#Sarcastic Tumbler

[jumbosvg]

60+ Sarcastic Tumbler Png Bundle

[dgtlprdcdsbyer]

[aperfecthalosblog]

Blow Me Sarcastic 20oz or 30oz skinny tumblers (glow in dark option)

This listing is for one 20oz or 30oz skinny tumbler ( Glow in dark option)

Vacuum insulated tumbler with lid and straw. Drinks stay ice cold or steaming hot ALL DAY LONG. Perfect for hot coffee in the morning, cold drinks all day long, or wine at the end of the day.

These are custom made and can be custom made for you with a process called sublimation..

Add a name or saying

Since these are handmade the image maybe slightly different then pictured

** All tumblers should be hand washed and not placed in the dishwasher.

There is no actual glitter the image make it appear like glitter..

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

TOMMY HAS YOU TIED TO THE BED

Pairing - Tommy Shelby - fem!reader

Warnings - Bondage, p in v, rough, dub con.

Word count - 500+

Notes - Yayyyyy Tommy. Little drabble because he is a such a complex character to me.

As the door creaked open, Tommy couldn’t help but to smirk to himself. Right where he left you. Wrists bound to the bed frame as your head sloped over during your uneasy slumber, the bed sheets hardly covered your exposed, marked body. His heavy footsteps woke you as he headed to his mini bar whilst shredding off his jacket. 

“Enjoy your night?” You sneered, your throbbing head undulated as your body felt weak. 

“It was decent” Tommy replied coolly, his back to you as he poured himself a double shot of whiskey and walked over to you. “But I longed to return home to you” he admitted as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you. 

“Lucky me” you grinned sarcastically, your eyes lingered on the tumbler, it triggered your dry throat to pulsate. 

“Thirsty?” He inquired, an innocent smile on his lips. 

You nodded gently and leaned yourself towards the glass. But he swapped it to his opposing hand and held it away from the bed. As you pouted to him, Tommy laughed in a dark tone as he placed it on the bedside table. Gradually, Tommy climbed on top of you and leant his head close to yours, your noses brushed against each other.

“Then be a good girl for me tonight, eh?” He whispered, the scent of alcohol suffocated your smell. 

Tommy pulled the sheets off of your bare skin and admired the markings that he had given you within the past day. It gave him a sense of complete ownership, your body was for his taking. He tugged his shirt over his head and threw it aside. 

“You can’t keep me here forever” you grumbled. 

The fresh scratches on his chest were still yet to heal, it was his own fault, he miscalculated your strength. Tommy leant down and kissed you deeply, you compelled, not wanting another bruised mark on your skin, your hands naturally tugged at the rough rope, as they urged to wrap themselves around his upper body. 

Tommy freed his throbbing length with one hand and caressed your torso with the other. His fingers ran over your swollen entrance and you gulped, unsure if your body had recovered from earlier today. 

“By the time I untie you, you won’t want to leave” he smiled as he pressed the sides of your faces together. Steadily, he lined up his tip to your entrance. 

“Cocky gypsy bastard” you moaned as you felt his length slowly push inside your wet canal. 

There was a quick moment of silence as Tommy focused on pushing himself completely inside of you first. Slowly, he slipped in inch by inch to tease you. Done so to purely enjoy your soft, sweet moans. 

“And your father is a cocky Irish scum. Which led you here, right beneath me” Tommy countered eventually. There was no counter argument from you, to hell with both of them. “Might as well get used to me, he won’t want you anymore when he finds out what you’ve been up to. He might shoot you for treason” Tommy chuckled cruelly, his hands pulling up your hips from the mattress as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck you Tommy” you hissed, as you tugged on the restraints and turned your face away from his in anger. 

“You’re doing that right now sweetheart” Tommy snickered as he nibbled on your earlobe, picking up his pace without care.

[theblue6ook]

A Quiet Day

Summary: Bruce does not like celebrating his birthday. All of the pomp and circumstance was very “Bruce Wayne Bachelor,” but it wasn’t him. He wants quiet, he wants easy, he wants focus. So Y/N gives him that.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: I tried to add everyone who wanted to be on the tag list, but let me know if I missed you! [B (24) & Y/N (22)]

“Happy Birthday, Master Bruce,” he heard Alfred over the speaker system. 

Bruce couldn’t help but gaze at the digital clock built into his car console. Well, maybe a tank console? Lucious Fox said it was called the Tumbler, but the name just didn’t feel right to him. It was a birthday present he had told Bruce, and Bruce would call it what he liked... when he thought of a name. He was patrolling, as he does, except this time, he would take his new Waynetech Tank out for a spin. Nope, that name feels wrong too.

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Anything special planned this year, sir.”

“You know there’s not,” he chuckled.

“I wasn’t sure if you were getting bold with birthdays,” he could feel Alfred's grin, “considering what an extravagant time Ms. Y/N had.” 

“Just doing something nice for a friend, Alfred.”

Friend. That was nice to say. It’s easy to make friends when you’re a twenty-three - well, now a twenty-four-year-old billionaire. Bruce had never been low on friendships, but he had been low on real friendships. Of course, he had good friends. Rachel, Alfred, Lucius, and Jack Drake, to name a few, but that was all before The Bat. After he had left Gotham, he’d been through a lot. He’d been alone a lot. None of them would ever understand what he went through, who he was now. When he had trained, you’d be "assigned" friends. People you had to work with, save. He had met people who would and had died for him. How can you come back to trivial friendships after that?

And when you don’t water something, it dies. So, friendships slowly crumbled. Shriveled away. It wasn’t in a huge, dramatic way, but in a lost touch way. People didn’t want to deal with the Bruce Wayne he really was, a workaholic, stressed, easily annoyed, quick, and yet she didn’t care.

Y/N had come along, and he was used to the petty fights, people making up their minds, even leaving. They'd slowly given up on him. But she didn’t. They could fight all day long, and by the end, he’d be frustrated, grabbing his coat and announcing it was the end of the day for him. She’d look up at him and say, "See you tomorrow."

Once, he had questioned her about it, half joking and half not, “You’re not going to walk out and never come back?” 

She had looked at him strangely and scoffed, “Bruce, it’s fine if we argue and argue and move on. That’s friendship. That’s life.”

“That’s life?” he had asked sarcastically.

“Yeah. Now get over it and get out,” she had smirked at him.

So, they fight, and they move on, and they fight, and they move on, and Bruce doesn’t mind at all. At the end of the day, he knows he’ll see her the next, and then he does. It’s consistent, and god knows he could use some consistency. 

“A good friend gives back,” Alfred stated. “Maybe she’ll plan you a party.”

God, he hopes not.

-

Y/N had been conspiring. Bruce had made her birthday like nothing she had ever imagined, and even if her ex-finance had soiled the evening, she was grateful. So she wanted to do something special for him, except… he didn’t really seem like he wanted to do anything. Everyone in the office was talking about The Bruce Wayne’s birthday except for Bruce Wayne himself. 

Y/N knew she never typically saw his party side, aside from him hopping into the fountain at The Ocelot. The Bruce she knew was more reserved, quiet, and calculated. Plus, when it came to the topic of his birthday, it’s like he shut the complete conversation down. So, how do you plan something for the one person who wants nothing?

You don’t.

At least you don’t plan a party; you make the day itself special. Bruce hated meetings, so she moved them. He loved the bagel place she showed him down by Dorthie’s Flowers, so she scheduled a nice lunch. The last time she was in Dorthie’s, John had told her that violets were Bruce’s birth flower, so she put some in the office. Finally, for the last hour of their workday, she had a cake, nothing special, she had made it with Carrie last night, and a few birthday cards. 

She was nervous as hell. Giving something to the man who can afford everything is more nerve-wracking than she thought it would be. 

Bruce had arrived at his typical noon timeline. He stepped into the office with caution, just praying what had happened in the past years wouldn’t happen today. When he did occasionally come into the office years ago, past assistants and coworkers would plan some Bruce Wayne Birthday Happy Hour where everyone would get plastered, and he would sneak off annoyed. He knew Y/N knew him better than that. Or at least he hoped she did.

When he stepped into the office, there were no decorations, no music, and no surprises so far. He let out a breath. There was Y/N battling it out on the phone like she usually is. She waved at him and mouthed to him I can’t do phone calls anymore, rolling her eyes. He chuckled, stepping into his office.

Violets.

It wasn’t abnormal for Y/N to grab flowers for the office. She was dear friends with his florist, but violets made him think of his mother. Every birthday, his mother would go through the grueling tale of his birth just to tease him. 

“Thomas, you don’t get to laugh. You were no help!” she squealed. “Anyways, my dear Brucie. I was in the worst pain of my life bringing you into this world. All I wanted was my ice chips when our doctor started going on about birth flowers to distract me.”

