#he's pathetic and unfuckable TO ME
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I headcannon that Peter tried to be a prostitute at the beginning of his money hustle for Slip but he was just so unfuckable and it failed so badly that he can't even say he was at one point prostitute because he didn't even get to prostitite his flat ass
#I don't care that he canonically has rizz and is sexy as fuck#he's pathetic and unfuckable TO ME#peter ransom#the penumbra podcast#juno steel#junoverse#peter nureyev#tpp peter#tpp#the penumbra#the penumbra fandom#tpp headcannons#penumbra headcannons
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#Srry but i do not acknowledge or remember dabb era but#He was super pathetic and unfuckable in it#Its 10 for me
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Do UTB Gwyn and Crielle have that sorta sexual vibe canon Efnisien and Crielle had? I imagine both of them being peak alphas would tamper it. But I could see golden child Gwyn, like canon Ef, being turned on by Crielle watching him as he brutalizes someone xD Or in this story, the incesty sexualization is completely on Gwyn/Ef alone? On that note, would Gwyn ever actually want to fuck Ef, or it's just a shaming/intimidation tactic for him?
There's no incest element between Crielle and Gwyn at all, but there's a vibe between Efnisien and Gwyn.
And frankly, while Crielle can call them 'internal exams' all she wants, putting her fingers inside of her nephew for any reason at all is straight up incest and sexual assault and I tagged for it as a result.
I don't think Gwyn wants to fuck Efnisien at all, tbh. If he wanted to, I think he would have done it by now. Some readers have definitely speculated about it, but Gwyn finds Efnisien both repellent and disgusting, and too pathetic and weak as an alpha, and if he ever did something like that, it would be out of hatred and revulsion and dominance. I think Gwyn has some feelings for Efnisien but that they're complicated, confused by the situation, and that he's just not really benefited by having Efnisien in the house.
The reason Gwyn hates or dislikes omegas overall is, in large part, due to Efnisien being in that household and the fact that his mother thinks omegas are such a sin she literally has to mutilate her nephew to allow him to live in the family.
Gwyn's relationship with Efnisien definitely has a non-consensual sexualised element though, the most explicit description of that so far has been when Gwyn has mounted Efnisien like an omega, instead of an alpha, after their fights. Efnisien's reaction is one of disgust (he has no level of interest in Gwyn), and I think it's confusing for Gwyn too, because he mostly does it to shame Efnisien, but it is an act that they both understand is usually done between alphas and omegas in a relationship or who are beginning to bond. There's a symbolic level to it that Gwyn finds enthralling, but I think it's tied up in his desire to also destroy the problem that is Efnisien in his life.
Gwyn's feelings in this fic are complicated. I don't think he likes his cousin at all, he doesn't respect him, he doesn't care for him. But I think there is that 'but he's still family and he's the only person my age in this Estate.' Still, they are better off away from each other. Gwyn is too menacing and dangerous in this world otherwise, much like Lludd, he simply enjoys beating people down, and that will never change.
#asks and answers#gwyn ap nudd#crielle ferch fnwy#cw incest#efnisien ap wledig#fae tales au#underline the black#it's funny because i found it easier to imagine like#gwyn and efnisien in the canon frankly#or in the wildness within#but in this gwyn's disgust and like#'you are pathetic and beneath me' is so profound that like#to him efnisien is not just unfuckable#he's untouchable with anything but a fist
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Cry, Baby
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.
Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.
Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.
Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.
“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”
You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.
You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.
Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.
“Joel—”
“Keep goin’.”
“This ain’t fair!”
Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.
“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.
He didn’t wait for you to answer.
“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”
‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.
Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.
“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.
You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.
Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.
“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.
Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.
“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.
You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.
The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.
The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.
“Sorry for what?” Joel said.
At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.
“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.
“And Lucien?”
“And Lucien.”
“And—”
“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”
Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.
“And?”
“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.
Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.
As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.
“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”
Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.
Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.
“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”
As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.
“You.” Your voice was raw.
“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.
Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.
The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.
Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.
“Cry a little more,” he urged.
Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.
“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”
It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?
You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.
Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’
You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.
His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.
In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.
It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.
Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.
You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.
He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:
“Crybaby.”
#MEAN JOEL THE MAN THAT YOU ARE…….....…#MARCH MADNESS BUT IT’S JUST ME SPIRALING OVER OLD MAN **** 😔#ALABAMA TO THE FINAL FOUR THO LFGGGGG#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller smut#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#the last of us fic#joel miller x you
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Winner
Pairing: Coach!Tashi x fem!Reader x Coach!Art
Warnings: 18+, smut, too filled with shame to proofread, dom!tashi, sub!art, sub!reader, mentions of spanking, tashi is so mean in this, art is basically a prop with minimal lines, idk
*******
Training with Tashi Duncan and her husband was an honor. You knew that. You did your very best to remember that; which was hard to do when she had days like this.
“Are you scared of the fucking ball?” You shake your head, but you know better than that at this point.
“Speak up!” You flinch before you can stop yourself.
“No, I'm not scared of the ball.” You say.
“I would hope not- considering how long you’ve been doing this. That’d surely be a disappointment to your little fan club that you love so much. “ Tashi watched the way your eyebrows tinge only for a moment, at the mention of the onlookers who follow your career closely.
It was no secret that you had a great appreciation for the love that they’d shown you, but it was almost like you were completely unaware of how quickly it would be gone if you weren’t up to par at all times.
From afar Art watched the scene play out. You were the player that Tashi was the hardest on. He was sure it was to do with the fact that you were just like her. Well except for the fact that you lacked confidence in your abilities. Another reason she was hard on you. She wouldn’t see your potential wasted. But you worked hard like her, tennis was the love of your life like her.
He watched as Tashi served to you, intense and laser focused. Then you, playing back with the same intensity and just as passionate. It’s almost magical to watch until you hesitate and miss the ball.
Tashi’s on your ass before the ball can even hit the ground. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you in it?”
You stammer a reply that Art can’t hear. Probably an apology. His feet are moving closer before he can even think of a reason why.
“No, tell me. What’s got you so off your game lately? Because you’re not going to fucking embarrass me at your next matches because you can’t get your head out your ass.”
“Tash lighten up.” He’s ignored which is to be expected. She stares at you intensely awaiting your answer.
“How am I supposed to lighten up when she’s playing like she never held a racket before, huh?” Again she sees the twitch in your eyebrows. Good, you’re angry.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know-” Tashi holds up her hand. She doesn’t want your apology.
“You know what- if you don’t want to tell me what the problem is,” She grabs your phone which has been continuously lighting up since you started. “I’m sure this will.’
You draw in a breath of air in surprise but you make no move to stop her. Your eyes wide at the invasion, but still ever so respectful even when your privacy is being violated.
Almost immediately her eyebrows sprout up. “I thought we agreed on no boyfriends for this reason?” she shakes her head continuing to scroll through your phone as if it were hers. Art draws closer to her in interest, now intrigued about your phone as well,
“He’s not my boyfriend.” You’re embarrassed, your grip on your racket tightening as you get angry at the way she’s shaming you.
“Obviously.” She mutters. She pauses a moment, both her and Art sharing a look and you know they’ve gotten to the most mortifying part.
“Well if something would shake someone’s confidence it would be that.” You cringe, finally going to take your phone back only to be pushed back by Tashi.
“What did we talk about when it came to how you let people talk to you off the court and how it affects your game on the court?” You barely refrain from rolling your eyes.
“I can’t control what other people say” You can’t stop the edge in your voice.
“But you can control what you say. You didn’t even try to stand up for yourself. This-” She shoves the phone at you with a picture of you half naked with the word unfuckable, in the center of the screen. “Is pathetic. “ You look away when she starts scrolling more like you don’t already know the rest of the verbal assault that had been issued towards you, and then a video of your so-called boyfriend with your next opponent and the lewd graphics that came with it.
