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withahappyrefrain · 9 months

Text

The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It

Summary: You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

Warnings: Language, no y/n, female reader, reader has a callsign (Honey)

Thank you to @dissonannce for this amazing idea. Thank you @acewritesfics for the dividers!

"Your hands are so big."

It took Bob a moment to register that you were in fact, talking to him.

"Oh! Um yeah. My ma made me do piano because she felt I was given the hands for them," Bob wiggled his fingers for extra effect, "Y'know, since they're so long."

Yes, they were quite long. It was one of the first things you noticed about Bob. Well, after you noticed his beautiful blue eyes, his endearing lopsided smile, the way he was so considerate of everyone else, so gentle, and yet there was an underlying confidence about him. He was sure of himself, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

Who could blame you for falling head over heels for him?

You flashed him a smile, hand reaching towards his.

"It's just, your hand is so much bigger than mine. See?" You propped his arm up, allowing your palm to press against his, both your fingers spread out to showcase the difference in size.

"See? My hand is so small compared to yours," You giggled. Bob looked down at your hands. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching, dying to entwine with his.

"Yeah, there is quite a difference in size," Bob said, giving you that small smile you adored so much. That smile gave you the confidence to entwine your fingers with his.

"I think they fit pretty well together, see?" He wasn't letting go. He was still smiling as he looked down at your hand holding his.

Maybe this was finally it, he'd finally realized that you liked him and would-

"I'm gonna go get some more peanuts, can I get ya anything?"

You mustered up a smile, trying to cover up your disappointment, "I'll take a water. Thanks Robby."

As soon as he left, you shot Jake a dirty look, "Seresin, you said that shit would work!"

Jake, who had been pretending to play a game of pool with Bradley, Javy, and Mickey, put his hands up in defense, "Because it usually does! Everyone knows when a girl compares hand sizes it means she wants you!"

"Everyone but Bob apparently," Javy muttered.

"Maybe you just need to be more obvious?" Mickey suggested.

You sighed. You knew Bob. The last thing you wanted was to be so blunt it would overwhelm him. But at the same time, you two had been doing this whole 'friends but also more than that and I'm pretty sure we're flirting?' for the last month and you were getting annoyed with it how seemed to be going nowhere.

Perhaps Mickey was right. You were going to have to be a bit more obvious.

"Bee? You ready?" Bob called out from your living room. Bob's nickname of your callsign (Honey) always brought a smile to your face, as well as heat to your cheeks.

"Almost! Can I get your thoughts on this top?" You asked as you walked in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you look-oh." Bob's eyes widened as he took in the green top you were wearing.

It was tighter than the shirts you normally wore, highlighting your breasts. The fabric stopped right at the end of your rib cage, showing off your stomach and bringing attention to your high waisted jeans, which according to Jake "did wonders for your ass".

"What do you think?" You clasped your hands together, the action causing your breasts to stick out even further.

"Um the uh, the color is really great on you. B-brings out your eyes," Bob said, his eyes looking everywhere except you.

With the way his cheeks were bright red, it gave you confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his, "I was hoping it would bring out something else besides my eyes Robby."

"I mean you you look great in everything you wear! So mission accomplished," Bob said quickly, his hands fidgeting with his car keys.

"Anything else you want to say about the outfit Robby? I really value your opinion." You stood on the tips of your toes, bringing your chest closer to Bob's face.

It was the first time since you walked in that his eyes landed on your chest. He cleared his throat, as if he was gathering up the courage to say it.

"You should grab a jacket, it's supposed to go down to the low sixties tonight," He said, turning around to head out the door.

God damn it.

You grabbed your phone, quickly texting the group.

Honey: We need to go to Plan C.

Rooster: Plan C?! You're saying the top didn't work?

Bagman: Dude, your tits were like out.

Rooster: Maybe they weren't out enough?

Coyote: If they were out any more, Honey would be getting a public indecency charge.

Phoenix: Maybe we shouldn't use clothes to express our feelings? Just a thought 🤦🏽

Fanboy: Yeah Nat, that's plan C.

Payback: Can we not blow up the group chat tonight? The finale of Insecure is on.

Your right leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation, your eyes never leaving the entrance to the Hard Deck.

"You don't think this is too much, is it?" You asked your friends/coworkers.

"Nah, it'll be perfect!" Mickey reassured you.

"You and Bob are going to walk out of here holding hands by the end of the night, guarantee it," Jake commented as he lined up the balls for a round of pool.

It took all your strength not to jump out of your seat when you saw Bob walk in. His iridescent blue eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He always seemed to search for you, which had to be a sign that he wanted more, that he felt the same way as you did.

You greeted him with a smile, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Hey Robby! I got something for you!" You called out.

Bob just smiled as he sat down, "I see you got my signature: water and peanuts. Thanks Bee!"

You giggled, shaking your head, "Yes, but that's not just it. These are for you!"

Bob stared at the bouquet of flowers you were holding out for him.

"For me? These are for me?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes! I was just thinking, like why is giving guys flowers not a thing? Because it totally should be! And no one deserves these flowers more than you Robby," You explained, a hopeful smile adorning your face.

Bob gently took the bouquet, admiring each flower.

"I thought they would go well with your eyes-that's why a most of them are yellow," you explained, trying to hide how nervous you were.

"These are perfect," Bob said before leaning down to smell the flowers.

"Really? Each flower has a different meaning," you began, hoping that by fidgeting with your hands, you'd be able to conceal your nerves.

Bob simply smiled, his face the epitome of saccharine, "Oh, I already know."

Your breath hitched, "You do?"

Bob nodded, "Oh yeah! Alstroemerias symbolize support, sunflowers are for loyalty, and violets stand for intuition!"

He wasn't wrong. You couldn't tell if you were upset by that or the fact that Mickey forgot flowers can have more than one meaning.

Time for Plan D.

"Hey Robby! You ready to watch hot people make poor decisions?"

"Ready as I'll ever-that's new," Bob said softly, taking in the new loungewear you had on for your biweekly Love Island watch.

"Oh this? I think I got it last week," you said as you let Bob into your apartment, "It's super comfy and it has pockets!"

It also was cut low, showing off your cleavage, as well as the tops of your thigh.

"Yeah, the uh, color looks really good on you Bee," Bob commented. The compliment brought a smile to your face. He noticed you, noticed you were wearing something new, and seemed to be noticing your now exposed skin.

"Well, let's go see if these folks gain any common sense," you grabbed his hand, practically beaming at how your hand fit perfectly in his.

"Somehow I doubt it," Bob chuckled.

When he offered to hold the popcorn for while you two watched, you weren't disappointed. Sure, it meant you weren't able to hold his hand. But it did mean you could move closer to him, your thighs practically touching.

"I really hope he doesn't take her back," Bob muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

"He will. They always do," you sighed, gently moving your head so it rested against one of his broad shoulders.

If your action had any effect on Bob, he didn't show it. Which was the problem.

"I would pick you in the recoupling," You revealed, hoping that would be enough, would finally be enough.

Bob smiled, placing a hand on your knee, "That's kind of you Bee. But I think friendship couples go against the nature of the show."

It took everything in you not to scream.

The rest of the night was just a typical Love Island watch night, no touching, no initiating, no declarations of love, and ending with Bob giving you a friendly hug goodbye.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed to check your messages.

Bagman: Bee, please tell us it worked and you're marking sweet love to baby on board

Phoenix: you're disgusting Seresin.

Rooster: why would they stop fucking just to text you Bagman?

Bagman: so we can pop some champagne to celebrate

Fanboy: Why the fuck is would we do that?

Coyote: It's a big event! Bee told Bob how she feels AND Bob's getting laid!

Payback: Can I just get one night of peace? Just one night?

You: No one's doing anything bc it didn't work!

Rooster: Not trying to be rude, but weren't you like almost naked?

Bagman: Like 52% nude.

Phoenix: JFC, we're going to plan E folks.

Coyote: Is that when we just lock them in a closet?

Bagman: No that's plan G

"Hey Bee!"

The cheerful, charming voice always brought a smile to your face.

"Hi Robby!" You greeted him with a hug, the comforting scent of rosemary filling your nostrils, "You smell really nice."

"Oh um thanks," A hand flew to the back of Bob's neck, a nervous (and also adorable) habit, "Wanted to smell nice after doing all those pushups out in the sun."

"Well it worked, you smell great," One of your hands reached up to the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that had curled at the end, "Look great too."

The tops of Bob's cheeks were now a dusty pink, "It's just a white Tshirt."

You took a step forward, placing your hands on his chest, "It's a good look Robby. Shows off your muscles. I like it on you.

Bob's lips parted, then promptly closed.

"Uh, t-thanks Bee." He had to know now that you were flirting with him. It was clear as day.

Feeling confident, your hands trailed down to his, grasping them, "We should dance!"

You didn't wait for Bob to answer, dragging him out to the middle of the floor. The sounds of Bradley covering Frankie Valli (begrudgingly, as apparently Jerry Lee Lewis was better) filled the bar.

After a few minutes, Bob's shoulders visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. You threw your head back laughing as he bust out a goofy dance move.

Everyone thought Bob was shy, but that wasn't the case. He was observant, determined to get a good read on someone so he knew how to approach the situation accordingly. Once he was comfortable, his personality shined and he was a sweet, goofy man who you adored with all your heart.

The grin you had was so wide, your cheeks were beginning to hurt. But you couldn't stop, not when he was twirling you around.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" You asked, having to say it into his ear so he could hear your voice above the music.

Bob shrugged, "I come from a big family. When you know you're going to a lot of weddings, knowing how to dance helps. That and my mom made me do cotillion."

"Well, all that practice paid off. You're a great dance partner Robby." You rested your chin against his broad chest, looking up to meet eyes bluer than the ocean.

In that moment, all you could do was focus on him. The way the corner of his eyes creased when he truly smiled, his comforting scent, his pink, thin lips that you were dying to feel on yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, if he could feel it since your body was practically on his.

His hands found their way to your arms, gently placing themselves on your biceps. Was this it? It had to be.

So you stood on the tips of your toes, your lips now closer to his. Your eyes began to close as you leaned in to-

"I gotta go. Jake stuck his foot in his mouth again."

This wasn't a lie. But it still didn't dull your disappointment. Nor did it sedate your growing frustration at this whole situation.

Perhaps you didn't need Plan G or H Perhaps it was time to go with your original plan.

The next time you saw Bob was when Nat threw a small get together to celebrate the end of a long week.

He was wearing that damn white Tshirt again. Whenever he brought his cup of water to his mouth, the fabric stretched across his bicep.

Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know? Consciously or not, that you had fallen for him ever since you two first met at training?

Either way, you were tired of this game you had been playing for the past month.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

You simply nodded before taking a shot of vodka. A little liquid courage was always nice.

"Nat, he's oblivious. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't do this the first time," Jake commented as he took the shot glass out of your hand.

"Because we didn't expect him to be that oblivious," Mickey countered.

"Well everyone, wish me luck." You walked out of the kitchen to find Bob still sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a smile sweeter than honey. Your legs began to wobble, whether it was from that smile or your nerves, you couldn't say.

You walked over, making a beeline for him. Bob's eyes widened, his fingers gripping his cup. Your gaze was so intense.

"Hey Bee-oh!" Bob froze as you sat down in his lap, your thighs straddling his lithe hips.

"Hey Robby," your hands found his shoulders, fingers toying with the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Uh Bee, there's um, there's a seat right there," Bob weakly pointed to the empty space next to him.

"I don't want that," you leaned forward, your forehead grazing his, "I want you Robby."

His eyes widened once more, as if he just saw an incoming train, "M-me?"

"Yes. Wanted you ever since that first day of training, when you offered me a mint," you told him.

"I uh, you looked sleepy and mint is known to wake you up and," Bob paused, "Did you say since the first day of training?"

You nodded, smiling at how you were able to see him process this information.

"The first day of training?" He repeated.