“It annoyed her to no end-”

“Stop interrupting me, Thomas,” she had giggled, and Bruce had done the same. “Anyways, I was trying to bring you into this world, and he tells me, ‘ma’am it sounds like your son’s birth flower will be a violet. I never cared for violets.’ And I thought, what a terrible thing to say to a mother. So I kicked him out, and the nurse and I worked hard for you.” 

“She’s not joking, son.”

“But now, every birthday I just have to douse the house in violets for my sweet Brucie.”

 Bruce stepped closer, touching the edge of the petals with his fingertips. It had been a while since he’d been given any flowers... but violets, he was sure he had only gotten them from Mama.

There was a light cough behind him, and he turned to see a bashful Y/N. “So, no meetings today, but we have some paperwork to go through.”

“No meetings?” he questioned. That would be a first.

“Yeah, this donator work really should take priority,” she tried to act casually. “Oh, and I was going to run to Upper East Bagel later if you want to come.”

“We’re not getting delivery?”

“Well, it’s nice outside,” she started innocently. Bad lie, she thought. It’s February. It’s never nice. “I figured I’d walk, but if you want me to go by myself I can grab something for you.”

Bruce scoffed, “You’re not walking by yourself in Gotham.”

She grinned. Bait taken. 

For the few hours before lunch, they worked on paperwork. The donator paperwork did take up a chunk of time. There were so many details like which benefits he needed to attend, which non-profits were approved for the Wayne Charity donation program, etc. He was whipped, and even worse, he was hungry. Stepping toward the door, he leaned on the frame. Y/N was digging through one of her bags, and he cleared his throat.

“Bageles?”

She grinned, “I’m literally starving.”

Y/N was excited, not just for the bagel, but because as soon as they walked down to get their lunch, Alfred was going to come and help her set up Bruce’s office. Again, nothing crazy, a cake, cards, and maybe a balloon. It was nothing that should take long. She even had everything in a tote bag under her desk. 

The bagel line wasn’t long, and they didn’t have any issues other than a few people recognizing Bruce and wishing him a happy birthday. When they did, he’d look at her curiously. While Y/N had no reaction, Bruce was suspicious. So, she knows it’s my birthday, and she hasn’t said anything. Not that Bruce cared about things like that, but Y/N wasn’t the type to forget or be silent on the subject. She had only glanced at him innocently, batting her lashes, “Should we eat lunch in the park?

Bruce humored her, so they sat in Gotham Park and ate their lunch. While the bagel was great, it was fucking freezing outside. Y/N looked over at Bruce, pleasantly eating his bagel. It didn't look like the cold had bothered him at all. Despite not being cold, the whole ordeal had Bruce's mind moving. God, please no office parties when we get back. 

He was on edge stepping back into the office, waiting for some insane ordeal… but nothing. They took the elevator straight up to his office, and walked in by Y/N’s desk and… nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she forgot and didn’t want to say anything. Y/N walked casually over to her desk and set her purse down while Bruce put the code into his office door and stepped inside. There was a balloon attached to his desk chair, a cake that was clearly not from a bakery, and cards. 

He chuckled, looking through them. One from Rachel and Harvey Dent, one from Alfred, one from Lucious, one from Jack Drake (who he hadn’t spoken to in so long), and one from Y/N. Except it wasn’t just from Y/N; her brothers had signed it with little notes and doodles, and Carrie had signed a nice message as well. 

It was so simple, so homely, and wonderful.

“Happy Birthday,” Y/N appeared behind him with a couple of paper dessert plates.

He looked at her but said nothing. In the best way, he didn’t know what to say, and suddenly she became nervous.

“I know it’s not much, and you probably have friends planning something crazy, but,” she paused, unsure of herself, “it’s just… you didn’t really seem like you wanted a party.” 

Bruce chuckled quietly. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “I’ve had friends plan a few insane things over the years, and I’m grateful, but I never really felt like celebrating my birthday without-” He stopped, a little embarrassed. “I sound like a child.”

“You don’t,” she stepped over to him, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbled.

“After my mother left, I tried to make birthdays special for my brothers, but my dad didn’t really celebrate, and neither did I,” she wasn’t sure why she was whispering. Maybe it was the close proximity between them, or maybe it was because she had never admitted what she was about to say aloud. “John, Carrie, even Russ, they all tried to make things special for me, but… I didn’t want to celebrate. I’d always leave early or fake a headache.”

“I didn’t know your mom left,” he replied back.

“I don’t really talk about it. It’s not like it’s a secret, but I don’t know. It feels so awkward to mention.”

“It’s awkward to mention your dead parents too,” he looked over at her, grinning. 

“At least you know they loved you,” she cringed like she regretted what she said. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“I get it,” he said honestly.

“So, cake,” she quickly diverted the topic.

Bruce smiled. A real true smile, “Cake.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 6

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You land on your back. The constant wind tunnel has left you dizzy and buzzing. Your body feels hollow as you lay vibrating on the ground—floor? 

The helmet retracts from your head and the rest of the suit collapses. You’re left panting at the ceiling as Tony casually strolls around you. He chuckles as he stands above your head and bends to look down at you. 

“You good, sweetheart?” He taunts. 

You growl and sit up furiously. You’re nearly bowled over as the effort swims in your head but you resist the spin of the walls. You stand and grip your skull, blinking as you try to clear away the vertigo.  

The large window panel slowly slides itself back into place. On the other side, a view of the dimming city skyline twinkles back at you. You keep space between you and Tony as you take in the strange place. Leather, acrylic, dark wood. It’s a tapestry of luxury that puts your own existence to shame, even before he blew it shrapnel. 

“Why did you bring me here?” You hiss. 

“Long flight, huh? Bit of turbulence,” he shrugs off his jacket and struts across the room. “I could use a drink. How about you?” 

“I want to go home--” 

“Sweetheart, we went over this. Your mom lost her home and I replaced that. You weren’t part of the conversation.” He steps around the bar and folds his blazer over the end. He sidles along and grabs a full-bellied decanter of liquor from beneath. “I didn’t think it was very motherly of her but I guess you didn’t contribute much.” 

“I paid her rent. Half—it doesn’t matter. That’s not your business.” You storm across the room, larger on its own than the breadth of the trailer he destroyed. “It’s for me and my mother to sort out. Take me home.” 

“Again,” he grimaces, but it’s almost sarcastic, and he clinks down two empty tumblers. “What home?” 

You scoff then snarl, then step back and frown. You drop your head as you grip your hips. You need to call your mom—but you don’t have your phone. You have nothing. Everything you ever had was in the trailer and the only thing you saved was left behind. No wallet, no phone, nothing to get yourself out of here. 

“You can’t do this? Is this what you do? You just want something and take it? Demand it? I’m a person. You can’t just steal me--” 

“I didn’t steal you,” he pours the whiskey. “I made a fair deal.” He nudges a glass towards you and smirks. “Have a drink, it’ll help. I get it, backwoods girl in the city, it’s scary. You gotta adjust--” 

You take the glass and hurl the whiskey in his face. The liquid splashes down his shirt and tie and soaks his hair. You slam the tumbler down and sneer. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

He’s silent as he turns and grabs a fabric napkin. He unfolds it, calmly, and wipes his face. He dabs the fabric of his shirt and looks at you. His nose flares. 

“Post has been removed. Reported for misinformation, so, I don’t need you to go in and hit that magic button. Oh, but I do have my team cleaning up your social media. Just in case you have something nasty buried in that bodunk past.” He says. 

“What? I don’t-- why? Over a post? The truth? So why waste your energy? On me? What—if the post is down--” 

“Sweetheart, I can’t lie. The post led me to you but it didn’t keep me around. That was you. You’re... fun? Interesting?” He narrows his eyes as his cheek dimples, “hard to say but you do get my motor running so I went with the mood. Or how is it you younger folk say, the vibe.” 

It takes all your restraint not to roll your eyes. You cross your arms and glare back at him defiantly. 

“Bullshit. You’re Tony Stark. Everyone, even some smalltown rat like me, knows who you are. You got them lined down the block so I’d rather not join the queue--” You sniff. 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. The playboy thing plays well among the male demographic, twenty to forty-five. The young ones want to make it big and get the pussy, the old ones are married and wished they’d done it all different. Their dicks stop working with all that stress and their wives are too busy to even try to wake it up so--” 

“Ew. You’re disgusting.” 

“Hey, I do well with your demographic too. I mean, the ladies don’t line up for nothing,” he snickers. “And what do you know, you got a VIP pass.” 

He raises his glass and drinks. The slurping sound further agitates you. You clamp your lips shut and turn to look around. You take it all in. You feel out of place. Not just knowing you’re as far from home as you’ve ever been, but the decor alone. You slept on a dining table that converted to a bed for the best of the decade. You’re not exactly from the high-life. 

