back towards her and gently took her by the arm. He tugged on her and nodded towards the kitchen. She allowed him to guide her back towards Tom.

“Why’d you pull me away?” (Y/N) asked as they arrived.

“Maintaining an air of mystery,” Haz took a sip of the beer in his hand.

“What are you two going on about?” Tom leaned into her.

“(Y/N) here has her eye on a certain party goer,” Haz informed.

(Y/N) held her hand up, “Now don’t you two go and do anything to embarrass me and let’s not tell Tom who it is.”

Tom huffed in protest, “Why does Harrison get to know but not me?”

“Because you are always the one to do something stupid,” She said, matter of fact.

“Rude,” Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Now, who is this guy?”

She rolled her eyes but leaned her body into his, “Taron Egerton.”

“The dude from Kingsman? Wait, he’s here?” Tom glanced around the rooms he could see, the crowd seemingly thicker than before.

“You can’t see him from where we’re standing, but yes, he’s here.”

“Well, as host, I think we need to go and greet him,” Tom pulled away from her, holding out a hand for her to take.

She shook her head, “No.” She planted her feet firmly, her hand grabbing the counter as an extra anchor.

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll go and find him myself,” Tom took a couple more steps away from her, the crowd beginning to swallow him up.

“Go...assess the situation and then come back with a full report,” She stayed her ground.

“Wait up Tom, I’m coming with you,” Haz handed (Y/N) his drink and hurried off after their friend.

She glanced at the red cup she now clutched, shrugging her shoulders before tipping it back against her lips and draining the contents.

“Oh my god, what took you two so long,” (Y/N) slapped Haz on the arm as they came back into her view.

He flipped her off, “With that attitude I don’t think you deserve to know what we did.”

Tom sidled up to the two of them, “He’s coming with us to the gym tomorrow.”

(Y/N) just stared at them both and slowly shook her head. “That has to be about the dumbest idea you’ve had.”

Tom genuinely look confused, “Why? It’s perfect. He can see how fit you are, and how much of a bad-ass you’ve become and Haz and I can see if he’s good enough for you.”

“One small problem with this ingenious plan of yours... I’ll be all gross and sweaty and will not, in any way, be able to make a decent impression,” She crossed her arms across her chest. She knew that they meant well, but this plan, it was such a guy thing to do.

“No no, trust us...we’ve got this (Y/N).” Haz and Tom high-fived one another as (Y/N) poured herself another drink. This was going to be a long night.

(Y/N) woke up on Tom’s couch. Her head was pounding and she had a body strewn across her lower half. She pushed at the head that rested near her stomach, and smiled as they groaned in protest. “Haz get off, my legs are asleep,” She pushed at him again and finally managed to get him to move. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to slide out from under him. She made her way into the kitchen, wincing at the mess that was scattered across every surface. “Oh god, this is going to take forever to clean up.” She sighed and started to gather up empty cups, tossing them into the trash can. The last of a yawn sounded behind her and she turned around. Tom stood in the doorway, his sweatpants hugging his hips. He yawned again and (Y/N) cocked her head as she watched him rub the sleep from his eyes.

“So I end up sleeping on the couch with Harrison sprawled out on top of me and you fucking managed to make it to bed. How the hell Tom?” She tossed an empty cup at him, which he caught with ease.

“Not my fault I didn’t drink myself into oblivion,” Tom reached up into one of the cupboards, his back muscles flexing as his arms stretched to grab a glass.

(Y/N) squinted her eyes, “Wait, the only reason you would have left us is if you had a girl.”

Tom didn’t answer, but she could see the slight tinge of red that swept across his cheeks.

“Good god Tom, are you serious?”

He turned to look at her, “What, I’m a man, I have needs.”

She shook her head, “Ew.. just ew.”

“Oh shut up, don’t act so surprised and be nice to her when she comes out. I’m sure that having to do the walk of shame in front of you and Haz won’t be easy.”

“Do I know this girl? Do you know this girl?” (Y/N) hopped up on a stool, her elbows resting on the counter. She loved grilling Tom about his love life, or in this case his sex life. She often lived vicariously through the boys, as their lives was far more glamorous than hers.

He nodded his head, “Yes to both questions. This isn’t our first…..encounter.” He leaned against the counter, his face level with hers.

“At least you’re consistent,” She chuckled as she reached out and popped him playfully on his forehead. They were both laughing heartily and didn’t notice Harrison enter the room.

