#he’s so fine I can’t function
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MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MU MAN
we’re married. trust.
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oh my days. him w glasses will be the death of me.
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#zayne love and deepspace#lads zayne#lnds zayne#l&ds zayne#dr zayne#im going insane#he’s so fine I can’t function#zayne
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Question of the hour: Which member of the Chain is emotionally intelligent enough to know why Sky had a complete meltdown in my story, Numb, because otherwise they’re all gonna be like “that was weird” and Sky’s gonna be like “yeah can we never talk about this again” and the consensus will be halfway agreeing and then watching Sky out of the corner of their eyes because what the hell even was that
#lu sky#I mean… to the chain Sky had been just doing fine and in the background for a month#and then suddenly threatened murder and sobbed himself into oblivion#like it came out of NOWHERE to them#and Sky is so good at compartmentalizing at this point because of his adventure#that even he doesn’t know what happened#SOMEBODY has to figure it out#or I guess nobody will and Sky will keep doing it over and over#until he can’t even function anymore
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guys hear me out would painis cupcake pay taxes? Because he’s not like mega insane like ass pancakes I think he’d pay his taxes in my professional opinion.
#I also had a conversation with my friend about if he had to wear a suit why would he#We discussed for a very long while(6 minutes) and the discussion was very enlightening#Slowly turning painis into a functional human in society…#Except you know he eats people that isn’t really stuff normal people do#this is a joke btw#I think he would pay his taxes but if the tax people are rude to him he wouldn’t#I think it really depends#Does he even have any taxes to pay? Because he doesn’t have a job I assume so he doesn’t have any money#But theoretically if he’s like working for another freak and he’s getting paid or something#Idk guys I might be going a little bit bonkers… he’s helping me get out of art block at least#Oh I hope all these tags don’t accidentally show up in another tag that would be bad I’ve seen that happen#I’ve already typed so much though#It’d be funny if there was painis angst because I wouldn’t be able to take it seriously because his name is penis basically#Why am I only saying painis I’m going to tag him anyway#Painis cupcake#there#alright anyways painis cupcake angst would be fucking hilarious imo#My professional opinion#Mmhmmm I’m a professional in being stupid#My friends will call me spedpool on hallowen#I took 2 yardsticks in stem and I pretended to be said guy in the red suit I don’t want to tag him because I don’t want someone to#Find this unhinged rant about painis cupcake that got way off track woah#Ok continuing on the painis rant#I can’t draw him with pencil for some reason he looks so weird#I can draw soldeir just fine with pencil probably even better than online but whenever I try to draw painis he looks like a pile of dog shi#A moist pile the kind that would make steam if it’s cold outside#I feel like it he tried painis cupcake would really be a great functional citizen#Oh wow I wrote a lot my bad
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Hi pook 😢 ( sorry if u don’t like the nickname) but I’ve been reading your series and I am reading Into the Fire (chapter 8) and I’m just wondering why you made Sokka give in so easily when people tell him to control himself that’s not Zuko. Because I would imagine that he would be more stubborn and more focused on what he wants instead of being caring. Even though he’s a caring and kind person I feel like being in prison would make him more selfish and less understanding of other people if than makes sense 😭
Like it just aggravates me when I see Katara try to idk really baby him and control him a bit (not mentally) it just kind of annoys me. Because even though Sokka loves his Sister I feel like he shouldn’t listen to her for real.
But that’s just me because that’s my opinion coming from someone behind has anger issues/ gets angry easily 🤷♀️
I love love love this series btw!!!!
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I added your other ask too so I could respond to both! Hiiii hellooooo I don’t mind nicknames it’s actually nice because then I can keep anons apart haha
as for your comment about sokka I gotta say you’re probably the first person to tell me sokka isn’t angry enough haha. Which is fine because everyone’s allowed to have their own opinions, but my thoughts on LIAB angry sokka is his intelligence is often battling his emotions. I think sokka is smart enough to know he isn’t supposed to be lashing out at people the way he is or clinging to Zuko so tightly to where they both can’t breathe. i also think he is desperate to be back to his “old self” without actually wanting to be his old self. I do think he is fighting his path to healing every step of the way but even with all the time spent in prison he is still SOKKA. He cares for people he loves his family and he knows from watching his parents growing up what a healthy relationship looks like - his codependency to zuko is probably not it. I doubt it will change much, but when people tell him ‘you need to chill’ Sokka is very much like I FUCKING KNOW BUT I HAVE NO CHILL!!! NONE! ZERO CHILL.
but I can’t imagine sokka wanting to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Or fighting his friends and family to isolate himself anymore than he already is. I have learned that writing a more emotionally triggering fic does stir up emotions in people and causes them to project onto the characters a bit which is fine but everyone processing trauma differently. & sokka is doing it his own way just like zuko is.
Also…. This is a fanfic and I don’t know if people wanna read sokka being a raging asshole for 50k… so some of the realism in healing gets lost to word count because unfortunately I can’t spend years and 1000k helping these boys overcome their trauma so some of it has to be rushed a little for word count / plot purposes haha.