"Yes Bob, all you did was offer me a mint and smile to make me fall head over heels for ya," your fingers now went up to the back of his neck, twirling the curled ends of his hair, "Been trying to tell you that for the last month."

Bob opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, his brain still processing everything.

"You good Rob-" You never got to finish your sentence, as Bob decided right then was the best time to press his lips against yours.

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla, no doubt from the chapstick you watched him reapply. His touch was gentle, his thick fingers ghosting over your thighs, trailing up to your waist. Every move, no matter how small, made your heart fluttered.

Being so close to him, you could smell his aftershave, a mix of eucalyptus and sage. It was intoxicating and you wanted to be surrounded by it all the time, wanted to kiss him all the time.

When he broke away for air, you had to hold back a whimper, your lips desperate for more.

"FINALLY!"

You turned your head to find Bradley, along with Mickey, Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Reuben standing by the doorframe, in perfect view of you and Bob.

You smiled and opened your mouth, ready to make a quick remark. But Bob's fingers hooked underneath your chin, turning your head back to meet his lips again.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was bolder. His lips moved against yours with more confidence. Your whole body felt warm, as if you were floating. His hands now cupped your jawline, which is how you learned that Bob's hands practically covered your whole neck, a discovery that sent you reeling.

Your hands trailed up to his head, desperate to feel his sun kissed locks, desperate to find out if they were as soft as they looked. But just before you could, Bob broke away.

"What?" Anxiety came rushing back, dragging you away from Cloud Nine, your previous location. Did he regret it?

"Let's go."

He moved your body to the empty space on the couch, quickly getting up. You took his hands, allowing him to help you get up. You held onto one hand as he led you to the front door.

"Bob! What are you doing with my backseater?" Javy called out.

"Making up for lost time!"

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed. But how could you? You had finally kissed the man of your dreams, he kissed you back. He wanted to leave with you.

The sounds of the house party fainted, becoming soft background noise as you went outside.

Bob stopped, turning around to face you. Before you could get out a sound, his lips were on you again. His hands pulled your body to his, closing the gap in-between.

You couldn't help but moan when you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, immediately granting him entrance. You could hear Bob's breath hitch, his hands roaming across your body, touching your soft skin.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

"Why do you keep doing that?!"

"I...." His face was flushed, "I meant to ask you if if you drove yourself here. But you looked so kissable. You still do, God I just wanna kiss you again."

"I'm not stopping you Robby," you grinned, stepping towards him, "I'm not stopping you at all."

"Oh don't tell me that darlin'" his Midwestern upbringing laced his words. You always loved his accent, having found it not just unique but also comforting.

Somehow, despite his lips pressed against yours, Bob was able to walk you back to his car, your back meeting the cool metal.

His broad body draped over yours, his tongue frantically exploring your mouth. Your fingers reached up, grasping his hair. It was soft and much thicker than you expected.

What else was there about Bob you had yet to learn? What kind of toothpaste he used, if he drank tea or coffee in the morning. Did he fall asleep to rain sounds or silence? How many pillows were on his bed?

You wanted to know everything.

But right now, you just wanted to kiss Bob.

Your fingers tugged on his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. Despite his chest being pressed against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted all of him.

"We should get in the car," He said, voice breathless. With the way his chest was rising, one would think he had just ran ten miles.

Bob began moving towards the driver's side of his truck, but he stopped, turning back to you.

"I want to take you home," He stated. It sounded like a confession with the way guilt laced his eyes.

"I would love that Robby."

Instead, he just shook his head, "But I shouldn't because you deserve more than that. You deserve a nice date, like that Italian restaurant we always pass when we go to Bradley's. You deserve that and flowers and a lovely dinner with candles and wine that's older than both of us-"

You cut him off by gently pecking his lips, "It's okay Bob. You could take me to that diner up the room from your place tomorrow morning and I'd be elated because I would be with you."

He shook his head, clearly torn between continuing to talk and continuing to kiss you, "But....it's the least I should do. I mean, after all the hints you were dropping. I thought you were just being friendly and-"

"What friend asks another friend to look at their chest?" You asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe we were just really close! That you were really comfortable around me, which is why I didn't think anything regarding what you wore when we watched Love Island. I mean," his face reddened, "I did think about it. Um I thought about it a lot and if you ever want to wear it again, I would not mind-"

"Bob," you stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest.

"I mean, you got me Violets! Those mean loyalty and devotion, as well as delicate love! And believe me I wanted to kiss you at the Hard Deck, but that is entirely Jake's fault-"

"As most things are."

"And looking back it was so obvious and I can't believe I didn't pick up on it," He paused, "Sorry, I I had to get that out. I can take you home or back to my place, whatever you want."

You giggled, delighted by his ramblings. You wanted to hear more of it.

"And now I just want to kiss you. Like all the time," He confessed, his lips moving closer to yours.

"Robby, get in the car," you instructed.

"Oh, um, okay," Bob unlocked his car, moving towards the driver seat.

"No Bob. Get in the back of the car," you instructed.

Bob's brows knitted together in confusion, "But then how will I drive-oh!"

Who knows if you were going to make it back to his place or yours. All you cared about was getting your lips and hands back on Bob Floyd.

#my writing #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fluff #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd fic #bob top gun #top gun bob #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd

3K notes · View notes

ellecdc · 8 days

Note

helloooo, I am not the one who requested the reactions to a needy reader but I would love to see the reactions when they’re NOT in a relationship! Please and thank you ❤️❤️😘

ooooooou ok ok ok ok based off of this ficlet-ish thing here, the original prompt was:

how do you think the boys would react to reader telling them that she’s like NEEDY needy (iykyk) would they do it, or just like get shy and walk off? or? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

so, this is the not in a relationship edition: mature content ahead, viewer discretion is advised

James:

turns so red

eyebrows raised so far up his forehead that his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose

takes him a few moments to restart his brain

nervous laughing

"oh, erm, haha, well...I mean...I, I'm not sure what it is you're looking for but, erm, well...."

he does eventually spit it out that he'll help you out if you were serious

I think he'd be the kind of guy that it would be like, super casual? sort of transactional/you two kind of giggling or bumbling your way through it -> "ow!" "oh shit, sorry, y'alright?" "yeah, sorry, can we just.." "like this?" "yeah that's better" like, giggling fits through out sort of deal

either way, he does help you out - you both agree to let each other know when you can help the other out again

Sirius:

cocks an eyebrow at you and looks you up and down with a salacious smirk

"is that so?"

he let's that sit in the air for a few minutes as he shifts in his seat and returns his 'focus' to his books (though he's anything but focused now), still wearing a shit-eating grin

"if only there was someone here to help you with that."

you start looking around the room to see if there is indeed someone who will help you with that, seeing as Sirius is obviously fucking useless

you finally sigh "I'll go see if anyone in the common room is game"

he slams his books shut and hastily grabs his things, grabbing you roughly and dragging you out of the library

absolutely fucking ravishes you in a broom closet - you're worried you won't be able to walk back out on your own

leaves marks on you just to prove a point

"you're not going to find anyone else who can make you feel better than me, doll. let me know when you find yourself needing my help again"

Remus:

definitely a little blushy; I see him being somewhat shy at first if he doesn't know you too well / doesn't know where exactly he stands with you because he'd never want to make anyone feel uncomfortable

likely ask you to "come again"

when you tell him that's exactly what you're trying to do (😉😉😉) he's blushing again and laughing nervously as he looks back at his book/whatever he'd been doing prior to that

get's a little stuck in his head about it: you were bold enough to complain to him, should he be bold enough to offer you his help? is that even what you were trying to accomplish? were you just confiding in him as a friend? who complains to their friends about being horny? would someone like you even want a guy like him?

well, what's he got to lose by offering? if you laugh in his face, he can just avada himself later (rem has a dark sense of humour, sorry)

finally clears his throat and awkwardly offers his assistance if you want, though he refuses to make eye contact with you as he does.

he's surprised by how quickly you accept but he hastily finds an empty class room and spreads you out on a desk to go down on you - he doesn't want you returning the favour; he's hoping if he makes you feel good, you might come back for more

Regulus:

see, him I see getting shy and walking away

face blanches when he realizes what you've admitted

perhaps he's not sure you were actually asking him/if you were simply confiding in him

basically sits frozen in his spot until he can't take it anymore

says something stupidly awkward like "well.....good luck with that!" and hastily leaves the room

definitely bangs his head against the wall in his dorm when he realizes what a fuck up that was

absolutely jerks off in the shower later fantasizing about all the ways that conversation could have gone differently

Barty:

I think it'd be the same as the other fic?

"Barty? I'm, erm, well....I'm feeling kind of......needy?"

Barty shrugs and just stops whatever he's doing, turns to you and says "okay, take your clothes off/lift your skirt"

and then suddenly you're like "........????"

rolls his eyes at you. "well? do you want my help or not?"

"I, uhm, well...."

"Salazars saggy balls, no wonder you're so strung tight - no one will fuck you if you can't get a simple yes out."

"yes! Okay, yes....." you admit finally

shit eating grin spreads across his face

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into"

.....all this to say, he certainly helps you out lol

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forusomimiya · 7 months

Note

3, 6 and 17 with Sakusa<3

I read the sixth prompt and my head projected sakusa behind you, all his weight on your body, lifting your chin, asking you to beg him and…. WELL, HERE'S THE REST WOOHOO 🕺🏻🕺🏻 Hope you like it ಇ.☁࿔*:･⛓🖤

"You'll never come to understand how it makes me feel to see you like this, my little mess" With the weight of his body on top of yours, his soft hand ran across your throat, exerting light pressure before he moved it up to your chin and lifted it to make you gaze up at him. The gentle touch on your skin contradicted the filthy words that came out of his lips. You loved him and hated him at the same time, but not him, just his blissful taste in the habit of always edging you.

"Hands behind your back, I want you to show me how much you´ve missed me" You knew your place and what you had to do. Skilled hand holding both your wrists while the other opened your ass and watched the accomplishment of his work: your pussy contracting at the slightest touch of his fingers on you. "You know what you have to do if you want me to stop"

"No... I- won't admit it" Did you really want not to? You acted like a whore in heat every time Sakusa pulled you close to the edge and then forgot all about you, hurting your moral integrity. But fuck, he always let you so close that you ended up sobbing and begging, your dignity spread out on the floor, hopeless in the eyes of the curly haired dark haired man. "You're punishing me on purpose. You know that well, fuck"

"You think so?" A quick spank that unconsciously pushed your ass back, as if it hardly didn't turn you on. Of course you adored him treating you like this, but you had a limit, and if he was going to keep behaving like this, you'd soon put a end to it. "Nothing's going to make you admit it?" another spank, this time followed by a groan. Soon it began to turn red. "I must admit that your stupid attitude is turning me on more than I thought it would"

And it wasn't until when he didn't get any reproach for his words, he thought that maybe a little more teasing would make you finally succumb.

"Let's go for another one" a trickle of spit falling down to your entrance, lubricating you to welcome his nimble fingers again.

"Wait— oh shit, fuckfuck!" again you couldn't help but let yourself go. Eyes rolling, releasing your frustration gripping the sheets as in your head you replaced his fingers with his cock. God, you couldn't wait any longer to take it. For once you had to surrender, enjoy yourself and come back later with more strength. "You win, I've... been a bad girl but, let me cum please, I fu-ucking need it"

"Oh, how soon you gave up. I thought I'd use you a little more…"

"I need ya, I can't take it anymore"

"Beg for it. I wanna see you, I wanna hear you" embarrassed by your appearance, you still turned your head to the side and looked at him, letting him see what he had turned you into.

"Please let me do it. I want it so bad, please. Only you can make me cum hard, Kiyo" He was proud of it, of course, but his face was still intact, cold. Only you knew that was what would make you succumb. Watching his serious face, taking an attempt at control and leaving it mission failed when without stopping touching you, you watched him unbutton his pants to finally give you that well-deserved reward you'd been craving for so long.