“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” You don’t mean for your response to be so angry. Or for the hot tears that started burning your eyes to fall. But the frustrations of your day had started to take a toll on you. So when you finally snatch your phone back from Tashi and get ready to storm off you miss the pleased look on her face. Art doesn’t though, he almost shakes his head knowing it was her intention to rile you up in the first place.
She raises an eyebrow at him, and just as she expects him to, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. The perfect good cop. “It’s okay, kid.” You’re tense in his arms, it reminds him of the times he’s tried to comfort Tashi and she wouldn’t allow it, but after a few moments of him rubbing your back you finally relax. .
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You start, but Tashi interrupts.
“Apologize for standing up for yourself and I’ll make you run until you pass out.” You wipe your eyes roughly and nod. Stepping away from Art’s hug and trying your best to put your game face back on.
“You got that out of your system now?” You nod again, but after a pointed gaze you speak.
“Yes.”
“Good now let’s talk about how you respond to this kind of bad sportsmanship.”
******
The outfit Tashi has you in, is just barely appropriate, You look focused, despite the whistles you’ve received on your way in. You look a little angry actually.
Art glances at Tashi beside him, who looks all too pleased. “What’d you do?”
“I didn’t have to do anything.” She’s almost bragging. He follows her line of sight to Tashi’s opponent and sees her and your not boyfriend smirking at you.
He wants to ask Tashi if she thinks this will shake your confidence more, but then he looks back at you laser focused as you stretch and he decides not to question it.
The match starts off intense with your serve. Your opponent looks surprised and even though she quickly recovers. Art can tell that this will be a win for you even though he knows Tashi despises that kind of over confident thinking.
As the match continues Tashi is gripping her seat for support. So enthralled in the game and invested in the fearlessness you’re displaying she can barely contain herself.
At one point during a break you’re caught trash talking your opponent. Tashi is sure to get you for it later. Even though the only thing she hears clearly is “enjoy my sloppy seconds” with a saccharine smile on your face. The deduction you receive is definitely worth it.
When you win as expected. Tashi is nearly buzzing and Art can’t hold back his excitement either.
****
“See this is what happens when you’re a winner.” Tashi tells you. She quite literally holding Art’s balls as he fucks into you.
“Winners are fuckable, tell her Art.” He gasps, feeling her squeeze him.
“Fuck-” He breathes. “Did so good.” You spasm around him at the praise, pulling a loud groan from him. “Knew you were gonna win, kid.”
Your whines and whimpers are muffled by Tashi’s hand. “Fuck her faster, she’s gonna come.” Art obeys immediately despite the fact that he is much too close himself. Your eyes roll back at the change of pace.
“There you go.” She squeezes Art’s balls once you start cumming so that he can too. He tries to pull himself out of you before but he can’t and leaves a sticky mess all over your cunt. “Fuck”
Tashi mounts you before you can stop twitching, lining her pussy up with yours, holding your leg over her shoulder. “Now next time I tell you to do something,, you’ll listen to me.” She starts slowly, spreading the mixture of both you and Art’s orgasm on both of you.
“Isn’t that right?” You nodding makes her speed up, giving you that look of disapproval.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, yes, yes I’ll listen to you.”
“Yeah I know you will, because now you know what good girls get.” She continues to grind against you skilfully.
“And next time you don’t listen to me-” You feel your core tense up again. “I will spank you until you cry.” Just like that you’re gone again. The masochistic side of you envisioning the picture that will haunt your fantasies until you get it.
You don’t realize the loud moan you hear is you, until Art is kissing you sloppily to silence your cries. ‘You like that don’t you?” You hear Tashi say. You want to tell her yes but you can’t with Art’s tongue down your throat. You think she knows the answer anyway.
The contrast between the way that Tashi is fucking you so vigorously and the slow kisses Art is giving you puts your head in a spin. On top of that your overstimulated clit is making it hard for you to think at all.
“Coach please-” You beg. “My pussy can’t;” You’re cut off immediately.
“Who knows what's best for you? Me or you?”
“You!” By this time tears are flowing down your face, as you feel another orgasm building all too quickly. Art wipes them, then moves his hands down to pinch your nipples.
“Exactly. Now cum.”
#challengers#tashi duncan#tashi donaldson#art donaldson#art donaldson smut#art donaldson x reader#tashi x art#tashi x reader#tashi x art x reader#tashi duncan smut#fantasylandloserfic
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Wrecked (Part 1)
Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader
Trigger Warnings: Discussion of infertility, attempted physical assault
Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?
A/N: Thank you to my beta reader, @whisperlullaby
Wrecked Masterlist
You were peeling potatoes when you heard the rumble of Frank’s truck as it pulled up to the cabin. Was it strange you still felt nervous when he came home after all these months? Maybe because you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You weren’t an Omega that any “normal” Alpha would want, and you know that your relationship with Frank was born more out of solace and comfort than anything else. Still, you loved him and he seemed to love you. So, you smiled when you heard his gravelly voice call, “Hey babe.”
“Hey. I’m in the kitchen,” you reply.
“Whatcha cookin’?” Frank asks as he sets his lunch box in its spot.
“Just boring old meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” you smile at him over your shoulder.
“Mmm, does that mean I get a meatloaf sandwich in my lunch tomorrow?” Frank sidles up behind you and rests his hands on your hips.
“If you like.”
“I like,” he confirms as he squeezes your hips suggestively. “Do I have time to shower?”
“You have about 30 minutes before it’s ready,” you confirm as you rinse the peeled potatoes.
“Great,” he retreats to your bedroom and you immediately miss his warmth.
You had found each other by accident. He had come to your small town by chance. Many people passed through on their way to bigger towns but he decided to stay. He wandered into your bar, drank alone, talked but didn’t flirt as you tended to him, and ended up breaking up a fight between two alphas quite adeptly. You had been impressed and a little enticed until you noticed the claiming mark on his neck. Fully expecting him to disappear into the night, you were surprised when he showed up again the next night. And the one after that. You had joked that you should hire him as a bouncer and he had laughed but then asked if anyone in town was hiring. Referring him to the two places you knew were looking, you poured him a congratulatory drink when he told you he had landed a spot. You remember back to that time…
Close to the end of the night, you were cutting off a young alpha who took offense. You were used to handling drunks and thought you had defused the situation when he walked away from the bar. A few of his friends ribbed him and the group left just as you announced last call. You shut down, counted out, and sent the rest of your staff home. As the daughter of a prominent alpha and known as a rejected and broken omega, you felt secure in the town. Perhaps that was a bit of your own arrogance. You had just made it to your car when you were slammed against it by a large body and your head was pulled to one side by the grip in your hair.
Alcohol laden breath spoke in your ear, “You need to learn your place, ‘mega.”
“Get off of me!” You yelled, bucking against his hold.
“Don’t worry. I don’t wanna fuck the wrecked omega. I’m just gonna give you the beating your daddy never did. Pathetic, unfuckable thing you are, I’m surprised he let you live. Shoulda- Agh!” The young alpha’s words cut off by his own scream.
You’re pulled roughly to the ground by his grip in your hair but roll away from him quickly and scoot out of his range. He’s holding onto his side and you look up at the tire iron gripped in a strong hand. Following it up, you see Frank and breathe a sigh of relief. Frank is obviously not done yet as he lands another blow to the alpha’s stomach then one across the face.
He stops and leans over his prey, “Is that something like the beating your daddy never gave you? I ever see you here again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
When no answer comes, Frank raises the tire iron for another swing but the other alpha holds his hands up and wheezes, “Yes!”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Frank yells and watches as the man scrambles off into the darkness. Turning to you, he holds a hand out to help you up, “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” you brush yourself off as you speak, trying to appear nonchalant but clearly shaken up.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Frank grouses at you.
“I’m fine. That’s the first time-”
“It only takes one time. You have to be more careful,” Frank interrupts.
“I- I’m fine,” you say again. You drop your keys because your hands are shaking and pick them up only to drop them again.
“Hey,” Frank covers your hands with his.
“I’m fine,” you whisper again, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall.
