#might have to do something with this i dig it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pierregazly · 3 days

Text

are you warm enough? ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x reader

warnings: reader has the flu, sad!reader over being sick [945 words]

request: Could I ask for a 💗 with Oscar and "Are you warm enough?" prompt?

note: oscar is def the type to take care of a sick partner?? i dont make the rules but it's true! this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

It was inevitable it was going to hit you. It had struck through your entire workplace, through all your study groups. One by one, person by person, they were taken down. By a measly thing like the flu. You knew it was going to take you out, and you were going to hate every second of it.

Selfishly, you were hoping it would strike you the week Oscar was gone, not wanting to waste any of the short time that you did have with him by being confined to bed with a sickness that wouldn’t go away. Unluckily, just hours before his plane was scheduled to touchdown in Melbourne, you felt the tickle begin to climb in the back of your throat.

By the time Oscar’s bags were tossed through the front door of your apartment, you were curled up on the couch, a heated blanket over you while a half-empty cup of tea remained on the coffee table in front of you. Your head was pounding, your nose was stuffed, your stomach was aching. You couldn’t keep any food down, and it felt like the apartment had hit negative temperatures in the few hours between waking up with a scratchy throat, and Oscar coming through the door.

“Honey, I’m home,” he singsonged, walking around the corner and stopping dead in his tracks when he observed your state.

You had told him about all the people who were getting sick at work, at school, about how you had been diligent about making sure you were washing your hands and keeping away from them. How you had told him how you didn’t want to ruin the little time the two of you were finally going to be able to spend together, so you were being extra careful.

Oscar felt the sympathy wash over him as he observed you peak out from underneath the blanket, a look of sadness etched around your face.

“Osc… you shouldn’t come close to me. I don’t want to get you sick, too,” you said.

Ignoring your words, Oscar moved closer to the couch before sitting down beside your sock-covered feet. He gently maneuvered them so they were placed over your lap, rubbing soothing circles on your now-exposed ankle.

“I’ll suffer if I have to. Can’t make you take care of yourself when you look like you might freeze to death if I even move this blanket.”

Just from the blanket simply touching his leg, he could feel the heat emitting off of it, the number ‘6’ displayed on the power screen, indicating it was at the highest level the blanket could reach.

“Do you want me to make you another tea? Maybe go pick up some soup? I can give my mum a call, see if she can make any and drop it off? Does that sound good?”

Your only response was a nod of your head at every question he threw at you, you weren’t one to ask for help when you were sick, always able to simply take care of yourself. But the idea of getting off the couch, moving from the warmth of the blanket to go and make yourself a tea, or dig through the cupboards to find a can of soup… it just didn’t sound worth it, at all.

“I don’t want to bug your mum, if you pass me my phone I’ll just order some soup here. I can get you something too, real food. But you may not want to eat near me, I haven’t really been able to keep anything down either,” the sniffles after every few words had Oscar grimacing.

“Oh hush, mum always has leftover soup. Someone’s always sick around there, she’d be more than happy to drop it off. Let me go make you a cup of tea, and I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t take him long to tinker around the kitchen, throwing your favourite teabag into the mug and heating up the kettle; texting his mum in the process to inquire about any recent soups she may have made. Unsurprisingly, dad had been sick just days before, excess of his favourite soup in a Tupperware container in the freezer. Nicole had promised to get it thawed up and dropped off before sunset, a message of ‘get well soon, honey’ likely to be written in black ink on the lid.

Holding the warm cup of tea in front of your face, he gestured for you to sit up, a groan emitting from your body as you did so. Gently placing the cup into your hands, he sat down next to you, a small frown marring his face.

“Are you warm enough, baby? I can go pull down a few more blankets from the cupboards? Or turn the heating up?”

Shaking your head, you placed the mug down on the coffee table in front of you, before snuggling up into his side.

“Can you just hold me? You’re always so warm, and I just want to be snuggled up with you, right now,” you said.

The arm that was pressed between your two bodies moved out of the grasp, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders before pulling you in closer to his body.

“I’ll hold you whenever you want me to, even if you’re going to have to be the one to explain to the team why I have the flu next week.”

The only response you gave him was a shrug of your shoulders. You had already grappled with the fact you were probably going to get him sick, if you had to explain to the team why one of their prized driver’s was now sick… then so be it.

y'all... i didnt realize how popular oscar was until this celebration i have SO many requests for him lol. i hope everyone loves this, and as always, thank you for celebrating with me!!

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 blurb #oscar piastri blurb #blurb #writing #fluff #pierregazly's 1.5k celebration

383 notes · View notes

maxknightley · 15 hours

Note

hey man listen, im sure you just didnt know because hes just a funny haha tweets guy but dril is literally an outspoken nazi on twitter and has made mulitple tweets with nazi dogwhistles and literally responded to someone going "its not a joke, i fucking hate jews". like theres screenshots and posts and stuff about it out there and im sure you could dig through his twit. none of my posts about this ever get picked up because no one wants to admit the internet funnyman is a bad guy but hes like. a literal actual nazi. take that as you will

disclaimer for my followers: do not start shit with this person. I swear to fucking god. be cool.

not to be rude but I looked this up:

on twitter's website, where I found nothing;

on twitter's mobile app, where I also found nothing;

on DuckDuckGo, where I found nothing except the "(((keebler elves)))" tweet, which I think you could reasonably argue was in poor taste but hardly seems like a sincere endorsement of fascist beliefs;

and on Google, where I again found nothing except the "(((keebler elves)))" tweet and people talking about the keebler elves tweet

so, like, with all due respect I think you're either misremembering something / conflating him with someone else, or someone is fucking with you. I'm genuinely not sure what else this could be referring to, other than his recent slew of tweets mocking the nation-state of Israel, which - speaking as an antizionist Jew - I think are good and funny

the main reason I'm posting a response to this ask at all is because I get asks like this a lot. like, every couple months at this point. but usually they're not about dril, who 1. barely uses this website and barely ever has, and 2. has bigger things to worry about! usually they're about Some Trans Woman who I may never have even fucking heard of. I've gotten asks calling latina trans women "white" and accusing them of being turbo-racist because they Disagreed With Someone One Time. I've gotten asks trying to convince me that a woman I've never spoken to is a sexual predator based on literally zero evidence of any kind. and it gets fucking tiresome. okay? it's really, really fucking tiresome

so I figure I'll post this one because it's illustrative, and because it won't stir up shit around someone who might actually get hurt by it. please stop doing this. please stop sending me completely unsupported asks about how such-and-such is a terrible person.

at the bare fucking minimum send me actual concrete Posts that I can look at, because then I can actually judge for myself whether it's something worth getting upset about. otherwise there's basically a 10% chance I look into it, find nothing tangible, and shrug, and a 90% chance it goes straight into the trash.

113 notes · View notes

applejuicebegood · 1 day

Note

Hi gorgeous!! I haven’t gotten a chance to respond to your message about jason x booknerd!reader, but I wanted to quickly message and tell you that I’ve read it and I’m absolutely in love! You literally always come up with such good ideas, idk how you do it!! You’re awesome and ily!!

-(@midnightorchids)

Jason with a Bookworm!S/O

A/N: I know school has started back up for you again babe, so I don't blame you :((( I was originally planning to expand this for you, hopefully you can read this during a study break or some down time (i might repeat some stuff - just look away). It's IB exam season where I am so I share in your pain. Hang in there dude!! Summer is almost here!!

Masterlist

He's a vintage paperback and leather-bound kinda guy. Crime, Sci-Fi, historical-fiction/romance, magical-realism, and non-fiction are his go-to genres. Favourite authors include; Margret Atwood, Kurt Vonnegut, Haruki Murakami, Frank Herbert, and probably M.T Anderson. He's only a little pretentious about it.

He can spend hours in used book stores digging through the big plastic bins and stuffed cardboard boxes. You help him find specific authors or titles, your basket heavy with your combined finds. He'll carry the bags back to your apartment, his other hand tucked into yours as you gush about excited you are to sort and organise your new additions to your shared library.

He still has some books that Bruce and Alfred gave hm before his murder. Leather bond additions of the Liliad and rare printings of Dracula and Frankenstein. They have these little notes left in the front pages from Bruce that he couldn't bring himself to tear out or throw away entirely. And if you thought his home library was huge- wait until you see the book shelves in his old room.

Since he doesn't spend that much money on himself, he now has every chance to spoil you with your own special additions of your favourite stand-alone's, expensive book-marks, and lavish coffee dates where both of you enjoy your books over the smoothest of richest of espresso.

In the early months of your relationship, most of your dates were spent at bookstores, thrift-shops, and libraries. Your love quite literally grew from the yellowed, torn pages your would both get lost in.

Once his home library combined with yours, most of your bedroom and living room wall space became covered with his floor to ceiling bookshelves. Your bedside tables would each have a small stack of books that you were currently reading.