“(Y/N) you are not a comfortable pillow, your hips are far too bony,” Harrison mirrored Tom’s actions, grabbing his own mug from the cupboard.

“My hips were never meant to be pillows you spaz and you could have moved at any point.”

“Eh, I’m far too lazy for that, besides you were warm.”

Tom watched the exchange, his grin broadening, “Should I start shipping the two of you?”

“Ew, you do and you will regret it,” She slid the stool back, “I’m going to go and take a shower, I feel so gross.”

“You look gross,” Haz shouted after her.

“Fuck you Harrison,” She shouted back, her middle finger being the last thing they saw. She couldn’t help but smile as their laughter followed her down the hallway.

Tag List:

@johnmurphys-sass

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton #taron egerton fanfic #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton x reader #kingsman #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fanfiction #spider-man: homecoming #A Part Of Me

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darkenedrosepetals · 6 years

Text

Worth

Fandom: The Walking Dead.

Setting: Alternative Universe, Fictional town, set in Georgia.

Rating: T (Unless noted differently in individual chapters)

Characters: Carol P., King Ezekiel, Jerry,Henry, Benjamin, Nabila, Sophia P. Some instances of Ed.

Summary: If someone were to tell Carol that her daughter's attendance at a summer camp, would forever change their lives, she would have laughed in their faces. Life wasn't in the habit of handing her fresh lemons. But as chance would have it, meeting the charismatic camp director was the best thing to ever happen to Carol.

Chapter One

The supermarket was empty that morning. For a summer morning in Loudaine, that was to be expected. Everyone hadn't stirred and wouldn't for another hour at most. Carol liked grocery shopping around this time. It was quiet and less hectic.

Carol readjusted her purse strap and headed toward the produce section. Sophia was close at her side with her hand on the cart, head turned, silently taking in all the sugary confections on the shelves.

"Mornin'," a man named Todd greeted. He was the early shift produce stocker. A friendly fellow, who was especially helpful to customers.

Carol smiled at him and stopped by the apple bin. She selected six apples, bagged and weighed them before moving to next thing on her list. She repeated this task until she had all the fruits and vegetables that she needed.

"Ew spinach." Sophia scrunched her nose. It was the first thing the girl had said since entering the store.

Carol chuckled. She knew Sophia hated spinach with a passion. Although, she found ways to incorporate it into her food, like blending it into pasta sauce or adding it to mac and cheese.

They turned down another aisle to grab bread for sandwiches. It was getting too hot to spend most of the day in the kitchen. Hot meals were typically reserved for dinner. When Ed was home from work.

Carol sighed and grabbed canned tuna. She wouldn't think about her husband. Not right now. She would focus on the freedom that at least grocery shopping afforded her.

The two of them finally turned down Sophia's favorite aisle. Carol snickered upon seeing the sparkle in Sophia's eye.

"Go ahead, pick one," Carol gestured to the wide selection of cookies.

Sophia raced to end of the aisle and grabbed a packet of Keebler stripes. One the way back she passed a boy who looked around her age. He was holding a packet of peanut butter Oreos and a packet of sugar cookies.

Carol remembered seeing the boy earlier in the aisle with boxed juice. She wondered where his parents were. He seemed to be confident on where to go and what to grab, so it was unlikely he was lost.

Again Carol checked her list for the umpteenth time to see if she had missed anything besides what remained. She rolled her eyes knowing she had to go to the liquor section for beer. She hoped they had what she was looking for. She couldn't go home empty handed and she didn't feel like store hopping to find it either.

Fortunately, the Red Dog was in stock. There were enough to get three cases. She loaded her cart and carefully rolled to the checkout lane. At the register, a young man was reading over the produce code list. Sophia began loading the lighter items on the belt, being mindful not to crush the eggs.

"Did you find everything alright?" The cashier inquired, scanning the items.

Carol read his name tag. "Yes Benjamin, I did." She was a regular customer of the supermarket so knew she the boy a was a new hire. Couldn't have been no older than seventeen.

Benjamin nodded and kept scanning. He bagged as he went, leaving the eggs and bread for last. He came around to scan the cases of beer that remained in the cart. He then placed all of the bags in the cart before ringing up the final total.

"Would you like to buy a bag of ice?" Benjamin asked.

Carol shook her head. She pulled a hundred dollar bill from her wallet. "No. That's okay."

Benjamin accepted the payment and quickly made the change. "I'll help put those groceries in your car. If that's okay?"

Carol smiled at the teen's politeness. Usually, she would have to ask for assistance. She nodded and moved on toward the door with Sophia by her side.

