#but i still have some actual work to do and it's after midnight on a saturday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weaselle · 9 months ago

Text

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

#long post #sorry #i just have a lot of DO PEOPLE UNDERSTAND feelings left over from all my years in restaurants #restaurants #line cook #service industry

28K notes · View notes

veiljumped · 1 year ago

Text

Turning off Discord's New Mobile Layout [OUTDATED]

EDIT (Oct 22/2023): This was originally posted on Sept 8/23 and since then there are some people saying that the option to turn off the layout is no longer there. Currently I no longer have the option to turn the new layout back on so I'm not entirely sure where Discord is going with this. I still encourage everyone to leave Discord feedback regarding their opinions about the layout. (end edit).

EDIT (Dec 6/2023): Discord has started rolling out this new mobile layout permanently along with some other changes (such as adding the 'Midnight' theme for OLED screens, though how it's different compared to the previous OLED theme is unclear). The changes are discussed in this blog post as well as this YouTube video. Discord has acknowledged on Twitter that the new layout will "take some getting used to" but that the original mobile layout is no longer available.

As turning off this feature is no longer possible I have disabled reblogs on this post.

If you do not want this new update, and have not received it yet, you may need to consider disabling auto-updates in your app/playstore. For those already affected, some people have suggested that downloading an APK of an older version to get around this but I don't know how that works or how to do that so please don't ask me.

If you have any thoughts on this layout change I recommend sending them through Discord's Feedback forum as there is nothing that I personally can do about it.

The original post is underneath the read more. (end edit)

(Note: Discord themselves do have instructions on how to turn it off but it's buried at the bottom of their blog post about the change).

In case anyone else gets stuck with this garbage update, here's how you can turn it off:

In the bottom right corner there is now a section labelled "You".

Tap the "You" button to open the tab. This should bring up your Discord profile. In the top right corner there should be a little gear button for your Settings.

Tap on this to open the Settings up. You will need to navigate to your "Appearance" settings. Now there are actually two ways to do this now.

As normal you can scroll down to the Appearance section of the Settings:

Or you can utilise one of the actually useful things included in this update: The search bar. Yes, with the new layout you can type in the setting you're looking for instead of scrolling through them all.

Once you open up your Appearance settings you will need to scroll down until you find the section for the New Layout.

Tap on it to disable it and viola! You should be back to the old (and, in my honest opinion, more usable) layout. After turning it off you will be prompted to leave some feedback regarding your experience with the new layout, do with that what you will.

#txt post #long post /

9K notes · View notes

yoditopascal · 4 months ago

Text

Sweetest Pie

summary: The Worst Logan isn’t so bad after all. (logan/wolverine x fem black reader)

content warning: Wade is your best friend that’s a warning all on its own, some angst (like literally the tiniest bit) cussing, mutual pining, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talking? (I’m so bad at writing it lmaoo), creampie, actual pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), dacryphilia, post DP&W, breaking the bed, scent kink, overstimulation, he technically sniffs your underwear??, Deadpool being Deadpool, MINORS DNI

a/n: The Sweetest Pie by Megan the Stallion is playing in the background while y’all fuck, that’s all.

tag list: @allmyn1ghts @figsnpassionfruits @dragonqueen89 @shebby-the-webby

Ducking down out of the way, Wade just barely makes it out of the line of fire as a glass mug hits the wall behind him, shattering on impact.

“You wanna run that by me again bub?”

“That was my favorite mug!”

“Repeat what you fucking said!” He snarls, hand balled into tight fists, it’s taking everything in his power not to maul the idiot with his claws….again

“All I said was you're more pent up than a nun doing squats in a cucumber field!” Wade said looking back at the wall, there was already a dent forming, one of many that had been popping up since the older mutant had decided to move in with him.

It's been 3 months since Logan started living with Wade and Blind Al and he’s about fucking had it. Laura had moved out after the first month, needing her own space, but she still frequently visited, he honestly was tempted to join her but figured she wouldn’t want her old man around all the time cramping her style.

Logan could feel a headache coming on as he pinched the bridge of his nose as Wade spoke again.

“You, my little honey badger, are lacking in the hanky panky department and no amount of self loving in the bathroom mirror at midnight is gonna fix that.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asked, sometimes he felt like instead of forming actual sentences Wade just put a bunch of random shit together so he could hear himself speak.

“Oh my gooood you’re so old, I’m talking about sex grandpa, you know, fucking? The horizontal hula? Bumping uglies? Filling the cream donut?”

“Stop.” Logan said with a look of disgust.

“I can smell your sexual frustration from here.” Wade groaned. “You need to spend a little less time brooding around the house like you're a DC character, and maybe spend a little more time doing hot yoga.” He was as he holds up a finger and boops Logan on the nose.

Logan swats his hand away but Wade continues paying no mind to his attitude as he points toward the front door.

“It just so happens that I know a great friend o’ mine who’d have absolutely no problems taming the beast for you bub and oh look at that, she happens to live right across the hall.” He said with a wink

“Don’t bring her into this.” Logan said, waving him off as he went to sit on the couch. Unfortunately Wade knew exactly how he felt about you, having figured it out during their whole ordeal with his variants, Paradox and Cassandra and the bastard had yet to let him live it down.

“Come on Wolvie you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife, it’s so thick!” He groans again, throwing himself on the couch beside him dramatically. “It might even be thicker than ours!” Wade said as he leans on Logan’s shoulder fluttering his scarred eyes at him. He shrugs him off, turning the tv on hoping the sound of whatever was on would drown him out but Wade just kept going.

“Stop being a pussy and talk to her!”

“Oh like how you talked to Vanessa?” He snapped back, his anger reaching its limit.

“First of all, we’re a working progress right now and second of all, ouch! Who hurt you?”

Growing tired of Wade and his endless jabbering Logan stood going to grab his jacket from the closet so he could leave.

“Where are you huffing and puffing off too big bad wolf?”

“Anywhere but here.” He said slamming the door shut behind him.

After a few drinks at Sister Margaret's and time to cool his head, Logan returns home to get some chores out of the way. He was far over due to wash his stuff and his hero costume was really starting to fuck with his nose, so, shoving a few handfuls of quarters from Al’s disco dust fund jar into his pockets,he loaded up his hamper and heads down to the laundry room in the basement.

Upon entering he almost immediately bumps into you. You were kicking the dryer when he found you, pissed because it ate your quarters, not paying attention to your surroundings at all.

Digging around in his pockets he bumps his shoulder to yours to get your attention. Startled you nearly jumped out of your skin as he held a hand up in surrender, not meaning to scare you.

“Sorry, just thought I’d offer up some of mine.” He said, pulling a handful of change from his back pocket.

“Oh. that’s ok, I’m-” you start but are stopped when he grabs your hands with one of his and unceremoniously dumps the change into your palms.

“I wasn’t suggesting, take 'em I got more than enough.”

With a silent nod you thank him as he shrugs you off with a “Don’t mention it.”

Logan starts to load up his laundry into the washer next to yours, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you toss your wet clothes into the dryer. You don’t notice as a piece of yellow fabric falls to the floor between you, Logan turns his head to say something, at first not realizing what it was, until it dawns on him that, holy shit, it's a pair of your underwear…and they had Wolverine on them.

They were boxer briefs, nothing inherently sexy about them, but the scent they gave off, clean laundry soap mixed with the smell of your core had Logan reeling.

A small smirk crawled across his face as he started to imagine you wearing them around your house, nothing else adorning your body except for an oversized tee shirt that looked eerily like one of his own, he thought it was cute. Turning his head back to finish his task he kept loading his clothes not showing interest in the underwear to keep from making things awkward. One thing he couldn't deny was your scent. The scent of your core that lingered on the fabric was making his head swim, it was utterly intoxicating, this definitely didn't help with growing his frustration.

After he loaded the washer he pulled a flask from his pocket taking a shot of liquor inside to compose himself as he realized you still hadn’t noticed you dropped them. “You uh dropped something sweetheart.” he nodded towards them. Horrified, you snatch them up and throw them in the dryer.

“Oh god I-I’m sorry! I-“ you start to stutter, at a complete loss for words you slam the dryer lid close and grab your basket ready to leave and hide away in your apartment for the rest of your life until Logan stops you with a strong hand that engulfs your wrist.

“No I-uh I get it. He was your hero right?”

“Yeah he was… but so are you!” You started but quickly press a fist to your forehead in frustration.

“Sorry I don’t want you to feel like you're obligated to live up to him or anything, you’re your own person! I just-“ you were interrupted by Logan closing the distance between you. In your frustration a few of your locs had slipped from your ponytail and were hanging in your face. Logan reached towards you moving one from your face tucking it behind your ear, his bright hazel eyes scanning you carefully taking in your features with a smirk.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He said, your scent was sending his sensing into overdrive, he could smell your sweat mixed with the soap you used with the spicy aroma of your arousal starting to peek through.

You look down to the ground still slightly embarrassed but mostly warm from the close proximity before you feel a finger lift your chin causing your gaze to meet Logan’s once more. “S-sorry I ramble when I’m nervous.” It came out almost as a whisper, causing Logan to chuckle. It was an annoying habit you had picked up from your best friend Wade over the years he noticed. The intensity of his stare was starting to send your stomach into knots but not in a bad way.

The sound of the laundry room door opening and closing as another tenant enters quickly separates them. Silently the pair looked away from each other as the tenant loaded up his belongings in the open washer. He quickly spared a passing glance between the two of you who awkwardly tried to stare at anything but each other before shrugging his shoulders and leaving.

An awkward silence blanket over the two of you as you shuffle your feet before you scooped up your basket again.

“Listen Logan-“

“Darlin I-“

You both started at the same time. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest causing your cheeks to feel warm. You smiled down at your feet and tucked another stray loc behind your ear before Logan spoke again.

“You first.”

“I was just gonna ask, did you maybe wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

Logan thought of a million different reasons why he shouldn’t. As if you could see the hesitation across his face you spoke up again.