“Hey, look at me,” Frank pulls you around to look at him. His face softens as he sees the unshed tears in your eyes, “You’re not fine. Let me take you home.”
You surrender your keys to him and nod. You tell him what direction to head in and silence stretches between you until you can stand it no longer. “So, Frank, what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?” Frank hedges.
“I mean a lone alpha wandering into town and staying isn’t very common. What brought you here? What made you stay?”
“My truck. A good bar that pours a stiff drink and a job,” Frank replies.
“Okay, then,” you recognize when someone doesn’t want to talk about their past.
“How long have you worked at the bar?” Frank asks.
“I own the bar,” you retort.
“How long have you owned the bar?”
“Since the last owner sold it to me,” you sass.
Frank surprises you by letting a laugh rumble out of his chest and you can’t help the smile that quirks your lips. His scent is suddenly stronger in the small space of your car, not hidden by the scents of the bar. It’s enticing and warm. You feel yourself responding to it and clench your thighs.
“Didn’t seem like that was your first fight. Army?” You guess.
“Marines.”
“Oorah,” you glance over at him and as headlights pass you see the mating mark on his neck again. It’s faded but definitely there. “Where’s your mate?”
Frank’s entire demeanor shifts as if a darkness had covered him entirely. He growls, “Gone.”
“I’m sorry,” you study your hands. Feeling awkward at having obviously brought up a painful subject.
“She and both my pups were killed. Car crash,” he says quietly.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”
“Since we’re on sore subjects, why are you a ‘wrecked omega’?” Frank glances over at you.
“Turn left just past the highway sign up ahead,” you point out the sign. “Because I can’t have children. My mate rejected me because of it.”
“Sounds like a jackass,” Frank says.
“He was from another pack. My father wanted me to lie to him but I couldn’t and I understood when he decided to reject me. He was very kind about it but the reason got out. It’s common knowledge that I’m broken. Take the next right and then the third left.”
“Guess that makes two of us,” Frank says reflectively.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Frank shakes his head as he takes the turns.
“Um, you’ll cross over some train tracks and then a bridge. It’ll be the next house on the right,” you explain. He nods but remains silent. You knot your fingers while trying to think of something to say. You’re relieved when you go over the bridge a few minutes later and the front porch light on your cabin shines like a beacon. “That’s it,” you point.
He parks the car, hands you the keys, and walks you to the front steps. You go up and unlock the door. Turning back, you wait for him to follow you inside.
“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow night,” Frank turns to walk away.
“What are you doing?” You ask, confused.
“I’ll just walk back,” he shrugs.
“It’s over five miles back to town,” you say incredulously.
“I’ll be alright.”
“I’m not letting you walk back to town. Let’s go,” you tilt your head towards the house.
“I-”
“I can’t be alone right now, please,” you say in hopes of convincing him.
“Okay,” he says as he climbs the steps.
You let him in and then lock the door behind you. You take your boots off, hang up your bag, and head to the kitchen as you decide you need a drink. “Would you like something?” You ask as you pour yourself a glass of wine.
“Got anything stronger?”
“I have everything stronger,” you scoff playfully.
“Whiskey?” Frank smirks.
“Ice?”
“Nah.”
You pour him two fingers of the liquor and hand it over. Studying him over the rim of your glass, you wonder what else there was to this stranger. He was good-looking and seemed decent. You hope he is considering you just invited him into your house.
“Got an extra pillow and blanket?” He asks.
“What for?”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You lean over the counter and give him a look, “I told you I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
Frank leisurely lets his eyes slide down to peak at the cleavage your position was clearly showing off and smirked, “You sure?”
“Yeah, Marine. I mean, if you think you can handle me,” you toss the words over your shoulder as you walk to your bedroom.
“Oorah,” Frank grins as he follows you.
The two of you fell into a routine. He came to the bar for a drink after work, stayed until last call, and you invited him back to your place. After a couple of weeks, you offered him a key saying that working all day and then staying at the bar until close each night had to be exhausting. If he wanted, he could wait for you at the cabin. If he was still awake when you got home, you fucked. If he was asleep, he usually woke you up fucking you the next morning. He was insatiable and you enjoyed it more than you cared to admit. You had never had the sole attention of an alpha for any time outside of your heat (which was a bane seeing as your body still went through it despite your inability to conceive) and the betas you had dated never seemed to stick around long. Even they didn't want the broken omega.
In the time Frank had been with you, he gave every indication of being a good man who wanted a simple life. Despite his seeming contentment, you often wondered why he stayed and when he would decide to go. He knew you could never give him kids and in the times you’d seen him with them, he seemed entirely natural. He would be an amazing father, had been an amazing father you were sure. And it ate at you. Why did he stay? Your fear wouldn’t let you ask because that may hasten his leaving you. You never discussed your relationship. You just lived it everyday and, for the most part, you were happy.
But your heat was coming soon. It would be his second time seeing you through it and it was just another reminder of your brokenness. You would have to bring it up.
Setting dinner on the table, you jump when you feel a hand on your backside, “Oh! How does a man your size move so quietly?”
Frank chuckles, “Maybe cause I’m barefoot.”
You laugh with him as he wiggles his toes. Most see the quiet, stoic side of this man but you’ve been allowed to see the funny and sweet side of him. It’s what made you love him. After you’d both eaten a bit, you broach the subject on your mind.
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
“Uh-oh. What’d I do?”
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Heard that before,” Frank’s brow furrows.
“My heat is coming in the next few weeks,” you say nervously.
“Okay…”
“Will you, um, help me through it?”
“Yeah. Why are you asking? Is there someone else you want to help you or something?”
“No! I just didn’t want to assume.”
“You didn’t want to assume that I’d take care of my Omega?” Frank asks, clearly offended.
“You’ve never called me that before,” you say in surprise.
“I’ve called you that plenty,” Frank shrugs.
“You’ve called me ‘mega, occasionally Omega, but you’ve never called me yours. Never ‘my Omega’.”
“Never, huh?”
“No,” you whisper, looking away. Guilt and shame welled in you for even bringing it up.
“What is it you want from me, my Omega?”
You glance up at him. His face is curious but not angry as you feared he would be, “What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to mate you?” Frank asks as he takes another bite of his dinner.
“No!” You say a little too forcefully. Seeing Frank’s brows draw together, you babble, “I don’t expect that from you. I know I’m not what an Alpha wants, since I can’t have kids. I’m not asking you for anything. Just… just to see me through my heat.” You didn’t expect it from him. You didn’t expect any Alpha to mate you. Neither of you had even said I love you. You do love him and you think he feels something for you but you would never tell him. You wouldn’t try to force him into being stuck with you.
“I will. You would be safer if you were mated. With the bar and everything,” Frank says as he forks another bite.
“I know but there aren’t many Alphas or even Betas out there that would take a mate who can’t have kids,” you say a bit exasperated.
“Then I’ll mate you,” Frank says quietly.
Your heart swells and breaks in the same moment, “No, Frank. I know you well enough to know you want children again. I know you want to protect me but I won’t take your future from you.”
“I’m happy here with you. That’s enough for me,” Frank insists.
“Frank-”
“I’m mating you when your heat comes,” Frank interrupts before taking the last bite of his food and getting up to put his plate in the sink, effectively cutting off the conversation. He looks back and gestures to your half eaten plate, “Finish up and I’ll do the dishes.”
“I’m done,” you hand the plate to him and stand awkwardly. You aren’t sure what to say or even what you feel. You try to think of something that will take this feeling away that you’re going to ruin his future and the feeling that you were a settlement rather than a choice. You decide to pour yourself a glass of wine.
“You, uh, remember me telling you about my friend, Billy?” Frank asks as he sloshes water in the sink. You would never understand why he won’t use the dishwasher. One of his idiosyncrasies.
“Russo, right? He owns a security company?” You try to remember the details of the conversation you’d had about the man.
“Yeah, he called me today,” Frank pauses.
“...About something in particular?”