The boy from the cookie aisle was sitting on the bench by the door, with his purchased goods and a backpack. He looked up expectantly, making eye contact with Benjamin.

Carol didn't want to come across as noisy, but she was curious. When they were out of earshot she asked Benjamin. “Do you know that boy?"

Benjamin snorted. "Yeah. That's my younger brother Henry. He's waiting here at the store until our Dad can take him to the rec center. It's not open for another hour."

"I see," Carol stopped at her parked Jetta. She popped the trunk to give Benjamin access. She went around the side to open the door and to roll the windows down.

"Yeah our Dad works overnight, and doesn't get off until eight," Benjamin explained, loading the groceries. "It also so happens the rec center is on the way home. Having Henry already here at the market saves a trip."

"Makes sense," Carol agreed, taking some of the bags with the more fragile items to the backseat of the car.

Benjamin closed the trunk and took the empty cart. "You're all set, ma'am. Enjoy your day."

"Thanks, and you too."

On the way back home, they passed the recreation center. Outside, two of the counselors were pitching up the volleyball net.

Carol didn't miss the way Sophia perked at the sight. She could see from the rearview mirror the longing on her daughter's face.

The community recreation center hosted a yearly summer camp. It had an annual fee, that wasn't expensive per say but also wasn't an expense they had to spare. Although, if her husband stopped buying cigarettes and booze, they could afford it.

Sophia deserved to do something fun during her summer vacation. More than the occasional play date, and trips to the library.

The internal conversation was over-visited and was never presented with a solution. Just with a rebuttal as to why it would never happen.

Carol sighed. Yet another she needed to leave.

-----

At the Recreation Center

The volleyball tent was pitched and ready to go. Ezekiel swiped the sweat and reached for his water bottle. It was barely eight o' clock in the morning and it was already hot. He was too eager to return to the air conditioning of the recreation center.

In the gym, Jerry, his second in command, tested the recently pumped basketballs.

"Morning Boss," Jerry saluted. "Ready for the first day of camp?"

"Am I ready for hundreds of kids, nonstop chatter and plenty of mischiefs?" Ezekiel chuckled."Sure, I even have my lucky kicks on."

Jerry dribbled one of the balls. "Oh snap. Not the lucky kicks," he twisted and shot the ball into the nearest basketball net. The ball went in with a smooth 'swish'. "They're not gonna know what hit them."

Ezekiel's lips twitched into a smile. They shared this light-hearted banter throughout the day. It was how they kept their spirits high and the kids interested. Although, when the circumstances called for it, they were serious and professional.

"We've got about an hour before the first van arrives," Ezekiel announced. "I'll need you to assist Debbie with check-in." Debbie was one of the center's newest counselors, replacing Julie who was on maternity leave.

Jerry dipped his chin. "Sure thing."

Ezekiel exited the gym and next door to the cafeteria. Inside, the workers were adding items to the serving tables for breakfast. He scanned the room, searching for one woman in particular. He spotted Nabila rolling in a cart laden with milk crates. He quickly crossed the room to assist her with unloading the milk.

Nabila was the head of the kitchen and over the center's garden. She was also one of his longest-standing employee's since he became the director eight years ago.

"Oh, thank you," Nabila huffed once they were finished. She fanned herself and swiped at her forehead. "All this running around makes it feel like the air condition isn't on."

"Trust me, it is," Ezekiel assured her. His eyes fell to the newest member. "Everything going smoothly?"

"Yes, Lisa is a sweetheart. Very helpful and gets along with Kevin just as well. I think she'll do just fine," Nabila reported. "She's good at keeping inventory also."

"Excellent, that is what I like to hear," Ezekiel clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You stay hydrated now."

"Yes Sir, I will." Nabila grinned. She disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt to grab a cold bottle from the fridge.

Ezekiel chuckled. He left the cafeteria and walked down to his office. There were still matters that needed his attention. He had a very capable staff, even with the newest additions to the team he was confident things would go as planned.

-----

The idea came to Carol while she was stocking the deep freezer in the garage. She would pawn the two TVs given to them by Ed's brother Ross, her watch that was an anniversary gift from three years ago and the electric chainsaw that was still in the box from black Friday last year. Ed never used it. To be a matter of fact, she was sure he had forgotten all about it.

She checked the flyer that came with the town's newsletter, learning that late admission was acceptable. Given that today was Monday, the first day of camp, the late admission fee didn't start until next week. It was perfect.