Liiiiiiisten here pooki-anon you come yell at me anytime about liab I’ll be right here to soak up every word! Thanks for the ask I’m glad you’re enjoying the series!!
#I have tried to take my time with the healing arc#Because we spent SO MUCH TIME dismantling the boys#I wanted to give them the change to be somewhat put back together to where they can at least function#I do agree with you anon!#Sokka could be 10000x angrier he could close up and say fuck off to everyone but it’s just another hurdle to climb over#His anger has been a reoccurring theme because I do write liab sokka angry#He has a right to be angry too!!#But I don’t know if people wanna sit and read sokka going in circles with his anger anymore than he already has#I love love love a good healing arc and I’m trying to take my time with the boys but….#*word count and plot point and me eventually wanting to work on a project that isn’t LIAB haha*#I do think sokkas a mess right now#But damn it I want him and zuko to snuggle and him and Katara to laugh and his dad and him to pal around and toph and Aang to give him shit#And momo to pull his ears and appa lick him and idk all the fun sokka stuff we miss#I can’t do that if sokka won’t be open to healing and being less angry#Which is why I’m allowing him to progress haha#Ugh now we gotta work on zuko!! ->#Zuko: “why I’m fine??”#Boy is NOT FINE but he is damn good at acting fine haha#Thanks for the ask anon#Ill#give you the tag#Pookianon#Liab#ITF#ask
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ranking my favorite horror villains by who would piss off my strict Asian family members the most if I brought them home for dinner
the answer is All of Them bc I haven’t finished school yet
#noises from the attic#I’m half asleep I could do this tho#I’m thinking of this bc iirc bloody brahms had some headcanons abt slashers meeting y/n’s big Italian family#I don’t rly talk to the other side of my family so idk what they’d think#Winslow would be fine but he’d start a fight with anyone who says art is not a ‘real job’#bubba would make an off impression bc he can’t talk and he’d be shy without a mask#but I think like he’d be super helpful and polite and kids would love him#Beauregard……….#I think he could Be Normal for once lmao#dude might need a primer on some stuff but I think he’d love to shoot the shit with some old uncles#catch him taking shots of Hennessy and stuff#I think Bo would just love going to family functions / parties where they have a whole roast pig n such. bubba ofc for the pork as well#maybe I’ll put this shit not in the tags next time
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୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.
satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.
𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ノ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3
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satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him.
he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them.
but then again, satoru isn’t like most people.
which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him.
you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.
in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right?
by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan.
the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death.
or trying to, anyway.
“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.”
“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it.
“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing?
“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.”
your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”
“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?”
“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat.
“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne.
“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.”
“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.”
“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.”
yes, that thing.
two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it.
“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.”
“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.”
you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!”
“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”
“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.”
“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.”
“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.
“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.
“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.”
“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons.
he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument.
“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?”
“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling.
“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?”
“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.
getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.
“are you wearing vaporub?”
#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk x reader
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BOOMSHAKALAKA 💥 HOW BIG ARE HIS HANDS?! istg this is NOT an average “guys have big hands” thing, his fingers are as big as my ovulation period damn.
YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS BIG? HIS THIGHS! so big they didn’t fit in the screenshot. bro did not take military training lightly.
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🗣️ so you’re telling me he walks around wearing SLEEVELESS SHIRTS?! hell yeah i’m licking his biceps AS WE SPEAK.
also, the shadowing on his muscles? tell me this game doesn’t want me dead.
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the side profile deserved it’s own screenshot. i swear infold keep making this fine men obsessed with us urgh
WHAT THE FUCK is going on with his eyes, someone pls explain to me. the glowing is not normal, it’s giving FERAL/YEARNING/I NEED YOU WITH ME TO PROPERLY FUNCTION i fear. i mean, hell yeah.
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lastly, but not least. “you can’t leave without my permission” ?????? are we going to pretend this is not hotly concerning ??????
also the unbuttoned shirt? BRO WHERE YO CLOTHES AT?! tell me they didn’t gave us his military uniform unbuttoned and his scars poking out. TELL ME.
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i’m sorry for the unfiltered post. just watched his trailer and wished i was here when the other boys were being revealed :( infold you won’t see me complaining until the 22nd comes, i’ve been FEED. thank you. yes, there will be more caleb content released on this blog this week. yes, i am already at 4k on the new work i’m writing for him. no, i’m not even in the middle yet. yes, i’ll be writing gravity play with him soon.
(i just posted babes!!!) click here.
#ᴢᴇʀᴏᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs#caleb lads#love and deepspace#lads zayne#dr zayne#lads#l&ds zayne#zayne love and deepspace#zayne#lnds zayne#lads rafayel#lads xavier#caleb x you#caleb love and deepspace#caleb fluff#lads caleb#love and deepspace caleb#caleb x mc#caleb x reader#lnds caleb#caleb
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ok the promised Lucy Lore Post. a messy assemblage of details with various degrees of relevance to each other
~ Ulysses is bigender but not genderfluid, he’s always in a state of being both man and lady simultaneously in a way that doesn’t tend to shift, and you can use binary gendered pronouns/terms interchangeably for her at any moment. but also the ‘femme socialite’ persona is a mostly separate identity for Spy Purposes and uses a pseudonym (that i haven’t come up with yet), and as this persona she’s mostly just presenting as a woman, in order to further distinguish this persona from her preferred masc style in daily life. She has Some Fun with the manipulations of the social game, while also having a simmering animosity for all the irksome gentlepersons she’s got to rub elbows with and the stifling act of civility she must maintain to get any use out of the endeavour.
~ Ulysses’s background is still pretty flexible, but the current baseline is: She grew up well-off in Edinburgh, her family comfortably middle-class and financially secure. But one day in her youth, her immediate family (two parents and an older brother I think) just vanished without a trace, leaving Ulysses with no indication as to whether this was the result of a mysterious demise or an intentional relocation. He feels Weird about it. He wasn’t particularly close with any of them and doesn’t think he grieves them, and this is not a Nemesis situation where he’s looking for revenge, but… it was a significant and distressing event and there is that lingering need to know Why. Why did it happen, and why was he left behind, alone? He did use the event as an opportunity to shed his old identity; she could go missing, too. He began to present as masc and claimed himself to be a relative of the family. He managed to secure some of his inheritance, and got into Edinburgh medical school (He wasn’t Cognizant that he was trans at the time but slowly worked it out via the euphoria of presenting as a guy, then he let himself get more flexible w his gender in the Neath upon realizing attitudes about these things were so lax down below). In the meanwhile, he was connecting the pieces that his family had in some way been involved in the Great Game, and that involvement may have been the cause of whatever had transpired that night. So when she found herself tumbling into the Neath, those connections are how she’s gotten tangled up in the Game herself. It is in part a need to resolve and finally put to rest that youthhood trauma, and in part a desire for the thrill of partaking in these treacherous clandestine machinations, learning how to play and to pull the strings (though… he’s not very aware of how many have been discreetly tied to him in the process…)
~ Ulysses’s relationship with the practice of medicine is like. She’s definitely passionate about it. This is a career she Chose and is invested in, she very much wanted to be a doctor and is very satisfied with the work. But he’s kinda weird abt it…… Lady is obsessed with the workings of the human body and all the ways it can break. He romanticizes and venerates flesh and arteries and organs, and injury and disease and rot like it’s all something divine and holy and beautiful.
~ Lucy’s already inherently a lil fucked up from the start but it’s more buried, and he only gets Worse. She presents herself as a respectable gentleman and a charming socialite, but just beneath the surface she is full of such horrible barely restrained ruthless ferocity. Girlrage. Deeply fucked up in ways that only really become apparent in the right situation, then very conflicted in how she feels abt knowingly having this capacity for great violence but also understanding herself well enough to realize she’s always gonna make the same decisions and it’s easier to strangle the remorse than subdue the aggression.
~ the Ulysses & Rajendra dynamic isn’t fully 100% solidified but they definitely have some weird fucked up Thing going on between them and they match each other’s freak <3 they were friends at some point in their childhood before losing contact with each other, and then reconnected recently as they’re both in the Neath. to my pal Sky i’ve described Lucy’s side as having an undoubtedly genuine respect and admiration for Raj, but also a very very intense “I want you to know me wholly and completely like no one else can, if there is anything left to know of me behind my masks, and I want to know you just as intimately” + “I’m certain one of us will extinguish the other one day and I would find contentment in either role” + that figs and wasps tumblr post:
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(and maybe even some “you’d look hot covered in blood (and it can be mine) 💕”) so yeah they’re totally normal
also here’s his playlist for funzies ✨ arranged in a general downward spiral
And the last of my Flondon PCs, making her tumblr debut, my guy Dr. Narramore! Lucy to his friends. He's a freak and he sucks <3 she exists because I did want to experience the Seeking storyline but I'd never put Mel or Knoll through all that. So, Ulysses is designed to be locked in the torment nexus and experience the horrors and she can only get worse from here! But actually I'm yet to get to any of the Seeking stuff since I haven't been super focused on building up his account yet.
He's also an excuse to explore the Great Game content, and that gives me some direction to take his character. Speaking of characters, Darling Lark (mentioned on this sheet) belongs to my friend @skies-seas ! Also a character belonging to Sky is the one and only person in the world who Ulysses considers indispensable: childhood friend and mad scientist Rajendra Narod, also a Seeking PC who Sky made so we can do our favourite activity of making Fucked Up Guys together <3 <3 <3
Also yeah Horticulture Hell! I was brainstorming what my Seeking character should be like for months in advance, and I had the idea that instead of going through New-Newgate he'd start off in a different Menace location (fucking dying lol). Then Horticulture Hell happened and the idea of being new to the Neath while all that was going on was so funny to me, so that's when I made the account :]
i have some more notes on his character than I can share, but I'll do so in a reblog probably so this isn't TOO long. Transcripts to follow under the readmore
Text Transcripts:
In the top left are some quick details. Lucy's full name and title is Doctor Ulysses B. Narramore. In the style of other Fallen London characters, Lucy's epithet is 'the Mercurial Pawn'. Lucy uses both she/her and he/him pronouns interchangeably, he's 31 years old and 5 feet 8 inches tall. She resides in a handsome townhouse around Ladybones Road. Her profession is as a physician but she's also a spy in the making, and the faction she's closest to is The Great Game.
