#heyndrix
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Tom Grant making you laugh after and awful day at work ❤️
ugh tommy yes my baby i had a shitty day today too so this is therapeutic for me lol
You sighed as you stepped into the trailer, setting your bag down heavily on the counter. The day had been a lot— not much had happened, but a night of bad sleep and a persistent bad mood had dampened the day and made every inconvenience all the much worse— and you wanted nothing more than to settle yourself in bed and ignore the world for the rest of the night.
Thankfully, though, your boyfriend had other ideas.
"Baby," Tom started when he got home, seeing your foul mood immediately; he was good at that sort of thing, sensing emotions and moods. "What's the pout all about?"
"I'm not pouting," you told him, fiddling with the blanket across your lap as you watched television. You couldn't look at him, knowing that, if you did, you would start to cry from your shitty day, and you clenched your back teeth as Tom leaned down and kissed your head.
"Looks like you're pouting," Tom said softly, his lips against your head. "Move over, let me get here."
You sighed and scooted over to allow Tom to sit right up next to you, and his arms went around you as he kissed your head once more. "What's wrong?" Tom whispered. "You've got a sad face."
"I don't have any face, Tommy," you told him firmly. "This is just my face. I'm just watching telly."
"No, no, you've got a face," Tom said, his eyes sweeping your cozy frame, all bundled in one of his shirts with the blanket over your legs. In an instant, he had scooped you up into his arms and settled you in his lap, and he popped a quick kiss on your cheek. "Tell me what's wrong. Please?"
You looked at Tom to find him looking at you with his dark eyes wide, his eyebrows furrowed, his lip pouted dramatically. His begging face was usually able to get you to confess whatever he wanted you to, and something stirred in your chest at the sight of it today. Your lip wobbled, and Tom started to speak before you whimpered and let your tears fall. "Today just sucked," you gasped as you cried, and Tom frowned as he held you closely. "Can you just hold me?"
"Of course, baby," Tom told you, and his arms tightened around you for a quick squeeze. "What happened?"
"Nothing really," you started. "I just slept like shit and I've felt like shit all day, and-and today was such shit."
"I'm sorry," Tom mumbled. "Do you wanna go to bed early tonight, maybe? Try to get some good sleep?"
"Yeah," you sniffled. "Can you make dinner tonight too? I-I mean, I can do it, but—"
"Of course I can," Tom said. "Are you hungry now? Maybe you're hungry and that's part of the problem?"
"Sure," you sighed, and you went to wipe away your tears, but Tom was quicker than you, smoothing away your tears on your cheeks with his thumbs. "You can start dinner now, if you want. B-But if it's gonna be too much, you just got home—"
"It's not an issue," Tom told you. "I'm hungry too."
When he stood up, he seemed to get an idea in his mind, because he hastily grabbed his phone from his shorts pocket and started to search for something specific on it. After a moment, some tinny music started to play from his phone, and Tom turned to you and started to move his hips and shoulders in time with the music. That goofy smile of his spread across his plush pink lips, and his hips began to gyrate as he pointed at you. "Can I see a smile?" he asked over the music, and you bit your bottom lip as Tom began to mimic the guitar in the song, strumming his hand along his stomach as he scrunched up his nose.
"Tommy—" you started, but he shook his head.
"Nuh-uh, baby," he said. "I'm not gonna stop until you smile. Even a fake one, just a smile, babe. Please?"
As Tom continued to dance around like a goof, you couldn't help but smile at him. Your boyfriend always knew what to do to make you grin, and you giggled as Tom held his hand out to you, inviting you to dance with him. You stood up and threw your arms around his firm middle, and his arms enveloped you as you two slowly swayed to the music. "Thank you," you whispered into his chest, and Tom rubbed his hand along your back as he pressed a hard kiss to your head.
"You're welcome, baby."