“Before you say no, I got booze. Something a bit stronger than what I normally drink but it’s right up your alley. It was a gift from Wade.”

Of course it was from Wade.

“I’m also making pie.”

Well shit.

He let out a small sigh, looking down at your big pleading doe eyes before he shrugged; “Sure,why not.” Afterall how could he say no to you when you looked like that?

He could almost imagine Wade fist pumping the air in excitement at the aspect of the two spending alone time together, the blubbering idiot.

You flashed Logan another bright smile before heading to leave, you paused in the doorway for millisecond, before asking “See you at 7?”

“It’s a date doll.”

Seven o’clock rolled around much too quickly for either of them. Logan was busy fussing with his hair in the mirror trying to get the tufts of hair that usually stick up to lay down when Wade walked into the bathroom unceremoniously.

“Don’t you look positively ravishing tonight, got a hot date peanut?”

“Fuck off.” He growls, giving up with his hair and going to throw on a flannel over his wife beater.

“Wait, you do! Holy dick cheese Batman it’s finally happening!” Wade squealed excitedly

“What the hell are you even doing in here?” Logan asked in the doorway of the bathroom observing Wade, he was dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of hello kitty pajama pants and slippers, Logan rolled his eyes before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Had to take a shit, thanks for asking, but don’t change the subject!” Wade said following him into the kitchen “Who’s the lucky gal?” He asked leaning on the island, his head propped dreamily on his fist. “Or guy we don’t judge here. Wait wait wait! It's not who I think it is, is it?”

Logan didn’t say anything as he guzzled down his drink pre-gaming for the night, turning to grab another from the fridge before plopping down on the couch behind him.

At his silence Wade kicked his feet and clapped his hands excitedly, swinging around in his seat to look at Logan. Mary Puppins barked from her spot on the couch beside him.

“Fuck the Bachelorette and Love Island! The producers are going to make a killing outta this!” He paced excitedly flopping down beside him struggling to keep his composure. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?! We are gonna make millions, no fuck that billions off your sex tape alone! I mean you two love birds are going to blossom in internal passion as the stars align with the future of the virgin Mary!” He said hugging Logan from the side.

Confused as fuck he shrugs Wade off him with a frown as he stands to his feet looking at his roommate with a raised brow. Downing the last of his beer he puts the empty bottle on the counter and heads for the door not wanting to be late.

“Oooh don’t forget to wear a condom, peanut! Remember wrap it before you tap it, before you attack her wrap your whacker! And if you’re not gonna sack it, come home and-!“

Logan slams the door shut before Wade could finish anymore of his bullshit.

He raised his hand to knock at your door but hesitated for a moment. Memories of the you from his timeline flooded his brain for a brief moment and he lowered his hand. He had really fucked you over royally in his own timeline and then you had died before he had a chance to fix that. Was he even worth your time in this one?

He shook the thoughts from his head and squared his shoulders, this was his second chance, a chance to fix all the shit he messed up before and he’d be damned if he was gonna waste this opportunity.

Just as he raised his hand to knock again you tore the door open with wide eyes.

“Logan hi!”

“Hey- you ok kid? You look outta breathe.” He questioned looking you up and down in concern while also unabashedly checking you out.

“Y-yeah I’m sorry I was about to come over and ask Wade if I could borrow something but I-it’s fine come on in!” you said ushering him in before the door behind you both.

The inside of your apartment is cute. The layout is much the same as his own place that he shares with Wade and Blind Al but yours just felt a little more homey to him.

Movie posters and works of art decorated your walls, there was a bookcase in the living room full of all kinds of books and knick knacks that you had collected over the years. On a table by the tv was a record player with a decent sized stack of vinyls. The whole place just screamed you.

“Dinner’s just about ready!” You said drawing his attention back to you. You had changed clothes since he last saw you in the laundry room, your outfit hugging your soft curves in all the right places.

“I was comin’ over to see if Wade had some ice cream for the pie, but I guess we could go without it.” You said leading him into the dining room with a smile, you’re always smiling at him, he noticed. “I hope you like blueberry!”

Logan never thought he'd see the day where someone would cook a nice meal for him let alone the variant of someone he treated so callously before.

He winced internally trying not to think about that. He was here now, not in his old shitty universe where you were gone, but in a new one, one where he had friends, a daughter, a family. It was a chance to start over.

“Sounds great darlin, I’m starving.”

Once you sit down for dinner Logan immediately tucks in, he could smell what you were cooking hours ago from across the hall and damn if it wasn’t the best thing he ever put in his stomach.

The two of you made light conversation as you ate, you poured yourself a glass of wine while Logan had the hard stuff, single malt scotch on the rocks. It had been a gift from Wade after one of his missions, an expensive one at that, and Logan savored every drop of it.

After a few more drinks the pair cleared their empty plates, wrapping up the leftovers of their meal up in portions so Logan could take some home with him. You were pulling the pie from the oven when you heard the telltale sound of running water, looking over you see Logan, rolling up his sleeves with a dish towel draped over his shoulder as he started to do the dishes.

You bite your lip to physically keep from moaning and embarrassing yourself on the spot, domesticity looked damn good on him.

His nose twitched as he smelled your arousal spike for a second, thinking it better to keep that to himself he shifted on his feet as he dried a dish and put it on the rack.

“You don’t have to-“ You started pulling off your oven mitts. They were Star Wars themed, nerdy like the rest of your apartment.

God you were such a geek! You thought flustered, while shoving them onto the counter behind you.

“Nah you cooked, it’s the least I could do.” He said not moving from his spot at the sink

“Logan.” You said firmly placing a hand on your hip. “You’re a guest.”

“And you cooked.” He reiterated,cocking an eyebrow your way. “I’m not budging on this darlin.”

You sigh defeatedly as you grab the towel from his shoulder. “Fine, at least let me help.”

The two of you do the dishes in silence, him washing and you drying, your fingers brushing against each other every so often.

“Dinner was great.” Logan said awkwardly trying to break the stifling silence that enveloped you.

“Good I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled down at your hands timidly, refusing to let him see you cheesing as hard as you were.

“Sorry for not being better company, I know you’re more used to people talkin’ your ear off.”

Wade begrudgingly crosses his mind.

"I'm just uh not so good with people. Makes me anxious.” He admitted, it took a lot for him to come out and say it but he was comfortable with you, he trusted you.

“I get it, I’m the same way that’s why I’m always around Wade. He usually does all the talking for me.” You say fondly thinking back to all the times Wade had been your emotional support extrovert.

Logan honestly had no idea how you put up with him.

“Besides I think your company’s just fine Logan, I like having you around.”

I like being around you too, he wanted to say but he couldn’t get it out. Instead he settled for brushing his shoulder against yours, a small smile dancing across his features as you smiled back up at him.

Flicking the water from your hand as you both finished up, you dry your hands on another rag before offer it up to Logan, his fingers brushing against yours for the umpteenth time that night.

When you look up he’s staring at you, his eyes taking in your features again, flickering between your face and your mouth. You can’t quite place what the emotion is behind his eyes but it makes your belly feel warm and your chest flutters.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you both had, though you know for a fact it takes a whole hell of a lot more than what you had to get you both drunk, but you could have sworn he was getting closer to you.

You start to back up just as he moves to close the distance between you. Chest to chest, or more like chest to sternum as he was almost a whole foot taller than you, Logan starts to lean down sniffing you as your back hits the counter behind you.

“Your heart’s racing.” He says

You had almost completely forgotten about his heightened senses. You were so nervous this whole evening, hoping that everything would go right, could he hear you this whole time? Oh god could he smell you?

“You smell good too.” He says moving to stroke your face with the back of his hand, confirming your fears. You clench your legs together tightly, hoping to at least dampen the smell of how wet you were becoming, causing him to chuckle.

“No use hiding it doll, I can smell you from a mile away.” He said leaning down so that his face is closer to yours.

“Logan…” you whisper. His eyes never leaving your mouth.

“Hm?”

“T-the pie…” You stuttered nervously as your own eyes drifted down to his mouth. You worked so hard on the pie you didn’t know if you’d hate it more if it went to waste or if he moved away from you at that moment.

You wanted more than anything for him to stay where he was, caging you in at the counter like a frightened little mouse.

“It can wait sweetheart.” He said, finally claiming your lips as his own.

He pulls back for a moment to look at you, dipping to place a gentle peck on your lips, as if he’s asking if this is ok.

You wrap your arms around him, dragging his mouth back down to yours, he moves his hands to the back of your thighs hoisting you up onto the counter behind you, grinding himself into you as the kiss deepens.

Logan hesitates in the kiss for a moment, pulling himself away from you as if he realizes something. When you try to lean back in and kiss him again he stops you, holding you at arm’s length searching your eyes for something, anything he could use to make you hate him in this timeline like you undoubtedly did in his old one but he found nothing but adoration.

“You-“ he starts to speak, his voice a little shaky “You don’t want this sweetheart, I’m not a good man.”

I’m not your hero, he meant to say.

You place a hand on his cheek rubbing softly at his mutton chops with your thumb.

“Please stop telling me what I fucking want.” You say leaning back in to peck at his lips. “I want you, not a hero, or this timeline’s Logan, or any other Logan out there, just you. You’re not the Worst Logan, you're just you and I want all of you.” You finish while leaning up into him, waiting for his response.

Raising an eyebrow and at a complete loss for words, having rarely heard you cuss, Logan smirks before leaning back down to meet you the rest of the way recapturing your lips with a “Yes ma’am.”

His right hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently running the pad of his thumb over the skin before running his hand up to weave his finger through your locs.

You hop off the counter, grabbing him by his flannel your mouth reconnects with his as you lead him into your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him.

You start to kiss down his jaw before Logan stops you with a growl. He picks you up and tosses you onto the bed before his lips reconnect with yours.

His hands find their way under your clothes to paw at you, as you free him from the confines of his flannel. Tossing it behind him, it hits your iPod dock causing music to start playing but neither of you care, too enraptured in each other to even notice. Logan pulls away from your mouth only long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his hands trailing down to pull down your pants and underwear next.