Next to these are some notable player attributes. Of the main attributes, Lucy has high Persuasive and Dangerous, but low Watchful. Of the quirks, she has high Ruthless, Heartless, Forceful, and Subtle, but low Magnanimous and Steadfast. He also has another notable quality: that he's Seeking the Name.
In the top right is this note: "Ulysses wasn't (knowingly) a Player in the Great Game before arriving in the Neath. He was inducted by a woman named Darling Lark, operator of a local speakeasy and go-between for spy and criminal activities."
Paired with the art of Lucy covered in blood are these notes: "Though lacking in training, discipline, and real practical experience, Lucy is a formidably aggressive foe. He doesn't fight gracefully and he doesn't fight fair. She won't shy away from blood, and isn't above kicking someone who's already down. ...He might be a bit too into bloodshed. The cane is also for stability, Ulysses has been having weak spells with a bit of a fall risk. But mostly it's a convenient, socially acceptable way to have a good bludgeoning weapon on hand."
With the last illustration of Lucy climbing from a well are these notes: "It is the case that many new residents of London come by way of New-Newgate, but Lucy's arrival was rather more dramatic. Amidst what is occasionally, by some individuals, still referred to as the London Horticultural Show, he found himself tumbling into the Neath through a weak bit of roof. She died, of course, and was in for quite the shock when she'd recovered."
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#fallen london#fallen london oc#image#alt text#described#my art#my characters#char: narramore#blood cw#the paragraph spacing is gonna remain just super fucked up i think. bc i copy pasted from notes app#and tumblr is a functioning website. maybe the problem is fixed in newer updates but i refuse to update this hell app ever#never ever they can’t make me. they keep doing Changes and i never like it#so we’re just gonna have to live with the wildly inconsistent unfixable paragraph spacing i think#unless it fixes itself when other people view it which in that case it’s fine#anyway. lucy 🫶 i think hes neat and i can’t wait to watch her get worse#btw bonus little trivia. shes blond soley bc the first direction i thought to take her character was#‘i want her to be a lil rachel animorphs coded’#bc i had just reread the entirety of animorphs for the first time in a while and since then#rachel has joined my list of blorbos alongside cassie and tobias who have been on the list since my childhood#i think shes fascinating…. i thought she was cool as a kid but i didn’t GET IT like i do now… rachel…………..
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ high maintenance
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synopsis: mattheo is completely obsessed with you and your high-maintenance ways. he loves spoiling you, but the moment you stop pampering him, he turns into the neediest boyfriend alive. today, you're just trying to do your makeup, but mattheo has other plans—mainly, being the center of your attention content warnings: excessive clinginess, fluff, and mattheo being the neediest boyfriend ever
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 564
Mattheo Riddle is completely infatuated with you, his high-maintenance girlfriend who has him wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger. You live for pink, makeup, long nails, and every glamorous touch, and Mattheo? He adores it. The upkeep, the attention, the endless pampering—he loves treating you like the princess you are. He proudly carries your bags, ensures your makeup is perfectly stocked, and always knows exactly when it's time for a nail appointment.
But there's one rule. Mattheo's just as high maintenance in his own way, only in the form of your undivided attention and affection. The moment you stop pampering him—whether that’s running your fingers through his hair, spoiling him with sweet words, or letting him cling to you like a koala—he turns into the neediest boyfriend alive.
One morning, you’re sitting in front of your vanity, carefully applying lip gloss when Mattheo saunters in, his eyes immediately locking on you. His face falls slightly when you don’t greet him with your usual kiss.
“Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” he whines, crossing the room in two strides and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for my turn for ages.”
You laugh softly, twisting in your chair to face him. “Mattheo, I’m just doing my makeup. I’ll give you attention in a sec.”
But that doesn’t fly with him. Before you can finish, he’s scooping you up from the chair, plopping down on the bed with you tucked in his arms. He nuzzles his face into your neck, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t care about your makeup. I care about you.”
You grin, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “You’re being dramatic. And you act like I don’t give you enough attention, Matt."
"Because you don’t," he pouted dramatically. "You can’t just look this good and not let me have you all to myself. It's unfair."
You giggled and kissed his cheek, leaving a faint pink lipstick stain. "I’m almost done. What, you miss me already?"
"I always miss you," he mumbled.
“I need my pampering too,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I can’t function without it.”
You know his antics, but it’s still the cutest thing in the world. You lean down and place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Poor baby, did I neglect you?”
He nods, lips pouting in full force. “So much. I don’t know how I’m even surviving.”