#bex answers#heyndrix#tom grant x reader#tom grant#make up 2019#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#today has sucked and it's not even over yet#the various events throughout the day have helped me get by but like. today has fucking sucked#where is my sweet soft boyfriend that cheers me up
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Pupper tax pls
puppy + his bear (his comfort object) in the snow
#the poor quality pics are bc he would not hold still like…#he was just having too much fun!!#ask and i shall reply#moots my beloved <3#heyndrix <3
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😈
#thoughts of despair#work on series? nah.#work on 400 wips? nah.#throw together something short and stupid that heyndrix is gonna forget to read? yep that's the one
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“if you want to come you better beg” x prince paul cause i need this filth 😩👀
🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀
Prince Paul x Tsarevna // smut drabble - Bugger me sideways @usedtobecooler only the best for you babes crème de la crème - Prince Prick and some bratty behaviour culminating in angry!hate!fucking coming up. Also short? I don’t think I can write short drabble a about this man. I’m having a lot of feelings ok.
Some babes I know may want to see this @indouloureux @munsonswhore86 @heyndrix @lunatictardis @creme-bruhlee @callmeloverr @roanniom
It’s an odd relief to see the signs of war increase with each gained mile, burnt out patches of land and artillery tracks wedged into the mud. Foul air, fire, and rifle smoke; it means you’re closing in on your goal.
It means you’re that much closer to your husband.
Foul boggy mud, and nipping winds that cut to bone. You’re rumbling your way along treacherous roads, ever closer.
The terrain is dismal. There’s not even any sweetly soft birdsong chirping from the trees. There’s no kind nature. There’s only war and man, and guttural cries of the wounded. A landscape drizzled with slanted misty rain. Stubby felled larch trees and splintered bark.
The soldiers encamped, look like misshapen beasts. Blood crusted black, and the wounded wearing filthy yellowed bandages. Eyes missing, limbs turned to stumps. Squatting and huddling in clumps in the woods. Shivering under canvas with pithy licks of orange campfires staining the air with spicy woodsmoke.
They watch the carriage pass with rapt fascination. But too cold to react.
You weren’t expected.
That fact is writ plain as day all over the face of the dirt smeared soldier who trudged up to the carriage window. The soldier on watch. Who’d been pissing up against as tree when you rolled up.
His eyebrows buoy in surprise as you drop your fur lined hood.
“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.
“Tsarevna.” Your second maid, Maricel, leaned forward and snipped. Voice like a barking hound. Just as dogged.
She was eternally bolshy and hard edged. Hated you not being given the proper due politesse as deserving of your rank. She took great offence to those who didn’t understand the severity of your position.
“I’m here to see my husband. Kindly take me to him.”
“I’m not sure he’ll want- he’s occupied with many important matters.“ He fumbles for an excuse.
Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.
“Are you suggesting the Tsarevna of Russia is unimportant?” She tests.
“No- I.”
“He will carve out the time for his wife, you dumb prick.” She points out. Rubbing her shivering hands.
“Now, now.” You scold her.
She merely rolls her eyes. Not frightened by you whatsoever. Just pissy cause she’s cold.
The solider shuffles on his feet. Breaks eye contact. “I’m not sure I have the authority to-“
“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” You warn. Ire threaded into every word.
You stare him down with slicing diamond eyes. Tips sharpened and designed to cut.
A look you’ve thieved and mastered from Catherine’s own brand of venom. Don’t budge an inch.
It’s enough to get him to snap his mouth shut.
“No. Uh. Of course. This way, Tsarevna.”
You clambered out that boxy royal carriage. Door encrusted in a golden crest. Dainty sky blue heel sinking into earth. Hem sodden and dragged with it in no time. Maricel follows you dutifully. Your guard dog.
“Cunt.” Maricel bites out at the solider as she shuffled after you. Trudging into the muck.
“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.
She moodily deigns to do as you say.
You fold your gloved hands. Pretty pearl buttons march along your wrists now seeming contemptuous among all this. You rub at them to spark up some warmth in your numb fingers, as you looked around for the cluster of carmine coated generals.
