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andrew-and-leyley · 5 months

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scenario where when they were in highschool, ashley is invited to some popular boy's party as his date. andrew is pointedly not invited- he's kind of a loser, and the guy's ex left him because she was crushing on andrew.

ashley goes, despite andrew's protests.

party things ensue, and it all leads up to 7 minutes in heaven. ashley and mr popular go into the closet; she's a little excited, but really she's thinking about how she can't wait to tell andrew about the naughty shit she's about to get up to. she doesn't really care about mr popular at all- he's cute, in an andrew sort of way, she notes- and this is the first time she's ever really been asked out. she's the weird kid at school, it's always her and andy sitting by themselves at lunch, and... well, she doesn't really need anyone else, does she? andy can accept her for who she is, and if he doesn't, she can make him.

mr popular, though? she has nothing on him. she's barely ever glanced his way. the only positive thing she can attribute to him is that he's never outright bullied her or singled her out or whatever. and, weirdly, in his presence, the other kids who have done all of that shit, are quiet and even... nice?

of all the people at the party to be stuck in a closet with, he's the best one, she supposes.

maybe they start making out- he takes the lead. at first. she's not one to give up control so easily, and she can certainly make this a memorable time for him. in heated whisper, she offers to suck his dick. in the dark, she can see his surprise, but then his hands are fumbling over the zipper and button and- well, it's a little disappointing, if she's being honest.

she's seen a lot of dick in her life (that's what happens when you share a room with your brother), and it's.... well, it's fine. it's just not... his.

but it's whatever. she shrugs and gets down to her knees, and gives as good a blowjob as she can. only to jump away at the sudden light and the sound of riotous laughter from their classmates. mr popular is smirking- he's no longer cute, and the andrew charm is gone from him- and standing over her, his dick still out.

she's humiliated. her classmates are calling her a freak and a slut, mr popular is telling everyone how easy she is and how she begged him to suck his dick. weirdo, whore, and even an occasional bitch light her up from head to toe.

she leaves without saying anything, walking home in the dark on her own.

she's halfway there when she slows down, remembering that she was supposed to call andy to pick her up when she left. she'd promised him that. but it's only been... what? an hour tops?

humiliate her in front of her peers all you want- she won't be humiliated in front of andy. it takes her a few more minutes of walking to realize something else:

there's a car following her.

there's a very brief moment of panic (not even for her own safety, but if she gets kidnapped or some crazy shit, andy might never forgive her. worse, she might never see him again) before she realizes it's her mom's old, beat-up car.

looking through the windshield reveals andrew in all his "protective big brother" glory, and she stares him down as he drives up next to her. when the window rolls down, he greets her with a raised brow

he doesn't have to say anything; she pouts and walks around to the passenger side, sliding in. they sit there in silence for a minute before he reaches over her and buckles her in.

he'll ask her what happened to calling him, and she'll lie- say she forgot- in that way that andrew will know the truth regardless. he'll ask what went on at the party, and she'll be quiet.

part of her wants to tell him what she did- she knows she'll tell him eventually, anyways. they have no secrets from each other. but she's still embarrassed by the whole situation... still, even if andrew's ashamed of her, or reprimands her, it's better than not having his attention on her at all.

she'll cough up the truth, play it off as something funny and fucked up all at once, like she's always doing. andrew's hands will tense on the steering wheel, before one reaches out to hold onto her hand. he's pissed off, and she can tell, so she'll try to lighten the mood even more by saying how unimpressive mr popular's dick was compared to his.

andrew immediately pulls his hand away from her, and in a mix of flustered and angry, he curses at her, telling her to stop saying shit like that. it's a perfect distraction, his response. she knows exactly how to pull the reactions she wants from him, and given he knows about what happened, he probably feels bad enough for her to give in to whatever she wants. some sort of brotherly obligation.

she bothers him in the car the whole drive home, messing around and being stupid (she takes her buckle off a couple of times, andrew stopping the car to rebuckle her until he gives up. "die, then," he tells her, and she laughs. putting her feet up on the dashboard prompts another pull-over, where andrew is forced to get a little handsy in order to push her feet back down to the floor. etc etc)

the party's almost forgotten completely by the time they arrive, and it's only seeing her parents still awake that brings her back down from the high of the car ride. it forces her to remember that she wasn't gone long at all, and her mood sours again as she slides past her mother (not even a "welcome back" or a "how was the party" or a "you're back early") and her father (he spares her a glance and that's about it), back to her and andy's room

she's scowling and pouting in her bed as andrew comes in, turning the lights off. he climbs into his own bed, for all of a few minutes before he gets tired of her quietness.

"you okay?" he asks. she shrugs in the dark, and knows he can see it; she can feel his gaze on her. "want to..." he lifts his blanket up- an open invitation to share beds for the night.

he always kicks up a fuss when they share beds, now, and their mother definitely doesn't approve of it. (they're too old to do that now, or some other bullshit). but tonight he's offering, and it doesn't have to do with one of his nightmares or his insomnia, and it's... for her.

she leaves her bed behind quickly and practically pounces on him, preferring this over the party- even before it turned south. because tonight, andy is all hers. he wants her there. for now, at least.

#ashley #andrew #gravecest #andrew graves #ashley graves #fic #it's. not really a fic. it's more of an idea but. idk. im just gonna post it im not gonna think about it too hard LMAO #but ofc i would accept characterization criticism #im trying to get into their headspaces a little more ill get better as time goes on :)#mostly with this i wanted to dance around andrew's jealousy and the idea that ashley is indifferent to pretty much everyone other than andy #i imagine she's a freshman or sophomore in this scenario #maybe a frsshman and the popular kid's a senior while andy is a junior #ANYWAYS ill shut up now bye #my fic #< for the sake of being able to find my own stuff later

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acealistair · 9 months

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i triggered gale's jealousy dialogue and my lil heart can't fucking take it sORRY WYLL

#it's extremely late so i'm not gonna reload and fix things till tomorrow #not looking forward to rejecting wyll after his adorable dance scene but i dug my own grave there 😭#bg3 spoilers #sierra plays bg3

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canimisia · 1 month

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tags.