"Damn, you look so fucking hot right now…. So perfect for me, don't you?" you couldn't help but nod. "I'm so fucking lucky"

He was. Not many men would have someone like you in their bed, claiming their place and loosening up for them as well as you did for Sakusa when you were both already cumming on the sheets with his high-pitched, weak groans in your ear, perfect tuning. Neither of them would have the same experience as Sakusa in bed, and neither would know as well as he did what you needed at any given moment.

And let's not talk about the aftercare after that hard shagging. This is where any woman would envy having a hot bath at her disposal, food, and a man's body wrapped around you.

Yes, Sakusa was one of a kind.

219 notes · View notes

moralesmilesanhour · 10 months

Note

Hello hello!! How you doing?? Hope you're doing good cause I got a fluffy request!

Could be either 1610 or 42 miles, but, that miles has reader over cause he wants to impress her with his cooking but fails miserably and nothing goes as he wants it to be and reader is entertained 😆

Doing this w Miles G because something abt that is funnier to me (also he is making Ivorian food bc that's just where my brain went so you're getting African!Reader today 😭 also this is based on what I seen my parents do so idk the standard way to cook anything whoops)

You felt your phone vibrate and grinned upon seeing the contact name 'Gonzalo' flash across the screen.

"Miles?"

"Ion know who else it could be," the boy's voice filtered through your phone’s speakers. "You busy?"

You shook your head, then remembered that Miles couldn't see you.

"Nah, I'm just hanging out."

"Come over, I got a surprise for you."

The sound of something hitting a surface repeatedly in the background catches your attention, as if someone's chopping vegetables.

"Ooh, is your momma cooking? Hey Mrs. Morales!" You attempt to call out.

"She not here," Miles laughs. "I'm the one cooking. You coming over or not?"

You raise an eyebrow at your screen, and he notices the brief pause.

"You know, I can hear your lack of faith in me."

Still, you stand up in front of your bed and slip your crocs on.

"Guilty as charged, Gonzo. I'm coming over anyway to make sure yo' ass don't burn down Rio's kitchen. She doesn't deserve that," you joke.

"I'm not gonna–aye, what'd I say about that nickname–?"

"Bye!" You sung as you hung up.

Miles set aside the last of the veggies he was dicing with a dull scrape. With a swift movement, he slid the pieces of onion into the frying pan with the filleted fish already cooking in it.

The boy took a step back for a second to assess his work: the attiéké you had brought him last week to try out was soaking in a large bowl, waiting to be drained as the scent of simmering vegetables and spices began to spread across the kitchen. Miles grinned, feeling accomplished.

It all went to shit once you rang the doorbell.

"Hey, ma," he opened the door to you grinning in the hallway, arms crossed.

He enunciated the greeting you had taught him carefully, "On...dit...quoi...?

"Very good!" Planting a kiss on Miles' cheek, you quickly slipped your crocs off before stepping inside. "What's with the apron?"

He looked down, and remembered he had borrowed his mother's 'Kiss the Cook' apron.

"Cuz I'm a professional and I do this," he replied, locking the door behind you.

"Are you sure? I don't think 'professionals' leave the stove on unattended."

You laughed as Miles' eyes went wide and he spun around to dart back into the kitchen, cussing under his breath.

"It smell good, though, don't it?" Miles called out over the sound of sizzling.

It does smell good. And familiar.

"You making what I think you making?"

You popped your head into the kitchen and gasped with delight.

"M-hm," the boy nodded as he stuck the bowl in the microwave. "It is supposed to go in here, right?"

"Yup, I'm shocked you remembered."

Miles stuck out his bottom lip in a pout.

"C'mon, you don't believe in me?"

The smell of smoke and caramelized onions wafts beneath your nose, and worry slowly creeps onto your features.

"Baby, watch the stove!"

"Shit!"

Miles sighed as the two of you leaned on the counter. His stretched out his fingers, having had to wash the remnants of burnt fish and onions out of the frying pan.

"It's fine," you reassured him, rubbing circles into his back. "At least we still got the attiéké, right?"

"Yeah, it's still up there."

Despite attempting to sound casual, the disappointment in Miles' voice was audible. You reached out and toyed with one of his braids before gently tilting his chin towards you.

"Hey, we still got a few hours 'till your mom gets home. You got anything else in that freezer?"

Miles' eyes lit back up as he replied, "Hell yeah, we got a couple chicken thighs left. Round two?"

"Yup," you pecked him on the lips, "but I'm doing the frying this time."

#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #remember to always keep the stove under close supervision kids #requests #moralesanhour

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strangeswift · 1 year

Text

Will had assumed —reasonably so, he thought— that a year into the actual apocalypse, birthdays wouldn't be a very big deal. Maybe a passing acknowledgement, if that. Really, it felt a little selfish to expect anything at all.

Like, People are dead, and your friend is still in a coma. She might not wake up. Congratulations on being alive, asshole.

Though admittedly, for Will specifically, being alive was sort of an accomplishment in itself at this point, given everything. And Will was happy to be alive. Most of the time, at least.

He just didn't expect anyone to throw a party about it.

It wasn’t until Will groggily descended the Wheeler's stairs and spotted the notebook paper sign strung up in the kitchen, Happy Birthday Will, distinctly in Mike’s handwriting, that Will realized they were indeed doing the birthday thing. It still felt weird, but he couldn’t help the embarrassed smile that spread across his face as everyone in the kitchen sang Happy Birthday to him. Nor could he help the hammering in his chest when Mike made his way over to him and slung his arm across his shoulders midway through the song.

All in all, the day was fairly uneventful after that. They let him have the last can of SpaghettiOs for lunch while everyone else had watery vegetable soup, which was nice.

He didn't have to go on the supply run they had planned for the day. Actually, he would rather have gone, especially since Mike went, but Mike was oddly insistent that Will stay behind, so he did. It wasn't until after Mike returned that Will found out why he had to stay behind.

"Can you just trust me?” Mike asked.

“I do trust you,” Will said, “It’s just that letting the clumsiest person I know lead me down stairs blindfolded is a little nerve-racking.”

“I’m not gonna let you fall. Jesus,” Mike said, exasperated, as he slowly led Will down the basement stairs, “Just three more steps.”

Once they reached the bottom, Will asked, “Can I take this off now?” gesturing to the bandana that was tied over his eyes.

Mike answered by taking it off for him, and Will blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Mike looked incredibly pleased with himself, and Will soon saw why.

On the coffee table, set out on a plate, were two perfectly square brownies with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles on top. A lit candle was sticking out of one of them.

"Where did you get these?" Will asked in disbelief. None of them had tasted anything sweet in months. "I know damn well you didn’t get this shit at the grocery store. Or Melvald's."

Mike grinned sheepishly. "Don't worry about it."

Will frowned "You– Where did you go for this?"

“Doesn’t matter,” Mike said, “just blow out your candle!”

“Mike,” Will said, crossing his arms.

Mike sighed, "You're relentless, you know that?"

Will looked at him expectantly.

"The gas station on the other side of town, but it’s not a big–"

"Mike!" Will scolded, "What the hell is wrong with you? You went all the way across town? That is so not safe!"

Mike shrugged. "I didn’t go alone. I had Nancy and her big ass gun to keep me company,” he said, “Besides, it was for a good cause?” he tried.

“You’re an idiot,” Will said, grinning in spite of himself.

Mike grabbed his hand, and Will tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach as Mike led him to sit on the couch in front of the coffee table.

Once they were sitting, Mike dropped his hand, but he stayed close. He knocked their knees together. “Go on. Make a wish,” he said quietly.

Will shook his head, searching Mike’s eyes. “I don’t have one,” he said.

Mike cocked his head. “There’s nothing you want?” he asked, a teasing smirk on his face.

Oh. Well, Will could think of one thing.

“I mean, maybe,” Will said, averting his eyes, “It’s stupid, though.”

“If it’s what you want, it’s not stupid,” Mike said firmly.

“Well, it’s embarrassing,” Will amended, flicking his eyes back to Mike, who leaned in, ever so slightly.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Mike said, “But you don’t have to tell me, anyway. Actually, you can’t tell me. If you do then it won’t come true.”

Will huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

"Fine," Mike said, "blow out your candle, make your secret wish."

Will laughed and leaned forward, blowing carefully on the candle and watching the small flame flicker and fade into a wisp of smoke.

"Think it'll come true?" Mike asked.

"I don't– I mean, probably not," Will said, "I'm still not telling you, though."

“Really?” Mike asked, pouting. “Can I guess? I think if I guess it, the wish is still valid.”

“I think you’re just making up wish rules now,” Will teased.

“Maybe,” Mike conceded. “Can I guess anyway?” he asked, leaning even closer – and god, he had no idea what he was doing to Will, did he?

Will raised his eyebrows. “You have guesses?”

“I have one,” Mike said.

It was a bad idea, Will thought, to let Mike guess. A very bad idea.

“Please, share,” Will said.

"Okay..." Mike said nervously, "Yeah, okay." His cheeks went a little pink, and he flicked his gaze down to Will’s lips. Or– No, that was probably… Wishful thinking.

“God, I hope I’m right about this,” Mike breathed, and he leaned in even closer, so close their noses were almost touching. Will watched with wide eyes as Mike brought shaky hands up to cup his jaw.

Mike let out a breath, and Will could feel it on his lips.

Mike closed his eyes, pressed forward, and kissed him.

Kissing Mike was nothing like Will expected it to be. It was soft and slow, and Will wanted to melt into it. He wanted to stay in the moment forever. If Vecna did come for him, that was the happy thought he would run to. He wouldn't even need music, just the memory of Mike's lips against his – that would be enough.

Mike pulled back, and Will resisted the urge to chase him.

"Did I guess right?" Mike asked breathlessly, letting his hands slide down to rest gently on the sides of Will's neck.

"What?" Will asked, dazed.

"Your wish," Mike said.

"Oh," Will said. "Yeah. That was– Yeah."

Mike beamed. "Cool," he said.

"Cool," Will repeated, a smirk playing at his lips.

Mike leaned back. "Now eat your birthday cake," he instructed.

Will picked up one of the brownies. "These are gas station brownies," he pointed out.

"Birthday cake," Mike insisted.

Will took a bite. It was heavenly.

"Oh my god," he groaned, "I've missed sugar."

Mike picked up the other brownie, taking a bite. "Oh. Wow, yeah. Holy shit," he said, taking another bite.

"It's so good," Will said, laughing giddily. He popped the last bite in his mouth.

Mike smiled warmly. "Happy birthday, Will."

"Thanks," Will said, "but if you ever risk your life for brownies again–"

"Oh come on," Mike said, "Cut me some slack. I was romancing you."

Will's eyes went wide. "You– What?" he squeaked.

Mike flushed. "I mean– Whatever."

Will burst out laughing, and Mike couldn't help but join him. Somehow, Will felt years worth of tension dissolving as he laughed so hard tears began to form.

After a couple of minutes, they settled into comfortable silence, grinning at each other. "I want to kiss you again," Mike announced.

"Well, if that’s what you want," Will said, leaning in.

And for a little while, nothing else mattered. Just Mike, who was warm and tasted like chocolate, who was romancing him with stolen brownies and kissing him like he needed it.

It was a good birthday.

#ok so. this does not fit the byler week prompt bc it is not birthdaygate or any gate #but this is what i wanted to write so here it is !#i also just ignored the whole birthdaygate thing so. in this universe mike did Not forget will's birthday last year #bc i didn't feel like getting into that #anyway. apocalyptic birthday fluff!!#getting together!! yay!!#byler #abby writes

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scullysexual · 3 months

Text

You're Never Just Anything To Me (6)

@today-in-fic | ao3 | Prev. Chapter

A look into Mulder and Scully’s relationship starting from Millennium going all the way up to Requiem.

