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moonbeamwritings · 1 year

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haikyuu boys and little moments of joy .*･｡ﾟ

↳ ft. nishinoya, bokuto, kuroo, and atsumu

NISHINOYA calls to you from the end of the freezer aisle, the freezer door propped open with his hip as he clutches what appears to be a small box in his hands. When you come up on his left side, he fixes you with what you can only describe as a face-splitting grin. His eyes sparkle as he holds the box of mango popsicles out to you. "They have them! These are my favorite." You remember the box all too well; it's one that had sat in your freezer for three, maybe four, days max before the popsicles disappeared entirely. "I thought they stopped carrying them! I'm getting them." Yuu's excitement is contagious, and you find a smile of your own working its way onto your face. As he drops not one, but two boxes of the frozen treat into your shopping cart and starts to push it again, his joy refusing to wane, you loop your arm through his and squish your cheek into his shoulder.

BOKUTO starts pulling clothes from the dryer and plopping them into your laundry bin to be folded. And as a bundle of socks makes its journey to the basket, a stray purple one jumps from the pile, but before it can hit the floor, Koutarou catches it with his foot. His eyes immediately shoot to meet yours, disbelief clouding his features for only a moment before his slacked jaw is morphing into a grin so wide it squishes his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. You catch a glimpse of his sweet dimples and your heart catches in your chest. "Baby, did you see that!? That was awesome!" You grin back, adding to his excitement by gushing about how cool it was and that you can't believe he just did it. He beams under your attention, his smile so bright you feel like you need to squint to view it properly. With unrestrained joy, he kicks the sock up and catches it in his hand. "I'm on a roll!"

KUROO stands before you in your shared bedroom, a new outfit adorning his body. He'd been so eager to share it with you after his trip to the store that he could hardly contain himself, pulling you up from the couch and down to your bedroom mere seconds after coming through the front door. The outfit is simple but sleek — a soft black sweater and perfectly-tailored black slacks. He lifts his arms a bit and does a little spin, a proud smile evident on his features when he turns back to face you. "Well," he starts, eagerly, "what do you think? Do you like them?" Before you can even respond, you watch as his eyes shift to grin at himself in the mirror. "I was thinking of wearing it with that white collared shirt you bought me underneath and those nice dress shoes I bought last year." He's so pleased with it that it makes him, and his new outfit, all the more handsome. You tell him as much, and his excitement only mounts, pulling you in to pepper kisses all over your cheeks.

ATSUMU's eyes widen as soon as the song starts. You could recognize the opening beats of it anywhere — a song Atsumu has proudly proclaimed is his favorite almost every time you've heard it. And this time, like all the others, he cranks the dial on the radio and shifts his eyes away from the road for only a moment to tell you with a cute grin, "Ahh, I love this song!" He sings along, bobbing his head to the beat and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before reaching across the center console to tap the beat against your thigh. You're so wrapped up in his excitement that you can't help but join in, singing along with both Atsumu and the radio. The action leads to an impromptu, and very passionate, karaoke session — one that leaves you both with an ache in your cheeks from smiling.

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mylovelies-docx · 11 months

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Sorry, I Love You - Prologue

We did it! We did it! We did it! Yay!

Since you guys are awesome and helped me reach 100 followers, here is the prologue to my new Bucky x Reader fic Sorry, I Love You inspired by the Stray Kids song of the same title (also, stream 5-Star on your favorite music app!)

This is a friends-with-benefits - to - strangers - to - something that I haven't written yet. I've got 5 chapters completed and no idea where the story will take me. I'll add tags as we go!

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, angst, unrequited feelings, Natasha being a Good Friend. This is just the Prologue, so a lot more to come!

Word Count: 700

Let's go!

You hide your feelings as deep as you can, but they bubble over. You can’t help but stare dreamily when his face morphs in happiness as his eyes squint when he laughs with the guys over a pint of Asgardian liquor.

You know your face says everything you won’t. When you meet Natasha’s gaze from across the table as Bucky throws his head back in an exaggerated groan at something Sam said, you immediately straighten your spine and wipe all traces of love sickness from your face. She softens her brows and gives you a pitying look you can’t stand.

You stand from where you’re sitting, disturbing the group’s conversation going on around you while you’re distracted by the highlights and shadows of Bucky’s mouth. His bright blue eyes meet yours, slightly fuzzy from the amount of Asgardian liquor flowing through his system, and he smiles at you from one side of his mouth.

“Where ya’ goin’, sweetheart?” Bucky basically yells from three seats away. “The party ain’t over yet!”

You laugh and drain what’s left of your drink before slamming it down and taking a small step backwards. You scrunch your face up and shake your head at the burn.

“It is for me, Barnes. You guys know it’s way past my bedtime.”

Everyone either laughs at your self-deprecating statement or starts complaining about you being lame. You smile brightly as you tell everyone good night and make your way out of the room. You immediately know you're not alone in leaving the table when you hear more exaggerated complaining from the group following someone else’s goodbye.

“Hey!”

Nat’s voice reaches your ears just as she grabs your arm and walks beside you. You both make your way towards the residential quarters where you and Nat share the same floor. The walk is quiet. Neither of you speak all the way to the elevator and the entire ride up. The hand she grabbed you with has looped through your elbow and pulled you close. You both lean back against the shiny surface of the carriage wall, listening to the soft AC/DC coming from the speakers. Freaking Tony Stark, you think to yourself, hiding a small, fond smile.

Nat breaks the silence as the ring of the bell ushers the opening of the elevator doors. Her arm tightens around your own, pulling you closer into her side.

“Are you good to go on the mission with Barnes later this year?” Although Nat asks the question bluntly, her tone of voice is gentle.

You snort and turn to look at her with a confused look on your face.

“Yeah?” you respond. You know that she knows that you know why she needs to ask the question, but you refuse to admit anything out loud.

“It’s just,” Natasha sighs and drops your arm, turning to face you, “this is a close quarters kind of mission – I don’t want you doing something stupid.”

“Wow, Nat.” You huff and cross your arms protectively in front of your chest, continuing down the hallway at the slow pace you’d set. “Tell me how you really feel.”

She closes her eyes and waves a hand in front of her face, acting like she’s batting her last words out of the air.

“Not stupid,” she clarifies, “I meant I don’t want your feelings for Barnes to make you think there’s something there when there really isn't.” Nat gives you a reproachful look when you start to deny it. “I know this is something you and he talk about sometimes, where he says he’s not looking for a relationship. But, hon, you’re always looking at him like you want one.”

You stare straight ahead to avoid her gaze, worrying your lips with the blunt edges of your teeth. A jittery, painful feeling fills you at the mere thought of whatever it is you have with Bucky ending like you know it will. This ‘relationship’ that isn't really a relationship.

“I don’t mean to,” you whisper pitifully.

“I know,” she soothes, removing your lip from your teeth with her thumb and using the other hand to rub your arm. “It’s just a crush – it’ll go away.”

You both hear the doubt in her words.

PART 1

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #100 followers #Sorry

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dailyreverie · 6 months

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Chain 'round my neck

A/N: ...can you still tell taylor swift is my entire personality this year? Whatever. Title comes from the song "Call it what you want" from Taylor Swift.

@flufftober - Day 23 Trinket

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader

Word count: 820

Flufftober masterlist

He was going to hate you. Steven was going to get home any minute now, and he was going to hate you. You had been looking for the necklace for what felt like hours now, everything you had in your handbag now scattered on the bed, your boxes of earrings emptied out the same way, yet the very same necklace Steven gave you for your birthday, with your initial beautifully carved in gold, was nowhere to be found.

Did someone ripped it on the bus? Did you take it off at work and don’t remember? Damn it, you didn’t even had a good excuse for it and you could already hear the clink of Steven’s keys outside the door. “I’m home!” He called, with his usual chirpy tone and a smile in his voice.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, going through your scattered belonging one last time before facing him.

“I have a surprise for you, love!” The excitement in his voice only twisted your stomach more, guilt eating your insides.

“Steven, honey, before you say anything-”

“Is everything alright, love?” Steven found you sitting by the edge of your bed, the place you landed after giving up with your search. He joind your side, backpack still across his body, finding your hand and looking for your eyes.

“No, it’s not alright.” You took a deap breath, bracing yourself and looking for the strength you needed. “I lost the necklace you gave me.” Your eyes were filled with tears when you looked up at him, and even though you expected him to get mad, you still squeezed his hand; it was natural by now, looking for his reassurance any time you were upset.

“Oh. Honey you didn’t-” Steven tried to stop you, but you kept going about it anyway.

“No, no, I did. I lost it, and I don’t remember how or when, I don’t even remember if I wore it this morning now and I feel like shit because I love it so much and-”

“I have it.” He spoke a bit louder, only so you could hear him above your nervous rant.

“What?” You asked after a beat. “You have it?”

Searching in his bag, Steven pulled out a little red velvet bag and placed it on your hand, leaning to see your reaction only to find you confused.

“I took it this morning because I needed to get it fixed for this.” He signaled the bag with his head, waiting for you to move and open it, not realizing how confused you were until he looked at you and saw your furrowed eyebrows. Steven chuckled, kissing your cheek sweetly, making you turn to look at him with tear-filled eyes. “Here, let me.”

With delicate fingers Steven took the small bag and untied the cords, opening it and pulling your necklace out of it. Extending it over your hand, you felt your heart swelling when, right next to your golden initial, you saw a golden moon - a crescent moon, pointing to the right just as the moon in their suits did.

“Seven… this is…” You were speechless, looking at the moon in your hand not knowing what to say.

“I saw it at an antique shop, the one we like by the museum. I saw it last week when I went for a book and it made me think of you, and how beautiful it would look on you. I needed the chain to get that little loop on top just right, I’m sorry, I should have-” He stopped when your hand reached his cheek, cupping it before meeting his lips in the middle.

“It’s beautiful.” You beamed, kissing him again and feeling him smile too. “Thank you,” You whispered, not trusting your own voice after going through so many emotions only to land in the love you had for him.

He swiftly took it from your hand, softly turning your shoulder to guide you to face away from him so he could place the necklace were it belong around your neck. When you faced him again you were both smiling like a goofs, the reflection of the sunset outside casting over your room making the charm shine.

“Now we’re all matching.” Steven said with a grin, his eyes locked with yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close for an embrace that made the remains of the worry and anxiety you felt before fade away, leaving nothing but the endless love you felt for each other.

“I’m sorry I freaked out.” You whispered, now feeling a bit embarrassed.

He chuckled and held you tighter, his voice soft and affectionate. “You know I love a good treasure hunt.”

Maybe you necklace was never lost, yet still, you had found once again how truly lucky you were to have Steven in your life, making every moment as enchanting as a crescent moon on a starry night.

🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

#flufftober 2023 #flufftober #day 23 #marvel #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant headcanon #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #steven grant fluff #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fic #steven grant blurb

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milgram-tournament · 4 months

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MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 1, Match 10 DOUBLE vs. DEEP COVER

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for DOUBLE:

-Another classic case of the Deco*27 sound being perfectly utilized.

-The part with Mikoto calling his mom =(

-Really emphasizes John’s perspective and how bad Mikoto’s had it over the last while.

-The last “I’m sorry”… like bro you didn’t have to do that to me.

-The visuals are very appealing. Really brings out a interesting perspective into Mikoto’s experience with DID.

---

Double is my favorite song in the entirety of Milgram. The song gives us such a good insight on John, his wants and needs- all while being an absolute banger. The MV is also amazingly made, it's quick says so much about John and Mikoto's feelings. While it's shorter than the other songs, every second is absolutely perfect and fits in well with the rest. There's no parts of the song that aren't as good as the others- they're all wonderfully made and there's a reason I've been playing it on loop ever since it came out. Please vote Double!

Propaganda for DEEP COVER:

first of all. the girl is already at a disadvantage because the MV has not come out yet. think about this. think about how her mv will be a banger. probably

the parallels to Undercover are SO AMAZING. like, how kotoko being a foil to es and the prison itself has lead to a lot of references to undercover in her t2 song: the "UNDERS" before each innocent prisoner's line, how each line summarizes a prisoner's crime, IT'S ALL SO YUMMY

also, since she knows so much about everyone's crimes, this implies she overheard EVERY VOICE DRAMA while hidden in that one wardrobe. girlboss behaviour

the beat is SO INCREDIBLE. VERY DANCY SONG. she would have the best anime openings fr fr

the absolute BALLS to make a song dissing the other prisoners. those last few verses?? amazing. sorry if she slandered your faves, but I WILL FOREVER DEFEND A PUNK WOMAN'S RIGHT OF FREE SPEECH

seigi girl moment. again. it's like the national anthem of seigi girls

the triage parallels are eating my brain alive SEND HELPP

i had a dream that the mv was like 20 mins long because they had made an entire anime episode about her in the middle of the mv. that unfortunately won't happen, but i hope it's funny enough for you to cast a vote for deep cover 🙏

anyways. i will STAND BY MY CANCELLED WIFE NO MATTER WHAT

---

Oh my god it’s so perfect, it has a perfect beat, and the parallels to UNDERCOVER are amazing!! It perfectly conveys how Kotoko feels as if her and ES are quite similar, and her being ES’s “fangs”. It’s catchy, shows feeling, and just manages to be PERFECT!!

#milgram #milgramtournament #mikoto kayano #kayano mikoto #kotoko yuzuriha #yuzuriha kotoko #john kayano #kayano john #(ooc: to everyone who is eagerly awaiting the deep cover MV #may I perhaps interest you in some alien stage? heheh)

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desert-fern · 10 months

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I Just Need a Hug - Mickey Garcia X Reader

Pairing: Mickey Garcia X Reader

Summary: Your week has been awful; your boss is a dick, you're overworked, and you just want to scream. When your husband beats you home, you can only hope to keep it together long enough for you to handle it on your own. Unfortunately, Mickey has a different idea.

Warnings: your boss is a dick (a small dose of misogyny for added measure), Mickey being an absolute gem, cuddles, crying, bad days, barely proofread, again very self indulgent...

Word Count: 3k

===

Fucking men! You had had it up to the atmosphere with how done you are. In another spectacular combination of how much shit you could take, your day had sucked. Your supervisor, a middle aged man who was clearly done with life, had decided to make his problems your problems and now you were now stuck managing two entire labs as well as supervising your own projects. So it was only natural that your head was pounding as you pushed your way through the double doors leading to the parking garage.

Everything hurt and you felt restless, like there were ants crawling under your skin. It was enough to make you shudder. You took a deep breath, blowing out the air and trying to get the proverbial monkey off your back. But it was no use. The monkey stayed stuck, and your mind continued to race through the endless possibilities of how you could have been better, how you could have been more organised, how everything seemed to fall at your feet.

It just wasn’t fair.

None of it was. You were good at your job, you wouldn’t have been promoted if you weren’t. So why then, did this one fucking man feel the need to belittle you and act like you were his emotional trash can?

The thought was enough to make you cry as you drove home. Road noise blurred together with a stupid repetitive song on the radio and it was making you more anxious by the second. But turning it off didn’t help.

It was like whatever was crawling under your skin had settled there, content to move around as much as it wanted. And it did. You felt itchy, your head pounding with both a headache and from the stress that clung to you from work.

Your drive passed in a blur. It definitely wasn’t the safest you’d ever been while driving but your head had firmly trapped you in a feedback loop, forcing you to relive the painful moments from today, over and over and over.

Sometimes your brain was a cruel fucker.

Parking in your driveway was simultaneously the best and the worst thing to happen to you today. It was a relief to be home, to finally get to see your husband after he’d been gone for a week. Of course you’d seen him yesterday, had your own little reunion last night, and early this morning, but it also meant that you couldn’t just shrug this funk off like you were used to doing.

Mickey would goad you into telling him what happened. His kind brown eyes were always able to pull a confession from your lips, whether you wanted to or not. It endeared him to you and frustrated you to no end because some days, you just didn’t want to talk.

Trudging up the steps, you unlocked the door and dropped your bags on the floor of the entryway. Your keys clattered in the little bowl that they lived in while not in use, and you could hear Mickey moving around nearby. He was either in the kitchen or the living room, and you weren’t ready to talk just yet. So you slipped your shoes off, creeping up the stairs as quietly as you could.

You weren’t avoiding him on purpose.

Who were you kidding? You definitely were.

But you had your reasons.

You just needed some space, that’s all. Time to de-people as Mickey had taken to calling it. But the way your head was buzzing was new. You had only just flopped back on the bed, blowing out a deep breath, when your clothes suddenly felt too tight, your throat too dry, and your mind too busy.

You drew a shuddering breath, trying to will away this funk that had settled deep in your bones. “Just get changed,” you told yourself. “You’ll feel way better.” The calm and rational part of your brain was whirring brokenly, clunking along to the same rhythm as the pounding in your head.

Hands shaking, you undid your belt and struggled to undo the button of your work pants, making you swear violently, and the frustration bubbled over until you could do nothing but slide to the floor and bury your face in your knees.

Mickey had heard the thump from upstairs and turned the music down in the kitchen to listen for any noise to indicate what had just happened. “Mi vida? You okay?”

You heard his voice from downstairs, the not so subtle emphasis on his last question. He knew.

Fuck.

You were trying so hard not to worry him. He’d just gotten home after a routine training course a few hours away in Lemoore that had had him away for just over a week. Mickey would be tired. He didn’t need to deal with this.

You could keep it together for dinner.

So you drew in a few more shaky breaths, pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, drawing bright sparks of colour flashing through your vision, and stood up. A few more tries and you undid the button on your pants, pulling them off as though they would bite you and throwing them in the direction of the hamper. Your shirt was next and you found yourself flopping back onto the bed, groaning. The task was simple enough, but between the sensory overload, the tag of your shirt scraping the back of your neck, and the sheer overwhelming nature of the task, you found yourself unwilling to even attempt it.

It could have been minutes or hours later, but you had plucked up enough courage and stripped off your work shirt before rifling through your husband’s drawers to find the softest, most worn shirt he had: the baby blue one that he had purposefully bought a little larger.

It felt like security. Like a safety net.

And it always made him smile when he saw you in it. Mickey had never told you why it made him grin his thousand watt smile, but you loved it because the glimmer in his brown eyes always seemed to shine brighter whenever you grabbed this shirt.

Putting it on felt like heaven. The soft fabric draped over you, warming where your skin touched it, and you could finally breathe. Mickey’s cologne washed over you, replacing the anger, the frustration that had coursed through your veins with the comfort and warmth that always radiated from your husband.

For the first time since you left work, you were able to draw a full breath.

All because of your husband.

Downstairs, Mickey had gone back to making dinner, listening over the music as he heard you moving around. The creaking of the wooden steps had given away your journey from the bedroom, but he still pretended not to see you until you wrapped your arms around him from behind, burying your face against his shoulder blade.

“Hey Mouse.” Your voice was muffled against his skin, very glad at how your husband had forgone a shirt this evening. He was warm from the stove and shone in the dwindling golden light from the sun through the window. The short curls that Mickey had let grow out in his time between deployments, glimmered in that same light, scattering threads of gold through his normally deep black hair.

You had been awestruck by his beauty when you had first laid eyes on him, and now? Now, even with your eyes screwed shut and face pressed into his back, you could see him behind your closed eyelids as clear as could be.

“Mi vida.” You felt the rumble of his voice beneath your cheek and grimaced slightly when Mickey pulled away, the pan before him clanking against the back of the stove as he turned off the burner. “I missed you, carina.”

“I missed you too.”

He drew you back into his arms, pressing a few kisses to your temple as you pushed your face into his neck, breathing him in. “No kisses for me, carina? What’s a man to do?” Mickey’s gentle teasing had you moving to look at him despite your better judgement, knowing that he’d seen right through the feeble mask you’d slapped on before coming downstairs.

“Sorry baby. My head’s busy tonight.” Mickey glanced down at you before grinning into your kiss. “I missed you all week, Mouse. The house was really quiet.” Your voice was small as you suddenly fought off a wave of tears that wanted to fall, the shift in your body language jarringly abrupt and had your husband glancing down in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing’s wrong. What are you making?”

“That spicy pasta you love. What’s going on?” Mickey dismissed your attempt at shaking off his question and the furrow between his brows had your stomach sinking. The intelligence in those chocolate brown eyes combined with that little furrow made you want to dash your soul at his feet and beg him to fix you, but you couldn’t.

You wouldn’t drop this on him on his first day back.

Trapped in your thoughts, you went over the last week in your head. Your boss had called you too emotional three days ago in a poor excuse for a reason why you were suddenly doing more work for less money. You fought him on his excuses, calling his bluff at every turn, demanding answers.

The dogged nature that had worked in your boss’s favour too many times had been turned on him, and as expected, he was not a fan. You knew that you were entitled to these answers, that you deserved an explanation for your troubles.

“This is why I don’t work with women. They can’t be objective. Stop being hysterical and get back to work.” Your boss’s words echoed through your head, reigniting the frustration, the suffocating feeling you had had and turned your husband’s arms into what felt like prison bars.

“… vida? Mi vida, what happened? Where’d you go?” Snapping back to reality, you jolted back, pulling out of your husband’s arms. You heard the confused sound that slipped from his throat and it sent waves of regret crashing against your heart. “Mi vida?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, staring at your bare feet. You knew that Mickey was watching you, you could feel the heat of his eyes as they ran over you. He was hurt, that much you knew.