#↳ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. until next song. i will live until you die.#↳ 𝚃𝙱𝙳. so long. good luck. goodbye.#↳ 𝙰𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙼𝚂. your head upon a stick would look really sick.#𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. but they would call me crazy for the way I spoke to it.#𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. see me bare my teeth for you.#𝙰𝙴𝚂. the birds and the bees are getting older now.#𝙸𝙲. this little beast went out in the world.#𝙸𝚂𝙼𝚂. see me bare my teeth for you.#↳ 𝙺𝙴𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙼𝚂. can you hear me laughing?#𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. ‘cause I’m dancing on your grave.#𝙰𝙴𝚂. is it ugly enough? destructive enough?#𝙸𝙲. and this little beast was nature’s own error.#𝙸𝚂𝙼𝚂. one for the money. two for the show.#↳ 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽. dog on a leash.#↳ 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇. animal impulses.

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umabloomer · 6 months

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I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result.

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful.

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned.

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura.

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me.

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad.

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves.

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this.

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago.

#palestine #jewish #museums #history #ukraine

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gorgraoroctoberforever · 1 year

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I have a plan. It's horrible and will hurt everyone I love but it is o so funny

#ok so basically I want to dance on my own grave #for that I need the corps of a clone #I'm going to disappear for several years and let them find the corps #they will make a funeral thinking it's me #BOOM #grave acquired B-)#i come back with a boombox #boumbox...#booum box ?????#the big thingy that make music really loud #and play classical on it or something like that #or blue's clues #(din't make the playlist yet)#and dance on my own grave #I do find my self funny yes #I better #I live with my self 24h a day after all #random though of the day

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xxxcertifiednerdxxx · 1 year

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i love saying “rolling in my grave” bc what could make me, a very much alive person, so mad I hop into my own grave and roll around?

that’s for me to know and you to find out

#I would also laugh and dance and have dinner parties in my own grave #y’all are invited but you can’t stay when I’m finally buried :)#please go to your own grave if you wish to be covered in dirt #nerd out #nerd-out #i think i'm funny

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lafemmemacabre · 5 months

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I'm making my own goth subgenres poll because I'm both annoyed and annoying.

I'm not arguing with losers who'll probably bring up germanic tribes or fucking architecture about why I didn't include some Metal genre or their favorite Pop Punk band.

#goth #gothic #gothblr #gothgoth

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witchwhodoesvoodoos · 9 months

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one great detail i absolutely love about nimona is that when ballister and nimona were up against a batallion of soldiers, they fucking decked them without breaking a sweat especially ballister like have you seen his moves? if i were up against him i would've dug a grave of my own cause there's no way in hell im fighting a guy who can wave a sword like a dance ribbon that man is a beast who the fuck would try and headbutt a soldier wearing a literal metal helmet and shakes it off like it's nothing????? no concussion???? blunt trauma????? he had proved time and again why he's on top of his class and im not even surprised ambrosius was the only one who can keep up with him (couple goals fr)

#also kudos to my little gremlin nimona #gotta appreciate her she made a man pee his armor #nimona #ballister boldheart #ballister blackheart #ballister x ambrosius #nimona movie

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sytoran · 9 months

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𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 | n.romanoff

you visit the strip club downtown with your co-workers to let off some steam, but it seems like you've caught the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.

🖤 pairing: sub!stripper!natasha x fem!cop!reader

🖤 word count: 3145

🖤 note: SMUT (18+), this one been marinating in my drafts like im preserving wine

main m.list | AO3

You don’t know why you let your co-workers drag you to a strip club on a Friday night, but you’re sure as hell not complaining.

There are plenty of women, everywhere. Women in bikinis, women in stockings, women in thigh garters. You're in wonderland, honestly.

Hey, cops needed to let off some steam too, okay?

The cheers and hoots surround your table as Carol gets a lap dance by a brunette stripper. The blonde woman is blushing – you didn’t know she could do that – but she’s having the time of her life.

As Carol slides a bill between the stripper's tits with no lack of embarrassment, you laugh and get up to go get another drink.

It wasn't an overly rare occasion for you to be letting loose, but it was infrequent enough that your co-workers quite physically hauled you to this adult entertainment facility after a particularly taxing case.

ULTRAVIOLET was the most popular strip club in Queens, New York City. They served both men and women, with sparkling reviews about customer service and atmospheric aesthetics.

Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria would simply not shut up about the 'Black Widow', who was supposedly the sexiest, most stunning stripper any of them had ever laid their eyes on.

"She fuckin' looked at me in the eye," Valkyrie had moaned on a Monday morning, speaking of this stripper they so revered. "I can't look at anyone the same no more."

You were about to make a quick-witted retort about Valkyrie’s dramatization of mere eye contact, but Maria had only nodded solemnly in agreement and you had to admit you didn’t take Maria’s judgment lightly.

Aside from the talk about the Black Widow, you were hit with the novelty of the strip club once you stepped foot within.

As the Commanding Officer of the New York City Police Department, 104th Precinct, the boundless freeness of this place was quite a sight to behold. What with the heavy music, and the beer-tinged scent of the air, and nude women – the sensory overload did wonders to take your mind off work.

"You here alone?"

You spin on the barstool at the sound of a sultry voice. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping to the floor at the sight of a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.

Scantily clad in matching sequined undergarments and fishnet stockings, stands a redheaded woman leaning against the bar counter, looking at you with magnificent green eyes.

"I'm not alone- I mean, not in that way, because I'm just here with friends. Well, co-workers, but they're my friends as well-"

Splendid job, Deputy Inspector Y/N L/N, you say internally. You can look in the eye of murderers and terrorists, but one look at a pretty woman and you're fuckin' gone.

"You're cute," the lady interrupts with a small tilt of her head, saving you from digging your own grave further.

You swallow harshly, feeling her manicured nails trace the curvature of your bicep.