You retreat back to the window and gaze out at the New York silhouette. Your stomach boils and your vision blurs. You hate that he can just do this. That you have no way to stop him.  

Worse than everything else, your mom did this. You don’t what he told her, if he prettied up his intent, but it doesn’t matter. Your mom had always been so eager to get rid of you. She dated a guy once and when they split, he tried to ask you out. She actually encouraged him. You should’ve seen this coming. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tony steps up next to you, the smell of alcohol roiling off of him. “It’ll make me tolerable. That and the sex.” He slaps your ass and you squeak, instinctively shoving him away. “I’m telling you, have some whiskey, it’ll loosen you up.” He offers a new glass of the dark liquor. “Nurse it, don’t down it all at once. I want you to think. Have I asked for permission so far? Am I going to start?” 

You stare at him. Your breath is trapped in your chest. His meaning is clear. You couldn’t stop him before and you won’t stop him now. You take the liquor and turn back to the window. It might at least dull your emotions. You don’t want to feel any of this. 

[acotarxreader]

Silence in the Shadows

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Hewn City has been hit by a fresh crime wave, stumping the inner circle as they search for a solution. Azriel meets you in a crowded bar while trying to escape the stresses that the City was supplying him. But after a spur of the moment night together, Azriel is left wondering if the girl he spent the night with is truly all what she seems?

Warnings: Smut, angst, a lil action, typos

A/N: This has been reworked a million times and now I just think I have to post it so it can be free of the WIP graveyard. Let me know what you think of this friends???

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

Azriel allowed his shadows to swirl into the flashing lights of the nightclub deep within the City of Nightmares. Cassian span Nesta around in the drowning music as Azriel leaned on the bar top, watching his friends release some heavy tension they’d all been feeling. His head gently bobbed to the music while taking a deep drink from the heavy bottomed tumbler in his hand. Any and all attempts his friends made to separate him from the ledge of oak he rested against were futile, all until his eyes of the same colour landed on a fae he didn’t know. You moved through the crowd with an ease that rivaled his movements, head slightly ducked, obscuring your full facade. Cassian turned to attempt to pull his brother into the moment only to find the section of bar top bare again. 

“Hello there” You jolted slightly at his soft words from behind you, your hand on the release of the back exit of the Hewn City haunt. 

“Hi” You didn’t look back towards Azriel, your hand pressing the release bar to free you back to the street only to have it reject your request. You sighed, turning back to take in the beautiful Ilyrian, it stopping you in your tracks as much as the locked door. 

“Stuck with us?” He grinned at you and you found yourself uncharacteristically returning the same. Azriel felt an odd sense of calm wash over him, his shadows seemingly floating to his feet, suddenly too lethargic to leap to him with information about the fae in front of him. 

“It would seem so” you shouted back over the music.

“Why leave such a wonderful party?” His sarcastic tone accompanied his outstretched hand while it gestured to the chaotic party scene in front of you both. 

“I was just looking for someone” For a fleeting moment your eyes crossed Rhysand path across the dance floor, so quickly that anyone other than a great spymaster may miss.

“Ah, our High Lord, I can introduce you to him?” Azriel’s best effort to hide is slight jealousy at not being the object of your eyes failed him and another grin grew on your face. 

“Not tonight-emm?”

“Azriel”

“YN” You returned, your voices getting lost in the booming sound system.

“I thought you were looking for him?” Azriel couldn’t help but pick up on that little detail. You blinked away the question, offering your hand out towards him.

“Dance with me instead?” Your own question surprised you and he couldn’t help but accept the offer, Cassian nudging Mor in the background at the sight of their dear friend dancing with a stranger in person. 

The night was spent in the great company of one another, unable to keep from one anothers orbit as you both effortlessly melted into the chaotic scene. You both stayed on the outskirts of the dancefloor, away from Azriel’s family that you observed when Azriel was lost to the beat of the music. The night was escaping both of you quickly, Azriel felt as though he was trapped in a parallel universe where only the two of your occupied. Rhysand passed a large pint glass into his brothers hand as he passed the both of you, bringing Azriel out of his illusion.

“And what will you have Azriel’s lady?” Charisma and curiosity radiated from the towering Ilyrian. 

“Rhys she’s not m-”

“-I’ll have a martini, Rhys, like Rhysand right?” 

“The infamous” He beamed back before shimmying back to the bar top for your order, your eyes evaluating the motion with a scrutinising gaze familiar to Azriel.

“Planning on leaving me for a dance partner upgrade YN?” he called out to you jokingly, your attention being pulled back to the somewhat air of seriousness in the undertone of his voice. 

“You’re holding your own Azriel” You smiled while his hazel eyes heated your face over the rim of his beer, your head tilting temptingly towards him, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. 

You never got that martini from Rhysand. Instead you were liplocked with Azriel as your back was pressed flushed into the front door of Azriel’s Hewn City accommodation. 

Your legs wrap around his torso, your chests clinging to one another as if your lives depend on it, both becoming more hungry in your actions. The pulsating energy between the two of you clouded your brain from the questions that previously sat at the forefront while Azriel’s hands tracing up your back in search of the zipper of your dress took all his attention. 

“Why-are-you-guys-in-Hewn?” You managed between the practically touch starved kissing, trying to refocus your mind. 

“Hewn City is a great stressor in our lives right now” he rushed out before meeting your lips again dropping you down on top of his bed, his hands quickly going to pull his shirt from his chest. 

“What?” you breathed out, pulling at the straps of your own dress, your own question long forgotton.

“You asked why we were here” the sound of his shirt hitting the wooden floor hand your eyes tracing over his vast muscles 

“Emm oh yeah whatever” You reached up for the Shadowsinger, pulling him down to connect back to you with a burning desire you had never previously felt with someone, Azriel sharing the sentiment.

Azriel kissed you sweetly before moving down the shape of your body, peppering kisses along the trail to your entrance. You felt your legs begin to tremble under his touch, begging for more as his fingers began to play with your clit, your hands tangling in his hair with a moan. Your pulse nearly hit the roof, the feeling of pleasure shuddering through you, his rough but delicate fingers entering you, massaging you as they slide to your core. You dig your nails into his bare shoulders, riding his thrusting fingers as he groans at the sight. The tension built in your abdomen, the greatest realess you ever had just a few movements away until he stopped entirely. You looked down between your legs to meet his eyes as he moved to hover above you again, discarding his own trousers in the process. You rasped out what air you could until Azriel’s mouth stole the breath away again. 

Azriel slowly then began to enter you, you both almost meeting your release at the feeling. He slowly began to drag in and out as the sensation grew with its addictive nature, he increased his speed, spurred on by your hitching breath. Your head fell back as you both began to sink into synchronised movement. The pressure growing and growing and growing, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched until the band snapped sending you into overdrive as every nerve in your body stood to attention and then exploded. You practically screamed his name sending him over the edge, returning the sentiment by moaning your name, collapsing next to you while riding out his high. You rolled to your side slowly, your hands tucked beneath your cheek against the pillow, your eyes watch Azriel’s chest try to return the balanced breath he was accustomed to. He raised a shaky hand, a snap of a finger sent a buttery soft sheet to cover you both before he laid that same arm across your waist to pull you in towards him. 

“I- fucking hell I needed that” He found himself laughing as you smiled up to him through your lashes. 

“Stressed out lately Spymaster?”

“You have no idea” Azriel yawned out, missing the use of his title by you. Your smile faltered slightly before a rush of pure panic at what you had just done rattled through your body. Azriel’s grip tightened on you as he pulled you in further into his chest, silencing the rising alarm in your chest, you would deal with the repercussions in the morning. 

-

Cassians fist rattling against the solid door with Azriel’s wake up call had him bolting out of the sheets with the fright, never one to oversleep. He looked back towards the space you had previously occupied now empty. He felt a wash of disappointed at the sight, it stolen away by Cassians yelling on the otherside of the door once again. He would process the night later, he had work to do right now. 

—---------------------------

 “I fucked it”

“Have another drink Az, it was a bad day at the office”

“Except our office is the battlefields and the cursed streets of this fucking city” Azriel took the large stein of alcohol from Cassian, nearly sinking it in one gulp, the rotting bar in Hewn City bubbling around the two cloaked Illyrians. 

“Rhys is up there now trying to fix things with Keir, we’ll find the fifty” Cassian offered, tightening the next written plans of action he had tighter into his leathers beneath the cloak as the bar grew in masses.

“He shouldn’t be cleaning up after my mess, I should know where those Fae are gone” He sank another jug of alcohol before standing, having had enough wallowing, Cassian followed him out into the dark streets. Residents of the City avoided the two figures like the plague as the two Illyrians made it back to where the Court sat. 

