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#i can’t imagine what that must feel like
nvuy · 22 hours
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hijacked — boothill
summary. a mission to retrieve some files from a banquet hall goes wayward south when a galaxy ranger shows up to ruin your night—and score some bonus kisses while he’s at it.
notes. save me space cowboy… save me… remembered his entire body is robotic except his head. the possibilities to hack it and take over……….. ngh
warnings. little bit of threatening, mind control/hacking/hijacking? you take over his body for like a few minutes? is that a warning?
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“Hey, pretty thing.”
Target locked. Your scanners had already tracked him before you could even realise he was speaking to you.
You swiftly hid away the USB drive in your purse.
Did he know?
It seemed his own eye enhancements—although a lot less subtle than yours—were scanning you down as well. How transactional. You’d hoped the walls you’d put up were enough to keep whatever technology he had at bay. Or at least, not trigger any alarms.
“You looked lonely. Was g’nna buy you a drink. Help you loosen up a bit.” He swished his own drink in your face for good measure. The coupe glass in his hands looked odd. He didn’t seem like a cocktail man. Not at all.
He looked like a whiskey man. Hard whiskey. With ice. In a tumbler with ribbed glass. You could picture it.
He just looked so out of place at the banquet.
He wasn’t even following the dress code. He was wearing boots, and a pair of old pants with zips along the calves. A hat with a white feather woven into the fabric rested on a head of long white hair with splashes of black around his face.
“No thanks,” you said with a wave. You tried to discreetly scan down his body, searching for any sort of hint of how you could get into his system.
His pants and what little material of his jacket hid most of the metal of his body. Internally, you cursed at it. He had no clear openings in his neck or arms. His head seemed entirely organic.
No weak spots.
“N’aww. Shame.”
The front door felt a lot further away now. Even more so, knowing he was most definitely here for you. He hadn’t even introduced himself yet. You had a feeling he knew he didn’t need to.
“Was g’nna ask ya to dance.”
You laughed awkwardly. “I can’t dance in these shoes.”
“Take ‘em off. Who cares?” he bantered playfully. “I’ll watch out for ‘em if they’re expensive.”
“They’re priceless,” you quipped back. “All of me is.”
“Good. You know your worth.”
You were actually worth about fifteen million, as according to your wanted status by the IPC. You weren’t sure if this man was a part of them, though members of the IPC were always very adamant on letting you know that, yes, they did work at the IPC. It was usually the first thing that came out of their mouths.
Questioning if they actually worked at the IPC opened another entire can of worms.
You didn’t feel the need to ask. Not in that moment, at least.
“And what’s yours?” you asked him with a bat of your lashes.
He winked. “Guess.”
You smiled and scanned him down again. “Depends. I’d have to see what you’re made of.”
“Naughty.” He leaned back against the wall with you. “You sure you don’t want that drink? It’s a cosmopolitan.”
Very sure. You were convinced that he’d just taken the drink from one of the server’s trays. You couldn’t imagine he’d walked up to the bar and requested it for himself.
“You strike me as a whiskey man,” you eased. It came past your lips like butter.
He flashed his teeth in warning.
Then, he sipped his drink. “You’re good. Anything else you can read with your fancy eyes?”
You stopped short.
He did know. It wasn’t a surprise, not at all. He wasn’t entirely human. He must have been equipped with similar technology to realise just how advanced yours was.
You realised then with a shaky breath that you had the same vision enhancements as he did. An even match, unable to read through to each other.
He must have had so much more, too. You only had so many enhancements, whereas he was made almost entirely of metal. The thought of amount of different codings and technology he had crammed into every wire of his body gave you a headache.
Bad idea. You shouldn’t have provoked him. You needed to retreat. You needed to get home, preferably safely, with the USB stored nice and snug in your purse.
You tried not to let your nervousness show, but by the way he was staring at you, you knew he could read your face.
“That’s it, then. You’ve figured out my party trick.” You got up from the wall. “Thank you for the offer. The drink, I mean.” You cleared your throat. “I’ll be going now.”
“I’m not scaring you off, am I?” He got up off the wall too.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you.
“Not at all.” When you turned to face him, he was smiling so wide his eyes had crinkled. “Have a good night.”
“At least let me walk you out,” he insisted. He also offered to hold your purse, to which you quickly declined. That only made him smile impossibly wider. “What sort of man am I to not see a pretty thing like you get home safe?”
You headed towards the hallway, knowing he was right behind you.
The banquet was still in full swing, barely even close to ending. Most of the cast were drunk or getting there. Heels had been discarded, some missing their pair, skewed all over the dancefloor like glitter.
The golden chandelier in the main room was yet to be pulled from the ceiling. You were surprised nobody had tried to swing from it yet.
You dodged chattering groups and couples in the hallway—one of them had decided to put on a full display while right next to an unoccupied bedroom, right there in the centre of the hall.
Another one was gagging dangerously close to your feet.
You shouldered past them. “Stop following me, Ranger.”
“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” You felt his hair brush over your shoulder.
You knew he had a weapon. He wouldn’t have come to threaten you without one.
Before you could reach the door handle, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you backwards, and into the unoccupied guest room that the couple hadn’t bothered to take.
He shut the door with a loud slam, though not before hearing someone whistle out in the corridor.
Your head snapped towards him. He was leaning on the door, his arms crossed, looking almost unbothered.
“We can play this game all day, pumpkin. I got time.” He waved you off with a grin. “Give me the files. I’m askin’ nicely. I won’t force ya to hand ‘em over. Yet.”
You gritted your teeth.
You were so fucking close. So close to getting out of here, and then he had to come—this walking hunk of metal and scrap—and ruin everything.
Nothing ever went your fucking way anyway. You shouldn’t have been shocked something like this would happen.
You held your purse tightly in your hands. All of this was pointless. The dress, the heels, the hair, the nails, the makeup. All of it.
You just hoped by some miracle that he hadn’t found your locator beacon yet. You’d hidden it well; within the bushes outside away from anyone’s line of sight, but he wasn’t just anyone. He could see things a lot of people couldn’t.
“C’mon. You know you wanna…” He smiled sweetly for good measure. It looked like a threat. When he leaned to the side, the golden barrel of a gun flashed beneath his belt.
You could try to make a backup. Right then. You had what you needed in your watch. He’d probably stop you before it was complete.
Or…
Or what? What else could you do?
Your locator beacon wasn’t responding, though it hadn’t been broken. Most likely deactivated temporarily. You bounced on your heels.
You then formed the worst idea of your life.
With shaky hands, you walked towards him slowly. You reached into your purse, feeling for the cold plastic of the black USB he wanted to get his grubby hands on.
“Knew you’d come ‘round.” He held out his hand expectantly.
You fished the USB from your bag.
Then, before you could place it into his palm, you tripped and almost broke your nose on his torso. Your hands splayed desperately onto his chest to keep your face from shattering on impact.