He grabs you by your hips dragging you to the edge of the bed, as he kneels down in front of you, eye level with your hot core.

You throw your head back with a moan at the first drag of his tongue. Your legs finding their way around his shoulders as he drags his nose and tongue up and down teasing you.

He presses his mouth against your clit, sucking on it before pulling away and flicking it with his tongue, drawing circles and nipping at it with his teeth.

Watching you through dark lashes, he drags his hand down your body bringing it to his mouth, he licks his finger, bringing it to your wet cunt as he slowly begins to move it in and out of you, curling it against your gummy walls searching until he finds the right spot. You let out a strangled half-sob as he leans back down pressing his mouth against your clit again, sucking and flicking at the hard nub.

“Shit,” you rasp out, reaching out for him. He knew you were getting close, he could tell from the way you pulsed around him as he added another finger.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you felt your orgasm building. “Please, right there!” You choked, eyes closing as you threw your head back.

“So fucking wet for me already and I barely touched you.” Logan chuckles. You stifled a noise as your impending orgasm builds in your gut.

“I-I’m gonna-!” You start to cry out but are cut off by a sob.

“I gotcha darlin, I’m right here.” He mumbles into your pussy as he reaches his free hand out to hold your hips open for him, your hands frantically bury themselves in his hair, desperate for something to hang on to. He carries on lapping at you as you squirm talking you through your orgasm as he rubbed his nose to your clit, drawing it out of you as his fingers continue to fuck in and out of you.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He sighs as he keeps fucking you on his fingers, his intensity increasing as he latches himself back onto your clit devouring you like a man starved, you come almost instantly. It’s when he looks up at you, hazel eyes dark and hungry, that you finally lose it, your second orgasm of the night ripping through like a freight train.

Standing back to his feet Logan licks your residue from his lips and fingers, chin glistening with your slick.

You sit up immediately grabbing at his belt, fingers rushed and fumbling with the buckle, he replaces your hands quickly unbuckling it before pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head.

Reaching behind you, you free your chest from your bra, just as he kicks his pants off. Logan pushes you backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress beneath you as he stalks over towards you on his hands and knees.

He inhales deeply through his nose taking in your scent, the aroma of you mixed with your arousal is intoxicating and is driving him absolutely feral, with a wet kiss he bites down hard where your neck and shoulder meet, where your scent’s the strongest, nearly drawing blood, before he’s back on you, covering your mouth with his own kissing you viciously as if you’d fade away from existence if he let you go.

He laps at the spot he had previously bitten you as he slowly pulls away, soothing the skin there. The mark was already gone, thanks to your healing factor, but god you could still feel it and you secretly ached that he’d do it again.

You soon feel the head of his cock running along your folds, it’s thick, and hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick hole. Then without warning he’s pushing into you, sheathing himself inside of you with a single thrust.

Logan threw his head back with a loud groan. He promised himself he’d go slow with you, take his take opening you up for him but fuck if this didn’t feel right, good it felt oh so good.

“Fuck” he grunts out into your mouth as he drops his head down to drag you into a hard smoldering kiss swallowing your moans as he sinks in fully.

He lets you adjust for a few moments before he pulls back and thrusts into you instinctively, repeating the harsh action as he begins to slowly pick up his pace. If you had been completely human, the force of his thrusts would’ve surely shattered your pelvis or at least threw them out of alignment.

Reaching up to grab onto the headboard of your bed to anchor himself Logan locks in fully, gripping the wood bar in a death grip as he pushes into you. You reach up too, grabbing a handful of sheets by your head with one hand and his hips with the other, desperate for something to anchor yourself with as Logan’s brutal pace has you reeling.

“L-Logan!” you cry out, body shaking from the force of his thrusts. His cock sinking deeper and deeper as he angles your legs over his shoulders, hitting that sweet spot inside of you repeatedly making your legs tremble in unadulterated pleasure.

An audible crack is heard from where Logan is still holding onto your headboard but you both could careless, your heads completely clouded over with lust.

Just when you were starting to think it was all too much, his thumb finds your clit again and starts to rub fierce quick little circles.

“Gimme one more darlin.” His voice is strained and rough, as he leans down to your neck inhaling your scent again as he licks up to your neck nipping at your jaw and neck as he pulls away.

You scrambled to get away, pushing at his chest as the over sensitivity was proving to be too much.

Logan lets go of the headboard and grabs both your hands with his much larger one, locking them firmly to his chest right over his rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t try and run from me kid, you wanted this remember?” He chuckled darkly, picking up his pace even more if that were possible.

Tears stream steadily down your cheeks as your barreling toward your next orgasm, it’s here, with your hair fanned out around your head, cheeks puffy and tear stained while you pant desperately trying to get away and keep up with him at the same time , that he thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you.

“Come on my dick, baby.”

Your body completely locks up at his words, your back arching off the bed as you scream, your orgasm wrecking through you as you clench around him like a vice. Logan drops your legs, yanking you up into a messy kiss as he takes you through it.

“Good fucking girl.” He grunts against your lips, he gives you a few moments to come down from your high, burying his face into your neck before he resumes his punishing pace.

You think you’re at your limit as fat tears fall from your eyes, never have you ever felt this good, this full before, it’s far too much for you.

Just as you were about to tap out, he grunts into your neck, his hands move to grip your ass bringing it up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck, tell me where?” He growls out. He wraps an arm around your back bringing you chest to chest as he fucks you on his lap, the new angle making him hit that sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

At first you don’t quite understand what he’s asking, your brain too foggy to comprehend much of anything right now, but as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, nearly drawing blood again, you finally understood, he was close and so were you again.

“Inside, please I wanna feel you.” You whimpered as he pounds into you. He groans at your request and picks up the pace rutting up into you desperately like an animal. His hammering is deep and unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it feels too good to make him stop, you’ll definitely have a hard time walking in the morning.

With one last harsh flick of his thumb to your clit you’re coming hard on his dick, clenching around him as your body quivers uncontrollably, almost blacking out for a moment.

He growls as his hips stutter against your own, as he cums into you, the force of his final thrust knocking you both bad down onto the mattress. Logan thrusts a few more times, pumping his load as deep inside of you as he could, claiming your mouth once again in a deep searing kiss.

You run your hands through his hair as he nearly drops himself on you, his forearms supporting the weight of his adamantium skeleton. He’s still buried inside you as you're peppering his face and neck with light kisses.

It’s quiet for a moment before he lifts himself up, pulling himself from inside you with a grunt. He pushes stray locs from your face as he kisses your forehead and flops over onto the other side of the bed dragging you with him.

At the weight of his adamantium bones dropping down onto the already crack and barely hanging on frame your bed frame finally gives out dropping your mattress to the floor with a loud thud, startling the both of you.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You panted too shocked and tired to move from your spot on his chest.

“Sorry baby, I’ll get you a new one.” Logan laughs lightly as he pulls you to his chest.

A comfortable silence fills the room as the two of you lay on the floor, your breathing starting to return to normal. Leaning down to inhale your scent again Logan’s met with the pleasant tang of you covered in him and pulls you tighter snuggling you into him.

“You still with me?” The rough edge of his voice brings you back to your senses.

You smiled up at him from his chest with a big dopey smile, eyes completely dazed as you answered with an “mm-hm.” Too fucked out to fully speak properly. You laid back down on his chest, eyes closed as you shiver, he runs a hand up and down your spine as you start to drift off.

He chuckles at your response or lack thereof and pulls your sheets over the both of you. The temperature in the room had started to come down dramatically as your sweat covered bodies cooled in the night.

Just as Logan was about to close his eyes and join you in what was hopefully a peaceful night’s rest for the first time in years, your bedroom door bursts open revealing Wade, still clad in his hello kitty pajamas helping himself to a piece of the pie you had left out.

“Jesus Wade!” You yell eyes practically bulging out of your head as you scramble to grip the sheets to your chest.

“What the fuck asshole?!” Logan growled trying his best to shield you from view with his arms. His hazel eyes were seething with anger.

“My sweet virgin eyes!” Wade said, covering his eyes but still peeking through them through a gap in his fingers with a smirk as he chewed loudly. “You two sounded like an indoor jungle gym but instead of a shit ton of kids it's just you two.” He laughs shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth as he moves to sit on the edge of the broken bed on the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You, young lady, have some pipes on you. Could hear you practically singing about the Wolverine.~” he teases with a tsk.

“And you sir!” He points to Logan who growls at him as he swats his hand outta his face. “Where do I even begin?” He tsked again as he shook his head “You really had some pent up frustration didn’t you, you slut? Did you break her? I know she has a healing factor too but good god man have some restraint!” he leans back on her broken bed as he spreads himself out on the end.

“And her poor bed! I hope you're planning on replacing it, bee tee dubs.” Wade rolls over onto his side propping himself up on his elbow at the couple’s feet. “Did he even use a condom?” He whispered to you loudly before adding “Nice tits by the way.” as he winked at Logan. “I don’t think creampie was the type of pie she had in mind when she invited you over for dinner, old man.”

“Who knew Wolverine was a cuddler?”

You roll your eyes at Wade’s antics completely used to him over the years of knowing him but Logan on the other hand had clearly had enough. Ripping the sheets from himself you watch as Logan comically chases Wade out of the room, buck ass naked.

Slamming your bedroom door shut Logan turns the lock with a grunt, finally returning to your side he pulls you back to his chest and flings the sheets over you.

“He’s not so bad, y'know when you get used to him.” You shrug with your eyes closed as you snuggle into his chest. Adrenaline, now dying down, sleep had started to wrap you in its dreamy embrace and it was hard to keep your eyes open.

“That little cockroach is gonna be the death of me.”

You laugh at him one last time before finally drifting off. Your soft snores were the last thing Logan heard as he too snuggled into your warmth and drifted off.

Who knew the Wolverine was such a cuddler.