“He’s gonna pass through the area next week and wanted to stop here for a few days. Catch up,” Frank explains.
“Oh, okay. I’ll clean up the guest room for him,” you say.
“I can put him at the motel,” Frank hedges.
“He doesn’t know about me?” You ask, voice hollow.
“He knows. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to put him up,” Frank grouses.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Clearing your throat, you say, “Of course, your friend can stay here. Um, is there anything I can make that he likes?”
“Just keep the good whiskey out and he’ll be happy,” Frank smiles.
It lightens your heart and you finally feel able to take a deep breath, “That I can do.”
“Oh, and Bill’s a flirt. Don’t be surprised if he teases you.”
“Noted. You should bring him up to the bar. Cecily’s supposed to be back next week, too,” you smile as you watch Frank make a face. A long-time friend who is quite the social butterfly and ends up at your bar more often than not, had tried to rouse Frank’s interest when he first blew into town but he had ignored her attempts and played off her flirtations. She had been out of town for a while but had recently texted that she would be returning.
“Oh, god, no. Those two would create havoc together,” Frank shakes his head.
You laugh, feeling more relaxed, “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, Bill can be a bit of a troublemaker, too,” Frank confirms.
“Oh, I hope they are here at the same time. I could use some entertainment.”
“Your funeral,” Frank laughs as he shakes his head.
“Do you know when next week?”
“Nope. He’s not great at specifics,” Frank shrugs.
“Well, I’ll have the room and a bottle of whiskey at the ready,” you smile.
Frank smiles back as he dries his hands and prowls towards you.
“What’s that look about, Marine?” You narrow your eyes and move deftly around the couch.
Frank gives a low, gravelly laugh before rumbling out, “Oorah.” He begins to chase after you with a teasing, predatory glint in his eye.
“Frank!” You yell as you round the couch and stay out of his reach.
He wanted a chase and you were more than happy to oblige him. Some feral, primal part of him occasionally took hold and it was thrilling when it did. He stalked you like prey around the living room until you made a break for the back door. You fly through it with him hot on your heels. Running parallel to the creek by your cabin, you make it to the tree line and weave around the trunks. He doesn’t know the woods as well as you but he’s faster. It was only a matter of time before he’d catch up. You stop to listen for a moment but know you can’t stay still long. Hearing nothing, you decide to change directions but your mistake is discovered quickly when his arm wraps around your middle and you’re lifted off your feet momentarily. You laugh and turn in his arms to face him. He kisses you and you use the opportunity to push him while his guard is down. Something you’d never done before. He stumbles over the tree roots and you turn to run again. He catches your ankle and you go down but you manage to kick his hand away and get to your feet. You can hear him half growl, half laugh at this turn of events. You thread your way through the trees again and then skirt the edge of the creek before doubling back towards the house. You were nearly back to the tree line when your momentum was suddenly brought up short and you landed with your back against a tree. Frank’s body pinned you in place as his hands ripped open his fly. He pulls your clothing away with no patience and within seconds has your legs wrapped around him as he enters your body.
The first thrust is pure bliss. You were thoroughly wet from the excitement of the chase and he roared as he took you. He pounded into you, railing you against that tree. You clutched at him, nails raking across his shoulders and body bowed as your orgasm built.
“Alpha, oh fuck!” You cried out as you felt your body spasm around him. The orgasm slammed through you with the same hard persistence as his cock. A few more jerky thrusts and he was groaning his release. He holds you in place as your breathing returns to normal.
After a moment, you murmur in his ear, “Maybe I should call you caveman instead of marine.”
Frank laughs as he gently pulls away from you, “If I was a caveman, I’d just hit you over the head with a club and drag you to the bedroom by your hair.”
“Mmm, true. Guess I’ll just stick to calling you marine,” you lean in and kiss him.
Making your way back to the house, you look up at the first stars beginning to appear as the sun sets and make a wish. It was a stupid, silly wish that you’d made over and over again since you were a young girl. One that would never come true for a broken omega. As you looked over at the Alpha you were sharing your life with, you wondered why you still wished it. He was more than you ever believed you could have. So, why wasn’t it enough?
Part 2
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#marvel#the punisher#frank castle#frank castle x reader#frank castle x you#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x y/n#Billy Russo#billy russo x reader#billy russo x female reader#billy russo x you#billy russo x y/n#Alpha Billy Russo#Alpha Frank Castle#a/b/o au#a/b/o#a/b/o dynamics#a/b/o verse#omegaverse#jigsaw#Omega Reader#Female Reader#Reader Insert#Mating bond#mating
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Yes he's your protectable little meow meow, but he's pathetic and unfuckable TO ME !! He's my special little boy and I'm slamming him against the wall like a wet rag doll so please respect my privacy
#please read this in kayne malevolents voice#if you're not from here- no this is not Kanye I'm talking about- read it again#kayne malevolent#malevolent kayne#malevolent#malevolent podcast
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Would Blanche let me give him head?
Tw: Well, blowjob, seggs, description of bullying, cum eating, violence
Short answer, Yes. Long answer:
You would have to win him over, though. He's ridiculously shy when it comes to anything outside platonic love and attraction. As charming as he is, Blanche actually never had anyone express genuine desire to bed him. He was by no means ugly, but his whimsy and quaintness made others label him as this unromancable, unfuckable weirdo.
Blanche is almost as if he has a built in magnet for bullies, the closest to a love confession that he got was when the people around him dared each other to ask him out, as a joke. It's funny to them because Blanche is not at all an eligible candidate as a bachelor. The idea of sleeping with him is humorous, hilarious, even. They weren't laughing anymore when all of them experienced the metallic taste of his brass knuckles driven deep into their skulls.
He experienced this treatment for the majority of his life, following him all the way to adulthood and even during his time living as a hermit in his cottage. They just can't fuck the old man and they kept tormenting him because of it.
He yearns to be the romantic gentleman he would see in love films, he yearns to be treated like someone valuable like a protagonist of a steamy romance novel. Alas, he was hurt and used for so long, that he blocked that longing out entirely from his mind, to save him from the unavoidable heartbreak. Unfortunately, even when he is expecting nothing, he still gets let down.
It's not a surprise that he's wary with the notion of romance and erotic attraction. It's already drilled into his being that he isn't desirable carnally. It's an automatic no to anyone who thinks it's a great idea to 'prank' him again.
But you... you're different. You're so special and so lovely to him. Bringing up the idea of sucking him off made Blanche freeze in place momentarily, letting all those horrible, horrible memories flood back in. However, he reminded himself that you wouldn't hurt him, you're his beloved friend. His only, one true friend. It should be okay, right?
He's apprehensive at first, but with enough patience and convincing, you could make him sit down at least. Blanche would drape his hair over the back of his chair, letting it pool on the floor. He would nervously bite on his thumb as you slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.
Blanche felt like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, how could it not? The only person he loves is on their knees at his crotch level, offering to do something so dirty, something unthinkable. Yet so... intimate.
You would stop when you saw him crying, eyes red and wet. His eyebrows would be knitted together and his lower lip trembles in anticipation. Upon asking what's wrong, he would break out into a sob, covering his shameful face with his hands. He would grow hot and his ears would resemble hot embers, he is so, so ashamed.
"I-I'm sorry, my darling. I'm just- I'm Just... embarrassed." And it was too overwhelming for him to see a growing bulge on his crotch, he had never felt this vulnerable before. Not even after being called all kinds of derogatory slurs by hundreds of people in real life and online. This is a different type of humiliation that somewhat felt nice, because it was with you.
He would draw in the sharpest gasp and widen his beautiful, deep blue eyes when you took him in your mouth. Swirl your tongue around his length, let it touch the back of your soft and slimy throat and enjoy the delicious whines, whimpers and mewls that would escape his mouth.