Slipping and staining your skirts with slodgy mud as you followed the dismal soldier who’d take you to him. Your heels slip up, your feet get bogged. The stench of this place is curdling your lungs. Burnt larch trees and smoke and decay.
You press on. Determined.
The men swim their their groggy eyes to you. This place is used to viscera and gummy black blood, and mud crusted ash.
By comparison you look like a chunk of pure silken teal sky, fallen to earth. Precious and spotless. A drop of stunning sapphire wedged into all this dirt and death.
You squelch your way through tents and surgeon tents where men lay gouged and exposed. Rotting alive and shivering under the canvas as they cried out to the chowder thick sky. Rain melting on their eyelashes.
The smoke cleared past you, drifting. And then your overly elegant shape comes moulded out the congealing blood and smog of his hell. Pearl buttons, satin, and floral petal perfume. A wrenching juxtaposition coinciding.
You see your husband. Through the cloth mouth of one of the larger tents. No mistaking those puddle eyes for anyone else. The white scratchy wig. The cut of his powder blue coat and red royal medals slashing blood.
He’s gathered with men around a map table staked out with battle plans. This fare is all simplicity. Battle for blood and the vicinity of conquering men.
This is a land shuttered to the gaze of your sex. Your kind do not come roaming here. Not noble women anyway. The generals of mild importance probably had their favourite whores fetched in, however.
You stand and his eyes travel at last to yours. You smile lightly.
His expression altered into bitterness. Eyes lost their walnut warmth. Jaw clenched. Mood spiked sour.
He told you distinctly not to fucking come.
Yet here you stand.
You meet his burnt umber gaze and the sparky fire flecked there, scalds you.
“Tsarevich.” You greet him. Breath whipped to silver. You’re standing in the misty rain.
Waiting to see what comes spat back.
The generals clustering him, all bow in confusion and politely bob their unkempt wigged heads.
Not Paul.
His jaw clenched. Expression stiff. Posture as rigid as a Siberian Larch.
You’re fucking in for it now.
~
You batted at the sopping stretch of canvas. Hurling it out the way. Rain crashes down into your sprouting feathered hat and onto your shoulders.
Every squelch of your step into the oozing mud came sharp. Striking as a gut punch.
He’s following, hot on your heels, and you want to turn around and swing a punch into the angelic cherubim face you’d missed all these lonely long eight months.
His anger set off your own. Silky black gunpowder meeting roaring flame.
He’s livid.
You stand in his quarters. His tent is this huge beast of a thing. Clean and comfortable. A room with a table and maps and trunks takes up one. Green and gold tapestries make the walls slightly more habitable. More sophisticated. A cut above the desolate forest and the miseries of the wounded.
An emerald velvet curtain shields off the area where his ornate downy bed must be. He was still a Prince after all. He’ll be among his men. But he’s not sleeping in a frozen bedroll in the muck like an animal.
He storms into this space behind you and slaps the canvas closed. Words snapping out his mouth, that flimsy tent walls and steadily dripping rain will not conceal.
“This is not a place for you. You’re not supposed to be here.”
You don’t twist back to him as you angrily shed your gloves. Ripping them off like it was your own skin.
“Heaven forfend. I travel for two days in an uncomfortable carriage in the fucking driving rain to come see my husband and this is the thanks I get?”
“I told you not to come!” His words stamp out his mouth. He stabs a finger in the air. Aiming it as you.
“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.
He’s toe to toe with you. Muddy boots. Those chocolate eyes are all bitter. Not skated in love. Cold as all this terrible mud you’re bogged into.
“I don’t need you here. I have enough to deal with on my plate as it is fighting these Turks. I don’t need my wife by my side whilst I’m engaged in matters of battle.”
You steel your wilful jaw and bathe in the burnt brown shadow of his scowl.
“I am your wife. I have been left rotting at court. In misery now you’re gone. I decided to come and see you. To be here, by your side. In sickness and in health and even in battle. I don’t consider that as an action that deserves censure.”