You giggle, but comply immediately, peppering kisses across his face until he’s smiling lazily. “Better?”
“Almost,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer. “Don’t leave me.”
"I’m just going to meet up with some friends, Matt," you giggled, running your nails lightly through his hair. "I won’t be gone long."
He lifted his head, giving you a pout that was far too cute for someone who looked as dangerous as he did. "I don’t care. I’m coming with you."
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how much you loved his clinginess. He always wanted to be near you, touching you, even when you were doing something as simple as getting ready. It was endearing, the way he never wanted to be without you.
"Fine," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "But only if you promise to behave."
"No promises," he grinned, holding you tighter. "But you’re stuck with me, princess."
And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.
#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#matt riddle#girly!reader#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#mattheo x reader#divider by ianrkives
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⟁ SENSITIVE ft. BOOTHILL.
⠀ — “you get all excited for me to fix you up and call you a good boy.”
⠀ OR
⠀ — a sensitive spot during a repair leaves him melting into your callused little hands.
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⚠︎ mechanic!reader, so much flirting im kind of sick, he whimpers i have an agenda, this is like 90% dialogue sorry, he wants u sooo bad. wc 1k, from this req.
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“y’know darlin,” boothill managed to breathe out through a taut jaw and clenched teeth. “you bein’ this close ain’t exactly helpin’ me focus none.”
your fingers were slow, careful, precise as they pushed a few tiny wires apart, giving view deeper inside the little panel on boothill’s throat.
the position you two stood in was one all too familiar, boothill perched on your workbench with you between his thighs— the only new variables being your face way closer than he’s used to and your fingers proding around in his surprisingly sensitive wires.
it was an…odd sensation, to say the least. a small unpleasant stinging that simultaneously stimulated a rather pleasant shiver up his back with every small poke.
“time and place, cowboy.”
you responded quietly, tone a little flat with your tease from concentration.
“can’t help lettin’ my mind— wander, can i now?” his breath hitched a bit as you nicked a particularly touchy wire.
“if you let me finish this,” you lifted your head enough to meet his eyes, free hand gently smoothing out the crease in his brow. “i’ll let you show me just how wild your imagination can get.”
boothill bit back a scruff chuckle at that.
“that enough incentive for you to sit still?”
“well, i reckon that’s plent— mmgh!”
a pair of mechanical hands tightly grab onto your hips as his shoulders tense, a knee-jerk result of your tweezers finding the out of place wire you’d been looking around for.
your hands paused, opting to ignore the way he audibly whimpered for raising your gaze a second time to check on him.
“you hangin’ in there?”
boothill’s fingers flexed as they held onto you, relaxing from squeezing your pants to a more gentle cradle of your hips.
“you know,” he swallowed thickly— as if his throat could even dry out, likely just a natural reflex— “you got a way of makin’ fixin’ me up feel real special.”
the slight waver to his voice isn’t lost on your ears— it was quite loud in them, actually.
“i’m hangin’ in fine, don’t worry your pretty head none.”
carefully retracting your tweezers, you stood up straight enough to lightly push his hat up, giving view to his face and cupping your hand over a blue-hued cheek.
“wanna take a break?”
he nearly had to clutch his chest with the gentle concern that laced your tone.
boothill knew he was flushed, was purposefully avoiding looking you in the eye because a few pokes to some sensitive spots had him sliding his hands to your waist like a lifeline— not that what he could distantly feel of your skin against the synthesised nerves of his palms weren’t doing much to cool him off anyway. but he did…relax, somewhat.
he always enjoyed when you’d touch his face, getting to feel all the unique little details of you; the gentle drum of your pulse and the little calluses from your tools. it somehow always manages to make the tension in his body ebb away, draining with an exhale that lightly fans against your wrist.
he shook his head with a quiet clear of his throat— another unnecessary function that served more as a tick than anything.
“nah, nah i’m alright.” he assured. it didn’t make him any less embarrassed to be having such a reaction.
big bad criminal until you get a little too fudgin’ touchy, apparently.
“let’s just get this finished up, yeah? maybe we can move onto somethin’ more pleasant.”
your thumb gave two gentle taps to his cheekbone before it pulled away, reaching for your tweezers for the nth time.
“that’s my boy.”
oh how boothill’s chest bloomed at the simple praise, the endearing ‘my’ that slipped in with it licking up his ribs and curling to rest along where a drumming heart should have been.
“jus’ be gentle with me, will ya sugar plum?”
“you know i've always got ya.”
each plug or untangle of a little yellow or red cable had his systems humming, fingers occasionally curling into your hips every time a little surge left him biting his cheek a little harder.
“we’re almost done,” your voice is icing on an already cavity-inducing cake, though he’ll gladly take a toothache if it’s for you. “just a little longer.”
boothill was going fist to fist and losing with the urge to completely melt under your deft fingers.
“…keep talkin’ to me,” he requested with a murmurmurmur, cautious not to move too much. “helps me stay on t—” he had to bite back another whimper, cheek going between his teeth and eyes going to the ceiling. “—task.”
boothill didn’t miss the little tug of your lips.