His moans would be like music to your ears, it's so pathetic and needy. Blanche would have his fingers tangled within your hair, not to force you against his length, but to try and slow you. You would bob your head up and down, occasionally catching a glimpse of his messy, teary face. It almost seems like he's in excruciating pain, but whenever you stopped to ask him if he's hurting,
"No! N-no, not at all. It felt so good, I-I can't describe it. It felt so good..." Drool would drip down from the corner as he watched you with a daze. He would let out a cry when you went back to mouthing his throbbing cock, leaked with excess amounts of precum.
Blanche would convulse as if you passed electricity through him, his eyes would roll back into his skull as he's overcome by immense bouts of forbidden pleasure. His fingers would grow weaker and weaker, at one point even slipping off your head and dangling limply on his sides. More tears, mucus and drool would streak down his once clean and dignified face.
At his climax, his entire body would contract and Blanche would let the loudest, most lewd, most improper moan rip out from his vocals. His copious amounts of cum would take you by surprise as it fills you up to the brim, it's so powerful that some would come out of your nose if you didn't open your throat properly before blowing him.
It will take him half a minute to unload everything, making a mess all over your neck, chest and floor. It would almost look like the bedroom is flooding with semen, some even got soaked up by his curly hair nearby.
It will take another few seconds to recuperate, slowly snapping out of this euphoric bliss that he experienced for the first time in his lonely, lonely life. You would be wiping your eyes to remove the cum that temporarily blinded you.
"O-oh! I'm truly sorry, darling..." He would lean forward, cupping your cheeks and helping you clean your face up from decades of pent up frustration and desperate yearning. "I'm so sorry... oh, look at you. I'm terribly sorry for this..." He would frown, now being brought to tears due to guilt. He would be flicking as much of his semen away from your face. Blanche noticed that you're still holding quite a substantial amount between your tongue and teeth, he would bring a cupped hand next to your chin, expecting you to spit it out.
"My dear, don't-" He would be wide eyed when you decided the remaining load in your mouth, grinning happily and even showing that there is nothing in your mouth. Blanche could only dream to have the tomatoes growing in his garden to be as scarlet as his face right now.
Because of his clean diet, his jizz actually tasted... nice? It's mildly sweet and has a very mild smell to it. It's smooth, creamy and generally pleasant to eat.
"You..." He would be at a loss of words as he processed what you did. Upon realizing what the implications are, that you have a part of him inside you willingly, and in unimaginable amounts too... His cock would find a new burst of energy to spurt one last load of cum, soiling his trousers, chair and your face again.
He would then cry out apologies before hastily wiping away more spunk away from your already painted countenance.
You had to assure him that you're okay, you enjoyed it too, only then he will let out a shaky sigh of relief before looking you with eyes filled with so much love and adoration. He quickly tucks his member back into his underwear and zipped it out of sight, before it could do further damage,
"Thank you, my love. Thank you..." He leans forward to press numerous kisses onto your face, initially not caring that he's also coating his lips with his spunk. Only when it seeped into his mouth did he cringe and shudder.
"Ah, icky." Blanche would laugh, and so would you. He nuzzles his nose against yours and continued giving you kisses while you kneel in front of him.
His eyes would land on the disaster that he created while ejaculating, darting from your drenched form to the floor, and to his soiled hair too. Blanche would nervously chuckle while trying his best to wipe your face using the napkin he tucks into his other breast pocket. "Yucky, yucky." He would mumble lightheartedly to himself while he stares at you with the brightest twinkle in his downturned eyes.
"You're such a blessing to me, I love you." He whispered, urging you to come and sit on his lap, despite knowing that he would get his cum onto his waistcoat too. He tries his best to clean you up, but it's already staining everything. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
He would love you up in his arms, showering you with praises and kisses for hours if you let him. You would be as giggly as him, as his fluttering lips would be ticklish. In the end, he would bury his face in your shoulder while he holds you close.
"I'm sorry I made such a mess. I got a bit too excited, y-you made me feel things I never felt before. It was... It was so good. I-I don't know what to say except thank you." He would murmur softly before you felt a certain dampness on your clothes, he's crying again.
"You're so good to me, my rose. You're my one and only, I love you." Blanche then presses a long, tender kiss on your lips. You close your eyes and he closes his teary ones, both of you melting into each other and enjoying the warmth.
He would slowly pull away and tenderly massage your jaw, it must have been straining when you did that for him. He isn't one to brag about his size, but he could clearly see that he was too big for you.
"I can't express enough how grateful I am. You're such a wonderful angel in my sad, sad life... How could I ever repay you, my love?" He caressed the side of your face, occasionally picking out hair that clung to your skin. "Would you like me to..." He trailed off, looking away embarrassed.
You got what he meant, you said yes. But only if he's comfortable with it.
"Of course, I am, my dear." He pressed his cheek against yours, hugging you as if you're his beloved stuffed toy. "But... I'm not, I don't- I don't have much experience doing such things."
He held your face and looked into your eyes, you could see uncertainty and nervousness swirling in those ocean blues.
"Will you teach me, darling? I would love to please you too. You have shown me a world that I couldn't even dream of experiencing. I am forever indebted to you and I-I'm having a hard time coming up with methods to show you my unyielding gratitude."
#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere male#yandere#yandere oc x reader#male yandere oc x reader#tw yandere#yandere x you#yandere concept#oc blanche#tw sex#tw oral
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Obviously 🤤 + 😳 with Ari Levinson dear Jam.
HOE-KAY! So I'm picturing you and your friend thirsting over this hunk of a man...
Hearty-eyes
Ari Levinson x Reader (You)
Warning: Diving Coach!Ari, Tourist!Reader, getting caught... sort of?), sentences in Italic is spoken in another language.
Summary: You are sure you can't be heard, or at least, understood when you thirst over a man in your native language.
"I can't believe you decided to spend our vacation on another beach." Your friend Asteria sighs, lying back under the warm sunlight, "Still, this resort is not half bad, where did you find it?"
You push the sunglasses over your head, turning lazily in her direction, smirking, "Not many results left after I type in Egypt+beach," reaching a hand to the small table between the two chairs, you grab your drink and sip the cool coconut water, "Plus, you had your share of camels and pyramids and sand in the first three days."
Asteria is a huge fan of ancient history. She selected Latin and Culture and History of Ancient Egypt in her undergraduate years, even if her major was East Asia Studies. While you got bored of this elective focusing on pharaohs and zig-zaw drawings on ancient stones quickly, Asteria followed the whole course and took another elective on Mayan civilization.
This is why when you ought to settle on a destination for your vacation, Asteria booked the first three days of a trip in and out of the desert, when you booked the next three days of one Red Sea Diving Resort.
Which accidentally comes with the hottest diving instructor you have ever met in your entire life.
"Psst, incoming alert." Asteria clutches your arm and shakes so violently, that your drink almost spills from the glass, her eyes rounding like a light bulb, "Hot coach at ten o'clock."
Coming from one of the smallest countries on the planet, you know that your native language is spoken by a small number of people. And at special circumstances, for instance, this hot coach named Ari, you naturally speak your mother tongue so that you could thirst over him with the benefit of no one could ever find out - except for Asteria, who spent four years studying it.
Sharing the same awe-struck expression as Asteria, you lower your sunglasses to have a better look at this brunette Adonis out of the water. He pushes his hair back, with the water beads falling from his chiseled chin and his large hand, dripping wet, not to mention the chest peeking from his diving suit -
"Oh my fucking God, he's looking this way." You squeal so high that you are close to out of air. Even using your native language, you can feel the shyness and nervousness bubbling from your heart and surfacing on your skin. Your face aflame by a simple look he delivers in your direction.
"Oh my - holy fuck, he's coming this way!" Asteria raises her glass to her lips, just to cover the huge grin on her face, "He's so fucking hot. Coach BDE."
"Fuck me." You exclaim, blocking your sight with the local newspaper you took on the way to the beach, because you damn well know that your heart is practically jumping out of your throat if you spare one more glance at the sex god.
"You really should." Asteria tempts you like a rightful friend would, "And tell me if his dick is actually as big as we imagined."