“Yes it fucking is. I don’t need you here.” He shouts.
The burn of tears stings at your chest. Rips at your eyes. The man you’ve missed and ached after for months now and this is his choice of words levelled at you. It’s cutting.
“Lovely.” You bite out. “Well then. I won’t waste my time loitering around for you to yell at me.” You grip your gloves and turn back to him.
“Fuck you, Paul. Good day. Go back to your warring, and muddy filth.” You finish acidly. Your throat is full of clotting fire. Your rage. In situ with your wounded pride.
You shove at his coated chest, dull gold buttons. Go to move past him. Wipe your boots on his fine rug floors on the way out.
Your ruined shoes stick on the spot. He’s banded a hand around your wrist. It tugs. Burns skin.
“Let go.” You seethe. Pull your arm. You don’t look at him. Jaw grit.
He does not.
You wrench again. It brings you closer to him. You snarl. He stills your arm.
You do meet his gaze. The glint of fire - raked embers - returns to his eyes.
“No.” He decided.
Oh, now he’s in for it.
Anger spumes out of you like raining cursed hellfire. He should be terrified. You are mighty. Goddess of war backed with wrath. Angrier than Ares. These men should cower under your golden gaze. Desolation writ into you so heavily they should run for the hills.
“Thought you didn’t need me? Why would the mighty Tsarevich need his dumb bitch of a wife at his side? Run out of good whores have you?”
It was too late for niceties.
“Just be quiet.” He snaps.
Stepping very close. Close enough to touch only he doesn’t. His eyes move to your mouth. His hand seeks for your waist. Reels you in.
You don’t want too. But you clam up. You want to rear back and swing your fist to strike him. Preferably with a knife.
“I have never known a woman as disobedient. Nor as wilfully stubborn as you are. It’s infuriating.” He snipes.
His breath warms your mouth. He smells like his woody spice soap and bitter brush of smoke, and sweat. Still Paul. Underneath all things.
“Good.” You snarl with a nod. “I’m glad to have been such an inconvenience.”
“Constant dagger in my side.”
“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.
“I have had enough of your inability to listen to my orders.” He comments.
“Tough shit.” You snark.
“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.
His gaze is swimming into something steel black and lethal. You hate how much you like looking at him like this. It almost makes him look intimidating and handsome.
At this point, you’re half desire, half pure lightning hot rage.
“Get back to me when I don’t want to stick a knife in your thigh. Maybe my vocabulary will improve.” You hiss.
You’re so locked and entwined with this man. Tug his strings and it’s sure enough to jerk some distant part of you, merely by extension.
“Are you wet right now?” He asks. Head tilting His lashes shutter his eyes as he scans you. From the dirt crusted hem, sweeping upwards.
Your mouth is dry as tumbling scorched sands. Clench your teeth to dust. Heart ramming your tonsils.
He spies that twitch in your face. “Am I to take that as a yes, Tsarevna?”
If looks could kill.
“I’m going to fuck you. I know how plaint and weak it makes you when I work that delicious cunt open with my cock.” He steps you back. Hands tugged in your dress. Leading.
“I will fuck every disobedient word and thought out that head. Wife.” He sneers.
He pushes you to one of the wooden columns. Shunts a breath out of you. Hands digging through your skirts. Searching for your pussy.
You rake your nails into the nape of his neck. Hope it stings. Pray it brings blood.
“Be careful what you wish for.” You warn.
He smiles.
~
He’s fucking you not two minutes later.
Naturally, it didn’t take him long. You succumbed way too easy. Melted like butter, really.
He’s slithered to the gaps in your armour and snuck beneath with all the cunning adroitness of a serpent. You detest it.
He doesn’t give you what you need. Of course not. He doesn’t make this easy. His actions are all dipped in mocking taunt and brat.
He splayed you open, and rubs the fat leaking head of his cock against your trembling pussy. Eight months of nothing your your own fingers and he’s making you sit and beg like a trained lapdog.