“If you go in there, you’ll anger Keir even more, he’s just heard of the influx of illegal medicinals entering the city” Cassian said with a strong but hushed tone, catching up to Azriel with ease. 

“Another one of my blind spots, don’t remind me Cass” Azriel fought the urge to run his hands down his face in disgrace

“You know Rhys has been somewhat…limiting of our use since Nyx was born, the mother hening is preventing you from doing your job” Azriel agreed with Cassian as suddenly an obscured body bumped his brother's shoulder while passing him.

“Sorry” was said muffled by a female voice, Cassain took no notice and continued his stride, Azriel looked over his shoulder briefly to find the figure gone again, stopping in his tracks.

“What?”

“Odd in an empty path they couldn’t avoid you” 

“It doesn’t matter Az-Az!” Cassian’s eyes grew wide as his hand went beneath his cloak to the suddenly cold empty space where the Court papers had been. Without speaking, the two brothers ditched their cloaks and separated in pursuit of the thief. 

They coursed through the streets in opposite directions, passing through the residents like they were made of air. Azriel’s shadows raced ahead and back again, relaying information to him as fast as they flew until they darted down a narrow side street without returning, Azriel’s indication to follow suit. He collided with the hooded figure forcing her against a crumbling brick wall, his forearm flush with her throat as his shadows leapt with excitement at catching their prey. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” he seethed out, jostling the female slightly, given the stress he was under he was very much in the mood to act now and question later. 

“Oh, t-he S-hadow-singer” she rasped out through her narrowing larynx. He snatched the hood from the female, revealing a glowing but sharp young face, she could hardly be more than twenty, Azriel releasing the smallest amount of pressure on her. 

“Give what you have taken and I will leave you live” he chewed out, a smirk growing across her small face. 

“Oh Shadowsinger, you can have it, you are much more valuable” he raised an eyebrow to the cocky fae until a new voice came from behind him.

“For fuck sake Dahlia” was the last thing he heard before being sent into a deep sleep by the lid of a bin from behind.

—----------

Azriel’s head rolled off of his chest as he swung his heavy head back to take in his new surroundings. He shook his head gently from side to size, squeezing his eyes together before forcing the dark and damp room into focus. He moved to stand, the heavy sickly weight of chains behind his back kept him welded to the chair. 

“Don’t struggle, you’ll only tire yourself out” the females voice cut through the darkness, quickly reminding Azriel that this was not his home. A broad male stalked over to him, before catching his chin and forcing Azriel’s head to meet his gaze. 

“I’m not sure if she’ll be happy with this Dahlia” his low growl of a laugh gained an eye-roll from the twenty-year-old female Azriel now knew as Dahlia. He would not forget her name and face, she was to be added to a long list he kept in his head. 

“She’s busy welcoming the new ones, besides he went down like a logged tree Orion, doesn’t really align with the formidable character she portrays him as” Dahlia entered the space next to Azriel as the broad figure released his chin with a jerk

“Let me out of these bonds and we’ll see” Azriel spat, unable to call his shadows to his side. The swift brute force of a gloved heavy hand met the side of Azriels face, blood flowing from his lip on contact. 

“Don’t speak unless spoken to” Orion chewed out gaining another eye-roll from Dahlia. 

“Don’t break the new toy Or” a clear, crisp voice floated to Azriels humming ears from a shaded corner of the room. Azriel noticed Orion's face darken further as Dahlia’s smirk turned into a grin. 

“I thought I asked you to bring an egg, not the fucking chicken” the voice continued, shrouded in shadow as the grin left Dahlia just as quickly to the sharp words.

“Release him back, unless you have anything useful to say for yourself” 

“Answer Shadowsinger” Orion chewed

“Oh apologies, I wasn’t sure if it was only when you spoke to me that I to answer” Azriel's words dripping with sarcasm, Orion's fist took hold of Azriels shirt, almost lifting him from his chair. 

“Huh, cute-” you gave a slight half laugh through your nose “-I hate to interrupt you and Orions flirting but it’s time for you to go” 

“But I just lugged his heavy ass all the way here, you’re not going to even try to get answers from him” Dahlia almost whined out the words like a small child, your eyes never leaving Azriel until a smile grew underneath your bandana.

“He doesn’t have any answers, he has nothing, that’s why he’s not trying to escape, he’s trying to see what answers we have” Azriel felt his own small smirk grow at your words, like two tigers feeling one another out before one would strike. 

“Why not kill me?” more sarcasm comes from Azriel as Dahlia moves towards him, ready to send him to sleep again, Orion releasing his shirt.

“Why would we do that when we’re having so much fun watching you struggle to do your job-” Dahlias smile returning to her “-fancy another sleep Shadowsinger?”

“Don’t fucking touch me” You scoffed again from the darkened corner to his protest, taking the scene in before speaking again.

“Dahlia, darling no more knocking out members of Rhys’ Court unless asked, they make rather annoying prisoners” Something about the way you said the High Lord’s name struck Azriel’s mind like echoing memories, in such a callous but casual tone of familiarity. 

“No, it can’t be” he said so quietly he thought no one had heard him, a sigh left your voice before your boots moved with a gentle thud along the stone, entering the strip of light that illuminated Azriel. You had a scarf pulled up and across your face from the bridge of your nose down, your piercing eyes cut through Azriel with almost an addictive nature. 

“Hello Azriel” you narrowed your eyes over the rim of fabric before simply blinking once, Dahlia crashing Azriel into a deep another unwelcomed sleep. 

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

Whatcha think?

Part Two

[lowkeyremi]

Hello Maya! Before I start my request, I just wanna say, I love your writing!!! I've been reading your things for a few weeks now (I'm new to tumbler) and I'm hooked!!

Anywho- I was listening to "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift and it gave me the idea of fem!reader meeting Satoru at some big event for sorcerers and falling hopelessly in love with him

heyyyyyy thank you for reading my stuff and i'm really happy you made a request, i've been hoping someone would bc i want to write ideas other than my own. i'm not huge on taylor swift so i had to listen to this song lol its pretty good :) you ask and i shall provide!! also i'm sorry if this isn't what you had in mind :')

Enchanted S. Gojo x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

content: fluff, meeting and getting together

The night hadn't been going so well. You spilled some of your drink on your dress. That was borrowed from your friend might you add. Three guys that showed any potential interest were already with someone and their dates angrily pulled them away from you.

There are whispers about the oh so famous Satoru Gojo, and how he's finally made an appearance with his long time friend Nanami.

You've heard plenty about him, he's the famous sorcerer from Jujutsu High that has six eyes. He can solve any problem and he's said to be very hot. Honestly you're kind of a hater, you think people are gassing him up for no reason.

You've never personally met him but his description makes it hard to miss him if you see him; white hair blue eyes, but he'll likely be wearing an eye mask.

A sigh escapes your lips as you walk toward the bar for another drink, you would have invited your best friend but she's not a sorcerer and would not get it at all. "Hi, sorry for being back so soon, but could I get a strawberry margarita?" The woman behind the bar nods.

Before she can walk off though, a silky, carefree voice makes a request with your order, "Me too! Never tried strawberry margarita. Sounds pretty fruity." This day is already bad so you turn your head to see who just made it even worse-

A pretty white haired man stands by your side, piercing blue eyes peaking through sunglasses that look down right ridiculous at such a formal event. "Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors??" Is the first thing you ask, no 'Hi how are you?' or 'why are you ordering drinks on my tab?'

"Cuz I could make everyone faint with my pretty blue eyes." He smirks, confidence evident in every word.

You look confused and he finds it cute. A foreign feeling stirs in your stomach. "Just kidding. I'd waste my power if my glasses were off. Actually, I was advised not to wear them, but I didn't wanna wear my mask for this event. I have it in my pocket just in case though." He's so light and bubbly you almost forget what you were fuming about.

"You're Gojo right?" He smiles and gives a quick nod.

"And you must be 'girl with a stain on her dress', huh?" You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"Woo that was a good one, almost made my stomach hurt from laughter." You counter sarcastically; the moodiness coming back to you.

"Haha, my bad. Anyway when we get drinks I'll find us somewhere to sit and I'll make you laugh for real." That confidence is still there. You love funny people, they're exciting to be around.

"I'm holding you to that. I need a good laugh." His smile consists of all his pearly whites and is enough to make you, or anyone around you melt.

He goes to pay for your drink, and even hands it to you. "I have to say you are way less selfish than people make you out to be."

The man in question shrugs and smirks at you, "I am very selfish about certain things, childish even. It's only the first date though so pretend you don't know about that." He waves his hand dismissively. You couldn't even care about the fact he admitted to selfishness, you're stuck up on the part where he said this is a date.

"Who said this is a date?" He notices you're trying to play it cool, but he can see right through you.