VI. Signs and Wonders.

He wakes naturally. Devoid of the usual sluggishness comes with a 6:30 start. The sun appeared brighter, what beams peak through the slight break in the curtain, unusual for this time in April.

Scully is dead weight next to him, Mulder knows even the alarm clock struggles to wake her up. She is bare and warm next to him in his bed, on a school night. He still smiles thinking of how he convinced her to stay over on a Wednesday and he didn’t need broken heaters or traumatic events this time.

He thinks about that alarm and frowns, he doesn’t remember waking up to its annoying sound.

And he quickly realises why.

08:47 glares back at him in big red letters. He stares in horror as the last digit flips to an 8.

“Oh shit!”

The relaxing morning he thought he was going to have has now been bulldozed over by panic and chaos. He pulls on his boxers and the pants from yesterday that had been discarded on the floor the night before. Still bare chested, he leans over, furiously trying to shake Scully awake.

An impossible even when they weren’t running late.

Scully shrugs his hand away from her, rolling away from him. He sighs.

“No Scully, we have a meeting today, you’ve gotta get up,” he says trying to rouse her.

“5 minutes…” she answers but the end trails off as she falls back under.

“No, no minutes.” It was 08:53 now. “You’ve got 7 minutes to get up and get to work.”

That works. She flips over, eyes wide.

“We’re late?” she asks horrified.

Mission accomplished, Mulder climbs off her and starts trying to locate his shirt.

“Yes!”

She rips back the covers and immediately darts into the bathroom, taking her neatly folded clothes with her (because he watched her fold her clothes last night and laughed at her while she did. “It’s a pointless task, Scully,” he’d told her) He couldn’t even appreciate her naked body because he was still trying to find his shirt. So much for pointless tasks…

He's found it when she emerges and it’s 08:57.

“This is your fault,” Scully says. She brushes her hair as they make their way to the elevator.

“What did I do?” Mulder asks. He spams the elevator button. “The clock was on your side, you were in charge of setting it.”

“I’m not even supposed to be here.”

When they get to the parking lot they realise their next problem.

“I don’t have time to get my car,” she says with fear.

Not that it mattered anyway. Her car was still in the FBI garage because she went home with him.

“Get in,” Mulder says, he still holds the door open for her. “Maybe we’ll get there on time.”

But it was already 09:02.

…

The budget staff were growing increasingly restless.

Skinner glares at the two vacant chairs. Perhaps if he burns a hole into them his two truant agents might just appear.

Of course that doesn’t work.

He looks to the clock that reads 09:09 and then back to the staff.

“I’ll see if I can locate them,” he says.

He has Kimberly call both their home phones and cell phones. All four of which go through to voicemail. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Mulder was often late, that part didn’t concern him. It was Scully. In the six years he’d known her, she had never been late to anything, often arriving before anyone else had even got there. If she wasn’t here it usually meant she wasn’t here.

He sticks his head out into the long corridor looking both ways, still seeing nothing. The elevator doors opening grabs his attention and he sees his two missing agents fly out of it.

“We’re here! We’re here!” Mulder yells and Scully trails behind him.

First is the relief that spreads through him. They were still alive, thank god. Next, it’s frustration.

“You were supposed to be here…” he looks at his watch. “…11 minutes ago, Agent Mulder. Both of you.” Scully uncharacteristically cowers, moving slightly to hide behind Mulder. “What happened?”

“A kid got run over.”

“We got stuck in traffic.”

They both speak simultaneously. Skinner just stares at them.

“One at a time perhaps?” he says.

“A kid got ran over,” says Mulder.

“We got stuck in traffic,” says Scully.

Skinner sighs. He doesn’t exactly believe them but what cause would they have to lie. Then he properly looks at them. He doesn’t pay attention to what people usually wear but he’s sure he saw them wearing those clothes yesterday.

“A kid got ran over and we got stuck in traffic because of it,” clarifies Mulder.

“Both of you?” asks Skinner.

Mulder nods.

“Don’t you live in opposite directions? Take different roads?”

He watches as Mulder and Scully look at each other. Yep, they were definitely holding something back.

“They’re waiting for you now, sir,” Kimberly utters behind him.

The meeting Skinner remembers. He’ll interrogate them later. For now. He opens the door and lets them in. Kimberly opens the other door for all three of them. They sit down and the meeting can finally start. Skinner tries to pay attention but his focus keeps going over to the other two. Somebody asks him a question but Skinner doesn’t hear it. Is that a hickey on Mulder’s neck?

…

“A kid got ran over?!” Scully almost yells as she pushes her way into their office. “You couldn’t have just said what I said?”

“Next time we need to plan our excuse,” says Mulder tossing his blazer to the side and sits down in his chair. “Do you think Skinner knows?”

Scully laughs. “Skinner definitely knows, Mulder.” Scully sits in the guest chairs facing him. “Question is, when he is going to ask us about it.”

“What makes you think Skinner will ask us about it?”

Just then there’s a knock on the door. Scully goes pale. Mulder stands, tepidly making his way to the door. He lingers for a moment wishing the office door came with a peep hole.

“It’s me, Mulder,” Skinner’s voice sounds through the door.

Without any other option, Mulder opens it. “Sir,” he greets. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Skinner steps in, closing the door behind him. He stands about awkwardly. The basement always felt crowded when there was more than two people in it or maybe Scully had just become used to her and Mulder being the only occupants.

“I’m not stupid,” Skinner says and Scully clutches the edges of her seat. “I’ve heard the rumours.” Scully eyes meet Mulders. They both know just what rumours Skinner is referring to. “I need to know, off the record, for the…safety of everyone involved…Are the rumours true?”

Mulder and Scully look at each other again, each waiting for the other to proceed and take the lead.

“You can lie, of course, but I know there was no kid ran over,” he looks at Mulder. “Or traffic to be stuck in,” he looks at Scully who immediately looks away. “And your clothes and that…mark,” he looks so incredibly uncomfortable. “give cause to say that someone wasn’t alone last night. Now if it was with other people then that is your business but if you spent it with each other then, unfortunately, it becomes my business.”

Scully thinks, wondering just what she should say. There’s no point in lying, he’s pretty much sussed them out but how to confirm it was another matter.

“Off the record?” asks Mulder, he looks briefly at Scully. Of course he was doing this for her sake. Mulder’s made it clear in the past that he doesn’t care who knows about their relationship, it was always her that had issues.

“Yes,” says Skinner.

“Yeah, the rumours are true.”

Skinner looks to Scully for confirmation. She nods, smiling awkwardly. She wonders, for a second, if he might congratulate them, if he might grab a chair and exclaim ‘Finally!’, asking for all the details but one look at him and seeing his face have the faintest tint of pink covering it tells her otherwise.

“Very well,” says Skinner beginning to make his way back towards the door. “Thank you for being honest with me.” He has the door open now and coughs. “I need your expense reports by noon,” he says and it’s business as usual. “The budget staff are requesting it.”

“Of course,” says Scully happy now that that conversation is over.

Skinner nods them farewell, still looking from one to the other awkwardly, before he leaves and Mulder closes the door behind him. Listening as his boss’s footsteps get further away he turns towards Scully, grinning.

“Now he knows does this mean we can have sex in the office now?”

Scully just glares at him.

…

“So Skinner knows now, huh?”

They stand in the FBI garage, another workday behind them, and only one more day to go before he can finally have Scully back in his bed. They stand at their respective cars, Scully having made it very clear that she didn’t want a repeat of this morning.

“He does,” Scully agrees, tossing her bag into the front passenger seat.

“How do you feel? I know you wanted to keep quiet…”

“Honestly? Relieved actually.”

“Really?” That surprises him.

“Yeah. It feels less like we’re teenagers trying to hide our relationship from our parents and more like actual adults.” He smiles. “Besides we can’t hide it forever. Oh, that reminds me.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t do Friday.”

His stomach sinks. “What? Why not?”

Friday is their night, what else could be so important that—But Scully is smiling, brightly, like she can barely contain it.

“I have an appointment. About my ova,” she adds at Mulder’s questioning look. “To see if it’s viable.”

“Well shit, Scully…” A grin forms onto his own face then. “That’s great. You’ll tell me what they say, yeah?”

“Of course.”

They climb into their own cars then and Mulder watches as she pulls out and drives away. His stomach twists. He was happy, of course, for Scully, she’s wanted a baby for as long as he’s known her but the thought of him being the father…His own father wasn’t very good, he couldn’t even keep his little sister from being taken. What if he’s just as bad with their baby? What if he’s just bad?

…

He itches to call her. He bounces his basketball instead.

It’s Saturday morning, at this time he and Scully might have just woken up, another hour would pass before they ordered breakfast, half hour before they found themselves back in bed again. It was a routine he’d gotten use to, every Saturday (unless on assignment in which case that still wouldn’t stop them) she would be here and today she wasn’t.

The ball bounces out of his hands and Mulder sits down. He grabs the case they’re currently working on- some religious thing- and tries to focus on that instead.

About 10 minutes into reading the case there’s a knock on the door. Mulder frowns, the Gunmen maybe? He walks over to it and opens it.

And there stands Scully.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

She doesn’t seem distressed, she doesn’t seem angry or upset. She seems…content.

“Are you gonna let me in?” she asks with a knowing smile.

“Of course.” He pushes the door open wider and moves out the way. “I didn’t think you would be here today,” he says shutting the door and putting the latch back on it.

“I was bored.” She spins around to look at him. “I thought about calling but I wanted to tell you the news in person.”

Was it what he thought it was? Mulder makes his way back to the couch. He sits though Scully remains standing.

“Dr Parenti thinks there’s potential.”

A smile breaks out across his face. “Scully, that’s amazing.” And Scully can’t contain her own smile any longer.

“Yeah, it is. It really is.”

They stare at each other, smiling for a few minutes longer.

“Uh…Dr Parenti said we could start right away. That’s if…you’re still interested?”

His smile fades as does hers, a worried look crossing it.

“Scully, I—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. She bites her lip and he can see her trying to keep the disappointment, the tears at bay. She’s got it wrong. “I knew it was a big ask, I just thought…”

Mulder shakes his head, standing up from the couch and going over to her. He holds her in his arms. She still spirals.

“Scully,” he says more firmly to stop her rambling. “My answer is still yes.”

She stops suddenly then, looking at him. “But I thought…”

“Sit down. Please. I think we need to talk.”

She does so, sitting down beside him, far enough away so they can see each other easily. It’s so unusual for them not to be touching that Mulder reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling it towards him.

“Scully…I have my fears,” he says watching as his fingers circle her palm. “My own father wasn’t very good and I don’t know if I’ll be the same…”

“Mulder?” He looks up at her then, sees the love and understanding in her eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, okay.”

Because of course they will. They do everything together. He nods and she leans towards him, kissing him. Mulder pulls her closer and she sits in his lap facing him, their usual Saturday routine.

He lets himself get excited about the prospect of a baby. Wills his fears away, riding solely on Scully’s strength and belief that he’d be a good dad. He can picture it; a child with fire for hair and a forest landscape for eyes, a perfect combination of his reckless curiosity and her cautious inquisitiveness. He hugs her to him, his head resting on her chest as her hands stroke through his hair. He believes in this possibility.

Later when the sun is hanging low and she is quiet and sleepy in his arms he brings the subject back up.

“It was never a big ask, Scully.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

He’s quiet for a moment and his silence makes her look up at him.

“I guess…I think there’s a end in sight, Scully.”

“You mean with the X-Files?”

“Yeah. A natural end, not one brought on by higher ups or office fires.” He sighs and Scully hangs on to every word. “I think it’s an end of my choosing- our choosing- It feels right.”

It’s Scully’s turn to be quiet as she takes it all in.

“What about Samantha?”

He thinks of the clones, of the little girls in the field, of the visions Cancer Man handed him.

“I think there’s a universe out there where she’s happy, where she is loved.” He looks at Scully with a soft smile. “I think I can believe that. I think that’s what I want to believe.”