He absolutely loves how you look with your reading glasses. He thinks it's too cute when you push them up with the back of your hand, entirely focused on an intense passage. Your eyes going wide or your breath stopping at a beautiful line. Your adorable focused stare and sweet round cheeks are accentuated fully. He should be reading the book in his own lap but he's entirely distracted by you. You shut the book with a thump and immediately turn to him to gush about the chapter you just finished only to have his hands catch your jaw and bring your smiling lips against his. And suddenly, you forgot what you were going to say to him.

Jason finds lines and prose in his books that remind him of you and highlight them. He would keep them in a note stack on his phone, just to read them back to remind himself of your beauty. It's something that he could never put into words himself, hence one of the reasons why he adores reading so much. He can find the right order of words that properly express his infinite adoration and care for you.

I've explored this before but you guys have a set date once a month where you'll sit in each-others arms and just read all day. You'll curl up in one of his sweaters with one of your thick Sanderson novels and he'll tuck a blanket around his lap with his special addition of 'Little Women' open in his lap. He'll refill your tea mug because it's always hard to pull you out of your book during your reading days.

You'll order in some warm comfort food for supper and talk about your books respectively. He'll gush about how Jo March is such a revolutionary character and how Amy is actually a metaphor for the loss of innocence girls experience when attempting to emulate patriarchal standards of womanhood.

All while you gaze lovingly back into his eyes, your chin resting on your palm - wondering if a marriage proposal would be too sudden for your evening conversation.

111 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 2 days

Note

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGe9tGXnq/

Imagine in another universe Price and Witch were enemies (turned lovers) but Witch would dress like this. What if she was a part of a futuristic coven tasked with eradicating the Fae race. She was power and cruel and liked harnessing the magic of fae for her own use (basically their roles reversed since Price liked eating Witches for funsies before he met Lio)

I actually... I actually have a partially written Witch and Price as sexy enemies fic written. It's from way back when I wrote Love escaping Ghost, the little bad end fic. Well this was from Love going to Witch, not Price to be let out of Ghost's hold, thus making Witch a target for the 141 as they try to get Ghost's pet back...

Anyway I love Witch as cruel and unyielding, relishing in her power rather than measuring it out, wearing iron like a brand of her station. Desirable because of her power but also deeply dangerous for any fae unlucky enough to cross her path. Here she is, well, here they are:

He comes after you like the devil himself. It's lucky you're familiar with his work. You know as soon as your foot touches the street that there's magic working here, it itches against your skin and tickles in your nose. You stand still against the shift of it, weighing your options. Walking through the spell is like throwing yourself into a spiderweb, but turning tail is cowardice. You are not a coward. You're a witch.

You tug a piece of chalk from your pocket and crouch, scribing a few sigils on the cobblestone street before standing straight again to wait. When nothing happens you turn tail, and walk straight into a firm hand around your throat.

"Rather obvious don't you think?" His voice is deep and slick with smoke. Your eyes dart up to look at the raised brow and beard.

"Your trap? Entirely too. I'd almost call it amateurish." You respond peaceably. The fingers on your throat tighten a fraction of a threat. A low growl rumbles through him, through you. Maybe more than a fraction of a threat then.

"You're a witch."

"Clearly," you agree. He must have meant you, yourself, are rather obvious. You've heard that before, recently too.

"We have business," he tells you, you raise a brow waiting to be filled in on what that business might be. When you don't rise to his bait he growls, and shakes you. "The girl, where is she?"

"What girl?" You know your tone must anger him, too even and unafraid. The devil always rules by fear if he can't rule by trickery. You haven't been afraid of the fae for years, not since you were a little girl, and you aren't about to start again.

The man shifts his grip, grabs your face in one large hand and squeezes. He holds your face with a firm grip, his fingers digging harshly into your cheeks. You wince and try to pull away from him. He keeps you in place, leaning close to breathe his smoke into your face. You do your best to smack a hand over his mouth, the other digging through your pocket for anything to help. Your mouth goes dry as you inhale, heat pooling between your legs with little prompting.

"Tell me what I want to know pup," the fae drags his thumb across your lip and you feel like you're made of mush.

Tobacco, you think. Your magic knows it well enough to anchor itself to it, giving him a buffer for his own magic. You suppose two can play that game, though you don't need a proxy to get your point across. You let magic coat your tongue, feel the spark of it as you shape your lips around silent vowels and consonants. The man leans closer to try and hear you. You spit in his face, and when he opens his mouth to snarl at you, you spit in that too.

"You little-" all the warmth is gone from his voice, though the low danger of it keeps the heat in your skin. Something to examine later you suppose.

"Dos oddi wrthyf," you curse at him, cutting him off. He rips his hands from you like you've burned him, magic taking hold of his movement in a second. "Damn bastard," you spit his smoke onto the ground, watching his eyes burn as they follow the movement of your lips.

You're well warded against men like him. Demons by a different name. He'll have to do better than that if he wants to take hold of you. The foreign contagion still buzzes over your skin, still warms tight between your legs; you'll have to scrub it off later, purge his foul magic from your body before you do anything else. You bare your teeth at him just to see his eyes narrow.

"You'd be smart to help me," He warns. You laugh, let the sound bounce off the stone walls that cage you in his magic. Your smile drags against your teeth.

"Then beg."

Something shifts in his demeanor, something hot burning through the ice that covers him, that freezes in his eyes. It raises smoke from the very cobblestone you stand on. Sulfur and Brimstone burn in your nose, and you drag a scarf from your pocket to press the embroidered silk over your nose and mouth. You don't cough, but you desperately want to, it seizes in your chest and threatens to choke you. Your eyes water like standing on the wrong side of a campfire and when you blink he's gone.

The fae's hands drag you back against his chest, tip your head back as you struggle for a breath. He breathes that tobacco rich smoke over you again, and you shut your eyes against the sting of it. "We'll find her," He promises, "and when we do, I'll be sure to send you a piece." His voice dissipates with the smoke, and when you open your eyes you find yourself alone, facing the open air of the street with the dead end of an alley at your back.

You push down the sinking feeling that you may be out of your depth, and step back into the light.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #1fae1 #captain price mw2 #captain john price #captain price #john price #price x reader #price cod #price mw2 #fae!price #oc: witch #god he's so mean I want him to spank me until I cry #Witch he is going to love breaking you down

68 notes · View notes

felinefractious · 23 hours

Note

Ok so before I followed your blog I used to be judgemental of people who bought from breeders. But now I understand why it's fine and good. Here's something I'm wondering now: should I also stop being judgemental of people who buy breeds like Lyoki that have unavoidable health issues that cannot be bred out? I respect your opinion and think you do a good job explaining things, so I would genuinely like to hear your thoughts on this so I can learn more from you. Hope this is ok to ask

You might be asking the wrong person because I’m a hater 😂

But it really depends on the person and the circumstances, in my opinion.

For example we have a client with a Scottish Fold who later found out about the issues tied to the breed, she feels bad and doesn’t intend to get another one after he passes and stays on top of his care even though he isn’t showing any clinical symptoms yet. I don’t judge her, she made a mistake and her cat is lucky to be in the care of someone who knows what to look for and provide necessary care.

But we also have another client with a Scottish Fold who’s less than a year old and already displaying orthopedic issues… and she still got another one. I don’t know if she hasn’t researched the breed or if she has and just doesn’t care… but yeah, I judge her. Irritates the Hell outta me.

Another example is a client with an Exotic which required surgery to open up his nares and displays chronic problems associated with his facial structure… and she still got another one, from the same breeder at that. So yeah, I judge her. She also went out of state to have these cats declawed so an awful person all around.

But you have to be mindful because people often won’t respond well if you accuse them of having an animal or supporting a breed that unavoidably suffers. They love animals and they love their pet so it’s a truth they’ll resist because it contradicts the truth they thought they knew, kind of similar to how outdoor cat owners may dig their heels in because it’s a hard pill to swallow that they were neglecting a pet they loved.

So I don’t recommend going around trying to “educate” owners of these breeds because it’s more lilely to be taken as a personal attack and not be constructive, not to mention that you often don’t know someone’s circumstances.

Maybe they weren’t aware but are now and don’t plan to get another one, or maybe their cats was adopted, or maybe they inherited the cat from a deceased relative, etc.

I do judge the Hell out of breeders of these breeds, though. You’re deliberately producing animals with known issues, that’s not okay and you can take your denial of their poor health and shove it up your ass.