"I did. I mean if you want, we can think of it more as a blind date since it wasn't planned." Something about him doesn't rub you the wrong way or make you angry at all. He's definitely an odd ball, but he's able to make you feel something in your gut that you haven't felt in a very long time, maybe not ever, actually.

"I- what- you can't just-" You cut yourself off, lost for words, trying to comprehend what he'd just said.

He intertwines his fingers with yours. They're cold to the touch, long and slender. He does that thing where you rub your thumb across all the other fingers. On top of that he gives you that love struck gaze. You're all kinds of confused because why is someone like him trying to flirt with you??? He could literally have any other pretty sorcerer but he's walking you over to a fancy table to sit and talk.

"Ugh, you're supposed to have warm hands to contrast my cold ones." He complains, and if you weren't already stunned then you definitely were now. He's swinging his arm back in forth, with you mirroring it because he's holding your hand.

"I can't help my hands being cold, maybe you should be the one with the warm hands." He shrugs at your response. The swinging stops when you two reach a table big enough for four and pulls out your chair for you.

"I normally don't do this but you're definitely worth it." a lopsided grin covers his face.

As nice as all of this is you look around for cameras. Your mind is telling you he means no harm, but you can never be too sure.

"Okay, is this some kind of joke or show?? Where are the cameras because this can't be real." The white haired six foot something giant's face contorts into something very (ugly) funny. His face scrunches up at your words.

"I can't believe you'd suggest something like that! I'm serious, I just want to be a normal guy and have a normal encounter with someone. So, can you just pretend I'm a normal date and not Gojo Satoru?" He's telling the truth and for the first time tonight you fully relax.

"Okay, hi normal guy. What do you like to do?" You ask playfully feeling enchanted by his charismatic presence. He makes you feel a sense of freedom like you never have before.

The rest of the night the two of you goof off and talk about all kinds of things. Eventually he's being dragged out by Nanami because of how drunk he is. He'd given you his number, "Call me!!!" He whines loudly while being led to the car he arrived in.

"Okay! When I do, don't forget everything from tonight." You yell back to him.

"Like hell I will!" And he was telling the truth because about two hours later when you were winding down for bed you get a call from an unknown number. Usually you wouldn't pick up but you have a feeling that the person on the other side was none other than Gojo normal guy.

"Hello?" You don't get a response for a few seconds, your stomach drops thinking you had miscalculated...

"I miss you already, when can I see you again?" He asks sleepily.

[sashaisready]

Chapter Nineteen - Best of luck

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again

Warning: Dark themes - same warnings as previous chapter, also includes minor injury with mention of blood

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 20

Series Masterlist

Bucky is settling down to go to bed when his phone buzzes. He’s in a bad mood, still furious with how things went down with you earlier.

He takes a sip from this tumbler of whiskey as he picks up his device. He’s very surprised to see your name light up his screen. You’ve sent him a couple of messages. He frowns as he swipes to open his phone.

Sweetie - I’m sorry we fought. Please help!! I’ve been taken somewhere - these men are so scary. Please come help me x love you

Sweetie - here’s my location. Please come soon - I need you. Xx love you so much

The second message included a pin with your live location. You seemed to be somewhere on the outskirts of the city.

He furrows his brow, thinking carefully as he holds the phone against his chin.

After a moment, he opens up your messages again and begins to type a response.

**

Rumlow was holding your phone eagerly as he watched the screen, waiting for Bucky to respond.

You chewed your lip anxiously as you looked around the room. The men all stared back at you. You know pinning all of your hopes on Bucky to save the day is a naïve plan so you’re frantically trying to come up with another idea to get out of here. If you could just be left alone for a moment…

Your phone vibrates and Rumlow laughs excitedly.

“Here’s your boy…” he chuckles.

His thick fingers are smashing at your phone screen as he brings up the message. But his face falls, and he throws the phone over to Pierce who begins to read aloud.

“Doll…sorry to hear you’re in a spot of bother. But I told you I’d leave you alone like you wanted and I’m a man of my word. Best of luck - JBB x”.

Your heart sinks into your stomach and you suddenly feel like you might faint. You go limp in the chair. You didn’t expect Bucky to actually come, but hearing it out loud is still hard to take.

“Aww, well that’s a shame” mutters Pierce sarcastically. “Plenty of fish in the sea though, right honey?”

He taps your cheek roughly and you realise you’re trembling.

“Fuck!!!” Rumlow yells in frustration. “What are we going to do now?

Pierce shushes him soothingly. He seems to be the calm and measured presence alongside Rumlow’s hot-headedness. It strikes you that he’s like Bucky in that way.

Or maybe Bucky is like him. He learnt it all from somewhere.

“Gentlemen….let’s just give this a bit longer huh? We all know from personal experience what Barnes says and does can be two different things…” Pierce muses serenely. “We’ve got time. The girl isn’t going anywhere. We’ll be ready for him if he shows up.”

“So you think he could still come?” Rumlow questions. “I dunno boss, she seems pretty adamant he doesn’t give a fuck…”

Pierce shrugs. “Let’s regroup and discuss.”.

He gestures to them through the double doors. “Follow me, let’s go somewhere a bit more private. Prying eyes and all that” he winks at you.

“Princess, we’ll be right back. Jones here will babysit you for now” he nods his head towards a man holding a large pistol who just blankly stares back at you. He somehow looks like a perfect mix of every bad guy you’ve ever seen in a movie.

“Get comfortable, sweetie” Pierce adds as he leaves the room.

You despise all of the names he gives you...honey...sweetie...princess. Your hatred for him seethes, flowing through your veins.

As the rest of the group head out with a low chatter, Jones moves closer to you. He watches you carefully, circling your chair and pointing his gun at you. It’s just the two of you left in the room now.

You sit up slightly, the beginnings of a plan forming in your head. It’s all you have, so it’s worth a shot.

You purposefully make yourself look as meek as possible, allowing your tears to fall as you flutter your eyelashes. You whimper softly. It’s not too much of a stretch as you’ve been on the verge of crying since they grabbed you.

Jones just watches you silently, seemingly unmoved by your tears.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry…” you tell him softly.

“I’m just so scared” you sigh. You move your legs apart slightly, moving your cleavage forward just the tiniest bit. You adjust your thighs so that your dress rides up Jones can see a flash of your underwear between your legs, but subtle enough that it doesn’t look like it’s on purpose.

Jones takes the bait, leaning forward and leering at you. You feel dirty. But it’s a means to an end.

Now or never.

“Do…do you think you could get me some water, please? I’m sorry to ask. My throat is just so dry…” you plead to him, slightly pathetically.

He looks at you for a moment, stealing another glance at your breasts and between your legs. Then he nods silently and heads for the doors.

You nearly gasp, amazed that was all it took.

Men, huh?

But you don’t have long. You cast your mind back to a YouTube video you watched in the midst of a late night True Crime binge. It was a tutorial on how to break out of zip ties. HYDRA were sloppy for not using real ropes, no wonder Bucky toppled them so easily - but you supposed they didn’t see you as a real threat. Well, you were happy to be underestimated if it worked to your advantage.

The second the door closed behind Jones you began to raise your arms high above your back and crash them down at full force as you flex your hands. It takes a few tries but you manage it, the pressure snaps the tie and you free yourself. You gasp, momentarily celebrating your win with a muted gleeful screech.

But there’s no time. Jones will be back any second. You spring from the chair and fling off your remaining shoe - it’ll only hold you back. You sprint across the warehouse to the other door you spotted earlier, it’s on the opposite side to where Pierce and his men went so you hope and pray that you won’t bump into them.

The door opens into a labyrinth of corridors. You fling yourself down them, looking for a decent hiding place to give you time to think about your next move. You turn down them almost at random, just desperate to put as much distance between you and HYDRA. Thankfully there are so many routes that it’ll likely create confusion when they come after you. You find yourself praying silently that you don’t encounter anyone, and that they’re all on the other side of the building. You pass lots of rooms, old offices and supply closets. You just need to pick one that they don’t find right away.

Eventually, in the thick of the maze of hallways, you find a door which leads to a stairwell. You run up it, aware they would’ve noticed your absence by now. This building seems to be huge with a lot of ground to cover so you hope the search will keep them occupied for longer. Checking all of the rooms here will take some time at least.

You find yourself in some sort of attic. It’s pitch black but you are too fearful to find the light switch in case it draws attention to you. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as you bump into old boxes and equipment and stumble through the mess. Maybe you can lay low here for a while and think of a new escape plan. If you could just evade them for a bit longer, and then a bit longer after that…Maybe you could flee the building altogether and flag down a passing car once you reach the road.

Your heart is beating so fast that your chest is practically shaking. You’ve never been more frightened.

