#and a few old receipts
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
the-kick-of-bones-malone · 3 months ago
Note
Kick!! Requesting information from the tech corner, please and thank you
What are the most popular videogames and gaming consoles that you know from 2000-2008, and before inflation was a thing, how much did they cost?
Well, pricing was a bit better than it is now, but that's if we disregard inflation. Like if we had today's pay for early 2000's costs? We'd be better off, personally.
Now, consoles - and the games - were a bit expensive, considering you get all that in a little plastic box for in-home entertainment.
For instance, things like the Playstation 2, Xbox, Nintendo GameCube, Xbox360, Playstation 3, Nintendo Wii... probably stuff you've heard about before, if you haven't owned one yourself at some point.
And if we just get the prices and dates:
Playstation 2 (2000) || ~$299
Xbox (2001) || ~$299
Nintendo GameCube (2001) || ~$199
Xbox360 (2005) || ~$299 to ~$399
Playstation 3 (2006) || ~$499 to ~$599
Nintendo Wii (2006) || ~$249
Those, as far as I remember, were the most popular at the time. And those companies still are! Figures, huh?
Not even to mention the inflation since 2001 alone... like, if the Xbox was initially sold at roughly $299 back in '01, guess what it would be equivalent to nowadays? About $506 in 2023.
And that's only gonna get higher.
// note: Prices were altered between the launch dates and '09. Some of them gained better storage capacity but discontinued the older models, ultimately changing price (Sony & Microsoft for instance), while others lowered price to increase sale (presumably; like the Wii). These are the prices I remember, and from the US. Take these numbers with a grain of salt and shot of tequila, maybe even a slice of lime. Do what you will with this information
3 notes · View notes
lacnunga · 1 month ago
Text
Man there is nothing a nosy cunt like me loves more than a messy 'what's in my bag' video
7 notes · View notes
lilac-melody · 8 months ago
Text
If I had a nickel for everytime someone called me pretty today, I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice.
3 notes · View notes
princesscedar · 11 months ago
Text
Trying to tell mom "hey maybe don't call j ewish people rats even unintentionally" event leaves 10 dead thousands injured
#INCREDIBLE how any time i address mom's casual antis emitism she goes into a tirade like 'oh THEY get to be treated special' like#literally me n the 19 yr old give receipts and she always flies off the handle lol lmao haha#she was referring to the tunnel thing in new york and said 'an orthodox j ewish man climbed out the sewer like a rat'#and me n 19 yr old both 😬😬 and casually lightheartedly say 'hey you probably shouldn't say that abt j ewish ppl' and she took it personal#like we said she said it w/ malice and not the same tone as 'hey don't call a black person a monkey even if you didn't mean it offensively'#and 2 hours later she STILL is on her 'well i think it's an agenda some ppl just try and SAY things are offensive and they're not' mom.#u r LITERALLY black. WHY is this hard for u to understand#she did the same when i said a o t was fascist anti semitic nationalist but she's like 'i read it and i didn't see any of that so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#'if you didn't read it you can't say anything's wrong with it'#same w/ that Witches remake a few years ago and i pointed out the witches were coded as j ewish caricatures in the book#and hopefully it wouldn't happen in the new movie#and she thought it was an agenda to cancel it because the main characters were black now#somehow transferred into talkin abt cops and th3 m ilitary and me saying both should be abolished and now she's like#and how i think it's kinda unnecessary to include blatant mil itary propaganda in a show for 6 yr olds lol#and she's like 'are you saying every cop and military person is bad and evil? should kids w/ parents in those forces never be represented?'#no i literally didn't say every individual is but the organizations need to end at least 90% in my lifetime <33 and no i also don't think#a kid w a soldier dad is the same as a kid with a black dad so no mili tary n cop rep is not the same as poc rep lol she literally said that#and mad that i didn't have THEE solution to replace them like i need to know the exact plan to fix it to point out that they shouldn't exist#anywhooooooo she raises my blood pressure lol <33333#sentext
3 notes · View notes
remersgf · 2 years ago
Note
i feel like ur really good at themes like ur room is like organized n decorated around some theme
absolutely not LMAOO my room is covered in posters of like every random piece of media i enjoy
it’s a mess there’s shit all over the walls
2 notes · View notes
poptartmochi · 2 years ago
Text
it is the dreadposting hours ur honor
#we're in the cutting corners to survive era of our life rn and that's why we're looking for new insurance.. these past few years we've#hardly done medical things beyond the standard doctor/allergist/dentist visits so i'm partial to getting a plan with#low premiums bc 1. we can't afford to spend too much on it and 2. we haven't really needed it#BUT. while i'm looking at all of this the evil anxiety bug in my brain is like ah but. what if you were suddenly#diagnosed with.. THE DISEASE... i would like to pretend i do not see it#i'm nervous because. my dad puts my mom through so much shit that i worry something Could happen to her just on the basis of blood pressure#and stuff.. but i also worry that thinking about that kind of stuff makes it more likely to come true#fears aside.. girl i don't think any of my medications are approved under the plan i'm looking at which </3 agonies.. i think i would just#have to write to the insurance company or have a pcp write for me to get it approved? which hopefully isn't a big deal#but What If It Is.. i would die without fluocinolone O_O; i'm trying to get myself off of triam before my skin becomes addicted to it so#honestly it'd probably be more incentive to get off of it if i didn't have access to it.. but fluo is the only thing keeping me stable#right naurw ur honor <3 i should see if i can find my old receipts from the pharmacy to see how much it is without insurance#i remember when i used to get eucrisa.. it was like $900 without insurance and i was like. Ah. That's a Nightmare. :D so i hope the fluo#is cheaper.. i think it would be since the price was the original reason i got onto it anyways... :o much to consider#sriracha.txt#sorry for clogging up the dash i just have a lot of thoughts and fears wrt this stuff.. it feels a Lot More Adult than i am comfortable#handling if that makes sense?
1 note · View note
3bagshotrow · 1 year ago
Text
middle-earth dashboard simulator
Tumblr media
🏵 hobbitc0re Follow
pippin was 29 years old???
🏵 hobbitc0re Follow
he should've been at the green dragon
( 420 notes )
Tumblr media
📸 daily-middle-earth-photos Follow
Tumblr media
#gates of argonath #argonath #amon hen #middle earth landscapes #photographers of middle earth #travel #dark academia #lmao pls reblog this i almost fell out of my boat taking this photo
( 79 notes )
Tumblr media
🦢 elfposting Follow
my hungry ass could never travel with lembas
( 9,839 notes )
Tumblr media
🐟 sojuicysweet Follow
.