"Just cute?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Her fingers move down to the collar of your white shirt, fiddling with the fabric. Call it stupidity, but you feel the urge to reciprocate the contact. You move your hands to her hips.

The lady smirks. "Hm, maybe not just cute. But I think you need to show me."

The redhead hasn't broken eye-contact all the while. Your eyes feel like they're burning. You slide your left hand down to the hem of her panties, and tug slightly. When her panties snap against her skin, she jolts with the impact.

You smirk with victory, pulling her in by her waist so your mouth is pressed against her skin. "I'll show you," you murmur, kissing the warm with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.

The woman's breath hitches and she pulls your head closer. You accept the invitation, beginning to leave a hickey on the sensitive spot of her neck.

After a few moments of your concentrated work on her neck, the woman finally lets out a sigh-turned-moan of pleasure, and you nearly pass out from how sexy it is.

She tugs your head away and pulls you in by the collar for a kiss. Your eyelids flutter close.

Your quavering breaths meet in a frantic harmony, and you want to explore her mouth, but she ends it as quickly as it begins.

"What's your name?" the redhead asks, warm breath on your lips. "Y/N," you say hoarsely, trying and failing not to sound like you were left high and dry.

You slide your hands to the bare skin of her torso, silently delighting in the way it raises goosebumps. You need to get more of her, feel more of her. "Do I get to know your name?" you ask.

The lights in the strip club suddenly dim, and the music takes on a far more sensual tone.

The woman slides out of your grasp like sand falling through your fingertips, and you're left with the ghost of her burning embrace. Your question remains unanswered.

"Let's give it up for our next dancer," the bar owner says into his mic, and the noise dramatically fades away. "The Black Widow!"

Blue and violet lights dance in your vision as the woman who had kissed you just moments before, approaches the stage, hips swaying in time to the music.

Your eyes narrow, and you down the bourbon in one shot. You'd need it.

When the beat drops, The Black Widow throws her head back and she begins to move.

God, it's criminally sensual, the way she danced, unlike anything you'd ever seen before. You couldn't put into words the allure she possessed.

The redheaded woman runs a hand over her own skin, dipping into every curve, as the music crescendos, and you know you're not the only patron with their heart thrumming in their chest.

When she begins twirling on the pole, you see men clearing out a month's paycheck for this divine woman, and honestly? You don't blame them.

Money gets flung onto the stage and catcalls get yelled as perhaps the most erotic scene unfolds before your very eyes.

When The Black Widow lifts up a thigh to show off her tight stockings, you're unable to hold back any longer, drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame.

Sitting back down into your original seat, leaving the empty glass of bourbon behind, all else fades away. Your world stumbles on its axis as the woman makes her way over to you, running a hand through her luscious locks of hair.

Your mouth dries up as The Black Widow turns around in front of you and fully bends over, exposing the delicious curve of her ass. You sink back into your seat, bringing two fingers to your lips in silent contemplation. Internally, you're fighting the goddamned World War II with your libido.

She's still swaying in beat to the music, and spins around as the sound of a saxophone starts playing. The last thing you see is a playful wink from the gorgeous woman before an ample asset of tits covers your vision.

Fuck, you're not going to survive.

Your nose quite literally gets buried between her tits as the woman climbs onto you. You would pay to see your co-workers' faces right now. How would you ever face them at work again?

“Get it, Y/N!” you hear Maria call in the distance, and a shrill whistle follows.

You smirk against the pair of tits in your face, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and her sweat, and simlply her. You let the stripper work her magic.

After a few more minutes of your paradise, she pulls away, skin flushed.

You regard her with a darkened gaze, pulling out your wallet. You stuff a bill in the side of her thong, making sure to snap the fabric in the same spot as you had previously.

The woman's face flickers in recognition. She shakes her head, then dips her head down to whisper in your ear.

"11pm. Room 8. Private session. Don't be late."

Like it was planned, the music comes to an end. The redhead doesn't wait for your response before she gets off your lap, raising her arm in acknowledgement of the roaring cheers. Her hips sway as she walks away from you, and you don’t even pretend that your eyes are glued to her curves.

Money gets thrown onto the stage once again, all in hopes of earning a fraction of what you had just experienced.

"Holy shit, Y/N, what was that?" Carol yells at you over the noise, slapping your back. You shrug plainly with a stupid smug smirk as Valkyrie whines in jealousy.

Oh, you were so fucking ready for 11pm.

"A private, fuckin' session for Deputy Inspector Y/N fucking L/N. Who would'a thought," Carol slurs, banging a shot glass onto the round table.

You roll your eyes at Carol's dramatization. It wasn't as if your status as Commanding Officer steered women away from you – in fact, some of them were quite into it.

But for your prevalently horny friends who had women over just about every week, you were considered starved of sweet pussy and were in dire need of quenching that thirst.

So when you broke the news that the most sought-after stripper in the most famous strip club in Queens, had just offered you a private session, lo and behold the chaos that ensued.

"Shit, girl, I would get down on my knees for that lady. You are one lucky bastard," Valkyrie adds in, ruffling your hair as you grumble.

"You'd get down on your knees for any woman, actually," Maria says, the usually composed woman more laid back in the environment of the strip club. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Valkyrie lets out an aggrieved noise, sitting up to whack Maria's arm, but in her drunken state she misses and slaps Carol's drink out of her hands.

"Oi!" The blonde cries out indignantly, looking at the drink that had splattered onto her clothing.

Carol grabs Maria's martini out of her hands and throws it at Valkyrie in retaliation.

Before you know it, your three idiot friends have gotten temporarily suspended from the strip club for 'causing a ruckus'.

Just like that, and the clock ticks down to eleven o’clock.

It’s 11pm, and you're overly aware of your police badge at your belt and your gun in your holster.

Or at least, you were, until Natasha swung one leg across your lap and sat herself down with an unspoken grace, effectively sitting on your lap. In the privacy of the enclosed room, you unashamedly stare down at her cleavage, eyes several hues darker than they were before.

