#me and him have several babies I Would Know.
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The fact that radfems spread this post around is actually really interesting--infuriating, but interesting. Because what they've really done here is tell on themselves.
This is the shrimp guy story:
From an anonymous green text called "shrimp saved my life" [emphasis mine]:
>be depressed, suicidal xanax- addicted incel
>one day I go to my /aq/fag uncle's house for some shit
>he has pet shrimp, never seen anything like it before
>he offers to get me some 53 KB JPG
>throw them in a barely cycled tank with some shitty rock
>several shrimp die >realize that I killed them with my apathy
>realize I need to take responsibility for once in my life
>do research, learn about water parameters and so on
>eventually I have a beautiful planted tank with no more deaths
>notice a female shrimp carrying eggs
>haven't felt this excited about anything in almost a decade
>the eggs disappear and I once again think I fucked up
>a few days later I see a tiny transparent baby shrimp
>l suddenly know how the shepherds felt as they gazed upon the newborn Christ
>by this point I live and breathe shrimp
>all my spare time is spent on shrimp research and watching shrimp videos
>l spend most of the money I had saved from my last job on shrimp products
>quit the Xanax to support shrimp spending
>start putting effort into college in hope of getting a good job for my shrimp
>grades improve, no longer facing the prospect of dropping out
>relationship with parents improves since I am finally passionate about something and applying myself
>l see genuine happiness in their eyes when I talk excitedly about my shrimp
>for my birthday my mom makes me a shrimp cake
>it even has fondant legs and little chocolate eggs
>cry like a little bitch when I see it
>mom hugs me and tells me she's always been proud of me
>college dorm neighbours demand to see my shrimp
>shit they're gonna think I'm autistic
>they actually think my shrimp are really cool
>they start inviting me to their social events
>start interacting with girls, get told by girls for the first time in my life that I'm fun and smart
>l think my shrimp would be proud of me if they knew
>We're gonna make it bros. Even if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the animals that depend on you.
He did address his relationship with women. By finding a hobby and passion and working on himself--"touching grass"--he stepped away from the echo chamber that filled him with all this rage and convinced him women were to blame for all of his problems. As someone once wisely observed, "the cure is going offline and realizing it's just. really not that big a deal."
And that is what radfems have not done, so of course they didn't spot the quiet flashpoint of shrimp guy's personal development within his story.
Edit: it's been brought to my attention that the version of the greentext post I lifted the text from was censored by someone else. My bad for not realizing that, tbh it was done so well I thought shrimp guy had done it himself, but that's an important part of the post. I've gone back through and un-censored it. The reply which was spread around with the original post addressed the words themselves well, I think; however distasteful and fucked up the incel rabbit hole is, it doesn't diminish his growth.
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𝑶𝑯 𝑴𝒀 𝑩𝑰𝑮 𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 !!
— old bf!toji x young gf!reader
i think toji with a girlfriend that is so much younger than him is so adorable.
before you, he was just a man with a small room that is always so messy because he is rarely home. but, the room feels so much like home now that you have entered his life. he's never bothered to decorate or do anything. his heart flutters when he finds several photoframes hanging on the wall. one of you and him, a few of just his and a lot of megumi.
toji has never in his life ever clicked a selfie. he is not photogenic at all. so when you poke him to click one with you, he's not sure what to do in front of a camera. you tell him to just be himself and he is still confused. you lift the phone and make a peace sign with your hand, your teeth peeking out as your lips curve in a smile. you click it quickly and scan the photo. it is cute. you put a heart emoji with a wink one and upload it on your instagram. soon, your phone is buzzing with notifications. you open them and giggle. toji is so curious so he peeks and finds people calling him "the rock". He snatches the phone to scan the selfie you took earlier. you look so adorable with your cute little peace sign and smile and there he was beside you with a brow raised looking angry. "delete that shit right now," he orders. "are you kidding me? this is gold. it's going on the wall." he can't help but grin at how you find such silly things funny.
toji who is getting used to texting and wants to be even closer to you so he tries to learn some slangs. you are out with your friends when your phone chimes. you unlock it to see the text from toji.
toji: kys
you almost spit out the coffee you were enjoying. what the fuck is he on? what happened? you immediately call him.
"hello," his voice raspy.
"tojii! why the fuck would you say something like that to me?"
"what are you talking about?"
"the text you just sent me. why did you send that?"
"because i care for you, doll." you were even more confused now.
"you told me to kill myself because you care for me?"
"kill yourself? who said that? i sent K.Y.S." he spelled out each letter out loud. "it means keep yourself safe." it takes you a few seconds to absorb and then you burst out laughing. he is not sure what is so funny.
"oh my poor big baby. kys means kill yourself."
oh. OH.
"i—i am so fucking sorry, princess. i was just—"
"you are so adorable. when i come home, i need to go through your google search history to know what other slangs you learnt." he is so embarrassed, he bites his lower lip. but he is also feeling so warm and fuzzy because you called him adorable. who would call a man in his mid 30s adorable? well, you did. and he is so happy about that. happier that he met you.
#jujutsu kaisen#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jjk x reader#toji fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#fushiguro toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro fluff
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AWWW I just read your Val & Vox with a little girl and its so so cute!! Can I maybe request a one shot of Vox as a girl's dad too? Like his daughter in life getting to hell in her late teens, and now Vox has to deal with the change in taking care of her because he only knew how to take care of her as a child before he died. Thank youu 💖💙
This request. Could have gone in SO MANY FUN WAYS! Let me know your feedback and thoughts! Enjoy- I can do a part two if you like it!!
I downed my tenth cup of coffee and adjusted myself in my chair. My head pounded and I hoped that just a few more drops of the life-giving liquid would keep the exhaustion at bay long enough to get this project done. I hit the call button on the intercom in my office.
“Charles! Another cup!”
Ten seconds. Enough of a break. I turned my attention back to the document on my computer.
My assistant brought in another cup right away. “Ms. Reader, don’t you think you’re getting carried away?”
“I said coffee. Not lip. Order me a raspberry mocha from the shop down the street and have it here in exactly twenty minutes.” I responded as I continued to type.
He bowed his head. “As you wish. Mr. Vox asked for an update. What should I tell him?”
I paused for a half a moment. “Tell my Dad it will be ready well before the deadline.”
I looked back down and continued to type. It had been a month since I first found myself in hell. It took my father no time to locate me- though his reaction wasn’t what I expected.
“Babygirl, you grew up.” He said as I sat across from him in his perfectly manicured office. A pained expression crossed his face. “Tell me, what did you do in your human life to land you in my office? And so young too…how old are you now? Eighteen?”
Sixteen. I thought to myself. An idea began to form. He didn’t remember my age- that could work to my advantage. After all, acting older than I was was a skill I acquired, and I was more than used to my own independence. I crossed my arms. “Eighteen. I’ve been running your company since I was thirteen.” That much, at least, was true. “What do you think got me here? Your business skills weren’t the only thing I inherited.”
He sighed. “The same thing that brought me here. Fine.”
He reached out to touch my face and I jerked away. He was a stranger to me, gone from my life when I was six. My mother tried to keep his company on Earth going, but she didn’t have the business skills I did. And when she passed the company fell to my hands with contingencies. Overnight I became the voice- the face of the company, running between me and the board.
When I passed she was the first person I looked for. Not that I thought I’d find her- and I was right. She went up, and we went down. My dad and his company found me shortly after, and I wasn’t in the slightest surprised to find he was as much of a go getter down here as he was when he was alive, the sole owner of VoxTech.
But as I sat in his office across from him, memories of him in life blossomed. Soft words. Snuggles. Hugs and kisses. All the comfort that was ripped away the day he left us, left me.
“You’re going to need a place,” he continued. “A place to stay. A job. I can give you all those things. Keep you safe.”
My other option was the streets of hell. An unappealing choice at best. And so, I accepted the role he offered and the responsibilities that came with it. I was determined to show my father that I was a hardworking girlboss, worthy of his faith in me.
“And send,” I said aloud as I finished the final drop of my mocha. My head felt fuzzy and my chest definitely buzzed but it was worth it. I opened my inbox. The time on the clock read ten- I had finished with several days to spare. Might as well keep going.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew I startled awake to the feeling of a hand on my wrist.
“Hey, hey baby girl. Take a deep breath, it’s just me.” My dad said.
I shifted and realized he had covered me with his jacket. I tried to sit up and realized I wasn’t in my office anymore. Instead, I laid on the couch in his.
Fuck. The project. Did I submit it?
“Wh-what time is it? I’m late, I still need…” I sat up.