#anonymous #asks

82 notes · View notes

chesirecatsmile · 14 hours

Text

brainrot inspired by the one video of daniel in the static bike

the morning light streams in through the windows, drilling into the throbbing pain in max’s temples as it pulls him away from sleep. he’s way too hot and face down on the pillows and oh god, he might throw up if he attempts to get up.

he opens one eye and only sees a side table, his own phone plugged in and a clock showing 10:30. if he tries hard enough he can hear the faint sound of music and someone else’s steady breathing.

his eyebrows furrow as he tries to turn around without puking his brains out. once he’s flat on his back he opens an eye slowly and then the other. it takes less than a second to notice someone, a man, on a static bike in front of the bed.

“the fuck?” he says, his throat fucked up and sticky. “where am i?” he coughs and closes his eyes again, head falling back into the pillows.

the man doesn't answer, max hears the static bike turn on, digging into his temples. he squeezes his eyes shut and begs for it to stop, groaning when it only speeds up.

“morning,” he hears.

his eyes snap open in a gasp. he looks forward and actually looks at the man, shirtless in a static bike and holding two tennis balls. his silhouette is artistic against the sunlight as max barely makes out a smile from his face.

max coughs before he speaks, “hello?” he angles his head up a bit to get a look at the guy's face.

much of last night is a bit of a blur, but the longer he’s conscious, the more he remembers. he didn't intend to take anyone home, just needed a party, loud music, a chance to feel free in a city that he doesn't belong to.

he briefly remembers running into a guy with an absolutely gorgeous face in the hallway to the bathroom, which immediately turned to making out with him, first in the hallway, then on the dance floor, then in the cab, and finally– the details are pretty fuzzy, but he doesn't remember anything being unpleasant, and he isn’t sore or in pain in any ways that matter, anyway.

he looks at the guy, he’s all smooth lines and colourful ink, big smiles and curly hair. he takes his headphones out and puts them in their case, licking his lips as he looks at max, and he wants to gloat and how good of a job he did.

fucking score, he thinks in congratulations. usually the people he brings home from the club look great through tequila daze in the saturated neon lights, but aren’t too good in the morning sun. if anything though, this guy might be even cuter in the daylight. amazing.

“you feel okay?” he says, playing with the tennis balls in his hand, making something stir in max’s belly.

“yeah,” max groans. he rubs his temples with his eyes closed. “i think i forgot your name.”

the guy laughs, gets off the bike and stretches, his whole body twisting in a delicious way max is way too hungover to even think about. “that hurts my feelings, man.” he says, pads over to his kitchen, which is only a few feet from the bed. “it’s daniel.”

oh, max remembers now. remembers being wrapped around him and moaning his name. “yeah, sorry.”

daniel smiles at him again. “coffee?” he’s set to work and getting the pot ready as max sits up, nearly losing the blanket as it slips from him.

daniel’s all toned, gorgeous tan skin, a face that’s like max’s wettest dreams. even a bit ragged from the hangover, he’s still floored and he feels himself blush. his only saving grace is that daniel is also turning eight shades of red as he looks at him.

“i– i don't really…” he scrunches his mouth and rubs his hands on his face as he struggles to think, “i don’t like coffee, do you have anything else?”

daniel doesn’t miss a beat. “i have tea, if you'd prefer. green or black. does your head hurt?” he presses down on the french press and sets on re-filling the kettle.

“black is fine if– if i can have ice with it?” max bites his bottom lip and watches daniel’s back as he rummages through a cupboard to find two mugs and a teabag for max.

max looks around to find his clothes, his eyes betraying him again and staring at daniel shirtless instead.

“i hope i’m not too much of a disappointment in the light of day.” daniel says, turning around to face max, his eyes fixated on max’s chest as he struggles to cover himself.

max knows damn well daniel doesn’t mean that. that man is like a dream come true, all smiles and big eyes, sex hair and shorts riding down his hips. his words land just as he intends though. max locks eyes with him and rakes them over his body again. he really wants to stand up and put daniel against the countertop but he holds himself back.

“you’re great, i just….” he makes a sound in the back of his throat, hand flying to his face. he peeks between his fingers at daniel. “it’s the first time i– with a guy…” daniel stands a bit straighter as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“oh wow,” daniel says, smiling, “you seemed to know what you were doing.”

max laughs, his face hot and he knows it’s spreading down his chest. it seems to pull daniel into it as well. his laugh is even better than what max had expected, so contagious and genuine. max wonders if it was the laugh that drew him in to begin with.

“really?” their eyes met for a moment, the silence spreading out between them with an almost magnetic energy. just then the kettle shakes in its pot, yanking max out of the dreamy instant.

daniel turns it off and pour the steaming water over the tea bag for max. his eyes follow as max stands up, revealing his entire naked body as he hurries to put his underwear on over his hips. max can’t stand the heat of daniel’s eyes so he looks away as he puts his jans on and when he looks back daniel is bent over the freezer looking for some ice cubes.

he wonders how he got that lucky as he watches daniel place two ice cubes in his tea and then stir it one last time. “hope this is okay.” he says, motioning max to a barstool. “come here.”

he pads to the kitchen, he’s nearly the same height as daniel, though he’s broader. daniel passes him the overfull mug, and they fill the space of the little kitchen comfortably. their fingertips brush as the cup is transferred and somehow, it feels more intimate than the sex they had last night. daniel’s smile is so bright, his cheeks dipping into cute dimples. max hates to say it, but he’s very charmed.

“it’s totally fine if you regret this. hell, it’s the first time i get on with a straight guy,” daniel says, max can’t tell if he’s serious or not. they stare at each other for a long second and max can feel himself blushing under daniel’s eyes again.

“oh, i–” he says, drinking from his cup. “i’m not straight… i just have never…” he gestures between the two of them and daniel snickers. “i only regret not remembering everything.” he takes a deep breath, “i remember the kissing, and– and the car…”

the car. memory floods into max’s mind, still hazy and watered down, but he now remembers being all over daniel in the backseat, more hands than seemed possible for just two people. he remembers pulling daniel free of his jeans and sinking his mouth over him...yeah, it had been a good car ride. the problem is all the shots they had before, and after. and in between.

“and then… i don't know.” max bites his bottom lip and avoids daniel’s eyes. he can hear daniel’s smile before he sees it.

“it was great. you have nothing to be ashamed of.” he says and max’s eyes dart up again when they focus on daniel’s chest for too long.

“thank god,” he takes a sip from his drink. watching daniel’s face as he looks like he’s thinking hard.

“listen, you don't have to stay. we both know how these things go. you’re welcome to, but if you want to escape, i accept any excuse. we had a great time. you owe me nothing.” he lets out at once and sits down his coffee mug and leans back against the counter.

max’s eyes take a second to focus back from daniel’s body. daniel’s kicking him out. and he knows it’s a one night stand and he shouldn't feel weird about it, barely knowing him. but it’s there.

“daniel,” his voice is tentative, his head low and shoulders down, “do you want me to go?” daniel’s eyes flicker up, and for the first time max notices that they are almost golden in the sunlight.

“no.” daniel says softly, and max doesn't think twice as he sets his own mug down and slides closer to daniel with newfound confidence. making his breath hitch.

“then, maybe I can stay? and maybe, if you feel like it..." his fingertips brush against daniel’s arm and almost without blinking, daniel places his hand on his neck, sliding it back and up through his hair. “we could fill in some of those gaps?”

as daniel’s chest presses against his, noses brushing against one another, max smiles, a fluttering in his chest making it all the way to his toes. daniel’s even gorgeous from up close.

“sounds like a plan,” daniel kisses him then, softly, as if he’s trying to savour his mouth, and his hand cups max’s cheek sweetly. it’s far better than any fiery, lustful kiss max remembers they shared during the night. it says more than max can even comprehend.

when max pulls back, he takes in daniel’s face for a moment, a smile pulling beautifully at his lips. max feels his blush climb again and he tries to looks away, but daniel is holding his head in place.

“looks like you’re mine for the day.” daniel says, leaning forward to smile against max’s mouth.

my ao3!

#maxiel #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #mine #so many thoughts #meow

84 notes · View notes

midnightsxblue · 2 days

Text

BIRTHDAY

carl grimes x reader

tags: fluff fluff fluff

masterlist here! (i fixed it btw)

send some more requests!!!

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

You could never keep a secret from Carl, no matter how serious or how stupid he could always manage to get it out of you. All he had to do was ask repeatedly or when you got really stubborn he’d tickle it out of you. He’s just that kind of guy, he likes to know everything going on in that brain of yours. But more importantly he hates secrets.

That’s why when his birthday rolled around you had no idea what to get him or how you would even keep it from him. You’d done the classic comic gift maybe two times before already. Last year you had gotten him a vinyl for his record player and he was happy with it.

Carl didn’t care for gifts at all, he believed your presence was enough but gifts sort of just gave him something to enjoy with you. Every time you’d gotten him a comic, you read it with him. When you got him that vinyl, he listened to it with you. He was happy, so you knew whatever you got him this year was something you should enjoy too.