And you wanted to fix it, but it was like your mouth had been sewn shut, your mind’s vocabulary erased in an instant. You couldn’t describe what you felt, let alone explain it to your husband as you stood lamely before him.

The lump in your throat grew as tears pricked your eyes. You squeezed them shut, trying to prevent the waves of emotions slamming into you, but it was no use.

With a strangled sound, you crumpled to the floor, drawing your arms around yourself and letting the dam break. Tears flowed down your cheeks in rivers, your breathing turning ragged and desperate as you cried.

Mickey was beside you in a heartbeat, pulling you onto his lap, and holding you to his chest, uncaring of your tears wetting his skin. His heart broke for you, wanting so desperately to fix whatever had made you break down like this. Distantly, he heard his mother telling him “Mijo, sometimes a girl just needs to cry. You don’t have to fix a thing, just be there,” and he resolved to do just that.

So he sat there on the cold, hard floor, arms wrapped around you and let you cry away the pain and tension of the last few days. He had begun humming gently, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, and occasionally, letting reassurances fall from his tongue in the Spanish he knew you loved to hear.

If a few tears fell from his own eyes, he would never tell you. You needed this cathartic release and Mickey was just glad that he had been here for you. “I’ve got you, mi vida. It’s okay. Let it out.”

You could feel the heat of Mickey’s palm gently moving up and down your back, drawing you back into reality as your sobs quieted and eventually stopped all together. “Mickey,” you murmured into his neck.

“I’m here, carina. I’m not going anywhere.” The softness of his voice damn near set you off again and you cuddled closer to his chest like you were trying to crawl into his skin. Mickey kissed your forehead gently, burying his nose in your hair, trying to offer a fraction of the comfort you gave him on a day to day basis.

“I know, Mouse.” Your voice was hoarse from your sobs and you hated how wet it sounded. It sounded weak to your ears and it was exactly the kind of reaction that your boss would condemn. “I’m sorry.”

“Carina. Look at me.” Your husband’s voice was quiet but firm, refusing to hear another apology fall from your lips. “Never apologize to me for something like this. You hear?”

“But..”

“But nothing.” Mickey had taken your chin between his fingers, gently pulling your face from his neck to meet his eyes. “We said ‘for better or worse’, didn’t we?”

At your wordless nod, he continued. “Then you know I mean it. What would you say if I apologized after a nightmare, hmm? That you are here, that you aren’t going anywhere, right?”

Another nod.

“So believe me, mi vida, when I say that it would take a whole lot more than you ugly crying all over me for me to even entertain the idea of leaving.” Mickey’s chest rose and fell under your hands, breathing deeply after his speech. “Te amo, carina. Te amo mucho.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, leaning forward to rest your head against his. Your heart felt lighter after you cried, but you still felt strangely numb.

Mickey kissed you gently, your first real kiss since you had come home. The first time you had kissed him in a week. It was like coming home and when he pulled away, you nearly whined. “None of that now,” Mickey whispered. “You still have to tell me what happened to make you so upset.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but quickly shut it at the look in your husband’s eyes. There would be no dissuading him from this. You swallowed harshly, ducking your head back into his neck. You were still trying to avoid the gentle curiosity and worry that blended together in the eyes of the man you loved. “Had a shit day and I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mmm.” Mickey’s quiet hum made you smile for some reason. “You know mi vida, a woman I love very much once told me that letting a bad day fester is never good, and that the best cure is a big hug and ranting and raving like a lunatic.”

You groaned, hating when he used your own words against you. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Did you? I could have sworn that that was my other wife,” he teased, chuckling at the face you made at his words. “Not to worry, carina. There never has been anyone but you since the day I met you.”

“I know Mouse. I know.” Your head had gone fuzzy with the multitude of ways to explain your past week but none of them flowed together in a way that communicated even a fraction of your experience. “I… I just don’t know how to begin…” you trailed off, risking a look up at his face.

Mickey was watching you, his rich brown eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. An unspoken intensity lingered there, but knowing your husband, he wouldn’t pry. But he never had to. His gentle eyes, his strong arms around you, and the soft strength in which he carried himself never failed to make you feel safe and you wanted to spill your guts. Dash every hope, wish, prayer, and thought you had made during the week at Mickey’s feet. You wanted… Well, you didn’t know what you wanted.

Sensing your dissociation, Mickey poked the end of your nose, chuckling when you jolted at the feeling. “Just start from where you can, okay mi vida?”

And you did. Your story rambling and twisting as you tried to detail every last horrible second of your week when Mickey was away. He sat quietly, listening to every stumbled over word, nodding and making small sounds of acknowledgement, support, or whatever the moment called for, and you found yourself falling more for your husband.

Once you had finished your rant, you seemed to collapse into Mickey’s chest, your palm coming up to rest against his pec, settling into his arms. He tilted your chin up to gaze at your face, smiling and began peppering your face with kisses until you started giggling.

“Mouse!” You shrieked, swatting at him playfully.

Mickey kissed your chin once more before moving to kiss you gently. After a week apart, kissing him seemed to act like a balm over the wounds inflicted during the week. “I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

You slowly untangled yourself from him, standing up. “Come on. You have to be hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I certainly am.” He stood after you, moving quickly and caging you against the counter. “But I never said anything about food…”

“Mouse…” Your nickname for your husband came out in a gasp as he stood over you. He moved to drop to his knees, but you caught his elbow, pulling him back up and hugging him tightly. “I just need this first. And maybe food because I didn’t get lunch today.”

Your husband smiled, content to just stay like this, with his arms tight around you. Sex could wait, food and what you had deemed cuddles were what you needed most right now. And Mickey would be damned if he didn’t give you what you needed. Even if you just needed a hug.

===

A/N: If this came to you on a day that you needed it, I'm so happy that it could be a smidge of comfort for you. If you need more cuddles, check out my one and only Bradley one-shot "A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"

Tagging a few possible interested people: @roosterforme @joaquinwhorres @sarahsmi13s @roosters-girl @startrekfangirl2233 @dakotakazansky @cherrycola27 @cassiemitchell @thedroneranger @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @twsssmlmaa @becks-things @blue-aconite @teacupsandtopgun @beccaanne814

#I Just Need a Hug #mickey fanboy garcia imagine #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia x you #purely self indulgent #idk idk

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months

Note

Omg the first time they held each other was so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love starlet au musings so much. Now I HAVE to ask…. First kiss?

The first kiss is appropriately dramatic, given the fact they're both rather talented actresses. It's in their blood. It's in their DNA. Of course it had to be dramatic.

A couple of months after the night Lexa spent the night on Clarke's couch, holding her close and feeling her weight as she slept, they find themselves in this weird state of limbo. They've kind of given up on all pretenses of pretending to not want to be in contact at all times, but at the same time... they fall back into this habit of keeping each other at a vague arm's length.

It's not nearly as bad as before. Not after Clarke had woken up alone on her couch to only a post-it stuck on the table next to her head that read,

"Thanks for letting me lead. Even if I do have two left feet...

L."

in neat, looping script.

She'd spent the next 7 hours of the day mentally berating herself for having not only crossed such an intimate line, but having basically made such a fool of herself in front of her not-crush right after. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things when her extensively thought out and painstakingly crafted text of, "Hey, so, sorry for getting pathetic on you last night. Yikes," is met with a simple, "Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I'm much more pathetic than that when I'm just hungry for lunch." Followed immediately by another, "If helps, you're actually kind of pretty when you cry. You should put that on your resume 👀"

And it does help.

It helps because it lets Clarke breathe a little more easy; lets her feel like she can laugh at that white flag of confirmation that she hadn't gone and ruined absolutely everything.

So yes, after that night things change between them. But not in any kind of earth shattering way. They still text everyday, but the calls become longer. More frequent. Good morning texts and bids for good nights and sweet dreams, all peppering the tail ends of too-deep conversations for people who are supposed to be just friends. All the flights and the downtime, and all the hurry up and waiting of their lives, is set to the backdrop of a new message's chime. Lexa now saved in Clarke's phone as Fred Astaire (which earns her a very nonplussed selfie)

Neither mention that Clarke was saved in Lexa's as Rosemary...

It's not until Lexa's birthday that the house of cards they've been building for all those months finally came tumbling down.

Because Lexa had to work.

She had to work - out of town - for the entire goddamn week, and there's nothing at all she can do about it. Which was how she found herself sitting in the Primeclass lounge of the airport, head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

Because of course Clarke had called her at exactly the stroke of midnight just to wish her a happy birthday before her red eye was scheduled to take off. Because of course Clarke had insisted on singing that stupid song right into her ear, all syrupy words and husky voice slightly off-key, which meant she'd set an alarm just to make sure she wouldn't miss it for something as trivial as sleep.

Lexa had barely held it together long enough to get her off the phone - to lie and say they were almost done boarding and that she had hurry and go. It'd taken everything in her just to not let her voice wobble, whispering her thank you's and a gentle urging for Clarke to go back to bed.

Because of course the second the call ended Lexa finally, finally, let herself break.

Very, very messily.

And she didn't care if people looked or took pictures or made up ridiculous theories, because it was just too goddamn much to keep buried inside. She'd been strong about this for so long it felt like she was suffocating under its weight. As though all the good pieces of herself were slowly dying.

Because she loved Clarke. She loved Clarke with her entire broken heart, and there was not one single thing she could do to stop it.

She had tried.

And so she held her head in her hands and hiccuped through a hundred silent sobs until a nice woman eased her way over and said as gently as she possibly could that it was her last chance for boarding.

The next week flew by in a haze of early call times and late night reshoots that had Lexa almost too busy to wallow. Almost. But between her own internal revelations and a set of extremely poorly timed publicity shots being posted of a certain blonde on the arm of her leading man, both enjoying a carefree and flirty looking night out on the town, Lexa cobbled together a rough draft of a plan. A smart plan. A logical plan. A plan to ask Clarke to meet her somewhere and just talk this crazy whole thing through.

A plan that went right out the window about an hour after she had landed back home, and somehow had found herself on Clarke's apartment building's front stoop.

And the truth was that even though she apparently couldn't wait, she had every intention of just going there to talk. To knock on Clarke's door and explain her feelings like a perfectly rational adult. Except then there was Clarke, with those piercing blue eyes and all that beautiful, curly blonde hair. With those lips dropping open and that unfairly attractive beauty mark perfectly dotting her sudden smile.

So their first kiss was dramatic. All relieved sighs and gasps of surpise when Lexa stepped into her a d threaded her fingers through Clarke's hair, cupped her face and pulled her close, and kissed her right there in the darkened doorway of Clarke's apartment. She kissed her through Clarke's initial startle and the slow relaxing of her bones. Kissed her harder when hands found her hips as Clarke melted into her and moaned.

