#c une idiote

[dooareyastudy]

tragédie en deux actes

[blood-smiles]

𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐎 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀࣪ ִֶָ☾✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - MDNI TW!! suggestive thoughts and actions coming from yandere . yandere character . defo unprofessional behavior from reader . TO BE CONTINUED!!

╰┈➤ the white flashing of your camera lit up the room, capturing a perfect moment in time inside your device.

Scrolling through the pictures with your thumb, you nodded wordlessly at the various pictures. Perfect and beautiful.

Just how you liked it.

Packing up your gear, you decided it was time you went home, you were tired. Really tired from taking so many pictures, you felt a migraine coming from a mile away.

The soft patter of rain met your eardrums, letting you know it was drizzling and would probably last for a while.

You walked slowly, umbrella in hand, staring at the moon above while rubbing the sides of your head. The soft crashing of the waves hitting the rocks nearby.

Plugging in your headphones and playing some soft music while you walked to your house.

You counted the stars in the sky as you walked along the beach.

“ ♪ Luna quieres ser madre?.. y no encuentras querer que te haga mujer, dime Luna de plata.. Que pretendes hacer con un niño de piel.. ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.. Hijo de la luna.. ♪ “

You came to a stop, seeing a taller (wo)man (?) leaning against the railing, strange that they were out so late. It was so dark already, what could they possibly be doing out here, in the rain of all places?

Their heterochromatic eyes gazed up at the sky too. Their face solemn and distracted, the rain pouring down over their head and back, their light blue—almost white, wavy hair dampened and forming beautiful coils.

They were so pretty, looking like an angel under the moonlight.. Were your spidey senses tingling right now? You just felt like you should approach them.

“Excuse me.” You interrupted softly, holding out your umbrella over their head, stopping the rain from dampening them even more.

“..What?” Oh, they had a deep voice.. you were caught off guard, they had very feminine traits and flowing long hair, so you just kind of assumed..

“Here.” You handed him your umbrella, which he accepted hesitantly, his hand shaking as he held the handle of the umbrella.

His eyes snapped towards your face, looking deeply into your eyes, looking for a sign of deceit or malice, but only finding kindness and genuine empathy.

His cheeks flushed a little, his ears turning red as he admired your features… how would it feel like if he ran his tongue along your cheek?—What. What was he thinking?!

His fingers slightly grazed your own, sending shivers down his vertebrae and sending his heart into overdrive. 

Snatching the umbrella, holding it close to his chest as he stepped back a little.

“You know, I hope this doesn’t sound creepy but, you’re stunning— You should try modeling! Who knows, maybe one day I’ll photograph you.” 

You joked lightly, putting your hands above your head to shield yourself from the water.

His free hand shakily lifted to cover the bottom portion of his mouth, pupils blown wide as he stumbled back a little. 

..That was the cutest interaction he had ever had up to this point in his entire life. That bashful smile— The twinkle in your (e/c) eyes— everything about you had him in a trance!

“G-Get lost!” He yelled, tightening his hold around the umbrella and running away, his heart beating in his ears, heart swelling and feeling the wings of a swarm of butterflies nicking his guts.

You were left standing under the rain, rethinking your wording and kicking yourself in the stomach  internally for scaring off a potential client.

And… that was the last time you saw him, or so you thought.

Oblivious to you, he just ran off because his heart was in over drive and might have exploded from a cuteness attack.

He glanced down at your umbrella, his eyes zeroing in on the small writing on the handle, ‘Y/n L/n’? That was the name of the cute idiot he met?

Looking up the name all results showed up, your face everywhere! He shakily touched your “face”,  staring into your eyes for an alarming amount of time.

A famous photographer, huh?.. He thought about what you said.. A model? Him? Well, wouldn’t hurt to try.

3 years later…──★ ˙📷 ̟ !!

You had been hired, a big shot model was coming to your studio to get some magazine pictures done.

You opened the models portfolio, checking out some news about him too, he had gone viral lately. 

“Son of the moon’? Huh, interesting.” You mumbled, taking in the model’s proportions, his face rung a bell in your brain. But as hard as you tried to get your synapses to connect, you just couldn’t form a coherent memory..

‘Mikhail White’ …

You chalked it up to seeing him in magazines or social media.

Putting the portfolio aside, your feet pushed you off the ground , walking over to your setup and making minor tweaks to your studio while you waited leisurely

“(Y/n), they’re here.” The voice of your assistant interrupted your movement, nodding your head you put your hands over your professional camera and looped it over your neck.

You stepped back, letting the makeup artist enter with their big box of makeup supplies, then came in the manager of the model, eyes sharp and analytical as she clasped her clipboard in her arm.

And finally, the model entered. The star of the show, Mikhail, A pretty average sized person, for a model, that is. He stopped in front of you, staring you down with those uniquely colored eyes.

You got that feeling again, was it Deja vu, perhaps? Their eyes hit a chord in you, yeah. You had seen them before.. Just where?

“Welcome, thank you for hiring me.” You smiled warmly, turning your gaze to the manager, extending your hand out for a friendly handshake.

The woman scoffed softly, shaking her head “No thank you, I don’t do handshakes.” The tall woman gently replied, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her child.

“O…Okay.” You laughed nervously, letting your hand begin to drop to your side.

“Thank you for having me here, (Y/n).” The model suddenly spoke, gently taking your hand and shaking it before it could totally fall.

“Oh, um. Yeah, for sure!” Taken off guard you reciprocated the hand shake before letting go, his hand not letting go completely.

You pulled your hand free with a soft tug, turning to sit down on your chair as you wait for the makeup artist to doll up the male.

You stared at him from a distance, you felt like he had curly hair, but instead were met with silky, straight hair running down his back.

Mikhail was shaking, his hands quivering on his lap as he looked through the mirror on the vanity. He stared at your form through the reflective surface, watching how you scrolled through your phone or opened the portfolio with his pictures.

Did you think he was attractive? Did you like his hair? He decided to try something new for you, he hoped it caught your eye…

He gently bit down on his bottom lip, looking down to let the artist work on his eyeshadow, he wanted to physically recoil from the person’s hands, wishing it was yours instead.

He had worked up to this point for three whole years, all just to be photographed by you, one of the best photographers in the whole industry.

Ever since that night, under the pouring rain, he couldn’t wipe you off his brain, you were like a drug,the image of you gnawing at his sanity. It hurt so good though, so good he couldn’t stop and soon found himself addicted.

You indirectly changed his life, he went from being a pathetic nobody to one of the most popular and influential models of his time, and honestly.. It was all thanks to you, even if you don’t remember him.

Mikhail dressed in a lacy attire, showing off part of his stomach and most of his thighs, his hair decorated with small silver clips and silk bows, beautiful diamond earrings hanging off his ear lobes.

His face sparkled with glitter, long white eyelashes fluttering, his visage was that of perfection. Comparable to an arctic fox nestled in silks and diamonds, you could see why the media called him the ‘son of the moon’ more clearly now.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” You complimented, leading him to the middle of the shot, he looked up at you, not saying anything, however the flush of his ears said different.

Now, if you remembered correctly, the theme was ‘wedding after-party’ although you didn’t know it was going to be this suggestive..? You did agree to it so no backing out anymore, you suppose.

You had something in your mind already so you just ran with it, the manager agreed with your idea too, you expected her to spit in your face and tell you no in all honestly..

He gazed at the camera with a sultry gaze, imagining it was you he was looking at, he did as you asked, allowing you to brush some of his hair or to position his soft strands as you wished.

He peered up at you through his eyelashes, looking almost desperate, leaning into your touch subconsciously. This had been a fantasy of his for a long time, a real wet dream for him.

In fact, he had pressed for the theme to be more suggestive, wanting you to see him in a more intimate scenario.

In the last shots of the session, everyone came to an agreement to put some false cake frosting pieces over Mikhail, leaning more into the wedding cake aspect.

You dipped your hand in the substance, grabbing some in your hands and leaning down to smudge some over his face, dropping some here and there strategically.

You took your camera back in your hands, positioning it perfectly for it to capture the scene’s beauty and allure.

The ice blue haired man bent and arched his body any and all ways you desired, placing his hands on his lap as he took some of the frosting on his finger and brought it up to his mouth, licking it, sending you the most loving and passionate gaze he could muster. 

Wordlessly hinting with just his sharp eyes how much he wanted something other than a few pictures, something that was spelled with four letters, D-A-T-E.

That..wasn’t scripted, but you just went with it and snapped a few pictures. You leaned back in your chair, stretching out the knots in your back and listening to the pops in your spine.

That was the last of the shots, all you need to do now was transfer the pictures to his manager and get a sweet sweet wad of cash back.

You smiled at the thought, sighing pleasantly.

You bid the trio of workers goodbye, although the rosy cheeked model stayed back, approaching you and putting a small piece of paper in your hand shyly.

Right before you were about to say something he shut you up by pecking your cheek gently.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice soft and heartfelt, it was more…intimate, more meaningful than a simple ‘thanks for taking my pic’, he made it sound like you had just swooped in like Superman and saved his life.

He clasped his hand over yours, making sure you kept the paper in your hand as he began leaving hastily, not lingering for a moment more or less.

‘Go out on a date with me..? XXX-XXX-XXXX ♡’

Well shit. Things just got a whole lot interesting.

[leclerc-hs]

lucky pt. 2 - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: in which you and your childhood best friend, are most definitely in love, but it's too complicated (or is it?) Warnings: most french edited by @softtdaisy (shoutout to her!!), SMUT, angst, 18+, not proofread Word Count: 2,695 Author's Note: I absolutely loved writing this!! I know I said I would wait for the poll to end but I think we can just do bonus scenes in the future if wanted!! xoxo PART 1 BONUS

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Imbécile,” Idiot. Arthur throws a piece of his balled-up napkin, hitting you right in the face. “Maman wants you there, pas d’excuses.” No excuses.

It had been almost two weeks since you and Charles last spoke. The both of you far too stubborn to bring up the argument you last had. Instead, you ignored the problem at hand. By not seeing each other. Sunday dinner at Pascale’s was a weekly occurrence. One that you failed to attend last week, and it was shame on you if you missed another because of Charles.

You release a heavy sigh, acknowledging that you’re about to yield and head over to Pascale’s. After all, it’s not entirely her fault that her son seems to be obvlious to certain things. 

“Il est fou amoureux de toi!” He is in love with you! Arthur exclaims softly as he notices your eyes won’t stray from the icy window of the café you are both seated in. You felt your throat tighten at the phrase.

“Ce n’est pas grave, Arthur,” It doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Him being in love with you wasn’t always enough, or so you thought. He could barely commit to his ex-girlfriend. Could he commit to you? You couldn’t handle losing him if it didn’t work out. It was a recipe for disaster to begin with.

The two of you didn’t realize how dark it was already getting. Meaning you were for sure late to Pascale’s.

“Tu viendras avec moi?” Will you come with me?

“Bien sur.” Of course. You couldn’t not go. One, because you knew nothing but seeing Pascale will put a smile on your face. Two, Arthur wouldn’t let you leave this café without dragging you to his Maman’s first. 

It was a short drive from the café to Pascale’s place. The limited size of the principality made the journey quick, allowing you to take in the charming scenery along the way. As you approached Pascale’s home, a smile graced your lips at the sight of the festive decorations adorning the steps.

Pascale’s touch was evident in the small Christmas trees, their lights casting a warm glow that sparkled beside the front door. The holiday spirit infused the air, creating a sense of coziness and anticipation. 

The warmth of Pascale’s home enveloped you as Arthur swung the door open. His hand gently found its place on the small of your back, guiding you inside with a gesture that spoke of familiarity and care.

He assisted you in shedding the layers of clothes you wore. Your scarf and jacket were in his hands, swiftly finding their place on the nearby coat rack. Amidst the exchange, laughter bubbled up, a spontaneous reaction to the slightly comical struggle Arthur faced in unraveling the scarf from your neck.

The sound of shared laughter echoed through the entrance and into the home, allowing the others to become alert of your presence.

“Que se passe t’il?” What’s going on? You felt your laugh stop almost instantly.