Vox pushed me back down. “No. You need to lay down. You’re exhausted and your pulse is really high. The doctor is on his way up to look at you. When was the last time you went home to bed?”
Three days ago. But I didn’t want to tell him that, so instead I remained silent. Vox let out a soft chuckle.
“You haven’t changed all that much, have you?” He asked as he smoothed back my hair. “You used to do this when you were little too. Play so hard you fell asleep where you were. I used to pick you up and put you to bed, and you were so exhausted you didn’t wake up.”
“Is that how I got here?” I asked.Throbbing pain pulsed through my skull and
I closed my eyes as I pressed my head into my hands. “Ugh, my head hurts.”
“Yeah. Your assistant found you passed out on your desk around midnight. He called me right away.” He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm and hit a button. “When was the last time you drank water? Or ate anything?” Concern oozed from his voice. “I found like twenty empty coffee cups in your office.”
“I had coffee. I’m good. Lived on it back home. Live on it here.” I winced as the cuff grew tighter on my arm. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“You’re not. And I want numbers while we wait for the doctor to get here. What were you thinking?” He placed the back of his hand on my head. “Com’on you’re smarter than that.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m not a child, Dad.”
“Maybe not anymore, but you’ll always be my baby,” he replied calmly. “So will you relax and let me be your dad for a moment?”
I relented and let him fuss until the doctor came in. Vox stood with his arms crossed until I got the all clear.
“Just cut down on the caffeine, plenary of fluids, and get a few days of rest, and you’ll be fine in no time,” the doctor said finally. He scribbled a few things on his notepad. “Quick question. How old are you, exactly? Because your father says eighteen, but my records show sixteen.”
I saw Vox turn to look at me, a mix of fury and annoyance on his face. Shit. He grabbed the clipboard from the doctor and scanned the sheet. Realization flooded his face.
“Rest and fluids, that I can do,” I said loudly as I pulled myself up to standing. “Dad, you don’t mind if I cut out a few minutes early, do you?”
Vox swallowed and looked at me. “You told me you were twenty.”
“Actually, I said eighteen.” I replied, “not that it matters.”
“Oh, it does matter.” He said, his voice laced with anger. “You lied to me.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been on my own running your company for three years. But anyway, I’m going home, Dad. See you tomorrow.” I went to walk out the door and he caught my wrist.
“Oh fuck no. You think I’m going to let my teenage daughter waltz out of here after all this? No. You’re coming home with me. End of discussion. And consider yourself suspended from work for the time being.
I felt myself freeze. “You can’t fire me, this is my job!”
He laughed darkly. “Oh honey! You work for me. Consider it your punishment for lying to your Boss.” He stood up. “Let’s go. You’re not staying in that apartment by yourself. You’re sixteen.” He shook his head. “You’re sixteen.”
“Then where am I staying?” I asked, crossing my arms as unease flooded through me.
“Home. With me. Where you belong.” He said firmly as he pressed his hand to my shoulder.
I felt myself deflate but again, seeing no other option, I let him guide me to the elevator. Three floors later, the elevator opened and I followed him into a spacious living room.
“I’ll have your things taken from your apartment and moved into the fourth bedroom,” he said as he gave me the tour.
“I’ve been on my own for a month in hell, and even longer before then,” I protested. “I know how to live by myself.”
He stopped walking and turned his head. “Then I guess it’s about time you learned how to be a teenager then, hm?”
Anger flooded through me. “That isn’t fair! Dad!”
Vox gave me a grin. “There. That’s a great start! But seriously, you’re grounded.”
“You can’t ground me!”
He practically puffed himself up. “You’re sixteen and I’m your dad. Of course I can. And you are.” He pushed open the door “and this is your room. You can redecorate as you please.”
I stepped inside. “Wait, this is my room?”
Easily twice the size of my little apartment, the bed alone took up the center of the room. It’s current color scheme was neutral, with huge windows overlooking the city.
“Yeah, like I said, order whatever you want and I’ll have Velvette…”
“Aunt Velvette?!” I asked, excitement washing over me.
“You remember her?” He asked in a surprised voice. “Do you remember Valentino too?” He leaned against the doorframe and waited for my reaction.
I turned around. “Uncle Val? The badass mafia mobster that used to come over and toss me in the pool when you guys got tired of doing it?”
“Hey, who told you he was a mobster?” Vox asked as I continued to look around the room.
“Mom.”
He sighed. “Of course she did. Well, she wasn’t wrong. But yes. One and the same. We met up in hell and we-“
“Continue to rule together as much as you did in life. Got it,” I replied. “Did you not tell them I was here? In the building this whole time?”
Vox shrugged. “I was hoping to get to know you a bit more before I let them know you were here. But I wanted to give you some time to settle in first. After all, I thought you were an adult. Time…time passes differently down here.”
“Reader? Is that really you?” I heard an excited voice yell from the hallway.
My head turned. I knew that voice. Velvette pushed past Vox and she and Valentino practically ran over to me.
“Aww, my little Princessa! All grown up I see!” My Uncle Val lifted me up and spun me around like I was five. He kissed me on the forehead and set me down.
Shock flooded through my body as I looked at them both in their demon forms. Seeing my Dad with a TV shaped head was one thing- it made sense with what he did. Aunt Velvette still looked the same but Uncle Val? He looked…scarily different. Purple skin, sharp teeth. The only thing that stayed the same was his signature heart shaped glasses.
“Valentino, chill. You spooked her.” Velvette scolded. “It’s been what, how many years?”
“Wait- where is Uncle Al?” I asked
My father glitched. “We don’t talk about him. Not after what he did to me.”
“What did he do?” I asked in confusion.
“Ah, no. Princessa. Baby. You’ll get your daddy all worked up. We don’t want or need that,” Valentino scolded.
I crossed my arms and took a defensive stance. “I’m not five. And I’ve been an adult for a long, long time.”
“Yeah, why don’t you tell us all about that? Over dinner.” Vox said, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “After all, it’s been a long time since we’ve had a family dinner.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
#valentino x reader#the vees#valentino x you#hazbin fluff#hazbin hotel#vox x reader#the vees x reader#valentino hazbin hotel#valentino#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel vox#vox#voxval#vees#vox the tv demon#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette
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sleeping patterns – cn34
nights filled with endless crying and screaming take a toll on clement's confidence.
genre: fluff, slight comfort/angst ig
pairing: young dad!clem x young mom!reader
warnings: none
author’s note: aaaaaaaaaaa im so soft for clem and ive had such an insane baby fever recently. i miss him sm :(( he would be such a good dad, i just know it
f2/f3 masterlist
the big, red numbers of your electric clock on the bedside table tell you it's only 3am, a frustrated huff passing through your lips when your eyes slowly open. it takes a while for you to realize what's waking you up – but then it makes so much sense.
the soft cries on the other side of the baby monitor sting like a knife in your heart, and you're fully awake in a matter of seconds. you're just about to push yourself up to a sitting position when the bed dips next to you. after turning around, you find your boyfriend already jumping out of bed. "i'll get her."
"are you sure?" you ask, voice creaky after several hours of not speaking.
clement nods, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "go back to sleep," he hums, and just like that, he has waddled through the door to your nursery.
the sad truth is that your little one hasn't been progressing with her sleep as much as she should. she had a period of almost sleeping through the nights about a month ago, but then you were hit with the four-month regression. she's almost five months old now, and still, you have issues with sudden wakeups in the middle of the night. as much as you adore every second you get to spend with her, you just wish you could get one full night of sleep sometime.
you know you won't be able to fall asleep until clement is back, you never can. but it's not because you're worried; in fact, there's not a single piece of concern on your mind over it. you know that he has mastered the cradling-cooing-bouncing sequence by now. and sure enough, your daughter's cries grow lighter and lighter, until the only sound that can be heard from the monitor is the ones of soft steps and hushed whispers.
but something feels off. even when the apartment is completely silent, clement doesn't come back to bed.
it's very strange. he fell asleep once in the rocking chair in the nursery, but complained about his back aching for a week afterwards and promised that he would never put himself through that again.
the moonlight peeking through the poorly shut blinds in the nursery casts a shadow across clement's profile when you step inside. despite how dark it is, you can see every little toy on the floor and every detail of the little race car-themed mobile that dangles above the crib clearly. you're way too used to being in here at night.
clement has put your daughter back down into her crib by now, and his hands are wrapped around the railing as he leans over it, looking down at her. he doesn't react when you come closer, and he doesn't move a muscle even when you place your hand on his shoulder. it's easy to understand that something is bothering him.