For all the passion she poured into it, Lexa took her time with the kiss, stretching the moment and making every brush of lips and sweep tongue achingly slow. Because if this moment of weakness was all they would ever allow themselves... then Lexa was going to savor it.

#anon #starlet au #gay that's gay they're so lame and gay #i love them

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notacelestialbeing · 10 months

Text

monster (minnie x f!reader)

synopsis: your true form is close to getting caught by the fbi. you could either die or pick minnie and live forever. the monster inside you truly comes out with minnie and you wanna show her how much you want her.

warnings: degrading kink, monsterfuck, enemies to lovers, violence, gore, sub!minnie, dom!f!reader, sort of mafia influenced.

songs used: monster by irene & seulgi

word count: 1k+

┌────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┐

“fuck me like you fuck her on the nights boredom invades your soul. fuck me like the monster you truly are.” minnie screams in your face.

“I’m a little monster nal geomnae, neol gweropyeo nae kkumman kkuge hae, nan chum chugo nollae gawinullin neoye, geu mom wie jumuneul geolmyeon”

the helicopters above you, jetting as quickly as the blood pumping in your veins. you only had one choice, it was minnie or it was death.

minnie knew, whatever the choice, she would always be above that. in this case, minnie was so much better than death. death was her middle name after all.

you grabbed minnie by the arm and ran for dear life, you knew if you picked death, you would never truly be satisfied. minnie. minnie. minnie. it’s all your mind chanted. no matter what direction you went, she followed you right behind.

you hated each others guts. but in the moment, she’s all your body craved. you were the monster and she was the sin. you were both as equally as bad. the only difference was, minnie was a beautiful sun and you were the ugly monster.

you ran till you couldn’t breathe anymore. finally stopping behind an abandoned mall. tonight was the night. you didn’t give two fucks about how much you hated minnie, you had to take everything from her.

minnie killed any pride left in you, so you killed any bit of love left in her.

you and minnie walked inside the empty mall, with a gun in your hand and a gorgeous woman beside you, you weren’t going to last so long.

you found an open shop within the mall, not that anyone was inside it but the lights were still running. you pulled minnie inside with you, wrapping an arm on her shoulder as you pulled out the knife that kept digging your stomach.

“oh my god! you’re bleeding so much!” minnie cried in horror. your hand twisted and pulled at the knife in your stomach. fuck any pain. you just wanted all this to be over with but as long as minnie was by your side, it was never going to be over.

“you’re acting as if you’re not the one who stabbed me earlier cause she didn’t get to orgasm in time.” you groaned at minnie in pain. it’s not that you hated her, you just hated the way she made you feel.

even after she stabbed you, it felt as if a warmth had spread through your entire body. you just wanted to pull her hair back and make out with her. no one was stopping you now.

you two gazed at each other, understanding clearly what the other wanted. you reached for her jaw and pulled her face right in front of you. your faces inches away from one another, a beautiful melody sat on her lips, you just wished to be her composer tonight.

a tension quickly filled the shop, fear running down your spines. you both wanted this but at what cost? what was the possibility of you two falling into the loop hole even stronger than before?

you pushed all the questions aside and your lips left a smile on hers. she straddled your lap as you both leant into the kiss. the world stopped moving every time you kissed. to you, it wasn’t just a kiss. it was like the firework that set in your stomach whenever fear walked by.

it was anxiety but the good kind.

her hands started to work their way onto your ripped shirt, slowly unbuttoning it completely. you just wanted her to rip it off more than it already was. she took her time, painfully slow.

your core was on fire. a rush of adrenaline filling your body, making you rip her ravishing red dress off of her. you were not about to waste anymore time tonight.

“chagaun ttang, jaetteomieseo ireonasseo, hwanghoneseo saebyeok, nan yeojeonhi jonjaehae, i gwanggiga shilchi ana, jeulgigo inneun geol, neon beoseonal su eopseo, domanggajireul ma dacheo”

a gasp left minnie’s mouth as the dress fell off of her skin. you absorbed any fear she still felt about her feelings. fuck it, tonight i’ll show her how much i truly desire her. your mind played tricks on you but kept leading you to this moment.

you stood up and lifted minnie up in a bridal position. she protested but then realized that you were bringing her to the counter of the shop. you laid her down and kissed her thighs, settling down onto your knees.

you passionately teased her until she couldn’t take it anymore. your lips kissed every inch of her thighs but never made it to her pussy. it was dripping, just for you. but she won’t ever admit that.

you finally stopped your petty tactics and dipped two fingers into her pussy, slowly engraving her scent onto your fingertips. minnie moaned; the quietness of the place making it sound louder than ever.

“stop, don’t be loud. i don’t want anyone hearing you screaming for me.” you whispered hotly into her ear. it was true. you wouldn’t let anyone hear her but you.

you were the monster and she was the sin. a sin only you could commit. a monster only she can confess to.

“neoreul guweonhago doro yak olligo,

oh nan wanbyeokago dashi eongmangin geol”

you began sucking on her clit, still continuing the fingering. there was no way you were going to leave her unattended tonight. her fingers laced themselves into your pretty but bold curls.

your eyes staring at her face as you kept your pace going. in that moment alone, you felt as if this was the only moment you could truly confess to her. you were confessing your sins to her, but in a way she wanted.

minnie moaned, whimpered, groaned. every sound in the dirty dictionary, could be heard from her. tonight, her soul was going to become yours. yours to reside in forever.

she began bucking her hips into your face, screaming out loud about how good you feel.

“is this what you wanted you filthy little slut? you wanted this monster to fuck you raw? what happened to the innocent and religious little girl i knew. is that what you wanna be? my little cumslut?” your words doing their magic on her pussy. her words slurring and her eyes rolling back into the back of her head.

her legs shook around your head. your jaw hurting with every suck you gave to her clit. you were so not close to stopping tonight.

she was yours, forever.

“bwa nan geunyang nolgo isseo, nappeun euido eopseo, jakjiman wiheomhan nal, nuga geobuhagesseo, ppalgan dongi teul shiganiya, ije anshimhan neon, kkumeseo naoryeo hae, but monster lives forever”

you were her filthy secret of a monster. you couldn’t let her go so easily. as much as you hated her, you couldn’t help but feel admiration for the way she wrapped herself around you every time you made her cum.

“almost there baby.” minnie’s second orgasm followed her first one. her back arching like the possession of emily rose, she was surrendering herself completely to you.

you lapped up every bit she had to offer to you. not a drop wasted. she tasted like the forbidden fruit, but you were eve, you would break every rule for her.

you stood up and grinned at her fucked out state. she looked like the most beautiful painting known to mankind, but no mankind deserves her. you’re the only who truly deserves her.

“I’m a little monster nal geomnae, neol gweropyeo nae kkumman kkuge hae, nan chum chugo nollae gawinullin neoye, geu mom wie jumuneul geolmyeon”

a sly smile forming on your face.

“where’s my award for being the greatest fuck of your life?”

#kpop smut #kpop x reader #wlw smut #minnie smut #minnie x reader #gidle x reader #gidle smut #minnie #kpop gidle #gxg smut #enemies to lovers #monster

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shotorozu · 1 year

Text

see you again

(inspired by that one tiktok trend that’s based off see you again by tyler the creator and kali uchis)

note(s): it kinda makes more sense if you hear the audio itself, so do listen to the 10 minute loop i linked or else this ain’t making any sense. also yes this is a trend on tiktok 😭 at first it didn’t make sense to me (this is kinda out of nowhere and lowkey a weird concept now that im done writing it 💀) but it kinda does at the same time— so now im making a last minute post for mr. popularity 😁🤩

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki doesn’t understand tiktok trends.

ever since he saw some of the heinously unaware things being posted on the app, he vowed to stay clear from it unless if absolute necessary. (aka if bugged hard enough)

he used to watch reels from time to time (which was a big shocker to you) at least until you pointed out the similarity it had with tiktoks, and since then ditched the concept of watching short videos entirely.

it all seemed like a trick to him— a distraction. not only did he see some blissfully unaware people on that app, but it just felt like people had no concept of digital footprint. (it’d be infuriating if it wasn’t just so sad when he thought about it, actually.)

and— why should he participate in a video that could only get 10 views?

bakugou katsuki doesn’t understand tiktok trends. he might as well never touch the app within a thousand collumns in his appstore.

yet as you sit in front of him, showing him a tiktok trend with an expression that makes him sickly—

he kind of understands.

“y’know, ok ok ok ok is so you, bakugou.”

his face scrunches up when he moves closer to the screen, listening as the audio plays on while two characters representing each side are shown on the screen.

ok ok ok ok

la la la la—

“what the hell does that even mean??” he knows what it means. “how can you tell how a fucking person is an ok ok ok ok person??”

you shrug, “i just know. like… i don’t even have to explain why you’re tyler’s part.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“so what are you?” he questions, curious as to what you have to say. if you even have anything to say. he could tell that other people normally assign archetypes to you— if two repeating letters are archetypes…

damn. he thinks, feeling a sense of unknown sobriety. you got him bad if he can understand some sort of characterization assigned to this little segment of a song.

“la la la la, of course.” you decide, nodding. “well— i could also be ok ok ok ok— who said there couldn’t be two— well, i guess the song…”

you bite down on your lip in thought, and his line of sight immediately follows. “but i think i should be the la la la la to your ok ok ok ok, because—”

his first thought should’ve been what the fuck, that’s so stupid.

but the moment you start explaining, his eyes are locked onto you, catching every syllable and absorbing the obscurity that hangs off your definitions.

he leans forward, nods whenever you make a point. for something so nonsensical yet plain— you talk as if you talk to love, the same way you love to talk about your topics.

“and i rest my case.” he doesn’t realize you’ve reached the end of your spewl until you say it.

he doesn’t wait for you to finish unlike some others and plus. he doesn’t watch the clock or cut in— he listens. and for once, he agrees to something nonsensical yet plain such as this—

well, actually— he let you convince him.

it all slams into him, “fitting.” he grumbles, turning his head away to clear his mind of the images of you talking, so full of life— with him both listening and agreeing at your side.

and that’s when he realized— you were going to be an unstoppable force in his life.

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magicalrocketships · 9 months

Note

Hello!! I'm really excited about reading more Max/Daniel dick chicken fic (how did the last ask put it?? escalating horny/feral gay chicken sexting maxiel fic? 🤲) Do you have a snippet you could share?? Thank you!!

I DO have another snippet I can share!!

This is from a fic known subtly as Daniel and Max play Dick Chicken. The snippet I've posted already is here, and there are another couple of bits and pieces in my dick chicken tag, but I swear I can never actually make those tag links work any more, so sorry if that comes up with literally nothing. Yay, Tumblr! I promise they do exist even Tumblr insists that's a broken link.