Slapping it to your clit and smiling when you lurch. Unwilling to feed the head into you just yet.
It’s fucking agony.
You’re ready to slit his throat by the time he rewards you with sinking to the hilt in one ramming surge of his hips. The anger dissipates - a little.
You soothe the rest of it by leaning up and gnashing your teeth into his neck. Clamp down hard- force him to fuck you harder.
He cursed when sliding into you. Mumbled wisely about how conflict always made you so juicy wet for him. He pulled back and taunted you with your own greediness for his cock. The shine of your arousal coating him all glossy. A pretty sight, that.
“Hear how wet you are my love?” He lurches and slams you. A sharp stroke that wracked every vertebrae of your spine.
The sounds that come keening from you make your eyes flick back into your head. Enough to make him more smug.
“Utterly filthy. Soaking.” He huffs in gasps. “Making wet patches on my bed like a damn harlot.”
“Can’t believe you. Hmm- fucking brat. Yelling at me for coming here.” You manage to gasp. Cheeks blistering hot with this anger spurned arousal. Nails clawed into the carved headboard.
A hiccup snags the back of your throat as he knees closer.
Pushes your legs almost crushed up to your tits. Your stays almost strangling you. You cry loud because of this new angle. Makes him punch a spot inside that almost aches.
“I think this cunt is more pleased to see me than you are.” He smirks. Hands with dirty nails digging into your thighs. Ten half moons socketed into your quivering flesh.
“Fucking hell.” Spews out your mouth. Unguarded. He’s severing every strong steel thread of your resolve.
“I’ll take that as yes.” He says. Hair falls choppy in front of his wild eyes. Tiger eyes. Frightful fierce. Hands clamped to your thighs. He spreads you and sits up to stuff himself deeper. Harder. Faster.
The noises he’s getting out of you are just growing and growing. Rising in pitch and volume. So much so you’re swirling your hips to him to get feedback off that friction. That burgeoning pleasure begins to slice mean into your belly.
“How you moan for me when I give you my cock. Never gets old.” He grins.
“Never too late to punish my disobedient-“ he huffs and fucks hard inbetween his words. “Petulant. Stubborn. Wife.” He insists with a playful leer.
He can tell by the wails how close you are. Enough to taste it now. That eye rolling pressure ready to snap.
His cock stretched you just right. Stabbed into the gaping cup of your womb. You’re so treacherously close to that blissful peak you go rigid trying to chase it down and let the sensation ruin you.
It was mind meltingly good. Close and looming closer. Heat wrapping your limbs and warping your mind to bend to him. Every atom of you trained for this pleasure to come-
He yanks his cock out of you so fast, you want to shriek.
That coal hot glow of orgasm withers and curls to ash. He’s back to slipping his fat head around your cit again. Smearing your cunt in a sticky taste he’ll find and devour later.
“You fucking-“ you glare up at him all blissed and edged. Cunt clenching on nothing but air. He smooths both his thumbs over your pretty and dripping pussy lips. Making you throb.
“If you want to cum, you better beg.” He insists.
“I could kill you.” You seethe. Words dressed in a growl.
He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”
You yelp when his cock slams into you once more. Puff for breath. God fucking dammit.
“How about now?” He checks as he folds you in half, yet again. Cock rooted deep.
The start of a long night, to be sure.
-
Hours later, darkness wraps you up. Comforting tenebrous blanket. Candles are lit. Dozy gold and matte dark pours into the tent.
He has you food brought in as an apology.
Someone ducks in the tent with a tray of it. He pulls on his boots to go fetch it. Leaves you boneless on his goose feather plumped bed.
There’s a bottle of wine with dinner too. Not the best but you’re not complaining. Dry hard biscuits and a salty wedge of goats cheese was your lot in the carriage ride here.
There’s a thick milky porridge with creamy oats and nutmeg and warming spices. A slab of pink roasted meat glistening with fat and golden globs of plain boiled potatoes barely salted. Sided with some hunk of brown hardy bread smeared in greasy butter.