You hiss at her, seeing Coach Ari approaching your direction, "You are a horrible influence - not that he looks unfuckable. Hell, he looks so fuckable with the broad shoulders and the long hair." You whine in the most pathetic voice as he walks past you, "Fuck, I think I'm more soaked than he is."
"Then go talk to him!"
"I can't!"
"Of course you can!" Asteria nudges you in a particularly ticklish spot on your waist, "Go before Coach BDE disappears!"
"What if he says no!"
"You don't know that!" Asteria turns to look at the hot coach, "Great. Now he's gone." As if he has just disappeared on plain sight.
The lingering feeling of your face heating reminds you of the fact that merely with Ari's presence, you are flushed from head to toe. You can't imagine talking to him without embarrassing yourself.
Asteria rolls her eyes and pokes the ticklish spot on your waist again, "I swear, if you don't fuck him, I will annoy you about this for the rest of our lives."
"It's not like I don't want to fuck him!" You huff out in annoyance. Although with Ari gone, for now, you are deep in your thoughts so that you are still talking in your native language, "You know I'm too scared to ask him. I can't exactly go and ask, ' Hi Ari, my friend Asteria said you could be great in bed. May I fuck you?' "
A shadow looms over you. By the looks and widening eyes of Asteria looking at someone behind you, her eyes nearly popping, and the faintest wiggle of her eyebrows, you turn your neck to see the hot coach TM standing behind you, getting a whiplash as a result.
"Yes, of course." Ari simply says. A small smile tugging the corner of his lips, making the fact that he has understood your thirsting conversation painfully obvious. Ari has changed into a blue shirt and shorts, leaving his veiny arm and thick thighs in plain sight. Even though he isn't dripping anymore, you sure as hell still do.
You stutter for a moment, before hastily apologizing, "I'm so sorry, my friends and I were just talking, we didn't mean-"
"Of course, she means that." Asteria doesn't even pretend that she wants to leave the place for you and Ari, "Oops, I've got something going on. Laters babe!" Blowing you a kiss, she snatches her purse and dashes out of sight.
There is nothing smug about Ari's posture as he sits down on Asteria's chair, watching you with his clear blue eyes as you nervously drape the thin bath towel over your bikini. "Sorry about barging in on your conversation. My apologies for eavesdropping." His sharp canines bite into his plump lower lip, those mesmerizing eyes search for any sign that you could've felt offended by his movements.
"No... I should be the one to say sorry." The blood rushes to your cheeks again, you could literally ignite a match with your burning face, "... about ... um, what I've said."
"Please. I'm flattered, if anything," Ari takes a deep breath. If you were looking closely enough, you would realize the tip of his ears is painted with a faint color of pink, "Have you had dinner yet? I know a great place that cooks squabs."
The refusal is almost on instinct, but you think of the encouragement (and the threat) Asteria made before her departure, and the words roll off your tongue, "I'd love to."
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#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson x female reader#ari levinson x you#ari levinson fluff#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson#jammy's 500 celebration#writing challenge
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How about Grimmjow finding his s/o wounded and taking her to Orihime to save her? context is up to you (:
Summary: local girl fighting side to side with a hollow (goes wrong)
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You were never exceptionally powerful, but you are fast. That's enough to keep up with him. Grimmjow has always been pleased about it. And you? You're happy to hunt side to side with him, just for fun, in the deep whiteness of hueco mundo.
The prey you lurk upon had never been too much for any of you, or at least not until the night when you found a swarm of adjucas traveling like a hive.
At first, it was fun. Four or five at a time were a game. From ten to fifteen, true enjoyment started, but soon forty to sixty got out of hand.
Grimmjow let out whoops of joy, relishing his fight. The buzz of the bees drowned your yelling for help. Pathetic. After all, Nnoitra was right: Humans can't coexist in Hueco Mundo.
One sting after another, and everything went black.
-.*.*.*.-
Grimmjow punches a hole through the queen's body, and when he rips her in two halves with his bare hands, all the smaller bee creatures flee at once. He laughs, holding the two pieces with open arms as they vanish. When his maniac victory cackle drowns out, he immediately darts his look to you.
Grimmjow's gaze wanders around the battlefield, scanning carefully to find you among the many corpses scattered on the ground. And there you are! Hunched over yourself, squatting. One of your hands rests over the inert round body next to you— There's blood all around you, a pool of it.
You turn to him when he's close enough to the ground to cast a shadow. Grimmjow's breath runs short. His eyes widen as he processes:
You move forward with a hand pressed on your stomach, a wound so deep that he can almost see your guts. There are dangerously swollen and inhumanly purple veins running all over your skin. Your eyes are bloodshot and crystallized with tears. A viscous, black substance slips from your mouth.
Your body gives out when you try to stand up. Grimmjow catches you before you hit the ground. You are impossibly cold.
Grimmjow feels like crawling out of his skin, a sensation so wrenching he's sure something within him will shatter to remain unfixable for eternity if you die. With his nerves turning his stomach, he blasts up, reaching the Garganta he opened a second ago.
You cough, splattering dark blood on his jaw and neck. Grimmjow steals a glance at you. You're jerking, twitching in pain. A horrible sound comes from the rear of your throat as you try to catch your breath.
"Stay awake!" he roared. "Hey, do you hear me? You don't fucking dare die like this!"
There's only one person able to unfuck this situation: Aizen's former pet. Ichigo's woman. A fixer.
He steps into the sharp cold of the human world. Grimmjow darts across the city, cutting through clouds and snow. Your grip on his back fades at the same time your body suddenly goes limp.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He crashes through a glass balcony, breaking both windows into a thousand pieces. The woman cooking inside screams, jumping back. The pot with steamy soup smashes into the floor. A familiar orange shield jumps to sight.
Grimmjow merges from the dust curtain, carrying what looks like a corpse. His eyes are far beyond enraged, wild beyond all understanding. His voice comes raw from his chest when he orders:
"Heal her."
#grimmjow x you#grimmjow headcanons#grimmjow x reader#grimmjow jaegerjaquez#grimmjow jeagerjaques#nnoitra gilga#orihime inoue#grimmjow#espada x redaer#bleach scenarios#bleach imagines
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The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]
Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang
[Ao3 link]
[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader
[Rating]: Mature
[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.
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The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]
for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted
This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.
More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again.
broken cabinet.
Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.
broken cabinet. sorry. :’(
[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]
You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.
Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.
How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.
And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.
Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.
This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma.
God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–
Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.
Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…
…Oh.
It’s Morgan. What the fuck.
“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.
“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”
Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”
He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”
Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”
The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.
“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”
His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”
As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”
Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.
“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”
He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency.
A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.
“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”
You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”
This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.
It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.
“Are you, um…”
Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”
Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”
“Yes,” you reply weakly.
For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”
He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.
The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?
I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.
Oh. He hates it.
Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”
“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”
It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”
“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”
You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”
“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”
You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.
Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”
“Catsitting,” you say.
“’…s’cuse me?”
“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”
“Cats can get anxiety?”
“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.”
Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”
You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.
He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”
Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.
Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.
You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.
“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.
“No?”
“Figured you’d prefer snails.”
“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.
“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”
“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”
He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —
“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”
“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”
“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”
The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”
He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest.
For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”
“You’re not what, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” you say weakly.
He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”
Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–
But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”
Huh. What.
“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”
“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.
“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”
When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.
“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.
***
You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.
“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”
Sebastian stretches and yawns.
“I hit on the maintenance man.”
He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you.
“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”
Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.
“Okay, one bottle drunk.”
He sniffs haughtily.
“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.
“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”
***
You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?
The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.
“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath.
You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.
But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.
The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.
Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.
“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.
“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.
“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”
“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.
Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.
You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.
Of course my mind goes there.
Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.
“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”
His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”
He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours.
“Mr Morgan—”
“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”
You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.
Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.
Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—
The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.
For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.
“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”
“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”
Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.
“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.
“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”
You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .
***
Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.
A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.
“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”
Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”
“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”
He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief.
“Do you like her?”
He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.