"what's on your mind?"
he turns to you and lets out a tiny exhale, as if it was a struggle for him to snap himself out of his thoughts. he shakes his head. "it's nothing."
"tell me," you press, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze.
"well, i…" he squeezes his eyes shut. "i'm kind of freaking out. it's been over four months, and… i still haven't adjusted."
"honey," you start, your hand moving to the back of his neck. "where is this coming from? so suddenly?"
"i don't know," he says with a sigh. "you've seen me lately, i've barely been able to fall asleep at all."
he opens his eyes again and gazes down into the crib, eyes softening once they land on the little bundle of love resting so peacefully. he follows the way her chest rises with her breaths, her slightly pouting lips, her tiny fists that are wrapped around her blankie.
"it feels like i'm the only one who's struggling. you're such a natural, you're doing so much better with her, while i just feel… hopeless."
you don't want to interrupt him – clement doesn't often speak about his deeper feelings, so now that he's finally going, you don't wish to stop his flow – but you have to say something. "i think you're doing really well."
"you actually think so?" he asks. though his gaze doesn't move an inch, he can still see you nodding in the corner of his eye. he takes a deep breath. "i've heard people say that new fathers go through things… that it takes time, that it takes patience- and i've tried to be patient, i really have. but…"
he finally looks at you, and his heart breaks slightly at the sight of your uneasy expression, the tension in your eyebrows and your worried eyes. he hates being the one to make you feel like this.
"i just can't get rid of this constant anxiety. it feels like i'm always stressing over something. over you, over her, over everything."
you relate to every word he says. being this young, you feel like you're stumbling through darkness most of the time, not knowing what to do. it's frankly a guessing game, with mostly correct guesses mixed with some bad ones, since neither of you have any prior parenting experiences. even though he may not see it or know it, you're going through the same things as him.
no one had expected for you to get pregnant at this age, and no one – not even the two of you – had expected for you and clement to actually keep the baby. and sometimes, way more often than you'd thought before, your youth and inexperience has been catching up with you.
it's hard, but at least you have each other.
you step closer, draping your arms around his shoulders in an instant. "it's alright," you whisper into the skin of his neck, your nose filling with that scent that's just so him, and you finally relax a bit. his hands find your waist, fingers caressing your sides through the flimsy material of your nightgown. "it's okay to feel like this. i do, too. i think… all new parents must feel it." you give his neck a soft kiss. "but they all get through it, don't they? and so will we."
he stays silent for a while before he nods slowly. "it's all just so… intimidating. i don't want to mess anything up."
"and you won't." you pull away slightly to look into his eyes. "i trust you fully, and-"
you're interrupted mid-sentence, the sound of your daughter stirring in her crib taking clement's attention away from you as he glances towards her. you see his adam's apple bob as she begins to whine, her fists clenching and face scrunching up. "should- can i take her?" he asks tentatively, hands trembling slightly on your sides.
you nod not even a second later, stepping out of his embrace to give him no excuse to hold back. "go for it."
clement had bought every parenting guidebook he could find, and read every website with tips for new parents on the entire internet – and yet, nothing had prepared him for this nervousness that he's experiencing so often. he knew it wouldn't be smooth sailing all the way, but he hadn't expected to feel this uncertain in everything he does. even in the way that he picks his daughter out of her crib, he feels anxious that he's doing something wrong.
however, the second she feels her father's presence, it's far from the story that his anxiety has been making up for him. she lets out one last soft cry before, as if out of habit, nuzzling her face into his skin.
while clement has been struggling this whole time, you can't help but notice that she settles easily into his arms. like she belongs there; like she knows that he'll take care of her.
because he always does.
"see?" you say, letting a finger run along the curve of her cheek as you smile down at her. "that's not so bad, is it? you're doing so well."
considering all the difficulties he's faced, hearing these kind words of appreciation from you gives him comfort in a way that few other feelings can compare to. his gaze is still glued to your daughter, the precious little baby that is his entire world. well, half of his world – the other half is standing right next to him. "i love her, you know," he says softly. "even if she doesn't know it yet, i do. so much."
"i think she knows," you answer, watching as your boyfriend cradles her against his bare chest. he has loved the skin-on-skin contact since day one, and you're sure she does, too; her gentle babbling is always a sure sign that she's completely content. you can't hold back from smiling. "and she loves you just as much."
"sometimes i just can't believe that she's ours. that we made her." his eyes meet yours, nothing but pure love in them. "isn't it strange?"
"strange that we've done something good for once?"
he answers your tease by sticking out his tongue, nudging your shoulder with his, though gently enough to not bother the little one in his arms.
"come on, let's go back to bed," you say, leaning in to press your lips gently to the back of her head. "one night of co-sleeping can't be the entire world, can it?"
#f1#f2#formula 1#formula one#formula two#formula 2#elms#european le mans series#clement novalak#fluff#angst#x reader#x you#x yn#x y/n#imagine#scenario#fanfic#fic#romance
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The One With The Fertility Field (Rhett Abbott x Reader)
Summary: You and Rhett decide to have some fun in the back field but you have no idea that it's been the Abbott family fuck spot for generations
Warnings: Smut, implied smut, several generations of fucking, trying for a kid, pet discipline etc.
Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana @sebsxphia
You moaned loudly as Rhett thrust himself in and out of you, attacking your neck, his animalistic grunting and groaning obscene as it married together with your own noises.
"C'mon baby," he growled. "C'mon I know you've got it in ya, c'mon and cum for daddy!"
His big hands pawed along your thighs and with one more thrust, you both released onto and into each other, panting and out of breath as you came to rest, one on top of the other.
"Holy fuck," Rhett panted. "You're amazing baby."
You giggled a little as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting you rest against him.
************************************
Cecelia quietly sang along to "Mule Skinner Blues" as it played from the little bluetooth speaker on the counter near the coffee machine. Dinner prep may not have been hers or anyone's favorite part of the day, but at least she had some time to herself and could enjoy most of the peace and quiet before everyone came in for the night.
The peace and quiet was suddenly broken by the opening of a door and the sudden barking of a small dog in the living room. "Hey!" Cecelia shouted. "Shut the fuck up Alberto! You're ok."
Alberto, the little black and tan chihuahua dog leapt from the couch to go and beg for scritches from Royal who hung his hat on the hook and kicked off his boots near the rack.
"Somethin smells pretty good sugar bear," he remarked, Alberto's barking having reached fever pitch.
"Here," Cecelia said, handing him the cardboard paper towel roll. "Use this if you need to."
Luckily, Royal only had to snap his fingers and the little dog sat right down, his little batlike ears pricking straight up and his tail thumping on the floor. "Quit bein a little turd Alberto, nobody wants to hear it," Royal told him.
Alberto yawned and followed him into the kitchen, hopping up onto one of the seats as Royal wrapped his arms around Cecelia and kissed her cheek. "Any idea where (y/n) and Rhett are at?" he asked.
"Nope," Cecelia answered. "Last I heard they were goin for a ride into town and haven't seen head or tail of'em since."
With those last words, the door creaked open and shut once again, Alberto's barking starting again. "Alberto! For shit's sake, knock it off!" Rhett ordered. "I will stick ya'll downstairs so fuckin fast......!"
Alberto finally quit his yapping when you came over to give him scritches behind the ears. You went upstirs to wash up for dinner, hobbling and limping just a little bit, the same going for Rhett.
"You two ok?" Cecelia asked, trying to hide the smile that threatened to crawl across her face.
"M'fine, Ma," Rhett answered. "Why?"
"Well for one thing you and (y/n) were walkin a little funny."
"Walked into a fencepost in the back field Ma," Rhett told her.
"Sure ya did," Royal chuckled as he stirred the pot of meatballs simmering in the marinara sauce. "There ain't no fence near there and hasn't been since the day your Ma and I moved here."
"Wait, which field?" Cecelia asked Rhett.
"Um......the back one near the river towards the north pasture," Rhett answered hesitantly.
Cecelia's eyes went wide and Royal started laughing. "Oh my God," he laughed. "No way, ain't no fuckin way ya'll walked into a fencepost."
"Dad what the hell's so funny?" Rhett asked him.
"Rhett that field was the same field your Ma and I did the nasty in when we were tryin to have you?"
"OH MY GOD!!! DAD WHY??? WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TELL ME THIS???!!!!!" Rhett blurted out.
"I'm tellin ya because that's where at least four generations of Abbotts were conceived," Royal told him. "Including you and Perry."
"Perry wasn't conceived there," Cecelia reminded him.
"He wasn't?" Royal asked.