Anyway, have some Max/Daniel rimming. (E, 1700 words. Ever so slightly edited to remove a couple of bits of context-required spoilers but it should still make sense). The entire fic should be subtitled the one where they're feral for each other. This bit is the first time they've actually got naked together and not through a phone screen.

"You are late."

"I had to shower." Daniel feels like he should protest because they never specified a time, and anyway, only one of them has travelled half the fucking globe today, and he's done most of his sleeping recently in very uncomfortable airplane seats and it is not his fault that he's completely fucking insane over Max fucking Verstappen, who— who is just pushing down his shorts. He is just getting naked in his entrance hall and looking at Daniel like Daniel is the one making strange choices. Which he is, but at least he's still fucking clothed like a fucking normal person.

"You did not need to shower to come here, Daniel," Max says. "Take your clothes off."

Daniel toes off his flip-flops and leaves his phone and keys on the hall table. "I was gross, I needed to shower."

"No," Max says, holding his hands palm up and doing a little lifting motion with them, a take your t-shirt off, please request that Daniel obeys because it's either that or… not taking his t-shirt off. "It was fine. But now you are here, and you are not naked."

This is the most they've talked since Daniel left Red Bull. This is fine. There is probably nothing to say, anyway. They both know why they're here. He tugs his koala t-shirt over his head and lets it pool on the floor, tangling with Max's discarded clothes as Daniel shoves down his shorts. He's half-hard in Max's apartment, shorts hanging off one foot, and Max has his hand cupped around his dick like he could be posing for any one of those expressionless selfies he's sent Daniel over the past few weeks.

Daniel is playing the same little song on a loop in his head and it goes what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

Max tilts his chin up. "I am going to lick you out and make you come, Daniel."

Cool, Daniel thinks nonsensically, as any remaining brain power he still has takes a nosedive off the nearest balcony. His dick gives up too, and just gets as hard as it's ever got before. It even gives Max a jaunty little wave. Cool. Not embarrassing.

"If you still want it, of course."

"I want it," Daniel says, and something in his brain must still be processing information because he doesn't remember deciding to say yes. It just happened while he was still trying to take in the fact that Max Verstappen is naked in front of him, with his dick out, and the world still appears to be turning on its axis like everything is fine.

Fuck, Daniel remembers when he used to be straight.

"Good," Max says, and sets off for the bedroom like Daniel is just going to follow.

Daniel follows. Max doesn't take him to the bed, though, but to the dressing table over the other side of the bedroom. There's Max's stuff on it, discarded boarding passes and stuff from his pockets and detritus from travelling. Knocked over deodorant bottles, sponsor shit he's never even bothered opening. A watch getting dusty somewhere in among the still packaged Red Bull t-shirts. There's a mirror.

Max nods towards it. "You can watch yourself," he says, like that's a normal thing to say, and he drops to his fucking knees.

Daniel looks at him for the longest moment, at Max Verstappen hard and naked and on his knees for him, weirdly expressionless but clearly waiting for Daniel to get on with it.

So: Daniel leans over the dressing table, palms flat against the surface. He spreads his legs and looks back over his shoulder at Max kneeling behind him.

Max looks up at him then. His eyes are bright. "I am going to make you come, Daniel."

"Yeah," Daniel says. His voice is hoarse. "Please."

Max adjusts his position. On his knees, directly behind him, his dick just there. Hard. Glistening wet at the tip. Daniel's mouth is dry. He licks his lips. Then Max cups Daniel's ass in his hands. Palms to his skin. "I have thought about this a lot, Daniel," he says, spreading Daniel's ass cheeks like this is a normal way to touch someone intimately for pretty much the first time. Daniel's skin already feels like touch paper. One spark and he'll be decimated. "I have come already thinking about this."

Daniel stares at himself in the mirror. He is pink. Unshaven. Eyes wide. His throat works. "Yeah?"

"Yes, very much," Max says, and then he strokes over Daniel's hole with the pad of his thumb. Daniel's hips skitter forwards, thighs hitting the dressing table. His dick bumps up against the torn plastic packaging of a new Red Bull shirt. Daniel shoves the plastic away until it's just the t-shirt. He drags his tip across the shirt. It leaves a little snail trail already. Max's thumb strokes his hole. It is disconcerting, because Max has never demonstrated a second of warming up in any of his pictures or videos. His is a hot lap approach to orgasms, fast and furious, and right now it is just his thumb. Daniel is watching himself in the mirror and it is already too much and literally nothing has happened yet. He is watching his own destruction and it is too late to stop it. He is already destroyed.

But then— Max spits on him. He spits and it runs down Daniel's ass crack and over his hole and Max gathers it up and strokes him wet. He spits again.

Daniel blurts pre come onto Max's shirt. He swallows down a groan. He is watching Rome burn but he is Rome and he's the one who lit the fucking match.

"You can make noises, Daniel," Max says. He has switched to the pads of his fingers, more than one. Daniel can feel his hole fucking flutter and it is humiliating, but it is more humiliating when he presses back against Max's fingers. But then Max leans in and Daniel feels the warmth of Max's breath on his skin and then Max presses his tongue to Daniel's hole and Daniel fucking expires.

Max is all business. He is data driven, at speed, the track a learning experience beneath his tongue. He drags his tongue up Daniel's crack, sweeps of attention that have Daniel whimpering. He laps at Daniel's hole, kitten licks, only moving away to spit on him, dirty and so, so fucking hot. He cups Daniel's balls through his legs, not gentle, never gentle, like touch is function and the only outcome is Daniel's eventual orgasm.

Daniel drowns. He drowns in the mirror, helpless to stay quiet, skin flushing pink. He presses his ass back into Max's face, and Max digs his fingers into Daniel's thigh and licks at him like it's a fucking race. Daniel melts like ice cream. When Max's thumb presses inside of him, his tongue lapping around it, Daniel cries out. He holds himself up on the flats of his palms, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against the mirror. His breath clouds, wet and warm, steaming up the mirror.

Max's thumb is replaced by his tongue. He is inside of him. He eats Daniel out like he's starving. It is filthy hot. Spit drips down his crack. His dick leaks pre come across Max's shirt, and for a moment, Daniel longs for him to wear it afterwards. Daniel marking him up like he's his. He gasps it out into the mirror.

Max sits back, his breathing ragged. His tongue is replaced by a finger, two fingers, then he's back and there is spit and his tongue and he covers Daniel's hole with his mouth and alternately sucks and blows like it's a fucking practice session and he's trying to find the best fucking line to take a corner.

Daniel shudders through it. He shivers. He is disintegrating, Max re-arranging his molecules with his tongue, but the mirror shows him whole. A fucking mess, but whole. He reaches down to grab his dick, but he's barely got his fist wrapped around it when Max is nudging his hand away.

"I am going to make you come, Daniel," Max tells him, circling Daniel's wrist with his free hand. "Not you."

Daniel drops his chin to his chest. "You're going to," he manages. "God, Max, you're going to."

"Good," Max says, sounding satisfied, sounding breathless, and then he's spitting on Daniel's hole again and it's so fucking gross and so fucking perfect that Daniel just forgets everything but the points of connection; fingertips circling his wrist, a thumb to his pulse point, Max's nose and his lips and his fucking tongue. His other hand splayed across the top of his thigh, his thumb to Daniel's ass. The dressing table is leaving lines across the tops of his thighs. Daniel hopes they bruise, hopes he can go back home and press his hands to the marks and know that they are there because he went looking for knives and he found Max.

He found Max. God, he's going to come. He's going to fucking come, and it's going to be with his dick untouched because Max is still holding his wrist. Max's mouth circles his hole again, lips pressed to his skin. Max blows. Max's tongue tickles him, laps at his rim, slips inside again.

Daniel shudders, shivers, trembles. He tips over into orgasm almost without permission, pulsing come over Max's new Red Bull shirt, his dusty watch, a discarded bottle of Right Guard. A single condom, still in its wrapper. He presses his forehead to the mirror and watches come seep into Max's shirt.

Max licks him through it, until Daniel's pretty much pushing him away, over-sensitive and out of it. He drops to his elbows on the dressing table, hands to his face. He breathes. Behind him, Max gets to his feet. His hand goes to Daniel's hip. To the small of his back. Down over his ass, spreading his cheeks again. He's jerking off. Daniel knows without looking, he knows those sounds.

He shifts so he can watch in the mirror. He meets Max's gaze. He's flushed, his face a mess, his hair everywhere. Pre come drips onto Daniel's ass. His hand blurs.

"Come on me," Daniel tells him. "Please, Max. Please."

#my fic #dick chicken #subtitle: the one where they're feral

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prick-up-ur-ears · 2 months

Note

You ask for imodna prompts you shall receive.

Imodna at a pride parade perhaps 🤭

thanks for the prompt! this one was a lot of fun

also on AO3

----

“How do you make it look so easy?”

Imogen glares at Laudna’s reflection in the mirror. They both are leaning over the counter of their shared bathroom, each with a small makeup brush in hand. Laudna finishes a blue stripe, then stands upright and meets Imogen’s gaze in the mirror.

Imogen's eyes flick back to her own reflection, mentally comparing the perfect rectangle of pink, purple, and blue on Laudna’s cheek to the mess of pink and orange on her own.

“You’re using too much, darling,” Laudna says as a droplet of the white face paint drips down Imogen’s cheek, clinging to her jaw. Imogen sighs and reaches for the hand towel that’s already stained with her previous attempts that went just about as well as this one. “Would you like me to do yours?”

Imogen would be lying if she said that wasn’t what she had been wanting to ask this entire time. She nods.

“Alright, come here then.” Laudna leans forward and tugs on Imogen’s hand, pulling her to stand directly in front of her.

Laudna’s gaze moves from Imogen to the counter, eyes scanning for whatever she is looking for, and she grabs a pack of makeup wipes and the paints Imogen was using.

“Can you turn your head, darling?” Laudna requests, accompanied by a gentle nudge on Imogen’s jaw. Imogen obliges.

The cloth is cold as it wipes away the smudged remnants of the paint, followed by the rougher texture of the towel to dry her skin. Then there’s a hand cradling the side of her face, a thumb at her jaw and fingers just grazing her ear.

The brush tickles at her cheek as Laudna works her magic. Imogen’s not sure what to do with her hands as she stands there, going between fidgeting with the hem of her tank top and tapping at her shorts. After a minute, she feels her phone vibrate in her back pocket and pulls it out.

What’s taking you guys so long?

“Ashton is gettin’ impatient,” Imogen says to the wall.

“No talking, you’re going to mess it up.”