“See something you like?” Natasha asks breathily, running her hands over her full breasts, pushing them up to elicit a reaction from you.

The moving lights in the dark room cast shadows, and when you back look up with a sinful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Natasha swears she feels herself get wet.

All the air in your lungs dissipates when Natasha begins grinding on your thigh in beat to the music, hips moving skilfully in the sexiest fashion imaginable.

Fuck, this woman was going to be your demise.

Your hands feel like they’re on fire as you watch her put on a show, simply aching to move and touch. Natasha trails her fingertips down your tensed arms, running over the curve of your biceps. She smirks at the goosebumps it raises, her hands dwelling to the edge of your pants.

Your breath catches as her fingers find the outline of your police badge tucked underneath your shirt. The Black Widow looks up at you, expression a no-tell. “You on duty?”

“Nope.”

“Is that why you’ve got a gun in your belt?”

“Nah, that one’s just for pretty girls like you,” you respond slowly, hands tentatively going to rest on her thighs. When the smirk reappears on the stripper's face, you relax and let your shoulders untense.

“If you say so, officer,” she comments huskily, leaning forward to nip at your earlobe. The shiver runs through your bones.

You’re about to counter with a quick retort of your own before Natasha begins grinding on that bulge in your pants, treating your gun like it was a strap.

“Shit,” you say breathlessly, hands burning at being unable to touch. Behind your back, your nails were digging into your palms so hard you swore you had already drawn blood.

Fuck, it was torture.

Her pretty moans and breathy whines ring in your ears as she moves her hips roughly, a torment to your demise.

After a while, you come to the realisation that you can feel how wet Natasha is through her undergarments, soaked from having just dry-humped your thigh.

“Fuck me,” she says, and your throat dries up. “What?” you ask, dazedly, still staring at her bouncing tits in front of your face.

“I said, fuck me,” Natasha repeats, head tilting to the side, halting all her movements so you would look at her.

You splutter. “But the sign said–”

“What can I say, officer, you wanna make me break the rules.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before your hands can finally touch her, finally, meeting and warm skin and sweat droplets and everything you’d ever wanted.

You let out a huff of amusement as Natasha wraps her pretty lips around your fingers and sucks, making lewd noises with her tongue. Your ears burn, now, having been tainted with the beautiful symphony of this woman’s pleasure.

“You’re very naughty,” you comment, your other hand slipping under her top to reach her full breasts. Palming at the mounds in your hand, you face moves to the bare skin of her collarbone and begin kissing it.

“Don’t make marks,” Natasha says breathlessly, when you let your teeth nick the soft skin there, and there’s a pit of desire in your stomach that growls in frustration, but you know you have to respect her wishes and instead move your mouth down to her chest.

Natasha doesn’t remember when you slipped off her bra, but she isn’t complaining about your haste and instead throws her head back when your mouth latches onto her breasts.

“Mhm, that feels good,” she moans, weaving her fingers through your hair and scratching at your scalp. You hum in acknowledgement against her flushed skin, your tongue paying special attention to her hardened buds.

When both your hands move to the underside of her thighs and lift her up, Natasha lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden change of position. But as you lay her down on the sofa with your body weight pressing into hers, those whimpers turn into filthy moans.

You stall for a moment, hovering above her with your silver necklace dangling right above her face. She looks so pretty like this, her hair all splayed out, the sheen of sweat on her skin making her look tantalizing.

Natasha catches your swinging necklace between her teeth, winking seductively at you, and you’re snapped out of your moment, a laugh taking over.

“Have I told you that you’re incredibly bad?” you say, in between kisses scattered between her breasts, down her sternum and to her stomach.

“You- you have,” Natasha replies with some difficulty, as your kisses get lower and lower. “Maybe you should punish me for it, officer;”

She shuts up when you slowly spread open her thighs, revealing the dripping heat that is Natasha’s cunt. You maintain eye contact with her as you lower your mouth to her pussy, her lust-filled stare making your head spin.

When your tongue meets her cunt, it was game over.

“Fuck,” Natasha moans, already unable to continue looking at you in the eye, hands moving to grip the cushion of the sofa. Her thighs clamp around your head, and you’re suffocating, but in a way that feels so good you could die in bliss.

You lap at her dripping cunt like you were starving, like you would die without it. Natasha’s moans get louder. You move your mouth in rocking motions, pushing your tongue further in with each thrust.

“More,” she gasps out, and you quicken your pace, fingertips digging bruises into her plush thighs. In retrospect, you don’t remember how long you stay there, ravenously eating her out like your life depended on it.

When you feel her breathing get faster and more shallow, breathy little whines that get louder and louder, and you know she’s about to cum.

Instead of gently bringing her to a high, you internally say fuck it and decide that if this was the one chance you had, with the most sought-after stripper in Queens, you were going to make it an unforgettable one.

You move your mouth up to wrap your lips around her swollen, throbbing clit, and you suck on it, hard. In tandem with that, you easily slide two fingers in, curling them inside her to hit that sweet spot. Natasha positively screams, and you swear it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Her orgasm floods the lower half of your face and your fingers, and the little mewls of your name Natasha lets out as she comes down from her high is one you’d always remember.

Finally, you emerge from between Natasha’s thighs. Slowly, you kiss up her stomach and her breasts, up the way you came down from, and you meet Natasha’s blissed out face.

You take a moment to take in her tousled hair, her swollen kissable-pink lips, her smudged makeup, her shallow gasps for air, and the pure lust in her eyes.

Just like that, and another jolt of arousal hits you. Before you can act on it, Natasha pulls you into a messy kiss, hot and sweaty.

“You look so fucking good-” Natasha says in between the frantic meeting of your mouths. “With my cum all over your jaw.”

You bite back a growl at her words, wanting to let her know just how exactly good you can make her cum. Natasha catches your hand that slides down to her wet cunt, before bringing it up and placing a kiss on your fingertips. “Our time is up,” she whispers, nodding to the clock behind you that now reads 11.31pm. “One private session lasts 30 minutes.”