You decided to go out to scavenge with Glenn to see if you could find anything. You went out to a shopping center nearby and looked around there. You thought maybe you could get him a new flannel but you weren’t sure if he’d like it. You found a red flannel and realized he’d hate it.

“Hey, is this ugly?” You asked Glenn who was also digging through racks to find something for Maggie since her birthday was coming soon too. He looked over and cringed at the sight of it. “Yeah that’s- that’s pretty bad..” He looked back to the racks to dig through. “Fair.”

You were so stumped, what could he possibly want? You walk through the store some more, looking around the aisles when you hear something behind you. A small meow. You stop in your tracks and just pause. You loved cats probably as much as you loved Carl. You turn around and look to the floor to be met with the cutest little siamese kitten.

You crouch to the floor and let him walk to you. You melt at how adorable he is before gently picking him up. You need to show Glenn. When you find Glenn, his eyes are locked on the racks of clothes still. “Glenn.” You try to get his attention but his eyes wouldn’t pry away. You stick the cat out in his direction. “Glenn look.” He rolls his eyes and turns to you to be face to face with a cat and he almost jumps a little.

“Oh- jesus christ. Where…” His voice trails off when he realizes what you’re asking. “No. Nope. That thing probably has fleas.” He replies backing away. “But he doesn’t I already checked and even if he does we can treat it, can’t we? Cmonnn for Carl’s birthday.” You smile pleadingly. Glenn sighs and agrees. “Fine but if I get in trouble with Rick or Michonne, you’re dead.”

You smile and thank him. You look around the store for some more stuff you might need like the cats food or maybe a collar or something. You find everything and a couple a toys before you guys leave back to Alexandria. You knew getting back home would be tough, Carl’s birthday isn’t till tomorrow so you needed a way to hide the cat.

When you approached the gates you knew you’d have to be quick to hide him. You couldn’t ask Glenn since he’s already at risk of being scolded because Rick would usually never agree to letting you bring an animal home. So you thought of someone Rick can’t get mad at.

“That ain’t happenin.” Daryl says as you’re standing at his doorstep practically begging him to let you keep the cat there for the night. “Daryl it’s just for tonight? Please? It’s the perfect gift for him and I can’t keep it at our house he’ll find out and I don’t want it to be spoiled.” You pout. It kinda worked.

“If it shits in here you’re cleanin it up.” He grumbles, taking the cat from your hands and your bag of supplies. You thank him and praise him for doing you the favor. Now it’s just a matter of keeping it from Carl until the morning.

You and Glenn had come back from the run quite late so it shouldn’t be that hard. Maybe an hour and you can spend half of it in the shower. You walk into the house and Carl was feeding Judith dinner. “Hey how was the run?” He asks, trying to get Judith to eat the food off the spoon. “Fine.” You muster up. He’s confused as to why you’re being so short with him. “Find anything interesting?” He adds. “No. Not at all, I think i’m gonna go shower.” You make your way over to the stairs and he chose not to push it. He knew something was up, maybe you actually hadn’t found anything and you were upset about it. Or you were up to something else.

You had to wake up early the next morning in order to surprise him properly. You walked downstairs to see Carol cooking his breakfast and she flashes you a smile before going back to work. You head back over next door to collect the cat. You walk in and Daryl’s looking down in the box he had kept him in. He notices you and looks at you for a moment before speaking. “He shit in the kitchen.” He tells you before walking past you and out the door. “What the fuck, Daryl?” You giggle.

You handle it of course due to your guys’ agreement. You gather everything and head back over to finally surprise Carl. Rick and Michonne didn’t even realize you’d gotten him a cat so they found out when Carl did. They didn’t care, however, they knew the both of you would parent that thing like it was your damn newborn. You walk into your guys’ room and see he’s still soundly asleep. You gently place the cat on him as he sleeps and you poke him to wake up.

“Wh- woah what-“ Rick and Michonne giggle at how delirious he was. “Happy birthday.” You smile, waiting for him to process. He sits there for a moment to do so. “Wait we can keep it?” He croaks out. You look to Rick and Michonne and they look to each other. They look back to the both of you and nod, finally giving in. “Thank you.” He smiles as you lean down to kiss his forehead.

The rest of the day went perfectly, you guys spent the whole day together and got to do whatever it was you wanted, like going out to the woods with your new cat. Carl had his birthday dinner and afterwards you both went upstairs to rest from your eventful day.

His birthday ended perfectly. Laying in bed with his favorite person and his new kitten.

It couldn’t get any better than that.

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

a/n: i hope you likedddd ittttt this one’s one of my favorites now UHHH i didn’t give the cat a specific name bc i wanna leave that to you guys to name him muehehehe lowkey reply with a name you’d give the cat :P THIS REQUEST WAS ADOOORABLE THANK YOU ♠️

#carl grimes #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes angst #carl grimes the walking dead #the walking dead carl #twd carl #twd fanfiction #fanfic

68 notes · View notes

jess-the-vampire · 13 hours

Note

I gotta ask for you au.

Did you ever talk about how belos and kiki meet?

i actually have

see kiki was between jobs for years, dealing with her rough relationship with her family, and not knowing what to do with her life, and at this point she was just a garbage woman

next thing she knows, she finds this weird man....digging through trash, collecting scraps and human things.

she initially tries to kick him out, but this old man is surprisingly nimble and a good fighter and she's caught off guard and tied up

he doesn't kill her though, he goes right back to what he was doing while she insults him, claiming his actions are going to cost her her job

and this sparks a conversation between the two, he claims he's getting what he needs and he'll be gone, that it's non important trash, and if she had let him be she might of been fine. Kiki tells him off that he just doesn't care about who he's affecting and he just lets her go out of pity.

She starts getting upset and crying, because she hates this job in reality, but she needs something so her family doesn't think of her as a failure, that she would much rather be doing something more meaningful and making a mark on the world.

And he tells her that she's wasting her time bothering with her scummy family, that family can disappoint sometimes and you can prove yourself without their approval.

She....really appreciates the sentiment, not really hearing anyone think of her that way before.

She wants more of that, and it leads to her moving into his house, where she gets paid under him, is away from her family, and might get to actually prove herself....even if that means by scaring the citizens of the isles as his sidekick. I think she gets a real adrenaline rush from working under him and having power and confidence for the first time in her life.

There's a reason she thinks so highly of him after the fact.

and yes, with him meeting hunter in his lab after trash collecting and finding steve's body IN the dump, philip meeting all of them through trash is basically a running joke.

#my art #the owl house #toh #a reverse of feathers and mud au #areverseoffeathersandmudau #a reverse of feathers and mud #kikimora #emperor belos #philip wittebane

48 notes · View notes

onceuponapuffin · 2 days

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 9!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************

You pound your way to the nearest bar, where everyone had agreed to meet. The three of them are standing around, talking over glasses of wine. Your hands are in fists, your nails digging into your palms as you approach. They acknowledge you as you enter their field of vision, but you say nothing. Instead, you beeline for Aziraphale, put your arms around him, and hang on for dear life. Sometimes you just need to hug an angel.

There’s a pause where Anathema says something about your aura, and then Aziraphale hugs you back.

Dear Reader, I’m not sure if it ever happened in your life, but for this Puffin there came a time when it was made very clear that wanting to be held or wanting to lean on another person in public was unacceptable (and, in fact, embarrassing) once you reached a certain age. And yet, we as humans are social creatures. The need to be held is a very normal response, especially after something particularly upsetting happens (like having the sanctity of washroom privacy violated, for example). Perhaps you’re not the kind of person who, out of nowhere, feels the desire to be held, but perhaps you know someone who is. And so, I would like to impress upon you the incredible difference it makes, the immeasurable relief it brings, to know that you have someone with you who will hold you back without question or comment. Just hold you, and wait.

Aziraphale makes it clear he intends to do just that.

“Take your time, dear,” he says gently. And so you do.

After a moment, the clink of a glass next to you makes you look up. Someone has given you a glass of the same wine everyone else has. You pull away and take a sip, feeling much calmer and very grateful.

“Thanks,” You say.

“Anytime,” Aziraphale replies.

“What happened?” Anathema asks.

Thus, you recount how Metatron trapped you in the washroom until he had said his peace. By the time you finish, there are three very angry faces around you. You feel validated enough to take another, much larger, sip of the wine. Aziraphale is the first to speak.

“Well for starters, I invite you to stay in my bookshop however long you like. Pet indeed! You are a help, yes, but you are a guest, and certainly not disposable, whatever he says.”

“And,” Crowley adds, “From what you said, Aziraphale and I can get you home whenever you want anyway. Probably, I mean. No dUbIOus motives involved, at least.”

Anathema seems to be thinking. After another few seconds, she asks:

“Why did you take the coffee?”

You all look at her, surprised.