Imogen has to swallow the “sorry” that automatically rises in her throat. She also has to fight back a smile when Laudna starts softly humming, a tune that sounds oddly similar to a song Imogen recently made her listen to.

“Alright, all done,” Laudna says half a minute later, releasing her grip on the side of Imogen’s face. “What do you think?”

Imogen turns to look in the mirror. On her cheek is a small heart, filled with stripes of pink, orange, and white. Her reflection smiles back at her.

“I love it,” she says, leaning up on her tiptoes to place a quick kiss on Laudna’s mouth before stepping around her into their bedroom.

“Is that all the thanks I get? I made it even nicer than mine,” Laudna pouts.

“I would not put it past Ashton to leave without us, so I think it’s in our best interests to get a move on,” Imogen replies, looking for her fanny pack that she could have sworn she left on top of the dresser. (She didn’t).

As if on cue, Laudna’s phone chimes with a text message. “If you two make us late because you couldn’t keep it in your pants,” Laudna reads off, ��then I will–. Oh. I’m not going to read the rest aloud. You’re right, we should go.”

“Do you know where my bag is?” Imogen asks, her search now taking her to the living room, lifting pillows and blankets off the couch, crouching down to look under the table.

“Right here, darling.” Laudna emerges from their room, bag in hand.

“What would I do without you?” Imogen says as she takes it and loops it around her shoulder, stealing another kiss as she does.

“Based on the last five minutes, I’m not sure you would survive at all.”

Imogen scoffs and gently shoves her in the shoulder. She’s saved from having to make a comeback (because even though she’s joking, Laudna is right) when another ding comes from Laudna’s phone.

“We really should go,” Laudna says without bothering to take her phone out to read the message.

“Ashton’s just upset they have to be the fifth wheel since Fearne is out of town,” Imogen counters, looping her arms around Laudna’s neck and fiddling with the yarn that’s tied at the base of it. “They can wait.”

Several minutes later, the two of them emerge from the front door of their apartment building to find Ashton leaning against their car with their arms crossed. They level the two of them with a glare, but Imogen can’t find it in herself to feel apologetic.

“Nice lipstick, Imogen. Did you borrow it from Laudna?” Ashton says as they approach, an eyebrow raised. Imogen stops, touches a finger to her lips. She didn’t put on any lipstick.

“Sorry, darling,” Laudna says, reaching into her purse and pulling out a makeup wipe that she hands to Imogen.

“I should have left without you,” Ashton grumbles, shaking their head and pushing off the car to stand upright.

“Oh, please, you love us,” Imogen says.

“Just get in the damn car,” Ashton calls as they walk around to the driver’s side. “Orym and Dorian are probably already there waiting for us.”

“Those punctual motherfuckers.”

Imogen hops in the backseat while Laudna takes shotgun, Ashton sliding into the driver’s seat. Imogen scoots into the middle, leaning forward with her elbows propped on both front seats. “We’re not even runnin’ that late,” she comments after a glance at the clock.

“Have you ever tried finding parking in downtown Jrusar on an event day? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have a car.”

Imogen leans further over the middle console. “How long until Fearne is back?”

“Too long.”

—

To say the streets of Jrusar are crowded would be an understatement. Imogen doesn’t think she’s ever seen this many people out and about in Jrusar before, but it’s a spectacular sight.

It’s also slightly overwhelming.

Are you sure this is okay? We can go home whenever you want, just say the word.

Imogen smiles down at the text from Laudna as Ashton drives around in search of a parking spot. Honestly, she’s not sure how she’ll feel once they go out into the crowd. But she’s been making progress, so she’s willing to try.

I’m alright. Promise to let you know if that changes.

It doesn’t take much longer to find a parking spot. Once they’re out on the sidewalk, Laudna takes Imogen’s hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. Imogen focuses on the feeling of Laudna’s hand, letting it ground her, as they approach the more crowded streets.

“Orym said they’re right by the Spire by Fire,” Ashton tells them, putting his phone away.

An unfamiliar feeling flows through Imogen as they weave through the crowded sidewalk towards the tavern. Usually, in crowds, she gets overcome with the feeling that everyone’s eyes are on her, watching her, judging her, berating her. In this crowd, she still gets the feeling that people are looking at her. Just… not in a bad way.

Unsure what else to do with this feeling, she looks up at Laudna and squeezes her hand. Once their eyes meet, Imogen can’t help the wide grin that spreads across her face. “I love you,” she mouths.

Laudna’s eyes soften, looking into Imogen’s like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. “I love you,” she mouths back.

“Will you lovebirds stop eye fucking each other and look for Orym, please?” Ashton calls from behind them. Oops.

“Sorry,” they both mumble, looking away from each other and towards the crowd.

It’s Laudna who spots them first, exactly where they said they’d be in front of the Spire by Fire.

“I was starting to think you guys wouldn’t make it in time!” Dorian says, wrapping Laudna in a hug.

“Blame these two,” Ashton grumbles as it’s Imogen’s turn to be embraced by Dorian.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Orym laughs. “I’ve started lying to them about when things start so that they’ll get there on time.”

And, well. Maybe they have been getting carried away lately.

Loud music starts playing in the distance, marking the beginning of the parade. “Oh! Here, I almost forgot,” Dorian exclaims, pulling around his backpack and taking out three rainbow flags and handing them out. “Someone was handing these out earlier.”

“Well, thank you, Dorian,” Laudna says, waving hers back and forth. Imogen can’t help but smile at the sight.

They start looking for a less crowded spot that’s near the barricade, and Laudna touches Imogen’s elbow, pulling them back from the group. “Good?” she whispers.

Imogen is no stranger to lying about how she’s feeling, especially in circumstances like this.

“Better than good. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now.”

And it’s not even a lie.

#imodna #critical role #fic request

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munsster · 2 years

Text

redemption make out sesh

A/N: if you,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, my inbox is so lonely, i think they wants a reuqest or two, especially for handsome people like steve and robin and eddie 🤲

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You go a little green when Robin mentions the girl she used to have a crush on. 1.1k words

Warnings: i am so so gay for her, fluff, minor jealousy, kissing *gasp* in public *dun dun dunnnn*

Steve groans when your beat up Volvo bustles into an employees only spot out front. Saturday afternoon, three fifteen sharp, with your boots laced and your smile wide, trudging up the walkway with a bouquet in hand.

“Hey, heartthrob,” you coo, winking at Steve who deflects you to a humming Robin shuffling around the back of the store, arms cradling a mess of sleeper tapes. You pluck a blush rose from the edge of the small, baby pink arrangement, holding it out for him and clicking your tongue when he rolls his eyes and reluctantly accepts. “One day, Harrington, you’ll realize how truly perfect I am.”

“Would you just go make out with your girlfriend already?”

“Sure thing, bossman,” you tease, patting his shoulder and skipping your way between the short aisles before tip-toeing up behind Robin and reaching over her shoulder to present the flowers for her with a quiet, “ta-dah!”

“You didn’t,” she gasps, stacking her last movie and turning to face you, doe-eyed and tugging you close by the belt loops. You set the bouquet atop one of the empty metal shelves and buzz through the tips of your fingers and nose.

“Felt bad I couldn’t make it to your rally,” you sigh, leaning into her when she presses a smiley kiss to your cheek. “How’d it go? Did you totally rock our beloved fight song?”

“Oh, absolutely”—she’s beaming when she links her fingers between yours with a tight squeeze, and you push a hand through her fluffed hair—“We won, too, which means we’ll play again next week, and—oh, Tammy—you remember Tammy? Well, she sang before the game, which is actually really funny because—”

“Because you used to be kind of obsessed with her?” you say, heart thudding like a panicky bird in your chest. You shy away a little because know everything there is to know about Tammy Thompson, but the fact that tops the list is that for almost an entire year, she was all Robin would talk about. And you listened while she rambled on about this untouchable, unbelievably gorgeous angel always somehow sitting in her direct line of sight. For a year.

“I wouldn’t say obsessed. I had a slight crush on her; maybe that’s more… palatable.”

Robin shrugs. You smile through a tender-footed grimace, fiddling with the small round button pinned to her vest and mumbling, “maybe” between yourself and the feeling you’re not telling her something she already knows. Both of her hands slip around the waist of your jeans until she’s leaning against the back wall, and you’re leaning against her while picking at your chipped, green nail polish.

The tension between her brows dissipates a little when you gnaw at your inner cheek because she’s seen this kind of insecurity before. Felt it, too. That knowing even when there’s nothing to know. The thinking when everything in your head may very well be wrong, based on an absentminded conclusion. And right now, it is.

She snorts and brings a hand to cover her mouth when you squint at her and playfully grit your teeth.

“What’s so funny, Buckley?”

You’re screwed with her forehead resting on your shoulder, shaking her head and keeping you wound around her little finger. It’s so unfair how easy it is for her to get you to melt. And you always let her know: damp hand-in-hand or taking a staunch deep breath or going bleary eyed at a compliment.

“Nothing,” she chuckles, “you’re really cute when you’re jealous.”

It’s so sweet when you think you can hide your shyness when you shift and cross your arms over your chest. When you rub at the nape of your neck and look to the side. When you get all timid and putty, but she’s only been a little coy. It’s not her fault you’re crumpling against her.

“Am not… jealous.”

She lifts her head to cock a brow at you.

“Oh, yes, you are. You can’t even say it!”

“Shush, irrelevant.”

“Just admit it, you’re jealous of a tone-deaf straight girl with a serious ego problem,” Robin says, nudging you closer, fiddling with your back pocket. And she looks so sure of herself. Of you. Half-lidded and public and slumping a little to make sure you see when when she licks her lips. But you duck your head, hot in the face, your fist clenched at her side.

“Just… jealous of the way you talk about her—”

“Used to talk about her,” she says, hinting at a grin when you glance up to find she’s nearer than before. And her perfume is smooth enough to gulp down, lilting a slow vanilla and chamomile, like late summer daybreak and lazy walks in the park. And you have to admit, she’s right. This is the first time you’ve heard about Tammy Thompson since last spring when Robin started to linger closer. Borrow your chapstick and split milkshakes on Fridays and hold your hand when you got sick. Talk faster and choose the seat next to you more often than not.

“But still,” you whisper. So she tilts her head, your lashes fluttering and your palms curved around her corduroy hips because she’s a breath away, lips taunting your glittery gloss mouth with a smirk. She likes when you march into the store in your faux motorcycle boots, high-waisted jean shorts rolled up your thighs, polo tucked in and unbuttoned once so she can see the small heart-shaped necklace you wear for her.

“C’mon. You know you’re my favorite.”