You think of Bucky briefly. You’re sad that it ended the way it did, regretful that you didn’t get to make peace with him before this. It’s likely that this will be your last day on earth, and even though it’s his fault that you’re here - you feel a pang of regret. You feel anger too, anger for everything he put you through - for leaving you to die here. You think of your final kiss with him instead, the memory sustaining you as you press yourself into a corner, pushing your face against the wall as you manoeuvre into the small space…

You hiss in pain and pull yourself away from the wall as your hand leaps up to your cheek. Something has cut you, a loose nail or bolt or something equally sharp. It’s broken the skin on your face, and you can feel blood gushing down your cheek.

You scoff in disbelief as you clutch at it, annoyed that if you somehow survive the psychopathic crime gang then you’ll end up dying of an infection from an ancient nail instead.

You hold your hand against the wound, then rip a section of your dress off and use it to put pressure on the cut, slowing down the bleeding.

And you wait.

And wait.

[scuttling]

Frayed Ends

Fandom: Supernatural Pairings: Dean Winchester/Female Reader Word Count: 1,527 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected sex, Mentions of impending death Summary: It's the end of the world again; where better to find comfort than Dean Winchester's arms? A/N: Sometimes Dean's just too pretty to ignore.

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Staring out the window of the battered old motel, looking into the darkening sky, you try to count the number of life-or-death situations you’ve been in in the last year. You’ve been mortally wounded in battle, only to be healed by angelic figures that don’t quite live up to expectations; possessed by demons who are surprisingly more forthcoming than their winged counterparts; ripped to shreds by creatures with claws and fangs, things that are both as terrifying as the stories say and so much more complicated than most people know. 

A loud crack of thunder booms, lightning splits the sky, and a warm hand presses firmly against the middle of your back. None of those things make you jump, not anymore.

“So,” Dean begins, reaching out to hand you a tumbler of whiskey—the good stuff, a high-dollar, top-shelf single malt. “Last night on Earth.” 

You take the glass from him and peer into into it, through the rich brown liquid, before sipping the liquor, letting it burn smoothly, slowly; it seems like an oxymoron, but precisely what you need now, in the eleventh hour, when it feels like the world is about to fall to ashes at your feet. Again.

“That line work for you often?” you ask, half-teasing, and you down the rest of the alcohol. A shrug of his shoulders and a cocked half-smile tells you all you need to know. "Right, of course. Apocalyptic situation plus a rugged, handsome man who did his very best to prevent our impending doom... I imagine it isn't ever hard for you to get laid, but it's gotta be damn near impossible to be turned down under conditions like these." 

He empties his own glass with a smack of his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you, and smiles gently. It’s different from his usual grin, because it changes the look of his eyes, touching only the corners and making it appear as though it would physically hurt him to keep it up much longer.

He’s not being a creep, hitting on you when you’re vulnerable—you know because you know him, have been traveling the road off and on with him and Sam and occasionally Cas for over a year now. This is about desperation, a vain attempt to cling to something as your doomsday clock ticks down to zero, to connect with another person one more time before you reach the proverbial end of the road.

"You tell me,” he finally says, voice as rough and broken as you’d expect. You look away from his face abruptly, this open, emotional version of the man you’ve been kicking ass and trading sarcastic quips with making your stomach turn. He’s a good guy, no doubt about that, and he doesn’t deserve the life he’s been saddled with, or all the pain and misery that comes with it. He lived for his family, Sam, and now they are apart—no more angel teleportation, no more gas stations, no more cell service—and the end is so near you can see it in the darkening swirl of his green eyes, the tightness of his jaw.  

Apparently the booze hasn’t slowed down your motor functions any, because you’re turning to press a hand to his chest before the thought has fully formed in your mind. 

"I'd be honored, Dean Winchester," you breathe, pushing a hand softly through his hair; he inhales, lips parted and eyes flicking curiously over your face, before leaning down for a careful, gentle kiss. 

Both of his arms wrap around you, embracing you warmly, and you slip your tongue into his mouth, giving yourself over to his strong arms and stubble without a second thought. It isn’t exactly a hardship, sleeping with the brave, honorable, beautiful hunter, and if it makes him feel even a fraction better about the whole dying bloody thing, how can you refuse? 

"Thank you." It’s a sandpaper whisper pressed lightly against your lips, and one of his hands moves to cradle your head as the kiss deepens. He tastes bittersweet, a blend of mint and whiskey, and is far more tender than you would have imagined, taking soft sips of your bottom lip between toe-curling, passionate kisses. You push the light-colored flannel off of his shoulders, pleased with the muted groan he expels against your neck, and wrap your arms around his back like you can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of him. 

He lifts you easily, of course, like you’re as weightless as you’re starting to feel, brings you to the bed and covers your body with his, hands ghosting over your throat and your face, down your arms, over your chest, your sides. The kisses grow rougher, needier, deeper on both your parts, and when you pull the soft, worn t-shirt over his head you press your fingertips into his skin, drag him closer, body begging for more. 

“Dean… yes,” you sigh as he nips at your neck, your earlobe, his teeth sharp but careful. You move your hands over his stomach, his chest, the back of his head, pulling him to your mouth for more slow, wet kisses like you’ll find the solution to all of your problems inside him—or maybe that you want him to find it inside you. It’s a heady, dizzy feeling, and he feels it too, moaning into the kiss when you shift up to your knees, pulling your own t-shirt over your head. 

“I need you,” he rasps, looking over your body, with all of its scars and bruises, like it’s a map of all the places you’ve been together. You unhook your bra, let it fall away, and then unbuckle his belt, help him strip down before removing the rest of your clothes too. 

You feel a flush of heat when you’re both bare, not nervousness or shyness, but something you don’t have a name for, not yet; you probably never will, now so close to the end, so you just bask in the feeling that he’s all yours, that in your last moments you will be as connected as two people can be. That even if you die in vain, you won’t be dying alone. 

You’d ask about protection right about now, but don’t see the point, considering the circumstances; instead, you climb into his lap and weave your fingers into his hair, kiss him so thoroughly he has to know you’re doing this because you want to and not just because he’d asked. Your nails graze over his shoulders, into his hair, murmur his name, and his soft lips become hard and unyielding as he kisses you breathless, like he wants it to mean something.

He lays you back against the bed, still made up from the day, and you let him, pulling your knees up so he can settle in close to you, so you can feel his body tense beneath your hands and he presses into you, fills you completely. “Fuck,” he grinds out, and his mouth finds yours again, his kisses softer, sweeter as he starts to move. 

For the first time, you’re glad it’s pretty much just the two of you left in this desolate town; neither of you are quiet as you fuck, gasping and moaning and whining puffs of breath into the air between you. The sounds of your sex echo in the room—the groan of the bed frame, the sticky wetness soaking your thighs, Dean’s mouth as it runs about your beauty and your pussy and how heavenly you feel. 

The room is so hot, your skin slick with sweat, his too, and he takes your hands in his and presses them up over your head, against the bed, holding you down with the force of his body as you both chase the feeling that you’re close to something big.

“Oh god, more, Dean, please,” you plead, hitching your legs up higher, tightening them around him as he thrusts quicker, deep and smooth. “You’re so good, so good, Dean.” 

“You have to come for me. You have–” He lifts one of his hands away from your pinned wrists and strokes your cheek with it, brushing his thumb over your lips. His eyes are lighter now, honeyed, but still flooded with emotion as he combines tenderness with roughness and brings you so close to climax you can feel it pulsing beneath your skin. “You’re glowing,” he chokes out before his orgasm rips through him, strong enough to make him shake above you, and he leans in for a kiss that turns into your own climax, something powerful that makes you ache down to your bones. 

You whimper against his shoulder as he slows, and he releases your arms, pulls them around him so you embrace as you pant through it together. You feel both completely spent and filled with buzzing energy, and when he looks down at you his expression is… awed. There’s no way to mistake that face for anything else. 

“Holy shit. I think that worked,” he says, almost astonished, and then his phone vibrates on the bedside table and you turn simultaneously to look over at the glowing screen.

Sam.

A/N: Didn't mean for this fic to mean anything or to lead to anything more, but it kind of did, so who knows?

[she-wee]

The tangled alenoah AU actually makes tons of sense

Let's start with Flinn Rider or Eugene.

Alejandro and Eugene have the SAME PERSONALITY. They will use people often, but it is also easily tricked himself. Uses flirtation to get what he wants (bonus cuz it did not work on Rapunzel and def would not work on Noah) and his character arc a has alot to do with his name (not in the same context but I digress). Both are ok with singing to get what he wants, both like money a lot, and both change that when they meet their partner (cannon partner in Alejandros case).

Also, they are both extremely smart but also just silly little guys. From Alejandro, making a puppet of himself to Eugene fighting with a horse like it's a person to get the crown back. They have the accusational sarcastic whip, like Alejandro teasing Heather by calling her Mrs. Alejandro and Eugene joked with Rapunzel by lying that she begged him to marry her. Convince me that's not the same vibe, is it not?