Charles’ question hung in the air, and for a moment you were caught off guard. The warmth of Pascale’s cozy home surrounded you, but the sudden seriousness in his tone made you pause. You looked into his eyes, searching for any hints of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

He stood not too far away, a soft white hoodie and a casual pair of jeans on. You felt your heart clench with want. You missed him. You wanted to hug him and never let go.

“Rien, juste une journée un peu folle,” Nothing, just a bit of a crazy day. You replied with a sheepish smile. Your attempt to brush off the question with a casual response didn’t escape Charles notice. He studied your face for a moment, trying to decipher your emotions. 

Arthur, sensing some tension, guided you towards the living room and past Charles. As you both settled into the inviting cushions, the crackling sounds from the fireplace filled the room with a soothing rhythm.

Pascale entered the room carrying two glasses of wine. “Ma fille,” My girl she says, a term of endearment feeling much like a warm embrace to you. Pascale handed you one of the glasses with a tender smile, sealing the gesture with a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

Charles’s unease didn’t go unnoticed as he took a seat on the sofa across from you and Arthur. The atmosphere seemed charged with tension, and Pascale’s seemingly casual question carried a weight that went beyond mere curiosity.

“Est-ce que tu vois quelqu’un?” Are you seeing anybody? Pascale asked, her tone gentle but perceptive. The question, on the surface, appeared to be a routine inquiry about your romantic life. However, the underlying context hinted at a concern born out of a missed dinner and deviation from the usual routine. 

The atmosphere in the room shifted as you became acutely aware of Charles’s intense gaze beside Pascale. Seated on the couch, his eyes bore into you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very core of your being. His eyes, like embers, conveyed a myriad of emotions – curiosity, intensity, and perhaps a touch of scrutiny. 

“Maman, laisse-la tranquille,” Leave her alone. Arthur speaks before you can. A sense of relief filling you up as you take a large gulp of the red wine in your glass.

Pascale scrunches her eyes at Arthur, poised to deliver a retort that only she knows. However, before any words escape her lips, the timer in the kitchen interrupts the moment. “Arthur, viens m’aider.” Come help me. Arthur gives you a sympathetic look before leaving the room following Pascale. 

Lost in thought, your gaze fixates on the flickering flames within the fireplace. The dancing firelight casts shadows that capture your attention, creating a mesmerizing display that seems more captivating than acknowledging a brooding Charles, seated across from you.

“Tu ne peux pas m’ignorer éternellement,” You can’t ignore me forever. His voice interrupts your train of thought, gently pulling you back into the present moment.

The solitary sentence prompts an immediate eye roll from you. How dare he? How dare he pretend that you’re the only one at fault?

“Ne lève pas les yeux au ciel en me regardant,” Don’t roll your eyes at me. The atmosphere shifted as he rose from his seat on the couch, undoubtedly making his way to occupy the now vacant spot beside you. However, the nature of his touch became more intimate than you anticipated. His hands ventured onto your thigh, traveling higher than the boundaries of a typical friendship would permit. 

In a disconcerting turn of events, his other hand gripped your jaw, redirecting your gaze to meet his. The sudden change in physical proximity and the assertiveness of his actions left palpable tension in the air.

“Vas y,” Make me. You provoked him deliberately, seeking to burrow beneath his skin, much like he had already done under yours.

“Viens chez moi.” Come home with me. It wasn’t posed as a question; rather, it was a firm demand – one you were aware you would yield to. You didn’t need to articulate your response; he could discern it just by the slow flicker of your eyes to his. Without another word, you withdrew your chin from his hands and stood up, making your way into the kitchen, and leaving him behind. 

“Nous avons des choses à discuter.” We have more to discuss. You hear him say loud enough for you to hear but low enough for no one else to hear before you cross into the threshold of the kitchen. 

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Discuss.

You laughed mentally at the word. You and Charles were indisputably not engaging in anything resembling a discussion, that much was certain. Unless you consider the dirty phrases, he’s whispering in your ear a discussion.

“Tu es tellement sexy,” You’re so hot. Charles moans into your mouth as he pushes you onto his unmade bed, falling with you in the process. Both of your clothes were long gone— strewn along the pathway you took from his front door to his bed. “Faite pour moi, putain.” Fucking made for me.

He didn’t know where to look, darting from your thighs to your lips to your unforgettable eyes. His jaw flexed as he let out a soft growl deep in his chest as his finger hooked into the band of your delicate silk panties and ripped them from your body. “Je t’en achèterai advantage.” I’ll buy you more. 

He was so impatient. Couldn’t even wait until he tossed your panties to the side before his mouth was on your center. You gasped as his lips enveloped your sensitive clit and getting a full taste of you. He moaned, dipping his tongue inside of you.

You really believed you could die right here and now. He pulled away momentarily just to look at you, glistening and moaning beneath him. It was a sight he wanted to burn in his memory forever. 

“Tu me rends fou." You drive me insane.

You couldn’t stop moaning. You wanted to tell him that he was the one who drove you insane. That the feeling was more than mutual. But you were incoherent with pleasure. Incapable of words.

He curved two fingers inside of you, almost instantly rubbing your g-spot. “Yeah?” He edged you on. His words alone pushing you to the threshold of your orgasm. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that?

His words were nearly as perilous as his touch. He was smirking above you like the cocky motherfucker he was. You felt delusional as his fingers stroked your g-spot continuously that when he flipped you over and pulled you up to your knees, you let out a shriek of surprise. 

You felt your orgasm closing in as he refused to let up on the assault of your clit. Your orgasm came so fast, you couldn’t even warn Charles before you were trembling all over his fingers.

“Oui, soak me.” Your orgasm was explosive, you could feel your legs shaking. Before you could even recover from the last orgasm, Charles was bringing his fingers that were coated in you to his mouth.

“J'ai vraiment besoin de toi,” I really need you. You muttered softly. The confession so raw. It made Charles heart clench with need to ravish you completely. To ruin you for anybody else.

His grip on your hips tightened as he slipped himself inside of you, eliciting a loud groan. “Mon dieu,”My God.  He moaned. “Tu me fais me sentir si bien,” You make me feel so good.

Your pussy clenched tightly around him at his words. His breaths were jagged and heavy in your ear as he took you harder and harder. 

“Ma salope,” My slut. He groaned, bottoming himself out. “My lucky.”

He could tell that you were there already again, the way you were squeezing him so tight and the clench of your hands trying to support you on the mattress. 

“C’est si bien que ça?,” Is it that nice? “Gonna come for me?”

You did. Your eyes wet with tears from the intensity as his hands squeezed your hips, leaving bruises. He didn’t stop the assault on your pussy, kept pounding into you. He was ruthless.

He threw his head back with a string of curses before pressing soft kisses to your back. He didn’t bother to pull out. He wanted you full of him. In all ways, shapes, and forms. He was selfish. You were thankfully on the pill. He held himself there for a few moments before pulling out and rolling you over to your back so you could face him. He buried his face into your neck, leaving small gentle kisses as you both caught your breath. 

Eventually Charles was able to find the strength to stand and clean you up, pressing a warm cloth to your center as he peppered small kisses to the inside of your thighs. You felt your heart flutter as he tossed the cloth into the hamper and joined you back in the bed, pulling you into his chest under the covers.

You could feel his mind was running a million miles a minute as he traced small circles on your skin. He wanted to ask if you went on any other dates. But he couldn’t handle if you said yes. 

“Qu’est-ce que tu as en tête?” What’s on your mind? You asked.

You were preparing for yet another fight. There was no escaping it any longer. The only sound that filled the air was both of your breathing.

“Je veux que tu sois mienne.” I want you to be mine. As you lay on his chest, you sensed his heartbeat quickening. In response, a soft laugh escaped you, uncertain of how to reply. The weight of your reaction hung heavy in the air, adding more pressure. 

You had to put a stop to this. You felt the panic constricting your throat. You couldn’t continue down this path with him. As you tried to sit up and distance yourself from Charles, his hand swiftly seized your arm, compelling you back towards him. He was determined to make you stay, refusing to let you escape from this conversation any longer.

“Non, arête de fuir le sujet,” No, stop running away from it. He insisted, urging you to stop evading it.  “Il sait déjà que tu m’aimes,” I already know that you love me. He declared, his words rushing out of him uncontrollably. It was as if he couldn’t halt the flow, a sense of panic palpable in his voice. 

You loved him; it wasn’t a secret. Fear held you back. The thought of losing him permanently if things didn’t work out was too daunting. So, you’ve tried to maintain a distance, but it was futile. It was as if he had become your vital source of oxygen – indispensable. You found yourself inextricably linked; your souls entwined. 

“Je ne veux pas te perdre!” I don’t want to lose you. You felt the words rush out of your mouth in a frenzy. His touch, his stare, this conversation was all too much to handle. 

“Je t’aime!” I love you! He repeated it over and over. He wouldn’t stop. You could see the anger forming in his face with each proclamation he made. He was angry. Why wouldn’t you listen? Why wouldn’t you believe him?

“Je suis bien avec toi!” I feel good when I’m with you!

“Tu me plait!” You make me happy!

“J’ai envie de t’embrasser!” I want to kiss you!

“Sans toi, je ne suis rien!” Without you, I am nothing!

“Tu es l’amour de ma vie!” You’re the love of my life!

“Je veux passer ma vie avec toi!” I want to spend my life with you!

“Mon dieu, I even breathe better when I’m with you.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, but he persisted, like a broken record playing an urgent message. His need for you to understand was palpable. He laid bare his soul, expressing that if it wasn’t for you, it would be no one. The pain in his chest mirrored the intensity of his emotions.

His hands held you tightly, rendering you incapable of moving. He needed you close. In response, you brought your hands to his face, swiftly pressing your lips against his.

You felt him grab your face during the kiss, his thumbs brushing the tears from your eyes in the process. 

“You’re mine. My lucky,” he broke the kiss. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your gazes locked, and you held each other’s eyes for an extended moment, as if attempting to decipher the entirety of each other’s thoughts through this intense connection.

“Oui?” He asked softly, seeking confirmation. He needed to hear you say you were his, a moment he had been waiting for his entire life.  He knew he had you now. But he wanted your words.

You recognized there was no longer an option to escape. You belonged to him, and it wasn’t up for discussion. He possessed your heart and soul entirely. You knew that you needed to take a risk. A risk for him. 

You nodded your head slowly, “Oui.”

TAG LIST: @harrysdimple05 @rachyroo-99 @rana030

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 1- Mafia! Miguel O'Hara

        In this Universe, it was not just the villains' you had to be afraid of. In every corner of the city of Nueva York, there were members of the mafia. The amount of families that ran different parts of this city were starting to make one lose count. No matter how safe you felt, you weren't. Everyone, including you, knew better than to mess with anyone. It was best to keep your head down and mind your own business. At least you wanted to.

        It was just another ordinary work day for you. The alarm clock was put on snooze more times than you could count, and now you were running late. Hurrying down the street with a poorly prepared sandwich in hand, you begged to make it in time for work. It was a miracle that the clothes you wore even matched properly. Honestly, preparing the night before always sounded like a great idea. It was just a shame you were too tired to do so.

        Right as the signal changed to walk, gunshots were heard. Everybody ran the opposite direction, knowing better than to get anywhere near. Everyone, except you. Your lateness was going to get you either fired or killed. As of right now, being killed sounded better than being fired. At least it did in your mind before you actually ran towards your job in the mist of another gang war. The tears in your sandwich were going to be a grim reminder to wake up earlier tomorrow-if you lived till then.

----------

        Miguel sat in his vehicle, watching his men go at it with the members of the Vulture clan. He had warned them several times to do this inside, but what point was there to talk with idiots? Needing some fresh air, Miguel stepped out of his car. How much longer until the other side gives up? Wanting to reach for his own gun, Miguel heard the cries of a woman. It was an all too familiar sound. He knew of the effect he had on them.

"Oh?" A slight smirk formed against his lips as he watched you run through the middle of a warzone, "Qué idiota. (What a dumbass)" He muttered under his breathe.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't be late next time! I'm sorry!" You cried repeatedly as you fell on the ground, holding your head.

        Miguel found you entertaining. He drew his gun and proceeded to make his way over to your trembling body. Luckily, he only had to fire a few times before his foot was near your (h/l) (h/c) hair. With ease, he grabbed your arm and lifted you towards him. Like instinct, you grabbed onto him, apologizing like there was no tomorrow. A smug grin formed against his lips.