#the entitlement i see on this site sometimes is disgusting #y'all will just post about having easy access to lembas when we can't eats hobbit food??? #we must starve??? #vent #do not rb
( 3 notes )
Tumblr media
🗡 shieldmaiden Follow
CALLOUT FOR GRIMA WORMTONGUE
I've talked a lot about this already on this blog, but I want to have everything collected in one post so next time some dipshit with a white hand icon slides into my inbox to call me a liar I can just link to this post. tl;dr grima wormtongue has been poisoning my uncle and the land of rohan for the past few years, and here are the receipts:
Keep reading
( 38 notes )
Tumblr media
🧙‍♂️ bignaturals Follow
i stg if one more of you tells me I should've sent frodo on the eagles I'm asking iluvatar to take me back
( 1,930 notes )
Tumblr media
📖 booknerdofbree Follow
Tumblr media
recent read: there and back again: a hobbit's tale by bilbo baggins
I thought this was SOOO fun and cute! I'm usually not into rpf but did anyone else think there was something between bilbo and thorin? 👀 I can't be the only one who saw it. but the ending made me cry my eyes out.
4.5/5 stars
#booklr #there and back again #bilbo baggins #recent read #dark academia #light academia #book review
( 12 notes )
Tumblr media
🌲 elvenking69 Follow
who up mirking they wood
( 58,274 notes )
Tumblr media
🐛 manofsirith Follow
wtf the new king of gondor just bowed to these four random short guys?? everyone else bowed too and I just went along with it lmao 😅 am I missing something????
#this is right after he sang a song and made out with some hot elf chick #truly the wildest coronation i've ever been to
( 85 notes )
Tumblr media
🥵 firstagebaddiebracket Follow
ULTIMATE HOTTEST FIRST AGE BADDIE TOURNAMENT FINALS!!!!
🔘 haldir-deactivated30190303
here y'all go again pitting two bad bitches against each other
🌀 aragornsbigtoe Follow
Tumblr media
🌊 helcaraxebaby Follow
everyone who voted galadriel is a kinslayer apologist #luthiensweep
( 4,271 notes )
Tumblr media
🔥 beaconboi Follow
fuck my job so much. everyone manifest an attack on gondor so I can finally warm my fingers on this beacon fire.
🔥 beaconboi Follow
by eru this can't be happening
( 38,386 notes )
Tumblr media
28K notes · View notes
thesingingrevolution · 8 months ago
Text
my favorite professor went on a 40 minute rant today about how he hates modern collegiate libraries because they’re all ugly (he is right)
0 notes
dlxxv-vetted-donations · 3 months ago
Text
Help support Reema's academic career and family
This post will no longer be updated, see here instead.
URGENT: We have 281 hours to get Reema registered in university. Done!!!
My other promotion lists
Updated: Sep 22
Update Sep 20: This campaign is NOT done, Reema is waiting for her campaign manager to raise it to $25,000. A short-term goal is CAD $1,800 for a new laptop (including gfm and banking fees), but this is a projected estimate and I'll have a clearer number when I get more details.
Member(s): @reemash46 (shadowbanned), @reema16 (shadowbanned), @reemagaza (Reema), IG: reema_shurr (confirmed hers, see under cut for proof)
Verification: Operation Olive Branch Masterlist #18
Payment methods: Credit/debit, Paypal through my Kofi (Be warned that Paypal takes a cut. I will post proof of donation within 24h under the 'receipts' tag)
Donation match: $5 CAD (see under cut), $5 CAD
Summary: Reema is an evacuated Palestinian studying pharmacy abroad in Egypt and just paid off her tuition. She needs additional funds to care for herself and her family back home.
Current progress:
CAD $ 15,514 20,051 / 25,000
CAD is weak compared to other common currencies. Your donation can go a long way.
Campaign details:
Reema is the cousin of @mohamedabushaban06 (source). A few days ago, I made an emergency promotion to get Mohammed registered for college abroad here (It's not urgent anymore but he can still use support).
She's a 4th (out of 5) year pharmaceutical student currently studying abroad in Egypt after her school in Gaza was destroyed. Pharmacy school is difficult but she has a high average.
She just fundraised enough to pay her tuition for all her remaining schooling (see fund allocation section) and will start her semester on Sep 21, 2024.
The campaign goal was raised to $25,000 and the additional $5,000 will go towards academic needs and Reema's family back in Palestine.
She needs a new laptop after losing her old one.
Fund allocation:
All the original $20k is for paying off all of Reema's remaining schooling. There was a rush to get her from $15k to $20k to pay off her current semester due to banking complications. Her campaign manager was not in Canada until very recently and could not access the funds already in the campaign.
Even now, the manager can only send $1,500 at a time. At the time of writing this (Sep 22), I'm not sure when Reena can access the $15k and she isn't online often because she has the flu.
MISC:
Sep 10: Donation match $5 CAD
Tumblr media
Reema on IG confirms the Tumblr is hers
Tumblr media
5K notes · View notes
writersdrug · 2 months ago
Note
I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader
I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?
Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex
He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?
Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.
"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."
Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?
He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.
"Feelin' alright, there?"
Simon grunts. "Long day."
Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."
That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.
Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.
"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.
"Sir."
Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.
"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."
Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.
He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."
With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-
For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.
And that damn bra is still in his room.
He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?
He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…
He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?
He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.
So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.
He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.
He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.
He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?
He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-
It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-
He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.
His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.
He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.
He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  
He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.
3K notes · View notes
pseudowho · 8 months ago
Text
The Wristwatch
Tumblr media
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
You had not known you were Nanami Kento's girl, until the Wristwatch Incident.
In truth, your affection had been brewing so slowly, you had not known if you were imagining it.
You had not realised you were in love with Kento, until he leaned in close, and you smelled the smoky, wood-rich warmth of him. Until you found yourself nursing stomach-dropping disappointment, if your phone pinged and it wasn't him. Until you woke up in cold sweats, the memory of the dream of his skin on yours so vivid that your heartbeat throbbed between your legs.
You couldn't accept it. It couldn't be love, when he did not love you back. And yet...that intoxicating dance continued, while your head dipped in denial...blinkered.
The extra coffee that would be slid over the desk to you, by a strong, gentle hand. The late night phonecalls, decompressing from the stress of your missions. The occasional dinner in each others' company, because, well...we both need to eat? Why not eat together?
You were afraid to label it; afraid to lose the soft skirting intimacy that you had. Nanami Kento was a hard man to gauge; alternately sincere and distant, warm and cool, closely familiar and objectively analytical. He kept you at arms' length; close enough to brush fingertips, but far enough that you could run...if you wanted. And you never did.
You had gone shopping, together, one balmy spring afternoon. You both needed new clothes...so why not together? It makes sense, really. Nothing else in it, I'm sure. Just friends. He doesn't feel that way about me, anyway.
He had insisted upon Ginza Shopping Mall. You balked at the exquisitely-expensive-upmarketness of it, but you could never deny him, for fear of losing this time together. You had perused for new earrings, your belly clenching at the many zeroes on every pricetag. He had ambled over to another counter, just browsing, and there for quite some time.
"See anything you like?" That deep-roast voice broke you out of your reverie. You looked up, into twinkling hazel eyes, and blushed. Yes, you. One of you, Kento, please and thank you.
"No," you scoffed, turning your back on the jewellery, and walking towards the shop door, "too cheap for me. I couldn't possibly be seen wearing them."
Kento laughed, slipping a box into his pocket, and walking just close enough to send your brain into a spiral. You barely functioned through lunch. Kento remained, as ever, a gentleman.
As he drove you to your door, and you bid him a flustered goodnight, you felt that same big, warm hand on your arm, holding you back to him.