She smiles back at him.

“It’s not gonna stop me from going looking for Big Foot or aliens or whatever.” She laughs, affectionately rolling her eyes. “But I think the main quest, the main search…I can see an end. I think I’m ready to get out of the car.”

Scully sits up, moving to straddle his hips. Her lips touch his, kissing him slowly. The car stops and Mulder climbs out, the door locking itself behind him.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #soss #season 7 #scullysexualwrites

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angelsanarchy · 5 months

Text

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 23 -> CH 24

Tagging:@roryculkinluvr@thatsthewrongwallcraig@icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06@shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver@ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999 @x-prettyboy-x @rorylover71 @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27

Jack woke up and stretched his body out. He couldn't fight the smile that spread across his face thinking about last night. He reached for his phone and immediately shot a text to Y/n.

Jack: I think you've single-handedly cured my mental health.

He felt relaxed, like he had finally gotten sleep after being awake for days on end.

Y/n: haha I'm pretty sure both our hands were involved so it was a team effort. How did you sleep?

Jack laughed out loud and started typing again.

Jack: Like a baby. I haven't slept like that in a long time. Thank you for coming over last night...and for cumming in general I guess. ;)

Jack didn't usually do the flirty texting thing but Y/n brought this to the surface for some reason. He wanted to talk to her all the time and be in her presence. He wanted to hear more about what she thought of his writing and just listen to her talk about random things. He was really starting to feel invested in their connection and didn't want to let the fear change that.

Y/n: Good! I'm working a double today but I'll text you later tonight.

Jack put his phone down after reading her text knowing he would have to keep himself busy for the day. He wanted to finish up the last bit of painting in the other rooms so the house wouldn't smell so strongly of paint the next time he had Y/n over. He knew it was presumptuous of him to think she would come back over for anything like that but just having here to hang out with him made his days better.

He brainstormed different date ideas that he could take her on, places in town he could take her for dinner or even local shops that he thought she might enjoy. He knew he needed to keep his cool and not rush into anything because that would be counterproductive to his healing or so Dr. Carty had drilled into him.

As the sun started to go down, he had finished the painting clean up and was proud of all he had accomplished that day. He had the windows open to air out the place and felt at peace with the progress he was making.

The house phone started ringing which wasn't completely unusual but he still had paint all over his hands. He started up the steps as the machine kicked in and froze the moment he heard the voice coming through.

"Jack...pick up the damn phone." He could never forget Cleo's voice.

"Look I'm moving and some of your shit is still here. I'm not paying to ship it and I'm definitely not going to go through the hassle of burning it like you so kindly suggested. You either need to call me back to coordinate what to do with it or I'm throwing it on your front lawn." Cleo sounded annoyed. He didn't blame her. He had put her through hell and this was the first time she's reached out to him in over a year.

"God you're such an asshole. Even after a year I still have to beg you to communicate with me. I'll be in the area soon. I'll just toss it on the lawn. You can deal with the fallout." Jack started to panic as the line cut out and the message ended. She was going to come here, to his home, his new place that he's built up to try and start fresh. She was going to see that he had made a new life for himself and probably be even more motivated to set it ablaze.

In his panic, Jack stumbled up the stairs to his cellphone and started to call Dr. Carty. He also didn't answer so he left a frantic voicemail. He paced his room, hands shaking and waiting for the doctor to call him back. He started chewing on his thumb nail, tasting paint and blood. The phone rang again and he answered.

"Jack? What's going on? What's the emergency?" Dr. Carty asked with worry.

"She called! Cleo called." Jack could feel his chest heaving.

"Good. That's good-"

"No! She's going to come here and drop the rest of my stuff here. She's going to come here and see me." Jack gripped his hair tightly.

"Jack you've got to calm down. If you don't want to see her, if you think you aren't ready-"

"I never thought she would ever want to see me again. I never planned on this. What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? Do I even have the right to ask her about her new life? Should I even bother telling her about mine?" Jack was speaking so fast, Dr. Carty was trying to shout over him to get him to stop.

"JACK! Listen to me okay? You're on the verge of a panic attack which could trigger an episode. I need you to get someplace where you aren't alone." Dr. Carty instructed but Jack shook his head. He knew he was in no state to drive and anyone he could see on foot wasn't home.

"I-I can't...not right now. Not like this." He continued his pacing.

"Jack it's imperative you get immediate help. I will call 911 if I have to but I would prefer not to." Dr. Carty knew 911 didn't handle psychiatric calls very well and didn't want to make things worse.

"She's going to eviscerate me...she's going to see all the things I've been doing and think I just moved on with my life after everything...after the baby..." Jack cried.

"You are going to be okay Jack. You shouldn't go through these emotions alone." Dr. Carty pleaded.

"I am alone. I will always be alone. That's just the way it needs to be. It's what I deserve." Jack sat the phone down and let the Doc shout for him a few times before he closed the phone. He dropped his head in his hands and cried out of fear and desperation. He was terrified of how this would happen. He feared that she would take one look at him and see he had found an ounce of happiness and tear him to shreds. How the hell did he think he was tearing her life apart and moving forward without looking back?

Jack's phone continued to ring and he ignored it. Even when he saw Shawnda's name pop up on the screen. He knew Dr. Carty probably called her as his emergency contact but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know what his next move was going to be but right now he was completely comfortable freaking out on his bedroom floor.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack Thurlow x Y/n #Jack Goes Home #Glass Houses Series #One Shot Series #Glass Houses #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #23/38

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hopeymchope · 2 months

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I am INCREDIBLY disturbed by the amount of people I see championing the horrifying act of suicide that recently occured outside the Israeli embassy in Washington D.C.

There are people acting as though this should be celebrated and remembered, claiming it's a valuable "sacrifice." Like it's "heroic" — as if this guy (whom I will not be naming here) was standing in a war zone and shielding Palestinian children from IDF bullets or something. As if he was hurting ANYONE who is party to the atrocities he's protesting. Even much-depised suicide bombers accomplish more with their terrorism than this act ever will.

There is NO value in suicide. There is only mental illness, abject horror, and everlasting trauma. There is only the anguish and eternal torment of everyone who ever cared about you, everyone who bore witness to what you did. To celebrate and champion this? Is a selfish, malicious act — one that will cruelly damage many people who need love and support. One that could definitely encourage similar, senseless deaths.

In fact, that is ABSOLUTELY happening. Because of this I am literally seeing people on this very site who are openly considering suicide and openly being encouraged by others to do it. Which is sick shit.

But very, VERY importantly? It actively hurts the cause it claims to be drawing attention to. Because it makes the protesting side look insane and unhinged. With his horrifically awful act, this man brutally undermined the thing he claimed to care so much about. And beyond that? His act of protest did nothing but EXPAND and EXTEND the reach of the horrific violence he claimed to be against. The result is akin to watching someone "protest" what's being done to the children of Gaza by shooting a random baby in the fucking head on the streets of Albuquerque.

What do you think you did? What do you think you accomplished? You spread violence, you scarred everyone around you, you horrified and devastated everyone you know, and you made your side of the argument look awful. THAT'S your impact. THAT'S the attention and message you spread.

But then, that's what this level of depression and mental illness does to a person, isn't it? You lose sight of your own value, you are unable to comprehend what you're doing, and you ultimately do nothing but destroy yourself unless you can get the help you need/deserve. And that's pretty scary. I've been there before. I even had some of these urges before — to unalive myself "for a cause." But I'm SO glad I came out the other side of it. What a waste that would've been. What damage I would've done to everyone I know.

This is a horrible tragedy... and perhaps the saddest part of it is how little it will even matter. People will remember what's currently happening in Gaza for decades, maybe centuries to come. But this act? No one will remember this except, perhaps, as a piece of disturbing trivia. "Can you fucking believe this psycho?" THAT'S the only legacy of this that will ever, EVER matter outside of this poor man's family.

I wish I had some idea of what COULD make a difference in Gaza. It feels pretty helpless to be this far from where all that horror is unfolding on the Palestinians who live there.

If you love this act? If you think it's valuable and/or admirable? I am begging you to reassess your thought processes. If you claim you want to protect innocent lives? Remember that that doesn't just mean the lives that are abroad, and it doesn't just mean protecting the neurotypical. It means valuing and protecting the lives of yourself and those around you, too. Including neurodivergent people who're struggling.

Value lives by valuing your own. Fight violence by not committing violence. Combat horror by not spreading horror. Show love and care for others by caring about how your actions will impact everyone you know.

And if you feel like this kind of act is a good idea for you? There's help. There's ALWAYS other options. And there's ALWAYS a better way out — even if it may seem like there isn't.

I realize people sometimes think they have no other escape. But if you're willing to consider escaping by completely giving up on ever living, then you damn well have to consider every possible alternative first. Cutting off your family, running away, starting from absolute scratch; anything else is better.

#tw: suicide #embassy suicide #gaza #And feel free to block or unfollow me if you disagree. I don't care.#You spread the idea of violent suicide being a heroic act - you win stupid awful prizes #suicide help #suicide support #suicide hotline #self immolation #IMPORTANT #if you get to the bottom of the tags I guess I'll mention this poor bastard's name #I'm just trying to bury it as hard as possible #aaron bushnell

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ystrike1 · 2 years

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How to Prey on Your Master - By Cha hye-yeong (8/10)

Do you like "mad dog" characters? Alright. You're all set. I should like the art for this, but the faces are too generic. Beware. In the smaller panels the men and women have the same face and it's pretty jarring.

Elle is pretty cool. She's a hard worker. She's a knight. She's from a good family but they have some debt to deal with. So, Elle is truly motivated to work. She's not just another noble knight that cares about honor. She's got real problems.

One of her real problems is Adelaide. Her other problem is Francois. Francois is her chicken shit stupid fiance. Francois got really lucky when Elle, an accomplished knight, agreed to marry him. He throws that away because Adelaide is "more feminine". What a tool. Also Elle is perfectly capable of wearing a dress and being pretty when she's not on duty. Her fiance is literally just weak willed swine. Adelaide was Elle's best friend though, so the betrayal really hurts. It also hurts because she loved Francois. He didn't judge her for being a knight. Some noble men look down on female knights because sexism. Of course as soon as Adelaide started flirting he changed his mind, but in the beginning he was a good fiance.

Elle drinks. She passes out in the garden. She has a weird dream. When she wakes up a member of the royal family wants to be her dog. Theodore is a quintessential mad dog. That's most of his personality, but he's not totally boring. He's a pretty ok male lead. I think Elle was murdered and this is some kind of time loop plot. She keeps having the same nightmare after she meets Theodore. He's obsessed with saving her. He's also obsessed with her honor. He's willing to kill the most minor inconvenience, but he's also sociable and likeable. He's a classic psychopath, with a sword.

Elle is a pretty amazing knight. She belongs to the future ruler of the nation, Pippin. Elle's idiot ex fiance and ex best friend have insulted the crown. Pippin gives Theodore to Elle as a gift. He begins to work as her aide, because his reputation is bad and he needs to be reigned in. Pippin is formidable, but young. She wants to humiliate Adelaide. Elle is less interested in that and more concerned with making money. She doesn't have time to cry over her fiance because of the debt.

Adelaide fucking despises Francois, beacause he's a spineless fucking loser. She does not love him. He loves her, but he might not be fully evil. Adelaide has been using her social influence to spread lies about Elle. Francois believed them because he's a moron. For some reason Adelaide needs Elle to be a villainess. She tries to spin the story in her favor, and make Elle's reputation drop. Elle isn't universally popular because she is a knight, but this plan is doomed.

Elle has friends. Some of those friends are in high places. She doesn't have to rely on Theodore. If her family wasn't in debt she would be one of the most popular ladies in the kingdom. She's beautiful, smart, and skilled.

Her solders love her. She wants the debt gone so it doesn't affect her siblings. She's a little inexperienced about love, but she isn't stupid about it. She was sincere towards Francois, and she wears her uniform with pride. She attained a pretty high knighood at a young age, and she's fair. Also she's super strong.