"Nah, Perry was conceived in the back seat of your '76 Firebird," Cecelia told him. "I remember because that was the night we went to the drive-in to see 'Conan The Barbarian.'"
"Oh fucking damnit," Rhett said, making a gagging noise.
"What's going on down here?" you asked. "Did I miss something."
"Nope, nope, change of subject," Rhett answered.
"Oh we were just tellin Rhett that ya'll might've stumbled on mine and Royal's favorite fuck spot," Cecelia answered.
You shrieked a little, laughing at the traumatized and exasperated look on your husband's face. The four of you had a good laugh about it over dinner, not daring to say a word in front of Amy lest she repeat it outside of the house.
Yet Royal and Cecelia hadn't been wrong when they had said that a little adventure in the so called "fertility field" would work, for a few days later, you and Rhett were all too happy to find out that Amy would be the proudest big sister in Wabang.
#rhett abbott#rhett abbott x reader#amy abbott#royal abbott#cecelia abbott#royal x cecelia abbott#outer range
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X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).
I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.
Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.
--
“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.
Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”
No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.
Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.
When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”
Morph winces.
“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”
“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”
From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”
“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”
“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”
“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”
The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”
“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”
To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.
Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.
Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.
How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?
Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.
“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.
He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.
“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”
Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.
“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”
Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”
“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”
That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.
“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”
Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.
“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”
The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.
“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”
Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”
“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”
“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.
“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”
“Who else knows?”
“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”
At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.
“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.
Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.
“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.
Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.
“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”
Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.
He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.
Badum-tch.
Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.
Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.
Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?
“Morph. Look at me.”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.
“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”
From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.
It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.
Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.
One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.
The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?
Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.
Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.
If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.
Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.
The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.
But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.
He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”
As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.
“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”
Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…
He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.
That’s real enough for him.
#x men 97#x men#morph#wolverine#morpherine#my stuff#wait what this actually ended up good#have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair
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Untitled pt.2
Leah x OC
A/N: A little more in my current project. I’m still getting a feel for my characters. Feedback/thoughts welcome.
“What are we at, one more week?” Kim adjusted the weight on the bench press bar.
“Abouts yeah. I make it to the end of the week without any pain and things feel normal, I’ll get to run on the grass with everyone next.”
Kim laid down on the bench. “Well I’m sure you know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. Don’t do anything stupid and listen to your body. If something is off, waiting an extra day or 2 isn’t going to kill you.” She pushed the bar up off the rack. “Trust me.” She grunted as she lowered the bar to her chest.
“I hear you. And I won’t.”
“Hey Caps.” Beth came bouncing to the end of the bench. “Le, what time do we have the venue for Saturday?”
“Umm, 9 until whenever really. Though I told ‘em it would probably wrap up around 5. 6 hours for a baby shower seemed like more than enough.” Leah answered as she spotted Kim.
“Probably right on that. So we have 2 hours to decorate? That should be plenty. I think Steph has the catering scheduled for between 10 and 11.” Beth twisted her lips as she tried to remember.
“What did I do?”
“Catering. What time is that showing up?”
“Ah, yeah. 10:30 bouts. I’ll call and confirm on Thursday though.”
Kim put the bar back on the rack and sat up. “If we can get in at 9, I’ll schedule the cake and sweets to come around 10.”
“So we just need all the girls to show up at 9 to set up?” Leah switched with Kim after removing a few pounds from either end of the bar.
“Yeah, that should be about it. Caitlin promised that she kept a check on Katie and the games, but Stina is going to claim that she will be the one running the games so she can see what she came up with.”
“Good idea Meado. When Katie called dibs on games and said she was going to use a few “McCabe family classics” I was a bit worried about what those would entail. You really never know what you might get with an Irish family that large.” Kim helped Leah lift the bar to start her set.
“I thought most of Katie’s siblings were younger than her?” Steph asked.
“Ask her to name all her cousins some time.” Lotte interjected as she joined the group. “We talking about Erin’s baby shower?” The group nodded. “You know she’s right there.” Lotte pointed across the room to Erin, their social media content creator, who was sitting in a chair with a laptop balanced on a very round belly. “I thought this was supposed to be a surprise.”
“She has her headphones in editing. She can’t hear anything.” Beth shrugged. “You have everything worked out with Dylan?”
“Yeah. Him and Tao have some plan that Dylan swears Erin will fall for. They’re going to tell her I have a children’s event to attend so I can help set up.”
“Great. And Viv has been talking to Erin’s family, she just needs to confirm the time with them.” Beth added.
“What about Dylan’s family?” Leah said as she finished her set in the bench press. “I know they're American, but is Dylan’s parents planning on being here when Gemma is born? They might be in by then.”
Lotte shook her head. “Dylan told me and Tao he doesn’t talk to anyone in his family besides his cousin Rose.”
“Wait, isn’t that the middle name they’re giving Gemma?” Steph asked.
“Yeah. Rose is the cousin he grew up with. Dylan talks about her like a sister. I think she’s a year or two older. But she’ll be there. So he’ll at least have some family.” Lotte finished.
“Sounds like this is going to be a fantastic party for our little Gooner and her mum.” Kim looked around the group. “But now, finish up your reps. We’re on the pitch in 30.”
Everyone saluted their captain before dispersing.
**************************
The week for the most part had gone smoothly. The team didn’t have their first January game for another 10 days. But Leah was finally going to be able to join team trainings next week, after almost 9 months, and the anticipation was wearing her thin. Several times she was asked if she was excited, or nervous, and repeatedly reminded that the wait was almost over. Almost. She was sure Saturday was going to be full of the same, though the full Arsenal staff and then some would be at Erin’s baby shower, so Leah would hear it ten fold. She needed a break. Which is how she found herself out to dinner on a Friday night, alone, sitting at the end of the bar top of the restaurant she had come to the previous week. She had come in a little earlier this time though, hoping it would be less crowded before the dinner rush, and she had been right, allowing her to get the same seat at the end with her back to everyone else. Tonight she would be any other diner. Not soon to return from injury, Leah Williamson.
Leah greeted Colin as she took her seat, ordering a glass of Chardonnay. The bar keep was placing the glass in front of Leah with a menu before she had even gotten comfortable.
“Would you like the chicken again?” The ginger asked.
“Might do an app first. Take my time and do some reading on my phone if it’s no bother.” Leah smiled.
“Not at all. I’d say the hummus is great. That and the pitas are made in house.”
“Yeah? Alright. I’ll start with that, thanks.” Leah pushed the menu back towards Colin. “And I’ll order the chicken a little later.”
Colin reached for the menu. “I’ll have that right out.”
Leah leaned back in her chair and pulled up the book she was reading on her phone. Picking the wine glass up off the bar, she took a small sip and relaxed. Colin placed a plate in front of her a short time later and for the next 20 minutes or so, she enjoyed her wine and appetizer completely uninterrupted while she read. The noise in the restaurant slowly rose as the main dining area filled and the seats at the bar top were taken one by one. Colin had just refilled her wine and was putting in her dinner order when someone finally claimed the last seat next to her.
“Is this seat taken, miss?”
Leah had heard that voice before. She lowered her phone. “No it’s not. By all means.” She smiled at the new guest. “Hello again RJ.”
“Miss Williamson.” RJ smiled softly as they pulled out the chair before placing their coat over the back. “Nice seeing you here again.”
“Will you be watching another football match?” Leah asked as she watched RJ prop their phone up on top of the bar.
“I was planning on finally watching Sinclair’s last international match. Figured if I did it in public I wouldn’t cry.” RJ waved at Colin and gave him a thumbs up. Clearly not needing words to order.
“Are you Canadian?”
RJ chuckled and shook their head slightly. “No. But as a kid I just kind of decided she was my favorite player and that was that. Figured after a month I should finally just bite the bullet and watch the damn game.”
“Mmmm, yeah, retirement games are hard to watch. She’s still playing one more year for the Thorns though, yeah?” Leah finished the last of her wine and caught Colin’s eye, signally for another glass.
“She is. But that doesn’t make watching this any easier.” RJ picked up their phone and waved it before unlocking it. Leah couldn’t help but notice that their background looked like an abstract black and white print of some sort. Once RJ had the game queued up they set it back on the bar top. “You’re welcome to watch. But I won’t bother you if you wish to continue what you were doing.” They hit the play button on the screen.
“Thank you. I think I might try to finish this chapter of the book I was reading.” Leah turned back to her phone as Colin placed RJ’s drink down and refilled Leah’s wine glass. The pair sat in companionable silence as Leah continued reading.
“Who do you think is going to take the armband in the future?” Leah broke the silence after putting her phone down. “Sinc has been captain far longer than I can remember.”