She’s awfully conniving getting you to open your mouth like this, pressing closer until there’s nowhere else to go but together. And so you wind your fingers into her hair and grin into her mouth when your teeth mash a little. But then you find your footing, and it’s so easy with her. Each sigh ringing in your ears, and she drags her delicate fingertips down your arm and around your back, holding you still while you kiss her. And she kisses you.

masterlist

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thedroneranger · 1 year

Text

Puppies are Forever

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Précis: Puppies aren't the only thing that last a lifetime.

Note: Another one for @notroosterbradshaw’s #hello december playlist challenge. I have zero chill and needed to write one for the Bradshaw Baddies 🖤 The song is Puppies Are Forever by Sia.

Warnings: Aging pet, sexually suggestive language, otherwise fluff

Word count: 2.8k

You and Bradley had already discussed it. Now, it just was just a matter of when—which you had not discussed.

Nervously, you wrung your hands on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. You glanced into the backseat where you were greeted with aging eyes and soft tail wags.

You knew the holidays were the worst time to get a pet.

“Puppies are forever.”

The phrase you used to say over and over to kids and parents who came into the shelter looking for the perfect present looped through your mind. Chewing your lip, you thought about how much Bradley would tease you, having been on the receiving end of the infamous phrase.

It was one of Bradley’s favorite memories to share: the day you and Clipper came into his life.

Bradley’s first week at Officer Candidate School had been particularly rough and included a dressing down from the school commander in front of his entire class.

Embarrassed and frustrated, Bradley decided he would blow off steam at the local country club’s driving range. Pretending each ball was the head of one of his instructors, he was about halfway through his basket when, in the distance, he could see a shape bouncing along the range.

It was a dog. While everyone was busy announcing the animal’s presence and yelling at each other to stop hitting balls, Bradley’s thumb and finger dipped behind his lips to unleash a shrill whistle.

Bradley watched as the dog’s ears perked up and it began a full sprint toward him. He whistled once more to keep the dog on track. As it neared, the dog slowed and postured cautiously. Hand out, Bradley crouched down, one knee on the ground, to welcome the dog. Tail slowly wagging, its nose came within centimeters of the back of Bradley’s hand—he could feel its warm breath. Slowly, Bradley flipped his hand to reveal an open palm. The dog took another sniff before pushing its nose into his hand. Still moving slowly, Bradley brought his hand to the dog’s chin.

“Is that your dog?” the man in the stall beside Bradley asked. Bradley shook his head as he continued to gain the dog’s trust. Intrigued, some folks continued to watch Bradley, while others went back to thwacking golf balls.

After a few words with the club general manager and getting his basket, clubs and range time comped, Bradley was walking the dog out of the clubhouse using his belt as a makeshift leash. The GM mentioned it likely sprung loose from the shelter a few blocks east of the club.

In zero rush to get back to school, Bradley and his new friend leisurely strolled in the direction of the shelter. Both were enjoying the attention from kids and glances from women. However, Bradley only had eyes for you once he entered the shelter and was met with your smile.

You were caught off guard when you looked at the door and saw the warmest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen. Paired with his mustached grin, Bradley’s gaze had heat rushing to your cheeks. You quickly shifted your focus to his four-legged counterpart, whom you recognized.

“Clipper!” The dog reacted to your voice, whimpering and wagging his tail. Bradley undid the makeshift restraint, and Clipper raced toward you. Coming around the counter, you crouched with open arms, and Clipper nearly bowled you over.

Bradley was taken with your laugh as Clipper showered you with kisses. Bradley found himself wishing he were the one raining affection on you… “Thank you for bringing him back,” your voice interrupted Bradley’s thoughts.

His hazel eyes met yours. “You’re welcome.” His voice was deep and gravely. Feeling the heat in your cheeks again, you focused on petting Clipper. As excited as he was to see you, you could tell he really liked Bradley.

Clipper was a good dog that had yet to find his forever home. He was a medium-sized dog that definitely required an active parent. However, Clipper was six years old—he seemed ancient compared to the two- or three-year-old rescues that quickly found homes because they were still “young.”

Bradley also seemed to like Clipper. Based on his haircut and physique, you would wager he was in a dorm at one of the military schools in the area. You’d seen his type a million times around town. But he was different—you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but he had something you hadn’t encountered before.

“Clipper seems to really like you.” You looked between him and Clipper. Bradley offered a shrug and side smirk.

“I s’pose we have something going.” Bradley squatted down and Clipper swaggered over to him, nosing his open palm. You rested a knee on the floor as you watched them. Clipper rolled his head into Bradley’s hand as he scratched behind his ears.

For the next 13 weeks, Bradley showed up every day to exercise Clipper. If you weren’t there when he arrived, you usually were around when he returned.

Sometime during the first few weeks, Bradley finally worked up the gall to ask you out. Of course, Clipper came on your first date—a picnic at the park.

Since then, the three of you had been on many picnics in the park, runs along the beach and road trips around the country.

It was hard to believe it had been seven years since you and Bradley met that day at the shelter. And Clipper was by your side for every relationship milestone.

This was the least you could do for your best friend. Clipper watched as you put the truck in park and killed the engine. You slid out the driver door and opened the backseat door closest to Clipper.

You waited as he stood on the seat and shifted so you could hug all his limbs to put him on the ground. His tail wagged as you closed the door, and then you headed inside.

It only seemed right that you get Clipper’s companion from a shelter. You had already called ahead to confirm Clipper was welcome. Your nerves eased as a twentysomething woman welcomed you. It took you right back to your days volunteering.

What really made the time well spent was seeing energy in Clipper’s eyes and his step. He was aging—his runs were shorter and he was less willing to jump onto the couch, your bed or into the truck.

“I think we’ve found the one.” You and the shelter worker, who you learned was Liz, watched as Clipper ran with a similar-sized dog about half his age. You whistled and both came running. They heeled at your signal.

“What’s his name?” you asked.

“Hornet,” Liz replied.

Your smile widened. “You’re kidding.”

“You can always change his name. We typically don’t recommend it, but you can if you feel strongly.” You hadn’t told Liz your history, wanting to ensure you got the full adoption experience.

“No, it’s perfect,” you responded.

An hour later, Hornet was leaping out of the truck while you helped Clipper to the ground. Following Clipper’s lead, Hornet sat and waited as you collected your things. The pair was on your heel as you walked toward the house.

As you watched Clipper and Hornet bounce around the backyard, you knew Bradley would be thrilled when he returned from his deployment.

His return aligned with the holidays, and Hornet was as much a gift for Bradley as he was Clipper. Just as you were, Bradley was struggling with watching his best friend age. Clipper had been through every career milestone with him.

One of Bradley’s favorite photos was himself in full dress blues sitting next to Clipper, who had Bradley’s combination cap perched on his head. You knew the photo well—you took it at the first commendation ceremony you attended with Bradley. You had surprised him by bringing Clipper. Since it was outside, you called Pete to see if you could get away with bringing a furry plus-one.

With Hornet buzzing around the house, the final month of Bradley’s deployment was a breeze.

Along with his gift, Hornet, you wanted the house to be holiday ready when Bradley returned. You spent your evenings setting up the tree, stringing lights and wrapping gifts. Initially, Bradley was supposed to return a few days before Christmas. However, due to weather, among other things, you were expecting him back on Christmas Eve.

You giggled as you wrestled with Hornet to put the bow around his neck. Clipper watched you two from the couch—his bow already in place. Finally, Hornet allowed you to slip the ribbon around his neck and make it presentable. Unsure of Bradley’s arrival time, you knew odds were high it would be mangled by the time he saw it.

Recovering from your tussle with Hornet, you sat on the floor with your back against the couch. You sighed and sipped your wine. It was one of the first truly cold nights this winter. A northern girl always jonesing for an excuse to use the fireplace, you had built a fire and were enjoying the results. Between the wine and warmth, your eyes began to close.

Clipper laid on the couch near you with his head on your shoulder. Meanwhile, Hornet scooted on his belly up to you and rested his head in your lap. You told yourself you could close your eyes for a few minutes…

Bradley’s heart was racing as he clamored out of Rueben’s truck and collected his bags. He did one more check to make sure he had your gift. Duffle slung over his shoulder, he headed for the door as Rueben’s F-150 backed out of the driveway.

Wanting to surprise you, he had his keys at the ready and was as quiet as possible while letting himself in. He wasn’t worried about Clipper—somehow that dog knew who was coming in the door before they entered. He never barked when Bradley came home.

However, Hornet was another story. The minute he heard the key jiggle the lock, he announced Bradley’s presence. Bradley's eyebrows knitted together—that bark did not belong to Clipper.

Slowly, he cracked the door open, deciding to announce himself. “Honey, I’m home!” His voice boomed through the house. Hornet, already on alert, was the first to the door. Clipper pulled himself off the couch, knowing it was Bradley, and headed the same direction.

You jolted awake and jumped to your feet. Once you had your bearings, you ventured toward the door. “Who is this?” You heard Bradley ask. When you rounded the corner, you saw Bradley squatting down with Hornet between his knees, wagging his tail and reveling in the attention. Clipper stood a little further away, waiting his turn to greet Bradley.

“Hornet, Clipper’s companion,” you said.

A smirk graced Bradley’s face as he turned his attention to Clipper, who happily accepted ear rubs and a kiss atop the head. Bradley stood to greet you. “A dog for Christmas?” He teased as you walked into his embrace. You tilted your head back to meet his gaze and he placed a kiss on your lips.

Bradley’s hand slid to the small of your back. “Missed you,” he added as he kissed you again. Before you could respond, he circled back to Hornet. “I can’t believe you broke your own rule!” He looked down at the dogs. “Puppies are forever, remember?” They wagged their tails as if in response.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw—the highest point you could reach on your tiptoes. “That’s the plan.” You met his gaze as you returned to flat feet. Bradley had the same puppy dog eyes as the day you met. “Besides, Hornet is as much a gift for us as he is for Clipper.”

Bradley smiled. “Did you change his name?”

You shook your head. “That’s how I knew it was meant to be.” You looked at each other. Bradley kissed you again.

“Wine?” You asked.

“Yes,” he replied. You squeezed his arm before heading to the living room to collect your glass. Bradley grabbed his duffle and headed to the bedroom.

Clipper and Hornet followed him. He smiled when he realized they were trailing him. Bradley chucked his bag on the ground, slipped off his coat and dug the small box out of his pocket.

Quickly, he changed, and then knelt down with the box open so Clipper and Hornet could inspect the ring inside. “You’re not the only ones that are forever.” He patted both dogs on the head before standing up and pocketing the box.

You were busy in the kitchen, opening a bottle of champagne. “What are we celebrating?” Bradley and the dogs joined you.

“Your return,” you said as if it were obvious. Bradley came up behind you and gently took the champagne bottle. He easily palmed it, twisted the cork off in one fluid motion, and then handed it back. You snagged it by the neck and, with two flutes in your other hand, headed for the living room.