"Wait," Kento insisted, "I have...something. For you. Open it when you're home." He pressed a smooth, embossed box into your hands. You could not see what it was, under the glossy paper sleeve. You opened your mouth to chastise Kento, and he interrupted smoothly.
"It's your birthday soon. Consider it an early gift. You couldn't possibly refuse...?" One raised, fine eyebrow. That cool, impassive gaze. You pouted. Sneaky old goat.
"Alright. You win this time, Kento...but I'll get you back," you had promised. He had simply smiled indulgently, stepped out to open your door, and watched you until you were inside.
With trembling hands, you slid the smooth paper cover off the box, and your stomach somersaulted.
Tag Heuer.
"No...Kento-- you didn't," you hushed to yourself, rushing to open the box.
You fumbled an exquisite silver, blue-faced women's watch out of the box. It seemed, somehow, familiar. You couldn't possibly. You knew the pricetag on these. Even the packaging was too expensive for you.
With one hand over your mouth and a pounding little heart, you sent Kento a text with shaky hands;
Nanami Kento. Absolutely not. Take it back.
A few anxious minutes, pacing, looking at the watch resting on the table and gasping each time. Three small dot dot dots...dot dot dots...and a response.
Sorry. Lost the receipt. It will look good on you.
Squeaking and grinning to yourself, you tried the watch on. You took it off. You paced. You tried it on again. You fell back onto your bed, legs kicking, and hands over your face.
Every further refusal you send to Kento, was flatly ignored. He left you on read all night.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
The next day, at work, you couldn't help but notice the looks you were receiving. They weren't bad looks, certainly, more...surprise? Happy acceptance? Knowing smiles? Each person the same; glancing to your watch, eyebrows raising, and searching your face with a grin. You didn't understand it.
Over lunch, Shoko reached over to you, a coffee in her other hand, and tapped the new watch on your wrist.
"Couples' watches now, hmm?" She smirked. You frowned, questioning. Shoko scoffed at you, as if you were playing coy, when you didn't even know the rules of the game. Shoko's smile didn't falter once.
You confronted Kento later that afternoon, dragging him into a dusty narrow corridor, and holding the watch up to him with fighting eyes.
Kento's heart burst with pride, biting his lip with a sly smile, and taking your wristwatched hand in his own. He tipped your arm back and forth, admiring the watch on your wrist from all angles, with a lovesick sigh. You suddenly recalled, with flushed cheeks, where you had seen such a similar wristwatch before.
Kento watched your mental gymnastics with a slowly growing smile. You almost caught on fire as he raised your hand to his lips, pressing an adoring kiss to the back of your knuckles.
"Wondered how long you'd take to notice," Kento rumbled, eyed closed and nuzzling his nose against your fingers, "that you're my girl. And always have been."
3K notes · View notes
homunculus-argument · 4 months ago
Text
I just had the most finnish social interaction of my life.
For backstory, Finland has a bottle/beverage can recycling system where most drink containers have a return deposit of a few cents - from 10 to 40 cents depending on the size of the bottle or can. All grocery stores and most convenience kiosks have a bottle return machine (which english wikipedia apparenly refers to as "reverse vending machines", which amuses me) where you can return the empty containers and receive a receipt which the cash register trades for money. The return isn't much but they add up surprisingly quick, and it's pretty common for people who are in the need for such cash to seek for and collect bottles and cans for recycling money.
I was going on errands on foot today, and had gotten myself an energy drink as a little treat on my way. Once I had gone through it I naturally held onto the bottle instead of throwing it to the trash, because bottles are money and 20 cents is 20 cents. On my way I saw an old man with a long grey beard, in a dirty t-shirt, approaching slowly on a bicycle. As he got closer he looked at me, glanced at my bottle and then back to me, while I looked him in the eye, glanced at the scraggly plastic bag hanging from his bike handle, and then back to him. Had his bag been full of recycling cans like I had first assumed, I would have stopped him right there and asked him if he'd like to have my empty bottle as well.
However, he had other assorted stuff in the bag, and therefore it would have been rude of me to assume that he is gathering bottles, and in return it would have been rude of him to stop me on my way to ask me if the bottle is empty and whether I'd like to be rid of it. But I saw him glance at the bottle and he saw me glancing at his bag, so both had reason to assume that he had more use for it than I would. But stopping strangers to address them like that is rude, so we passed each other without saying a word.
However, I was a stride away from a bus stop (which he had just passed) and I paused for a second to put my empty bottle on top of the trash can attached to the bus shelter. Looking over my shoulder to look at the old man, I saw him turning to look over his shoulder at me. So I nodded at him and he nodded at me, turning his bike around to retrieve the bottle as I left it there and kept walking. Neither one had said a word, but with a few seconds of eye contact, two pointed glances and a few quick nods, we managed to communicate through mutual assumptions, context clues and vague gestures that we could both do each other a favour.
2K notes · View notes
pucked-bunnie · 9 days ago
Text
book club ⎜q.hughes
Tumblr media
pairings: quinn hughes x reader genre:��fluff ⎜romance ⎜ warnings: this will be cute af! ⎜ mentions of mental health ⎜ panic attacks ⎜ quinn is on the struggle bus ⎜ synopsis: when you meet the captain of the vancouver canucks in your bookstore - an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more. word count: 4.4k authors note:  this came because of a book I read recently (daydream by Hannah Grace) and how much Mr Quinn Hughes has been talking about reading in his interviews recently. do we want a sequel? cause I kind of want to write a sequel.
(unedited)
+
+
“Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” You question, your head raising from the paperback book in your lap at the soft chiming as the door to the shop slowly swings open. 
The man standing in the doorway looks slightly out of place, his frame clad in a hoodie and jeans, his dark hair damp from the rain outside. He blinks, seemingly caught off guard by your question, and then offers a small, sheepish smile.
“Uh, just browsing,” he replies, his voice quiet but warm. He steps further inside, the scent of rain mingling with the comforting aroma of old books and the cinnamon apple candle you have burning.
You watch him for a moment as he walks down the aisle, his fingers lightly grazing the spines of books. He looks oddly familiar. You shrug and return to your book, though your attention keeps drifting toward the stranger wandering between the shelves, picking up book and flipping to the back before placing them gently back on the shelf.
After a few minutes, he pauses by a shelf and picks up a copy of The Great Gatsby. He flips through a few pages, his brows furrowing in concentration, before glancing in your direction.
“Do you have any recommendations? Something classic, but not too heavy?” he asks.
You close your book and smile, standing up from behind the counter. “Sure, I’ve got a few ideas.” You make your way over, brushing past a display table. “Are you into fiction or something more factual?”
“Fiction,” he says, his lips quirking up at the corners. “I need a break from reality.”
“Don’t we all?” you murmur, your fingers skimming the shelf before pulling out a copy of Anne of Green Gables. “This one’s a good place to start, it’s a coming of age story something most of us can relate to.” He takes the book, his hand brushing yours, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze locks with yours. 
“Thanks,” he says softly.
As he checks out, you notice the name on his credit card -
Quinn Hughes. 
It clicks. 