“Fleming.” JR’s said with a seconds hesitation.
“Seriously? She’s so young?”
RJ turned in their chair and looked Leah straight in the eye. “Really?” They paused for a moment. “You, the youngest captain in England history, is going to say that Jessie Fleming, who is 25, is too young.”
“Oh. Yeah I see your point.”
“Aside from her age.” RJ turned back. “She’s been a regular fixture on the national team for about 9 years. When Sinc and Schmidt stepped off this field she was the 4th longest tenured player on the team.” RJ took a sip of their drink.
“You aren’t just a casual fan, are you?
RJ side-eyed Leah. “What makes you say that?”
“A casual fan generally doesn’t know those types of statistics for a player who don’t play for their team”
“How do you know she doesn’t play for “my team”?” RJ used air quotes. “She may not play for the US, but.”
“Ew. You’re a Chelsea fan?” Leah dramatically recoiled further from RJ who just laughed.
“No.” RJ smiled. A full bright, cheerful smile. “I am a fan of the players individually, especially Fishel and Macario. But not the team as a whole.”
“Do you even have a WSL team?” Leah raised an eyebrow.
“I do.” RJ smirked. “And don’t worry. They wear the right shade of red.” They leaned back in their seat. “Can I ask you something? None football related and not terribly personal.” They rushed out the last bit. “And you obviously don’t have to answer.”
“Well with those conditions, sure.”
RJ tilted their head. “If you hadn’t become a pro footballer, what would you have chosen to do?”
“Probably an accountant or something like that. I’m pretty good with numbers and enjoy that there is always an answer to any problem.”
“Figures.”
“What’s that s’pose to me?” Leah asked, offended by the assumption, regardless of what it was.
“You play football like a mathematician, calculated.”
“Oh.” Leah adjusted in her seat, sitting up a bit straighter. “Thank you.”
RJ just hummed in response.
“What about you? You obviously know what I do and now what I would do.” Leah relaxed a bit in her chair. “Colin said you did something in media, I think.”
RJ glanced down the bar at the mentioned bartender. “Digital media.”
“What do you do in digital media? That seems like a, a very broad field. And do you work for a company in the UK?”
RJ took a long slow sip of their drink, clearly stalling as they then swirled the liquid in the glass before answering. “The company is US based. I do a lot of behind the scenes stuff, sometimes editing, camera work, desk stuff.”
Leah picked up her phone. “Must be a small company if you’re doing all of that. Is there an Insta page I can check out? Give a like.”
“Yes, we have an Instagram account.”
“Okay. What’s the name of the company?” Leah had the app open and was just waiting.
RJ had their glass to their lips when they answered. “-third.”
“What was that?”
“Attacking Third.” RJ repeated.
“Really? That’s the show that covers the NWSL, right?” Leah started looking at the company's account on their app. “If they cover the NSWL, what are you doing here? Covering former NWSL players or something?”
“Something like that.”
Colin approached with a plate in hand. “Ms. Williamson, your chicken.” He slid the plate onto the bartop. “Enjoy. RJ, did you want anything?” RJ raised their now empty glass. “Be right back.”
After Colin dropped off the drink, the pair continued watching the game in silence as Leah ate her meal. Her plate was finished and cleared away when the match hit halftime. “I should get going. I have an event I need to be at tomorrow morning with the girls that will be far more mentally draining than 90 minutes on the pitch.”
RJ chuckled. “I can only imagine.”
The footballer gave the other patron a soft smile. “It was good to see you again. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”
“I’ll get my hopes up.” They smiled. “Have a good evening Ms. Williamson.”
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I was thinking about this ask:
https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/743015784302919680/rinx-must-have-thousands-of-humans-following-him?source=share
Of Rinx having a sugar baby then he gets bored of her so she move on. Then sometime later he thinks back to that woman and realizes he wants her, permanently this time. He messages her and responds, “Why would I return to the worst sugar daddy I've ever had? I didn't even get a 10th of the things I wanted. Bother someone else cheapskate, I already have someone who can actually provide me with everything I want and not leave me hanging.”
Rinx would scoff.
That's a very funny attitude for someone he's already owned before. He already won, he already had you before, just because he got distracted enough for you to leave doesn't mean you bested Rinx, or that he's incapable of reclaiming you.
You were easily tempted once, you'll be easily tempted twice. Your bluffing is also adorably obvious. No one has more wealth and resources than Rinx, whoever you found is severely lacking in that aspect and no doubt you're feeling it. After such rotten exuberance at his green hands, no wonder you're incredibly crabby and snappy with a broke sugar-partner.
The message was more courtesy than anything on the King's behalf. He wanted to let you know he was coming for you again, so that the shock wouldn't be as big and you could even prepare your favorite belongings to come with you. You don't even realize how good you're going to have it now, you silly little thing.
While your written tantrum us ignored, Rinx has Nena prepare the Mansion for his short absence. You'll be home soon.
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Everything Will Bring a Chain of Love
Request: "It would be so fun if you name it after me!" "No, it wouldn't." where it’s one of the Greyhounds other than Jamie trying to convince Roy and the wife of your choosing
I already miss Roy and Bucky, so this is a little blurb about their sweet future together!
0.8k words
Warnings: Language, pregnancy, absolute fluffffffffffff
Something There Masterlist
“To Baby Kent!” Jamie called out at the end of his little speech- the one Roy begged him not to do and Bucky insisted on- and raised his glass.
“Baby Kent!” everyone gathered in the Kents’ backyard echoed, amid shouts of laugher and little cheers.
It was a bit of an unconventional baby shower, Roy admitted to himself. Rather than a party populated by women in summery dresses sipping lemonade and cooing over baby clothes, Bucky’s baby shower was attended by athletes who drank beers and took the shower games a bit too seriously.
Roy turned to his wife now, wrapping an arm around her. “How is Baby Kent?” he hummed as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
Bucky smiled and dragged Roy’s hand down to her round belly. “Kicking up a storm,” she said with a playful eyeroll. “She’s already training for the 2040 Olympics.”
“I am never going to win an argument again,” he growled playfully, “when both of you have Olympic gold.”
Her laughter warmed his heart. “Would you have it any other way, Kent?”
Before Roy could assure her that no, he absolutely fucking wouldn’t, the couple found themselves dragged over to a corner of the yard where several Greyhounds and Whippets were gathered. Roy felt got a fuzzy little feeling in his chest as he gazed at the assembled group, his weird little family. This was the life he and Bucky had built together, a life filled with these big smiles from people who were tied together by a love of football. A life where these same people came over for dinners, travelled to matches and holidays together, and now came to his and his wife’s baby shower. It was something he wouldn’t have imagined before Bucky, and something he now couldn’t imagine his life without.
Isaac spoke up, interrupting Roy’s musings. “Alright, we’re tired of waiting,” he announced. “Coach Buck said you guys still don’t have a name for Baby Kent, so we’ve come up with some ideas for you guys.”
“Oh, this should be good,” Bucky snorted, tugging Roy close to herself. Roy simply chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.
The group took turns offering up their ideas- foreign names neither manager could pronounce, trendy names that the couple had already privately wrinkled their noses at, book and movie characters that meant nothing to them. Every suggestion was met with polite nods and tight smiles from the new parents, both secretly waiting to be alone so they could tell the other one little word: “No.”
Finally, Dani stepped forward, looking particularly proud. “Dani,” he said simply.
Bucky shot Roy a quizzical look before turning back to the Greyhound. “That’s your name,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he chuckled, all smiles and sunshine. “It would be so fun if you name her after me!”
“No,” Roy said flatly. “It wouldn’t.” His voice brightened. “Besides, she’s already got a name.”
Before the group could ask what it was, Bucky whirled around to look at Roy with narrowed eyes. “Oh, she does, does she, Coach?” the very pregnant coach scoffed at her husband.
The footballers braced themselves for a fight, remembering the bickering they’d witnessed before the two managers finally got together. They were ready for the shouts and swears, and a good heaping of sexual tension. A few of them were already grimacing at the memories of the arguments that echoed around the Dog Track during those first tumultuous months.
“’course she does,” Roy hummed, reaching down to rub Buck’s belly. “It’s Brandi. For Brandi Chastain,” he clarified unnecessarily.
There it was, that wide, red-lipped smile, the one that still sent Roy’s heart into overdrive. She wrapped her arms around Roy, pulling him as close as her stomach would allow. He chuckled and returned the embrace tightly.
“We like the name?” he whispered into her hair, allowing himself to forget about the fact that their teams were watching them. All he wanted to think about right now- alright forever- was his little family.