He was quick to grab your arms to steady you with a surprised grunt.
There was a whirring sound, and then the sound of something mechanical and wrong. Foreign. Not from his body, but from yours.
The spaces beneath his joints lit up abright yellow for a moment before his hands loosened from your arms.
You grinned. Gotcha.
When you pulled back, he witnessed you pull a strange light from beneath his skin before you held it along your fingers.
When he blinked, you had an entire copy of his body in the palm of your hand. A hologram formed of his entire artificial makeup. Every crevice of his body, all of the metal that weaved to make him who he was.
All of it in your hand, with puppet strings attached.
It was missing just his head.
He froze. And then, he rushed out a simple, “what did you do?”
You tapped on his holographic arm on the screen. “Hijacked.”
When you moved it, his arm twitched to life.
Against his will, he pulled the gun from his holster and dropped it to the floor. It clattered uselessly onto the carpet.
He could only simply stare as his body moved against his will. There was no way to even twitch a finger with all his might.
It was like you had shut down all of his systems and replaced them with your own.
He should’ve seen this coming.
You whistled as you studied the model of him in your hands. When you tapped onto his neck, it zoomed in to show every single wire and thread of metal, as well as an accompanying string of coding.
“I don’t need any special enhancements to read you. What sort of cyborg comes in alone to try and stop me? You know who I am, don’t you?”
He wasn’t able to move his body. He said not a word.
“Somebody clearly doesn’t understand their body.” You patted his chest. His fans had kicked in. You could hear them whirring.
He was glaring at you.
“Did the IPC send you?”
After a moment, he scoffed. “Hardly. I don’t work for those… people.” It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it.
“Huh.” You didn’t think he was lying. “So… you’re not concerned about my bounty?”
“You said yourself you were priceless,” he countered easily. Despite his position, he was still grinning. “And besides, I’m sure my bounty is heaps bigger than yours.”
You almost snapped. He’d come to gloat, even at a disadvantage.
“You look better with your mouth shut,” you spat. You shoved the lining of code in his face for him to see, making the holographic blue screen as large as you possibly could. “I could make you tear yourself apart. I could make you forget who you are. I could alter whatever sort of brain you have in there. Watch yourself.”
Still glaring, but this time his lips sealed almost instantly.
You made him stand ram rod straight as you turned around, now eyeing a golden vanity next to the bed. The bedroom was surprisingly clean, save for a few empty glasses strewn about. No stains, no messes.
You sat down in the chair and angled the mirror so you could keep your eye on him.
You breathed out, trying not to stare at him for too long. You could feel your irritation growing, and it was showing on your face. If you stared at him for any longer, you feared you’d pull his limbs off with your own bare hands.
You fished out the powder from your purse and leaned closer to the mirror.
Maybe if you looked better, you’d feel better.
“You’re seriously dollin’ yourself up right now?” he asked, briskly annoyed.
You dabbed the sponge beneath your eyes. “Can’t let anyone think I let you put your hands on me. I have standards.”
He had nice hair. You weren’t sure if it was real, though. You weren’t sure if he could even grow hair. He was almost entirely artificial, save for his head.
He didn’t seem to age—his face, at least. You weren’t sure how old he was supposed to be, but his organic skin still looked fresh, as if left untouched and well taken care of.
Maybe it’s because that was all he had left of him.
You snapped the powder shut.
The ranger sneered. “Yeah, yeah. I’d beat you in a fight anyway.”
“‘Course you would,” you answered easily. You pulled a stick of gloss from your bag. You swiped the lipgloss over your lips, fixing it with the tip of your nail. “That’s not what I’m talking about, though.”
You stood from the chair, placing the gloss back in your purse.
“You’d never hit me, would you?”
His face almost lit up with fury.
It was absolutely hilarious.
“You’re so lucky I can't move,” he threatened. “You wouldn’t recognise your pretty face in the mirror.”
“Such a gentleman.” You stood on the tips of your toes to press your lips to his cheek. You hoped the sticky gloss bothered him, knowing he would be unable to wipe it off of him. You hoped it stained his milky skin a nice glittery bubblegum pink.
You hoped the scent of your perfume lingered on his skin, and he never forgot your name.
“Of course, gorgeous.” That same mocking tone. “Anything for you.”
You held the USB up to his lips. “Open.”
Begrudgingly, he did so.
You slipped the stick past his lips until his teeth caught onto the plastic and held it still.
“You can have it. I already got what I needed anyway.”
You kissed his other cheek for good measure, lingering for a moment before you pulled away. Two pink glittering stains on his face now; perfectly symmetrical.
“I’ll be thinking of you.” And that you would. You winked at him. “Bye, Boothill.”
Then, with sudden grid lines of yellow forming over your figure, the locator beacon buzzed to life, and you disappeared.
In the blink of an eye, you were outside in the cold night air. There were few people out in the front garden of the building, and none had spotted you.
You picked up the gadget and quickly left. A copy of his body and the USB were now a collection in your own personal belongings.
As soon as you vanished, Boothill regained control of his limbs and fell to the floor, trembling with the after effects of your invasion. His teeth were gritted as he pulled himself up onto the guest bed.
He spat the USB out before he could bite down and damage it.
He held it between his thumb and index finger.
There was a smear of your lipgloss on the side of the USB stick.
Mission accomplished, he supposed.
He also had two matching lipgloss stains on his skin as a trophy. He could see how stupid he looked in the vanity mirror.
He snickered with clenched, shaking fists.
You smelled like strawberry.
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Do you write for Ghost? If so, I just had a thot,, boss!simon and worker!reader? Simon is a really stern and cut-throat leader at a company you’re working for. He definitely doesn’t favor you, and will purposely make your life harder, won’t let you get leave or bonuses/benefits unless you give him a nice blowjob under his desk during a meeting… maybe slut shaming and dress coding you all the damn time,, or maybe he strip searches you, accusing you of stealing from other employees… poor innocent you, you just wanna make your boss happy :(
ugh, he’s so mean :((
boss!simon who keeps you under a strict dress code; forcing you to wear curve-hugging pencil skirts above the knee — leaving little to the imagination. you mustn’t dare wear knickers, not unless you’re on your period, but that won’t stop him. even then, you must wear a skimpy thong. and no point carrying sanitary supplies!! he’ll clean you right up, just hike up that mid-thigh skirt that insinuates your arse and bend yourself over the desk you often find yourself knelt beneath; your boss will take care of the rest.
boss!simon who doesn’t grant you vacation or sick days. he’ll have you in his chair, legs propped up on his desk in front of you where of course your naked pussy is slick and visible past the short, tight enclosure of your skirt (which he makes you wash on a hot cycle so it’ll shrink every time). he’ll discipline you for trying to avoid him and give you extra hours, disciplining that poor little cunt during overtime when everyone else has left, ruining your poor little hole all over every available desk. and of course you’re cleaning up the mess afterwards, gotta earn a star on that empty chart of yours somehow.