He’s the captain of the Vancouver Canucks — someone the city practically idolises. But here, in your little bookstore, he seems more like a quiet, unassuming guy who just loves books.   
“Did you want a bag or would you prefer to just carry it?” You question, trying to clear your throat and work up the courage to make eye contact with the stranger. 
“A bag would be nice.” He agrees, watching you closely as you grab out a paper bag from under the counter sliding the book and receipt into the small brown bag, placing it on top of the table for him to grab. “Can I ask what your opening hours are?” He asks quickly, his eyes finally leaving your face as he glances around the shop, a soft smile on his face. 
“We are open between ten AM and ten PM.” You say quietly, watching as he nods his gaze questioning. “I decided to keep the store open a little later then normal because there’s nothing worse then finishing a book and not being able to buy the sequel because everything is closed.” You explain, Quinn nodding his head appreciatively. 
You watch as Quinn leaves the store, briefly glancing back over his shoulder as the door closes behind him before he pulls his hood up over his head and walks out into the rain - the bag with the book safely tucked inside his hoodie. 
For the next few days, anytime the small bell above the door rings - your head shoot up from the book you’re reading a part of you disappointed when it’s not the person you were hoping for - the brown haired, blue eyed athlete seemingly a figment of your imagination. 
“I should’ve asked for his autograph.” You mumble to yourself as you sip on your hot chocolate from the cafe down the road, the overly hot, hot chocolate burning your tongue in the best way possible - a new paperback sitting on the counter in front of you, your pen and sticky tabs sitting just to the side. 
When you had opened the book store you never thought it would do as well as it had recently - and you had taken it upon yourself to give the environment as much of a friendly comforting feel as possible and often that meant reading as many books as possible to be able to recommend books as best as you could to customers who had no idea what they were looking for. Not to mention to constant playing YouTube book reviews you played when cooking dinner to keep up to date with the most popular releases as of late. 
You most recent read involving a large blue man and an abandoned space ship - your focus solely on your book as the bell above the door jingles softly, the sound of shoes scuffing barely pulling your nose out of the book. “Is there anything I can help you with today or are you just browsing?” The words come out from instinct as you flick to the next page in your book. 
“I was actually hoping for another recommendation.” The sound of the voice you’d been hoping to hear all week hitting you like a train - your head snapping up as your hand shuts your book abruptly. 
“Oh, welcome back.” You say quickly, wishing you could ram your head through a wall as you try to slide your very obvious alien romance novel under the counter before he can spot the cover. “I take it you liked Anne of Green Gables?” 
“It was better then I was expecting.” He says with a smile, taking a few steps towards the counter picking up your sticky tabs from the surface. “What are these for?” He questions. 
“Annotating.” You say, his gaze flicking up to you urging you to continue. “It when you use the tabs, to pinpoint parts of the book you want to remember or find easily - some people also highlight parts or write notes while they read.” You explain, pointing to your pen and highlighter just besides the till. 
Quinn nods thoughtfully, turning the small pack of sticky tabs over in his hands. “So, you mark your favourite parts or... things that stand out to you?”
“Exactly,” you say, a hint of excitement creeping into your tone. “Sometimes it’s a line that resonates or a moment that’s so well-written it gives you chills. Other times it’s just something funny or sweet that makes you smile.”
He sets the tabs back down and leans casually against the counter, his curious gaze locked on yours. “Do you annotate every book you read?”
You shake your head, laughing softly. “Not all of them. Just the ones that feel special in some way. It’s like having a conversation with the book, leaving little notes for myself for when I reread it later. It makes the experience more personal.”
Quinn’s lips twitch into a smile. “That’s... actually really cool. I’ve never thought about reading like that before.”
“Well, if you ever decide to give it a try, you know where to find some sticky tabs.” You grin, gesturing toward the colorful pack he had just set down. “Now, what kind of recommendation are you looking for today?”
He scratches the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “Something uplifting but still meaningful. Maybe with a little romance but not too cheesy.”
You nod, walking around the counter toward the shelves. “I think I’ve got just the thing.” Your fingers dance along the spines until you land on The Night Circus. You pull it out and hand it to him, watching as he studies the cover.
“It’s a beautifully written fantasy,” you explain, “about a magical competition between two young illusionists who—well, I don’t want to spoil too much—but there’s a bit of romance and plenty of heart. It’s the kind of book that feels like stepping into another world.”
He flips through the pages, nodding slowly. “This sounds perfect.”
As he heads back to the counter with the book, you notice him glance briefly at the cover of the alien romance novel you’d tried to hide earlier. His smirk is subtle but unmistakable. “That one looks... interesting,” he teases, gesturing toward it.
Your cheeks flush, and you cross your arms in mock indignation. “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Everyone needs a guilty pleasure read now and then.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles, sliding his card across the counter. “Maybe next time you can convince me to try it.”
“Challenge accepted,” you reply, handing him the receipt and his new book. As he walks toward the door, you can’t help but feel a strange flutter in your chest. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at you with that same warm smile.
“Thanks for the recommendation,” he says, pausing for a moment by the door, his mouth opening to say something before closing again, making a quick exit from the store as he shakes his head. 
You realised then that you still didn’t get his autograph. 
+
+
The following days pass quietly. Customers filter in and out, each leaving with a book or two, sometimes stopping for a quick chat about their latest reads. The little shop felt as cozy as ever, especially as the November chill seeped into the city. You added a new blanket to the armchair near the window and made sure the candles on the counter burned brightly, casting a warm, flickering glow over the shelves. But even as you chatted with regulars and recommended your favourite books to curious new visitors, you found yourself glancing toward the door more often than you’d like to admit.
It wasn’t until a week later that the bell rang, and your head shot up to find him standing in the doorway again. Quinn was wearing another hoodie, this one deep navy, with a beanie pulled over his dark hair. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, and he held a steaming coffee cup in one hand.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and casual as he stepped inside. “I was in the neighbourhood and I thought I’d stop by for another book.”
You blinked, trying not to seem too eager, though your heart was thundering in your chest. “Back so soon? I take it you finished The Night Circus?”
His smile widened, and he nodded. “I couldn’t put it down. That whole circus world—it was just... magical. I don’t think I’ve read anything like it before.”
“I told you it was special.” You smiled back, standing a little straighter. “So, are you here for another recommendation? Or just to give me a glowing review of my impeccable taste?”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both, maybe. But I also just wanted to say thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited about reading before.”
Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you busied yourself tidying the counter to hide your reaction. “Well, in that case, I’d better keep the streak going. What are you in the mood for this time?”
He leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. “I trust your judgment. Surprise me.” You walk over to the shelves just to the side of the counter - having already scouted some recommendations earlier in the week just in case the hockey player happened to stop by. 
“I see you’re reading another romance?” Quinn questions as he picks your current read up off the counter, flipping to the back to read the synopsis his eyes widening in surprise as you turn to face him with a sheepish grin. Your book recommendation in hand as you slowly make your way back to the counter. 
“So the guys a hockey player?” Quinn questions as he places his coffee on the counter, flicking through the pages. “Do you um… do you watch hockey?” 