“you know, you do this thing when you get shy.” you mused quietly, breath meeting the shell of his ear. “you bite your cheek ‘n look away. it’s cute.”
boothill couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at your deduction. he tried to regain some of his composure, though the colour in his cheeks continued to betray him.
“i don’t know ‘bout shy,” he rumbled, keeping his voice steady as he could. “but i’ll take cute if it means i get to hear you keep sweet talkin’ me. keep this up and i might start enjoyin’ these repairs a lil too much.”
his voice was a little strained, though still held his usual humour.
“like you don’t love em already.” you teased back, gently closing the panel on his neck as it re-sealed with a small hiss. “you get all excited for me to fix you up, call you a good boy and send you on your merry way.”
“i’m still waitin’ on that last bit, y’know?”
you shook your head, popping his hat off his head and placing it on your own.
“good boy,” you pinched his cheek endearingly. “you’re all done. do you want a lolipop too?”
“think i deserve somethin’ a lil sweeter than a lolipop, don’t you sugar?” boothill’s face unknowingly deepens at the sight of you in his hat, brave words betrayed by a nervous tap in his finger and more blue to the apples of his cheeks.
“we’ll save it for when you’ve got a real booboo,” you took his hat off, using the brim to lightly tilt his chin up and give him a tender kiss on the cheek. for such a heavy hunk of metal, he nearly began to float.
“but there’s something to hold your sweet tooth for now.”
…
“boothill?”
“y..yeah, sweet pea?”
“you’re overheating.”
⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?
#boothill x reader#boothill#hsr boothill#honkai star rail#boothill x you#boothill headcanons#boothill honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail headcanons#boothill hsr#UNEARTHLY
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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ the "dying" wolverine ]❜
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ft. logan howlett x gn! reader — xmen, marvel
╰₊✧ taking care of logan when he’s sick┊0.8k words
setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, established relationship
➤ author's note: i’m feeling like shit so i’m making him suffer with me
what part of regenerative healing don’t you understand? it’s impossible for him to get sick in any capacity as his immune system is stronger than the adamantium in his body, so feel free to read any of the other logan fics written by all the amazing writers on this platform!!
but let’s say that he somehow contracted a special bug that managed to get past all that and managed to make him fall ill, requiring you to take care of him while wade goes on a mission to figure out what’s wrong with him…
this headstrong two-hundred-year mutant who can take stab wounds without flinching and is an invincible tank in battles will be the whinest son of the bitch. he always lets his guard down around you, but he’s the most vulnerable and immature that he’ll ever allow himself to be around anyone since he can’t remember the last time (or if he has ever in his life) felt so shitty. shivering despite being feverish and covered up in blankets which just made him sweaty and uncomfortable, an itchy nose that wouldn’t sneeze when he needed it to, coughing his lungs out every two minutes— it’s so alien to him.
when you finally show up to look after him, he’ll have uncharacteristically big puppy eyes as you gently place your hand on his forehead to gauge how bad it is. “how are you feeling, lo?”
“i feel like i’m going to fucking die.” there are several discarded tissues and water bottles overfilling the nearby trashcan, but it was clear that he had no idea how he was supposed to make himself feel better and suffering.
“i can tell,” you chuckle at how dramatic he sounds and it makes him frown, but he’s just so thankful that you’re here to take care of him (he doesn’t exactly trust al to do it, that woman is a bit too mysterious and cryptic for him, and the medicine she offered smelled funny even to his dulled senses). “let me go make you some soup.”
he doesn’t want you to leave at first because your cold skin feels so good against him, but he’ll lightly doze off for a bit now that he’s more comfortable and feels safer. don’t expect him to stay asleep for long though, he’ll get up from his little while you’re in the middle of cooking chicken vegetable soup to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on top of yours until you finish.
“why are there barely any vegetables in the fridge? i could only find half a carrot and wilted celery.”
“i don’t think anyone here eats that stuff.”
“logan, you need to eat your greens— all you guys do, how are all three of you in such good shape then?!”
“eh.”
he can’t make anything more complicated than butter noodles, wade sets nearly everything on fire, he feels slightly guilty eating the food made by an elderly blind lady when he’s already freeloading at the moment, and constantly ordering take-out becomes expensive. you’ve given some food in tupperware for him to eat up, but it isn’t quite the same. as if being sick didn’t make him miserable enough, he’s so fucking pissed that he couldn’t properly taste your freshly-cooked food and will make it known.
you scoff that it’s just soup and pour it out in a bowl for him to eat, but you’ll quickly find yourself spoon-feeding him. yes, his hands still work with perfectly fine motor functions. no, you’re not passing up the opportunity to baby him while he rolls his eyes (he’ll grunt at most and doesn’t say a word of protest, claiming that he’s merely allowing it since he’s too tired to fight with you over it and very glad no one could see it happening).
“here comes the airplane~”
“i’m a grown-ass man, don’t be ridiculous.”