“Well I mean,” she continues, “If the Metatron wants to know, he probably has a reason. If you tell us, maybe we can figure it out for ourselves and find a way around it.”

“Or they could just not tell him,” Crowley suggests with snark. “Then it doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, it might,” Anathema counters, “We don’t know that it doesn’t.”

“I took it because of the Coffee Theory,” You say with a shrug. It’s not like it’s a big deal. “But I mean, I don’t know why that would matter to him.”

“Well,” Anathema says, “That might depend on what the Coffee Theory is.”

“Well, it’s the idea that the Metatron did something to that coffee he was going to give Aziraphale. To, like, make Aziraphale trust him, or listen to him or whatever, so that he would go back to Heaven.” You pause. “There’s also an interpretation of it where it was a metaphor like ‘take my offer or face death.’ But most people think about the first one, and that’s the one that was in my brain when I did it. There aren’t a lot of people who actually believe it. I mean, not anymore, anyway.”

“So you think the Metatron drugged Aziraphale’s coffee?” Anathema raises an eyebrow. “And you drank it, yes? So...did he?”

“No,” You reply, “It was exactly what it was supposed to be. An oat milk latte with almond syrup. And I didn’t think he actually messed with it. I just wasn’t willing to take the chance, that’s all.”

Crowley’s face scrunches. “And you think he might need to know that for some reason?” He looks pointedly at Anathema.

“He might,” She gives a thoughtful hum. “I’ll think about it. I might ask the Cards later.”

-----------

The wait for boarding didn’t feel so long after that. As you board, you notice how spacious First Class is. Aziraphale and Crowley sit in the seats ahead of you and Anathema, with Aziraphale in the window seat. You notice Crowley casually trying to stick his legs out into the aisle and wonder vaguely whether it’s because he needs the space, or to try and trip the flight attendants. Both? Probably both. Okay, definitely both, you note, as a stewardess almost falls face-first into the aisle. Aziraphale gently swats at Crowley in reprimand, but you can tell it’s half-hearted and wholly-fond.

Your only trouble comes when you need to use the washroom, but Anathema, ever clever and aura-observant, suggests to go with you so that you can knock if anything goes wrong. Thankfully, nothing does, and you both return to your seats.

“You know,” Anathema says, leaning forward, “I just overheard the strangest thing. It seems that all of the normal airline food on this plane has gone missing. All that they have to serve is the first-class food.”

“Wait,” You say, holding back a laugh, “So everyone on this flight gets to eat the fancy, chef-prepared, gourmet meals?”

Crowley doesn’t hold back his laugh. “Oh, the big bosses won’t like that!”

“You two wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” Anathema asks suspiciously. You notice she’s smiling while she says it.

“Psh!” Crowley waves away the thought. “Why would I? Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Honestly, Miss Device,” Aziraphale adds, “I have no idea why you immediately accuse us of something that seems so clearly to be a mere...clerical error.”

Ah-ha! Culprit found. Clerical error your arse.

“You know,” You sigh, “It really is no wonder why Crowley loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley. Aziraphale responds with a pleased-sounding hum. You relax, and notice between the seats that Aziraphale places his hand on top of Crowley’s and leaves it there.

They like holding hands – your insides scream.

--------

When you disembark from the plane, you hear all the other passengers around you complimenting the flight attendants on the excellent food and promising to leave excellent reviews online. You keep your laughter as quiet as you can. Aziraphale’s little prank is going to cause the airline issues for YEARS. Crowley must be so proud.

The speed and ease with which you clear customs and baggage claim is probably because you’re traveling with two supernatural entities. In no time at all, you’re outside of the airport flagging down a cab. Crowley opens the door with enthusiasm and outright glee.

“After you, Angel,” he says, “You think 90 miles an hour in London is bad, I can’t wait for you to see this!”

Dear Reader, I don’t know if you have ever been to New York City, but I assure you that Crowley’s driving has nothing on the NYC cabbies. Aziraphale spends the entire drive trying to hold on to something and taking deep breaths as the cab violently jerks to a stop millimeters from the car in front. You suggest he close his eyes. He does. It doesn’t seem to help.

-------

The taxi lets you out in front of The Ritz. Because of course you’re staying at The Ritz. Aziraphale goes to check in while Crowley tells Anathema he needs the washroom, and mutters to you that he wants to empty all the soap dispensers. You try so hard to hold in your laughter that it comes out your nose anyway. The demon flashes you a cheeky grin before disappearing around the corner. Anathema looks at you.

“Probably been a while since he had a fresh audience,” You say to her. She chuckles.

“And you’re so obliging too. No doubt he’s having a great time with all this.”

“Hey, Anathema,” You begin uncertainly, “How...I mean...I’m just worried about...things. How are we going to find Jesus anyway? I just...I don’t really have anymore information to give. I don’t even know if he’s going to be a baby or an adult this time.”

“Hm...” Anathema thinks for a minute, “Well, I’m going to try and get some readings, see if I can get some kind of direction for us to go in. It’s a big country, but what I’m hoping is that it will sort of work like dowsing.”

“Dowsing? Like looking for water with sticks?”

“Sort of. In a nutshell, you pay attention to the vibrations in the Earth, and the closer you get, the stronger the vibrations become. It makes sense to think that Jesus would make pretty noticeable vibrations. That’s my working hypothesis anyway.”

You nod. That will do for now. Aziraphale and Crowley both return, with the demon wiping his hands on his trousers, and the four of you take the elevator to your room.

The Royal Suite.

“Are...you….serious??” Anathema asks. Honestly, you’re too stunned looking around the enormous suite with four bedrooms to say anything. It’s bigger than most houses. You take out your phone and start taking pictures.

“Well, if we’re going to stay at The Ritz,” Aziraphale says cheerfully, pronouncing the capital letters, “Best to do it Properly.”

“But this is ridiculous!”

Aziraphale isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s gone to tell Crowley not to draw mustaches on the expensive artwork.

“Unlimited resources,” You say to her, “Make for expensive taste.”

“No, kidding,” she sighs, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m gonna need some help with these two.”

Ha, You think to yourself, I knew it.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

^ If you want to see JUST how ridiculous the royal suite is.

36 notes · View notes

astarionfixation · 3 days

Text

Chapter 11: +I am not a glass doll+

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: EXPLICIT ROUGH SEX (intercourse PIV)

CW: Blood, Sex

Word count count: 1.9k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/140917522

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

SUMMARY: In this chapter we simply finish the sex marathon we started 3 chapters ago -to jog your memory, she's on top, for the first time ever- Cause I imagine Pacing is of the essence for someone who's been around over two centuries like Astarion. If we had caring cuddly Astarion in the previous two chapters let's just say things get a fair bit rougher here... consider this your content warning for serious Rough stuff.

He has to close his eyes because, if along with the sensations her swaying hips are eliciting from his cock -strangled within her velvety warmth-, he also lets the vision of her soft, perfect body reach him, as it makes languid, serpentine circuits with her back arched and breast exposed as she impales herself repeatedly over him, that alone might make him come undone.

Her movements are excruciatingly slow, as if every inch of him has to be felt and pressed upon, as if her centre is gauging every sensitive spot on his cock and after a moment of attentive reactions she keeps learning and repeating exactly those that are driving him the most insane with pleasure.

His hands still gripping on her hips, though without any pressure or conviction, only to have his fingers full with the grasp of her softness.

*there’s absolutely nothing I can teach her…*

His head rolls back and he doesn’t even realise he must have arched his back enough so that now he hits a new, deeper spot inside of her and a louder gasp breaks through her throat as her movements halt with his cock completely buried inside of her. His eyes shoot open to find her biting her lip.

“Are you alright? Just… let me stay still for a moment… get used to me… we don’t need to ru–”

The words die in his throat with a groan ending his sentence as her hips have resumed their undulation, slow yet hitting harder and deeper every time she presses herself flush against his crotch.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She breathes every word as her rhythm remains unaffected. She suddenly lets him pull out almost completely and his instincts have his fingers dig deeper in her hips to keep her close

“No… please.. I was… just worried… about you”

“Stop worrying about me Astarion, I’m not a glass doll”

There is something incredibly enticing about the way she chose her words, though before he can spend any longer on them, her entire body is overhanging above him. Her hands reach to the headboard of the bed as she’s got him completely trapped between herself and the mattress beneath him. Her soft, perfumed locks caressing his shoulders are the last thing he registers as suddenly this new angle makes a scream of pleasure escape his lips. Though her own lips capture his immediately and now both their moans are just filling each other’s mouths.

This is a new kind of kiss, ravenous, she’s not just kissing him she is…

*biting!*

Her teeth are pulling at his bottom lip and yet in a flash her tongue is pressing harder against his own. Teeth clashing against his and for a moment he still tries to focus on covering his own fangs with his lips for fear of hurting her. But that’s when her words resonate and unlock something in his body

+I am not a glass doll+

A hand quickly moves across her back to press at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer still, the other one reaching for the small of her back as his own hips arch against hers, his cock buried deep inside of her, reaching surely an impossible depth for a human. He might think about how sore this will make her feel later but those thoughts have all but left his mind, finally beautifully empty for once, and all he knows is what his body feels.