“Kind of?” You respond, your shoulders sagging as you watch his face fall slightly, “I mean we’re in Vancouver so it’s kind of hard to avoid sometimes.” You let out a soft laugh before placing your next book for him on the counter. 
“So you know who I am?” Quinn’s question sends a pang to your chest, his earlier friendliness seeming to fall away. Your head just nodding as you let out a long sigh. 
“I’m really sorry I didn’t mention anything sooner. I just thought you wouldn’t want to be bothered about it, especially because you said you were here to look for something to escape reality.” You try to explain quickly, grimacing as the words come out of your mouth. 
“Is there any chance we can start this over?” You ask quietly, Quinns eyes meeting yours as he nods. “Okay, wait give me a second.” You say quickly, turning to face the back wall, and taking a deep breath before turning around to face hime again. 
“Oh my god!” You squeal a little, clasping your hands together in feigned excitement, “Are you the Quinn Hughes, captain of the Vancouver Canucks and winner of the Norris trophy?” You exclaim, fanning at your face as a smile blooms on his face. “I never thought that there would be a celebrity in my little corner of the world.” You continue, laughing a little as Quinn shakes his head at your antics. 
“Okay, Okay I get what you’re trying to do.” He says through a soft laugh, his hands reaching out to pull your hands back down to the counter, his skin warm against yours, his hands lingering for just a moment longer then necessary before he pulls away. 
“It just seemed like you wanted to be seen as a normal dude, and I wanted to respect that.” You say softly, sliding the book across the counter. “This one is about an older gentleman who’s very grumpy on the outside but has such a big heart underneath it all. One of my favourites to be honest.” You admit as he picks up the book to scan the cover. 
“How much?” Quinn asks but you shake your head. 
“This ones on the house - consider it an apology gift.” You say quickly, watching as Quinn tucks the book into his coat before grabbing his coffee off the counter top. 
Before he left, he paused by the door, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You know,” he started, his voice softer, “I wasn’t just passing through today. I... was actually hoping to see you.”
“Oh, well I’m glad that you did.” 
“Yeah, me too.” Quinn lingers by the door for a moment, the warmth of his smile softening the sharp November chill outside. “I’ll see you around?” he says, his voice tinged with hope.
You nod, clutching the edge of the counter to keep your hands from fidgeting. “Definitely. You know where to find me.” 
He chuckles softly, pushing the door open as the bell above it chimes. “Have a good night,” he says, his voice carrying just enough warmth to leave your chest feeling a little lighter as he steps out into the cold.
The door shuts behind him, and the shop feels quieter than before, even with the soft hum of the heater. You glance toward the book you were reading before he arrived, but your focus is elsewhere now, your thoughts buzzing with the memory of his laugh, his touch, and the way he had looked at you like you were more than just the owner of a small bookstore.
That night, as you close up shop, you notice a faint trace of coffee on the counter where Quinn had set his cup down. A small smile tugs at your lips as you wipe it clean, wondering if it was silly to feel so giddy over a few brief conversations and a mutual love of books. 
The following week unfolds in much the same way—quiet mornings, steady afternoons, and the comforting routine of recommending books to customers. But every time the bell above the door rings, a small part of you hopes it’s him again.
On a slow Thursday evening, as the rain drums steadily against the windows, the bell chimes, and there he is—Quinn Hughes, looking a little damp and undeniably shaken.
“You’re becoming a regular,” you tease but the smile fades from your face as you take in his expression. His eyes are wide and darting, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. Quinn looks like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Quinn?” you ask softly, concern replacing the lighthearted tone in your voice. You step out from behind the counter, keeping your movements slow and unthreatening. “Hey, are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he runs a hand through his damp hair, his fingers trembling. “I—I just…” He trails off, pressing a hand to his chest as if trying to physically hold himself together. “I needed to be somewhere…safe.” The weight of his words hits you, and your heart clenches. You glance around the store, dimly lit and quiet save for the rain outside. It’s a cozy space, filled with the comforting scent of old pages and polished wood. If he thinks of this place as safe, then you’ll do everything you can to keep it that way.
“Okay,” you say gently. “You’re safe here, Quinn. Do you want to sit down?”
He nods, but his movements are stiff and jerky, like his body isn’t quite obeying him. “I don’t know if I can.” He says softly. 
You nod, taking a few more steps forwards, gently reaching your hands out to take hold of his - your palms slipping together as you start to walk backward, “I’ve got you, Quinn.” You guide him to the little seating nook by the fiction section, the one with the oversized armchair and the weighted knit throw you brought in last winter.
“Here,” you say, draping the blanket over him once he sinks into the chair. His hands clutch the edges of the armrests, knuckles white. “Just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his breaths still coming too fast and shallow. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he manages a shaky inhale, following it with a slow, uneven exhale, his shoulders slumping forwards as his eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of gratitude in them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice raw. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to barge in like this.”
“Don’t apologise,” you say firmly, pulling up a stool so you’re sitting at his level, your hands gently placed on his knees in reassurance. “Everyone needs a place to land sometimes.” Quinn nods slightly, and his breathing starts to even out, though his hands are still trembling. You stay with him, offering quiet reassurances, and after a while, the tension in his shoulders begins to ease.
“You want some tea?” you offer, keeping your tone light and warm. “Or maybe something stronger, if you’re in the mood for the questionable bottle of wine I keep in the back for emergencies.”
That earns you a faint, fleeting smile. “Tea sounds good,” he says, his voice steadier now.
You nod and head to the little kitchenette in the back, your mind racing. Whatever storm Quinn is weathering, you can feel its echoes lingering in the air. 
But for now, he’s here, and he’s safe. And that’s enough. 
You return with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the kind you save for late nights when the world feels too heavy. He takes it with a murmured “thanks,” his fingers still a little unsteady as they curl around the mug. You sit back down, close enough to offer reassurance but far enough to give him space.
For a while, neither of you speaks. The rain fills the silence, a soft, rhythmic backdrop. Quinn takes small sips of the tea, the warmth of the drink seeming to help him settle. His shoulders relax a fraction more, though the haunted look in his eyes hasn’t entirely faded.
Quinn moves slowly, his hand reaching out to grab the leg of your chair, dragging it across your hardwood floors until its touching his chair, his shoulder just grazing yours lightly as he settles back into drinking his tea. 
Finally, he breaks the silence. “I… I don’t usually get like this,” he says, his voice low and hesitant. He stares into the tea like it might hold the answers he’s searching for. “It’s just been… a lot lately.”
You nod, not pushing him to say more. “Sometimes it builds up,” you say softly. “And then it feels like there’s no room left to hold it all.”
He looks at you, his gaze piercing despite the exhaustion in it. “Exactly,” he says, almost surprised that you get it.
You shrug, offering a small, understanding smile. “I think everyone’s been there in one way or another. It doesn’t make it any less hard, though.”
Quinn exhales shakily and leans back in the chair, the mug cradled in his hands. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admits. “I was just… walking, and then I thought of this place.”
The vulnerability in his words tugs at something deep inside you. “I’m glad you came,” you say honestly. “You don’t have to explain, Quinn. Whatever’s going on, you’re welcome here—anytime.”