"Parece que me encontré con un perro callejero. No puedo dejar a una cosita tan bonita como tú aquí sola. (Looks like I found me a stray. Can't leave a pretty little thing like you out here alone)" He said lowly. Finally, you raised your head,

"I-I'm so sorry. I was just late for work and...and...You have a gun." Your words kept stuttered as your brain finally started to connect the dots, "I swear I didn't see anything! I'm just passing through! I'm so sorry!"

"What's your name?" Miguel asked as he led you to his car.

"(Y/N)" You replied, watching his every move.

        You were terrified. You had almost died and were saved by a mafia member. Now your life was in his large hands. His beautiful red orbs felt like they were staring into your soul. There wasn't even a speck of dust on this man's clothes. He was so tall and seemed to be on another level than the other guys. Perhaps owing your life to him was not so bad after all. He was handsome and honestly, if he asked you to do something, you probably would.

"Te haré un buen uso si te gusta lo que ves. (I'll make good use of you if you like what you see.)" Miguel's smirk only widen. It took you a minute to slap your flustered cheeks and get your head out of the gutter,

"Huh? I'm sorry, I don't understand Spanish." You politely told him, not wanting to anger the man with a gun. Miguel motioned you aside before entering the car as well,

"I asked where you worked. I'll take you there."

"Are you sure? I'm already being a burden to you."

"You'll be paying me back of course," Miguel's eyes pierced yours, "Just do what I say and we'll be even."

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

"Ugh, Qué descuidado. Nunca has estado con un hombre, ¿verdad? (How sloppy. You've never been with a man, have you?)" Miguel hissed as you sucked on his large cock.

        His hand held your head, guiding you down his shaft. Tears threaten to spill as you felt his tip hit the back of your throat. He was far too long and you had no experience doing something like this. Stroking your hands against his cock, you tried your best to please him. He did save your life after all. Swirling your tongue against his tip, you felt him twitch. He hand returned to your head and started to move you on his own. It hurt as he fucked your mouth, but it made you feel hot.

"Swallow." Miguel commanded as he shoved his cock deep into your mouth. It burned and hurt your jaw, but you did as he said, "Good girl."

        You let out a cough, trying to hold your composure. Miguel lifted you up and placed you on his lap. He slid your underwear to the side, sliding a finger inside your wet hole. Moans escaped your throat as you held onto his shoulders. His thick fingers stretched you out better than your own toys. It felt good. With a sudden curl, Miguel had you putty in his arms. Your moans were getting louder as your felt your climax approaching.

"Que guarra. A punto de correrme solo con mi dedo. (How slutty. About to cum with just my finger.)"

        If only you knew what he was saying. It turned you on more just thinking about the naughty things he was calling you. This sexy stranger who saved your life was now about to fuck you in his car. You should be regretting this, but your better judgement was telling you otherwise. Feeling Miguel remove his finger made you mewl in protest. His placed his fingers' in your mouth as he lowered your waist.

        Your eyes widen as you felt him slowly enter your throbbing hole. It was hurting. Your small hands gripped onto Miguel, trembling from the feeling of being stretched out. Instead of slowing down, Miguel held your waist and slammed you down on his cock. Your back arched as you let out a cry from your orgasm. He was so deep inside you. Your body felt so full that it made your brain all fuzzy. This was something knew that you weren't sure if you wanted to stop.

"Already? We still have 20 minutes until we arrive at your work. Don't give up on me now," Miguel told you as he thrusted his hips up.

        Another cry escaped your throat as you felt his tip hit your cervix. Miguel was enjoyed this by the lick of his lips. He demanded that you started moving. That hungry look in his eyes every time you bounced on his cock. You felt like you couldn't get enough. Your legs were shaking as each thrust made your stomach turn. Sloppy moans and cries were all you can come up with as his cock bullied your cunt. This man was going to destroy you. Feeling his hands grip your hips was a sign.

"I'll take over now," Miguel's smirk never faded, "Voy a hacerte mi juguete personal, cariño. No tendrás que preocuparte por llegar tarde al trabajo si tu trabajo es mi polla dentro de ti. (I'm going to make you my personal toy, sweetheart. You won't need to worry about being late to work if your job is my cock inside you.)" He whispered in your ear.

        Whatever he said made your body shiver in delight. Miguel moved you against the car seat, slamming his hips into yours. He held your waist up, enjoying the view. Your lewd expressions were one of a kind. The way your boobs bounced with every thrust and how your body twitched when he pounded you were delightful. He could soak in every fiber of your being. You were his new favorite. Feeling your hole suck him made his smirk widen more.

        He moved your legs above his shoulders, enjoying your cried of pleasure as he ventured further inside you. His cock twitched as he neared his orgasm, wanting you to reach yours first. He leaned down to take a nipple in his mouth while his thumb rubbed your clit. His ears perked up as you called his name out. Your body arched once more as he cam on his dick. Miguel chuckled as he picked up his pace. He groaned lowly, shoving himself as far back as he could, coating your walls white.

"M-Miguel....That...was amazing," You barely breathed out. Miguel fixed his hair before reaching for your cheek,

"We're not done yet. We still have 17 minutes until you reach your job...If you decide to work there anymore when I'm done with you." He chuckled darkly, thrusting his hips into once more. You let out a cry, gripping onto the car seat,

"B-But I have...to ah...w-work for...ah~" Your words fell on deaf ears. Miguel was going to fuck the idea of work out of your brain,

"You got saved by me. Whether you like it or not, you're going to be mine now."

"M-Mig-"

"Not everyone gets a chance to be the leader's pet. Enjoy my cock inside you because I'm not letting you go."

        Only a whimper could escape your lips as Miguel kept bullying his cock inside you. Your legs started to grow numb. All you could feel is Miguel. 

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

"Everyone is dismissed." Miguel spat as he finished his meeting, "Lyla, make sure Peter gets informed on what we discussed. Make sure he gets here on time next time."

"Yes, sir." Lyla said with a chip.

        Once everyone was gone and the door was shut, Miguel moved back slightly. A smirk formed against his lips as he looked down at you. You had been under his desk during the whole meeting, sucking and playing with his cock. Miguel reached out to stroke your hair, enjoying you nuzzle your head into his hand.

"You've gotten better, cariño. How naughty of you to try and distract me while working." He said with a grin. You climbed onto his lip, bringing him in for a kiss,

"At least I was early," You said with a soft whine. Miguel agreed before filling you with his dick, "Mhpm, I-I was going to...hah...ask...if we can, ah, g-go for d-dinner." You whimpered, trembling at his brutal pace. 

"¿Cena? Estoy a punto de llenarte aquí y ahora. (Dinner? I'm about to fill you up right here and now.)" 

"M-Miguel..." You moaned, holding onto him as you felt your high approaching.

        Miguel licked his lips as he watched you melt under his touch. You had been by his side for almost a year now. The family was hesitant to welcome you, but quickly did once they saw how much Miguel enjoyed your company. Needless to say, you never had to worry about being late for work again. Your job was to keep Miguel satisficed, which was a simple task since you lived with him. From dawn to dusk, Miguel used your body to fuel his lust. He liked you far more than anyone before and that was not going to change anytime soon. You belonged to Miguel now and forever.

"Say it again for me." Miguel demanded as he laid you against his desk. You cried softly as he pounded your poor pussy,

"T-Thank you for saving me,"

"Una vez más. (One more time.)"

"A-Ah~ T-Thank y-you for saving me~"

"Good girl."

[sgiandubh]

I personally have a clear conscience. What others do in Mordors {🤣} is their problem. IF some have tried and continue trying to make you SEE reason it’s because each of your claims is easily debunked just like the last 'Partner in Crime 😍' that many shippers blabbered about with heart emojis in their eyes. Maybe not you but it’s the same situation I face with those who harass actors and their signifiant others on social media just NOT ME. If you’re getting messages like this it’s not to crush your dream Ladies but to try and help you understand that your arguments don’t hold up and that the so-called proof that C is in love with S doesn’t make sense. But well trying to wake you up is like pisser dans un violon, really🎻. I’m not trying to know what you know privately since that doesn’t exist do not worry. This isn’t bullying it’s just discussions that you take as such because it breaks your heart to face the reality 💔💔 now that OL is over why will S be seen with beards? And when he gets engaged, marries, and has children, what will he be trying to hide this time? Will it be because of a new contract? Waiting for the next explanation 🎻

Dear (returning) Partner in Crime Anon,

You really are an idiot, with a very poor understanding of syllogisms. Also, I was very clearly inviting you to fuck off and you are still around? My, oh, my, what a little masochist!

You know nothing and will know nothing. And I am sorry to say things do exist and will exist, no matter how many times you will come in here, with no decent argument to boot.

I see no reason to share what I know with someone as stubbornly stupid as you. Clear conscience? By no means, on no planet.

You already sound manic, my dear. I suggest crosswords, this could soothe your very tried nerves. I also appreciate the tentative fanfic and yes, I know who you are - your country needs you more than ever and here you are, ventilating bullshit on Tumblr.

What a damn shame.

[boobo13cambridge]

Send That Picture Promise I'm A Keep It | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: Fluff, sexting, masturbation (m.)

Summary: What’s it like texting when your husband is a really busy athlete? 

A/N: Hello, everyone! I’ve been trying to finish up all my old requests before I get to the new ones. I was actually supposed to post this May 5th, and its now June, oops. I’ve seen all your prompts for the new Kylian smut, and I love all your ideas. I’ll try my best to get them done because for once I have nothing to this summer except find a job, lmao. I swear having a job ready for when you graduate is not easy at all. Uni should’ve prepared us better for the post-grad life. Anyways, as always don’t forget to like, comment, and repost! Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

Kylian: bébé 

Kylian: bébééé

Kylian: bééébééé

Kylian: béééébéééééééééé

Kylian: Arrête de m’ignorer 😢 (stop ignoring me)

Kylian: jte veux  (i want you)

Kylian: j besoins de toi (i need you)

Kylian: envoie t seins (send your tits)

The incessant buzzing of your phone that was conveniently located in your back pocket was proving to bea major distraction as you were trying your best to follow what your boss was trying to say. You knew who it was without even having to look, the culprit - a certain brown-eyed professional athlete who was called away on international duty. 

While you wished you could be there to cheer him on as France played against Gibraltar in Faro, you were unfortunately tied up at work as you had to deal with an important client. As a divorce lawyer, you were constantly surprised to learn just how selfish and idiotic some people could be. You’d think a firefighter would be too busy trying to save people to have two mistress with three children each. Alas, humanity never failed to disappoint. To add fuel to the fire, this particular client absolutely refused to comprise on anything and insisted that he still loved his wife despite being a piece of shit.

Seeing all these cases, you were grateful that Kylian wasn't like that. To be honest, in the beginning of your relationship, you were very self-conscious as footballers were known to be cheaters. A few people (who were no longer in your life) warned you that your husband would inevitably turn out like most people in his profession and leave you for a model. Kylian, on the other hand,  turned out to be nothing like that. He was consistently loving, truthful, and patient with you. The media's attempts to tear your relationship apart still pained you deeply, especially the heartbroken look in Kylian's eyes as you shouted at him, accusing him without even giving him a chance to explain.

But returning to the present, your boss finally released you from the conversation as her secretary reminded her that her husband was waiting on the line. Your boss, an intimidating woman whom you respected greatly, was the only one who hired you straight after graduation, despite most law firms turning you away. You suspected they viewed you as nothing more than a trophy wife destined to retire after having a few kids. Céleste Beauregard was the only one who gave you a chance, and for that you would be eternally grateful.

Walking back to your desk, you pull out your phone and look at the messages Kylian send you. Letting out a snort at his antics, you reply.

You: t’a pas un match à jouer toi?  (don’t you have a match to play?)

Kylian: c koi le rapport bb??    (what’s the correlation baby??)

You: tu c ke chui au travail kyky  (you know I’m at work kyky)

Kylian: allez bb juste une photo 🥺 (cmon baby its just one picture)

You: ds t rêve (in your dreams)

Kylian: fais pas ca (don’t do this)

Kylian: arrête de faire ta difficile (stop being so difficult)

You: t un gros pervert Mbappé 🤢 (you’re a big pervert Mbappé)

You: j d’autres choses à faire ds la vie ke de t’envoyer d pics de mes seins              franchement  (I have better things to do than send you pics of my tits seriously)

You: t’a pas déjà d pics? (don’t you already have some?)