Bucky pulled back, revealing the tears in her eyes- a rare sight. “We fucking love the name,” she assured him. She tugged him towards herself so she could kiss his lips. “She’s got no choice but to wear the number six now.”
The two held each other, lost in their little world, thinking of the precious little girl that would be coming soon, whose first word would be ‘fuck’, who’d be kicking a football the moment she could walk, who’d grow up on the pitch, with the loudest parents in the world. A little girl who would be so loved- by her parents, by two football squads- it was ridiculous.
Dani cleared his throat, bringing the new parents out of their daydreams. “Or,” he said pointedly. “Maybe we could revisit the name Dani?”
#request ❤️#roy kent something there#he's here he's there he's every fucking where#roy kent#roy kent fanfic#roy kent fic#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent imagine
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So I need to know what animal they think is the batfamilies special interest.
Like we all know they are on the spectrum like look at Bruce. He's a 30 year old man that dresses as a bat and don't get me wrong there are several reasons he dresses as one but it always has something to do with the animal itself and I always think that's funny how it's even used as a joke in several comics, and animated movies/ shows.
So Bruce knows everything about bat's, shape color, species, what food they eat and how they live and even the different culture views on bat's. He could talk all day about it if asked and he always does it with the utmost care. Like he was giving a speech at a gala or speaking to the league.
I think we all know Dicks is obviously Robin's. Cause why else would he choose to be a brightly colored vigilante that's after a bird from the north? I feel like after moving in with Bruce he took a quiz on what bird he would be cause he was studying birds in school and got a Robin and took that to heart as a passion and not only learned everything about a Robin's but that had just become his identity for awhile and he loved it. Bruce when he heard it at first had thought it wouldn't work but after making him his own costume and even watching several videos on the birds he thought it fit his son nicely.
Jason didn't break away from the Robin role and embraces it actually. But he was always way more shy when it came to discussing his favorite. I think he would have a fascination with bugs and snakes and would absolutely be the kid with a spider or a beardy. He once convinced Bruce to get him a baby beardy and then it became an obsession. He had a sweatshirt that even had a cartoonish looking beardy printed on it and he proudly talks about it to any one who asked. Bruce would silently close his eyes and soak in all the information about them he could.
I totally think Tim loves frogs and even sea creatures. He has a tank with shrimp in it and his boyfriend makes fun of him and calls him a shrimp farmer but he also has a tank that has glass frogs in it. It's a huge tank that takes up over half his room and he loves just watching them sleep and even makes cute little tiktoks with them. He always is getting cute things for the habitat and going shopping. He also takes Damian on these trips. Because they both enjoy walking around and even stopping to pet or talk to the people who bring in their dogs. Bruce also enjoys walking into Tim's room and seeing the frogs and shrimp and even says hello to them before leaving again.
Damian is no stranger to having a soft spot for animals but I know he loves cats and dogs. He is definitely a cat person. Alfred the cat is his prized possession and he will proudly take pictures and then draw them. He loves using his animals as drawing references and has multiple books filled to the brim of just them. Sometimes if they are really good he goes to Bruce and asks them to be laminated so he can hang them up in his room because they deserve to be celebrated and respected. He also tells Bruce odd facts about his animals. How Alfred (the cat) specifically likes to sleep on his left side and enjoys being scratched behind his ears the most.
Bruce loves his weird sons because he is weird and for Christmas he always gets them something related to their animals because it's like a bonding experience for them. Some days they don't even talk about anything but their animals but I can imagine them all settling on a couch and out of pure bordem putting on documentaries and spending time just listening and learning. Of course this could also lead into some heated debates about who's animals is the best.
Jason: no you don't understand
Damian: *scoffs* actually Todd you never understood anything
Dick: ok well I set the whole thing for Robin soooo
Tim: oh please you were eight!!
Bruce: I think we are forgetting how bats-
Kids: *groan because they have been hearing about bat's for over half their lives and are tired*
Alfred just walks in and smiles as he sets a pitcher down.
Alfred: actually you are forgetting how important bee's are to the environment. Which is why I plant only the best pollinator friendly flowers
Cue to everyone rioting cause after all this time Alfred has never talked about the fact he is in fact a bee guy. Ever since he started working for the Wayne's they let him have full control of the gardens and he always loved that in the bleak of Gotham he had his own personal eden with the flowers. Bruce's parents also appreciated him for this and would let Alfred do as he pleased when he would passionately talk to them about the bees. Even when they passed away Bruce had always assumed Alfred just did it because he didn't trust anyone else.
Which was part way true but he loves watching them bumble around and bump into each other as he works.
If anyone knows what Duke, steph, and Cass would like please comment or feel free to debate!! Just please remember to be nice and save the bees 🐝
#batman#they are so silly#batfam#dc comics#damain wayne#jason todd#tim x conner#tim drake#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#dick grayson#i live for this#i love them#headcanon#animals#debatable#go ahead and try man#your honor they are autism and adhd coded#special interest#no objecting in the court of krypton#teach me how to dougie#once again the chat is tweakin#dc incorrect quotes#dc universe#incorrect dc quotes#dcu#justice league#dinosaurs#i love dinos at least#this is what i get for being a hippie
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2.12 Night Shifter
-Although Dean is impersonating an FBI officer when the jewelry counter girl asks him what it’s like, his answer is a truthful description of his life: “it’s dangerous, and the secrets we gotta keep…but mostly it’s lonely.” This wouldn’t be anything wincest except that he looks guiltily over at Sam twice while getting her number. The theme of loneliness between them and the brothers’ yearning for closeness from each other has come up several times this season, most obviously from Sam needing Dean to open up to him. But Dean is feeling it too. Sam was hanging off of him drunk last episode and Dean walked away from him so it makes sense that he’s trying to get someone else in his bed, and clearly thinking about Sam while he does it.
-Sam lies to Ronald. In the past he’s been the one who wants to tell civs the truth, while Dean lies. Dean’s instincts appear to be right here, and Sam’s sour impression with Ronald becomes an obstacle moving forward in this episode. It serves to highlight that Sam is still just not as experienced at this. They’re both really good with people and have high interpersonal intelligence, just in different ways.
-Dean feels “naked” without weapons. He’s been living in fear since he was four so that makes sense but it’s so bleak.
-Dean takes control of the situation with Ronald and Sam looks scared for him, then miserable when he’s locked in the vault and separated from Dean.
One of the bank employees asks “who is that man?” and Sam says “he’s my brother” as if that answers her question even a little bit. She wistfully says he’s brave and Sam looks even more miserable. He’s so sick of women fawning over his brother.
-a second scene of this woman fawning over Dean at Sam! I could watch this all day. Sam becomes increasingly perturbed with each passing moment. Listening to someone wax on about the person you’re secretly and wretchedly in love with but can’t have is terrible but especially when it’s someone who doesn’t even know them. He looks like he’s holding back on an emotion. Sam could just be irritated by the way Dean is overshadowing him, but I would expect him to respond by rolling his eyes or looking irritated rather than conflicted and sad.
Sam looks up to Dean. He doesn’t admit it until later on in the series, but Dean is his hero. His hero and guardian and brother and the only one who can kill him.
-Sam bumps his shoulder against Dean’s on his way out of the bank vault. He didn’t need to do that, there was space. People like to accidentally touch their crushes. And right in front of the fawning woman, like a cat rubbing its cheeks against its human’s legs to mark him.
-Sam points out that Dean is wanted by the police and is visibly upset. I love that Sam is the one panicking about this. Dean is too but he’s trying to be brave and save face for Sam.
-oh this is where they walk up to each other like they’re going to kiss. They’re making eye contact as they get really close and Sam kind of half circles Dean, looking into his eyes. It has the same vibes as the scene from Silver Linings Playbook where the love interest is teaching the main character a dance and instructs him on how to walk to her like he’s in love with her. You can see Dean moving his lips telling Sam he knows who the shifter is, but no sound, making this moment feel even more private
-the way Hendrickson says “there’s a monster in the bank” and then it cuts to Sam gives me chills
-Hendrickson mentioning that Sam is “the bonnie to your Clyde” makes Dean smirk. Sam is his wife. “That part’s true”. They could’ve said the butch cassidy to your Sundance or something but they went with a romantic couple and had Dean smile like aw yeah, that’s us, like he’s still so happy to have his baby back with him on the road.
-“they’re dangerous, smart, and expertly trained” god they really ARE. This show really earns their reputation.
-Dean is mid-action bringing a knife down on what he thinks is the shifter when Sam says in a near-whisper “Dean waitwaitwait”and Dean pauses to look over his shoulder. He’ll do anything Sam says. Sam’s gentle protest is more important than killing the shifter.