“Because a girl as pretty as her…”
“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”
As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan/reader#arthur morgan/oc#fic#modern au#verai-marcel#upsides of property damage
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Can't Fuck Bracket - Group Stage. Group 28: Characters That Inspired Paragraphs
Jiang Cheng (MDZS/The Untamed) versus Bertrand Beaumont (The Royal Romance) versus Joe Goldberg (You)
[ID: The unfuckable pride flag overlaid with the "no bitches" meme. Jiang is a Chinese man with long hair, shown with a woozy face; Bertrand is a white man in a sweater and blazer, frowning; Joe is a white man with short hair, shown staring blankly. Over it are pictures of the contestants. Over them are sparkles and a heart with a butt, and in between them are peach emojis crossed out with the word "vs" in them. End ID]
Propaganda:
Jiang Cheng: "He’s literally such a bad date that he is blacklisted from dating pools. He’s ranked as the 5th most handsome bachelor in the cultivation world (who is the panel of judges that decide this? I really don’t know!!!) yet despite this and him ALSO being rich and powerful on top of that, women still hate him!!! Hes just that unpleasant!!!!! He’s constantly being one-upped by his adoptive brother (deserved) (4th most handsome bachelor, btw) so much so that it’s become a meme, he even lost a best mdzs character poll tournament (in the first round iirc) to said adoptive brother’s pet donkey. Literally no one wants him!!!!! He is the loneliest saddest most pathetic sopping wet cat of a man I’ve ever seen!! I’m convinced he will die a virgin" / "Guy has no game, in the drama version (the untamed) he goes after a chick who’s clearly a lesbian and just never gets any"
Bertrand Beaumont:
• like father like son innit
• he's a cunt but not in a cool sexy way. in a pathetic overgrown rat kind of way that makes you want to punt him back into the sewers
• his name is bertrand archibald beaumont. would YOU wanna fuck him???? i thought not
• the amount of times you have to help him with his relationship. like the countless apologies for being a dumb stupid shit. helping him propose. help with his vows. im 110% convinced mc had to get on video chat for their wedding night so she could instruct bertrand on what to do
• yeeeeah you can't convince me they dont sleep in separate beds in separate rooms
• and also that nasty sweater vest and jacket?????? i know he hasnt washed them in years. of course no one would go near him
• that one country outfit
• killer eyebrows? eye'm gonna kill meself x
Joe Goldberg: "The first time he gets to fuck a woman that he's stalked he finishes in like 2 seconds. Never appears to be any better at fucking any of the countless times he fucks after that. I bet his dick feels like a limp fish. Also got arrested for having sex in a public place and constantly jacks off in public like I think if you were any good at sex you wouldnt need to be doing that. Tried to have a bisexual foursome once to get his wife to leave him and he wimped out so hard at the idea of fucking another man even though he is arguably bisexual himself. The most sexual tension he ever actually had was with a hallucination of another man he had in his own head. Just kind of pathetic"
#the untamed#mo dai zu shi#mdzs#jiang cheng#playchoices#the royal romance#trr#bertrand beaumont#you#you netflix#joe goldberg#polls#thank you drinkingteainthedark for the picture of jiang#thank you dogtheories for the picture of joe
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i'd unfuck you if i could [sirius black x gn!reader] (one shot)
cw: cheating, cursing, slight obsession, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, not taking no for an answer (not attemped non-con or anything like that)
pairing: gn!reader x sirius black
summary: sirius cheated on you and tries to win you back. This is inspired by the song turbulent by waterparks.
wc: 1k
requests: closed <3
reblogs and interactions are appreciated!!
It was almost ironic, almost. After all the warnings you had received about him and how he was. He still managed to surprise you with his actions even though you knew how he was, what he had done to countless other girls before. You weren't even that sad about it I mean how could you when all you felt was just pure anger.
All the girls who came up to you telling them how he cheated on them, oh how naïve you were. The things you said in return were oh so typical. "Oh but he changed, he promised me he wouldn't." "He isn't like that anymore." Some of them laughed in your face, you weren't special he won't change for you. How right they were?
You could remember very well how you had found out. It was a celebratory party after Gryffindor had won a quidditch match. You had been dancing around with the others and helping Lily evade James before he could try to ask her out with another one of his grand gestures.
You had made your way over to were the drinks were, grabbing a cup of firewhiskey, you spotted them in the corner. Your now ex-boyfriend and a random girl making out in the corner. Oh how you had wanted to laugh and laugh you did. Before you knew it your legs had carried you over to them, the cup in your hand was no longer full, it had been emptied out on top of the kissing couple.
They jumped apart as Sirius let out a loud scream. Loud enough to be heard over the music. Few people were looking at what was happening. You remembered how indifferent he had been about it. You just smiled at him and told him it was alright. Grabbing the nearest bottle of firewhiskey you popped the cap of it off and chugged about half of it before putting it down and walking to the nearest guy you could find that seemed remotely interested in you and kissed him on the mouth.
The next morning word of what happened spread around the castle. It was kind of funny to be congratulated by your friends because of a break up with a guy. Funny thing was most people would have been sad after a break up with the Sirius Black, but you were almost like him last night indifferent about it.
The most peculiar thing happened when you were going back to classes with your friends. Before one of your friends could sit down next to you Sirius had made his way on to the seat next to you. "Please y/n it was a mistake, it didn't mean anything." You raised your eyebrows. This had never happened before, it was always the people who got cheated on who begged Sirius to take them back, even if he was the one who had been in the wrong.
Pathetic it was how he was acting when someone didn't chase after him. Is this what happened when someone didn't want the famed Sirius Black? You ignored him through out the entire lesson, giving him the silence treatment. Through out the day he made several attempts to talk to you. You were almost sure he and the marauders were pulling a prank on you. This had never happened before after Sirius had dumped another person because he cheated on them.
It was always them who begged him to come back no matter how much he broke their hearts. But days passed and it still kept on, other people were even starting to notice his strange behavior. It got so bad you would just cast silencio when he even made an attempt to talk you. leaving him to walk back to his friends so they could undo the spell. He even send his friends to talk to you hoping you wouldn't jinx them on sight.
It had worked at first but when you got the gist of what was going on and what they wanted you just started jinxing every marauder that tried to talk to you. It cost you some house points when a teacher saw you do this but that was worth it if it kept your sanity intact.
You were almost convinced that someone had slipped Sirius a love potion that made him fall in love with you or something like that because there was no way that he was doing this because of himself.
But that all led up to now in the middle of the great hall. Not having noticed him sneaking up behind you while you were eating. "Y/N I'm sorry princess, please it didn't mean anything." You heard that oh so familiar voice behind you and as you turned around. Before you could hear anymore of the bullshit that spilled out of his mouth as had happened any time you weren't quick enough with your silencio, you had stood up and snickered at him.
By now people from all houses were watching what would go down between you two. They had all heard about what happened and how Sirius tried to win you back instead of the other way around. "You really don't get it do you?" He looked almost confused as if he didn't notice what you were talking about. Before he could talk you held up your hand to silence him. "Shut up and let me talk."
You were by no means screaming but you were talking loud and clear and by now the great hall had partly quieted down so they could hear what you were saying.
"Sirius I'd unfuck you if I could, so fuck yourself and fuck your feelings. If I could take back the time I wasted on you I would." Grabbing the glass of pumpkin juice behind you dumped it over his head and with that you left the great hall. Leaving him standing there drenched in pumpkin juice while all the students laughed at his misfortune.
After all Sirius Black only wanted the things he couldn't have.
#marauders era#marauders#the marauders#sirius x you#sirius black#sirius x y/n#sirius x reader#one shots#one shot#marauders oneshot#sirius orion black#sirius black one shot#sirius black x you#sirius black x reader#relationships#light angst#harry potter#harry potter fandom#hp fandom#harry potter oneshot#hp one shot#waterparks band#waterparks#waterparks lyrics#homewrecking#affair#sirius black fanfiction#siriusposting#siriusblack#padfoot
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Whatever you're doing, drop it right now and go watch BlackBerry. I can give a million reasons to watch it and I will.