Kylian: j’en veux d fresh svp (I need new ones pls)

You: tu m’énerve (you’re annoying)

In moments like these, you couldn't help but appreciate having a private office with tinted glass. Glancing around cautiously to ensure no one was present, you carefully unbuttoned your dress shirt, unveiling a seductive, lacy red push-up bra. With one hand, you delicately squeezed your breasts together, your cheeks flushed crimson as you quickly snap a picture and send it to him. 

Buttoning your shirt, you feel a mixture of excitement and anticipation, as you nervously bit your lip, holding your breath as you observed the three blinking dots in your message thread. You couldn't help but giggle at doing something so risky at your workplace.

Kylian: putain bb chui bandé 🤤 (fuck bb i’m hard) 

Kylian: si tt là ça serait parti en branlette espagnole 😏 (if you were here I would’ve fucked your tits)

You: t dégeulasse 🙄 (youre disgusting)

Kylian: tu m’aimes pareille ❤️ (you love me tho)

You: vrm pas  (not really)

You: envoie moi t seins toi (you send me your tits)

Kylian: jpeux tenvoyer qq chose de mieux 😘 (i’ll send you something better)

Your heart raced with anticipation, a symphony of palpitations echoing in your chest, as you waited impatiently for your husband to send you a picture of himself.

As the picture popped up, you felt liquid heat pool in your panties as your breathing deepened looking at the nude Kylian had sent you. 

The dim lights showed his hand wrapped firmly around his throbbing cock. Your gaze was fixated on the engorged head of his member, a vibrant hue of crimson, as a drop of precum bubbled on top. You could feel yourself throbbing as you feasted on the photo. Waves of pleasure surged through your core, causing your body to pulse with an insatiable hunger.

You: merde kyky ta pas le droit de m’envoyer sa quand tu c ke jpeux rien   faire (shit kyky you can’t just send me this when you know i cant do anything about it)

Kylian: enjoy bb 😘

You: ??

You looked at his message confused, not really sure what he meant. A few minutes later, he sends you a video that ignited a blush so intense it flushed the very roots of your hair.

In the video, he moved with tantalizing slowness, his strong, veiny arms caressing his length with deliberate, seductive strokes. Each movement of his arm drove your senses ablaze. The air around you thickened with the sound of his sinful moans, weaving a symphony of pleasure that sent shivers down your spine.

Your eyes were fixated on the mesmerizing sight, unable to tear themselves away from the erotic scene playing on your small screen. Your breath hitched as he swiped a bead of precum, his fingers glistening with the essence of his desire. 

It was when a primal groan escaped his soft, pink lips with the sound of your name on the tip of his tongue that sent a blast of ecstasy through your body, electrifying every nerve ending with longing.

Unable to contain the building heat within you, you instinctively pressed your thighs together, seeking relief from the persistent throbbing that radiated from your slick core. 

The video was two minutes long, and you were burning up so fast. As you continued to watch the captivating video, your senses became heightened, every nuance and detail etching itself into your memory. The sheer eroticism of the scene, the raw sensuality exuding from his every movement, unleashed a whirlwind of desire within you.

With every gasp and moan that escaped his lips, you felt the reverberations deep within your core. His sinful utterance of your name was like a symphony of passion, intertwining with the symphony of your racing heart. 

As his fingers swept across his velvety skin, spreading the intoxicating precum, the ache between your thighs intensified. The throbbing in your core demanded attention, aching for release. The tension built, and with every second, you grew closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

It was almost a bittersweet torment, because as much as the video set aflame your desire for him, it also intensified the ache of longing for his physical presence. With a final, lingering stroke, the video came to an end, leaving you breathless and craving more. 

You: t vrm cruel kyky (you’re so cruel kyky)

Kylian: 😘😘 mmmhhh jte vois samedi? (mmmhhh see you saturday?)

You: non, viens mtn 🥺  (no, come now)

You: jte veux trop (i need you too much)

Kylian: hahah, tu c ke jpp princesse (hahah you know i can't princess)

Kylian: mais jvai marquer un but pour toi bb (but i’ll score a goal for you bb)

You: t mieux ❤️ 🙄 (you better)

You: jtm booboo ❤️ (ily booboo)

Kylian: jtm fort mon coeur ❤️ (ily so much my heart)

You: tu veux que je t’amène qq chose bb? Je c ke tu vas rester à l'hôtel avant le match au stade (do you want me to bring you something bb? I know you’re staying at a hotel before game at the stadium?)

Kylian: ouii, t seins 🤤 (yess, your boobs)

You: ugh bye 🙄

Your playful exasperation was evident as you bid farewell to the teasing suggestion. The exchange left a lingering sense of anticipation and passion in the air, as you both were eagerly waiting to see each other again. The thought of being in his arms, of holding him and kissing him, made you long for him so bad. Looking at the time, you quickly packed your stuff and rushed home, excited to be with him.

[maddyjones2]

low angst, high comfort long fic recs

what it says on the tin: Low angst (low conflict between Crowley and Aziraphale), high comfort (positive committed relationship), over 200k, fics with plenty of story. The first three are already complete. The fourth is the joy of my Sundays.

shotgun wedding by @charlottemadison42 it's much recommended for very good reasons. Some angst about relationship due to external constrictions. The conflict is sourced outside the relationship. If you are a self righteous health insurance exec or fascist fan of scandalized testing in education this might not suit you. Otherwise, it's a good 'un with a wonderful surprise at the end.

if he is your cleric ... By @noodlefrog-omens Crowley is hungry and thinks Aziraphale is dinner. Once they get over that small hurdle, and C realises A can provide both dinner and conversation there is an excellent quest. All your fav antiheros are dreadful and have satisfying and appropriate outcomes. The good people triumph and live happily (we hope). No d &d knowledge is required

You know I'll never be lonely by @sylwritesstuff and @ladydragona an omegaverse romance. Crowley is single parent for his nephew, Warlock. He meets Aziraphale in the course of his work and things do not end optimistically. After this start they meet again on a more positive note. Almost all the conflict in this fiction are social and the strength of A and C together is what allows them to triumph. I love the idea of being able to transform into a wolf. Both Crowley and Aziraphale are competent, skilled and wear clothes with pockets.

Finally, the king's dearest knight by @sylwritesstuff and @ladydragona is another omegaverse romance. There is magic, a quest, sword fighting, bad people, good people, so much fun. No transforming into wolves so far but I'm not ruling it out for the future :-). Although Aziraphale and Crowley both have secrets, this doesn't prevent from trusting each other and not letting others divide them. Again, both Crowley and Aziraphale are skilled, competent and no hampered by their clothes for the life they are living. Conflict comes from outside our beloved idiots. This fiction has been going for six months and has at least as far to go again I suspect.

The amount of work involved in creating these very long works seems to me to be incalculable. I dips me lid, which seems woefully inadequate acknowledgment of the effort made and joy bought.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Knight in Shining, Bloody Armor

Past =-= Next

Author note: Titus and Reader

Summary: Titus finds an upset Serf and tries to help.

Warnings: None? Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

You are a dutiful soul, working tirelessly to do your duty for the Imperium. Your job isn't glamorous or important in the full scheme of things.

You are, after all, just a Serf, one who serves aboard McCragge's Honnor. You had don't your best to try to stop crying, part of you wondering just what you had done, or was it simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Captain Sicarius is infamous for his horrible temper and brusque demeanor. You try to rub your face clear of tears frustratedly, you thought you had a thick skin in regards to insults and bullying behaviors.

Granted, when in front of people who treat you poorly you can show a brave, or polite face. That was something you prided yourself on. In an Emergency Situation you kept your head cool and calm, and only collapsed and had a panic attack only after the situation was dealt with.

Unless someone else with higher authority and understanding was in charge, then you reacted like a complete moron, unless you were specifically trained not to act like a jibbering idiot.

But then again, humans, base lines at least, still feel that emotion called fear, which can make even the most intelligent of person do something that could be potentially fatally stupid. Like trying to poor water on a cooking oil fire, or something equally understandably dumb.

You heard a voice rumble out, deep and soothing, and filled with compassionate concern, "Hello? Did you need help with anything?"

You turn to look to see who's talking and try to stop crying, rubbing your face clear of tears as you hurriedly bow to the Lueitenant of the Second Company, Titus. "M-my Lord, forgive me for disturbing you."

"It's alright, I am not distrubed," Titus says kindly, "I heard someone crying and wanted to see what was wrong… if you care to tell me that is."

"I thank you for your concern, my lord," You say bowing your head again. Sometimes, while the Angels of Ultramar can be brusque, rude, and demanding. Other times, and other Angels can be much kinder, more caring, and concerned for the mortals below them and in their care. "I was just… overly sensitive."

It was an interesting dicotomy that you'd started to notice, with certain Serfs helping to warn others of the more Tempermental ones, and the supervisors rewarding or punishing those lower ranked under their perview with serving near the kinder or more stern Lord Angels of Ultramar. Lt. Titus of the Second Company is one of the kinder Lord Angels.

"Hm." Titus says quietly eyeing you assessingly.

He'd heard his wonderful little brother and Captain Titus snarling at some poor Serf recently, which was not a good look. Granted, Cato is known for being a gaint bastard, but such things could make resentments start, flare, and fester within the mortals of the crew.

Which was not good for morale and making sure that those who served them did so without bitterness made it so that Chaos had less of a chance to take a hold of those that tend to their needs. Cato, arrogant brat that he could be, doesn't care about that. Or doesn't care to listen to someone who'd been demoted for un-codex-like behavior.

Despite the fact that the hot head could, and has stretched the limits of Codex-complaint behavior that, had he been any less favored, would have him in hot shit, more often with others of their Chapter.

Favoritism, was unfortunately, something that happened sometimes, with certain blood lines getting better treatment than others. While the Ultramarines try to be a meritocracy, sometimes Noble Borns have an easier time of it then those Ultramarines that come from a lower starting station.

The Captain of the Fourth Company Ventris comes to mind and how he's treated versus Cato in regards to stretching the rules of the Codex.

Not that Titus can say anything about that, or even imply as such. Not with the black marks on his records. Wouldn't want to seem… ungrateful for the position that he has, and the fact that he wasn't killed for his brush against Chaos.

He pulls his mind from his thoughts and focuses back on the young serf, who was watching them with wide eyes. They had a lovely form. Soft looking skin, despite the hard work that they must do in order to be a Serf for the Ultramarines. Titus forcefully pulls his thougths away from admiring their form, wondering where that thought had come from.

Since the Serf doesn't seem willing to tell him what had upset them so, he decided to back off, but kindly reminded them that he would be there if they wanted to talk to him about what had upset them. You were amazed, and also a little curious about why this Angel cared about why some random Serf was so upset. It was nice, even if a more suspicious part of you wondered what it was that he was after.

[phyrestartr]

HOUND | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 1 W/C: 2.5K | Part 1 of 2

Slight NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: Wanted to post this bad boy in full, but the second half sorely needs some revising T-T It should be finished and up fairly soon, though! I hope this is ~intriguing~ for those who like darker stuff! Also I did a light edit on this part, but I really just want to get it out so lol sorry if things sound stupid/don't make sense asdjkf;l

--

There exists a cure.

That's what Alchemax declared. And it was the truth, just not the full truth. Not something the public would be happy with, anyway. 

The so-called "cure" was…unreliable, only recoding the RNA of select individuals for a reason that Alchemax's geneticists struggled to identify for the longest time. But after combing through the files of each expendable inmate and finding similarities, it became clear: those who'd been in the presence of nuclear energy, or high amounts of radiation, were suitable candidates for the vaccine. 

"Guess it's a good thing we didn't shut down those mines," Aaron had sneered at the board meeting. "Otherwise we wouldn't have the army of immune mutants running around for us." 

Miguel rolled his eyes. Sure, the idiot wasn't wrong, but he was taking it too far; plenty had died because of their experiments, and plenty more of the "immune" were sure to die with the unknown side effects of whatever the vaccine was bound to show in a matter of years (or in mere months, if they were unlucky). 