This food is hot and warm and fills your belly well. He feeds it to you.
It’s how he soothes. But it’s not the only way he wants to offer you comfort.
He gets naked and climbs under the covers. Always bathed you in limitless comforts and luxuries after a rough fuck. The calm sweetness after a raging storm of passion and stinging claws and slamming hate. When the blood has dried to rust, along with the nasty words.
He slips between your legs under the sheets to tongue at your cunt like it’s a juicy honeycomb treat that drips honey.
It’s dripping him.
He eats it out of you. You sigh all dreamy and elongate your neck back to pillows that smell like his shaving soap, to moan his name.
Slipping your nails over the short brown thorns of hair. Rake over his scalp.
You gasp his name and you know the soldiers will have heard the sound sneak out the tent flaps. You don’t care.
His tongue slithers and laps through your puffy sex. Fully nursing your clit with the curl of his tongue. Brushes through the tactile scratch of your curls there. He loves burying his nose in them.
When he’s done he slinks up from under his furs and sheets. Wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. Still a little bit of both of you combined is smeared wetly across one cheek.
It catches in the flickering murky light. Candles are spinning red gold in the dim. Rain is a steady pat on the tent roof.
You look down at him. His gaze is all warmth and tenderness again. A knowing smile slopes the corner of his mouth.
“Did you really travel all this way just so I could fuck you?” He asks all smug.
You smirk. “Got what I wanted, now didn’t I.” You dismiss archly.
But you both know it seats a little deeper than that. There’s definite skin both of you have sunk into this game. It might even be the gummy beating walls of your hearts involved.
“You do know you’re a walking fucking nightmare.” He tells you.
Slotting himself between your hips. Seeking to hold your hands as he rolls into you. Makes your cunt clench.
Your hand slips from stroking his hair, downwards. Vicing your cruel hand around his soft throat. His eyes blaze again.
“Don’t you dare fucking forget it.” You sneer.
He sends you home sore - five days after your arrival.
#punkwrites#prince paul fanfiction#prince paul catherine the great#prince paul imagine#prince paul fanfic#prince paul x you#prince paul smut#prince paul x oc#prince paul x reader#prince paul#i would die for this man#such a brat#he’s such a filthy ho#such a hottie#joseph quinn fanfiction#joseph quinn
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Hi Betty!
20, 13 & 4 for the end of the year asks
Gia!
you are such an angel
from these end of year asks
let's seeeee #4
what is your favorite headcanon from this year?
stumped on my own ask because there have been so many, but a recent one that tickled me was from @br0ck-eddie and it had to do with Eddie and Steve having an ugly Christmas sweater competition every year and it made me giggle.
#13: if you could live in a fic, which one would it be and why?
wow, can't believe I did this to myself. really had to think about this.
ok so right now @jo-harrington's Store Manager Verse is one of those because it's so comforting and silly, and it brings back memories of when I was a mall rat/store manager in the early 2000's. I feel like I could step right into it.
#20: shout out 3 blogs you adore but you have never told them
Well
who haven't I told
if I've told you how much I adore/appreciate you before, here is another one: @likeficsinthewnd @dashingdeb16 & @heyndrix
y'all are so wonderful
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9 people you’d like to get to know better
I was tagged by @mayalaen Thanks for the tag! :D
last song: Tekkno Train by Electric Callboy. There is just something about this band that I find hilarious and great.
currently watching: Good Omens Season 1. Spouse hasn't seen it and I wanted to rewatch before I watch the new season.
currently reading: I'm currently switching between three different fics
You're My Winter (Please Don't End) by @bruciemilf
Don't Let me Go by Saireoo
Noises in the Dark by DanosaurDante
current obsession: CoD SoapGhost and SuperBat in case you couldn't tell from what I am reading lol. Also crocheting but that has been an ongoing thing for a few years now.
tagging: @devereauxsdisease @otaku6337 @xo-queenievee-xo @heyndrix @highermagic @celestial-artistry @cassraven @trikemily @hanni-bunny-lecter and anyone else who would like to join in!