This woman was going to be the death of you.

You turn back to The Black Widow with dilated pupils, slowly reaching into your pocket for that leather Saint Laurent wallet, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

In the wee hours of twilight the next day, you leave the strip club with your wallet emptied, a searing cramp in your hand, and the memory of an unforgettable woman whose real name you hadn’t even known.

Boy, you had one hell of a story to tell your friends.

i think i'm not gonna taglists anymore, sorry yall. there's just so many usernames and i have to constantly update it :(

main m.list | AO3

#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x reader #wlw smut #gxg smut #marvel #marvel women #x reader

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

Text

Best friend!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friend gets a lot more than he bargained for when he walks in on you wearing only your Hellfire Club t-shirt.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), dry humping, thigh riding, cumming in pants

WC: 1.2k

A/N: Reader is described as wearing an oversized Hellfire t-shirt. This is her shirt, not Eddie's. There is no indication of her size whatsoever.

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Your toothbrush is clenched in your hand, but instead of cleaning your teeth, it serves as a microphone while you dance around your bedroom. The stereo is playing loudly; you can’t even hear the creaking staircase floorboards over the music.

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love’s gone be—AAAAH!

Your palm flies to your chest when you see Eddie standing in your doorway, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“And here I thought I was the rockstar in this friendship,” he smirks, arms folded across his chest.

Your heart rate slowly returns back to a pace that won’t send you to an early grave. “Jesus, Eddie! What are you doing here?”

“Figured I’d stop by,” he replies nonchalantly. “Y’know, you probably shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked while your folks aren’t home. Anyone could walk in off the street.” He flops onto your bed with an exaggerated exhale, looking pointedly in your direction. “Nice pants, by the way.”

Nice pants? You’re ready to sleep; an oversized Hellfire tee serving as your pajamas. You’re not even wearing—oh.

You tug at the hem, but even after years of wear, it doesn’t stretch below your thighs. Heat blooms in your face. “Yeah, well,” you sputter, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Eddie pouts. “You mean you didn’t wear that ‘specially for little ol’ me?” He ducks as you hurl your toothbrush at his head. He opens his mouth to say something before quickly clamping it shut, but not before you notice.

“What?”

“N-Nothing.”

You cross your arms, more firm this time. “What?!”

“When you, uh, threw the toothbrush…your shirt…” His face turns bright red as he scrambles to explain. “…it, uh, kinda rode up.” His Adam’s apple bobs nervously.

“It’s just underwear. You’ve seen me in a swimsuit before.” You try to hide your own embarrassment, playing it off coolly, but all you can think about is the fact that Eddie Munson saw your panties.

He nods, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Right, yeah. Totally the same thing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I should get going.” He pushes on his knees, starting to stand up, but abruptly stops. “Actually, um, maybe I’ll hang out here for a bit, if you wanna maybe put…put something else on.” Pink embarrassment blooms in his cheeks, spreading down his neck.

“No, I’m going to bed, and you’re leaving. We can get breakfast tomorrow morning or something.” You sigh when he doesn’t move, making your way to where he’s sitting. “C’mon, time to—”

Eddie attempts to hunch himself over, but there’s no hiding the hardening bulge straining behind his zipper.

It’s only natural, you tell yourself. He’s a twenty-year-old guy; he’ll get a boner if the wind blows the wrong way. It doesn’t mean he’s into you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. This is super weird, and I shouldn’t have come in without knocking.” He buries his head in his hands. “Just…give me a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” Now’s your chance. If there’s any time to find out if he’s into you, it’s when he’s sporting a stiffie in your bedroom. “Or…I could help you with it?”

His head whips around so fast that his curls are a blur of brown. “Wh-What? Like, help me…?” He’s desperate for you to finish his sentence, not wanting to say something that makes the situation even more awkward.

“I can help you get off. If you want. Or you can just use my bathroom and, I dunno, rub one out.” You cringe at the phrasing. “No pressure.”

“Um, yeah. No pressure.” His thumbs circle each other, an anxious habit he’s had for years. “So if you were gonna help me out, what would that look like?”

You shrug, a half-smile gracing your lips. “I guess I’d do this first.” You place one hand on each of his shoulders, straddling his waist with your bare thighs. “And then I’d kiss you?”

“Mhm, please.” Eddie grips your hips as you lean in, mouths finding one another in unhurried splendor. He tastes like stale Camels and spearmint gum, only breaking the connection to trail his lips down your neck.

It’s your favorite spot to be kissed, and the way his teeth nip at your flesh, tongue gliding over the mark as though sealing it in, has you grinding down on him.

“Christ, honey,” he breathes, “you look so goddamn perfect like this.” His fingertips dig into your asscheeks possessively before one hand snakes its way up your shirt. You expect him to lift it above your head to expose your breasts, but he doesn’t.

“Y-You can take it off,” you stammer, feeling silly as you say it aloud.

Eddie shakes his head in refusal. “Next time.” Next time. It’s a promise you hope he’ll keep. “I just love the way you look in this shirt.” And nothing but this shirt, he thinks to himself.

The friction of your cotton panties on his denim pants is delectable, providing just enough pressure to your aching clit. You’re greedy in your movements but make sure to give him what he needs, too. Your pussy rubs against his clothed cock; Eddie uses the hand on your ass to help guide your hips.

“Thassit, oh, fuck,” he grunts, teased with the beginnings of an orgasm. “Right there, baby. Ohmygod, I’m gonna cum in my fuckin’ pants.”

“S’okay,” you murmur into his ear, gently biting the lobe, “‘m close, too. So close, holy shit.”

Sweat beads along his upper lip, his groans more needy and guttural. “‘M coming, ‘m coming, ‘m coming.” He babbles pathetically as sticky, wet warmth floods his boxers. You follow his lead, finishing on his somehow still-hard cock.

The immediate aftermath is filled with panting breaths and sporadic giggles as the pleasure high fades and reality sets in.

“Did we just—” Eddie starts, eyes wide in disbelief.

You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Mhm. We sure did.”