"It's a start," Miguel begrudgingly added. "But intentionally damaging civilian RNA with radiation, and then repairing it with S-2099, especially when we're not aware of any side effects yet? The UN won't have it. Can't imagine civilians would love it either." 

"Well, it's either get bit and die, stay afraid and die, or get painlessly exposed to a blast of radiation and then maybe die if 2099 doesn't fix them like we think," Liv offered with a shrug. "I, for one, would be honoured to die in the name of science." 

Miguel coolly looked over at her. "Thanks for volunteering." 

Liv's expression twisted. The energy in the room would've exploded if it hadn't been for Stone's interjection. 

"We will not be commencing civilian trials. Not until success rates increase with approved subjects provided by the state." The man spoke so steadily, so reasonably, like sacrificing the lives of orange jumpsuits meant nothing. 

They were dismissed soon after. Screens flickered out, holograms faded, and Miguel found himself alone with the other few scientists left at their Nueva York location. 

He stayed seated, vaguely aware of the others filtering out and murmuring amongst themselves, but his thoughts demanded his attention–he knew, even if the government didn't approve of essentially soft-nuking colonies of survivors, that Tyler Stone would find a way to do it, and would label it an accident. The man, his birth father, was ruthless, cold, calculated– 

"Sir?" A voice, your voice, cut through the silence. Miguel looked over his shoulder and found you still waiting, standing perfectly still by the door. 

"Sorry, I was just…" Miguel sighed and rubbed his face before standing. "Nevermind. Don't worry about it." 

Of course, you didn't say anything, instead nodding wordlessly and following your ward out of the room. Each step you took was punctuated by the shifting of your firearm against your thigh and the heavy thumps of your boots against the polished floors. Miguel used to hate your presence, think it unnecessary, but soon he grew to feel comfortable with you as his shadow. 

You, his powerful, mutant guard dog. 

"I can't fucking believe what this is turning into," Miguel muttered on the way to his quarters. "Too many unanswered questions, too many risks. And they don't care? We haven't even run further simulations yet–and we can run simulations with different alpha rays and different subject samples. It'd be harmless." The door hissed open and Miguel walked in, sorely wishing he could slam the door for once. Why did everything have to be automated? 

"In. Now," Miguel called when you stopped short of his residence. You obeyed, wandering inside before the door slid to a close behind you, and locked. 

You had reason to be nervous, Miguel knew that, too. Each key scientist in the building was assigned one of your kind, one of the immune mutants, and were free to do what they wanted with them. Sex, torture, chores–all of it was on the table. All of it had been asked of your kind. Done by your kind. Miguel figured that was why you kept a wall up. You hardly spoke, didn't request anything, never complained–all in an effort to keep the peace between you and your owner.

Miguel threw his white coat aside before stalking up to you. "Let me see," he mumbled as he held your jaw and tilted your head as he shone the light from his phone into your eye. 

Your pupils reacted at twice the speed of a normal human's, growing into the tiniest of pin pricks when the bright white flare assaulted your senses. Your eye twitched the slightest bit, but you remained still for Miguel. 

"Reactive. Not dead. That's good." He put his phone away, and examined the scarlet blotches contrasting against the natural hue of your iris. It was a relatively new side effect experienced by most of your batch, but you were amongst the more severe cases, if not the most severe case. Most of his peers didn't seem concerned by it, and Miguel could understand, seeing as it appeared to only be cosmetic, but the increased reactivity of your pupil accompanied with the bloody colour intrigued Miguel enough to keep tabs on it. 

"Any changes lately? To appetite, sleep, anything?" He asked as he let go of your jaw, nearly smiling as you tried to follow his touch for a moment longer like a sleepy cat. "Maybe neediness?" Miguel teased. 

You huffed lightly through your nose and looked around the main room of Miguel's living space. "Tired, I guess." 

Miguel's nerves smoothed with the sandpaper scratch of your voice. "Tired. Might be the anemia again. We'll draw blood tomorrow, see if you need supplements or another infusion." Miguel found himself mumbling now, going on about your health and your changes, wondering out loud what the best course of action would be to help you adjust to whatever was happening to your body, but you didn't say anything. You never did unless provoked. 

Miguel decided to provoke. He needed to speak, to be spoken to, to hear someone else’s voice right now. "What do you think about all this?" He called from the bathroom after washing up for the night. He poked his head out a moment later when you didn’t comment. 

“I know you were listening,” he prodded again over the toothbrush jammed into the side of his mouth. “The other ones don’t, but you do. I can tell by that look you get.” he waited for you to respond while he brushed his teeth, but you didn’t. You hadn’t moved from your post by his front door, actually, stood against the wall, arms crossed and staring forward like you were listening to everything beyond the door. Miguel wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you sit down. He didn’t know if you’d ever laid down before. 

After he finished washing up for the night, he decided to try again. 

“You really gonna keep me in the dark?” Miguel asked as he walked up to you, arms crossed as well. He couldn’t help but feel smaller and smaller the longer he waited in silence, waited to hear your gravelled voice. He couldn’t grasp why he was so desperate for a friend suddenly, but he was. He really was, and he wasn’t finding it in you. 

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter anyway,” Miguel mumbled, turning away from you and rubbing his face tiredly. 

“Don't have much of an opinion.”

“What?” Miguel turned back around, brows raised as he waited for you to continue. Your gaze peeled from the ceiling and fell to him, like you were waiting for a reprimand of sorts, but Miguel wouldn’t, not when he tried so hard to get a peep out of you.

You shrugged and looked elsewhere. “Don't care what happens to civilians. Not my problem.” 

“It's the world's problem,” Miguel suggested. He didn't want to start an argument, but he didn't want you to feel so blasé about the fate of everything. “The more civilians that get infected, the more the world loses.” 

“Thought that was a good thing. Last I heard, the world was pretty overpopulated.” You said it so easily. Miguel would have shrugged it off if he didn't know about the blood on your hands, the crimes you'd committed, the evidence that you really, truly, did not give a shit about humanity. 

Miguel scoffed, a bitter, bewildered sort of thing. “Y'know, I used to pity you for this,” he started, gesturing to the soldiered-out state of yourself, “but you might be less human than those things out there.” 

“Probably.” 

“You don't even care,” Miguel laughed again. “Did you care when you killed that family?” 

“An eye for an eye,” you replied. 

“Right, right. Then what about your daughter? Did you care when–” the world spun before his back cracked against the wall. He grabbed your wrist and squeezed when your hands fisted in his shirt, ready to trigger your kill switch with one click of a button on his ring, but he didn't need to; you simply held him there, boring holes into his skull with your diamond-tipped stare. 

“You jokers don't know when to quit,” you said. “Always have to drag a kid into the equation, ‘n then act so fucking shocked when you end up dead ‘cause of it.” A sigh slipped past your lips as you leaned in. Miguel wanted to meet you halfway. “Fuckers like you make murderers out of men like me.”

Oh. The violence rippling through your crackling voice went straight down, into the pit below Miguel's stomach and coiled into something frightfully decadent. He wanted your hands around his neck. He wanted you to mutter more threats into his ear. He wanted–

He wanted you. 

“Let me touch you,” Miguel blurted. “Your skin.” You gave a reaction then, eyes blinking away shock and throat clearing with a strangled grunt, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t reject him. In fact, you looked him up and down in question, curiosity peeking through piercing eyes. 

“You're a deranged fuck, aren't you? Getting all hot ‘n bothered from a threat.” You reached for the straps of your kevlar vest, then, and Miguel’s nerves jolted with the sound of the buckles clicking loose. 

He scrambled to you and held your hands. He wanted to do it himself, to unwrap your bindings and see what laid beneath. Your hands fell, and Miguel took over. 

The warmth bleeding from your clothes intoxicated him. He fumbled with your gear, eager to get to the base of your tight, black shirt and rip it off, but you didn’t try to take over for him–you watched, patient like a dog, letting your master doff your armour at his leisure (or, rather, his frantic, desperate pace). Miguel appreciated it. He wondered if you knew he'd snap if you tried to interfere. 

Soon, your chest was bare. Exposed for him, dotted with memories of cruel bites, bullets, knives and surgical scars all over taught, humming skin. Man shouldn’t be allowed to touch you, Miguel thought. The imperfections were so gloriously human. You were so perfectly alive, standing here with him, breathing, emanating heat, allowing him to do what he pleased–he was the luckiest man on Earth. 

Miguel couldn’t look you in the eyes as his broad palm pressed against your chest, right over the rhythm of your soul. His pants strained and tightened more as his touch wandered through the valleys of firm muscle; what did the rest of you look like? What did you look like when you fought, or when you fucked? 

His hand slipped down to the tight adonis belt cinching your waist, and then lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband peeking above your cargos. The bunching and folding of thick material melted Miguel's mind in a vat of suggestion and insatiability–were you really that big, or was that fabric just making it an illusion? 

He didn't need to wait to find out, though, not when you guided his hand down over the very real curve of your goods packed away. And, yes, you were big. Miguel's eyes snapped up to yours. A smug look greeted him.

“Looked like you needed some encouragement.”

Miguel might have laughed if his heart weren't suffocating him, climbing up his throat. Your clothed cock under his hand was ruining his cognitive functions too, to be fair. 

His fingers, long, clumsy things, hurried at your buttons and the zipper keeping everything in check. Miguel's ears filled with the rhythmic drumming of desire when he finally got the damn thing undone, but you grabbed his wrist. You stopped him. 

Miguel scoffed out a held breath and tried to wrench free, but your grip held firm. “You can't back out after–” But when he looked at you, he froze still; your expression electrified the senses, the slightest narrowing and shifting of uneasy eyes freezing Miguel colder and colder by the second. 

“Bathroom. Now.” You popped just one of those buttons back into place before turning to the door. 

“Wh–” But you shoved him, hard, and sent him stumbling into the sterile white space as explosive carnage rippled through the room in his wake. The thing collided into you seconds after you'd gotten your charge out of the blast zone. 

It was big. A mass of human features and flesh and maybe something else weighing on a hulking frame. You barked a name, maybe the name of one of your fellow watch dogs, but it didn't change the thing's trajectory as it tore towards Miguel on all fours like a hound out of hell.

But you were quicker. You grabbed it by the nape and ripped it off its warpath with too much effort, just narrowly avoiding it barreling into the attached room by seconds. Its momentum, forced toward the wall, threw it into a dizzied tantrum; limbs flailed, mouths gnashed, and a symphony of mismatched voices wailed from their putrid prison. 

Miguel's body locked. What ifs plagued him, suddenly. If it got him. If it bit him. If you hadn't been there. What if–

“Close the damn door,” you demanded, and your voice sounded a bit shaky, too. Miguel looked at your broad back as you stood bravely in the way of the beast and its target. “Doctor–” 

“I–but you–?” Miguel stumbled and choked on his words and his reasoning. He didn't want you to fight. He didn't want to die. He didn't want you to die. Miguel hit the button to make it closed, but the door stalled halfway.

“Fuck it.” Barbs burst from your fingertips and dug into the door, forcing it to bend to your will and close. Miguel didn't like how you disappeared inch by inch. He didn't like seeing that thing behind you get up. He didn't like that look you gave him just before the door snapped shut. 

The next few minutes passed like years.

[neiptune]

a series of (un)fortunate drivers

cw: 1k wc, gender neutral reader, fake dating trope, roommate to lovers, they're both idiots (affectionate). sponsored by the ever generous @yellow-sword-lily who decided to trust my writing and contribute to the wonderful @ficsforgaza initiative!

“Does it hurt?”

Atsumu is met with a familiar, stubborn silence that prompts an exasperated sigh. You’re being awfully quiet for someone who’s chest is pressed to his back, close enough he can smell the shampoo that actually acts as shampoo (he learned that, apparently, a 3-in-1 body wash is indicative of not knowing how to take care of his own needs on approximately day two of living with you).

He knows you’re perfectly capable of not uttering a single word the entire way home, just as you know he’s keeping his pace slow to minimize your bouncing and reduce the discomfort to the best of his ability. It makes you want to strangle him.

“Blink once if it hurts” Atsumu turns to the side and his caramel gaze takes yours by surprise for just a second before you decide to resolutely focus on a specific spot on his shoulder.