boss!simon who will give everyone else the day off just so he can watch you strut around the workplace on your own, arse and hips punctured by his custom uniform specific to you.
boss!simon who makes you take your breaks in his office, telling you prior what to pack for your lunch. he’ll tell you to pack foods that you’ll have to slurp or suck so he can hear the pretty noises your mouth makes, and the shapes your lips suction into. he loves to watch you eat lollipops and ice cream, especially when the calories go straight to your hips — filling out that skirt perfectly.
boss!simon who always supplies you with pens, telling you to chew them so he can watch from his office as your tongue fiddles with and teases it, ink sometimes staining your lips if you chew too hard :((
boss!simon who pays you less than everyone else so he can fuck what the rest is worth into you, hammering into your plump arse whilst you moan atop his desk because, he’ll make you feel better than any amount of money ever could.
boss!simon who assigns you especially difficult tasks so he can watch you struggle and toil over it, loving how stressed and worked-up it makes you, just because he can >:(
boss!simon who loves to remind you who’s in charge when he instructs you to take his cock down your throat or in your fucked-out cunny. and because he’s your superior, he can absolutely make you do it infront of your colleagues !! after all, you’ve probably done something to deserve such a humiliating punishment.
boss!simon who’ll tell you to wear fishnet stockings and a garter to work one day, only to make you remove them in front of other workers and slut shames you for wearing such appealing and suggestive clothing to the workplace :((
boss!simon who’ll put items from his office into your bag when you went to the restroom, only to make you empty it for him once you returned. you have no idea how his stuff got in there!! but you can’t argue with your boss when being accused of theft, you’ll just have to take his punishment like a good girl :(( he’ll make you undress to make sure you haven’t stuffed any more down your lacy bra, or even inserted anything anywhere else . . .
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janaispunk · 1 day
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no one has to know what we do
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chapter 2 • series masterlist
pairing: Dave York x f!reader
summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.
word count: 4.4k
tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!
a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍
follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)
dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍
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The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.
It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.
Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.
It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.
You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.
But David — David is refreshing.
He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.
You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.
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He’s not expecting you to reach out.
Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.
Because all he can think about is seeing you again.
It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.
Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.
He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.
Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.
And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.
He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.
Seconds after the first, another text comes through:
[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone
Fuck. Fuck.
His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.
He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.
The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.
His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.
“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.
He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”
“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.
Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.
“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”
His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.
“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.
“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”
You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”
It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.
“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.
You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.
“You don’t like me?”
He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.
The call disconnects with a beep.
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You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.
His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.
“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.
“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”
Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.
“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.
“Probably not.”
You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.
When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.
Have fun last night?
From David, sent five minutes ago.
You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.
Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.
Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.
i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you
His reply comes almost instantly.
Who said you bothered me?
You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.
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Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.
It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.
When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.
You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.
He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.
Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.
You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.
He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.
You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.
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You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.
You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.
After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.
But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.
On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.
Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.
He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.
“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”
“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”
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It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.
He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.
He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.
The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?
“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”
He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.
“Yes. Come on.”
He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.
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He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.
So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.
You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.
He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.
He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.
You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.
“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.
“You want me to take care of you?”
You nod.
“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”
Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.
He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.
“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.
Slap.
“You love this, don’t you?”
“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.
Slap.
“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”
You gasp.
Slap.
“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”
It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.
He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.
He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.
You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.
No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.
He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.
He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.
When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.
“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”
He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.
You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.
One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.
“I thought I told you no begging.”
You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”
He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.
“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”
You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.
“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.
He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.
It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.
He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.
Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.
“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”
You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.
He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.
You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.
Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.
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He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.
“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”
He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.
You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.
“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.
Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.
The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.
When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.
It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.
He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.
Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.
[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.
Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.
It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.
Maybe just one more time.
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thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
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folkloresthings · 10 hours
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I don't know why but Lewis Hamilton came to my mind with  knowing the medicines they’d usually take and having no problem going to get them when needed .
🩷
[ ways to say ‘i love you’ ] knowing the medicines they’d usually take and having no problem going to get them when needed with lewis hamilton.
lewis must have had some sort of sixth sense. it was like he knew you better than you ever had known yourself, always one step ahead. he could tell when you had caught a cold before you felt your sinuses begin to close up.
“can hear it in your voice,” he told you, bringing you the flu tablets you liked the best just in time to catch your nose beginning to run. “and your skin was warmer than usual.”
for the next few days, there would never be a shortage of that medicine in the house, and some sort of internal alarm had lewis appearing by your side at the exact minute you needed to take them. he would bring you a big mug of honey and lemon before you could tell him your throat was scratching again, and a hot water bottle for your feet before you could fetch another pair of socks.
when your relationship had gotten serious, you had both agreed that you would go on birth control — lewis’ career was busy, you had your own life to work on. neither of you were planning on a baby anytime soon. and each day, as the clock struck twelve, he reminded you to take it. if he was away at a race, a text would come through at the time he would usually stick his head into the room.
“i love you, and i can’t wait until we start our little family,” lewis would murmur, kissing you softly. “but for now — i’ll keep you safe.”
the most impressive part of his skill, however, was when that time of the month rolled around. any boyfriend you’d had before paid little attention to your cycle, always seeming surprised when you asked them to nip to the store for your essentials. but not lewis.
“they didn’t have the tampons you usually get, so i got you these as well as some pads for backups,” lewis noted, setting the bag on the table next to you. glancing up, unsure if you were imagining it or not, you tilt your head. “what? you’re due your period tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“yeah, but…” you mumbled, shaking your head.
“i saw you didn’t have much left in the bathroom this morning so i grabbed some while i was out,” lewis explained, shrugging as if it was the most normal thing ever. “oh, and some painkillers — the kind that don’t make you feel sick, and some of that chocolate you liked last time.”
looking between the bag full of things and your boyfriend, now busying himself with making a cup of tea, you feel your entire chest swell with adoration. every time, without fail, he always knew what you needed. he paid attention, he cared.
“lew?” you ask, slinking your arm around his waist, turning him towards you.
“hm? you okay, baby?” he asks, brows knitting and hands brushing your hair back.
“i love you,” you whisper, tiptoes stretching up to kiss him with everything you had. and he didn’t need to say it back, because he already had.
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deadbranch · 4 hours
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Words Like Violence (1)
Author: @deadbranch Pairing: Bodyguard!John Price x f!Bodyguard!Reader Summary:  Private security isn’t all you dreamed it would be, but it’s not a bad way to make a living.  You thought you were callous to the endless parade of male counterparts in your profession, until you meet a blue-eyed devil. Word Count:  710 Warnings:  18+ MDNI suggestive content, no smut this episode but there will be later, flirting (sort of), language you wouldn’t use in polite company. A/N:  Based off the ideas in this thread.  This is a series written for anyone who loves dark-haired, emotionally unavailable men, of mostly few words.  I often write Price as chatty and soft-hearted with reader, but not so much with this story.  The leather gloves stay on.  The series title is the first three lyrics of Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.