He rakes a hand through his curls, frizzy from perspiration and activity. “So, um, what do we do now?” There are many unspoken questions woven into it. What does this mean for our friendship? Do we even have a friendship anymore? Was it as good for you as it was for me?

“Well…” You sit up a bit straighter, toying with the chain of his guitar pick necklace. “We can throw your stuff in the wash, and maybe while we’re waiting, we can get started on that next time you’d mentioned earlier?”

Eddie grins, kissing you with a fervor like you’ve never seen. “What are we waiting for?” He tugs off his pants and boxers, unashamed of the way he’s painted them with cum. When he notices you staring, he winks. “‘S a lot, isn’t it? Imagine how much it’ll be when I’m actually inside you.”

It doesn’t take long for either of you to find out.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #fanfic #smut

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radioisntdead · 24 days

Text

Good evening folks! Here's a drabble I wrote as a warm up, not my best work but it's short And it was written at three am, Enjoy!

The radio man's Wife

Alastor x female reader

Warnings:

Human Alastor, murder, Not much Alastor in here but he's here, victim blaming the dead people

You could ask anyone who had met her and they would tell you that The local radio host's wife was the sweetest person they had ever met, a real angel on earth, she'd help out her neighbors, delivering fresh baked goods to those in need, she'd help take care of the neighborhood kids while their parents got away for a night,

She was a saint, who was to know that she had married a monster? She was just another unwilling victim right?

After all,

She was just so kind!

but even those who appear kind could do the cruelest of things, sweet words secretly drenched in venom, dressed in soft unsuspecting colors, her eyes that held nothing but fondness for the person she married and distain for those who stood against him, for those who ran his name through the mud.

She'd gleefully turn a blind eye to the wicked acts he did, being nothing but a bystander, at most she threw a few sickly sweet words to the victims that left them feeling sick to the pits of their stomaches before they perished.

She'd clean up any remaining mess he left behind, making any leftover carnage into fertilizer for her beautiful garden, mopping up the blood stained floors, or digging up a deep grave in the nearby woods for him to drag a body or two into.

She willingly laid next to someone who had countless people's blood on his hands, she'd give nothing but a love-filled smile at him,

She'd dance with a repeat murderer while soft jazz played on the radio each night after dinner, after the dishes were done and dried He'd take her hand and they'd dance.

She'd give a small kiss on the cheek, telling him to stay safe and leave him to his business slaughtering folks.

After all they deserved it right? They weren't truly good folks, Her and her dear Alastor believed ? that wholeheartedly, and Honestly it's their own fault for being easy targets

Right?

No one would believe you if you told them beforehand that the charming radio host, Alastor was a cold blooded murderer who had claimed multiple lives,

After all he was so charming, always with that smile on his face that could make anyone swoon, although you could never exactly know what he was thinking, people adored his voice and his radioshow where he'd play the tunes of the time, and briefly speak about the recent disappearances of people, telling everyone to stay safe.

It's truly the charming ones you should look out for.

It was only revealed when someone hunting in the dead of night mistook her dearest Alastor for a deer, shooting him swiftly through the head, killing him almost instantly, leaving him to be bitten and torn by man's best friend.

The phonecall she got when it was discovered was heart wrenching,

Her beloved Radio host went from charming to his name being thrown around, treated like a monster, [Which he was, he killed people] his office was cleaned out swiftly after being searched for anything alluding to his crimes, the home they shared was searched and torn apart for evidence as she sobbed into the arms of a supportive, unsuspecting neighbor,

After everything went down she was either scorned or deemed a unfortunate lady who unknowingly married a murderous monster, she had parts of the community that took pity bring around casseroles and give her words of comfort.

It couldn't have been more then a year since Alastor had gone, a family member of one of his victims wanted revenge, however since the murderer was already six feet under, why not go for his widow?

In the dead of night carrying a gun he crept into the home she once shared with her beloved, he moved passed the picture frames on the walls, from events, Their wedding photos and pictures of family, all were hung up neatly.

He opened the door, a creaking noise rung out throughout the house,

He moved forward towards the bed where the widow laid, deep in a slumber she'd never wake up from,

The man lifted up the gun and shot her right in the heart, She didn't know what hit her.

Arising from the ground she brushed herself off, the sight of brimstone and the harsh smell of sulfur filled her nose,

She didn't know what killed her, maybe a heart attack? Perhaps she choked on something in her sleep? Well there was no use in wondering, what's done is done, and from the looks of it she definitely ended up in hell, wasn't surprising after all she did help out her husband in his crimes.

With a quick look at herself, she made a face at the animal ears that protruded from her head, along with the matching tail on her back, shaking her head she began walking around to explore the place.

She supposed it was time to go find her dearly departed darling now wasn't it?

Good evening folks! Thank you for reading!

I'm making my way through requests and a couple of them will hopefully be out within the week! Stay tuned!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Hey! I LOVE the comic you posted of the reader going to a club pre-relationship! I was wondering if you could write a part 2 to that of all of them going to a club together. With some jealousy, like when the reader goes to the bathroom on her way back she is getting flirted with by a random guy and the marauders reaction. Feel free to ignore

(Also I adore you comic that make my day every time I have re-read all of them at least 3 times!)

Hi lovely, thank you so much ! This took me forever to get to sorry, hope you enjoy it <3

part 1

cw: alcohol, unwanted/nonconsensual touch

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Your shriek cuts through the loud music, and you turn to Remus with an open-mouthed grin.

“This is my favorite song!” you shout.

He laughs. In the past half hour, four songs have been your favorite. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod happily, throwing your hands above your head as you spin. You’re tipsy twirly, surprisingly sprightly considering you’ve downed enough shots to get Remus hammered, and he’s got several inches on you and has been drinking since he was thirteen.

Sirius is in a similar state. Remus and James have been steering the two of you around for most of the night, but now James has put himself in charge of crisis prevention, playing goalie between either of you and the bar.

“Oh be fun, Prongsie,” Sirius wheedles after getting spun around by the shoulders for the upteenth time. “I know you can be fun.”