For the first time since he walked in, the tension in his jaw eases. He nods, his lips pressing into a faint, almost-smile. “Thanks. That… means a lot.”
You stay with him, the quiet presence he seems to need. Over time, the storm within him appears to subside, his breathing calm and his grip on the mug steady. Watching as you interact with customers who come into the store - each of them acknowledging him with a glimpse of familiarity but he watches as you quickly redirect their attention, giving him much needed respite.  When the rain finally lets up and the evening deepens into night, he looks at you again to find you already staring at him from your spot in front of the bookshelves, a hint of colour returning to his cheeks.
“I should probably head out,” he says, though he doesn’t seem entirely ready to leave.
“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” you reply. “There’s no rush.”
He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for… everything. For not making it weird.”
You laugh lightly. “Weird is kind of my specialty, but I’ll take the compliment.”
Quinn’s smile this time is real, small but genuine. He sets the mug down and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. Before he steps out into the damp night, he pauses.
“Seriously. Thank you.”
“You know where to find me,” you say, and with that, he slips out into the night, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him.
You watch him go, your heart heavy with worry but lighter with the knowledge that, even if only for a little while, he found some peace here. And when the store falls quiet again, you return to the counter, feeling a strange new thread connecting you to the boy who sought shelter in your little bookshop.
+
+
Your head shoots up at the chime of the bell, a smile blooming on your face as the sight of Quinn a large bouquet of flowers in his hands as he glances towards you nervously. 
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” You jokes, closing your book on the counter, sliding off your stool to make your ways towards him, “If it isn’t my favourite regular.” 
“I just wanted to stop by and give you these.” He says softly, handing over the sunflowers wrapped in craft paper with twine holding it all together, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck as you take the flowers from him. “They reminded me of you, and felt like a good way to thank you for everything.” He explains, clearing his throat as you reach out a finger to gently stroke the soft yellow petals. 
“They’re beautiful, Quinn.” You say, whisking the flowers over to the counter dropping into a squat to look for the white vase you keep here in case your shipments of new releases come with decorations. “Thank you for this but you really didn’t have to.” You say softly, placing the vase on the counter and reaching for your scissors to release the bundle. 
“There actually one more thing…” He begins, taking a few deep breaths as you pause your movements, watching him curiously. “My team is having a family skate in a few weeks and I was wondering whether you might want to come?” His cheeks burn red as he watches your mouth fall open in surprise. 
“Like just as friends or—” 
“Like as a date?” Quinn interrupts, cursing himself in his head for being so rude, his eyes meeting yours as they light up with the smile blooming on your face. 
“I’d love to, Quinn.” You say quickly, stopping his shame spiral, “But I do have to warn you that I’m a pretty good skater, you’re going to have to do a lot to impress me.” You chuckle, a smile finally lifting Quinn’s lips as he nods. 
“I’m sure I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He murmurs. 
“Good,” you tease, leaning slightly closer, your voice soft. “I can’t wait to see them.”
Quinn swallows hard, his cheeks still pink as he nods again, his confidence growing with your encouragement.
“You might regret saying that,” he says with a small smirk. “I’ve been skating since I could walk, you know.”
“Is that a challenge?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he replies, his smirk turning into a full grin now. “Guess you’ll have to show up to find out.”
“Oh, I’ll be there,” you assure him, the excitement bubbling in your chest evident in your tone. “And don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re supposed to be the professional.”
Quinn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as his nerves fade into pure anticipation. “Deal. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re trying to keep up.”
“Bold words, Hughes,” you fire back playfully. “I’ll see you on the ice.”
As you part ways, you can’t help but feel a rush of giddy energy. The thought of skating with him, of sharing a slice of his world, fills you with both nerves and excitement. Quinn, meanwhile, walks away with a spring in his step, already envisioning the day and how he’s going to make sure it’s a skate neither of you will forget.
738 notes · View notes
moonstruckme · 10 months ago
Note
Hi lovely! Me again but with an actual request this time 😭😭 would you be able to write poly!marauders with reader who just got their wisdom teeth out and they’re all taking her home and taking care of her while she’s all loopy and hyped up on pain meds. I think it’d be so silly and cute. Only if you want to though! Much love and thanks!
-🍓
Thanks for requesting lovely!
cw: mention of blood, effects of anesthesia
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
Sirius had offered to be the one to drive you, but no one had let him because of how upset you all knew he’d get. As soon as you come through the door, Remus knows they’d made the right decision. 
“I know, darling,” James' voice is low, sympathetic, and a bit panicked, “but I promise you can have them in a couple of days, alright?”
Sirius leaves the dishwater to get cold, beelining for the front door. Remus is hot on his tail. They find James kneeling in front of you, untying your shoes while tears dribble off your chin and into his hair.
“I can make you a smoothie, or mashed potatoes, or any non-solid your heart desires.” He turns his head, mouthing help. 
Your face only crumples miserably, and James looks nearly like he might cry too but Sirius comes to his rescue. 
“Hey, sweet girl.” He palms the back of your head, careful of your face as he tilts it up towards him. “What’s got you so wound up, huh?” 
“He won’t let me have marshmallows,” you cry, words all garbled by the gauze in your mouth. 
“So mean,” Sirius commiserates. “I’ll do you one better and make you a chocolate milk, how’s that sound?” 
Your tears dry instantly. James lifts your ankle to take off your shoe, and you grip Sirius’ arms, beaming up at him. Or beaming as best you can, with your mouth all numb and full of cotton. 
“That sounds amazing,” you sigh, blissful. 
Sirius grins right back at you, his hand coasting down your neck and back up again. Remus can tell he’s dying to touch your face the way he normally would, but he restrains himself. “You’ve got a deal,” he says as James pries off your other shoe. “Come watch me work.” 
He steers you toward the kitchen, Remus passing a hand over your head as you go by. You give him a sweet, lovelorn look in return. 
“Can she have her gauze out soon?” he asks James once you’re in the kitchen. 
He sets your shoes by the door. “Yeah, it should be fine by now. They said a half hour.” James leans against the couch and passes a hand over his face. He looks so worn out Remus can’t help but cross the room to him, taking his hand and kissing it lightly.
“Was she very upset the whole time?” he asks.
“No, she’s been all over the place. Far worse than you, though.” 
Remus feels heat rise to his face at the memory. He’d had his wisdom teeth out last summer and reportedly spent the rest of the day clinging to whoever was nearest, grousing about how tired he was but never actually going to sleep. 
“Oh, uh…” James digs in his pocket. A few receipts and a dime come out, then a small bottle of pills. “They said she should start on these once she got home, but I can’t get them open. Can you try?” 
“Mhm.”
“Thanks.” James’ eyes widen, and he rushes off to the kitchen, saying something to Sirius about how they can’t let you use a straw. Remus follows a few steps behind, reading the label of the pill bottle before twisting the top off. It was childproofed, bless him. 
When he enters the kitchen, Sirius has you sat up on the counter and is poking around in your mouth. He takes out the gauze carefully, one piece at a time, and sets it on the counter. Remus makes a mental note to deep-clean that later. Your eyes follow Sirius’ movements, slowly widening. 