Her incredibly tight cunt throttling every inch, every spot, of his insanely hard cock, every beat of her pulse reverberating around it and rippling across his crotch and dispersing around his body.

Her thighs locking his hips in place, pressing harder and harder against his bones and a fleeting thought carrying the desire to hear himself crunch, crushed by her grip, almost tips him over the edge.

Her teeth biting down on his lips without restrain as her kiss gets rougher against his mouth and her hips movements are beginning to match that raw need until she angles herself just right and another moan makes him almost roll his head back. When he does, her teeth don't relent and that's when her bite on his lip finally draws blood.

As the metallic flavour hits his senses everything turns to a blur. The pressure around his cock drives him mad and in a split second he’s grabbed her arms and reversed their positions, flipping her on her back as his hips now pound into her impossibly wet and engorged sex. Her measured slow movements are forgotten, replaced by sudden, hard thrusts that make him want to go deeper, and deeper until there’s nothing left of her to discover, to feel, to taste.

One hand grabs at her wrists and pins them above her head, holding them in place in a rock hard grip, as the other reaches to her thigh, pulling her leg up to curl around his own waist

*Deeper… deeper… deeper*

Her sighs and moans have left room to screams and heaving, and he can tell her own hips are trying to meet his thrusts best as she can in this position. He arches his back so that his mouth can devour hers again and this time there’s nothing resembling concern about his fangs, as they go directly to graze at her lip, nipping just enough to draw her own blood now wetting his lips

*We’re even now, you minx!*

His mouth latches onto her lower lip, sucking on it to draw more of her ambrosia as his hips keep pounding into her relentlessly. Even as little of her blood as this scratch allows him to take in is sending his entire body into a frenzy. His movements scattered and impossibly fast, thrusting in and out of her swollen cunt and he only realises how far he’s taken things when suddenly he feels her clenching around him, the feeling almost as if his own cock is to be strangled and torn apart from his body. The leg draped around his hips pressing into his backside as to pulling him closer *deeper* inside of her whilst her entire body convulses in spasm. Their lips separate only because, in a jolt of pleasure, her head rolls back letting out his name in a scream.

With his mouth now on her neck, he can’t even remember that’s exactly the spot he fed from just hours before, but the freshness of the wound must be what pokes at his instinct when in a moment his fangs tear at it as his mouth captures her pierced skin and finally he can swallow mouthfuls of the heavenly liquid she carries in her veins.

The flavour of her coating his tongue, just as the spasms of her climax still choke his cock, are the last thing he can grasp onto with any lucidity as his eyes roll in the back of his skull. He’s senselessly thrusting harder and harder into her that if any semblance of reason had been left in his brain he’d know he’s bruising her, but no notion other than chasing that absolutely idyllic promise of untainted pleasure is driving his rough motions now.

He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge as the random clenching from her last climactic twitches are tantalising his cock. His fangs instinctively pressing harder onto her flesh as to getting still *deeper* into her is the only vagrancy he can still follow, in every direction, be it flesh or sex.

His focus is such that it’s not until the tip of her tongue barely caresses the outer shell of his pointy ear that he realises she’s back in control of her movements after her climax. The feeling of her soft bite on his earlobe a moment later, on such a sensitive part of his body, is the gate to perdition and with a final thrust he pushes everything he has into her. A white light explodes in his mind as his own orgasm takes control of every jolt and involuntary reaction of his pale, tensed body.

Sparks are inundating his vision and his physical brain, some ecstatic and some as if pure radiant damage is dispersing across his every thought. Any flash and image that ever existed in his mind is simply flooded with the bright, gleaming pleasure that began in his cock and is now dispersing across his skin through the entirety of his body. His hips pressing flush against hers buried as deep as her fragile form allows, an animal marking his territory with his own seed filling her insides.

His skin still tingles from the aftermath of his pleasure when his brain slowly sinks back into his body and feels hers pressed against his as his mouth is still full of her blood springing from her neck

His lips keep latched onto her still, though his blood drawing has stopped, his tongue freely caressing her skin and gently soothing the wound in an attempt to close it again.

Every shallow exhale that leaves her lips still carries a soft moan. As he leaves a kiss on the closed punctures and moves to his elbows to leave her space to breathe he realises his hand is still holding her wrists down in a rock hard grip so tense he almost can't feel his own fingers.

He drops his grasp and his fingertips go to caress her forehead, her cheeks, swiping her hair aside.

“You were definitely worth the wait, my sweet… you are perfect… are you alright? Was that… too much?”

With her hands free he feels her fingers run through his own hair now, a soft hum resonating through her chest as her swollen lips, still crimson tinted, pull into a smile, her head shakes slightly before she gently speaks

“Definitely not… I don't think I could ever have enough of you… but now I know my dreams never did you any justice…”

At that he can feel the corner of his own lips pulling, the delicious stinging of his lower lip a delightful reminder of how savage her desire for him was, and that settles his mind upon the only sensation her lovely expression brings to him: bliss.

After placing a soft kiss on her lips he slowly pulls his softening cock out and a unique kind of satisfaction fills him as her body still twitches, a soft sigh exhaled with what sounds like quiet laughter, and as he rolls on his back he pulls her to his chest and he can feel immediately her arm circling to reach his shoulder, her naked leg draping possessively over his.

“You’ll have to tell me more about those dreams my darling… after all… there's nothing you desire that I'm not willing to give…”

His voice leaves the question hanging suggestively and he feels her face pressing, hiding against his chest so that the arm circling her pulls her closer as a soft laugh resonates from his lips. Her soft murmurs let him know he's not going to get that answer now as the tip of her cold nose is now pressed against his own unusually warmer skin. Her breathing is regular and slowing enough that the rhythm lulls his own senses into actual, restful, sleep.

For the first time in his entire existence.

30 notes · View notes

xxshadowbabexx · 8 hours

Text

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys Pt I: Howdy

headcanon inspo

check series masterlist for series warnings

You were bored, broke, and lonely. Not to mention horny.

It had been ages since your last fuck, so you did what anyone looking for some dick in these modern times did. You opened your preferred dating app.

The first thing you noticed was a lack of matches, although you aren’t very active on the hellsite, so it shouldn’t have been of any surprise. That just meant it might take a bit longer to get a match.

You swiped for a bit before a profile finally caught your eye.

His bio wasn’t your taste, but he was decent looking and clearly here for some sex. It couldn’t hurt, right?

You swiped on him, and it’s a match, but you decide to continue profile shopping before messaging Brian. Just in case.

Several dozen profiles you’re not interested in, and a message for Brian.

Brian: Hey luv

Brian: Since you chose me I assume ur here for a rough poundin

…Ew.

Yeah, he wasn’t getting a response.

And then there was Alexander.

Close by, but clearly looking for something long term. And you’re not looking to be a mom right now. Nope.

You were about to log off- you had swiped through about thirty profiles. But then again, five more couldn’t hurt, could it?

And you were so glad you decided to swipe a bit more, because the fourth profile was incredibly intriguing.

Incredibly muscular. Masked. Large age gap. Nearby. Only looking for sex, and willing to pay???

It was a dream come true. Or a scam. You tried not to think about that as you swiped yes on him.

Much to your surprise, he had swiped yes on you, too. But now do you message him? Do you wait for him to message you first? What are you supposed to say? You found yourself typing before you could stop yourself.

You: howdy

You facepalmed. What a dumb first message. You were trying to seduce this mysterious masked man. Charm him with your wit and then keep him for his dick and money. “Howdy”? Really?

You set your phone down on the table, sighing. Maybe you should make some food and cut your losses, but then your phone dinged.

Simon: Howdy? Don’t tell me your a southern-American prick now

You grinned, thank fuck you didn’t deter him.

You: oh i’m definitely not lol

You: so based on your bio are you like a sugar daddy???

His response was instantaneous.

Simon: Of sorts

You: ????? care to explain

Simon: If you’re free tonight we can meet up for a lay. If I enjoy myself then we can negotiate

You shouldn’t. It’s such a safety hazard. You really shouldn’t.

You: luckily for you i am

You: where do you want to meet?

•••

“Oh my fucking god Simon~” you mewed, throwing your head back and digging your hands into his mask. His balaclava was pure black and pulled up to rest on his crooked nose.

He grunted against your pussy, “Yeah? Tha’ feel good?” he smirked, lapping at your hole greedily.

You nodded, “So good. So fucking good,” you panted.