Now when it comes to Rapunzel, we hit a brick wall.

Because Noah and Rapunzels personalities are miles different, but we do see lots of time we're she very intelligent and hard-headed, which are words you could describe Noah with. But for the majority of the movie, she's up and dancing around smiling and taking in this new world. We can't say if Noah would be the same because, obviously, that's never happened to him.

Though Noah's not so static all the time, in RR we see have a lot of mushy emotions and easily saving Emma from DEATH and stating something after, implying that if it was anyone else he probably wouldn't have. There are scenes where Rapunzel acts on life-threatening situations with a quickness because Eugene's in danger shows a connection. And I wouldn't say it's a stretch, bc if it's and -ALENOAH- AU,,,, then of course he going the like Alejandro in the AU???

Plus, Rapunzel was fully willing to sacrifice herself for Eugene, something Noah's hopless romantic ass would do. Also, Rapunzel likes books, and she has moments that are on the spott BANGER lines (Ex., "Did I mumble, mother?" ) , like Noah. And, in that one scene where Rapunzel is all mushy to Maximus ( the white horse) while degrading Eugene,, WAS SO ALENOAH CODED... and, yes, it's more fandom. But in like 3/4 of Alenoah fics, Noah is having trouble trusting Alejandro, like Rapunzel does with Eugene. ( The last one is a stretch, and I realize that)

If you have other opinions or you feel I messed a point, just tell me.

(originally ( i think) by @bbycha25 on Tumbler)

[raccoonfallsharder]

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip.✮part five. montana.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist prev | next | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 5/7 | word count: 1975.

what makes a person a monster?

During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR

Wanda hadn’t felt much like talking since they’d left the bar. She can’t possibly describe the lurch in her lungs when she’d woken alone in the room, and found Rocket—

gone.

She peels it apart when they get in the car: silent, lost in her thoughts. Rocket doesn’t turn on his music right away, and when she casts a sideways glance at him, he looks vaguely uncomfortable: shifting in his seat, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looks like he wants to be taking something apart, inventing something new — anything to take his mind off whatever’s eating him inside. 

After the scene in the bar, when the bartender had poured Rocket’s drink so shakily that the mouth of the bottle had clanked against the glass tumbler, Wanda had sat beside her companion quietly. The bartender had wisely left the bottle behind, and then had gotten to work with the rest of the wide-eyed, ashen hotel staff to clean up the glass that had been broken in the altercation. She’d watched her furry colleague bemusedly as he sulked over his liquor, and had tried to tell herself that she had only been concerned because Rocket had been missing, and she’d known that someone walking around looking like a sentient raccoon could only get in trouble, no matter how well-intentioned and well-behaved he’d been attempting to be.

She had tried to tell herself it was just concern for a missing hero in a cruel world.

But her reaction had been too visceral to keep herself convinced. As she’d unfolded the truth of herself, wincing, she’d had to acknowledge that the way fear had suddenly ripped through her belly had been all too similar to the ache she’d felt when she’d lost Pietro: screaming hollowly at the root of her lungs, at the vagus nerve laced against her heart. A shrieking void in the center of a fiery cyclone. It had been an agony of terror: to think her new, small, sarcastic friend had been taken from her like everyone else.

When she’d seen him — safe, but on the verge of becoming a victim of his own temper — she’d wrapped her power around him as carefully as she knew how. And when she’d realized what was happening, her own temper had surged: some strange combination of fire and ice. 

She’s so tired of people being treated as less-than, of lives being overlooked. 

Especially the lives she loves. 

Rocket still doesn’t speak. They make their way through a number of national forests before he even hesitantly reaches out to fuss with the music again. She says nothing as something mellow spills from the speakers, but she can feel her shoulders ease. It takes another hour before his feet are kicking again, and he’s humming something low and husking along with the lyrics. 

“Uh, hey,” he says at last, his voice rasping as the sun begins to cast a melting-gold crust over the edge of the trees ahead of them, light hitting the western crest of the world and sprawling upward in sprays of topaz and rose and aquamarine. “Thanks for — I dunno. Sorry for fucking up at the last place. And thanks for, uh, stepping in.” He shifts next to her, one shoulder hitching uncomfortably. She watches from her periphery as his lip curls in a clenched-jaw grimace, like he’s tasted something sour. 

She weighs that quietly. 

“I was as angry as you were, once I understood what was happening,” she admits.

The wince lingering in the corner of his mouth and eyelids softens. “Saw that,” he acknowledges after a long minute, spooled with the crooning tones of whomever’s singing from the zune now. “Don’t know — I think only Nebs has ever, uh. Stuck up for me like that.” His voice sounds parched and cracked and starved, like he’s not certain what he’s trying to say. Like maybe the words feel disloyal, somehow, to his absent friends. Something answering cracks open in her ribs. She knows he loved the rest of the Guardians — Pete, he’d mentioned, referring to the owner of the zune. Gamora, whom Wanda has gathered had been sacrificed to Thanos’ goals, just like Vis. But it hurts her to think that Rocket’s little adopted family wouldn’t have been just as offended on his behalf as she had been. Or maybe they would have been, and he just doesn’t realize it. Either way, it hurts. It hurts to think that he believes no-one would have been moved to intercede, to demand respect on his behalf, or to offer comfort.

Pietro would have devastated anyone whom he’d perceived as treating her as inferior. And in his own gentle, wise way, Vis would have fought for her as well. 

At least he has Nebula, now, she thinks, and a space inside her loosens. She hasn’t spoken with the awkward blue cyborg — not anymore than she’s spoken to anyone else on the team, preferring to stay off to the side, needing to observe. But knowing that Rocket feels like “Nebs” would step in for him allows some of the tension in her neck and shoulders to ease.

“You — you got a lot of power,” Rocket says tentatively. “As much as Danvers, maybe.”

She feels herself go watchful and wary again. The silence is heavy in the little car, even smothering the faint music trailing from the speakers. 

“Or more,” she admits at last, quietly.

He acknowledges her addition with a mild grunt and a nod.

“Ya know, the Guardians of the Galaxy numbers are lookin’ pretty slim these days,” he says musingly. “F’you ever wanna get off this planet. Could find a spot for you, prob’ly.” He slants her a taunting grin. “Pretty sure we’re more fun than the Avengers. Less stuffy and judgy, too.”

She can’t help the delicate snort that scrapes up the back of her throat, edged with laughter. And here she’d been worried that he was scared of her. Instead, twice in two days, now, he’s made her laugh.

Regular laughter seems like such a distant memory. It is a distant memory, and a frail one. She’d had it before the Stark industries mortar shell, and then again in her time with Vis — but certainly not since. 

Other than that first time she’d seen him bickering with Nebula on the compound lawn.

“Not that every part of this planet sucks,” Rocket admits grudgingly from beside her. The last flickers of sun-gold ricochet off the distant line of tree and mountain, settling into a rosy-lavender and hydrangea-blue. “This section’s kinda nice, if you’re into that sort of thing. Reminds me of specifical parts a’ Berhert or Foresteria.”

She considers the Montana terrain. “Are you into that sort of thing?”

He smirks. “Not enough places to get into trouble for me,” he says with a sideways toss of his head. “No gambling. Or booze.” He pauses to waggle his brows at her, so exaggerated that she can see the gesture even in her periphery. “Or tail.”

This time, when she laughs, it hasn’t crawled up her spine: it’s as bright as it had been the other day, so merry in the air that it’s utterly foreign to her ears.

“You are ridiculous,” she tells him, but he only gifts her a shit-eating grin.

“What about you?” he asks. “You ever think about runnin’ away from Terra? Come hang out with the cool kids in the stars?”

She snorts again and glances sideways at him in the melting velvet shadows. How does the space inside Natasha’s car, with its ruined dashboard and sound system, feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been in the past five years? How does it feel so much easier than anywhere she’s ever been at all, unless it was with Vis?

“Not exactly,” she says quietly.

“Not exactly?”

She hesitates and chews the inside of her lip at the corner of her mouth. 

“I think about making a place for myself,” she admits after a handful of quiet breaths. The song on the zune blurs into something new. “A place where… where things are the way they’re supposed to be.”

The quiet expands. Doubles.

“Whaddaya mean?” her companion asks at last. There’s tension in his voice, but it’s surprisingly quiet. As soft as she imagines his fur.

She hesitates. “I could — I think I could do it. Make a place — like in the old TV shows. Somewhere perfect, where people can be happy. Where I can be happy.”