This movie has everything.
You loved The Social Network and you never really found something quite like it? Go watch Blackberry, then. You got the love triangle, you got the genius who displays neurodivergent traits overtly, the Best Friend, the other woman a.k.a. the real businessman.
BUT, big wonderful but, it's ugly. It's painfully uncool, staged and at the same time terribly realistic. They all look like shit and you can't help but love it. None of that Justin Timberlake, Andrew Garfield, Jesse Eisenberg that make you want to jump into a foursome, here the business cool guy (Glenn Howerton from IASIP) is balding and wearing a suit he clearly stole from Micheal Douglas from Wall Street and he looks unfuckable. The Best Friend has a ninja turtles wallet. They're all ugly, but let me be clear with what I mean: I am fucking sick of seeing fashion models on screen, I am talking about ugliness not as insult but as a punch of reality straight in the face. None of that tiktok black cat gamer boyfriends, these 40 year old men should all burn their entire wardrobe and sue their barbers, I love it.
And yes, at the very beginning (just there) the movie is set in the 80s, and thank God it's not Stranger Things/It chapter one aesthetic, it's disputable shirts and the most pathetic athletic hair band you'll ever see.
You said found family? These tech guys are all Best Friends and party together and dance and have movie nights in the middle of the day in which they watch Indiana Jones and They Live.
The first third of the movie is basically The House Bunny for business companies, with Glenn Howerton sweeping in, giving a makeover to the company, toss those glasses away and make it the belle of the ball, so much that quaterback is asking her to dance.
And it's directed with the camera movement of a mockumentary, hand-held camera baby. And I am telling you this as someone who is getting pretty sick of the overabudance of mockumentaries, I hear you if you're complaining, but this is so good you get over it.
How is the story of the Blackberry phone handled, you ask? Well I am no expert, but I think they did a brilliant job. The Social Network is about Facebook but also about connections and human relationships changing, here you see how the phone industry was changed by Blackberry. In TSN you never actually saw how The Facebook was impacting the world, just the main characters' lives. Here you got the other face of the medal.
The soundtrack? It fucking slaps. I don't know the titles of all the songs in the soundtrack, but sure as hell I am going to look for them. And every movie that has Joy Division in it has my respect.
Oh, if you're a cinephile, I must advise you to be real careful watching this movie, because the amount of movie quotes contained in it could make YOUR BRAIN EXPLODE. Same goes for nerd culture quotes, there are just tooo many and you could risk loving them too much.
Afraid this movie it starting to sound too wholesome and happy? Oh, don't worry, there's enough corruption and angst to fill a Scrooge McDuck money deposit. You got corruption arcs, you got a big deal of actual corruption, calls from the SEC, you got fucking espionage, you got straight up lying, committing crimes, betraying your best friend, one of the few man who looks worse as a villain than as a hero, you got bastardization arc, you got Onceler-ization arc, you got Mark Zuckerberg equivalent of "We're not putting ads", you got "Stop, this isn't you".
But I understand, it's not enough for you. How about the FUCKING Apple-Blackbarry War, uh? How about that? Might interest you? With a flavour of tragedy because you already know who prevailed, but you're living the story from the side of the losers. Doomed by the narrative, ladies and gentlemen.
You got resentment building up, you got workers' discontent growing, you got sales dropping, in TSN you stopped very little after the explosion, now you get to see the whole thing collapse. It's the Western Roman Empire and it's 476 AD. It's "we could have it all". It's epic and terrible and destructive and it's the story of fundamental changes in the phone market and what phones came to be. It has an ending that it's bitter and happy and delightfully ironic and leaves you wondering what if.
I had one, one complain about this movie: it all starts in Waterloo and you don't put Waterloo by Abba? But I take back my complain, and if you, like me, are into 60s music you're going to love it. They're one of my favourite bands, if you know who I am talking about, so I was elated.
Go watch BlackBerry. Go. Right now. This is how I spent my one night off, this is how I ended a very shitty day and I was not disappointed. Watching this movie has been the best thing to happen to me today.
#blackberry#blackbarry 2023#glenn howerton#go watch it right now#movie#cinema#the social network#tsn#succession because it's the business wave baby
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KILLIAN MY PATHETIC LITTLE BOYSLUT BABYGIRL <///3 Literally buried my face into my pillow and stayed like that for a good few seconds after seeing him. Lord help me, for I am Not god's strongest soldier when it comes to submissive little freaks. He's so wet cat. Gross little pervert, I wanna rail him until he cries :3
Also why's him being horny but chronically unfuckable such a kin moment lol. I chuckled at that line for a while, thank you lol
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IM SO GLAD THE VIBES OF PATHETIC WET CAT SHINE THROUGH WITH HIM LOL. That was my main goal... he's just such a dumb boy. literally so useless. paired with the towns best detective and all he does is wastes company time flirting with other people, or drinking at bars/clubs. borderline alcoholic </3 he loves getting captured during missions because it means he's likely gonna be tied up </3 filthy pervert that he is.
here is old art of him and wolf.
here is older art i made of killian since before the games conception :D
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Yandere!OC Headcanons, Part 2 (Actual Original Characters!)
I've explored the toxic sides/What Ifs of my TWST OCs, through a yandere lens. So I thought I'd try writing the same idea for my original characters as a way to start better introducing them. (NOTE: I shouldn’t have to but apparently need to preface that writing this is not me condoning said behavior or idealizing it. If you recognize patterns like this in people in your real life, I cannot advise one way or another what you do with that information.)
Wilfred O’Toole:
A volatile one, this cowboy is. Sadism could be the one word to describe him in all realms. He’s AroAce, so none of his actions come from either place, but if he wants to get his hands on you, he will. He’s not above incapacitation, by any means available. Pray you haven’t done anything that warrants your wanted poster to state ‘Alive or Dead’. Though, with the Fae, death may be one of the better outcomes.
Brom Thorinson:
Lucky you to have met someone who seems to have it all put together. He would treat you as the jewel in the heart of his dragon hoard, just don’t go making plans of leaving said hoard. His small ‘business’ affords him the resources to make him a blackmailer extraordinaire. He's also got the muscle (both physically and connections) to make separation difficult. Best to just keep at his side; it leaves less of a mess.
Alphonso Ketzal:
This boy was difficult to pin what his 'yandere/toxic relationship' dynamic was; he's just that sweet and easy-going. What a dramatic bish, though, if you really caught his eye. Be glad he isn’t also a theater major. But being an art major, He'll get creative in his attempts to keep you around. He will question where all his handmade gifts to you went. But any attempt at pushback will result in him showing his belly; he’s that whipped for you. It’s kind of pathetic from an outside perspective, but he doesn’t care about them; only you.
Kostara Segado:
She's basically a cop. 'nuff said. She isn't physical, but as someone who’s legally untouchable, she is morally and from a safety perspective unfuckable. Do Not Engage.
Cassius Baker:
He's a medieval fantasy private investigator. Never expect privacy again. There is a file on you, and he's got it locked and loaded like a crossbow the moment anything turns sideways. Why else would people you love and grow attached to suddenly grow wary and distant from you? ‘It’ll be okay,’ he’ll say. ‘Let’s get some bread started and forget about those people.’
So'e Albertis:
Another sad-sack. The 'everybody leaves me' type, willing to jump through hoops to satisfy you. She doesn't have hypnotic abilities, and while she is normally a Hard No on love potions/death magic, she isn't above microdosing you poison. Little Miss 'Munchausen by Proxy'. 'Oh you poor thing wouldn't survive out in the swamp, let me take care of you.' And don’t think because she takes off to forage for ingredients, that you are home alone. Keep an eye on the shadows, there may be a pair of familiar’s eyes staring back.
#Trinket's Rattlin' Bones#original character#scalie#monster girl#snake woman#dragon oc#dullahan#coatl dragon#yandere#oc yandere#oc drabbles
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