#logan howlett x black reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut #wolverine x black reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #hugh jackman #SoundCloud

2K notes · View notes

xinganhao · 1 month ago

Text

🔍 older brother!seungcheol vs. boyfriend!mingyu.

anon → "i was wondering if you could do something like older brother scoups finding out you're secretly dating mingyu?"

⌗ ┆the way i IMMEDIATELY sat up when i saw this request omg ᕕ( ཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)ᕗ thank you, anon! this was wayyy too fun to do!

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: f!reader, older brother!seungcheol, established relationship, pet names, cussing, [sibling] threats of violence/harm, to be read in order + headcanons under the cut.

🔍 headcanons .ᐟ

— prologue.

mingyu really tried his very, very, very hardest not to fall in love with you. there are some things that are just indisputably off-limits— friends' siblings being one of them. you're seungcheol's younger sister, and the older boy is known to be immensely overprotective of his own.

it's the reason why no one has dared to approach you for years. seungcheol has scared away dozens of potential suitors with his picture perfect bitch face and his sharp tongue. you can complain all you want, but he'll always say the same thing. "i'm just protecting you," he'll snipe. "i know how these boys' minds work and i'll be damned to let them near you."

mingyu thinks he can get away with just being your friend, with being a good friend to seungcheol, but it becomes increasingly difficult the more time he spends in your orbit. his frequent visits to the choi household; the brief moments you interact when you're around seungcheol? yeah, mingyu never stood a chance.

it's you who confesses first, and mingyu is admittedly scared shitless. all of that is thrown out the window when you kiss him, though. because the moment your lips meet his, mingyu suddenly can't give two shits about whether or not he'd ruin his friendship with seungcheol.

you're the one who proposes to keep it a secret for now, citing seungcheol's man-eating tendencies. mingyu is actually a little relieved. he's not sure if he's prepared to deal with the infamously dramatic and sulky choi man, so he readily agrees to the open-ended request of sneaking around.

as the months drag on, though, mingyu feels like he should have clarified how long for now would last. because the two of you are nearing the half-year mark and you're still racing to meet your brother's curfews, still unable to be with mingyu properly in public. the two of you are constantly afraid that seungcheol will catch wind of your relationship and it's admittedly driving mingyu a little crazy.

mingyu is still endearingly sweet and understanding about it, of course. even as he starts to suggest telling seungcheol and freeing the both of you from the burden of hiding, he understand why you hesitate at each turn. seungcheol is intense, after all.

a part of you knows that mingyu won't wait around forever. there's only so much compromise, so much rendezvouses that you can get away with before he begins to demand more. and, truthfully, he deserves to demand more— with how perfect and patient he's being.

(if he'll be completely honest, mingyu doesn't mind waiting around for you. would he like to hold your hand in public? of course. does he want everybody in his life to know that you're his? hell yeah. but— as pathetic as it sounds— mingyu is happy to have you in any way that he can. even if it's just the scraps and pieces of you, he'll take it.)

— the texts.

there's a saying that 'strict parents breed rebellious children'. well, it looks like the same stands for strict siblings. seungcheol is always ragging you for the time that you'll come home, for the people that you hang out with. it's equal parts him being nosy and him fulfilling what he thinks is his birthright as an older brother.

to make up for all the time that seungcheol has seemingly stolen from your relationship, you promise mingyu a weekend. something so innocent and innocuous in your six-month long relationship. a lazy saturday in his apartment, where you won't have to leave by midnight like some sort of modern cinderella.

and mingyu's so damn happy about it, this snapshot of domestic bliss that he's been granted. you, padding around his apartment in his oversized shirt. you, attempting to bake something you saw off tiktok. you, giving him a dozen kisses as he drifts in and out of sleep. it's absolutely perfect. he could get used to this, he thinks.

but then mingyu makes the mistake. your phone is charging on his bedside table as he dozes off. when your phone rings, it's purely instinctive— how mingyu groggily reaches over to answer the call. it takes him a full minute, an agonizing sixty seconds, to realize what he'd done.

the call connects. seungcheol is in the middle of saying something like "yah, i told you to text me when—," only to have the words die out. he stares down at his screen, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, because it's not you on the other end of the line. hell, it's not even abigail, who you're supposed to be sleeping over with. it's a man. and it's not just any man—

when seungcheol says "kim mingyu?", that's when mingyu realizes he fucked up. his eyes blow wide with surprise and he has half the mind to say something, do something. that something turns out being ending the call without saying a word. if mingyu wasn't already awake earlier, he sure is now.

you're exasperated when a panicked mingyu tells you of what happened. the two of you sit at his dining table, strategizing a 'game plan', as your phone rings off the hook in between the two of you. seungcheol is not happy. it doesn't surprise you when your brother even goes as far as to start pinging mingyu, then— when that doesn't work— making a group chat.

seungcheol know he's overbearing and protective. on that front, he can kind of see why you decided to keep your relationship with mingyu. (a small part of him is impressed, even.) but, really, he just has this thing about being the last to know. he hates it. he hates being out of the loop, hates feeling like he's an afterthought. and so he's fully prepared to hold grudges to both of you, which would probably be a disaster. seungcheol was the master at being resentful, after all.

that is, until mingyu drops the 'l' word. from his end, seungcheol's fingers freeze over his phone screen. in all his years of knowing mingyu, he had never heard the man say he loved someone. it was always the vaguest of terms. i like her. i fuck with her. i'm down for her. but love?

and you, with those words that you often deliver in jest. 'don't ruin this for me, cheol.' how many times has seungcheol heard you beg him to bug off, to let you live your life? how many times have you two gotten in to fights over his meddling and your stubbornness? you always think he's out to get you, when in reality, he likes to think he's just looking out for you.

'i really like mingyu, genuinely.' 'i love your sister, seungcheol.' seungcheol stares at those two open confessions for what feels like forever before he lets out an annoyed huff to himself. it feels like a 2v1 that he's not about to win. he is still pissed, is still about to pout about it for weeks and then proceed to hold it as leverage in the months to come.

but seungcheol is also willing to [begrudgingly] admit: there are worse people for you to end up with than kim mingyu.

#mingyu smau #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seungcheol smau #scoups smau #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #── ᵎᵎ ✦ reqs #── ᵎᵎ ✦ mine

982 notes · View notes

nc-vb · 2 years ago

Text

Of all the electives to get stuck with, frickin History of War and Society in the 20th Century??? I'm so boreddddddddddddddd.

#ffs like if franz ferdinand didn't get himself assassinated WWI wouldn't have happened #and the shit with (s)hitler likely wouldn't have gone down like it did #yeah a lot of shit likely still would've happened if he DID survive the hit #bc the world was actually pretty f'ed up back then apparently #BUT THIS ESSAY WON'T LET ME DISCUSS THEM BC IT WOULD CHANGE HOW OTHER EVENTS OCCURRED #3:50am... T-minus 21 hours until submission...#minus at LEAST 6 hours of sleep... oh my god #why do i let this happen to me every time #how have i survived 5 programs in 7 years of college??? how tf??? am i still doing things the same way after 7 years of college???#the nickname i received in my first year rings true... i am the embodiment of the sin of sloth and that's fucking awful to admit...#i can do this tho. some of my best work was done last minute!!!#literally! i've submitted pure art a minute before midnight and got great marks!!#i'm deluding myself rn!! but i've got this!!#okay bye!#✦ nc vb.

1 note · View note

coco-loco-nut · 5 months ago

Text

Father’s Day

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: max is dating an international star

a/n: i literally had this idea last night and had to write a short blurb, i promise i am writing other stuff tho 🫶

masterlist

————————

y/username happy father’s day, daddy. i love you and your big…

maxverstappen1 anything to share with me?

y/username not pregnant, just letting everyone know how turned on you get me

maxverstappen1 love you too, schat

user12 anyone else not getting it, like she is so hot and he is 😬

y/username you know that one barbie scene with the rock? that’s my maxie. also if you think he’s ugly, that’s fine, more of him for me 😍

user98 Y/N BARBIE FAN CONFIRMED

y/username priority 1: old barbie movies priority 2: max

user3 ON THE MAIN?

user33 PR monster got her, I really wanna know what she was about to say

recordlabel we don’t… we actually want bleach for our eyes

redbullracing we will share our bleach if you send us demos of her next album 👀

charlesleclerc Go on, finish the sentence, I dare you.

y/username his big heart, ego, ass, trophy case, therapy bill from childhood trauma, i could keep going on but i don’t want to make you feel emasculated

user62 okay, but like how did he bag her?

y/username he has incredible rizz, and look at him🤤

“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you grin as Max lays on you lap, looking up at you with his beautiful blue eyes.

“You aren’t pregnant, Schat,” he laughs, your fingertips gently scratching his scalp.

“We could change that, get some practice in for after the wedding?” you watch his eyes widen as he quickly sits up.

“Practice makes perfect, why don’t we practice now?” Max suggests, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

Your wedding is small, only some close friends and family in attendance. The ceremony takes place in your backyard, no reception beyond a dinner afterwards.

Despite both your respective fame levels, you didn’t want anyone knowing of the marriage. Fans still thought you were dating, so when you got a positive pregnancy test, you were extra careful.

Max was grateful that you had a private recording studio in the house, for when you needed to drop the album. You didn’t mean to choose the surprise drop date to be at the end of your pregnancy, nor Father’s Day, but life worked in funny ways.

“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you softly say, handing the little bundle off to Max.

“This is the best present, he’s beautiful,” Max hold back tears as he holds his son close to his chest.

“I’m not sure if I will be able to top this next year,” you laugh a little, your tiredness making an apparent after a long labor.

“You should take a nap, I’ll be okay with him,” Max runs a hand though your sweaty hair. To him, you’ve never looked more perfect.