“You’re the most ridiculous person I know” he balances you better against him with a small hop and you swallow the petty comeback already dancing on the tip of your tongue.

Truth is, it does hurt. Your ankle is swollen, probably about to bruise, an annoying circumstance that could’ve been well avoided if not for a couple of drivers that worked against your luck to progressively fuck your evening back-to-back: a) Hinata convincing you that a pair of chunky sneakers would be an excellent investment, b) the decision to wear said inappropriately chunky sneakers, c) Atsumu ignoring how excessively flirty the woman at the bar was being (one can estimate the impressive size of his biceps without necessarily squeezing his arm multiple times), d) the spirit of an immature six year old that decided to suddenly possess you at the sight, causing you to make up a dumb excuse to storm out before Suna and everyone else could even get there to begin with.

The heated march was soon and quite harshly interrupted by your ankle turning in an awkward way, causing you to even more awkwardly tumble onto the goddamn sidewalk right as a bottle blond pro athlete was forced to drop everything (drinks, friends, excessively flirty woman) to chase you down the street.

You insisted you could’ve walked (not true) or called an uber (also not true, you forgot your phone on the kitchen island) but, with the utmost care and deaf to your objections, Atsumu collected the things scattered on the asphalt the same way confusing thoughts are dispersed around your brain still, checked your ankle with furrowed brows and sentenced you to a piggyback ride home.

He refuses to let you slip off his back as he kicks off his shoes, rolls his eyes when you scoff and makes his way to the couch by which he carefully bends down to gently place you against the throw pillows.

“Don’t” Atsumu swats your hand away when you attempt to lean forward “I got ya” he rolls your sage green linen pants all the way up to the knee and attentively unties your shoes. You suck in a sharp breath between your teeth when he removes the sneaker, warm hand supporting your leg by the calf. A fluffy pillow is placed on the coffee table and underneath your foot, an admonishment to hold still mumbled with affection as he disappears into the kitchen to rummage through your freezer.

“I can do it” you accept the ibuprofen but protest firmly when he sits on the table, ice pack in hand.

“I know ya can” Atsumu offers a smile “but let me”

Defeated, you hiss at the contact: the skin feels so tender even grazing it with a finger would hurt. He knows, he’s had his fair share of injuries throughout his career.

Atsumu is more observant than what people give him credit for. He knows exactly when everything changed, the night that shifted the precarious equilibrium of your roommate relationship. It wasn’t when he suggested you’d fake a relationship for a while, just to get his PR team to shut the fuck up and stop trying to pair him up with some unknown model just for the sake of it. Can’t, I already have a partner. You were happy to accomodate his request: some pics for social media, a few shots of intertwined fingers and steaming bowls of ramen. Always his treat. Atsumu promised he’d take over the cleaning activities you hated the most for two entire months in return. You would’ve been free from dusting, scrubbing the bathtub and washing dishes (he’d insisted on laundry too but you simply weren’t going to risk all your whites turning pink).

No, it was Suna’s birthday that changed everything. The night you both had a little too much of that fancy wine and ended up sharing a drunken kiss with you perched in his lap, eager fingers in his hair, kissing with little to non existent restraint. It felt so good, so right, he could only think he wanted to do it again, when sober. And now, after acting like that never even happened for an entire week, your little tantrum makes him think that perhaps you’d like to do it again too.

“I think we should stop, ‘Tsumu” you murmur, eyes kept low when he looks up from your ankle.

“What are we stoppin’?”

“The whole thing. Tell your team you’ll do what they want”

He cocks his head, seemingly imperturbable. ‘Samu would be the only one capable of sensing how fast his heart is actually beating. “Why would I do that?”

“Why would you not do that?” you finally meet his stoic gaze “let’s just stop now before anybody’s feelings get hurt, okay?”

“Ya think I’d do that?”

“I didn’t say…”

“What are you saying, then?” Atsumu leans forward to gently grab your jaw, forces you to look at him “all I’m hearing is you’re worried about yer feelings. Whatever we are going to do with mine, right?”

You jump a little at the unexpected words and he rolls his eyes. It’s just so typical of you to be all lost in your own head, too buried in futile concerns to notice just how unnecessary they are.

“Let me tell ya what I think we should actually do” Atsumu makes sure the ice pack stays in place or is at least balanced enough to stay on as he slides from the coffee table onto the couch “I think you should stop assuming I’d be interested in anyone who's not you” he offers a grin that suppresses your heated remonstrance before you have the chance to voice it “and I should take you out on a proper date. Maybe to one of those museums ya love so much. Blink once if you agree?”

He’s ridiculous. Maybe ‘Samu’s initial warning “it will rub off on ya” wasn’t such a senseless prediction after all, because you do blink. Slow, deliberate. And Atsumu smiles the most beautiful smile: it’s much better than the ones that win him magazine covers and sparkly photoshoots. This one’s all yours.

You lean forward first, the ice pack slips from your ankle to the floor.

[lokideservesahug]

Once Upon A Dream

Part of the 𝓕1 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem! Reader (Sleeping Beauty AU)

Warnings: Reader breaks out into song at points and it's kinda cringy so sorry (but it needed to happen).

Notes: This is very short so I'm sorry and Idk when part 2 will come out but I've made a decent start on it. Also Miami was just so amwkwjsnjwuaha so...

Summary: Raised by three women in the middle of the woods and being visited only by a prince in your dreams, your life is very simple. Or is it?

Word Count: 2K

Part 2

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You were a miracle to your parents when you first arrived. For years, they were under the assumption that they would never produce an heir yet miraculously, you came info this Earth. So needless to say when you arrived, it was a huge spectacle. You climb hears distant murmers of the day but whenever you asked about it, people would redirect the conversation and avoid your question. But you bever gave it too much thought, you were only a baby.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

On the morning of your 21st birthday, your 3 carers randomly tell you that they want you to leave the house to pick some berries ; which is quite odd because you could have sworn that you saw a full fruit bowl this morning. But alas, you see no point in arguing and so you grab your basket, put in some shoes and leave your cottage. "Rember, don't don't too far!" "And don't speak to strangers." "Goodbye dear." At the ladies' chorus you smile and wave before setting off.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Many miles away, up in a tall, dark, ominous castle. A sorceress dresses head to tie in black is shouting at her followers. "It's incredible! Over two decades and not a trace of her! Are you truly sure you have checked everywhere?" The creature nods and begins to hold oit his fingers ready to lost off places. "Yeah. We checked the mountains, the forest uhm, houses and uh- the uh- all the cradles." Malificent turns to face him un shock and (surprisingly) quietly says "Cradles?" The henchman nods happily "Yep. Every cradle." He laughs whilst proceeds to do a rocking gesture. "Cradles?!" The woman all but shouts. She turns to berate pet crow and opts for a more passive tone. "Did you hesr that my dear? All of these years and these imbeciles have been looking for a baby?" More henchman are now stood behind the first snow they're all sporting proud grins. Malificent laughs almost insanicly and the henchmen join in clearly misunderstanding the cause of her laughter.

"Fools!" She snaps. "Idiots!" They jump back at her shouts. "You imbeciles." She begins to wave her staffa round and as it shoots out jolts of energy, the followers scatter and try and leave the room. She makes her way towards her 'throne' at the back of the room and nd places her head in her hands. "They're hopeless..." Malficent sits doen in the chair  "Disrcaes to the forces of evil." The crow flutters to the left armresst and she adresses him. "Oh pet. You are my last hope. Circle far and wide. Search for a maid with Y/H/C locs and lips as red as the first bloomed rose in late spring. Go and do not fail me." The crow flys off through the giant window and Malificent feels her last thread of hope dwindle slightly.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

"Boy will she be surprised." One of your guardians runs away from the door and to the sewing draw. "A real birthday party!" another of the women chimes. "With a real birthday cake!" The last of the women sighs almost dreamily whilst grabbing a recipe book. The woman in red (Florah) sticks her head from the ottoman filled with fabrics and needles with a gorgeous, long pink piece of fabric draped over her arms. "Oh yes. And a dress that only a princess can be proud of." The smallest of the 3 women dressed in blue (Merryweather) trecks up the stairs whilst exclaiming "I'll get the wands!" Florah nods "Yes you g- wait, the wands? No! We can't be using the wands! No magic remember." Merryweather dejectedly walks down the stairs. "But the twenty-one years are almost over!" Florah scowls and places the pink fabric along with a large sewing kit into Merryweather's arms as she walks off and opens a large cupboard. "No. We are not going to take any chances." Merryweather's lips form a small 'o' in shock. "B-but I can't bake a cake! Let alone a fancy one..." Florah closes the cupboard and pulls out another long pink fabric roll. Finally the woman dressed in green (Fauna) interjects. "Oh you won't have to dear! I'll be doing the baking." Merry turns Fauna in shock. "You!?"

Florah places the newer fabric into Merry's tored arm and softly says "Oh, she's always wanted to dear. And this is her last chance!" Merry tilts her he'd he'd consideration before Fauna speaks. "I'm going to make it fifteen layers! Oh and it will have pink and blue forget-me-nots." The shortest of the women stares in horror as Florah adds "Oh! And I'm making the dress." Merry splutters. "But...you can't sew. And she has never even cooked!" Florah laughs and begins to grab things from around the room "Oh how hard can it be? All you need to do is follow the book. Up here dear." She gently nudges Merry onto the stool she just moved. "You can be my dummy." Merry doesn't even think about Florah's words before she objects. "Well I still say we ought to do magic!" Florah throws the fabric onto Merryweather to silence her and begins to cut said fabric as Fauna begins to happily hum and lay out the ingredients for her elaborate cake.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You wander aimlessly in the forest you've become so accustomed to in all of these years. You find yourself hanging along so a song that your carers have sung your whole life. With no need to be embarrassed as you were the only one for miles, you begin to fully sing the song whilst still looking around for some berries (how your household apparently managed to eat them so quickly is beyond you).

Unbeknownst to you, an orange clad man riding on his horse through the forest does in fact hear you. "Do you hear that Samson? It's beautiful." The horse starts at his owner's clearly awestruck tone. Samson begins to trot forward as the man on top of him turns around in attempt to find the source of the noise. "What is it? Come on... let's find out." The man pulls on the reins and forces the pair to turn around and venture in the direction of the noise yet the horse resists once again. Oscar rolls his eyes and leans down so he's level with the horses giant ear. "Would you do it for an extra bucket of oats?" He doesn't even have time to sit back up before the horse is spinning around and fastly trotting towards the direction of the melodic sound. "Woah!" At his owner's voice, Sampson turns around and looks down to find a dreched Oscar sitting in a puddle on the floor. He guiltily moves towards the man on the floor when Oscar wades his hand through the water and splashes Samson. "No carrots for you."

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

After you finish your singing session you found your regular companions, the various wildlife creatures in the forest, make for good listeners. "They never want me to meet anyone." You skim your foot over the pond to your side. "But do you want to know something? I fooled them! I have met someone!" You stand up and put on an elaborate display for the various birds and quires who looked like they were hanging on to your every word. "Well he's tall and handsome and-" You pluck a Berry from a brach above your head. "And ever so romantic." You skip to the trunk of another tree, continuing to pit on a show for the animals. "We walk together. We talk together and before we say goodbye he takes me into his arms." You gaze up at the trees as if in a trance of lovely thoughts "And then I wake up." You hear the animal equivalents of disgruntled sighs at your words. "Yet people say if you dream of something enough, it's sure to come true!" Lost in your romantic soliloquy once again, you fail to notice the shift in the nails attention and a giant orange cloak being hind on a branch not far from you. "And I've seen him so many times." You sigh in longing.

On the otherside of the tree, Oscar begins speaking to his own animal as he removes one of his boots. "You know Samson, there weas something too good to be true about that voice. Too beautiful to really exist."Oscar takes the other of his damp boots, empties the water from it and places it next to the other to dry. "It was probably a figment of my imagination. Or maybe some mythical creature. A forest fairy maybe?" Oscar is the lost in his own thoughts to realise that two small rabbits have waeslesd themselves in his boots and taken off with them. But by the time he has, it's far too late. "Wait! Stop!"