SERIES MASTERLIST [coming soon]
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WORDS LIKE VIOLENCE (1)
He’s a handsome man, you’ll give him that.
You curse to yourself silently, the tip of your tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth to curb the urge to mouth the words.  It’s unprofessional to move your lips unless speaking with your team, the client, or on behalf of either.  You’re paid to be a deterrent at best, effective protection at worst.  Not for your thoughts, feelings, or any thoughts outside of the job.
The few friends you have on the outside give you a hard time, constantly, it seems.  You’d convinced yourself that private security was a natural career segue after the military.
Yes and no.
You’ve never had to be this quiet nor polished in your life, but the firm makes it worth your while.  They pay well...better than most.
There was an 18-month waiting list to apply, but some unfortunate events in Miami and Sacramento opened up a few slots on payroll 16 months early.  You were in slim-line body armor, suit, and sidearm to match before you could finish reading the headlines.
Most private security are men.  You knew what you were getting into.  The boys’ club is nothing new.  Just a new set of assholes with the same chips on their shoulders. In more expensive uniforms.
The guy across from you seems like all the others in demeanor, posture, the vaguely menacing look.  This one has a beard.  Most don’t, but you assume he must have served in Afghanistan and got used to having a beard, despite how close he keeps it now.
You do your best to avoid eye contact.  While alternating between watching him through your peripheral vision and doing your actual job, you notice something white on your cuff.  You brush away the lint and return to monitoring your surroundings.  The client turns away to murmur something to your partner.
That’s when you realize he’s looking at you.  Bearded guy.
You’d have missed it if you weren’t determined to stare him down for a spell, but his eyes are blue.  Dark blue.
Like a nervous habit, he shrugs his shoulders back subtly and curtly adjusts his leather gloves.  They look so tight you can’t imagine the leather so much as budging at his swift attempt at shift the snug material.
The backward shrug is common.  Every one of you is wearing a shoulder holster.  The days are long and the nights longer. The holster digs in.
Without thinking, you make the same movement.  The shrug.  His eyes convey amusement.
You touch the steal bracelet of your wristwatch with your fingertips, adjusting the positioning of the links against your wrist.  His eyes flit downward at the movement then back to your face.
He must have realized you’re watching his hands.  For the first time in half an hour his mouth moves, if only in a manner that would be missed if you hadn’t become so familiar with his default serious expression.
As you study his enigmatic half-smile, his hands move once more in the bottom of your vision.  You swallow hard as he flexes his right hand, the black calfskin glove straining against his knuckles.
You imagine the sound of him making a fist, the leather groaning tightly under the tension.
Naturally, your imagination tumbles downward into how those gloved hands would feel on your hips, nothing between his fingers and your skin but soft, thin leather.
As though reading your mind, he smiles.
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Next Chapter [coming soon]
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@homicidal-slvt @http-paprika @fel0ny-01 @adnauseum11 @bluerosetarot @writeforfandoms @socially-awkward-skeleton @valkyri @brewed-pangolin @smoggyfogbottom @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @pastawench @argella1300 @crunchlite @efingart @gazs-blue-hat @tiredmetalenthusiast @sofasoap @sans-chara @kiki-is-hyperfixating @thegreyjoyed @tacticalanxiety @theywhowriteandknowthings @gemmahale @kocicko
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catherinnn · 2 days
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Fears and Futures
summary: After hearing Steve's comments about a friend's unexpected pregnancy, you become fearful of your own uncertain future and start questioning the meaning and depth of your relationship with Eddie.
warnings: language, unexpected pregnancy (not reader), not actual smut talks about sex, talks about unprotected sex, a little angst but fluff overall, hurt/comfort.
words: 1.1k
a/n: a little something just cause I felt like writing and I wanted a little drama. not proofread cause I was tired :)
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He opens his door for you and you start feeling nervous. After he lets you in, you see he’s trying to greet you with a kiss, one which you stop before his lips touch yours.
He takes a step back and you see his face, filled with worry and fear.
“Eds, I came here to talk” you explain.
And now his face falls, he realized what you meant.
--
You’re currently at Steve’s house, hanging out with him Robin and Eddie.
“Hey, do you remember Rebeca Evans?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, she was a senior with Eddie and me” you answer.
“The first time I was a senior” Eddie jokes.
You and Eddie had been friends since high school —it’s safe to say you’re best friends actually—, it took Eddie a couple more tries to finish high school but he finally did it. ’86 baby! Now you’re studying and he started working as a mechanic.
A year ago you started some kind of… arrangement between you two, a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. It all started on a drunken night at a party and then you kept it going not only on drunken nights, but on your sober nights, or at any time for that matter.
“She’s pregnant” Steve announced, and then he complains when you say he’s the most gossipy of the group.
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, she went on a few dates with this guy but they didn’t really hit it off, but they kept hooking up a few times either way, and then it just happened”
“It didn’t just happened, Steve. Were they being safe?” Robin corrects him.
“She said they were, but the condom must have broken or something. Apparently they don’t provide 100% safety” he explained.
“God, she’s my age… and wasn’t she studying as well? She wasn’t working yet” you ask him.
“Yep, she was still studying. Imagine if it happened to you now, it would change your whole life” Steve comments.
“Yeah…” you start thinking how it would affect you, how much of an impact it would make on your life.
And suddenly you can’t stop thinking about it, fearing it. You’re not ready to have kids! But neither was Rebeca and then one day she woke up and she was.
The only person you’re having relationships with is Eddie, and similarly like Rebeca, you’re not in a relationship with him.
You don’t even really know if you want kids or not, but if you’d have them you’d imagine it at least be with someone you’re in love with.
Actually, let me paraphrase that.
At least it would be with someone you’re in a serious relationship with.
Because you do really like Eddie, but you know he doesn’t feel that way. So this arrangement was fine because of that, you know nothing more would ever happen so you’re not expecting it from him.
So for a few days you have been… you wouldn’t say ignoring him, but re-thinking some aspects of this arrangement… without answering his calls.
“Hey, Robs?” you pick up the phone.
“Fucking finally. Oh so you do pick up the phone to Robin?” You hear Eddie’s voice.
“Fuck- no, I was just waiting for her call. But I was gonna call you later” you lie- well, a few days can also mean ‘later.’
“Whatever, do you wanna come over?” he asks and you realize you are going to have to do this eventually.
“Yeah, sure”
When he opens his door for you, you start feeling nervous. After he lets you in you see he’s trying to greet you with a kiss, one which you stop before his lips touch yours.
He takes a step back and you see his face, filled with worry and fear.