Bradley followed, helping Clipper onto the couch before settling in himself. Hornet jumped onto the couch cushion nearest you. You handed Bradley a healthy pour of champagne and nestled into his side.

“To you coming home to us.” You held out your glass. He gently touched his to yours, and you both drank.

Two flutes of champagne later, you were straddling Bradley’s lap, arms resting on his shoulders, fingers toying with the buzzed hairs at the base of his neck and your tongue in his mouth.

“I missed this,” he announced as you moved onto leaving wet kisses on his neck and nibbling on his ears.

“I can tell.” You acknowledged his growing hard-on.

Startled, you yelped and sat back. Bradley braced you so you didn’t fall off his lap. You were eyeing Hornet, and Bradley’s gaze followed yours. A soft smile pulled your lips as you scratched Hornet’s chin. “He licked my foot,” you chuckled.

You were used to Clipper, who thankfully respected yours and Bradley’s intimate time. You never took him for granted, especially when you heard the stories from friends of their furry counterparts howling outside the bedroom door or disrupting mid-thrust with a weirdly placed lick.

“He’s being a good wingman,” Bradley joked.

Your eyebrow crept up your forehead. “Oh, you didn’t like where this was going?”

Bradley laughed and put his hands on the tops of your thighs, looking directly at you. “Oh, I liked where it was going, but we’ll still get there.” He paused for a second. “But I wanted to give you your gift sooner rather than later.”

“Oh?” He piqued your interest.

Bradley reached behind Clipper, between the couch cushions, and pulled out a small black box. Your heart skipped a beat as he pulled back the lid, and then balanced the box on his large palm between the two of you.

Staring back at you was a marquise-cut diamond on a gold band. You recognized it from pictures of his mother. “Will you spend forever with me?” His hazel puppy dog eyes stared at you from behind the box.

You felt Clipper’s muzzle come to rest on your thigh. He was looking up at you and his tail lazily wagged. Hornet let out a little whimper and stacked his chin on his paws—he knew something was happening but wasn’t sure how to react.

You looked back at Bradley, who was still awaiting your response. Your bottom lip quivered, and you could feel the tears threatening to breach your lower lash line.

“Yes!” You leaned forward and kissed Bradley. He was smiling as you pulled away. Clipper and Hornet watched as Bradley slipped the ring on your finger. You wiggled your fingers as you admired it.

“It looks good on you,” he said.

You put your hand down and looked at him. “I’m happy you think I’m enough to wear it.” You adjusted yourself on his lap and let your forearms rest on his chest while you looked at him.

His arms pulled you closer to his torso, hands resting on the top curve of your backside. “You’re more than enough—you’re my girl.” It was his turn to press a kiss to your lips.

You smiled as you separated. “I guess old dogs are forever, too, eh?”

Bradley hummed, and ran his hands up your sides. “At least you can still teach me new tricks.” You laughed together and, as if on cue, Hornet popped up and swiped his tongue up Bradley’s cheek.

“That’s it,” he said teasingly. Bradley stood, and you slid off his lap. Unexpectedly, Bradley flipped you over his shoulder. Supporting yourself with your hands on his back, you looked at the dogs who hadn’t budged from the couch. “Clip, you gotta teach Hornet a thing or two about adult time.” You chuckled as Bradley carted you to your bedroom to properly seal your engagement.

#hello december playlist challenge #notroosterbradshaw #holiday fanfic #top gun holiday #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #Spotify

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 7 months

Text

tuesday again 9/19/2023

unknown flu-like-symptoms-but-not-the-flu-or-COVID problems

listening

no one particular thing has been stuck in my head so here are two short little things

youtube

new release Strike by La Femme is a delightful synthy one-minute sketch of a car chase in the pouring rain. spotify

Trumpet Sketches - Remastered by Janko Nilovic is a 1:40 doodle. when the organ hits... spotify

i have been following La Femme ever since i loved their credits song for As Above So Below, and the trumpet sketches are off the spotify recommended

reading

actually finished this book last tuesday, still reading berserk, but i don't have coherent berserk thoughts bc im still stuffing my entire elbow into my mouth and screaming about it.

The Stolen Coast, by Dwyer Murphy, has a lot of problems. the first problem is that the publisher bills it as a "noir jewel heist" novel when it is in fact a vibes novel about being sad and trapped in massachusetts. which, mood! but very much not what i or any other goodreads reviewer signed up for.

ABOUT THE STOLEN COAST Adrift in a sleepy coastal Massachusetts town, a man who ferries fugitives by day gets twisted up in a plot to pilfer diamonds in this Casablanca-infused heist novel.

Casablanca is a real fuckin goddamn reach. this is like saying Home Alone 2 and The Taking of Pelham 123 are similar bc they both have pivotal scenes in subways. when you are expecting a cool noir jewel heist and you get a vibes book, it feels very meandering and indecisive with exceptionally poor pacing and very light on the plot. dwyer knows how to put a sentence together, and there is a high degree of aesthetic polish, but i lived in mass and found myself filling in a lot of the vibes from lived experience. this is a book that expects you to already know *extremely* minute regional accent differences.

i often found myself more interested in the antagonist lawyer and his wife (who has a standing weekly appointment to fuck her bodyguard at the region's finest wedding destination hotel, and orders champage afterwards every week) than the protagonists of our story. the femme fatale loops all the way back around to manic pixie, which i didn't know was possible for a woman to do. as an example of the aesthetic polish but editorial disarray of the book, wherein we know so much about our protagonists but so little of it is relevant, i was convinced that "our main man Jack is a Harvard lawyer" was a long running gag for most of the book (a la "our good for nothing son is actually Very Important and just slumming it here") and was actually quite anxious to see if the actual lawyer would ferret him out, but no. jack is actually a real lawyer but it simply does not fucking matter.

there are a. number of happenings that mr murphy tries to pass off as luck and just like Ha Ha Things Just Break Like That Sometimes but it really just feels like acts of god. their planned heist breaks bad for them with no consequences and then breaks very well for them with very few consequences. this is not a long book. the actual heist felt like filling time.

it's a book that's very very good at capturing the New England depression and sense of stagnancy, for want of a nail etc, the bizarre little self-important snow globe everyone lives in, but everyone has such small ambitions. this is sort of the point of noir, that the rot never actually changes no matter what you do, but the protag is the perpetrator of the rot? this is largely a personal crisis that he’s choosing not to address. perhaps most unforgivably, for such a short book it dragged a whole fuck of a lot.

i have been betrayed by whoever did this npr book review

watching

Forty Guns (1957, dir Fuller). this is the most movie reviewer ass section ive written in a minute. this one is for sickos only. it is not an interesting movie by itself (choppy and kind of messy) but it is an interesting movie if you know the limitations of the genre and the hays code it's slamming up against.

youtube

there is simply So Much that happens in this movie (from the very good Criterion Collection essay):

While the story sounds rather tidy in summary, the plot of Forty Guns is rife with intrigue and action—juggling political corruption, theft, betrayal, an unwanted pregnancy, a serious maiming, three romances, four murders, and a suicide.

there's some oddly dorky but endearing straight people visual and verbal double entendre. visually unique but does not stick its landing, and i don't know that i love the original ending as opposed to the studio ending either.

it gets a solid B on the "westerns i would let other people watch" list. not one of the top three movies to convince someone that some westerns are good actually, but a fun little weird offshoot of the genre.

why did i watch this: surely by seeing a post from another cowboyblogger? it was fairly recently added to my letterboxd watchlist, but the why of it i could not tell you

playing

im convinced theres a bug in the Court of Fontaine region in g/enshin bc i have been stuck at 97% for several weeks now. tick over to 100% godddamnit.

making

acquired all the stuff to dye a couch cover, have not actually dyed the couch cover, due to being down with some sort of sickness

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #i have once again bungled the scheduled post #timing

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jamiesfootball · 1 month

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🥐🌵🍓🍬🎱 -> any or all for your enrichment!!

All of this got long so under the cut to save people from scrolling it goes-

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

Not a reference (I don't think. I'll be real, I don't think I understand this question) but I sure do like that twink on tiktok what does the cooking

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

Please enjoy this nostalgia playlist of songs that have made me go 'how do I remember the fucking words to this' which I have appropriately named after a Celine Dion song.

There are two Celine Dion songs.

Toni Braxton is on it. So are The Cranberries.

The only two dudes to make the list are Boyz II Men and that guy from Sixpence None the Richer

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Questions about unpopular fandom opinions always throw me for a loop. I'll go with saying that season 1 Jamie has more emotional maturity than people give him credit for, especially in regards to him and Keeley's breakup.

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

After spending most of my life daydreaming elaborate scenarios, I tried to write some of them down when I was like twelve.

They sucked so I went back to drawing fanart, which I was getting pretty good at.

Then when I was 15 I started writing some of them down again. They were pretty good, but wildly disconnected from canon in many cases. I would write down bits, discuss them with friends (who were writers writing things), and then go back to doing other things (mostly art). I still have some of those somewhere, I think.

Then when I was 20, an art major, I started to realize that fuck man, I sure do need something to do that isn't more fucking art. At that point, I had a pretty good idea for writing voice and structure, as I'd been voraciously reading fic for a decade. I wrote some things. It was fun. I went back to doing art.

Then in 2015 a friend and I went and saw this movie, The Man From UNCLE, and it was really really good. Between the two of us, she was more of the writer, but as we spun up a whole sequel/story together she asked if I wanted to write any of it. I said yes. She would write the first draft and I would fill out other scenes, and both of us would workshop and storyboard and bits we got stuck on. Occasionally I would add in entire sections of scenes to flesh things out.

2016, same friend and I start doing another co-writing thing but this time for The Musketeers (BBC show). This time there was a difference- instead of friend writing scenes and me adding bits, there would be entire scenes I'd write and then she'd come back in and edit/add bits.

Then some real life stuff happened and I stopped writing.

Then I briefly got into batman and wrote some stuff there, but never finished or published it.

Then I briefly got into OFMD and wrote some stuff there, but never finished or published it.

Then last year I got into Ted Lasso because of some amazing fic and in the lead up to season 3 airing I was like 'I sort of....want to write something?' And I wrote some stuff. Then, emboldened by everyone else posting things I figured- hey! What if I actually wrote something, finished it, and published it!

So to answer your question: I've always been here, but in a very real way my answer is 'last year.'

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats

Most of it is pre-Ted Lasso and doesn't feel like it should count since I wasn't doing the bulk of the work, so here is the adjusted to just Ted Lasso stats:

Fic Total - 6

User Subscriptions - 49

Kudos - 669

Comment threads - 78

Bookmarks - 146

Subscriptions - 170

Word Count - 30,040

Hits - 6,074

#ask game #ask box is always open #sorry this got long

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