“Is all that blood from me?” Your voice carries a slight quiver. 
“That?” Sirius says swiftly. “No, that’s old blood. You’re good as new now.” 
“Oh,” you breathe, deflating a bit in relief. Remus chuckles, and your eyes fly to him, lighting. “Rem!” 
You open your arms wide. He steps into them, raising his eyebrows at James as you grip his shoulders tightly. 
“Told you,” James stage-whispers. “All over the place.” 
“I can hear you,” you say, words muffled into Remus’ sweater. He pets the back of your head pacifyingly. 
“How are you, sweetheart?” 
You take some time to mull this over. “M’okay,” you decide. “I’m a little sad they had to take my tongue, but it could be worse I guess.” 
“They didn’t take your tongue,” James says, like it’s not the first time he’s had to tell you this, “you just had some teeth removed.” 
“They’re dismantling me,” you say morosely. It’s clear you’ve accepted your fate. 
Remus strokes your hair again, leaning away slightly so you’ll look up at him. You do, and even with your glassed-over eyes and puffy cheeks you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 
“I’m glad you’re not hurting too badly,” he hums, cupping the side of your head. You smile dopily and lean into the touch. “I’ve got a pill that’ll help make sure you don’t hurt later, too.” 
Sirius passes you your chocolate milk so you can take it, and James clucks about how you need to take slow, careful sips all the way until you’ve drained the glass. As soon as it’s out of your grasp you’ve replaced it with Remus’ hand, your fingers tracing the lines of his palm with idle fascination. 
“Feel like watching a film?” he asks you softly. 
You hum. “That sounds nice. Can I have the fuzzy pillow because they’re taking me apart?” 
Remus huffs a laugh, and James groans. “Nobody’s taking you apart, darling,” he reasons. “The dentist only took the unimportant bits.” 
“Bit by bit,” you sigh. 
James looks in distress, so Remus takes the crook of his elbow in hand, squeezing lightly as Sirius eases you off the counter and into his hold. Remus thinks you’ll be lucky if he releases you before tomorrow. 
“You can have all the pillows if you want them,” Sirius promises you. “My poor girl, being taken apart bit by bit. You can have whatever you want.”
1K notes · View notes
heavenbarnes · 8 months ago
Note
Hiii, I just devoured your older bf!simon posts and I got this one brainworm
So, he hasn't figured out how to make albums yet in his gallery, the first time he passed his phone around to let his team gawk at your photos, he had accidentally left one of HIS photo
Imagine the team scrolling through his gallery, drooling at your photo in skimpy outfits, various state of undress then BAM, the hottest dickpic of their L.t. appeared on screen (courtesy of your instructions ofc)
I just think it'll be A Thing™, like, obviously they know Ghost is hot, probably also know how big his dick is, but seeing it presented like that? Some of them definitely moaned. And I bet Simon noticed, probably will start leaving a few of his own photos in between yours, as a treat for the boys.
(Feel free to ignore this if this isn't sth you're comfortable with 🫶🏻)
this is fucking insane i’m going to wet my pants- thank you for this idea you’re a genius 🫶🏼 | effective continuation of this
the 141 would like to enter your older bf!simon’s phone into the museum of natural history for its significant contributions to peace keeping efforts.
if that phone hadn’t been in this safe house, there would be far more destruction in their wake. it goes without saying, really.
what you will say is, whilst his phone is the metaphor- it’s really you that’s giving the opposition time to breathe (limited, their time will eventually come)
the dining table was small, when you had four hulking great men around it the thing looked minuscule. room temperature beers in front of them, it’d taken at least three bottles each for the first to speak up.
“c’mon mate, put us out our misery”
obviously their captain would take one for the team and go first, eyes locking with simon. without being able to see his mouth, it was hard to tell but price was pretty sure that was a chuckle (he hoped it was)
a quick rustle as simon shoved his hand in the pocket of his tactical trousers, retrieving the battered android and laying it in the centre of the table.
bated breathe, you could’ve heard a fucking pin drop as they all watched him unlock his phone. one long finger hovering over the camera app before he pressed it, an almost collective sigh of relief emanating through the house.
simon couldn’t and wouldn’t organise his phone, apps always open in the background, unorganised on his home screen, not a fucking photo album in sight.
photos heaped together in the one collective mess. it was very possible to be looking at an old receipt one minute and then the small of your back with cum across it the next.
majority of the photos were you, and not always filthy. simon couldn’t take a photo to save his life but the ones of you always looked breathtaking.
if you asked him, that’s just what you always looked like.
however, the 141 weren’t there for photos of you smiling as you pet a friendly dog. they were there for the kind of photo simon was just about to pull up.
sat on the corner of the bed, photo taken in the long mirror against the wall. thighs spread and one hand playing between them as the other held your phone next to your pouting lips.
gaz was the first to state the obvious.
“jesus christ, mate”
simon didn’t even blink, finger swiping through the next photo.
on the bed on your knees with your chest pressed to the mattress. looking back over your shoulder with a fucked out expression as you practically gave your ass to the camera.
the unmistakable sound of johnny shifting in the seat to his left caught simon, adjusting his cock just out the corner of his eye.
photo after photo, full nude, lingerie, simon’s shirts, just the bed sheet. with every one that passed, the beer was soon forgotten about when the buzz they got off you was unmatched.
the sweet glow that seemed to radiate off you filled the otherwise dim place the men had been hold up in. photos beginning to blur into one until-
the photo was taken from mid-thigh, simon somehow looked even bigger from this angle. shirt lifted enough to show his scarred stomach but his balaclava stayed on. exposed eyes staring down at the camera as his large hand wrapped around his equally large cock.
dead silence speared straight down the middle by a moan, pathetically covered with a cough. simon pretended not to notice the accent, left the phone in the centre of the table.
nobody could look away, it was physically impossible to tear their eyes off the sight in front of them. had they ever seen one that big in real life?
“fuckin’ell L.T, what’ya doin’ w’all that?”
they all knew simon had a big cock, you could tell by looking at him- the way he walked. if you’d ended up in the showers with him on base and seen it soft you’d even know.
it was unmissable.
but seeing it like this? looming over the camera at this angle, practically eclipsing the natural light, his thick fingers just closing around the base. this was something else.
you were quite the artistic director.
nobody wanted to be the first to say what the other was thinking. allowing the silence to fill the space only broken by the occasional sound of someone adjusting their trousers.
simon didn’t need anything to be said, he knew what he had and he knew the effect it had on- anyone really. he simply sat back in his seat, spreading his thighs wider and ignoring the occasional glance that fell on him when he did it.
finally cutting them loose, simon swiped to the next photo- back to you with cum streaked across your face. throats clearing and murmurs arising from the group.
“that’s real nice”
“would y’look at the fuckin’ state a’that”
“what i wouldn’t give”
simon grunted in agreement, eyes flickering around the table with a feeling invisible growing in his chest. a feeling that he wasn’t used to but didn’t- mind?
he didn’t think too long, he couldn’t think too long.
those photos would just have to become part of the regular.