“Eds, I came here to talk” you explain.
And now his face falls, he realized what you meant.
“Okay” he says either way.
“I’ve been- thinking a lot about this… Rebeca’s situation-“
“Oh, come on” he interrupts, “when Steve said it was similar to you it didn’t mean it was going to happen to you as well”
“But it could! Eddie, I’m also studying to become somebody, I’m also not working and with no intention on starting to soon, I’m also just twenty years old with no idea of what I want for my future, but I sure as hell don’t want a baby now. And it’s not like we’re being very careful, Eddie. For God’s sake, they were using a condom and it broke or just didn’t work, we’re not even doing that!” you explain.
“Okay, we can just be more careful, but we don’t have to stop all of this”
“That’s the other thing… she was also just hooking up with someone and now they’re bounded forever. She didn’t even like him that much and now she has a fucking kid with him!” you tell him and Eddie stays silent for a while, thinking of what you said.
“…Do you also feel that way?” he asks nervously.
“What?” you ask confused of what he means.
“Do you also… don’t even know if you like him?” he asks with a straight face this time, waiting for your answer.
“That’s not what I said”
“Okay, I’m asking you now” he kept insisting.
“Do you even feel that way?” you kept dodging his question. You weren’t going to admit to him that you liked him just for him to reject you.
He sighed, tired of this. “I fucking like you- I’m actually fucking crazy about you if I’m being honest. That’s why I’m trying to not break this whole thing up because it’s the only way I’m able to have you, even if it’s just sex and it shouldn’t mean anything”
“Are you- being serious?” you ask sceptical.
“Yes” he admits one more time.
It’s your time to sigh in frustration now, head back and everything. But because you can’t believe how stupid the two of you could be.
You run to him without saying a word and you see the confusion on his face, but you quickly grab it and pull him closer to finally give him that kiss. Only it’s with a passion and love that the first one wouldn’t have had, or maybe it would be hidden.
He kisses you back grabbing you by your waits and pulling you even closer.  
Pulling apart slightly, you look into Eddie's eyes where you find warmth, relief, and an unmistakable spark of love.
"I guess we've been idiots, huh?" you say, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, we have" Eddie replies with a small laugh, his eyes still locked onto yours.
“I’ll start taking the pill from now on” you can finally decide since now it’s no longer meaningless.
He smiles, leaning in to give you another lingering kiss, “Yeah, that’d be great”, he whispers against your lips.
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theprettynosferatu · 3 days
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I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Just… as an experiment. Yes, an experiment! I have been practicing a lot lately, after all. If someone had told me how hard it is to actually edge, to reach that perfect point and just… stop, I’m not sure I would have started doing it. But I AM getting better at it! If he could see me it would be sooo… but I’ll have another session soon, and I want to be able to tell him that I’m doing it, I’m following the program, that I’m doing well in therapy for once, that unlike all those other hacks he made me better…
I’m tired, and I know it’s harder for me to hold back when I’m tired… but at the same time I have to be able to control myself. That’s what he said. It’s all about impulse control or something… and if I fail and go over? No, I can’t be too hard on myself. But at the same time he would be disappointed. I don’t want to imagine that. Not that he ever tells me he is disappointed, but I can tell. I could almost imagine him looking so sad the few times I accidentally came… I need to make him proud. I need to train more. Sure, I have to work tomorrow but one edge, just the one…
Fuck, I love social media. It’s like… the algorithm knows how to push me deeper and deeper… and I feel less alone, knowing there are so many people gooning and edging and encouraging one another. To think I was ashamed of the stuff I liked before! Like, admitting that watching a girl being spanked turned me on would get me red like a tomato. Now… a spanking does nothing for me. I need more, and the screen delivers. It’s so fucking good to see so many good girls, drooling and edging like me and writing on their skins what willing fuckholes they are… The words come to me and I’m muttering them… cunt… useless toy… living cumrag… I’m not sure I can stop myself from mumbling anymore. I watch them smile before getting their stupid mouths fucked by a huge cock, shutting them up and turning them into the useful dolls they are…
Jesus! That was close. I didn’t expect to hit the edge so quickly! My pussy must be more sensitive lately. Makes sense. Two weeks without cumming is a long time… but he looked so proud of me last session… no way I can throw that away for a moment of relief. I’m in control. Not my body. Me. 
Okay, I did it. Time to get some much needed rest.
Fuck…
Turning in bed. My cunt is soaked and it’s insistent, demanding. I have to work tomorrow. I can’t… I put my pillow between my legs. I don’t know why I feel like it will calm my pussy down a bit. I’m making no sense. Fuck, thinking that made me wetter. I’m making no sense. I’m dumb. I’m stupid. I’m just a horny bitch in heat…
My hips move on their own. I’m not entirely awake, not entirely asleep. I’m almost… not there. Like I’m just watching my needy body hump the pillow, like I’m merely a passenger and my stupid, horny body is taking over…
No. No. I’m in control. I won’t cum. I won’t…
That was too close. Much too close. But I did it. I stopped right at the edge. I didn’t cum. 
I was a good girl.
Good girls edge. That’s not something the therapist said. At least I don't think so. I saw it online. But he explained edging to me, so he must want me to be a good girl for him, right? No, that’s silly. He’s a professional. He’s teaching me control. I want to learn from him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to…  
It’s two in the morning already. Time slipped by like… like it was soaked by my pussy juices. I like that image. My needy cunt is so permanently wet even time gets slick. I might be going crazy. I need to snap back to reality. I need to focus. Tomorrow I have to work, and I’m already going to be running on like, five hours of sleep.
Well, I’m going to be fucked tomorrow either way, right? Not much difference between five hours of sleep and four. And I do have a few audios saved…
One more edge. That’ll be all.
God, I love how audios make me feel. As soon as I put the headphones on and that low, barely audible pulsing sound comes on, I can feel a tingle snake all over my skin. And her voice… It’s so soft, so gentle, so caring… and so desperate at the same time. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to her, but it always makes me feel… like she’s holding me. Guiding me. Telling me what I am. What I could be. What I should be.
I know I’m saying the words out loud. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I wanted to anymore. The girl in the audio and me, we are one and the same. I can’t tell where the audio ends and my mind begins. Her words are my words. The only part of me that remains is the watchful eye that’s always alert now, always ready to pounce and stop me from going over the edge.
Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier. Edging makes me prettier. Edging makes me more obedient. Edging makes me a slave to my cunt. Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier…
I can feel him railing me in his office. I can taste his cum on my tongue. I can see the pleasure in his eyes, the way it gives me purpose…
Shit! That fantasy almost got me. I can’t be the only one that thinks about their therapist that way, right? No, no judgment. No shame. That’s what he says, so surely he wouldn’t begrudge me a little kinky fantasy starring him… 
I wonder if I should tell him. Fuck, that would be amazing. To look into his eyes and tell him every detail that my mind conjured up, how I want him to take over my mind, to tell me what to think, what to wear… who to be. 