“I have one thing to do first,” you yawn, pulling out your phone. Max slides into the hospital bed beside you, you immediately nestle into him, his warmth enveloping you.

instagram

y/username SURPRISE! midnight rain is out now! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it for the past four years. There is so much in my life that happened, so enjoy my journey through heartbreak, love, and growth. I want to quickly thank Max and my team for making this possible 💙

user1 AHHH this is so good, but didn’t she and Max break up? Why is she thanking him?

user3 dude, i think they are married, did you listen to everything else

user4 yeah, she had some songs about marriage, but she hasn’t been at any races since last year

user10 did y’all see the statement saying there won’t be a tour for the album?? crying in the club

user11 Okay, but Robin?? secret child??

maxverstappen1 endlessly proud of you, schatje

user5 we get it bro, she wrote Dress and The Alchemy about you

maxverstappen1 our little robin decided to hatch 💙

danielricciardo So happy for you and Y/n, mate. Big day for the Verstappen family, can’t wait to hold the little guy!

y/username he will love his Uncle Danny

y/username he’s perfect, just like his daddy

redbullracing what a gift for father’s day! sending our gift to you 💙

user42 guys, y/n’s song credits changed…

user21 OMG MAX AND Y/N ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A KID???

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen

1K notes · View notes

catssluvr · 2 months ago

Text

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒆, aaron hotchner

aaron hotchner x fem!reader (916 words)

in which you end up with an injured nose at girl’s night and aaron takes care of you

warnings: bloody nose (surprise), r is tipsy, sweet aaron again 🫶🏻

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

This is probably the last way you would have imagined your day to end up like. This being sitting in the passenger seat of Hotch's car with an ice pack against your very much painful bloody nose.

It's funny to think that working in the fbi wasn't what gave you an injurie but falling against Emily's coffee table sure was. It was definitely quite a fight between you, one of Sergio's toys on the floor and the corner of the table. You just didn't happen to win it, leaving your nose bruised and bloody.

You felt utterly embarrassed for having to call him to pick you up, but you couldn't drive after two cups of wine and didn't want to ruin girl's night. You're sure there's better things for him to do on his day off, specially at midnight.

Though he doesn't seem bothered by it the slightest, his hand resting on your thigh for the whole ride home and stealing worried glances at you once in a while.

"You okay?" He asks once he opens the door, helping you out of your seatbelt.

You're quiet and that worries him. He knows pretty well you're not one to be quite when alcohol is running in your system.

"Mhm. Sorry for this, again." It's probably your fourth apology tonight and he doesn't like that one bit.

"Stop saying sorry." His tone is almost stern but you can feel the affection sweeping through it. "I missed you today, was glad you called." He's too sweet even when you're sure you ripped him out of bed, his crooked quarter zip that's thrown over his sleeping shirt proving you right.

You smile softly at him, regretting it immediately as your nose stings.

Aaron hushes you inside the house, immediately leading you to the bathroom and sitting you on the counter.

He rummages through the cabinets for a moment, pulling out a few cottons and other things you're too dozy too look properly at.

"Oh, sweet girl..." It's only now that he takes the ice pack from your nose that he realizes how painful it must be. There's dried blood right outside your nostrils and the bridge of your nose look another shade.

"That bad, uh?" You mock, holding back a chuckle at his reprehending stare.

Aaron starts cleaning your nose with a wet cotton, mumbling out gentle sorries when you hiss in pain.

You take the time to look at him through half closed eyes. His dishevelled hair, his concentrated expression and most of all his quarter zip paired with stripped pyjama pants. It makes you feel both giddy and guilty that he probably came running to get you once you called.

"You're pretty." You say it before getting to actually think about it. But the fact that you're still tipsy helps you say things shamelessly.

"Thank you, honey. You're very pretty too." He answers with a smile bigger than he intended, just happy that you're finally acting like you normally would while tipsy.

Once the blood is cleaned and the arnica is applied, he reaches for the small band aid box. They all have some kind of cartoon in them, Jack's influence.

"Which one?" He questions with fake seriousness, displaying all the different band aids.

You point to the spider-man themed one, probably Jack's influence as well.

"Very good choice." Aaron pulls it open, carefully applying it over the small cut on the bridge of your nose before pressing a tiny kiss there.

He tells you to wait for a moment before dissapearing into the bedroom, coming back a few seconds later with a large hoodie and one pair of stripped pyjama pants - both his.

You let out a relaxed sigh once you're in them, his scent comforting and similar to what you would call home.

"Gimme a kiss?" You mumble nasally, a chuckle bubbling out of him at the way it sounds more like 'kith'.

"I'll hurt your nose."

"No, it'll heal magically from your kiss." You do little in trying to persuade him, but it's more than enough for him.

Aaron tucks a few strands of hair behind your ears, cupping your warm cheeks and leaning in to place a gentle peck on your lips.

"Better, sweet girl?" It's not really a question, as he knows the answer. His lips trail from your cheek to your temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling to hold your face once more.

"Mhm, much better." You lean into his hands almost involuntarily.

His hands reach under your thighs, picking you up before you can even process it. You let out a surprised gasp, smacking his chest lightly when he laughs.

"You know, my nose is hurt. Not my legs, Aaron." You mumble against his neck, smiling at the way he shivers at the contact.

"Just let me spoil you, yeah?" He shushes you, arms comfortable around you as he enters the bedroom.

Once you're tucked inside the blankets in his so familiar bed, Aaron pulls out his quarter zip. Throwing it on top of the armchair in the corner before rushing to lay beside you.

Almost immediately, your arms find place around his waist. Your fingers trace incoherent shapes on his stomach and your head lays against his chest, his heartbeat lulling you to a sleepy state almost immediately.

"Thank you." It's barely a whisper, but he hears it just fine.

He hums, squeezing his arms around you before pressing a kiss to your hair one last time. "My sweet girl."

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

love you,

cat 🤍

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #criminal minds x reader

959 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 8 months ago

Text

Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.

Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.

Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.

Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.

And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.

Until now...

Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.

Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.

The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.

Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.

However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.

"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.

Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.

"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.

"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.

"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.

He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him

Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"

Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."

Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."

Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.

They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.

"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.

Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.

He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."

They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.

"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.

Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.

"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #steve harrington #trauma response #mike needs a hug #steve needs a hug #knightly talks

2K notes · View notes

theoxenfree · 1 month ago

Text

IMPOSTER

possessed scholar!husband x reader |3.9k| 18+

In an unforeseen act of self-preservation, your family marries you off into an exorbitantly wealthy family, to a reclusive and reticent scholar who provides you little affection. He is suddenly called away for the handling of his late uncle's final will wishes and estate. He returns to you not himself, and with unquenchable lust.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; extreme dubon, explicit sexual content, mentions of (not explored, not described): orgies, heatplay, robbing a mortuary & drug use, masturbation w/ metal dildo, mirror sex & masturbation, hypnotism, power imbalance, murder, body horror, gruesome imagery, classism, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.

this is a concept piece, possibly preluding a full story! if you have any interest in having me build a larger piece out of this concept, PLEASE reblog + interact and let me know! I'm only going to go forward with it if folks express interest!

read to the end for author's notes!

In the airless dark of your bedroom at night, you knew the man lying next to you under covers was not your husband. Once he had been, but now he no longer was.

The revelation had come to you before noticing the stillness of his broad frame in bed, certain stiffness which seemed more alike to rigor in a days old corpse rather than a man wrapped in the comforting spell of deep sleep.

His breaths were silent, if he even breathed at all, reminding you of childhood where the floorboards wouldn't creak so loudly if you sucked all the air out from your lungs into your throat, snagging it, holding it firm. Suddenly, you'd be lighter; effervescent; floating across the wooden slabs towards the kitchen past midnight, or out the front door during the years where testing your parent’s patience and fraying the head maid’s nerves was your favorite thing to do.

You’d learned later on, after the loveless vows and complicated legality behind joining your two families, that your husband had a knack for slipping away at night as well. Only, he wasn't at all the sort for flirtatious gallivanting and loquacious rendezvous with secret lovers in dim rooms, smells of mildew masked by a numbingly sweet, perfumey fog.

He was reclusive and reticent; one of those outstandingly brilliant scholars who believed the rest of the world was below him because he hadn't found an equal in conversation or thought. Social obligations—no matter the occasion or person—pained him to where he intentionally brought you as a buffer between himself and whomever was trying to speak to him.

Some of the talk was so astronomically beyond you that parroting the long-winded answers he spoke softly into your ear back to his audience made you burn under the collar from embarrassment and his proximity to you. His peers could not understand why he simply wouldn't talk for himself; meanwhile, they also wondered why someone without their level of formal education had even accompanied him.

At night, he became one with darkness and retreated to the depths of his study across the massive house you shared together. It was part of one of his family’s various estates dotted across the country and his favorite, due to its location near the university where he worked (at his leisure), and its closeness to his only relative he actually cared about.

“My uncle—he has passed. Of complications caused from tuberculosis, I've been told. I was the only family member placed in his will, therefore it falls to me to settle all remaining affairs he may have overlooked,” he said, letting you help him into his heavy, wool coat he left on a hook near the front door. At his side was a hulking suitcase; one he often used for trips that were days—weeks away from home, from you. “He was a far more private man than I, so there's no telling what I'll come across while I'm there. I cannot tell you how long I'll be away. I'm sorry.”

You expected nothing less from him. This man who had only ever touched you once, on your wedding day. He did everything that he was supposed to: tonelessly regurgitate scripted vows he committed to memory, hold your hands, and kiss you at the altar for more than two seconds but less than five, and then gently lead you away once both families were pleased with the performance.

Right after, now as newlyweds, he poured bourbon into exquisite crosshatch crystalware and examined the glistening amber under wan lamplight. He apologized for kissing you, that he wouldn't have had at all if it hadn't been so important for your families.

At the time, it made you feel very ugly and undeserving of the silk and ornate lacework decorating your body. The gold band fitted around your finger was a lofty symbol of acquired wealth, heavy and unforgiving.

“Write to me every once and a while,” was all you could think to say at present, managing your composure well enough as he gripped the handle of his suitcase and leaned into its heftiness on that side. “It'd just be nice to know how you're doing. If you find anything interesting. When you'll be coming home. It gives me something to look forward to.”