-Sam fights the swat team duo and wins. They escape and drive away knowing that they’re fucked and being hunted by the FBI. Their ascension from petty criminals to most wanted outlaws is so good because they are dangerous and fucked up and doomed and yet they’re together. I also love that Sam solved Dean’s problem by getting the uniforms and gear off of the two SWAT guys. He’s protective of Dean.
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„You’re not alone, together we stand. I’ll be by your side, you know, I’ll take your hand…”
“Just stay strong, ‘cause you know, I’m here for you…” (“Keep holding on” by Avril Lavigne)
I decided to set a trigger warning on this post: Miscarriages, high risk pregnancies, ICSI treatments, traumatic wish for a child journey, hysterectomy. So, please feel free to skip the following x paragraphs, if you feel triggered by these topics. Thank you.
Those of you lovely people of Snapedom, who know me and my way of blogging about Severus and my personal hardships might have noticed, that I’m mostly venting about ME/CFS and the crumbs, which are left from my former life. Since I can’t do much about it right now, I decided to “fix” another one of my countless issues…an internal wound, which desperately needs to heal!
As some of you might remember, I’m a mother of three wonderful children. There are my eleven years old twins and then there’s my six years old daughter. My pregnancies were the result of a long and painful journey of ICSI treatments, several miscarriages, way too many tears, about ten surgeries - due to Endometriosis and myomas - which eventually ended in a hysterectomy four years ago.
My desperate wish for a child led me to some decisions and life choices, which I probably wouldn’t have made, if I would have been clearer…maybe more stable in my whole mindset. One of these choices was a totally over rushed marriage to a narcissistic man, who made me believe, that he wanted the same. Gosh…I’ve been so desperate and so fucking stupid! Well, at least I got my twins because of him.
I went to the appointment for the transfer of the embryos on my own. He didn’t want to join the procedure…and I should have known, that he was already saying “goodbye” back then.
The pregnancy was rough. I had to lie in bed from the 8th week of pregnancy until they were born as premature babies in the 29th week of pregnancy. The last 4,5 months of pregnancy, I had to stay in the hospital…fighting for my babies’ lives all on my own. The father of them had decided, that he didn’t want to be a father anymore…wow…
I don’t want to go further into details about this phase of my life…at least not yet. I commissioned my friend @alinearthp for this project and asked her for several drawings of the different phases of my journey to become a mother. This artwork will be the start of my healing process…and I’m incredibly grateful, that you’re doing this for me, Aline! I know, that you’ll need time to draw all these wishes of mine, but I’ll be patiently waiting for each of your breathtaking pieces of art, my dear!
So, for the next couple of months, Severus will accompany me on my path through this phase of my past…just like he did back then, when I spent months in a hospital bed in “Trendelenburg” position. During this period of my life - and to be honest, in so many other phases of the past 21 years, as well - I clung to my imagination of Severus in order to feel less helpless and alone. His resilience and determination have always been my inspiration to keep going through all these hardships, which life kept throwing at me. He’s the love of my life…and he will forever be the guiding light in my darkness.
🖤Severus & Julia🖤
🖤Sevy & Jules🖤
#Severus x Julia#Sevy x Jules#Severus x oc#twin mom#icsi#this will be my personal healing journey#mom of 3#fuck me/cfs#disappointment#I have to heal#horrible pregnancies#severus snape#he was there#at least in my mind#i love snape#snape#i love severus#pro snape#snape love#pro severus snape#snape content#severus snape art#snart#snapedom#severus fanart#severus snape fan art#snape art#mecfs#single mom experiences#commissioning artwork is my goddamn coping mechanism
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darlin' i got your number now - nishinoya yuu/reader
m.list - read on ao3
A/N: I'mma keep it real with you chief it is finals week in my last semester of college and I have a five page paper due saturday I haven't started on but I took the time to bless you with porn instead and advance the noya agenda. you're welcome. my bachelor's degree, at least, will thank me, if no one else will.
Summary: On your day off, you spend some time cleaning and getting caught up in old memories. Your boyfriend gets home from work and helps you make a new one with your old school uniform.
Warnings: SMUT, noya has a senpai kink, he fucks you in your old school uniform, reader is afab and described as having breasts
Word count: 1700+
Four months ago, you moved in with your long-term boyfriend, and you couldn’t be happier. Sure, Noya is… an acquired taste, we’ll say, but he’s bright and sweet and always finds little ways to let you know he loves you. It’s hard to be mad at the mess that now permeates your living space when you wake up in the morning to needy kisses and no room for even a shred of doubt that you are wanted.
That being said, on a day like today—him out at his part-time job, you with no classes or shifts at your own job scheduled—you can’t help but try to fight the mess, just a little bit. An early morning, prodding Noya out the door because no, your landlord won’t accept “I wanted to stay in bed with my beautiful girlfriend” from him as a reason why rent is late, leads to restless looks not just at the piles of clothes scattering the floor, but at the overflowing laundry basket, the disorganized closet, the scattered boxes here and there that you still haven’t gotten around to unpacking. By lunchtime, you’ve made your to-do list and started working down the items on the list—throw in laundry first, tidy up, unpack the shit from your move that still needs to be unpacked so you can get the boxes out of the corner.
Of course, you get distracted. Laundry in the washer and not on the floor means, wait a minute, you can clean the floors now without too much trouble, and long story short, by the time Noya’s shift would be ending, you’re panicking a little because you still haven’t started on the boxes you need to unpack. You fly into the room, grab the first box you find—mementos—and are immediately slapped in the face with nostalgia.
To be fair, this is why you saved unpacking boxes for last.
On the top of the box, in pristine condition, staring back up at you, is your old uniform from when you went to Karasuno.
You’d been a year below Noya, gotten roped into managing the volleyball team. Mostly just gone along with it to have something to do after school, and then gone along with it because hey, their libero was kind of cute and they were overall pretty fun to hang out with. On his last day before he graduated, he’d asked you out, and of course you’d said yes, thrilled to not be losing your beloved senpai to the cruelty of time just yet.
Lost in memories, a little delirious from all the cleaning, your first coherent thought is I wonder if it still fits?
But you don’t get distracted again. You’ve got a lot to get done.
…right?
So anyways, you hear the front door closing and your boyfriend wandering through the apartment just as you’re remarking on the fact that, apparently, judging by the cries of pain the buttons on your chest seem to be making, your boobs have gotten a bit bigger since you last wore this uniform. No matter—you tug on the vest, slide into the blazer as you hear your boyfriend call out to you.
“Did you clean up a little today, baby?”
His voice is getting closer, and you realize, as he opens the bedroom door the rest of the way, that it probably looks a little weird to be standing in the middle of your room, several years out of high school, staring at your reflection in your full-length mirror to appraise your uniform. “Yeah,” you reply, looking at him reflected in the mirror. He’s stood still in the doorway, eyes suddenly wide. “I had the time and it was getting a little cluttered in here. Thought it’d be nice to actually get some of this shit unpacked. How was work?“
His eyes are burning, raking over your body. You guess the skirt is a little too short now—you’ve filled out over the years, and, well, Noya has never really been able to resist you in a short skirt. You can actually see him swallow. “What are you wearing?”
“My old uniform? I found it in one of these boxes and thought I’d see if it still fit me. Answer: not really.”
The next thing you know, you’re being pressed up against the wall, his mouth against yours, and—oh.
He’s hard.
He pulls away just enough to nearly growl against your lips: “Did one of the guys tell you?”
“…no,” you reply, more confused than innocent. “Tell me what?”
“You’re actually just that perfect?” He laughs, sounding delirious. He captures your lips again, needy as his hands come to rest on your hips. “Amazing.”
“Noya, baby, you’re gonna have to give me a little context for what’s got you so revved up,” you tease. “What’s going on in that empty head of yours?”
He kisses you breathless before he’s willing to answer. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you in this uniform.”
Oh.
You laugh, rest your forehead against his shoulder as your own shake with laughter. “Okay, I’ll bite. How many times?”
“Think every time I saw you in it?” He presses open-mouthed kisses against your exposed neck, urgent as he intersperses little nips here and there. You try not to gasp or wriggle too much at the ministrations—it’s more fun when he thinks he has to work harder to get you as worked up as he is.
Your hand winds into his hair, dropping your head back to let him access you a bit better. “Every time? I was being so innocent, working hard for the volleyball club and looking up to you, and you were thinking about fucking me? You’re such a pervert, senpai.”