Twenty past four in the morning. Four-twenty. I should sleep, but come on. Timing’s too good. One joint, one more edge, and that will be it. Weed always makes edging better, anyway. I feel so… happy. I don’t have another word for it. Bubbly. Happy. Slutty. Maybe I should make someone else happy like me… 
I should probably buy like, a mask or something, just to be safe. But I don’t have one now and I want them to see all of me… I want every inch of my body to be porn, to make someone happy… It doesn’t matter who. I need to be useful. I go on the website.
I blame the lack of sleep and the weed. I’m not dumb. I’m… it’s just… good girls are porn. Fuck, that feels good to say. I log on and…
There it is. Of course, first try. A stiff cock. I can’t see the owner’s face, and I don’t care to. I vaguely remember a time when I would have felt disgusted. Now I can’t think at all. Mu pussy clenches in anticipation, and my hand rubs it softly, insistently. We share the moment in perfect peace, masturbating as one, both mindless and entranced by our own bodies…
Suddenly, the fear comes. I want to be useful. I want… I need to make that cock cum. That’s my purpose. That’s all I want to be. But what if I can’t? How can I know exactly what kind of slut this cock wants to cum to? What if I’m not… good enough?
Then, the man starts typing and the fear melts away, replaced by a warm blanket of peace. He tells me what to do. Suddenly, I don’t need to try anymore. I don’t need to think. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to be anything but an extension of that wonderful cock. I don’t think I even read the words in any meaningful way. They bypass my brain and go straight to my body, and obedience is instantaneous. 
I’m on all fours, stretching my buttcheeks apart, struggling to look at the screen. I want to see it. I want to feel worthy. 
I barely catch myself. Seeing it tense up, hearing his moan, seeing his cock shoot cum for me, just for me… it almost makes me break my edge. I feel… proud. I feel perfect, as if I’ve found the exact corner of the universe that exists just for me to occupy, that wonderful purpose… He ends the video chat quickly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. It only shows me the dangers of cumming. Cumming brings bad thoughts. But edging…
Dawn arrives. I’ve been… away. I’ve become whoever, whatever the person on the other side of the screen needs me to be. I’m fuzzy. I know I’ve called someone daddy and begged him to sneak into my room at night… I know one woman made me spank myself with my hairbrush until I cried, and she came to my tears. I think I danced for a group of older men, but I can’t be sure. Maybe I… fell asleep at some point? I don’t know. Nothing feels real. I don’t feel real. I feel like a beautiful fiction. 
The alarm goes off. I should shower. Have a coffee. Go to work. Be a person.
Sure, I’ll do all those things. I just need one more edge to start the day…
Just one more…
I know I’ll have an amazing therapy session in two days.  
Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu
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f0point5 · 2 days
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With all the posts about Max’s first win I can’t stop thinking about how Y/N was feeling because it was still their feud era 🥺
do you have any headcanons about it?
I always had a rough idea of what happened after he won, I think it’s mentioned in the smau but I actually had some more detailed thoughts when I saw the reel on Max’s insta so…
Enjoy 🧡
Ps. Please ignore slight inaccuracies, I didn’t check the layout of the track’s parc fermé before writing this lol
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It’s your dad who drags you to yet another race under the guise of actually seeing you for more than thirty minutes at an airport. You hardly bother being upset. The kid he wishes was his is entering his first race for Red Bull Racing, you weren’t expect him to spend the whole weekend with you while that was happening.
Of course Max goes and wins it.
The moment he takes the chequered flag and the garage erupts into noise that can’t even be softened by your headphones, you want to roll your eyes, but you can’t. You’re not sure why your heart is thundering in your chest and you’re lightheaded, but you can’t think straight to figure it out. You don’t even like the guy.
Later, you’ll realise it’s because for all the dislike, awkwardness, and misunderstanding, there’s one thing you know about Max Verstappen, and it’s that he deserves this. He’s deserved it since he was racing around on his stupid little quad bike right over your foot. He deserved it after every win and every rare loss. Every time you watched him load his kart into that battered van when his dad wouldn’t let anyone help him, every time he turned away from anyone who might notice he was crying after Jos spoke to him, every time he stood on that top step looking not happy, just relieved.
You don’t even realise you’re crying until Geri Horner hands you a tissue with a soft smile before she runs off to join her husband. You follow her out to parc fermé where Max is already out of the car, mobbed by people. Barriers aren’t keeping anyone away from F1’s story of the decade.
You’re making your way through the throngs of people without any clear idea of why. You’re not even sure you’re breathing. Your brain certainly feels short of oxygen. Max has his back to you as he talks to one of his pit crew, gesticulating wildly as the guy shakes him by the shoulder.
It takes pretty much all the courage you’ve ever had to tap him on the shoulder. Something in you is surprised he turns to look at you.
“Congratulations,” you say, past a lump in your throat.
He doesn’t say anything. His smile doesn’t fall, but his eyebrows raise, like in this sea of people congratulating him he’s surprised that you did.
“Uh, thanks,” he says squeezing the back of his flushed neck. Even with a grin he can’t dull, he manages to look so damn awkward, and he can’t meet your eyes. “It was a good race, huh?” He snorts out a chuckle like he’s just one a 100 metre dash at a school sports day.
“Oh, fucking hell, Max,” you scoff as you take hold of his wrist and pull him into a hug, one he returns so quickly it makes you laugh, shaking against him.
You squeeze him tighter and he responds in kind. You laugh again, and this time you feel him laughing, too. Maybe something in his sweat transmits his adrenaline, or the heady atmosphere of success just takes over and you lose your mind, because you find yourself wondering what would happen if you just never let him go.
It’s Jos who pulls you apart, giving his son one more hug before pushing him off to where the team is waiting to celebrate with him again. He even turns to you and gives a squeeze around the shoulder and a kiss to the crown of your head, which feels a little like being kissed by the pope.
You shrink back into the crowd of people as photographers move past you to get closer for more pictures. Max doesn’t even seem to notice them, talking to Helmut Marko and his dad, looking like he’s walking on air. You imagine he must feel weightless. You know that for some reason, you do.
“He’s phenomenal,” your dad says beside you. It’s a dig at you, but you don’t even care.
“Yeah,” you agree, watching Max hugging his race engineer, “he is.”
He may be an arrogant dick, but his talent is something you see once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and today you feel lucky. Your dad may never forgive you for not having talent like that but right then you promise to stop hating Max just because he does.
You’ll never be friends. You’ll never have more in common than a childhood that shattered you and made him invincible. You’ll probably never stop wondering what it’s like to be him.
But when you see him stand on that top step for what you know won’t be the last time, you cheer.