“I'll try to,” he said, but looked through you, pierced you, as though trying to see something else. You saw this look most often at events or parties where he'd fixate on a specific point (usually you) and seem to recede inside himself, into his thoughts, perhaps trying to dissect them or make them congeal into something linear.

“Uncle was an eccentric man. There's no telling what he's left behind for me to find. I must go. Be well, my dear.”

Once again, he left you behind without remorse.

Four months passed with agonizing, gripping slowness from the crisp mornings of late autumn into the icy vise of winter and a shimmering white-blue landscape outside your windows.

In those days, you occupied yourself as best you could with guests and alcoholic merriment, whisked yourself away to parties and dinners after wringing out the invitations from friends, and spent many sleepless nights sprawled across the floor beside the fireplace coveting self-pleasure.

You imagined it was your husband there with you, immediately a renewed man after his return and finding you boundlessly desirable, fucking you with his cock rather than the freezing metal dildo you thrust inside yourself.

Even once you were finished, fucked out by your own hand and the object gaping you wide, you kept masturbating until you lost sensation, the motions and metal numbing you inside—until the intimacy and thrill of self-discovery had lost meaning to you.

Sometimes, you were found the next morning by a maid like that: thoroughly debauched with the phallus having rolled away nearby or still shallowly pressed inside. You only needed to threaten her livelihood once for her to never speak of it, pretend each time she hadn't witnessed a regrettable case of personal depravity.

It'd eventually become a frequent enough sight to her that she knew better than to look directly at you when she entered the room. Rather, now, she carried a laundered pair of trousers in with her. They were draped neatly over a bent arm, along with a warm and soapy rag in her hand, which she used to lightly clean you of dried fluids. Afterward, she helped you into the new garment.

“You have received a letter from the Master,” she said unexpectedly one morning, after fastening your pants and tucking your blouse inside them. “It's strange, though, because it doesn't feel like a letter. Not enough… substance. Shall I open it for you?”

“No! No, that's alright.” You took the long, pale envelope from her once she revealed it to you, realizing that she was right. There was nothing to it. Light as a feather, but completely sealed on the back with his personal emblem hastily stamped, or more appropriately, smeared, with red wax dribbling away from center towards the bottom of the envelope as if sudden jerkiness had unsteadied his focused pour.

You flipped the thing front to back several times, testing the way the opposite ends fluttered from nothingness within, and glanced aside to your maid.

She looked to be just as thrown.

“You're sure this is from him?” you asked, bemused. “Who delivered this?”

“Why, a courier on horseback, of course!” she said with conviction, so you knew she wasn't lying to you at that moment. It wasn't her habit to weave tales to get a rise out of her employers, anyway. “I even spoke to the courier for a while because I made a comment about it being so light. He wasn't sure about it, either, but the description of the man who hired him matched the Master almost exactly.”

You had found a letter opener on the desk nearby and made a quick cut under the wax to break the seal without ripping the envelope itself.

“Almost? What does that mean here?” you raised the intact flap with the messy seal attached, freeing all of the residual tracks of wax from the paper so that they fell to the hardwood below like pebbles shaken out of a shoe after a stroll through the yard. “The man was either my husband or he wasn't.”

The maid tried to subdue her intrigue of the envelope, turned, and moved onto bunching up the soiled sheet you'd spread out on the floor last night. “Please don't misunderstand. It was him. But, the courier described him as ‘a very interesting and friendly fellow to converse with’.”

“What?”

You were responding to two things simultaneously right then: what your maid had just told you, and the fact that the only content inside the envelope was a single shred of paper torn from an unlined journal.

The maid fluttered back over to your side as you plucked out the slither of paper, letting the envelope fall freely from your hand to the floor. Leaning into your proximity, she read aloud the same three words that your eyes skimmed:

“Father Marius DuMonde.”

Just as you had done before with the envelope, you flipped the scrap back and forth as though trying to magically flip something into existence. Your husband's handwriting was recognizable in the lettering, but it was impatient; scrawled across a page in one journal in his vast collection like he hurriedly walked past, and then ripped it out.

Nothing else was revealed to you in the seconds after, nor in your long, contemplative stare.

“Who is that?” you asked the maid to alleviate a fast yawning gap of uneasiness beginning to make you fidget and fluster. “A priest?”

The maid beamed in awe of your fast deductive skills and nodded eagerly. “It would seem that way! The city has more places of worship than it does homes for the hungry and sick. Although, I suppose a church offers some of those services.” However, the lightness sank out of her face when you didn't reciprocate that enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re unhappy? What's wrong?”

“My husband is a scholar. A rigid man of science,” you said, bending over to pick up the discarded envelope to closer examine the disastrous wax seal. “He denounces faith in all forms. Why did he write a priest's name to me?”

That maddening thought followed you for days afterward, sufficiently distracting you from all the regular vices you'd come to rely on to fill the void of your husband's absence. Fulfill the needs he'd never tried to meet even while he was around.

You spent your days brooding in the window seats in whichever room was warmest, molding against their domed shape while leaning a cheek flush to frigid glass, eyes bloodshot and watering against the sun’s searing neon reflecting off of a lawn of undiluted, glittering white.

Seldomly, a finch or small vermin would come into your view—hopping or lunging through the snow, making tracks, digging holes, disturbing your beautiful wonderland and almost arousing you into unreasonable outbursts which then inevitably became the servants responsibility to contend with, should any be nearby to provoke you.

It was the early evening during one of your normal watches, just after dinner and a glass of red wine, when a great clamor carried swiftly to you from the foyer of the main entrance. The servants’ voices were a feverish amalgam of nonsensical babbling, high-pitched, and accommodating in a way that made you think of groveling dogs with flattened ears, wagging and tucked tails, bellies upturned to their masters.

“Come! Come quickly!” called your maid from the sitting room door, her shrill, excitable voice a violent jostling in your head, scrambling your thoughts and anger with it. “Master has returned! He's asking for you.”

You delayed the reunion, waiting several minutes after she had gone before standing. You realized that the anticipation you felt swelling in your chest, rising like growth—a malignant tumor into your throat, thickening your tongue and fouling your taste and smell, was because you were uneasy, haunted by the cryptic message he had presumably sent you weeks ago.

A while later, you entered the foyer to see most of the staff had already dispersed and the ones left behind were your husband’s most loyal. There among them, speaking so unremarkably, so casually in a way you'd never witnessed, was your husband. His good spirits and animated gestures as he handed off all his things to many hands were an odd sight, staggeringly unlike his typical dour.

So, the rumor was true. There was something discomforting in that.

Whatever topic he'd been engaged in fell wayside once he took sight of you: standing, waiting, subtly shifting your weight, picking your overgrown cuticles to remedy how nervous you truly felt in that moment. You'd always been a little uncertain of how to deal with him as he was hardly affable, but this—

“Oh my… there you are, my sweet!” his voice was exactly the same, but his way of speaking was too jarring, almost lilting. Unnatural. No one else seemed to notice. “I was worried you may have been cross with me for being away for so long. As it turned out, uncle had far more beneath the surface to find than I once thought. But, all is well! The old man has been laid to rest forever. The estate is in the right hands. I've come back to you.”

Could this man really be your husband?

He came to you in brisk strides with a certain clumsiness to the way he moved, somewhat off. You thought about seasoned drunkards who could walk along a path, but never on a straight line without gently swaying on and off of it. Mostly in control, but never so well to appear normal.

But, you didn't detect that stiff, hot, fermented reek of alcohol on his breath nor any subtle odor sticking to his clothes as he gripped you tight in an embrace. The only one he'd ever given you. Where you should have been over the moon in joy at his profound change in heart, the little sweetness was like an anchor—arms of a sinewy willow pinning you to an even stronger trunk.

“God, you're breathtaking.” He even sounded winded as he spoke, lifting your face up with both hands to see his dark, dark gleaming eyes. You startled from his cold touch, fingertips pinpricks of pure frost and ice as they pushed into your skin, but you felt trying to reach much deeper than that. “Come with me, my love. Let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

As if fantasy had become real, he fucked you relentlessly that night next to the fireplace, consuming you so completely that every orgasm made your insides churn in agony.

He laved at you with his entire mouth, tongue and teeth hardest at work while his hands bruised and fondled you, fingers thrusting up into your tight hole oozing his saliva and your arousal. It was shameful to think that it took this sort of handling from another person to get you off, squeal like a sow.

He fucked you however he could, wherever he could. Rutting you from behind and against furniture, pressing your bare chest flush to frosted over window panes to make your nipples erect and ache from the cold biting them.

Then, you were settled on his lap in front of a mirror hanging adjacent across the bedroom, his thighs spreading you wide open before your own reflection where you watched his cock plunge deep, filling you to the base of his shaft, balls slapping your sticky skin.

“Touch yourself, darling.” His throat rumbled, turning over stones and shards of glass, overall sounding very husky. There was something of wheeze that trailed the end of his every word, like he’d been patched for a long time. “Touch yourself. Watch yourself while you do it. Fuck yourself like the whore you are.”

Although the things he said were horribly uncouth, unbefitting of a man of his status and who you'd known him to be, there was great allure in hearing him, obeying his wants. You'd only had one glass of wine that evening, but your head and body warmed and buzzed like you'd had several.

His voice was a raspy whisper in your ears, seeping deep into your mind; spreading; fitting the grooves of your brain like the slow sprawl of sap through the gaps in bark. You were hardly yourself those minutes, those hours onward where you witnessed your reflection stroking throbbing parts, moaning, weeping, cumming until it hurt, and then doing it all over again.

The person in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, whether simply disassociation from yourself or some hallucination evoked by exhaustion and ecstacy. Your husband had faded into the background, his voice creating sounds and noises, holding the cadence of language while seeming entirely unprobable, unknowable to you.

You couldn't understand him, yet you could, and the things he said were vile and disgusting and moralless. He told you of every way he'd like to fuck you, watch you be fucked; but, mostly, he wanted you to fuck yourself with the bulbous bedposts, the metal phallus held under lashing flames to be inserted next to his own cock.