Theodore can't force Elle to do shit. It's nice. She can hold him down like he's a dog. Elle suspects that Theodore was given to her as a husband candidate, but he's not her type. She genuinely loved Francois for years before he approached her. Basically, she's into soft bois. Theodore is not that. Theodore was actually her friend in the knight academy too, so she has trouble seeing him as a man.

Theodore is in the friendzone, but he doesn't resent Elle for that. Back in school he killed boys who insulted her honor after her family fell into debt. He is genuinely on her side, but he's scary because he discards others easily. I'm kinda sure he caused the time loop thing. To save her and only her of course. In that other timeline Adelaide managed to frame Elle for capital crimes.

Theodore isn't going to let that happen this time. He has a real relationship with Elle, and real love for her. He respects her, and I respect the hell out of his motivation. Elle is clearly being targeted because of her two weaknesses. Her debt and the fact that's she's overburdened by work and judgemental pricks as a female knight. Theodore genuinely intends to assist her and kill her shadowy foes. He is a good and loyal mad dog.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #How to Prey on Your Master

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ddesguv · 1 month

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Chapter 2

Finally at home after today's fiasco, you take off your shoes and throw them together with the dirty laundry. Next on the list is a glass of bourbon and a hella hot shower, digging graves is no joke, your poor body deserves a break. You pad over to your bathroom, still wearing your work attire and flip the switch. The dim light flickers on, revealing the chipped paint and water stains that have been there since you moved in. You sigh and grab a towel, hanging it neatly on the rack before opening the medicine cabinet. Inside, you keep a few essential items: toothpaste, toothbrush, some antacids, and a bottle of ibuprofen. You reach for the ibuprofen, popping two pills into your mouth and chasing them down with some tap water. Now, the bourbon. You pour yourself a generous glass and take a long, satisfying sip, letting the warmth spread through your body.

The hot water finally beckons you, and you step into the shower, wincing as the warm water hits your sore muscles. You stand under the stream for a while, letting the water wash away the dirt and grime from the day. You reach for the soap and start scrubbing, taking your time to clean every inch of your skin. As you stand there your thoughts wonder on to poor dead Jim, if only he wasn't such a piece of shit maybe he would still be alive, no use pondering on what could have been now, it is what it is. You finish up quickly, towel drying yourself off and throwing on an old, worn out pair of sweatpants.

With your bathroom business taken care of, you pad over to your bed and collapse onto the soft mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the usual, the meaningless banter of human existence, the absurdity of it all. You close your eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Your tiny apartment is silent save for the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall. It's comforting in a way, the silence. It's a reminder that even in the midst of all this chaos, there are moments of peace. You reach over and turn off the lamp on your nightstand, plunging the room into darkness. You curl up under the covers, feeling the familiar warmth of your bed envelop you. Thank fuck tomorrow is your day off from work.

You wonder what the hell you're going to do with yourself. Maybe go to the park, read a book, catch up on some much-needed sleep. Or maybe you'll just sleep in and wake up at the crack of noon, watching reruns of your favorite show and eating ice cream straight out of the carton. The thought makes you chuckle softly.

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside your window, the warm rays of the sun casting a soft glow across your messy bedroom, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment just by existing. You stretch your arms above your head, yawn expansively, and roll out of bed. The floor is cold against your bare feet, but it's a welcome sensation after the oppressive heat of the sheets. You pad over to the window, leaning against the sill as you watch the world outside begin to stir.

The neighborhood looks peaceful, as if everyone's taking the day to catch up on sleep or enjoy their leisure time. You spot a few people out for walks with their dogs, others sitting on their porches drinking coffee or reading the paper. It's a familiar scene, one you've seen a thousand times before, but there's something comforting about it. It's the little moments like these that make you appreciate the simple things in life.

You decide to take advantage of your day off and make yourself a nice, leisurely breakfast. You rummage through your kitchen, searching for something that'll strike your fancy. After much consideration, you settle on some pancakes and a couple of eggs. The smell of cooking fills the air as you carefully flip the pancakes on the stove, making sure not to burn them. You're quite the chef, you think to yourself with a satisfied grin.

Once breakfast is finally done, you sit down at your small kitchen table, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. The pancakes are fluffy and the eggs are cooked just right, and you can't help but feel content. You take your time eating, savoring each bite, and letting the world outside continue its slow, steady march towards whatever it is that it does. You know there are things you should probably do today, chores and errands and whatnot, but for now you're in no hurry. The only thing missing is a good coffee and a smoke. After taking care of the dishes you make yourself a nice cup of coffee and walk to the small balcony attached to the kitchen.

The view from the balcony is just as peaceful as the one from your bedroom window. You light up your cigarette, take a long drag, and let the smoke curl out of your nose. The taste of the coffee and the nicotine mix together in your mouth, and for a moment you feel like you're on top of the world. You lean against the railing, looking out over the neighborhood, and let your mind wander.

You think about your job at the coffee shop, how it can be such a grind sometimes, but then again, it pays the bills. You think about your friends, how they're always trying to get you to go out and party, but you prefer quiet nights in. You think about your family, and how you sometimes wonder what it would be like to have someone who really understands you.

The cigarette butt falls from your lips, leaving a small, burning ember on the wooden floor. You stamp it out with the tip of your shoe and take a sip of coffee. The bitterness is almost overwhelming, but you like it that way. It reminds you that life isn't all sweetness and light. It's got its share of bitterness, its share of darkness, but it's up to you how you choose to deal with it. Maybe you should do some scouting today, after cleaning, of course.

You finish your coffee and step back inside, closing the balcony door behind you. The house is still quiet, the only sound the ticking of a clock on the kitchen counter. You look around, taking in your messy, lived-in space, and realize that there's a lot of work to be done. The floor could use a good vacuuming, and the laundry...well, the laundry can wait. For now, you'll focus on cleaning up the mess you've made around your little home.

But first, music. Connecting your phone to a little speaker you select the best songs for today's first activity and start tidying up around the living room occasionally singing a verse or too along the song.

The task done, you move to the bathroom. It's a small space, but it feels strangely therapeutic to clean it. The tub and sink gleam under your careful attention, and the toilet smells fresh and clean. You stand back and admire your handiwork, feeling a sense of accomplishment washing over you.

Next, you tackle the bedroom. The bed is already made, so you focus on straightening up the dresser and picking up any stray socks or articles of clothing that have found their way onto the floor. You take a moment to organize your collection of books on a nearby shelf, lining them up neatly by height and color. It's a small detail, but it brings you a sense of satisfaction.

Finally, you turn your attention to your work space. Your desk is covered in papers, books, and various knickknacks. You begin by clearing off the desktop, stacking everything neatly into neat piles. You dust the shelves above your desk, wiping away the layers of grime that have built up over time. The air feels cleaner already, and the room seems brighter.

After such hard work done you deserve a little pampering, maybe go shopping, you could actually use some more dark clothing, best choice for keeping blood stains hidden.

Before you head out, you take one last look around your apartment. It's not much, but it's home. You're proud of how you've made it your own, how you've managed to create a space that feels warm and inviting despite the limited square footage. You take a deep breath, stretch your arms above your head, and go get dressed.

You grab a pair of black jeans from your closet, their soft denim scratchy against your fingers. They're one of your favorite pairs, and they make your legs look longer than they actually are. You pull them on, adjusting the waistband until it's just right. Then you grab a burgundy long-sleeved shirt, the fabric soft and smooth against your skin. It's a simple design. You button it up to the top, leaving the collar open, and then put on your favorite black leather jacket. The jacket makes you feel edgy and confident, like you can take on the world. Finally, you slip on your favorite pair of black ankle boots. They lace up tightly around your calves, giving you a bit of an edge. You stand in front of the mirror, admiring your reflection. You look like you could be a character straight out of a gothic novel, and you love it.

Making your way out of your home, you wonder where should you go first? Maybe a quick trip at the mall? But which one of them? There's a smaller one in the downtown area, one north from there and the last one, much bigger then the others, near the main road of the city. Probably the one downtown would be the best choice, after al that's where most of your victims tend to wander around. With your mind made up, you walk to the subway and wait for your ride.

The downtown mall is bustling with activity when you arrive. The air is filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the murmur of voices. You weave through the crowds, careful not to attract too much attention with your distinctive style. You make your way to one of your favorite stores, where they sell a variety of dark clothing that will be perfect for keeping blood stains hidden.

As you browse the racks, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at your purchases. You pick out a pair of dark wash jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a jacket that's just a shade lighter than your favorite one. You also find a pair of black boots that are slightly more comfortable than your current pair, but with a thicker sole, perfect for crushing bones.

After paying for your new clothes, you decide to take a break and grab a bite to eat. You find a small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet corner of the mall. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable chairs. You order a cup of coffee, a sandwich and sit down at a table near the window, watching the world go by outside.

As you eat, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. You're well-dressed, well-fed, and your new clothes should make it easier to avoid suspicion. You take a moment to enjoy the taste of your coffee and the sound of the Nice ambiental music . This is the life, you think to yourself.

Finishing your meal, you decide to do a little more shopping. You wander around the mall, browsing through a few bookstores and record shops. You pick up a few new albums, a couple of dark fiction novels, and a small notebook and pen set. Writing is another of your passions, and you find inspiration in the twisted tales you read and the strange events that occur in your life.

As you continue your walk, you notice a small art gallery tucked away in the corner of the mall. You've always been drawn to the macabre and the dark, and the paintings inside are no exception. You spend some time admiring the works of a local artist, whose paintings of eerie landscapes and haunting figures seem to speak directly to your soul. You purchase one of the smaller pieces, a haunting portrait of a woman with empty eyes, as a reminder of the darkness that lives within all of us.

With your final purchase done, you decide to walk around the downtown area for an hour or two, who knows, maybe you'll meet a new victim.

The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked pastries from the nearby bakery. You take a moment to pause and enjoy the sounds of the city; the honking of car horns, the distant laughter of people enjoying their evening strolls. It's almost peaceful, in a twisted sort of way.

As you wander through the streets, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Your eyes dart from person to person, searching for someone who might be your very next victim.

As luck would have it, your little patrol around the area seems unsuccessful, better luck at night maybe, yeah, most definitely.

With a little bit of disappointment you make your way to the secluded parking lot you let your car in, it past enough time to make it seem like the car is broken, and fortunately the paperwork you got states that it was fixed today. Once your shopping bags are in the trunk of your car you go to the front and get in the car, making sure you put your seatbelt on. With a turn of the key, the engine roars to life as you choose a playlist for your ride home.

You decide to take a scenic route, driving past the city center, the old theater where you used to go as a child, the abandoned building where you first killed, the park where you used to go on dates. As you drive, you can't help but reminisce about the past, both the good and the bad. The memories flood back like a wave, washing over you, making you feel both nostalgic and haunted at the same time.

The sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of red and orange. You find yourself slowing down, taking in the beauty of the twilight. It's as if nature itself is trying to distract you from the darkness that lies within, but you know better. You know that it's not the darkness that's the problem, it's what you choose to do with it.

You pull up in front of your apartment building, parking your car in the same spot you always do. As you step out of the car, you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fading day. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the promise of a chilly night ahead.

Once inside your (now) tidy apartment, you go through your shopping bags and put each item in it's distinctive place. Maybe you should change into something more casual if you go out again tonight.

So that's exactly what you do, after grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, you grab your new boots and a backpack with a few essentials, rope, a small hunting knife and the likes. Now it's time to go out again.

The night air is crisp and cold, the stars twinkling in the inky black sky above you. You take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you make your way towards the city center. The streets are deserted, save for the occasional car speeding past or a lone figure hurrying home.