One hand moved up to press on your stomach, holding you down and forcing the pathetic thrusts you had been doing against his face to stop. His other hand moved up to palm your chest. He groped the fat, pinching it between his fingers and prodding at your nipple with his thumb.

He sucked your clit. Hard. Then pulled his face back, and smacked it with his hand.

“Filthy fucking thing. Just like you, hm?” the words sent a burning feeling deep into your belly and you felt a coil tighten.

“Yes- yes!” you gasped as he curled his fingers into your sopping cunt.

He tsked, “So needy, drooling all around m’ fingers. Can’t imagine how messy you’ll be once I finally give you m’ cock,”

“Please Simon- oh fuck, please, need your cock,”

You can feel him smiling against your pussy, “Yeah? Silly little girl needs me so bad, don’tcha sweet’eart?”

You nodded, “Please,”

•••

You moved your hand to block the sun in your eyes, grumbling as you moved to sit up. It was then that you felt the arm wrapped around your waist, and last nights memories came flooding back in.

“That’s it, be a good girl and give me one more. I believe in you,”

“So fucked out a’ready? We’ve barely even started,”

And then the-

“Shh, shhh you were such a good girl fer me,”

“I know, I know. But I have to get up, love. Got to clean up the mess you made, then I’ll be back to hold you,”

You didn't think he would be the type to do aftercare, but he did, and he did it wonderfully.

You turned around to face him, and you were met with light blue eyes lazily gazing upon you. Your cheeks heated.

"Morning," you muttered bashfully, unsure of what else to say.

Simon hummed, "Mornin' to you too, lovie. Lucky for you, after last nights performance you sure past the bloody test," he winked, morning voice gravely. Oh boy, this was going to be fun.

taglist

@frogtowne @glossysoap

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty ghost #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley call of duty

31 notes · View notes

tidalwaveofcolor · 2 days

Text

Aaron Minyard's Math Troubles

Aaron Minyard would rather be anywhere else in the world than where he is right now.

It was quite simple actually, Aaron hated math with a burning passion. It was the kind of hate that only developed because of other circumstances he had placed himself in. Being a pre-med student ment most of his studying hours were taken up by his biology and chemistry classes that he hardly had any time left for calculus. And that had worked out for him most of the year. Sure his grade in calculus wasn't anything special but one subpar math grade wouldn’t mess up all of his other hard work.

Or so he thought.

Honestly Aaron had been so busy with his other coursework that he had completely forgotten about his upcoming calculus midterm. At first he panicked, tearing through his backpack and trying to make sense of his hastily scribbled notes before giving up and checking to see if the professor posted their powerpoints online. No luck. So he turned to youtube, watching and rewatching videos on concepts he had never heard of. He even asked Nicky to help but only got a sheepish smile and a small sorry.

So yes, Aaron Minyard would rather be anywhere else in the world than where he was right now. Standing in front of Neil Jostens dorm room trying to swallow his pride and ask for help.

Andrew answered the door after Aaron knocked twice. His eyes flashed slightly with surprise before he schooled his expression and regarded Aaron with a rather bored look. It took almost everything in Aaron to not turn around right then and there. But, instead he cleared his throat before speaking.“I need to talk to Neil.”

Now the surprise in Andrew’s eyes was back. “Why?” he asked, regarding Aaron with some kind of emotion other than bored indifference.

Aaron clenched his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palm. “I need,” he paused here, trying to figure out what his next words should be, “assistance, on my math work.”

At that Andrew relaxed and seemed to be ever so slightly amused. He opened the door further before walking into the living space of his shared dorm and plopped down in one of the beanbags in front of the TV. “The junkie’s at his desk in the bedroom, try to not yell at each other will ya?”

And with no further ceremony, Aaron knocked on the door leading into Neil’s bedroom.

“You’re good to come in.” Neil’s voice sounded from behind the door. “Why would you even knock Andr-” Neil continued as he turned towards Aaron who had just opened the door. “What the hell are you doing here Minyard.” Neil’s mouth twisted into a grimace like the sight of Aaron caused him physical pain.

“Don’t look so disgusted, Andrew and I have the same face Asshole.” Aaron refuted as he approached the desk that Neil sat at. “And I need you to teach me how to do math.” Aaron offered his test study guide to Neil before he could say anything else.

“Well that's such a nice way to ask for something.” Neil grumbled, snatching the study guide from Aaron's hands. “Limits, derivatives, and integrals.” He hummed as he thumbed through the review sheet. “This all looks pretty easy, are you sure you need my help?”

Aaron grimaced at the word help. “I have a midterm tomorrow and if I fail I might have to retake the class depending on how I do on my final.”

“So basically, you forgot about your test and now you're whining to me because you don’t know what to do.” Neil summarized, a wicked grin growing on his lips at the thought of having something to hold over Aaron’ head.

“Yes.” Aaron mumbled through gritted teeth, already regretting even considering asking Neil for help.

“Fine,” Neil sighed. “Grab Andrew or Kevins chair and sit here.” He gestured vaguely to the area right beside him. “We won’t have time for all these concepts so you’ll just have to pick the ones you feel the least confident in. I’ll work on making some more practice problems for you while you solve the ones already on the review sheet.”

From there, Neil and Aaron settled into a tense routine accompanied by and equally as tense silence. Aaron would solve problems while Neil came up with more practice and graded the problems Aaron had already completed.

“Your notations all off, It’s not that fucking hard to write plus C after your integrals.” Neil hissed at him. “If you can’t even remember that, I don't know why I bothered to help you.”

“It’s not my fault we can’t all be math freaks like you.” Aaron shot back, venom dripping from every word.

They would continue like that back and forth before inevitably quieting down again to do the next problem. Then one of them would make a rude or snide comment and the cycle would repeat all over again.

“Why the fuck would you put plus C on this problem it’s not an indefinite integral.” It was Neil who started the fight this time. “Did you not listen to anything I told you five minutes ago?”

Aaron scoffed, “Five minutes ago you told me to add it asshole.”

Neil rolled his eyes, “yes but that was a completely different problem.” He pushed the problem in question closer to Aaron. “You see the difference.”

As much as Aaron hated to admit it, Neil was a good teacher. He was thorough in his critique but did well at explaining topics in a way that Aaron could understand. Though, Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget how Neil yelled at him for his, as Neil put it, notation so bad that a sixth grader would have written it better.

Aaron left Neils’ dorm four hours later with his papers in hand and feeling utterly exhausted. He couldn’t find it in himself to study anymore and instead opted to sleep before his exam.

The next day, Aaron sat in front of his midterm paper and said a quick prayer before opening it. He walked out of the exam hall one and a half hours later feeling just as exhausted as he had the night before.

Neil would never let Aaron live that night down, especially after learning he got an 86%.

#aftg #andrew minyard #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil #neil josten #the kings men #the raven king #aaron minyard #the foxes

28 notes · View notes

devilsminion-armandaniel · 21 hours

Text

Zaman was interested in the writers' decision not to dwell on whether Armand could kill Daniel — of course he could, but he doesn't, and that keeps the interview going. "We're just going to pretend that the charade [Armand's] been playing is OK?" Zaman wondered. "I think that's really fascinating." There's an undercurrent of danger to the exchanges between Daniel and the vampires, more than Daniel might even understand. But without Dubai, the show ends. Pushing that storyline forward boils down to an exercise in restraint, according to Jones. "You could end the show, you can end the scene anytime you want to, because this person can eat this person or set this person on fire," he said. "They don't want to do that. They actually really don't want it. They're really trying to figure out how to endure, how to live. Is [Daniel] coming there to help? Does he have something he wants to get out, too? There's all sorts of wonderful, dramatic possibilities. If Louis' memory is a capricious monster, so, too, is Daniel's. The journalist has history with both Louis and Armand dating back to 1970s San Francisco, a brief glimpse of which was shown in Season 1, with Luke Brandon Field playing young Molloy. The second season digs into what happened that night and chips away at what is standing in the way of Daniel's memories of Armand, but the two are busy enough orbiting each other in their current states. Said Bogosian, "If we assume that Daniel is a very powerful individual in his own right, no matter what kind of bruises he's carrying, powerful individuals, when they're in the presence of another powerful individual, are intrigued." Though Armand makes no secret of the fact that he'd rather Daniel not be present at all, Zaman echoed Bogosian's observation. "Armand is this vampire with so much power, but the power is more show than reality," he said. "I think Armand has less power in that room than he thinks." "It's not a clear adversarial relationship between Daniel and Louis and Armand," Anderson said. He mentioned that he was often surprised by his scene partners' reactions during rehearsals, while Bogosian said that the challenges he faced as an actor this season were different from anything he'd ever done in his long career. Jones described the penthouse as a pressure cooker. "The forward momentum of the show has always been Dubai," he said. "[It was] a two-person play; now it's a three-person play. Everything that is going on in the past and everything that is going on in Dubai is to hammer away at Louis." "

Interview with the Vampire Returns Once More, With Feeling x

#interview with the vampire #some Dubai goodies #not gonna lie #I;m mostly interested in this part of the show #along with the young daniel stuff off course #but they have spoiled so little of dubai i'm so curious about it

24 notes · View notes

mappingthesky · 17 hours

Note

prompt! ✈️🍌 have their first argument and ✈️ makes a joke to lighten things up but 🍌 takes it seriously and gets too emotional

“I’m just saying,” Nymphia pushes. She has to, because Jane is stupid and stubborn and doesn't know how to pick her battles. "A little restraint might do you good.”