He suggested orgies where the servants could take turns with you. He had almost convinced you to call for your maid so he could watch you suck on her breasts and lick her clit, while he rammed you from the back. He suggested drugs and whores, robbing the mortuaries, and worse and worse and worse and worse…

The next morning, you were stiff and immobile, bedridden unless two servants came into your room to help you squat on the commode. Your abdomen was tender and your genitals were untouchable, forcing you to lie in bed without undergarments to alleviate the raw chafing that could happen with fabric.

“I'm sorry, my darling. I—I lost control of myself. I got carried away,” your husband confessed later on, his sallow complexion keeping a weird, waxy sheen to it. A mask that fits, but not quite perfectly. Some of his former somber nature had returned to him as he sat on the edge of your bed, caressing the side of your face. He was still ridiculously cold. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't realize just how desperate I was to see you again until you were in my arms. And then—and then, it was like it was all a dream.”

You thought the very same. You could believe he forgot himself in an uncharacteristic blaze of lust, as men were never taught to be any other way, and most men couldn't fathom the level of restraint he’d had until last night.

Everything else, you'd wanted to believe, was simply imagined after drinking more than you once thought and getting inside your own head full of sinful indulgences.

Still, one thing bothered you: Father Marius DuMonde.

“I need you to go to the city and find him. And show him this paper. Explain to him everything that you know, you hear?” You'd handed your maid the old envelope and scrap of paper, and handed her a generous bag of coins from your own safe.

She looked at you, everything else, in bewilderment. “Don't ask questions. If you're able, bring him back here. Beg him if you must. If it's all nothing, he will simply be an honored guest we feed well, house, and send off gracefully the next day. Should it be something…”

“Are you afraid of him? The Master?” asked the maid, perhaps out of faithfulness to him. Perhaps out of devotion to you the most. “What do you think happened at his uncle's estate?”

It would all be speculation and unjustified gossip without proof, of which you had none. So, you told her that you couldn't be sure of anything right now. “Wait until sundown. Take the old pony in the stables, the one that usually lags behind all the rest. Be silent. Be careful.”

The maid did as you asked and left right before the final light was extinguished by indigo nightfall. You were able to move to one of the windows, seating yourself gingerly, watching her lead the sluggish old pony into cover of tree tops and then nothing else.

But, five days later, the maid hadn't returned from her mission, nor had you received any correspondence from her, nor the priest that she was supposed to retrieve.

A week after that, it was revealed to you that neither she or the old pony had made it out of the woods. The details of the old pony were so gruesome you couldn't bear to remember them.

But, the maid was found nearly decapitated, head twisted around to face backwards, her pale skin hideously purple and black and swelled where it had been stretched like a strap of wrung leather. It was mentioned she had been disemboweled as well, but you promptly burst into tears and ran from the room before the visiting coroner could finish speaking, leaving him to discuss the rest with just your husband.

That night, you lay next to your husband in bed. The deep silence of night filled your ears with static and crunching cotton, whereas a hum resonated inside your head, your chest, seeping into your bones like a cold blanket of rainfall.

The black air took on weird shapes: imagined appendages curling, reaching across the ceiling towards the bed, towards you. Your eyes couldn't focus enough to ward them off, nor the depth of dark your husband's silhouette had at your side.

He was faced the other way, his clothes back to you, completely unmoving. You ventured closer to listen for the thin breathing of sleep, the automatic rise and fall of his body, and yet he could've been mistaken as one of the dead. As dead and gnarled as your maid.

“Who are you?” you asked him. Asked the swirling nothingness in the room. “Where is my husband?”

“You've nothing to worry about, my sweet,” he said readily, so clearly anticipating to have your voice ring out at some point in the night. “He is here with me. Such a selfish, unlovable man. I am the one worthy of this vessel and you. Not he.”

Then, he rolled on top of you and kissed you deeply. Your bedclothes were shucked from your bodies and he pushed your thighs apart to seat himself inside of you. He took you with greedy thrusts, face fitted against the arch of your neck where his breath left a moist film across your skin, but the rest of him was freezing.

Your whimpers of pains were dwarfed by his hot moans into your flesh, teeth suddenly sharper and sinking deep when he bit into your neck. You were trapped staring at the ceiling, wrapped in agony and pleasure, feeling his body under your fingertips beginning to distort and change into something far more monstrous.

a/n; this is heavily inspired from me reading the exorcist, recently. the section with the maid's head swiveled around was a nod to the scene with director having "fallen" from a height and dying similarly. a lot of my most recent reads have been extremely graphic, so my writing has been reflecting that and it's been interesting!

quick q&a!

is father marius dumonde the same father marius from your vampire priest fic? yup! if I go forward with writing the longer story, father marius will be a central character later on, and father shaw will make a reappearance as well.

what would the main differences be in a full story vs just this piece?

a) the husband would be given a more solid identity, appearance, and name. he'd have more depth to build an emotional rapport with his character.

b) existing scenes would be expanded, smut scenes grittier and more graphic, more development between mc and the husband, the maid would have a more important part and given an identity. essentially, most elements from this price would be fleshed out and expanded.

c) I intend to add a "mystery" element to this where mc tries to unveil what happened during the husband's stay at his uncle's estate.

d) I would open up multiple polls to help influence different aspects of the story such as the husband's name, appearance, overall disposition, whether the majority would vote for a happy ending with the husband vs the ending with the demon.

if you're interested in seeing a full story, make sure to reblog and share your thoughts with me!! I'd love to hear feedback on this to know what you'd like to see in the future!

#demon x you #demon x human #demon x reader #monster x human #monster x you #monster x reader #monster smut #monster fucker #monster story #monsterfucking nsft #oc x reader #oc x you #original character x reader #original character x you #original fiction #writing #reader insert #reader interactive #monster romance

678 notes · View notes

thef1diary · 10 months ago

Text

Little Big Fan | Five

- Little Big Surprise

Series Masterlist

wc: 3.3k

The house felt too empty, too quiet.

Isabella has been at her father's house for the past week and you missed her dearly. So, you had to find new hobbies to pass the time. You should've been used to the days she isn't home but you still aren't.

A new addition to your routine was your newfound hobby; watching Formula One races, or more so, watching Max race.

You would've been a fan even if you didn't know him personally, purely based on his driver skills, but that little detail made every moment of the race a tad bit more special. Your eyes would always try to find him on the track with the others, which he was in front of, leading.

You even found out that you could watch an on-board camera for a specific driver while watching the main race screen as well. It was very obvious whose camera feed you chose to watch.

This was the first time you watched the race after coming back from The Netherlands, mainly because it's only been a week since.

Though it wasn't fun watching the race without Isabella, or more like without her own added commentary.

Fortunately, Isabella's father would be dropping her off today. Until then, you had to find a way to pass the time.

Picking up your phone, your finger hovered over Max's contact. The last time you spoke was yesterday, when you congratulated him for the win over text.

You caught up on your pending work, meeting clients, writing up contracts, and even began designing the floor plans. One of the perks of working as a freelance interior designer, was that you could complete it at your own pace. The downside, however, was once you were done, you didn't really have anything else to do.

You worked for a few hours today, so your little break where you contemplated to call Max was well earned.

But before you could decide whether or not you wanted to call him, your phone rang with a call from him.

You quickly answered, greeting him with, "I was just about to call you, but I thought it'd be too late for you." You remembered that even though it was daytime for you, it was nighttime for him.

Max hummed, "too late? Oh wait, you're right, it's well past midnight." You furrowed your brow as his response confused you, but you didn't comment on it.

"So, what's up?" You asked, wanting to know why he called.

"You actually left something when you came to the race, and I kept forgetting to mention it, but I was thinking of sending it back to you as a package," Max explained, and you began to wonder what you had left behind.

"Yeah, sure that's fine, I actually have no idea when I'm going to see you again either." You shut your eyes tightly as you regretted the words as soon as you spoke them. "I mean—" you tried to explain but he cut you off, "I know what you mean and you're not wrong,"

You told him your address for the package, still wondering what you left behind, but dismissed the thought once you heard some noises on the other end. Specifically, noises that would indicate a person is outside, such as traffic.

"Max, are you outside?" You asked, wondering what he'd be doing out at this hour. "What no! Hold on, can I call you back in a bit?" He didn't wait for your response, just hung up the call.

You held your phone in front of you, looking at the dark screen as if it would give you any answers, but as excepted, it didn't. Then, you dropped the thought or at least tried to since Max did say he'll call you back.

You made yourself an iced coffee before falling into the depths of online shopping. Before you could decide on buying anything, the doorbell interrupted you.

"Max" you gasped as you opened the door, seeing him standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. "Hi," he grinned, eyes taking in your presence since it had been too long since he last saw you.

"You lied about the package," you commented though there wasn't any malice behind your words. "Consider me as the thing you forgot?"

You chuckled at his words but it quickly became quiet as you finally realized that he was truly standing in front of you. "Please tell me you have a work thing here and you're just stopping by because you were in the area?"

"I could tell you that, but it would be a lie," he shrugged. You hesitated before asking the next question, "and the truth is?"

"I just wanted to see you and Isabella again." Either he didn't realize the weight behind his words or he chose to ignore it but you stood there, holding the door, in surprise.

"And now I'm realizing it probably wasn't a good idea to drop by without asking you," Max's words lacked confidence but you quickly shook your head. "No, it's just that you keep surprising me by standing on the other side of the door," then you smiled and added, "this time it happens to be in a different country."

Again, he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but if he was able to hear the thoughts running through your mind, he'd know that this was a big deal to you. In the best way possible.

"So, can I come in?" He asked, as he was just idly standing by the door. "Oh yes, sorry."

He passed the flowers to you once he was inside. "I didn't know which flowers you like, but this seemed fitting," he explained the reason behind the sunflowers.

You wanted to ask why, but you held back because in the few weeks you've known Max, he always manages to say something that leaves you speechless.

"It's perfect, thank you. I think I have a vase lying around somewhere." You found one in the back of a cabinet next to your kitchen, and started filling it with water.

Max stood across from you and commented, "that vase should never be left empty."