Carol put her plan into action. She hadn't said a word to Sophia, wanting to surprise her instead. She loaded the TVs and the boxed saw into the car and all but sprinted to her bedroom. For the hundredth time, that day she was thankful Ed was at work. She grabbed the box that housed the watch and even grabbed the small studded diamond earrings. She never wore them nowadays anyway.

Sophia was sitting at the table reading when Carol returned. She glanced at her expectantly from her book. "Mom?"

"Come on, I've got an errand to run." Carol beckoned.

Sophia closed her book and stepped into her sandals, and followed her mother to the garage. She frowned upon seeing the backseat of the car loaded with the TVs. She slid into the front seat and buckled up.

The ride was short, but time seemed to slow to a crawl. A bunch of "what if's" were racing through Carol's mind. What if what she had to sale wasn't enough? Would Ed notice that the items from the garage were gone? How would he react? Some days were better than others.

Carol pushed aside those thoughts. She didn't need the negativity. Not when she hadn't even made it to the counter yet.

-----

At the pawn shop

"Three hundred and fifty for everything," Dale informed her, after examining the earrings.

Carol blinked. "Even with the TVs?"

Dale nodded. "They may be older models but they are in good condition." He chuckled and added. "I have customers that appreciate classic electronics."

Carol smiled. "All right."

Dale made the transaction, printing the receipt and counting the money owed. "Pleasure doing business with you Ma'am."

Carol tucked the money away in her purse. "Thank you so much." She turned on her heel, barely able to conceal her excitement.

Once in the car she released the breath she was holding and turned to a curious Sophia.

"Sweetie, would you like to attend the summer camp at the center?"

Sophia's eyes widened. "But you said it was too expensive?"

"I've got the money now," Carol started the car.

The realization dawn on the girl. "So that's why you pawned all those things? Won't Daddy be mad?"

Carol resisted rolling her eyes. She was sure Ed would be pissed. It wouldn't be the first time. "Don't worry about Daddy. I'm doing something for you, so he won't mind." Ed was more forgiving when she did things for their daughter.

Sophia was smiling now. "Okay."

#Carol Peletier #carol x ezekiel #carzekiel #King Ezekiel

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voleuxe · 6 years

Text

LAYER 001 : THE OUTSIDE.

NAME. Ludivine Rose Alexander / Lucy Renee Caldwell

EYE COLOR. Hazel, on the golden-brown end of things.

HAIR STYLE / COLOR. Chocolate brown, falls in natural loose waves down between her shoulder blades, often styled with added curls to accentuate the natural waves & she wears it loose a lot in her daytime tasks; favors a single braid down the center when she needs it out of her face, though will sometimes opt for a high ponytail instead. Styling it for events is like a whole event in itself for her, she goes all out (fancy twists, hair acessories, etc.)

HEIGHT. 5′8″.

CLOTHING STYLE. In a nutshell, expensive. She was raised with that in-the-limelight (albeit not full fame, just significant notoriety) and is therefore fairly appearance-conscious, i.e. knowing that one “down day” can have people questioning your abilities, especially if you’re a woman. ((Don’t get her started on that double standard. She plays by the rules most of the time with it, but absolutely despises how the focus of her efforts can be totally ignored in favor of her wardrobe. The worst part is that she does, for the most part, enjoy fancy dress --it’s more or less her artistic outlet-- but the whole Thing around it and how it affects the perception of her effectiveness as a leader is supremely irritating for her.)) She favors understated jewelry most of the time, though has been known to go big with necklaces now and then.

All that said, she’s also a sucker for a good t-shirt/jeans combo. She will ‘borrow’ your shirt given the opportunity.

BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE. Tossup for eyes/smile.

LAYER 002 : THE INSIDE.

HER FEARS. Betrayal, isolation (being left all alone), and... this just occurred to me but failure, really. Not because it would mean losing her nice things or anything, but because it’s like...this has been her whole life, if she can’t succeed at holding this life together, then...

HER GUILTY PLEASURE. Revenge. There’s some darker piece of her heart that takes genuine joy in being able to pay someone back for pain and disaster they’ve caused, and she’s not particularly comfortable with the moments in her life when that facet has caught the light in full.

HER BIGGEST PET PEEVE. Dismissal and disrespect. Everyone has something to offer, who are you to shut her or anyone else down?