You wander aimlessly for a while, taking in the sights and sounds of the empty city. The neon signs flicker on and off, casting eerie shadows across the sidewalks. The buildings loom tall and ominous, as if they're watching your every move. It's then that you spot something: a young woman walking briskly down the street, headphones in, oblivious to her surroundings, and a sketchy looking man walking quite close to her. Better follow to make sure nothing bad happens to her.

Keeping a discreet distance, you trail behind them, not wanting to make your presence known too soon. The man's hand dips into his pocket, and you can see him fidgeting nervously.

The woman reaches into her own pocket, presumably for her phone, but the man lunges forward, grabbing her wrist and yanking her backwards. She lets out a sharp cry of surprise and pain. You can see the fear in her eyes as she tries to wriggle free, but the man is stronger than her. He covers her mouth with his hand while roughly pulling her hair.

" Listen here doll, you better shut the fuck up and be a good girl, or things are gonna be much worse"

You watch as the man pulls a knife from his pocket, holding it to her throat. The woman's eyes go wide with fear, and she starts to shake her head violently, tears streaming down her face. You can't just stand by and let this happen. You've seen enough of this sort of thing, and you know what needs to be done. Carefully you reach into your backpack and pick a water bottle, and with all the strength you can muster you yeet that shit straight to his head, which lands perfectly , smashing the bottle into his face. He yowls in pain, dropping his knife as he clutches his bloody face.

The woman, in shock and terror, stumbles backwards and trips over her own feet, falling hard onto the pavement. She looks up at you, her eyes filled with relief, gratitude, and maybe even fear. You kneel down next to her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Before the man recovers from the shock you grab his wallet and the girl and run fast as fuck, as far as possible, thank God he was drunk and stupid.

You lead the girl to a nearby alley and make sure she's okay. She's shaking uncontrollably, her eyes still wide with fear. You hand her some tissues and she dabs at her face, trying to compose herself. She thanks you over and over again, her voice shaking, and you tell her it's no problem, you were just doing the right thing. After a few minutes, she finally seems to calm down. You ask her if she's okay to go home, and she nods, wiping the last tears from her face. You tell her to be careful on her way, and she nods again, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the alley.

As you make your way back home you take that guy's wallet from his pocket and stare at it. You open it , 336 dollars inside, fuck yeah! You're gonna buy yourself something nice with that cash, next, his ID, Samuel Johnson, age 28, address on 183 Main Street. You slip the wallet back inside your pocket, maybe you should go check if that's really his address, without a single thought you pull out your phone and call a taxi.

The taxi arrives a few minutes later, and you hop inside, giving the driver the address. As you ride through the city, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. You saved that girl's life tonight, and you might have a neo target . The city seems different now, somehow brighter and safer.

You arrive at the address in record time, and as you step out of the taxi, you see the building: an old, run-down apartment complex. You decide to hide around a corner and observe the building for a while, maybe you'll see him get inside the building.

After about fifteen minutes, you see him ,Samuel Johnson emerges from a nearby bar, staggering slightly. He stumbles towards the building, fishing in his pocket for keys

Now that you are sure he lives here you make your way back to your house, obviously taking a taxi, ain't no way in hell you'll be walking home. The ride back home is quiet and relaxing, the passing lights of the city lulling you to sleep, if it weren't for the holes in the asphalt you were sure you'd be asleep. You mentally prepare yourself for the shit that's about to come.

When you arrive at your place, you pull out your trusty laptop and start doing some research on the internet. After some digging, you find out that Samuel Johnson is a known drug dealer in the area, and he's been on the police's radar for quite some time. You also find out that he has a history of violence and has been arrested multiple times. This information only makes you more determined to take him down.

The question is : How do you do that?

Do you make it look like drug overdose?

Some type of teritorial gang violence?

A car accident?

A freak accident in his own apartment?

The possibilities are endless, and the choice is yours.

It's best to sleep on it for now, you need to go to work in the morning.

#hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #x reader #fanfiction #slow burn #long chapter #mature theme

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babeydollx · 2 years

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CONGRATS ON 2K! What a massive accomplishment! Can’t wait to see Part 2! In the meantime, Smut prompts: 16,22,24 with John B/Chase 🙈 please and thank you 😘

I wanted to do Chase for this but I feel the the prompts fit John B better 🙈🙈

Camping Trip

Warnings: cursing, smut, semi-public sex,

Pairings: John B Routledge x Female Pogue Reader

Summary: In which Y/N and John B go on a camping trip with their friends.

Prompts

16. "Do you think they could hear us through the tent?" "Yes we could."

22. "You're bigger than I expected."

24. "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that."

Requested: yes

Word Count: 800+

You and John B were making out in your shared tent while JJ, Kiara and Pope were outside around the fire. Your hands tangled in his hair as the two of you kissed. He gently pushed you down onto the sleeping bag and hovered over you.

You tugged him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him again. You both made out for a while again before pulling back. You quickly pulled John B's shirt over his head. You then started to unbutton his shorts before unzipping them. John B helped you shove his shorts and boxers down his legs and your eyes widened when you saw the size of his cock.

"You're bigger than I expected." You said nervously.

He smirked and chuckled darkly before ripping your shirt open. Once he ripped the fabric he pushed the fabric off of your body before taking your bra off as well, tossing it to the side. John B's lips met the soft skin on your neck, gently kissing and sucking along the skin, leaving hickies as he went.

He kissed down your neck and he was now heading for your breasts. One he reached your tits, he massaged them both for a moment before leaning down and drawing your right nipple into his mouth, sucking and gently biting on your hardened bud.

You gasped and whimpered as he did so. After a few minutes he switched, sucking on your left nipple while he massaged your right breast. Once he was done with your tits, he trailed wet kisses down your stomach, heading for the place you ached for him the most.

He tapped your hip, signaling for you to raise them. You did as you were told and raised your hips for him. He tugged off your shorts and lace panties at the same time, tossing them to the side. Once he disposed of the clothing, he spread your legs wide.

John B came back up your body and kissed you once more. He positioned himself between your legs and then with zero warning, he thrusted into you. You gasped and moaned out, your head falling back on the soft pillow under your head.

He groaned out when he bottomed out of you before thrusting into you, slowly picking up the pace. You moaned out and wrapped your arms around his neck as he fucked into you faster and faster. You locked your legs around his waist as he fucked you at a merciless pace. You bit your lip, trying your best to muffle your moans.

"I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that." John B said with a growl. After a few minutes of trying your hardest to be quiet, you finally gave in and turned into a moaning mess, his name tumbling out of your mouth at times.

You dug your nails into his back as he fucked you. He moaned out, the pain adding to his pleasure. You swore you could feel him in your guts. You felt that familiar knot tightening in the bottom of your stomach and you knew that you were about to cum any second now. You clenched around John B's hard cock, signaling to him that you were going to cum.

"Shit, is my pretty girl gonna cum?" He asked as he groaned out.

"Fuck yes!" You moaned. "I'm gonna fucking cum!" You moaned out almost screaming.

"Come on, cum, cum for me princess." John B said. With that your legs began to shake and you saw stars as you gushed on his cock. He thrusted into you a few more times before coming himself, shooting his load deep inside of you.

You gasped and attempted to catch your breath as John B pulled out of you before laying down beside you. The two of you caught your breath for a moment and then he looked over at the shadow on the tent wall of your friends out sitting at the fire.

"Do you think they could hear us through the tent?" He asked.

"Yes we could!" You herd Kiara yell.

"Who knew John B was so freaky. Fucking a chic in public." JJ said and you could feel him smirking. Your face became flushed from embarrassment and you hid your face in John B's neck. He smiled and just held you close.

"I can't wait to do that again." He whispered to you with a smirk. Again? You felt yourself getting wet again at the thought of John B fucking you again and again, you could hardly wait until next time.

a/n: I hope y'all enjoyed this fic!

Taglist: @gillybear17 @ceceswriting @drewbooooo @n-kkpoly @my-baexht-ls @clairdemoony @vashappeningkevin @luversgirl @masteroperator

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saltypiss · 6 months

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Something very telling about republicans and their nature seems to stem from them believing if you don't believe their lies, you believe anothers.

Or more simply, republicans will jump to the conclusion that you believe the lies they were told democrats believe. Or, more directly;

They always jump to the idea if you don't trust republicans, then you must trust the lie. Not just the "democrats" lie, but in general that in politics there is no truth, no evidence, nothing is concrete and nothing is ever opaque.

And like. Nah. It just turns out everyone in the republican party are grifters and their supporters range from ignorant of their own party but good natured all the way to actually just pro-genocide.

Of course there are feminists who would never describe themselves as republican that go "kill all men" but do you know how many lefties actually listen to them? Not fucking many. Sure, they can be loud, but they are not even fucking remotely as loud and standard as the general republican voter.

Being republican is just choosing the easy option because you're not asked to think in any capacity of reality and complexity of other people, the idea of deep philosophy or being artistically literate, hell even literate, it's all about how much you can say "Yeah but they 'could' so they 'definitely' are" conspirising to no end what so ever.

When someone says they aren't republican, they aren't like you, they don't believe in "the lie", specifically from democrats or not, they have an actual opinion formed by experiences had and shared. Because unlike republicans who are still echoboxing Obama and his wife for fucks sake, to become a leftist you have to give a shit and not just throw up imaginary completely impassable obstacles.

Really think about how much ya'll have even remotelt accomplished. Ya lost the elections again, ya had an insurrection, spread shit on the wall and accomplished nothing but ensuring further disorder and raised murder rates by republicans, your Guy is going to jail and broke and everyone knows he'd kill the republican party if he could run again, almost every political arrest was republicans getting caught for fraud or child rape. Jfk didn't come back to life to reinstate your Guy, ya caused a shit ton of women to die in pre/post-maternal care, children were sent death threats for getting pregnant and wanting an abortion, then getting one because it was a fucking pregnant child, headless children were being born, tons of hospitals outright refused to do basic medical procedures AND deal with the birthing process because they were terrified they'd go to jail if the baby died. A Shit Ton of you Died to Covid because you're fucking stupid.

And after like 80% of ohio voters voted for abortion to be legal, all your shitty representatives won't even certify it because they have Never served the people they have always served whoever is paying them.

While ya'll choose to believe in the lie for seemingly entirely social reasons, where it doesn't matter if politicians are corrupt, just if they're decent sounding people, what matters is Your Lie Wins.

And you, you fucking child, need to understand not one god damned soul in the widest section of the massive umbrella that is democratic party, the party of Literally Every Other Idea that isn't Simply Republican, has ever believed in any lie. They believe in reality.

Not a remote majority actually like Biden, they like that outside of being Pro-Genocide he ain't going out of his way to make everyday fucking miserable. That's it. Otherwise people are piss scared that republicans are going to utterly fuck the country with their shitty project 2025 bullshit or the usual but now accelerated bullshit.

Not every democrat is dumb enough to deny science. Some are. Not every democrat is religious, most are, not every democrat is xyz, because the entirety of "other ideas, ideologies, culture and general opinion" are stuck under one umbrella, because republicans refuse to be moderate on god damned anything.

Easily could've gotten away with RvW if you fucking morons didn't go out of your way to ensure control over women and make shit exponentially more dangerous, hiring fucking bounty hunters n state pregancy border patrols. What a fucking ride you idiots took without a second of common basic empathy and rational. Let alone being cultured on the simple concepts of other fucking mindsets and people.

Go Larp offline in your mind. Keep your filthy anti-intellectualism and utter grift of a cult the fuck out of adult conversations. Literally all of your talking heads are garbage people that eat dog cum and abuse their pregnant wives, that lie lie lie lie lie.

Because you're so god damned manipulatable, so incapable of rational thought, the worst of society found a way in this capitalist hell to make a fortune off misfortune, entirely off the free laboured backs of you absolute fucking specimens.

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teaveetamer · 1 year

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Leave it to Ladelstans to act like a bunch of jerktims (acting obnoxiously towards others and think you're the victim when getting called out). I'm not going to say anything more other than this is just fucking exhausting and all its doing is staining the reputation of their waifu and the by extension the game.