“a grown-ass man without an ounce of whimsy in his life, open your fucking mouth and eat.”
this is one of the lower points in his life where he doesn’t quite understand why this is happening to him yet, so you obviously have give him as much affection as possible! keeping a cold glass of water nearby and a wet rag to dab on his face, he rests his head upon your thighs and you swear that you can hear him purring like a kitten. there’s not better pillow than his lover, soft, warm, and full of love as you hum a song to lull him to sleep.
“let’s get married one day…” he not sure how that slipped past his lips, it might be the fever talking for him, or the fact that he’s completely relaxed without any tension in his muscles and feeling himself falling in love all over again when you smile so sweetly at him
“okay, but you need to sleep and get better first.” you place a gentle kiss on his forehead until his eyes slowly drift shut, “i love you, logan.”
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#📜. her works#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#wolverine#wolverine x reader#deadpool and wolverine#hugh jackman
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If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️
absolutely no pressure! <33
“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.”
You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?”
“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?”
“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.
He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well.
Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—
“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.”
“That’s okay–”
“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.”
“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.”
He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.
“Pete…”
His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward.
You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind.
“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.”
There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.”
“I do?” you ask finally.
“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.”
You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”
“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs.
“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.
“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back.
“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair.
He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.”
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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surprising dbf!Joel with lingerie
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warnings: big girthy age gap (unspecified), Joel puts his hand on her throat (no choking), teasing Joel in public, Joel Miller rendered useless by a bit of lace, reader is sort of innocent
note: Can you tell I bought new underwear yesterday? It's crazy how much more confident I feel in it, I just needed to write this. Enjoy, my loves <3
Joel always insists he loves you in your cotton panties, he says nothing is sexier to him than you in your usual underwear
He won’t let you spend your money on expensive lingerie (‘don’t go wastin’ your money on me, sweetheart, I enjoy myself just fine. Sides, ‘s ‘bout gettin’ you out of your panties anyway’) and won't buy you anything himself because that can’t be comfortable, ‘s barely even a string
One night he fucks you in your white cotton bra dotted in cherries, your cheeks warming when you realise you wore your ‘bad’ underwear, and although he sure doesn’t seem to mind, you make a mental note to buy at least one set of hot underwear
So you go on an online shopping spree, picking what your imagine Joel will like the most — nothing too darkly sexy, but rather lots of lace, light and girly colors, cuts that are revealing in a teasing way, that leave enough to the imagination for you to be able to hear Joel’s groan in your ear already
You keep more than just one set, and when you put on a white lace thong and bra, you feel incredibly sexy. It's not too forward for you, teasing and still strangely innocent despite your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your bra and your whole ass being visible. It feels naughty to put on your usual clothes over it
Joel’s eyes are glued to your shoulder during a neighbourhood barbecue when he sees some lace peeking out under your shoulder strap — you adjust your shirt and he drinks his beer quietly, holding your gaze, brows slightly furrowed
Should’ve asked me before buying that yourself, sweetheart, I would’ve gotten it for you, he tells you when you have a quiet moment away from the rest of the neighbours. You can tell he feels guilty for you using your own money, he usually gets you anything you just vaguely mention you’d like
So you tell him you wanted it to be a surprise, a little disappointed he already knows you’re all dressed up for him under your jeans and top, but for the rest of the afternoon his eyes don’t leave your shoulders and you think that maybe the anticipation makes it even more fun
You start to play with him, subtly move your shirt so that the lacy strap is visible. When you go to the bathroom, you adjust your jeans so that the little bow at the front of your new thong peeks out just barely
Joel’s useless when he spots it, he excuses himself from a conversation with your Dad to go to the bathroom, and you think you’re not the only one adjusting your jeans in there
When everyone’s going home and he’s sure it won’t rouse suspicion, you get a text from Joel: my place, 5 minutes. Don’t change
You make up some lame excuse about sleeping at a friend’s place, and leave your parents to it. Joel’s house is only a few minutes away, and as soon as you unlock his door with the key he gave you, he’s in front of you, all 6’3 feet of him
He doesn't even look at your face, his eyes glued to the bit of white lace peeking out from under your shirt, and with any other man it would make you roll your eyes, but something about Joel not functioning the way he usually would makes you excited
Before you can say hello, he starts toying with the the shoulder strap of your top, moving it to the side, his thumb sliding under the lace, tugging at it, his other hand resting heavily on your shoulder and caressing the side of your neck
Already you can feel heat in the pit of your stomach at Joel's quiet admiration, and when he mutters Jesus fuckin' Christ, you clench around nothing and lean up to kiss him, his mouth insistent and impatient on yours. You feel wanted, needed, when Joel leads you to the living room without breaking the kiss, one hand gently wrapping around your throat to stir you in the right direction while you're rendered useless by his mouth
Joel breaks away when you're almost at his couch, wanna look at you, angel, and starts lifting your top for you. All of a sudden you feel nervous he won't like what you picked, that he's a practical man through and through and really does prefer you in your comfy cotton underwear, but his eyes widen and you think he stops breathing for a second when your bra is revealed
He drops your shirt to the floor, and drags his hands over your skin, taking in your tits, which are barely covered by transparent, white lace. His thumb moves over your nipple, and an involuntary whine escapes you, the sensation of his touch over the fabric intense
Fuck, you're gonna kill me, babygirl. Did this for me? His voice is strained, like he's keeping himself from ripping your bra off your body and you know if you were to reach down, you'd find him fully hard. You want him to see your thong before things get too heated, though, so you smile up at him, press a sweet kiss to his throat
Wanted to look nice for you. His fingers are still toying with the fabric of your bra, constantly moving over your body
Always look nice, baby, but this is...shit, I need to fuck you in it.