HER AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE. To form and maintain positive relationships, to ‘prove’ herself to others, to honor and defend her family & pride, to gain love, to eliminate hardship and suffering in others, to seek ‘adventure’. (And if all of that sounds a little goalless it’s because...I mean, she’s at the top of the chain in her life right now, it’s really more of maintaining at this point, fixing what doesn’t work and otherwise just holding your ground. Staying power.((Not getting bored.)))

LAYER 003 : THOUGHTS.

HER FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP. Nothing super coherent but a lot of vague grumpiness. She’s not really a morning person (mostly because she’s got the whole doble-schedule thing going. Lots of late nights.)

WHAT SHE THINKS ABOUT MOST. I... don’t know? It’s actually really uncommon for her to have super regular patterns in any aspect of her life (aside from like, going to work daily) so the idea of recurring/persistent thoughts is..equally unlikely I think? She’s really in-the-moment in general -- her thoughts circle around what’s happening, so if she avoids doing too much of the same thing it stands to reason she wouldn’t be thinking too much about the same things either. (Which is probably good because if she didn’t she’d probably linger a lot over her brother and I...may have a mean-ish plot about that soon.)

WHAT SHE THINKS ABOUT BEFORE BED. The events of the day. It’s just like a decompression thing, helps her order what’s going on and keep track of what needs keeping.

SHE THINKS HER BEST QUALITY IS. Loyalty. Or maybe determination. She’s very proud of herself in general, really.

LAYER 004 : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES. Single.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED. Respected (she was very specific; “Love is valuable, but if you don’t have respect for the people you love you’re not honoring it.”)

BEAUTY OR BRAINS. "Either one without a soul is wasted.” (Again, very specific about this. I don’t think she likes the questions.)

DOGS OR CATS. (No preference.)

LAYER 005 : DOES SHE…

LIE. Constantly. Mostly by omission, but directly as well. It’s worth noting, her lies are almost always in the name of maintaining her double life. She won’t lie about 'what matters’ - though, that can be a difficult line to define. In any case, she may lie but she won’t double cross you.

EDIT: I’m like three days later with this but I needed to say that in cases with people who already know about her double standing ( @reapxrs , Emery @siondacait , and people in her life like Chris & Mallory, etc.), or whom she would have no reason to hide from them ( like @talktoten ) she doesn’t lie very often if at all. Given the chance, she wants to be honest with you, it’s really just the matter of caution and wisdom that she must. ((And she..really almost wasn’t ever given the choice not to lead a double life, really. Given, you can argue she could come clean and stop living the way she does but... pft.))

BELIEVE IN HERSELF. Yes.

BELIEVE IN LOVE. Yes.

WANT SOMEONE. ‘Main’ verse (aka “canon” if I ever put her down in a book) would puther in a relationship with Chris, so No in that regard, but when it comes to platonic relationships the answer is always, always yes.

And in the case of being multi-verse/not really having a set in stone story because RP is naturally fluid, she’s not really ever actively looking, but if there was chemistry and moments and flirting (for the love of god, so much flirting, I hate her) then it’s not something she’d snub either.

LAYER 006 : HAS SHE EVER…

BEEN ON STAGE. Yes.

DONE DRUGS. Yes. (Not with intent. (Although realistically alcohol is a drug so on that front I guess it’s technically still yes..))

CHANGED WHO SHE WAS TO FIT IN. Not to fit in, per se, but to try and reach the (impossible) standards of a former mentor, yes. She has tried to be a much colder, detached version of herself several times, in fact, searching for her belonging in her family history and her brother’s syndicate, but really can’t manage it any more than it fools anyone.

LAYER 007 : FAVORITES.

FAVORITE COLOUR. Soft pinks and rich golds, and, honestly, just about anything shimmery.

FAVORITE ANIMAL. No generic favorite animal, but bias intact her dog Delilah and her cat Sampson are her favorite animals. She loves them equally, she will not pick between them.

FAVORITE BOOK. ??? (I cannot, for the life of me, figure this out. It’s on so many character questionnaires but she either doesn’t have one or simply refuses to disclose it.)

FAVORITE GAME. ...Does sparring count as a game? In any case, fight her for fun. She loves that.

LAYER 008 : AGE.

DAY HER NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE. November 26th (a Monday this year, ew.)

HOW OLD WILL SHE BE. 24.

LAYER 009 : FINISH THE SENTENCE.

I LOVE my family.

I FEEL responsible.

I HIDE what I have to.

I MISS my brother.

I WISH to honor all that I can.

tagged by stolen from: @sampatii

tagging: Everyone. No one. (Steal it and @ me >:) )

#( destined & designed to be dangerous / study. )

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