The silence drawls through the music, and she can feel Rocket’s anxiety. She’d been silly to think he might be scared of her before, because now she can feel it — crackling and tense. But… it’s also careful. Testing. Cautious. She knows if she’d said something like this to any one of the Avengers, they’d probably try to lock her up immediately. They don’t understand her magic, and they don’t understand her. And they certainly don’t understand her pain. 

After all, they’ve always been able to look away.

And while she can tell that Rocket doesn’t like what she’s shared — the dangerous little truth she’s laid out between their armrests — somehow, she doesn’t feel judged.

“I get that,” he says at last, his voice grudging and slow. “Wanting that. Me myself, I never had the — I never had the power to sort of…  reshape the galaxy into what I wanted.” He pauses, and she can feel him gathering his thoughts in the dusk like the fireflies that used to litter the Sokovian summer grasses. When he speaks again, his voice has grown as dark as the world outside their car: grim and solemn and hard. “But I definitely been one a’ the poor morons who got caught up in someone else’s idea of perfect, and I can promise — you try to tie other people up like that, and you’re only gonna become somebody’s nightmare.”

She takes her eyes off the road, even though she shouldn’t — not here, in the dusk and the trees and the mountains. Her eyes find his in the shadows: glowing red to glowing red. She flicks her gaze over him: the broad shoulders that should be sloped inward, the opposable thumbs where there should only be dexterous fingers, the hard-packed muscle where she would expect a soft layer of fat. She’d decided that maybe he was an alien — and perhaps that’s true — but now she realizes there’s more to it than just that. 

Someone’s shaped him into this.

Who was your nightmare? she thinks, and remembers Ultron again. Trying to reshape the world. It’s not the first time in the last five years that her fantasies of recreating a small slice of the world have given her pause — but it is the first time that the uneasiness has outweighed the solace. 

Then she thinks of the labs. Of Hydra, yes — and the other one. The one she still isn’t sure if she remembered or dreamed up.

Rocket clears his throat, as if he knows she’s wondering what happened to make him the way he is. 

“Take that asshole Thanos,” he mutters at last, and there’s a darkness to his tone that matches her own midnight vortex of thoughts when it comes to the Mad Titan. “So frickin’ committed to what he thought would make the universe better, that he killed half of it and broke everybody else.” Her companion scowls and mutters something in a language she doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t matter, because his words have already opened up a pit in her belly: pinching and frightened.

“I wouldn’t be killing anyone,” she says, and she’s surprised by the stubbornness in her voice. It makes her flinch, and that cramp in her belly tightens apprehensively — but she goes on anyway. Trying to convince herself, she realizes, even as she speaks. “I’d give them perfect lives. I’d make them be happy.”

He lifts his head and even though her eyes are back on the road, she feels his heavy, quiet, steady stare. 

“Can’t make anybody be anything, witch.” He clears his throat, and his eyes release her. “Not without making yourself a frickin’  monster.”

sometimes i fuck around with comics-canon and throw it into my mcu fanfics so uh be ready for that with the next chapter. we're gettin weird

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[kayhi808]

Company Party -2

The way he said "please" & his dark gaze fixed on yours. Before you knew it, your feet were walking towards him. He bestows a sexy smile on you & squeezes your hand in his. While waiting for the elevator, he pulls you close enough to place your hand in the crook of his arm.

"Have you been to Ai Fiori before?"

"I haven't, but I've heard wonderful things about them." You don't even remember the last time you & John went someplace nice. And it definitely wasn't on the level of Ai Fiori.

"Mmmm, I hope you like it." Bill steps out of the elevators & up to the hostess. She quickly seats you both in a table off to the side. After asking your preference Bill orders a bottle of wine for you to share.

You both debate menu choices and conversation is easy & fun. Once the waiter leaves with your food order, Bill asks the question you were dreading. "To get rid of the elephant in the room, how did you end up at ANVIL's party?"

You take a while to figure out how to word your response, swirling the wine in your glass. "Have you ever stayed with someone for longer than you should? In your heart, you know it's over, but for some reason you don't allow yourself to end it until the disrespect is so blatantly obvious and humiliation..." your sentence trails off & you shake your head.

"Can't say that I have."

You look at the man across from you. Bespoke suit, perfectly lined beard, not a hair out of place, handsome like the devil. Stupid, of course he wouldn't have. "Smart man. Things were bad for a while. I'm more angry with myself for allowing this to drag on & putting up with his shitty behavior."

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Thanks." You give a sigh & take a drink of wine. "Sorry, I was rambling. I was a guest of one of your agents. That's why I was at your party."

His stare is intense. "Which Agent?"

"John Gordon." You nervously play with the silverware.

"Gordon? He's a good agent."

"I don't doubt that. He's just a shitty boyfriend."

Billy's brows furrow. "He's seeing an agent from another team."

You exhale, pushing the silverware to the side, "Yup! I met her. Lovely girl," you bite out sarcastically.

Billy flags down the waiter & orders 2 Macallans. When the waiter returns, Billy places the scotch in front of you. "I think you need something stronger than wine."

A small smile slips across your lips as you hold out your tumbler to Bill, "Cheers." He clinks his glass against yours. You take a sip, the scotch, smoother than you expected but the burn is still there. You exhale quickly and notice Bill smiling at you. "Smooth," giving a little cough which ruins the bravado you tried to exude. You do feel the warmth spreading throughout your body after your sip. "I think I'll need my dinner before I can finish that." Bill laughs.

Your meal arrives & you switch topics to things more neutral. Holiday plans. Travels. Anvil.

"Just so we're perfectly clear, it's safe to say that things are over between you and Gordon."

"Most definitely!"

He wipes at his mouth with his napkin & looks at his watch. "I need to head back downstairs to give my speech..."

"Oh, Bill!" You feel guilty for taking this man away from his own Christmas party.

"No. No. Stay & finish your meal. It'll take me 10-15 minutes tops. I'll be right back. You can order us dessert." He takes a couple steps away & then returns to your table. With one hand on the table and the other on the back of your chair, he cages you in. Leaning towards you, he whispers in your ear, "Again, I'm sorry this happened to you....but not too sorry." He stands , straightening his jacket, giving you a wink, he turns to leave the restaurant.

Your cheeks feel flushed, but is it from the wine, the scotch or Bill Russo?

@dreamlandcreations Hi, luv! Since you wanted me to continue their story. 🤗 I think I can get a few chapters out of this.

[rriverdrawss]

First post on Tumblr ig

But I wanted to introduce my TMNT fan iteration

A Broken Clan

(abc for short)

“Leonardo has been separated from her brothers for 9 years by Splinter, their father, so that he could train her alone. Now, after a rocky start to a new relationship between her brothers, they all have to try to work together to take the Foot Clan and not try to kill each other in the process.”

A bit of info about each one of the turtles and the world of abc:

Leo: she/her, 19 years old, maybe a bit too quiet for a leader, a skilled swordsman and a very overwhelming older sister.

Donnie: he/it, 18 years old (technically as old as Leo, but his birthday (hatchingday?) is late in the year), sarcastic, can’t stand Leo’s bs, snarky and seclusive

Raph: he/him, 17 years old, an angsty teenager, strong willed, maybe a bit snippy and not too good at hiding how he feels about certain things

Mikey: she/he, 16 years old, excitable, just happy to have another person to talk too, maybe a bit too much, but a generally good person

I will warn you once, this au contains gore (sometimes heavy gore, but I’ll try to keep most of it off tumbler-). This au isn’t for the faint of heart

This au was made for me and not for fans. If you don’t like something about my au, leave.

If there are any questions, please do ask them! I love answering questions:]

Art:3 (Leo and Donnie’s (the first and second drawings) art isn’t canon, they were simply me having fun with giving them other clothing)

[starrycereal]

Rules: Pick a song for each letter of your URL and tag that many people. Tagged by @ghouliar0berts and @frozenteardrop

S - Scars by The Crane Wives T - The Tumbler by Robert Hallow and the Holy Men A - Alkaline by Sleep Token R - RATATATA by BABYMETAL and Electric Callboy R - Contractual by Chase Petra Y - yeti by Paris Paloma C - Chakh Le by Bloodywood E - Eastward of Eden by Amelia Day R - Russian Roulette by Dead Posey E - Empire Now by Hozier A - And the Hound by Yaelokre L - Liar by The Arcadian Wild

@starryheavenstos @lieutenant-sarcastic @libraryscarf @socalledfreethinker @lyzelky @wooferdill @thevastnessof @rest-in-bees @i-am-snowils-admiral @adanon @villainanders

[daddyygh0stface]

Hi ghost! I've been looking at your account for a while now, I think you were my first blog I looked at when I downloaded tumbler. I love how your sarcastic sometimes. And God sometimes I just want you to degrade me. I listened to your audios and god your moans. But all things sexual aside, I feel like your an amazing person!

(can I be 🧸anon please?)

You're so cute <3 yes you can