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nalyra-dreaming · 2 days
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whether or not that loustat hug is the contested NOLA reunion, do you think it could happen in the present day instead? obviously in the iwtv book it’s a fleeting visit from louis. but in the show i just can’t imagine them going separate ways again after a reunion as it’s all heightened so much more. plus, i believe it’s been said that we have a modern day NOLA shot in the trailer. after watching s1 i just assumed that lestat would eventually pop up in the present day, but that was before reading the books!! how do you think us seeing him in the present day will go down? do you have any thoughts on where he even is? i’m feeling so clueless but curious about how they’ll introduce him and pave the way for his story to be told. sorry that this is so long🫶🏼
The hug can theoretically happen in Dubai time, but then... you know, back then, when Claudia's diaries showed up for the first time, I said that I sure hope their potential will not be wasted.
Because... Claudia's diary was a twist. A BIG twist, even for book readers. It shifted perceptions of characters yet again. "Merrick" was a blow to the stomach, especially knowing Anne had originally planned to let Louis die. (Btw, the first "Merrick" post I tagged as such was a reblog of @cbrownjc, in October 22, go figure :P)
The show has taken elements from Merrick, elements which would indeed be wasted if they do not go a certain route towards the end of season 2. Because they have been building up to it, and if they should not go there then they won't be able to return later on and then this twist will be wasted.
I just... cannot see them waste that twist, tbh, given its importance for all the arcs.
Which brings us back to NOLA (or not) and Lestat, and where he is, because if we are in Merrick territory... then Lestat is either asleep/in coma, or roaming. Because I agree! I don't see them separating again (not fully) after finding each other again. It wouldn't serve the show imho, the back and forth, and why would Lestat tell his story?
So I do not see the hug happen in NOLA. And if it is, then I bet that will be the contested meeting.
Now, I personally think Lestat is close by. I think he might be connected to "The Groan". I think it will literally all come crashing down when Dubai comes to a head.
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I think Lestat might be in the "chapel" with "Those Who Must Be Kept", maybe. A chapel which serves both, and which explains the "I serve a god", too.
I think the moment when the books come down Lestat will wake up.
If they are mean, they'll go out with a cliffhanger of epic proportions^^ (aka Louis seemingly dead), but I can also see them go through with the resolution first... and then sit back, literally, proverbially, and Daniel going something like: "So you are the vampire Lestat." in that tone of his, while side-eyeing all vampires there :) I can hear it.^^
That said, there was once a comment about Lestat maybe telling his story through a different device, so maybe... maybe Daniel finds some old tapes :) Or maybe he even interviewed Lestat before! We don't know yet. He did seem to react to "Come to me".
Personally I want Louis there to listen to the story though. Because ultimately Lestat tells his story for Louis.
So. To come back to the hug and Dubai... Maybe what we saw was the end of the season.
Because... if they are not that mean (to us)... then maybe Louis does attempt suicide, Lestat wakes, he, Armand and Marius save Louis... and Louis wakes to see Lestat - dusty, hair tangled, and clad in a velvet jacket.
"Lestat had by this time brushed off the cumbersome covering of dust he wore, and taken from his own closet a new coat of dark- brown velvet, and fresh linen, so that he wore his usual thick and faintly discolored old lace. He had shaken out his hair and combed it, and put on new boots."
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Dark brown velvet jacket, and shaken out and combed hair.
I mean, we can hope, right? :)
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madissonsworld · 1 day
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Imagine being pregnant with klaus kid and be having pregnancy hormones.
This is my first time writing something were, so it’s probably not very good, but everything takes time right !!
I hope you like it 🫶🏻
I just woke up feeling the other side of the bed cold, rapidly noticing that klaus was not by my side. I ignored the fact and got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
I just made 3 months of pregnancy and I was full of mood swings and it was literally annoying me. I couldn’t take this, one minute I was happily laughing with klaus and the next minute I was screaming at him that I was tired of him.
I got out of the shower, prepared myself and went down there. I needed to eat urgently!
Getting to the kitchen, Rebekah was standing there with a blood bag in her hands talking with Elijah meanwhile Davina and Hayley were in the couch watching Netflix. I prepare myself a good breakfast.
“Do you know where Nik is?” I ask Rebekah
“I think he went out with Kol, but I don’t know where” she said. I whisper a mhm and went sitting in the couch.
“What are you guys watching?” I said putting my orange juice and my plate in the table in front of me
“Lucifer” Davina responded
After 3 episodes, I had already eat everything but was still no sign of klaus. I was really getting mad and sad at the same time. I decided to go upstairs to my bedroom and watch a movie by myself.
1 hour .
1 bloody hour has passed and still no sign of klaus. I’m mad but mostly worried.
It’s 1 pm and lunch is being prepared, when klaus suddenly walks into the room.
“Where were you?” I shouted at him
“I’m sorry” he says, and then I realize he was full of blood in his Henley.
“Ah, that’s why you disappeared all this hours. Couldn’t you just leave a note or something?? Huh? I was worried with you for crying out loud” I say
“I went out with Kol to help him to chose a ring for Davina when we were attacked” he said calmly
“You were atta-“ I started but he rapidly respondes
“It wasn’t a big deal, it was some vampires, nothing to you to worry about.” He assured me, and when I went to talk I started crying
“Why are you crying?” He worries, and I really don’t know the answer
“I don’t know.” I say “It must be the bloody hormones, now I’m always like this, and I can’t make it stop.”
And when I thought he was going to hug me. No. The idiot started laughing.
“Ah, you think it’s funny huh??” I say
“No love, not at all” he said, although he continued laughing.
“Your an idiot” I said and he kissed me
“And your so cute when your mad” he smiled trying to kiss me again, but this time I refused the kiss
“You don’t deserve my kisses” I said
“Ah love, you’re playing with fire” he whispered
“Come to lunch” We head Rebekah scream from the living room
“I very much like the harm” I said, walking to the door, seeing klaus following me
“Oh, you can’t go like that, you’re full of blood” I told him and immediately switched his shirt and we both went to lunch.
“We are going to watch a romance movie after lunch “ I said while we walked down the stairs
“No. I refuse.” He said
“You owe me, after disappear for hours and not telling anything” I said back
I hear a sigh coming from him and I already knew I won. This is gonna be an amazing afternoon.
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luciferstit · 1 year
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…. I want to talk about this. Specifically Shigeo’s lines. I honestly have no idea how this will manifest in the anime—whether it gets cut out or changed in translation—but I interpret this as a form of self harm. Mob is overwhelmed with grief and self-loathing from the realization of what he’s done to Teru in this moment (he only became internally lucid a few pages ago, when Teru kneeled before him, pounding his chest and screaming his name). Even though he’s “woken up” from his coma-like state, he’s not in control of ???%/‘Shigeo’s’ actions and cannot stop his body from hurting Teru. He’s seeking punishment for this, asking Teru to be violent toward him and to use his powers to subdue and hurt him. Convincing others to hurt you as a form of punishment is a self-harm behavior.