“I am fun,” James agrees. “I have my most fun when I’m not cleaning up your vomit. Go dance with y/n.”

You’re game for this plan, giving Sirius an enticing smile and moving your hips to the music in a way that makes Remus’ mouth go completely dry. He knows he’s not the only person in this club who’s noticed, but thankfully the little circle the four of you have made in the dance floor stays clear of intruders. Thus far, your prediction has proved correct; no other men have come up to you with your roommates around. He’s not particularly distraught about it.

You seem oblivious to your own allure, laughing when Sirius hurries toward you like a called puppy. You take his hands, letting him twirl you around and then holding your arms up to twirl him in return, and at the chorus, you both jump around so that your hair flies all about. Your laughter is loud and sparkling. Remus sips his drink, entranced.

There are two more favorite songs before you careen towards him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He hastily grips you by the elbow, wary of a fall, but you seem to have done this intentionally. You beam up at him, your smile lopsided and far less shy than anything he’s ever seen from you.

“M’gonna go to the toilet,” you tell him, one word leading into the next like they’ve been sloppily tied together with string.

“Oh, okay.” Of its own volition, Remus’ hand coasts up the back of your upper arm, then down to your elbow again. “Do you think you’re gonna be sick, honey?”

Your face screws up as if this is taboo to mention. “What? No.” You make a funny pffting sound. “I’m miles off from that, I’m fantastic, it’s just,” you lower your voice, expression turning grave, “I think it’s time to break the seal,” you tell him meaningfully.

This time it’s entirely intentional, but he also can’t help it. You’re just too cute. Remus sets his hand on the top of your head affectionately, grinning at you. “Alright, love, sounds good.” He looks around for the women’s bathroom, locating it a short distance away. “Want one of us to go with and wait outside for you?” It’s not like he can’t see it from here, but a girl as intoxicated as you probably shouldn’t be going anywhere by herself.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” you say, patting his chest lightly. “Back soon.”

It’s like you’ve disappeared into a mist, the way you fade into the crowd so quickly. It takes Remus a moment to spot the top of your head moving towards the bathroom. You turn around just before you go in, giving him a dazzling smile paired with a dorky thumbs-up.

“Where’d she go?” James asks, holding his drink aloft while Sirius grabs for it. “And what has made you smile like that, Moony?”

Remus makes a dismissive sound, but he feels his face heat as he takes a long sip of his own drink. James’ grin widens.

“Ooh,” Sirius catches on. “What’d she say to you?”

“Nothing. She’s gone to the toilet.”

Sirius’ kohl-rimmed eyes bulge, and James laughs, following his train of thought immediately. “Did she ask you to follow her? I didn’t think that was your style, you rake.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “You’re depraved.”

It’s not long before you reappear, catching Remus’ eye on your way out of the bathroom like you knew he’d be looking. You give him another of those heart-stuttering smiles and head his way, weaving your way through the crowd with a drunken expertise.

A happy glow of anticipation starts up in his chest, but you’re intercepted on the way. Another head, taller, steps in front of you, blocking Remus’ view. He cranes his neck, but he can’t see you.

He must make some sound or simply be emanating discontent, because James is back at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s talking to her. I can’t see her anymore.” He sounds ridiculous, like an overprotective douche, but he can’t imagine one can be too cautious when a drunk girl is surrounded by guys in a place like this. Remus is being purely practical.

“Let’s go get her.” James is on board immediately, taking Sirius by the elbow and beginning to bulldoze his way through the crowd. Sirius grabs Remus’ hand just before the gap closes behind them, dragging him along.

Remus hears you before he sees you.

“Really, I appreciate it, but I’m not looking for anything.” Your voice sounds slightly tight, and Remus knows you well enough to tell by the sound of it that you’re giving whoever you’re talking to one of your big, fake smiles.

A man’s voice says, low and sure, “You don’t mean that—” and that’s as far as he gets, because you interrupt to exclaim, with no small amount of relief, “My friends!”

“Hi, sweetheart,” James says, and you’re right in front of them. You’ve cleaned up your makeup in the bathroom, the eyeliner that had transferred sweatily under your eyes now pristine again, and your smile is indeed giant and thin-lipped as you look between them and the man in front of you, subtly flaring your eyes. He reads the look clearly: Help, please!

Remus looks you over. The man has his hands on your hips and one of yours is around his wrist, a cautious touch. Sirius takes care of that quickly, wrapping his forefinger and thumb around the wrist closest to him and removing it like it’s a piece of trash he found on the street.

“Do you two know each other?” Remus asks. Without permission, his voice comes out gruff and accusatory.

“No,” you say speedily, taking a step towards Sirius. Towards them. “I was just on my way back to you guys, actually.”

“We were talking.” The man looks between the three of them scrutinously, like they’re threats. Remus doesn’t hate the thought of being a threat to this guy.

“Sounded like you were done talking, mate.” James smiles easily. You’d have to really know him to hear the sharpness in his tone.

Sirius snakes an arm around your waist, but you don’t shy from the bold touch. In fact, you lean into him, your smile slowly beginning to resemble the genuine article. “Wanna get another drink, baby?” Sirius asks you, gaze salacious.

“Mhm.” You bob your head eagerly, and he leads you off, James and Remus following. “Thanks for the help,” you tell them as soon as you’re away. “He didn’t, like, do anything, but it was a bit intimidating.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” James replies, expression going a bit stormy now that he’s done feigning lightness. “And I wouldn’t say he didn’t do anything, he shouldn’t have put his hands on you like that.”

“It’s whatever,” you wave it off so easily Remus’ heart gives a little throb. “What’re we drinking?”

“Oh, that was a ploy,” Remus says. “We’re done drinking, remember?”

You pout, and Sirius hugs your side sympathetically (entirely for your benefit, Remus is certain). “You mean we’re done,” he sneers. “You and Prongs get to have however much you want. Who made you king of the beer?”

“I think you did, actually,” Remus says thoughtfully. “At Mary’s New Year’s party, remember?”