You chuckled, more at the thought of the vase being full than his words. "It has been empty more often than not."

Although it was just a simple back and forth conversation, Max made a mental note to try and never let it be empty for as long as he knows you. Which he hopes would be a long, long time.

Max looked around the house, noticing a lack of a little ball of energy. "Where's Isabella?"

"At Tyler's. He'll drop her off in about an hour." Once you set up the flowers, you paused, realizing you have to make lunch for Isabella but you didn't want Max to think that you didn't want him here.

"Everything okay?" He asked, always noticing everything. "Yeah, I have to make lunch for Isabella." You didn't know what reaction you expected but it definitely wasn't a laugh.

Max stepped closer to you, rounding the kitchen island that was in between you two. "If you think you have to entertain me as a guest, who by the way showed up unexpectedly, I'm going to think you don't consider me a friend."

You broke out into a smile, realizing that you overthought the small situation. "I do consider you a friend, otherwise I wouldn't have ranted on and on about my job."

"I will say though, if you're making lunch, I want some too," Max added with a sheepish smile. "Isabella's lunch entails a homemade pizza and fries—made with freshly cut potatoes—because that's all she wants to eat every time she comes home."

"Fair enough, let's make extras for all of us," Max began rolling up his sleeves and washed his hands in preparation.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Max, what are you doing?" He looked at you as if his actions were obvious, "I'm going to help you. Did you think I was going to let you make lunch all by yourself?"

There he goes, leaving you speechless. You shut your mouth because you couldn't find a response, and began taking out the ingredients. "Just a warning though, you're gonna have to tell me what to do because I'm not the best chef," Max stated.

"It's okay, you can be my assistant," you responded which made him raise his eyebrows, "assistant huh? I like the sound of that."

You paused, looking at him with a playful glower before both of you broke out into laughter.

You passed him the potatoes after rinsing them, tasking him to peel and cut into strips to make french fries.

Although he didn't notice, you might've stopped a few times while kneading the dough to look at him. Unbeknownst to you, he did the same when you weren't looking either.

"So does Isabella go to her dad's often?" Max asked after a moment of silence. "Sometimes it's every other week, other times it's only a weekend per month," you explained.

Max had loads of questions about Tyler, but he was content in knowing only what you were willing to tell him. This time, you didn't continue the conversation about your ex, and Max understood that you didn't want to talk about it.

The topic was forgotten as soon as you accidentally smeared pizza sauce across your face. You truly had no idea how it got there, but only realized when Max brushed his fingers against your cheek to wipe it away.

However, he only smeared it further. He couldn't control his laughter as it spread and that prompted you to wipe it from your cheek and smear it on his.

He glared at you but it only lasted a millisecond as he grabbed a handful of dry flour. "Max," you warned, stepping backwards in an attempt to get away from him.

You didn't get far as his arm found its away around your waist to pull you back and hold you still. Then, he dumped the flour on your face, adding to the remnants of the sauce.

Your hands pressed against his chest to push him away but it was a useless attempt since he had you cornered against the counter so you had nowhere to go.

You spluttered since a bit of the flour got in your mouth and Max laughed at you. Then, you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing Max's face, you rubbed your cheek dusted with flour and sauce against his. Now it was even.

Once the laughter died down, both of you noticed how close you were standing. Max couldn't back away because of your palms on his cheek and on the nape of his neck.

Your eyes widened slightly at the realization and you quickly dropped your hands so he could move. Max took a second too long to process that you weren't holding him anymore, before he created more space between you two.

Then, you noticed the time, "shit she'll be here in twenty minutes."

"You should go change, I'll take care of the rest," Max suggested and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "you're going to take care of it?"

He nodded like it wasn't a big deal. "You're the one who said you're not a good chef," you spoke with a teasing smile.

"I said I'm not the best chef, I can be a good chef," he reasoned and you couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine, as long as you don't burn my house down."

"I'll try," you heard him as you went upstairs to your room.

"He got me flowers," you muttered to yourself as you picked out a clean outfit. "He fucking got me flowers." The realization hit you hard, more so because you loved sunflowers, and he just happened to randomly guess the right bouquet. Which was something your ex could never do right even after you told him, mainly because he preferred roses and only bought you roses.

"It seemed fitting," you repeated his words, "Max, why do you have to be so nice?" You asked rhetorically as of course he wasn't there to answer.

You hurriedly went downstairs after washing up and changing to see whether Max had done anything wrong. Perhaps if he was a lousy chef, you'd have one complaint about him. So far, you have liked everything about him.

Fortunately, nothing smelt burnt, and nothing was broken. When you spotted him, he was frying the French fries.

You paused in your tracks, and took a good look at him so you could remember this moment later. Max looked very comfortable in your kitchen, in your house, as if it wasn't his first time. You hoped it wouldn't be the last.

"Looks like everything's fine here," you commented and he turned to look at you with a smile, "no burnt houses," he shrugged.

"The pizza still has a few minutes to go, and the fries are all done," he spoke as he gestured with his hands, but when he looked at you again, you had a stupid smile on your face.

"What?" That made your smile widen, "nothing, just, thank you for helping me."

"Always," he responded, already planning that he'll be around as long as you wanted him to be.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your peace but you were beyond excited to open the door and greet your daughter. Isabella definitely got the habit of being overly excited from you.

However, when you opened the door you saw Isabella standing beside Tyler with a frown on her face. "Hi angel, did you have fun?" You crouched down and ruffled her hair.

"Can I go inside, mama?" Her timid voice surprised you as she would usually answer that question happily. "Sure, sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute."

You watched her head inside before you stood up, closing the door behind you so Isabella wouldn't hear your conversation and faced your ex, "what happened?"

He scoffed, "nothing happened, I just told her that I won't be able to see her again as planned because I'm flying out of the country."

"Another business trip?" You asked and he nodded. "She usually doesn't get this upset any other time you cancel, did something else happen?"

"You know how she is, overdramatic," Tyler casually shrugged and that word ticked you off. "Don't you dare call my daughter overdramatic," you pointed at him harshly.

"Oh so now she's your daughter? Isabella gets upset easily, you know this."

"I do not want to hear you say that word again to describe her, I've heard it enough from you when we were together. Now tell me what happened."

Tyler sighed, and for a moment he thought about saying that Isabella was just like her mother, like you, but he didn't want to waste any extra time being around you.

"I introduced her to Emma," he stated as if it would explain everything but you furrowed your brows in confusion. "Who?"

"My girlfriend. Isabella noticed her around the house a few times so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her," he explained and you were about to interrupt but he kept going. "I don't know if Isabella doesn't like her, but she's been in that mood ever since."

"Tyler, she has only seen us together, so of course if you introduce her to someone else, it'll take time for her to get used to it," you decided to explain in a calm manner.

"You don't have an issue with my girlfriend?" He asked and you raised your brows, "why would I? It's not my business unless it involves Isabella."

He shrugged, then laughed at his thought before saying it out loud, "well I hope that you don't have an issue explaining dating to her, that is, if you ever start dating again."

"My dating life is none of your business. Don't you have somewhere to be? Perhaps back to Emma?"

"Alright, I'll text you when I'm back in the country," he stated and turned around to leave but paused as he saw a new car in the driveway that he knew didn't belong to you.

"Whose car is that?" You laughed at his need to always be all up in your business, "goodbye, Tyler."

You entered the house with a sigh but the sight in front of you warmed your heart, making you forget all about the conversation with your ex.

Max was crouched down onto his knees to be at eye level with Isabella, who had two arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

When Max heard the door close, he opened his eyes and saw you. He removed one hand that was resting on Isabella's back and gestured for you to come closer.

Understanding his silent gesture, you crouched down right behind your daughter and wrapped her in a hug as well, so she was sandwiched between you and Max.

You placed loads of kisses on her cheeks until she started giggling. Isabella let go of Max and turned to face you, "mama, you didn't tell me that Maxy was here!" Just like that, her mood was drastically different from when she first arrived at the doorstep.

"He surprised me too, angel," you spoke as your gaze shifted to Max.

"Did you watch him race yesterday?" You asked Isabella, but her mood dropped again. "No mama, daddy was busy."

"It's okay, you can watch the next one with your mama," Max spoke, and Isabella nodded in agreement. "Okay!"

Then Max gasped, "the pizza!" He quickly rushed towards the oven to check on it, making you and Isabella laugh.

"Maxy made pizza?" She asked as she sat up on one of the barstools, which also happens to be her favourite place to eat even if you have a dining table.

"Maxy and mama made pizza," Max corrected, as he watched you cut it into slices.

"Are you ready for school?" Max asked once all of you began eating. You and Max also sat up on the barstools beside Isabella.

"No." She simply stated. Max frowned, "why not?"

"It's a big school, it's scary." Her words made you frown, "but you're a big girl too now."

"How about we go shopping tomorrow? Buy a new bag, more school supplies, and anything you want," Max suggested and this time you didn't stop him.

You already had a plan to take her shopping tomorrow, mainly because you already knew that Tyler didn't or else she would’ve been beaming about it.

"Even the glittery clips?" Isabella asks with a bright smile on her face, making Max chuckle, "yes even the glittery clips"

"Oh what about ice cream?" Isabella asked, and this time you watched Max become the victim of her pout and big round eyes. He looked at you for help, but you pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh.

"Yes, we can get ice cream too," he gave in making Isabella cheer.

"Alright, angel, finish your food." You gestured to her plate and she quickly obliged, stuffing her face with pizza and fries.

You were glad that Max was here, able to instantly uplift Isabella's mood. However you couldn't help but think about Tyler's words.

You never thought about dating again ever since you broke up with your ex, especially since Isabella was a baby and almost always with you.

But now that she was older, beginning to understand relationships, you thought about her reaction if you ever introduced her to someone you wanted to date.

Plus, you never met anyone that would make you debate the decision of whether to start dating again or not, that was until you met Max.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy

#little big fan fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #thef1diary fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #fluff #f1 fluff

1K notes · View notes