You don't ponder how the animals acquired random clothes (they've done much stranger things). But as an owl approaches you in a thick orange jacket, you can't help but continue your playfully nature from  earlier. "Oh wow, it's my dream prince!" You bow at the prince (various birds with a cloak) "Your highness. You know, I shouldn't be speaking to strangers... But we've met before." You begin to hum a tune whilst dancing with the animals dressed in many pieces of clothing, almost bringing yoir dream prince to life.

Oscar peeks his head out from a bush as he hears that majestic noise begin again and both him and Samson are left speechless at the sight. In front of him is the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen singing and dancing with- wait. Is that his travel cloak?

You spin once again and Oscar jumps behind you to join in with your dance. This time he is the one saying with you as he hums along to your singing. You open your eyes as the song ends only to see the animals in front of you. So who's behind you? You open your eyes widely in shock and pull away from the being and turn to see who you were dancing with at the end. Yet you find yourself at a loss for words as you see the most dreamy, charming and attractive man in front of you ; and you find yourself thinking that he is so much better than the man of your dreams.

You gasp in shock and pull away, your guardians words of strangers ringing in your ears, yet he continues to chase your figure and traps your hand in between his two hands I a gentle embrace. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." You pull away, trying not to get lost in his presence. "Oh it wasn't that-" Oscar follows you. "It's just that you're a-" He takes your hand with his in an attempt to not let you (who he's beginning to think is the live if his life) escape. "A stranger?" You hum in  agreeance with his words. He gives you a grin and it takes very thing within you not to melt into a tiny puddle. "But don't you remember? We've met before." You furrow your brows in confusion "We have?" He nods and smiles at you again "Oh yeah. You said so yourself. Once upon a dream."

You blush and turn away from the man yet he begins to repeat your song back to you. You slowly duck behind a tree and turn to see if he's following only to be met with his attempts to take your hand into his. You say aways from the touch but as your little 'dance' continues, you can't help but feel your cheeks begin to break out in a soft smile. At this he reaches out for your hand once more and you finally let him take it. You did yourself melting into the embrace as the two if you sing, hum and dance together along the waters age and you truly feel as if you've met this man before once upon a dream.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome.

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @minkyungseokie

[fishbrainboy]

secret relations

summary: you and Jenna have something going on behind the scenes but she's not as committed as you might think

a/n: bro idk what this is ima go make noodles have a good read

word count 939

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

You watch the scene Infront of you with an amused smirk on your face as Jenna drums her fingers impatiently on the desk, the interviewer directs yet another crude question your way “so y/n a lot of the fans have been blown away by your latest sex scene” she turns to Jenna's a gleam in her eye “Jenna what's it like to be in such an intimate scene with someone as attractive as y/n I think everyone wants to know what it's like to be under her” Jenna's hand clenches in the soft fabric of the table cloth eyes going dark for a split second before the professional face came over “the more intimate scenes are a lot easier with someone who can stay as in character as y/n especially with how kind she is when someone makes a mistake on set” she took a deep breath “I do believe that's all the time we have, busy schedule and all”

before you know it she's up and dragging you out of the room you stumble over your feet she may be small but god that girl moves fast you giggle as she pushes you into the supply closet you bump into the shelves “ah fuck Jen” the rest of your complaint is quickly silenced by her lips on yours her fists clenching in your jacket pulling you as close to her tiny frame as possible your hands find their way to her hips as you Mold together perfectly she pulls away that dark look back in her eye “I hate when people ask those questions I mean first of all how un professional and second of all do you have no shame? Practically eye fucking what's mine right Infront of me” “what's yours? Careful there Ortega your starting to sound sentimental over there” oh that was the wrong thing to say and you know it as soon as the cursed words leave your mouth, her face falls flat void of all emotion, god you detest that look you watch not even bothering to say anything as she straightens out her shirt and tie Jenna gives you a once over before she leaves muttering a goodbye you don't catch, you slump to the wall mind reeling, how stupid can one person get I mean she finally starts showing possession and you open your big mouth and put your foot in it again, you smack yourself on the forehead “stupid fucking idiot” you let out a groan as you pull yourself up and start your long drive back to your apartment.

You manage to get yourself lost 3 times on the way out of the random building your manager had sent you too for the onslaught of interviews You'd had that day, and you could deal with all that but as soon as your keys slipped right through your fingers and hitting the floor with a rough clang the noise echoing in your eardrums you officially declared this the worst day ever you throw your door open and it lets out a defiant squeal thumping into your apartment and throwing yourself down on the sofa you call the only person on your mind her tone is clipped obviously still mad about your previous comment “y/n its half 10 at night why are you not in bed?” the sound of her voice breaks you down fingers trembling gripping the phone in an iron grip as the tears start to fall “I'm sorry Jen it's just” she cuts you off her demeanour doing a 180 from the cold and distant person she was moments ago “oh honey don't cry or apologise I'll be round in half an hour yeah?” this makes. ire tears fall you choke out a yes and the call is over before its even started, you pull a blanket over your shoulders and snuggle in wondering what version of Jenna you're going it have stood at your apartment door today.

Your answer comes quicker than expected, she must have sped her whole way over, you open the door eyes puffy from crying you stare at each other for a moment deep brown eyes meeting y/e/c orbs your lips part in anticipation but she breaks your normal sex driven cycle and throws herself into your chest arms wrapping tight around you stumbling back in Suprise you regain your balance leaning forward to swing your creaky door shut lacing your fingers in her hair and breathing her in you feel the waterworks start again, she pulls you gently to your sofa sitting you down and wrapping you in her arms “talk to me sweetie, what's going on” her voice is soft and it curls around you making you open your mouth without a second thought “it's all just so overwhelming the interviews the flying god last month I didn't even know what fucking day it was Jenna and you, don't even get me started on you one second you love me and I'm yours the next moment I'm just your coworker you shrug me off then have sex with mw in some random closet” your eyes widen as it dawns on you what you've just said, her eyes gleam with something you can't quite make out she hushes you pulling you into her chest “you need rest darling we will talk when you wake up” you hum in response suddenly feeling as if you hadn't slept in weeks, you stay like that a while Jenna's hands running through your hair listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat you're not sure when you fell asleep, but when you wake up Shes gone.  

[selidren]

Automne 1939 - Champs-les-Sims

3/7

Nous avons passé l'été dans une ambiance étrange, un peu lourde. Il y avait d'un côté cette insouciance incroyable et cette envie de profiter avant que les lendemains ne déchantent, et de l'autre cette angoisse sourde. Je ne faisais que penser à Ange et à mes deux frères. De son côté, Maman essayait de faire des pieds et des mains avec Tante Rose par lettre interposées pour essayer de dispenser Antoine et Jean-François de servir. Je pense très sérieusement qu'il a été question de les estropier. Heureusement que les principaux intéressés n'en ont rien su. Je pense que Maman ferait n'importe quoi pour épargner la guerre à ses fils, surtout après ce qui est arrivé à Papa et Oncle Adelphe, mais aussi à Oncle Zéphir, Oncle Clément et au père d'Ange. Tante Juliette a essayé d'expédier son fils en Australie ou en Amérique du Sud, en se disant sans doute qu'on n'irait pas le chercher là-bas, mais cet idiot a envie de se battre parait-il ! Sans compter qu'il vient d'avoir un fils.

Concernant les filles, elles n'ont fait mine de rien. Louise est trop jeune pour vraiment saisir ce qui se passe, mais les jumelles sont trop futées pour leur propre bien, Elisabeth en particulier. Elles ont passé leur temps à poser des question à leur père.

Ceci étant dit, moi je n'avais rien vu venir. Quand la radio en a parlé, évoquant la ridicule opération "polonaise" à Gleiwitz, je me suis dit que personne de sérieux n'utiliserait un prétexte si fallacieux pour entrer en guerre. Mais ça a été fait. Et nous sommes entrés en guerre dans la foulée. Traite moi de sans cœur si tu le souhaites, mais j'aurai aimé que nous laissions la Pologne se débrouiller avec les nazis. Il faut dire que nous sommes entrés en guerre à leurs côtés, et que nous les avons, de fait, laissés se débrouiller pendant que nous surveillons nos propres frontières. C'est d'un hypocrite !

Transcription :

Elisabeth « Papa, est-ce que tu penses qu’il y avoir une guerre ? »

Ange « Ma chérie, je n’ai ni envie de jouer les haruspices ni les oiseaux de mauvaise augure... »

Elisabeth « Mais on en parle partout ! A la radio, dans les journaux, même au collège ! Et moi, je veux savoir ce que toi tu en penses. »

Ange « Ecoute, rien n’est encore fait et loin de là. J’en penses que cela ne sert à rien de se faire du mauvais sang. »

Elisabeth « Mais si il y a une guerre, tu devras partir n’est-ce pas ? Moi je ne veux pas que tu y ailles. Je ne veux pas que tu meures. »

Ange « Oh ma chérie, tu n’as pas à t’en faire pour ça, ton Papa ne risque rien ! Ce n’est pas quelques balles qui vont l’empêcher de retourner auprès de ses filles chéries ! »

Elisabeth « Papa, s’il te plaît, je n’ai plus huit ans ! Arrête de me parler comme à une gamine. »

Ange « C’est que je ne sais pas vraiment quoi te répondre. Je n’ai aucune idée de ce qui va se passer. »

Elisabeth « Tu as peur ? »

Ange « Oui, bien sur que j’ai peur. Personne ne désire partir en guerre, personne ! En tous cas, personne de sain d’esprit. Et par les temps qui courent, j’ai l’impression que les hommes sains d’esprit ne sont pas légions. Mais si guerre il y a, bien sur que j’irai. C’est mon devoir, tu sais. »

Elisabeth « Oncle Antoine dis que la guerre est une boucherie sans nom où des hommes qui ne se connaissent pas se tuent au nom de gens qui se connaissent mais ne se tuent pas. Une abomination... »

Ange « Ton oncle massacre bien proprement la citation, mais je peux difficilement lui donner tort. Ceci étant dit, si nous sommes envahis, je ne vais pas rester ici les bras croisés à attendre l’ennemi, et je pense qu’Oncle Antoine non plus. Je ne veux pas qu’il vous arrive malheur, à toi, ta sœur et ta mère. La plupart des hommes qui partent à la guerre sans en avoir envie se disent au moins qu’ainsi, ils protégeront leurs familles. »

Elisabeth « C’est terrifiant. »

Ange « Je le sais bien, mais hélas, ce n’est pas à nous de décider. J’aimerais que tu arrête de trop réfléchir à tout ça. »

Elisabeth « Franchement, est-ce que quelqu’un peut ? »

Ange « Non, tu as raison, excuses moi. Cependant, je te promet que le jour où je devrai aller me battre, je ferai attention. Quand je dis que ton Papa n’a aucune intention de vous laisser seules, je suis sérieux. Certes, mon devoir est auprès de mon pays. Mais mon devoir le plus impérieux est auprès de vous. Mon obligation la plus vitale est de tout faire pour rester en vie et revenir auprès de vous dans un monde en paix. »

[stanjames-world-3]

Malgré tout l'explication il n'a rien compris 😂

Slice of life...

Bonnnnn !!! Avec le kit de survie de Manu et à lire sont petit livret expliquant qu'il faut fermer portes et fenêtres en cas d’attaque nucléaire... ont vas tous ressembler a sa !!!! enfin ils vas éssayer de nous y prendre pour des C.. mais les Français ne sont pas tous des Dindonneau....😂🤣🤣.... Enfin j'espère !!!

Ps . Et si ont faisait un petit retour a l’envoyeur, histoire qu’ils comprennent que l’ont est pas si idiot !!!Non?? 😏😉

[sgiandubh]

A tale of two brands

Sophie Mancini's Departures paper on S in NY started a flurry of comments even before the whole content was made available on blogs. That people - mostly in Mordor - jumped in to add their two booing cents on the matter, based on two or three Instagram Story screencaps only, is a testimony to Tumblr's community deep interest in S's slightest PR/sales move and the easiness with which people like *urv managed to push their own agenda, in the process, to her unsuspecting, bicep-loving crowd.

Many of these comments asked just one question, more or less kindly and more or less openly: who are you, Sam Roland Heughan? Some of them, more along my alley, took a different angle: who are you talking to, Sam Roland Heughan?