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10 things I hate about you - Chapter 3 (taglist part 2)
The taglist is too long, so I had to make another post for the second part of the taglist
Click here to read: 10 Things I hate about you - Chapter 3
be added to my taglist
Crossed out are the ones tumblr won’t let me tag
@littlemiss-yeehaw @bibieddiesgf @gloomiigloom @darktimelegends @obscuredeyes @munsonmystery @kenzi-woycehoski @hellra1ser @averagestudent03 @munsonswhore86 @bloodyxheaven @helpimspiraling @grungegrrrl @heartshapehologram @halparkebitch @shabby7887 @wisdomcrys @idilsstuff @paola-carter @nightfiress @samlealea @SageandRavens @heyndrix @eddiebirdie @fanbra2319 @savvysweetness @garden-of-3d3n @kathasblog @musicisloveandlife @churchmuffins @killing-my-soul @multifandom-01
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if you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog <3
This has been sitting in my inbox forever (sorry @heyndrix ) so here we go:
I am mildly allergic to eggplant
I own a telephone table from the 1950s that I inherited
I am originally from a small town in Rhode Island
If you want to know anything further, hit up my ask. If you're reading this and you want to play, go for it.
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My Maternal 9th. Great Dutch Grandmother, Geertje Nannincks
My Maternal 9th. Great Dutch Grandmother, Geertje Nannincks
Holland, Netherlands
Name: Geertje Nannincks
Name: Geertje Nannincks (aka Nannings)
Birth: about 1607 in Holland, Reusel-de Mierden, Noord-Brabant, Netherlands
First spouse
Married: 13 June 1627 in Amstelveen, Noord-Holland, Netherlands to Tjerk Heyndrix
Children: (4)
Hendrick Tjercks 1628–Deceased • KZQ1-36H
Saertie Tjerkse 1629–1641 • GMYC-TCF
Hester Tjerkse Hendricks 1630–1693 •…
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Hey u lovely author ❤️ promise us anytime you question your legitimacy as a writer, or whether your writing is good enough, you'll remind yourself you could never write anything as unapologetically awful and callous as the spn finale, let alone justify and excuse it. There are people that got paid for that! They knew what they did and they still took the money! Shameless
HEY LOVELY FRIEND sorry for taking so long to answer this - this really, really helped me to get this ask:') i think the reminder of the spn finale helped me write 4k in a day out of spite on this new destiel fic <3
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Sweet awkward reunion sex with Grunauer back from war 😗
ugh YES peter my baby cw smut, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink
Peter's kiss was heated against your lips as he slowly pushed his hard cock into your sopping, waiting cunt, and you moaned as your head fell back. "Peter," you whimpered, and your husband squeezed his eyes shut as his cock throbbed inside you.
"God," he groaned. "You're perfect. I missed you so much."
"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat, and you pressed your hands to his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs down his cheekbones. "I'm glad you're home."
"Did everything I could to get home," Peter told you with clipped words, slowly pulling his hips back before pushing back inside you. "I'm so... God, you feel like heaven."
"You do too," you told him, and you bit your bottom lip as his cock nestled that nerve inside you. Pleasure hit your legs and belly, and you carded your fingers through his curls as you dragged him into another searing kiss. "Did you, umm..." you started when the kiss broke, and you furrowed your eyebrows at your own ridiculous question. "Never mind."
"No, what?" Peter asked. "What is it, baby?"
"Did you ever think about this?" you asked. "I'm sure you did, but, umm, I'm just wondering."
Peter laughed breathlessly, and he fucked into you again as he lowered himself to kiss your neck. "Of course I thought about fucking you," he said. "Every day. Thinking about it comforted me, helped me sleep. I'd wake up with an erection every day from my dreams about you. I told myself that this would be the first thing I did when I got home."