The fingers gripping your waist twitch, and then he’s biting you properly with a growl.
“Thought about you calling me that while I did it, too.”
You’re learning so much today, you realize with a swoop in your stomach.
You drag a hand down his chest, find his hard-on with practiced ease. “We can arrange something, I think.”
He hisses at the touch, rolls his hips into your hand. “Fuck.”
Noya grabs your wrist, gentle but unyielding, and pins both against the wall with the one hand. His other slides up, under your vest, searching for the buttons at your chest. He pauses when he finds them—it takes almost no effort to slip his hand in to grope you over your bra. “You didn’t even bother buttoning the top?”
“Doesn’t fit anymore,” you gasp out when he runs a thumb over your nipple. Damn thin t-shirt bras. “It was buttoned, at least.”
“Uh huh.”
He pulls back, releases you just enough to tug the vest off, flinging it somewhere in the room and putting you properly on display for him, buttons undone so he can easily access your tits. He leans down, pulls one out of both bra and half-unbuttoned shirt just so he can tease you with his mouth.
He grows impatient before long—wandering hands snake beneath your skirt, grope your ass hurriedly only to swipe over your panties. Noya groans into your flesh. “You’re so wet already.”
“Well, someone came home and decided to ruin me—“
“Oh, I’ll ruin you, alright,” he declares. In the next moment—he was always too fast—he’s on his knees, pressing his nose against your clothed sex and inhaling.
See, that’s another thing you like about him.
He’s such a pervert.
He takes the chance to mark up your thighs, lathes his tongue over your wet panties instead of taking the time to at least pull them aside.
“You’re so perfect,” he breathes. “So fucking gorgeous. Look at this. Look at you.” This time, he pulls your panties to the side to plant his mouth on your pussy and suck harshly at your clit. You whine, tug at his hair.
“N-Noya—“
“You already know what to call me,” he chides. His head is buried under your skirt—two fingers dip into your sex and begin to frantically pump.
“Fuck—senpai—“
“God, I can’t take it. I’m sorry, you’re too perfect, I—“
And there’s the athleticism rearing its head, because he’s got you underneath him and on the floor in two seconds flat, grinding his cock against you in desperation. “You’re going to have to wear this again for me, beautiful. Need you to. I’ll literally die if you don’t.”
Whatever response you were going to give catches in your throat—it takes him no time at all to get his dick out, pull your panties aside, and slide into you in one sharp thrust.
“You’re so good. Such a sweet little kouhai. Used to feel so bad about it—other girls were pretty, but I couldn’t stop thinking about pulling you into the equipment storage and lifting that short little skirt—“ he grunts as he sets his pace.
You whine. Before long, you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him any way you can just to stay in your body with the way he’s fucking you breathless.
“—think every time you called me “senpai” it took me at least fifteen minutes to recover—“
“Senpai,” you respond, more a moan than an attempt to say anything coherent, and his hips stutter.
“Yeah, like that,” he laughs. “Exactly like that.”
“Fuck—please, senpai, harder—need you—“
He growls again, arms shaking as he drills into you. It’s all you can do to keep holding on, keep whimpering into his ear while he has his way with you. When he cums, it’s harder than you’ve seen him cum in a long time, pulling out of you just to paint hot ropes across your now fully-askew uniform. He reaches between you, rubs at your clit frantically until you see stars.
When you’re both satisfied, he collapses face-first into your tits, winds his arms around your waist. Mumbles something you cannot begin to comprehend with your head still spinning.
“Love you, senpai,” you mumble back.
The arms around your waist tighten. He lifts his head just enough to be comprehensible. “If you’re going to keep calling me that, I’m going to have to demand a round two.”
“Next time, I’ll try to find your old jersey.”
That comment earns you a few more rounds and the decisive undoing of all the cleaning you’d gotten done today.
Worth it.
Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory
If you'd like to be tagged, let me know via any contact method and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in (eg. character-specific, all works, all smut works, etc.). If your url appears on this list but is not underlined/you didn't get a notification, please ensure your blog is set to appear in search results in your blog settings! If you've got it set not to for some particular reason, consider subscribing on my ao3 for an update notification, as I always crosspost on ao3 simultaneously. After three unsuccessful tagging attempts, you will be removed from the taglist.
As always, thank you for reading!
#nishinoya yuu x reader#yuu nishinoya x reader#noya x reader#noya/reader#nishinoya yuu/reader#my fics
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PRESENTING MY OC FROM THE LORAX !!
Ok, I would like to use my profile to present some of my things, as I do some things involving the universe of The Lorax. I have an AU, but I'm going to focus on my oc outside of this AU, which would be a representation of me on a certain way.
Introducing Layla
Layla is a 21-year-old girl who has lived practically her entire life in an orphanage. Her parents died when she was still a baby, so she never really knew them.
At the age of 18, she was able to receive the billion-dollar inheritance that her parents left her before they died. Her father owned a canned food company that was very famous in this universe while her mother was a renowned lawyer. However, she only found out about it when she turned 18 and came into possession of her family's fortune.
As soon as she got the money, she wanted to fulfill her dream of seeing the world beyond the orphanage, building a trailer with the help of a car manufacturing company. After traveling through several places, Layla decides to visit the Truffula Forest, making it her final trip, as it would become her new home.
More information about your personality
Layla is ambivert, generally lazy, being more lively when it is something she is interested in doing. She loves playing guitar at campfire circles, gardening, painting and card games.
She can be a bit nosy, especially if she notices that someone close to her is sad, she will bother the person until they are happy.
Her favorite colors are red, black and green.
Her favorite food is Chicken Stroganoff.
Relationship with Once-ler in her history
I decided to say that they end up meeting on the same day that Once-ler arrives in the forest because I thought it would be an interesting dynamic. The first impression between the two is not exactly good, Once-ler finds her annoying for being nosy and Layla finds him annoying for being a bit grumpy. As the days go by, the two get closer, getting to know each other better.
Layla sees him as a good friend until one day when they sit next to the river to watch the stars, they end up talking about life. The view of each other changes, growing a feeling of passion.
Random informations
Layla was created in May 2023 and initially used my real name, but I decided to change it.
She loves striped clothes, so her wardrobe is very striped.
Your Trailer cost a lot because it was assembled from scratch. Inside it has all the rooms of a house, even having a little clutter room to put things you don't use as much.
In this universe Once-ler doesn't "become" the Greed-ler, so yes, a happy ending for everyone.
She is Lorax's best friend, having several philosophical conversations with him in the middle of the night.
Her hair is natural red.
She doesn't like Once-ler's family because of the idea of deforestation and because Once-ler's mother looked at her the wrong way when she saw her for the first time.
She has a stuffed pink bunny that was given to her by her mother when she was a baby, and she still takes care of it.
Once-ler likes to teach Layla how to knit, even though she is terrible at it.
She helps Once-ler sell the Thneeds in the city.
#onceler#theonceler#the lorax fandom#the onceler fandom#art#introducing my ocs#oc x once ler#oc x canon#self insert#the lorax oc#oc lore#my oc stuff#lorax fandom
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I hate working with men
#have a male coworker who has been doing his job HORRENDOUSLY wrong#to the point that everyone else is having to take HOURS of their shifts to fix what he’s fucked up#and APPRENTLY several of my coworkers have tried to talk to him about it and correct him#and he’s been getting so goddamn offended and butthurt over it and acting like he’s not doing anything wrong#(and this is important the ppl who have tried talking to him are all older women. one in her 40s one in her 50s and one in her 60s)#ONE OF WHOM IS OUR DEPARTMENT MANAGER#and I was bitching about him today#and one of them was like ‘well maybe you should try correcting him’#and I was like why 1. not my job I’m not a manager but 2. he’s not listened to anyone else why would he listen to me#and she was like ‘well it will feel less threatening from you less like he’s getting scolded by a mom so he might take it better’#and like. HM! WELL!#I know this is a crazy wild absolutely batshit suggestion#but when a man gets told what to do/corrected by women (who have all been doing this job SIGNIFICANTLY longer)#and his reaction to is to act like a little fucking disrespectful piss baby#WE JUST WRITE HIM UP LIKE WE WOULD ANYONE ELSE INSTEAD OF TRY TO APPEAL TO HIS FWAGIL TEENY TINY EGO#LIKE IDK SEEMS LIKE THE NORMAL COURSE OF ACTION TO ME?????#not make the androgynous goth bitch in their 20s try to correct him cuz I’m SOMEHOW less threatening#I’m read as a woman he’s gonna have the same damn reaction#I just. ugh. UGH#I fucking hate men#kaz rambles
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