Let me count the US crowds: the Wall Street yuppie crowd? the old money, WASP Knickerbocker / Colony Club crowd? Tribeca's sophisticated, culture-ish snob crowd? the UN international crowd? the laid-back (-ish) brownstone Brooklyn crowd? the DC politico types? the Boston Brahmin crowd? the Silicon Valley Bitcoin crowd? the Florida Latino crowd? the Bible Belt crowd? the Deep South charmingly old-fashioned crowd? the yee-haw, witty and ambitious Texans? the gourmet, nature-loving Seattle crowd? I am sure I am missing some (it's been a while I haven't traveled to the States and I have to say I miss all 50 of them, plus and perhaps above all my beloved DC :), but you get the idea. And the problem, or rather its first layer.

The second question this very poorly written article prompted is: what are you talking about, Sam Roland Heughan? I mean, what destination are you trying to promote? Scotland, through your Scottish gin, which I truly believe is exceptional? The Big Apple, like a counterpart to Sting, you know - a Scotsman in New York? That's not very clear, since that superficial girl just whirled you to a couple Chinatown speakeasies, rat pitter-patter included (bye-bye, Knickerbocker crowd right there) and that's pretty much it. New Zealand, that you mention at length, Maori tattoo story re-hashed, just because the book comes out next Tuesday? Ha-wa-wee, perhaps in a belated attempt to mitigate Tunagate? California, even, because it takes you back to humble beginnings? Granted, the Frisco one, not LA: that would be a horrible faux-pas, in a NY centered paper, much like me whimsically and idiotically mentioning Istanbul (instead of Constantinople), in a conversation with my Greek friends.

My head spins. And then let's add to that a ladle of recycled talking points, yours and C's altogether, like this gem:

Aspirational. Mmmhm. She said that. You said that. Multiple times, in multiple contexts that probably didn't even call for it. This is *** PR right there. I am not JAMMF. I am not Claire. But we aspire to that. Stop thinking we are these characters. No sane fan ever did: the insistence is unnecessary and has a real backfire potential. Stop thinking, period. But let it be my shipper sin, then, not to believe an iota of it and stubbornly think you people are, by now, way past the aspirational stage.

So, I took a long walk down memory lane today, while driving, trying to understand what the hell your personal brand is. Once upon a time, things were clear: you and C were a single brand. S&C - the fresh-faced, candid, witty and funny and oh, so in love new kids on the block. The spark was real and it was strong (it still is, only dampened and muted by PR-prompted shenanigans) and OL's audience was under its spell. People loved you, both of you, and some of us still do. You showed us as much as you could and for a while, it seemed to be convenient for just about everybody. That created expectations, but at the same time, you could have sold us land concessions on the Moon and we would have bought them, no questions asked.

And then, things happened. We know what: IFH, EFH, Remarkable Week-end. The spell was broken for many, who left in droves. Fans turned into bashing other fans. The S&C brand was progressively compromised and along with it, your Barbour Ambassadorship (for different reasons). Let's stop a bit at this point, in fond remembrance: that was the perfect pitch, for the perfect kind of corporate brand, for the perfect niche, for the perfect guy. A guy who had a credible, authentic story to tell, with a really strong potential to attract people outside of OL's crowd. Image and message perfectly aligned. Best case scenario.

So, with ***'s and your own PR benediction, what once was your solid gold starting point was ridiculed, trampled, shot to shambles, in a (failed) attempt to be sent to complete oblivion. You then had to think of something and try to branch out of both the blessing and curse of it.

MPC suddenly became more important than just any other charity project, of which there were a few (Cahonas Scotland comes to mind, the blood cancer one, as well). Cue in Sam the Athlete, Sam the Healthy Living Evangelist. The project was turned into a lucrative business, with a strong charity side. People bought subscriptions, people changed their eating and lifestyle habits, people lost weight - but really, I shouldn't write 'people', but 'women'. This was a women-oriented endeavor. A problem, again, on the long term.

Ha-wa-wee 1 happened, to more scandal and shrieks (that, I believe, was the reason you lost the Barbour project, another gold opportunity squandered because ten Internet bitches knew better). Then we were told another avatar was born: Sam the Entrepreneur. With a genuine, carefully curated, labor of love first alcohol product that clearly used the discarded S&C brand: The Sassenach and believe what you want, but just buy it. Mommies obliged. Antis obliged. Shippers obliged. All wallets are created equal, as I (often) use to say. And then COVID-19 came, putting a very real, very dangerous logistic strain on it.

Yet, you still had to somehow mitigate delays and losses. The Sassenach went exotic, with that limited edition tequila that probably won't be remembered by many outside OL's fandom, and that is a pity and a shame. The reason it won't be remembered is that you almost did not promote it, spare one or two Tick-Tock and Instagram clips. Does that justify the investment, the trips to Mexico, the very expensive retainers and commissions your tequila friends took for their trouble? I very much doubt it. That was, until being proved completely wrong, a flop. It brought absolutely nothing in terms of personal branding, spare perhaps a new faction in this paranoid cesspool of a fandom: the Gay Crowd, fueled by the image of a Lonely Bandana Cowboy, instead of the intended Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur. Yes, people are stupid, like that. Your PR and Sales team, too - and this comes from a place of deep understanding and appreciation.

We are now talking gin and boy, am I glad we do! This is perhaps an opportunity. Finally, a more democratically price-tagged, carefully tailored (again) drawing card product. But who is selling it to me? The California Boat Party Host? In that case, I won't buy it, but never mind me: maybe the fun-loving California Millennials would (we know the Smuggling Mommies would do it, anyways). The Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur you tried to show us again in Mancini's abysmal Departures paper and who is invited to important events, in recognition of his efforts?

You can't have the two of them, Sam, whatever those incompetents told you. You're either a 43-years old midlife crisis-stricken and shirtless clown or an Old World Industrious Thespian, with a stature and a status to match. A real Entrepreneur, not a cartoon scuba diver/beach boy Influencer. Eye Candy vs. Brain Power: after all, you are a '3x NYT best selling author', aren't you? Your pick, not mine. Stop the Sri Mataji-style Hugging and Booze tours: it's nonsense and that geriatric crowd is nowhere near what you need to make your dream come true. Do some real soul searching and stop listening to clueless 28-year old journalists, who tell you tacky rings are fun: they aren't. They make you look like an ageing Atlantic City Sinatra wannabe:

Sam Roland Heughan: currently at crossroads, trying to not choose between two opposite personal brands. Tricky position and an even trickier context, with the strike still lingering on and the pressing need to find an after OL strategy.

I promised you a tale of two brands and I think you wonder, by now, what happened to C, the other half of the primary SC brand?

The answer is, I honestly believe, not much. She has no personal brand, so to speak. Until now, she is just an Enthusiastic Dilettante. Book Club - started, unfinished and with that, farewell to any fan engagement. Cinema production rights - bought and then silence. Botanical Gin - first batch released (?) with no promo, no interviews (mentioning it in a podcast does not count), no reviews. Then teasing, then crickets again: a bit late, now, for the end of year celebrations. And I have to say I miss her or the part of her I never witnessed in real time (is such a thing possible?). I miss that starry-eyed, funny and witty girl. That girl was somehow completely swallowed by an Acrid Matron, who thought it was intelligent to yell at an Internet nobody, on Christmas Day, 'I am not married to Sam!' (ok, you aren't, but you're still lying). And I honestly don't know which one is best (or worst, for that matter): try to build something and make mistakes and try again until you hopefully find your way, or say nothing, do nothing and of course, never be controversial.

Now I am really interested to see how is she going to promote her gin. But you know what, I am not holding my breath, for some reason.

[councillor-roland]

Seth, in spite of the implications behind the word 'councilman' that Roland was not ignorant of thanks to the witch's tone, had tried to prevent all hell from breaking loose. Admittedly, Roland had helped it along and he gave him a look when he was asked if he knew where Chicago was. So he wasn't trying that hard but he was trying which was to his credit. Such a question didn't deserve a response. He listened politely to the information he'd asked for and would've responded when the shoe finally dropped before anyone had really eaten anything and the cambion suddenly fired off a rather impressive amount of vitriol. Roland blinked, not having quite expected that though he'd certainly expected something to happen. The complete disrespect and insults hurled Rhys' way quickly roused his anger and his expression hardened considerably. How dare this cambion treat Rhys of all people in such a way? He'd already thought little of him from their previous interaction but with this on top of it? Well, Roland was very much inclined to attack him for it. He knew he couldn't, Krovs Town was different than the castle, but the will for violence tensed his muscles and made his eyes flash. He had to work so hard to suppress the urge to run over and rip Shade's throat out that he didn't interrupt before the cambion's ire was turned on him. Rhys got a few words in just before that but Roland was still trying to swallow his sudden rage too much to really appreciate them. He'd gone unnaturally still with his efforts aside from the cigarette between his fingers getting crushed. While normally Roland did not react well to any insult hurled his way and fired them back just as hotly, he hardly cared what venom Shade spewed at him when he felt that everything he'd said to Rhys was worse. Shade stormed away but Roland wasn't about to let him get away with any of that. "How dare you!?" He snapped, discarding the mess of his cigarette onto the floor as he followed Shade to the bar. Roland was hardly going to respect the cambion's property given the disrespect he'd shown Rhys. "Speaking to a councilman like you just have is bad enough and an excellent way to earn a collar around your neck. But to sling your filth at Rhys, a man so much your better that you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as him? There you've made a grave error. T’es vraiment un roi des cons!" He shook his head, still finding it hard not to just reach over and strangle the asshole where he stood. "I hope you've enjoyed your life in this town up until now because it's all about to change, starting with this sad little establishment, and ending only when I think you've suffered enough." Roland would ruin him, he was determined now. No one was allowed to attack someone he loved in such a vulgar way without retaliation. Spinning on his heel, he tugged at his suit jacket and shot Seth a disdainful look as he walked past him, hoping Shade would be foolish enough to physically attack him with his back turned. Then Roland would have reason to retaliate in any way he saw fit. "What a stupid pet you've chosen to keep." He fired it at Seth, not waiting for a reply as he followed Rhys outside. He was still simmering with rage but something he'd just thought caught up to him before he reached Rhys. No one was allowed to attack someone he loved...Oh no. All the fury and indignation he felt was for Rhys. The insults sent his way might as well have slid right off him and that was not how it normally went. Oh no. Had he been anyone else, Roland's step may have faltered at that realisation but he managed to keep walking, just. It was lucky he was already incredibly pale as a vampire since it felt as though the colour would have drained from his face otherwise. He reached Rhys and put an arm around him, protective, drawing him closer but he didn't say anything, didn't feel like he could. Let Rhys still think he was incandescent with rage because...because this was a problem, a very big problem.

@witchysethharper

"A councilman," Seth filled in for Shade. He drawled the word out, everything he wanted to say –– and assumed the cambion next to him intended to say as well –– either subtly or not so subtly implied behind the response. Blood-sucking, entitled, overdramatic, pompous prick. He snorted out a laugh at Shade's little comment not missing the innuendo there that brought his fluctuating mood back up. Sipping his drink also helped with that and at this point he was already more than halfway through it. He flashed Rhys a lopsided grin as he accepted the older witch's offering of his drink and held off on drinking it for now until he got some food in him. No need to go from a good vibe to a bad place when he was already sitting across from Roland being... Roland. "I'm fine, thanks dad. I can handle my alcohol."

He was trying for Rhys' sake despite how difficult it was to keep his mouth shut with that super punchable face on the other end of the table. The tequila kept burning through whatever thin filter he had left. "We met, what? Like almost ten years ago, wasn't it?" He looked to Shade for confirmation like he'd remember better than Seth. Dude still didn't know when Seth's birthday was. Definitely almost ten years ago he'd been going on 23 or 24 when they met. "In Chicago, have you heard of it?" He glanced at Roland then, dead serious in that question like the vampire who'd lived for over a thousand years must not have heard of that city. He continued speaking in between picking at things on his plate. "We both lived there. I was dealing out vertigo and he found his way into my life then. Sold him some shit and we hit off and then we fucked around a bit. Lost touch for a couple years and then we reunited here in Krovs almost two years ago."

@shadedempsey