"Well, you succeeded in that," you chuckled, and you held Peter close to you as he found a good rhythm, the bedsprings creaking underneath your weights.
"M'never gonna let you out of this bed," Peter mumbled into your neck, and you moaned as your legs wrapped tight around his naked hips. "Gonna keep you here with your legs open until I'm done with you."
"When will you be done?" you asked. "Not, umm, not that it bothers me, but when?"
"When you're all big and pregnant," Peter said. "You wanna give me a son, baby?"
"Yes," you whimpered. "Wanna give you all the babies you want."
"Good," Peter said. "That's good, 'cause I... Fuck, you're so warm inside. I never wanna leave this pussy."
"You don't have to," you told him. "You can stay here for the rest of your life."
"I plan on it," Peter told you. "Never gonna let you go, baby. I left you once, and I'm never gonna leave you ever again."
#bex answers#heyndrix#peter grunauer#peter grunauer x reader#grunauer overlord#overlord#joseph quinn
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i have to present the research i conducted this summer to the entire department of natural sciences at my university (its a community college, but STILL!! that’s a lot of people!!), but like… i wish i could just present it to you guys (especially @heyndrix because i think they’d think it’s neat even tho it’s not in their realm of bio). like we could just hop on a zoom call and i could just show you all the cool shit i did and talk about why it’s important.. and i could show you all my little fish videos. like it’d just me by moots and me and @quirly talking about my fishies and watching videos of them (grace would be included, because like forever ago i emailed her pictures/videos of the fish i worked with and she actually responded??? and was like kinda maybe a lil hype about them??? and that really warmed my nerdy lil heart because no one, save for my colleagues and some of you lovelies, ever even tries to act like they care about my fishies!! but like they’re important!!! they’re tiny, but they’re a model organism for the evolution of reproductive behaviors!!! like literally the model organisms for how species evolve to get better at making more of themselves?? that’s so fucking cool to me!!!).
#my poster has lots of cute lil fishy illustrations on it too which i have a good feeling some of you would absolutely love!!!#but i can’t like post my poster anywhere because it’s not my property technically?? it’s my labs property#but i can present it to people!! so like zoom presentations are allowed!!#i just can’t distribute it :/#but like i understand why because it’s all stuff that’s still currently being researched so it’d be irresponsible to distribute it
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Coming soooOOOOoooon to a dash near yooooOOOooouuu...
#thoughts of despair#extremely accurate graphic by heyndrix#(did you read that in a spooky voice? you were supposed to read it in a spooky voice.)
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Ngl I love pigeons most cuz they're so expressive and therefore I identify with em 👍 (also I just. Love pigeons. Nice colors and sounds and friend-shaped and they have the ugliest babies they hide out of shame)
yes YES
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heyndrix replied to your post “im sorry but i think it sucks that women have to wear makeup to look...”
You either need to work elsewhere or make it very clear to your mom that it's your face and you'll decide what goes on it. Signed, a professional woman in STEM who doesnt know shit about eyeliner and doesn't care to
i just finished my masters and im in a limbo between either applying for a phd or getting a job, so i think my mother decided that i need to do something about this ~new stage in my life~ she means well, but i just, grrr, grrrrr, grrrrrrrrr i don’t want to do this grrrrrrrrrr, you sound super professional and super awesome, thank you for your input! ;______;
its-me-connor-main replied to your post “im sorry but i think it sucks that women have to wear makeup to look...”
Oh god that sounds so awful I'm sorry! I don't wear make-up either, never have- it looks like it takes too long and is overly tedious, plus I don't really like the idea of just putting chemicals on my face. I actually congratulate anyone who can do it decently lmao
yes the lady doing my makeup told me she sometimes takes 2 hours to get ready for a date or an important meeting and i was like waaaaaahh????? i am in awe of people who are good at makeup, srsly it can be an artform. but it’s just not for me!!!!!!!!!!! ;___; anyway thank you for your kind words, i appreciate it
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