“Right,” Jane scoffs. She knows Nymphia is trying to be helpful. She should know better, but she says it anyway. “You would know. Because you’re so good at shutting up.”

Nymphia doesn’t laugh. Like, at all. The noise is a hot little puff of air in the back of her throat, and it makes Jane feel bad instantly. Nymphia spins, hair whipping like a blade through the air.

“Really?”

Jane clicks her tongue, immediately regretful. “Nymphia.”

There's a moment where Nymphia's mouth opens and Jane thinks maybe things are going to be fine, but then Nymphia rolls her eyes. She doesn't think it's worth it, whatever she was about to say, because her mouth closes and it makes Jane's heart absolutely shudder.

“Whatever.”

“Hey,” Jane tries as Nymphia pushes past her. It's a lost cause.

“Hey!” Jane repeats, more shrill this time, following Nymphia down the hall. She’s already in front of the mirror and digging through her makeup bag, not acknowledging that Jane has trailed her to the bathroom.

“Nymph,” Jane leans against the doorframe. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

Nymphia's hum is flat, unconvinced. It makes something in Jane shift, warp out of place with a hideous grind. Nymphia rakes her hands through her hair, whips out a compact and a brush, starts touching up some none-existent flaw in her complexion. She doesn’t once glance at Jane, like she stopped seeing her the moment she stepped out of line. If the sun were to freeze over, Jane thinks it would look a bit like this.

“Baby,” Jane tries to slip past Nymphia's self-preservation mode, her voice now light and playful. “C’mon. Aside from that one time in bed, which I liked, by the way, you know I'd never tell you to shut-"

“Fuck off,” Nymphia bites. Her voice is a deliberate sort of steady, like she’s fighting to keep it that way.

Jane jolts just a little. It’s the first time Nymphia’s said something like that to her and sounded remotely like she meant it, and it makes her feel sick to her stomach. Jane is no stranger to rubbing people the wrong way; she feels bad about it more often than you’d think, but this is something else entierely. This is Nymphia. Nymphia, who puts up with Jane’s endless bullshit. Nymphia, who is soft-spoken and light-hearted and forgiving. Nymphia, who Jane knows is all too good for her.

Jane stands wordlessly, not sure whether she should get on her knees and start groveling or search for the nearest balcony to jump from. She's frozen, shell-shocked in the face of having a serious conversation, until Nymphia makes this gut-wrenching attempt to stifle a sob. Her face contorts as she tries to hold back tears and she twists away from her reflection, eyes screwed shut. She breaks, and the compact falls listlessly to the countertop.

“Oh, Nymphia.” Jane murmurs. It’s involuntary - the way she moves to protect Nymphia, even if it’s from herself. She's at Nymphia's side in an instant, hands firm on either shoulder like she’s trying to hold the pieces together. Nymphia shakes slightly, and the coo that escapes Jane's lips is the sound of her heart fucking breaking.

“Hey,” she pleads, smoothing Nymphia's hair behind her shoulder. Her face is still turned away, Jane still not entirely deserving to look at it. "I'm so sorry, my love. I never should've-"

Nymphia turns sharply, and Jane braces herself for Nymphia’s fury, but she looks much more sad than angry: her eyes are downturned and spilling over and her bottom lip is pouted, trembling.

“So why would you say that!" she whines, tears bubbling through her words. "You know how anxious I get about coming off-“

"I know, baby," Jane interrupts, desperate to soothe Nymphi, desperate to preserve whatever . “I would never-“

“Can I speak?” Nymphia’s voice strains, frustrated, like it’s physically exhausting for her to be louder than Jane. Jane’s mouth, mid-speech, snaps shut.

Nymphia releases the breath she's been holding into the space that Jane's silence allows.

“You know how I anxious I am. You know I worry about that,” Nymphia says, eyes to the ceiling, delicate fingers dabbing underneath her diamond-wet lashes. Her tone is soft again, almost normal if it weren’t thick with tears. “I trust you with that stuff. You know I talk more when I'm with you. You can’t use that against me, Jane. It’s not fair.”

Jane just nods, but doesn't say anything. She's not sure that she ever should. Not sure she still deserves a tongue, or a beating heart for that matter.

Nymphia sniffles, waits, finally looks at Jane again. “You can go now,” she nudges her to speak.

She has so many things to say she almost doesn't know where to start. She thinks hard on every word before it leaves her mouth. “I'm so fucking sorry, Nymph," Jane mutters, "I didn't mean it. I love the way that you are. I love to listen to you. You know that, don't you?"

Nymphia chews at the inside of her cheek, chin quivering a bit. She nods, a quiet "I know" crossing her lips.

"It was a stupid joke," Jane smooths her hair, "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't funny," Nymphia mumbles, pouty.

"I know," Jane reaches out, tentative, pressing her thumb to a stray tear on Nymphia's cheek. "I know. I'm a fucking asshole."

"I'm on your side, too," Nymphia whines, tilts her head back, a tiny temper tantrum. "Like, why are you so defensive?"

"I know you are," Jane's voice is heavily lilted, apologetic. "I know, baby, I'm sorry. You were right about everything. I need to shut up. Clearly."

Nymphia almost giggles, and Jane, who has been tense for all of the last ten minutes, starts to loosen.

"Just. Don't say that again. Please." Nymphia says and Jane nods, an overwhelming surge of relief washing over her when Nymphia sniffles and tucks her face into Jane's neck. "And don't ever tell me to shut up."

"Never," Jane kisses her hair, "never, I promise."

They're quiet for a moment. "Unless I say it's okay," Nymphia adds. "You know. In bed. I liked it too."

"I know," Jane says, because she does. She was already thinking about it. "I'll ask first. Okay?"

She feels Nymphia's lips moving into a smile against her collarbone. "Okay."

#jane you bitch i hated making you be mean to nymphia #don't ever pull that shit again #im so serious ENOUGH #nymphia honey you can do no wrong #pls keep blabbing #THANK YOU ANON #LOVE PROMPTS MORE PLS #she writes #planymphia

31 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 3 days

Note

how would the protagonist become the herald? without corypheus to blow the temple up?

that sure is a question. to which i have answers. definitely. for sure

okay my thought is roughly that there is still a rifts problem, which is likely to be a natural consequence of, you know, however many terrified mages there are being chased across the continent. i think that’s viable without whatever corypheus was doing, and is a much more believable but still dangerous fallout of widespread mage conflict than “the mages are crazy and kill indiscriminately!” i also can imagine that old god solas, if we’re doing that, is finding this a helpful cover to work on his own magical agenda, so we can still have an angle where his mistakes lead to the herald being affected with something along the lines of the anchor. he’s also likely to specifically engage with the black city, because of its link to the old gods and their fall, if he’s seeking more information about his own background

if the black city appeared through a window to a large number of your average people of thedas, and that window could be opened and closed at the will of a figure seemingly blessed with holy light and possibly not otherwise a mage at all, perhaps thus saving a city from this enormous rift, conclusions might be jumped to!

this is incredibly vague i know, i am really a vibes person not a logistics person i’m doing my best here. nevertheless i don’t think it’s that much more half-baked than why everyone in vanilla dai suddenly jumps to the andraste’s herald conclusion, except in this universe the point is that the people you are with would be actively encouraging this perception because they are the underdogs who have to do that or die, instead of the extremely weird caveat in vanilla dai where they’re somehow raising an army based on Not Not Saying That, and the protagonist’s active and public disagreement has zero consequences at all

it’s also still easy enough to wrangle a woman to appear behind the herald through the rift as “andraste”, which seems to be the deciding factor in the vanilla game. obviously it wouldn’t be the divine, here. perhaps a companion for the origin, or perhaps someone created the illusion on purpose. lots of directions to go

to me andraste’s herald says, “this person is a harbinger of the end times and the maker’s return” so i would be digging up everything the chant of light has to say about where the world is headed and what might be considered a sign of that. which is really fun for drawing on real history as well because people who believe the end times are coming right this instant are always up to some stuff

#i said this is underbaked and i am working through it as i go. i would not lie to u

36 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 9 hours

Note

Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

------------------------------------------------------

"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #FINISHED A FIC AT LAST....#sailoreuterpe

20 notes · View notes