I’m not even sure what the point is anymore. Most of us have moved onto other games and other pursuits and only discuss 3H vaguely or when prompted. They’re the ones who just cannot let it go for whatever reason.

Like they accuse us of “hating that people like Edelgard” but that’s a boulder throw in a glass house when you’re willing to spread lies and slander over this type of shit? And oh, people are mean to them. What, exactly, do you expect to happen when you do shit like accuse people of being rapists and stalk people and dig up old posts just say shit like this?

Like ??? Cool? What are you trying to accomplish, exactly, by coming to my blog where I say I like Dimitri and casually throwing out that you like other characters better and believe he’s a mass murderer? Surely you don’t expect anyone to actually have a conversation with you when this is your opener?

And I know this example is tame but that’s just because they only sent me like two things before apparently deciding I wasn’t an easy enough target. Other people have been getting shit about Dimitri being a domestic abuser, worse than a literal serial killer, homophobic, etc.

Like man imagine if I went to r/Edelgard and opened with “By the way I think Edelgard is a straight Nazi who rapes puppies!” I would have to be high to think that would get me anything other than a “fuck off, maybe?” In response. Christ. Anyone who even tried engaging with this person in good faith should be able to write it off as a charitable contribution on their taxes.

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mahayanapilgrim · 2 months

Text

Advice from Me to Myself

- Patrul Rinpoche -

Vajrasattva, sole deity, Master,

You sit on a full-moon lotus-cushion of white light

In the hundred-petalled full bloom of youth.

Think of me, Vajrasattva,

You who remain unmoved within the manifest display

That is Mahamudra, pure bliss-emptiness.

Listen up, old bad-karma Patrul, You dweller-in-distraction.

For ages now you've been

Beguiled, entranced, and fooled by appearances.

Are you aware of that? Are you?

Right this very instant, when you're Under the spell of mistaken perception You've got to watch out.

Don't let yourself get carried away by this fake

and empty life.

Your mind is spinning around

About carrying out a lot of useless projects:

It's a waste! Give it up!

Thinking about the hundred plans you want to accomplish,

With never enough time to finish them, Just weighs down your mind.

You're completely distracted

By all these projects, which never come to an end,

But keep spreading out more, like ripples in water.

Don't be a fool: for once, just sit tight.

Listening to the teachings - you've already

heard hundreds of teachings, But when you haven't grasped the meaning of even one teaching,

What's the point of more listening?

Reflecting on the teachings - even though you've listened,

If the teachings aren't coming to mind when needed,

What's the point of more reflection?

None.

Meditating according to the teachings - If your meditation practice still isn't curing

The obscuring states of mind-forget about it!

You've added up just how many mantras you've done -

But you aren't accomplishing the kyerim visualization.

You may get the forms of deities nice and clear -

But you're not putting an end to subject and object.

You may tame what appear to be evil spirits and ghosts,

But you're not training the stream of your own mind.

Your four fine sessions of sadhana practice,

So meticulously arranged -

Forget about them.

When you re in a good mood, Your practice seems to have lots of clarity -

But you just can't relax into it.

When you're depressed,

Your practice is stable enough

But there's no brilliance to it.

As for awareness,

You try to force yourself into a rigpa-like state,

As if stabbing a stake into a target!

When those yogic positions and gazes keep your mind stable

Only by keeping mind tethered -

Forget about them!

Giving high-sounding lectures

Doesn't do your mind-stream any good.

The path of analytical reasoning is precise and acute -

But it's just more delusion, good for nothing goat-shit.

The oral instructions are very profound

But not if you don't put them into practice.

Reading over and over those dharma texts

That just occupy your mind and make your eyes sore —

Forget about it!

You beat your little damaru drum - ting, ting -

And your audience thinks it's charming to hear.

You're reciting words about offering up your body,

But you still haven't stopped holding it dear.

You're making your little cymbals go cling, cling -

Without keeping the ultimate purpose in mind.

All this dharma-practice equipment

That seems so attractive -

Forget about it!

Right now, those students are all studying so very hard,

But in the end, they can't keep it up.

Today, they seem to get the idea, But later on, there's not a trace left.

Even if one of them manages to learn a little,

He rarely applies his "learning" to his own conduct.

Those elegant dharma disciplines -

Forget about them!

This year, he really cares about you, Next year, it's not like that.

At first, he seems modest,

Then he grows exalted and pompous.

The more you nurture and cherish him, The more distant he grows.

These dear friends

Who show such smiling faces to begin with -

Forget about them!

Her smile seems so full of joy - But who knows if that's really the case?

One time, it's pure pleasure,

Then it's nine months of mental pain.

It might be fine for a month, But sooner or later, there's trouble.

People teasing; your mind embroiled - Your lady-friend - Forget about her!

These endless rounds of conversation

Are just attachment and aversion - It's just more goat-shit, good for nothing at all.

At the time it seems marvelously entertaining,

But really, you're just spreading around stories

about other people's mistakes.

Your audience seems to be listening politely,

But then they grow embarrassed for you.

Useless talk that just make you thirsty

Forget about it!

Giving teachings on meditation texts

Without yourself having

Gained actual experience through practice,

Is like reciting a dance-manual out loud And thinking that's the same as actually dancing.

People may be listening to you with devotion,

But it just isn't the real thing.

Sooner or later, when your own actions Contradict the teachings, you'll feel ashamed.

Just mouthing the words,

Giving dharma explanations that sound so eloquent-

Forget about it!

When you don't have a text, you long for it;

Then when you've finally gotten it, you hardly look at it.

The number of pages seems few enough, But it's a bit hard to find time to copy them all.

Even if you copied down all the dharma texts on earth, You wouldn't be satisfied

Copying down texts is a waste of time (Unless you get paid) - So forget about it!

Today, they're happy as clams - Tomorrow, they're furious.

With all their black moods and white moods,

People are never satisfied.

Or even if they're nice enough, They may not come through when you really need them,

Disappointing you even more.

All this politeness, keeping up a Courteous demeanor -

Forget about it!

Worldly and religious work

Is the province of gentlemen.

Patrul, old boy — that's not for you.

Haven't you noticed what always happens?

An old bull, once you've gone to the trouble of

borrowing him for his services, Seems to have absolutely no desire left in him at all-

(Except to go back to sleep).

Be like that - desireless.

Just sleep, eat, piss, shit.

There's nothing else in life that has to be done.

Don't get involved with other things:

They're not the point.

Keep a low profile, Sleep.

In the triple universe

When you're lower than your company

You should take the low seat.

Should you happen to be the superior one,

Don't get arrogant.

There's no absolute need to have close friends;

You're better off just keeping to yourself.

When you're without any worldly or religious obligations,

Don't keep on longing to acquire some!

If you let go of everything —

Everything, everything - That's the real point!

This advice was written by the practitioner Trime Lodro (Patrul Rinpoche) for his intimate friend Ahu Shri (Patrul Rinpoche), in order to give advice that is tailored exactly to his capacities.

This advice should be put into practice!

Even though you don't know how to practice, just let go of everything - that's what I really want to say. Even though you aren't able to succeed in your dharma practice, don't get angry.

May it be virtuous.

Patrul Rinpoche (1808-1887) was the wandering turn-of-the-century

Dzogchen master of Eastern Tibet, beloved by the people. He was renowned as the enlightened vagabond.

Sarva Mangalam!

MAY ALL BEINGS BE HAPPY!

#buddha #buddhist #buddhism #dharma #sangha #mahayana #zen #milarepa #tibetan buddhism #thich nhat hanh #Patrul Rinpoche

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f1-birb · 3 months

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it's not necessarily reading twitter or insta comments (i don't use twitter much at all anymore and i've had mclaren blocked on all socials since the ricciardo days when they were allowing their team to get harrassed too lol), but it's just like you can curate your spaces so well and you're still going to get posts recommended to you from these damn algorithms that are like “lando is washed,” “lando is going to get exposed,” and idk it gets old.

even reddit, which used to be a voice of reason when it came to actually discussing races/drivers, you cannot have a single lando thread without half the comments being about lando never winning a race or oscar beating him to the first race win and it's like oh my god. who the fuck cares. ocon got the win over alonso in 2021, do people actually think ocon is a significantly better driver than alonso. carlos got ferrari's only win and the only non-rbr win in 2023, do people really think he's significantly better than most of the grid, including his teammate charles? george is mercedes’ last race winner. do people, especially after last year, truly think he's at a higher level than lewis right now? like wins are great. i'd sacrifice my firstborn for lando to get a race win. if oscar gets one first, that's fine. it doesn't mean lando has failed or is washed up or isn't as talented. (i also feel like half of these people don't even like or care about oscar, they just want to see lando get beat. like theres this sick trend on tumblr, reddit, media in general of wanting to see oscar win first and lando fall in this unbeatable depression that has me like what the everliving fuck is wrong with you, but i also have enough decency to think actual mental health problems should be off-limits as criticisms. theres a difference between saying one driver handles pressure better than another, an actual analysis/criticism, versus wishing to see a driver struggle mentally for entertainment).

and this is nothing against oscar at all. it's pretty apparent lando likes him, the team likes him, and he's a major talent. there's just loud parts of his “fanbase” (again i use this term loosely because half these people dont seem to care as much about oscar as they do seeing lando get “exposed” or whatever the fuck) that lack the ability to praise him without shitting all over lando.

and idk. i have full belief in lando as a driver. but some of these criticisms hit pretty close to home when you follow and support him because he's the driver you find most relatable and suddenly the majority of the criticism isn't about his driving, but his character or personality and how people perceive that.

i also just think this overanalysis of his mistakes while others get this free pass because fans/media always insist on blaming the team or others (won't name names, but i have a feeling based on other of your posts/answers, you know who I'm mostly thinking about) will continue into 2024 and i just don't feel like dealing with it anymore. i'm stuck in a shitty job i'm not really enjoying until at least august, f1 used to be an escape from that, but shitty people have ruined that too. and unfortunately I've been around the media enough that even if i did watch the races on mute so i wouldn't have the shitty sky commentary to annoy me even more, i would still know subconsciously what narratives were being spread and i just don't have the emotional stability to care about this motorsport atm.

fe and indycar? sure. like i cannot tell you how many times my favorite indycar driver did not capitalize on opportunities to win last year, yet this year all of the socials are uplifting and asking for predictions on how many races he will win, not betting that he retires with every most (insert accomplishment here) without a win like f1 does. i used to call those 2 my comfort series but i don't think they provide comfort so much as they're so much less toxic than f1 that i don't have to worry about my favorite drivers being straight up harassed instead of just their driving critiqued.

i'd love to follow lando, and oscar, and the entire team through both the highs and the lows as i have for many years now, but i just don't have the energy in me anymore. it's been feeling like a chore instead of a fun little hobby to watch for a while now, and i thought i would find some enjoyment out of it again at some point, but i just can't anymore. i will definitely be sticking around to read your writing though, just maybe not commentary on race weekends.

anyway this got so very long, i'm so sorry. this isn't an airport and i don't need to announce my departure, i guess i just had a lot of things building up that i needed to get out.

no need to apologise at all, I've always said my asks are open for rants or venting or just needing to let it out

I'm sorry there's not a lot I can say to what you've said because I agree with a hell of a lot of it and fully get where you're coming from

there's no point making yourself sad, upset, angry over it and while I know it'll suck to miss out on the racing since that's what you actually care about, maybe a break sounds like a good idea actually especially if you've got life things too

I'm preeeeettty good at tagging stuff so hopefully that'll help you navigate my blog at least, but since I do post a Lot on race weekends if I post writing it's always tagged "birb writes" and that's a featured tag for easy access - but it's so sweet that you'd stick around for my writing, it means a lot <3

#asks are always open too if you wanna say hi or drop an update #take the break anon #i hope a year of no f1 brings you peace #and you know where to find us if you change your mind #birb speaks

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