Sirius sniffs, presumably because he does not.

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atinyreads · 4 months

Text

sobbing wheeping squelching giggling ATEEZ FIC RECOS !

@atinyreads

note: these were supposed to be a part of my previous post but tumblr said i already reached the limit :( nonetheless, here are the rest of my favorites and my recent reads <3

note: don’t forget to support (reblog/comment) the blogs who write them ^^ i do not own any of the following recommendations.

cw: some fics contain themes that might trigger you read at your own risk

genre: contains angst, smut, fluff, yandere, and mafia themes.

Hongjoong

just a phone call away by @makeitmingi

drive to survive by @bvidzsoo

love, tailored by @arafilez

only look at me by @pyramid-of-starrs

our destiny by @mi-rae07

the captain’s favourite by @edenesth

Seonghwa

from the cradle to the grave by @prodsh00ky

fire and water by @wooyoungiewritings

yandere seonghwa by @mymoodwriting

dancing with the devil by @bro-atz

your desire by @bvidzsoo

the thing about pretty boys by @wonusite

blinding pavlov by @seohwang

we know by @baek-at-it-again95

like crazy by @gyupinkys

extraterrestrial rated by @latte-fairytaekwoon

idol seonghwa x actress reader trope by @skyechild (idrk why the username isn’t popping out 😭)

Yunho

four seasons of love by @starillusion13

let’s get physical, physical by @bro-atz

who? by @todomochi-uwu

the duke’s weakness by @edenesth

Yeosang

bf yeosang by @darkphoenix07

secret relationship au by @ateezmakemeweep

mafia au by @mingsolo

winter blossom by @atzfilm

angst/fluff reaction by @ateez-writings

moonlight by @miaatiny

San

sex after argument by @darkphoenix07

time’s the charm by @jaehunnyy

morning sex by @destiny-fics

let’s get physical, physical by @bro-atz

jealousy sex by @k-hotchoisan

limitless by @sorryimananti-romantic

the jealousy game by @emeraldelysian

underneath the moon by @hee0soo

blue bird by @seonghwaddict

Mingi

who? by @todomochi-uwu

burning desire by @mi-rae07

fight or flight by @mint-yooxgi

Wooyoung

heavy is the head that wears the crown by @bvidzsoo

siren!wooyoung by @ohmyamor

12:45 by @jinisnuggets

home for the holidays by @highvern

pitiful, you’re pitiful by @songmingisthighs

blue bird by @seonghwaddict

Jongho

torn patience by @thenewblackcanvas

needy jongho by @cuddlyjongho

regret by @mi-rae07

OT8

want you back by @whimsicalwritingsandmore

poly ceo ateez by @atinycafe

Other fic recs !

NEWS FLASH! Best release in kpop history:

#ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez yandere #ateez masterlist #ateez mafia #ateez werewolf #ateez fic #atinyreads #ateez atiny #ateez au #ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez recs

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thechy-fychannel · 29 days

Text

I saw a few other blogs doing this so I thought I'd share my input on what I think would happen in the House MD universe in 2024:

the constant jokes abt house and wilson's relationship turns into the fellows jokingly writing fanfic abt their boss and his boy best friend. somewhere along the way they all get very serious abt the quality of it and it turns into a Whole Thing, a 150k+ novel that they vow to take to their graves.

house discovers the fic by accident and sends it to wilson. wilson discovers things abt himself and then he and house discover each other shortly thereafter.

house purposefully posts the fic online and credits the fellows by their entire full names so it embarrasses them more than house and wilson. It's never spoken abt again but it gets way more online attention than any of them expected.

wilson doesn't get how the Cloud works and accidentally uploads his and house's nudes to the google nest hub on his desk. He doesn't notice it until one of his sweet little old lady cancer patients points it out to him during their appointment. He throws the google nest hub into his trash can until he can figure out how to get the naked pictures off of it.

house has an alexa and abuses the hell out of it. sometimes ppl hear him screaming at someone in his office, only to walk in and find a robotic voice replying with "sorry, I didn't get that" and house throws it off the balcony.

wilson gets addicted to online shopping. house has to stage an intervention bc they do not have enough room in their closet for another pair of prada loafers and their kitchen is full of shitty gadgets that wilson bought off temu or something.

some right wing social media influencer comes in with a mysterious illness and ends up getting castrated as part of the solution. 13 personally does the procedure herself and house watches like a proud dad.

a patient reveals chase's grindr by shoving his phone at him and asking "is this you?" abt the headless profile with the ripped abs that says Dr. Feel Good, 0 feet away, in front of the rest of the team.

foreman finds the team doing tiktok dances bc house told them to learn it in order to understand their 15 yr old patient better.

chase medically murders mitch mcconnel and the entire hospital celebrates ding dong the witch is dead style.

there's a whole episode where house faces his transphobia bc of a trans patient that he connects with. the patient tells him to fuck off and go face his own problems instead of pretending to make it right by being nice to one trans person. And house does, even if he's not perfect, he really tries to do better.

13 gets her medical marijuana card and accidentally becomes the team's plug. her main customer is wilson who still supplies it to certain terminal patients. She hears "hey, can I hit your pen?" at least four times a day.

foreman buys a tesla and it blows up in the parking lot. they spend the entire episode trying to figure out who tried to kill foreman, but it turns out that teslas just do that sometimes.

there's an episode where house finds out that netflix is removing his favorite obscure tv show that ran for 2 seasons in 2002 and wilson recruits the team to hunt down a dvd copy of it without house finding out. they somehow manage to find one and spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, only to open the dvd case and find a copy of the porno wilson starred in that one time instead of the dvd of the show. park saves the day at the last minute by finding a copy of it in a box of dvds in her parents house.

#might fuck around and add more later if i can think of some more #chyanne speaks #house md #hate crimes md #medical malpractice md #hilson #dr. gregory house #dr. james wilson #remy thirteen hadley #eric forman #chris taub #chi park #robert chase #house md headcanons

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