1K notes · View notes
willowsnook · 28 days ago
Text
Noisy Neighbor pt. 2
pt. 2 to this request
@watermelonslut
lando norris x neighbor!reader
Tumblr media
Ever since that night, things between you and Lando had changed for the better. Now, when you passed each other in the hall, you no longer felt irritated. You’d even watched a few F1 races to see if he really was as good as he said. When he was away, he texted to "check in on his apartment" but always ended up steering the conversation toward how you were doing.
You weren’t sure what to make of this new dynamic. On one hand, Lando was undeniably attractive and fun to be around. But as a new F1 fan, you’d read the headlines—playboy, cocky, self-centered. So, for now, you convinced yourself to keep things friendly, neighborly. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
On Friday morning, you were gearing up for a focused workday when a knock at the door interrupted you.
"Can I help you?" you asked, puzzled to see a delivery guy holding a coffee and pastry bag from the cafe down the street.
"Delivery for Y/N," he said, extending the bag toward you.
"I didn’t order anything," you replied, confused.
"Looks like it was ordered by a Lando Norris," he clarified, checking the receipt, and you felt a warm flutter in your chest.
Reluctantly, you took the bag, smiling as you closed the door. Peeking inside, you saw a slice of pumpkin bread—your favorite.
Y/N: Thanks for the pick-me-up. Is this a pre-apology for something you're doing tonight?
LN: Maybe…
Y/N: What time are you back?
LN: Around 5. Having a few friends over, so you've been warned.
Y/N: Define “a few.”
LN: No comment.
Y/N: :|
LN: You should stop by, though.
Y/N: We’ll see.
After a productive day, you spent the evening cleaning up your apartment, knowing Lando’s party would soon start across the hall. By 7 p.m., the music was already thumping. With a sigh, you changed into something a bit more casual yet presentable, then headed over.
Tumblr media
When Lando opened the door, grinning at you in a black T-shirt and sweats, you couldn’t help but smile.
"Hey," he greeted, pulling you inside. After a quick introduction to his friends, he whisked you to the kitchen. "Want something to drink?"
"Sure," you replied, eyeing the crowd. You’d guess around 20 people were mingling, laughing, and enjoying the music. Lando handed you a drink, and after one sip, you grimaced.
"This is terrible," you laughed, and he chuckled.
"It grows on you. Trust me."
Just then, a voice called his name, and he slipped away, leaving you to nurse the mystery drink. A familiar voice behind you made you spin around.
“Y/N? Is that you?” It was Maggie, an old friend from college.
You squealed, pulling her into a hug. "What are you doing here?"
“I could ask the same thing!” she said, surprised. "I’m here on vacation."
Laughing, you replied, "I live in Monaco now, right across the hall from Lando. How do you know him?"
“We have mutual friends,” she explained as you moved to the balcony, catching up.
A couple of hours (and a few more of Lando’s terrible concoctions) later, you were feeling it. While chatting with one of his friends in the living room, two arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt Lando’s warmth at your back.
"Hi," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.
You giggled, glancing up at him. "Hi."
"Having fun?" he asked, a playful look in his eyes.
"Tons, but I am very drunk," you admitted, laughing.
He chuckled, turning you to face him, his eyes softening. “You’re so pretty,” he slurred, making you blush.
"So are you," you shot back, and he shook his head.
"No, I’m handsome, not pretty," he argued, pouting as you tilted your head in mock thought.
"Nope, I think you're pretty," you teased, earning an exaggerated eye roll. Just then, someone called for him, and he grabbed your hand, pulling you back to the living room. But instead of letting you go, he settled you right in his lap on the couch.
“Much better,” he said with a smirk, his arms snug around you. You settled in, joining the conversation and enjoying his friends’ company. Someone brought over a round of shots, and things became a bit of a blur after that.
--------------------------------------------------
The next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and a desperate need for water. Blinking, you realized you were in Lando’s room, the man himself snoring softly beside you. Glancing down, you blushed—somehow, you’d ended up in just your tank top and underwear.
Leaning over him to grab a water bottle from the nightstand, you accidentally woke him.
"What time is it?" he asked groggily.
"10," you replied, wincing at the brightness of your phone.
Sitting up, he smiled at you sleepily before his eyes widened.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, confused.
“Umm… how much do you remember from last night?”
You tried to think back. "Last thing I remember is tequila shots. Did we… hook up?”
“No,” he replied, blushing. “Close, but… no.”
“Then what’s the big deal?” you asked, watching as he flicked his eyes down from your eyes. Moving over to the mirror, you gasped.
“Are you fucking serious, Lando?” you said, glaring at him with a mix of amusement and annoyance.
He smirked. “You asked for it.”
Looking closer, you saw multiple hickeys around your collarbone, deep purple marks trailing down toward your chest.
"Hope you're happy," you said, shooting him a glare in the mirror.
“Quite,” he replied cheekily, “but you blue-balled me, so we’re even.”
“I did?” you asked, eyebrows raised.
He laughed. "Yeah, we made out on the couch for a while, and when I brought you in here, you were asleep by the time I turned around."
"Oops," you replied with a smirk. "I’m starving.”
“Let’s get some food, then,” he said, tossing you one of his hoodies. "I think Max is still passed out on the couch. He can join us."
You threw on the hoodie and your leggings, and sure enough, Max was slumped on the couch in the living room. Lando woke him, and the three of you headed out.
Luckily, you’d thought to grab a hat and sunglasses, feeling the effects of the night before. Lando’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove, and you rolled your eyes at Max’s cheeky grin. The restaurant was only a few minutes away, and you could barely wait to dig into the menu.
Suddenly, a girl approached your table. Lando looked up, assuming she was a fan, but her gaze was on you, her face alight with excitement.
“I’m a huge fan of your books!” she exclaimed, trying to contain her excitement. You smirked as Lando’s face fell, while Max burst into laughter.
“Thank you so much!” you said, grinning. “Which one’s your favorite?”
“The first in the trilogy,” she replied. “I love Axel. Actually, I have it with me—would you mind signing it?”
“Of course!” you said, signing her book. “I really appreciate the support.”
After the fan left, Lando still looked stunned, and you couldn’t help but tease him.
"Looks like I’m not the only one with fans," you said, nudging him playfully.
He shook his head, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah… maybe I need to read this trilogy of yours.”
Max leaned in with a grin. “Oh, you should. Axel’s way cooler than you.”
You rolled your eyes, but when you glanced over, you noticed Lando’s gaze lingering on you. His smile softened as he reached for your hand under the table, lacing his fingers with yours. Surprised, you met his eyes, which were warmer than you’d ever seen.
“I’m glad you came over last night,” he said quietly, almost like a confession.
Blushing, you squeezed his hand. “Me too.”
The rest of the breakfast was filled with laughter and playful banter, but every so often, you’d catch each other’s eye and share a small, secret smile. When it was time to leave, Lando slipped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you walked back to the car.
As he drove you home, he kept glancing over, as if he couldn’t help but steal little glimpses of you. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft.
“Do you think we could go out some time? Maybe for dinner?”
Heart fluttering, you smiled and looked at him. “I’d like that.”
Lando grinned, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
383 notes · View notes