Well, he’s actually trying to convince Teru to hurt ???%/“Shigeo”, with Mob himself as acceptable collateral (“You don’t have to think of ‘that’ as me…Yes! Use your psychic powers on me!”)
And then, a shot of Mob’s teary eyes wide with horror as he thinks, “Better yet, just hurry up and…”
I personally think he was about to try and encourage Teru to kill him.
The way he words it builds it up as a step beyond hurting him and using powers against him. He honestly looks a little out of his mind in that panel. This is quite literally Mob’s worst fears realized to the most intense possible degree. It’s a waking nightmare, and he’s spent every day since hurting Ritsu trying to avoid this. He’s overcome with such intense panic and self-hatred at hurting another person he loves. I’m pretty sure he’d rather die than be doing that.
This entire scene makes my stomach drop when I read it. Something about this whole arc is just so… grown. And real. It feels deathly serious in a way fighting with floating skyscrapers and defeating a supervillain organization doesn’t. This scared little boy wants to be seriously hurt because he feels like there’s no other option, and he feels like it’s deserved.
I’m not looking forward to Wednesday. :(
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ijustthinkhesneat · 9 days
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I’m an Alfred/Martha/Thomas truther. Like Alfred is a baddie in his 80s you all know he must have been a slice back in the day. And it is canon Martha and Thomas were smoke shows.
Like let hot people get it. Let hot men kiss while their wife turns mobsters kneecaps into flour with a baseball bat.
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dawnsfragrance · 6 months
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I regret to inform that I’ve been afflicted with the I can’t write about love unless it’s heartache syndrome
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poisoned-pearls · 3 months
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❗❗❗❗❗❗
BOTHERING YOU!!! I AM INTERESTED!!!
AUGHH OKAY OKAY SO-
It’s INCREDIBLY similar to canon, that’s like, half of the point. Jamil and Azul have been in the same class for their whole school a career and I firmly believe Azul has HAD a crush on him since their first year even in canon (ex. “I’ve always been curious about you since we were first years.”)
so in this au it happened completely on accident. Since they were only around 3 weeks- a month into school, Jamil didn’t have kalim to worry about yet (who arrived a month later) and azul didn’t have such a large reputation (so Jamil was a little less cautious). Potion project, truth serum. Should be easy right? That was until azul accidentally lost balance and tried to catch himself on the cauldron, sending it all over him and into his mouth.
so when Jamil leans over to ask if he’s okay, because a giant metal thing just tipped over him, the first thing out of his mouth is “great seven you’re gorgeous.”
when Jamil is promptly like “what” Azul literally can not control his tongue and is like “please go on a date with me-“ and Jamil just stares at him for a moment before going “…sure” because, well, hell. He’s free from kalim for the first time in his life, he thinks he’s pretty too, it’s worth a shot and he’s under a truth potion, so at least he knows he finds him attractive. So sure, couldn’t hurt to try.
And it did, in fact, not hurt to try, they snuck their way up the astronomy tower and had a nice dinner that azul made. And they were both, very very happy.
another date later (this time by Jamil, where they played mancala in one of the scarabian common places) and they were official.
And a month later, (a week or so after kalim transferred) Jamil joined basketball and Azul became his number one fan, where a year later Ace learns about his existence from
Azul keeps Jamil from becoming more stressed about kalim, and Jamil uses his study guides to not go insane. Jamil also becomes a third enforcer for the monstro lounge, and knows EXACTLY how everything works, because hell he was there right next to Azul and helping him figure it all out when it was happening. He’ll catch someone trying to run from Azul and his contracts and toss them right back into the shark pit.
theyre also horrible. Like the most couple to ever couple. Jamil waits outside every housewarden meeting to walk with Azul, they always either bring breakfast or coffee for each other (they’ll switch it up on who brings it each day). Hell even Ace originally knew Azul as “Jamil’s boyfriend from octavinelle” during games.
#Also I think that Azul wouldn’t overblot (because Jamil would seriously help with his self esteem and because JAMIL SHOULD PUNCH LEONA-)#Listen I’m not a Leona hater#But I didn’t like him during book 3-#Listen I’m sorry I just can’t sympathize that strongly with a guy who is still rich as hell and royalty#You don’t have to work#I don’t feel that bad for you not being king#Jamil probably would still overblot but I have angst for that#Angst you’d probably like actually#You know when you were thinking about Jamil feeling bad after his overblot??#Imagine how he’d feel knowing he chucked his boyfriend halfway across the desert#But yeah#the sillies#id also think it’d be FUCKING HILARIOUS for canon Jamil to meet this jamil#“Oh shit the magic is all messed up- give me a second I need to call my bf to make sure he’s okay”#“Your what”#“My… boyfriend? What you don’t have one?”#“NO????”#“Life must suck for you then.”#“What? You think I need someone to be happy?”#“Well are you?”#“…”#(He feels bad because he doesn’t get Azul and weighted blanket cuddles when he’s sad)#(He feels bad thinking about all of the bad mental episodes Azul’s helped him through)#After Jamil figures out the other version of him is dating Azul he’s like “Him?? That schemer-??”#He insults him so much other Jamil is like “listen I don’t care if your me I can only take so many insults to my boyfriend before I just#Fight you.”#Jamil vs jamil#jamil viper#Azul Ashengrotto#jamiazu
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winnie-the-monster · 7 months
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“You think I give a shit about the game?” I wheel on him. “People are dead.”
“They chose lives of service to the fleet. They knew the danger and died for the cause.”
“What cause?”
“To keep our Society strong.”
I stare at him. Could my friend, my kind friend, be so blind? What choice did these people have? They were conscripted. I shake my head. “You don’t understand a thing, do you?”
“Of course I don’t understand. You never let anyone in. Not me. Not Sevro. Look how you treated Mustang. You drive your friends away as though they were enemies.”
If only he knew.
-Golden Son
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willowfey · 6 months
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that post about visualisation and realising how many ppl CAN’T rly got to me….. like it is tragically fascinating to me that so many ppl can’t visualise. “can you picture the apple clearly” i can see it in perfect detail, down to the shape and texture of the stem and the drop of water on the side from being washed. i can see the table it’s sitting on, the house around it, the way the light streams in and the dust floating in it. i know what the living room looks like to the right and the garden out the door to the left, which herbs are first in the rows, i know what it feels like and smells like, what the apple tastes like, how heavy it is in my hand. i don’t have to close my eyes to do it either. i can see it picture in picture or i can let my vision fade and Go Inside My Head into this little house with the apple and i can pick it up and eat it and walk down the hall, peruse the bookshelves, go outside and stroll the grounds and meet the neighbours. i can see the apple in my hand in the garden or i can see it in my hand right here in the physical, can see it floating in front of my face.
what do u mean u don’t see anything. where do u go when u get bored of the place ur body is
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