You pop open the button of your jeans, and Joel's eyes snap towards your crotch, his bulge right in front of it, when you drag the zipper down. His hands are on your hips in a second, helping you drag your jeans down
You shaved for Joel, and your new skimpy little panties barely cover anything. What little fabric there is, is already soaked, just from Joel looking at you all hungry
Again, Joel traces the fabric with his fingers, mapping it out on your body, and when he realizes just how wet you are for him, he presses down on your clit, rubbing tight circles with two fingers
Although it pains you, you gasp wait, and he stops, lets you step out of your jeans, only in your underwear now. You take a step back and smile, letting Joel take you in completely
Spin for me, babygirl, he orders and you obey immediately. You hear him curse when he sees the fabric of your panties practically disappearing between your asscheeks, and you've never felt so sexy
When you're facing him again, he squeezes your ass with one hand, and teases your clit with the other once again. Gonna make you come in these before I fuck you in 'em
It doesn't take you long at all, Joel praising you, calling you his good girl, holding you up, before nudging you towards the couch and laying you down on it
He just drags your panties to the side, slips two thick fingers into you, impatiently preparing you for his cock, which is still straining against his jeans
Something about dressing up in lingerie for Joel while he's fully clothed makes you positively ache. It makes the difference in age more prominent – Joel, a greying contractor wearing what he probably wore thirty years ago, and you, his pretty, young, soft babygirl
The contrast is exhilarating – lace against flannel, naked skin against rough denim, gruff groans mixed with soft whines
When Joel slides into you, the stretch is familiar, and you sigh at the feeling. Been waiting for it all day, you whisper, wanted you so bad at the barbecue
It makes Joel curse, fuck into you with more force, shit, baby, y'look so pretty for me
He fucks you deeply, eyes constantly on your bra or panties, watching his hands toy with your nipples, or his cock disappear inside of you, sliding against the thin fabric of your thong
It doesn't take either of you long to come, Joel forcing his cock all the way inside and holding it there while he spurts rope after rope of cum inside of you. You tremble around him, clench and unclench, dragging every last drop from him
Afterwards, he lets you lie on top of him the way you like, strokes your skin, toys with your bra strap and waistband, presses soft kisses into your hair
I've got a light pink set, too, you tell him and yawn, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and smiling when you feel his spent cock twitch against you. I'll wear that to the next family dinner you're invited to.
Joel swats your ass lightly, and you laugh, feel his own chuckle rumble in his chest. You're gonna kill me, angel. Old man like me, I'll have a stroke.
You rest like this for a while, quiet, enjoying each other's warmth, but after a while Joel's lips caress the shell of your ear, his voice making goosebumps appear all over your skin when he speaks
You know y'don't gotta shave for me or put on something fancy, though, right? You tell him you do, that you just wanted to surprise him, give him something special because of how special he always treats you
I ain't complainin', baby, just don't want you thinkin' I don't love you just as much in those little cherry panties of yours.
#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller headcanons#joel miller x y/n#joel miller#my writing#joel tlou#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#dbf!joel x reader
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birthday wish;
itoshi sae x female reader. wc 2.4k
content: fluff. some profanity. slight making out. birthday fic for sae <3
summary: it’s itoshi sae’s birthday. the world hates you. you’ve never been a lucky one. being “shit out of luck” is the only thing you know. the tables must turn.
if higher beings do exist, they really must hate you. they must. you can’t fathom your bad luck otherwise.
not only did your cab to the airport run into an hour long jam, your connecting flight also got delayed and now you’re running a day late.
all you get to see is the group chat blowing up, people sending pictures of others, of each of their antics. there’s a photo of everyone together except you.
because your business trip is a pain in the ass.
because it made you miss a weekend getaway with your friends in hokkaido.
because even when they made the effort to convince the birthday boy to make a little side trip back to tokyo, you’re still too late for that.
if it was anyone else, you’d have been fine with it. as much as you feel guilty about that.
but it’s sae. it’s itoshi fucking sae and you can’t even remember the last time you saw him in person because everyone else’s schedules match except yours. the world has driven a constant wedge between you and sae and you hate it.
is there any other emotion to be reserved when that happens to you and a boy you’ve had a crush on since forever?
meeting itoshi sae as a kid was exciting, hopeful. falling for itoshi sae when he was a teen leaving japan for opportunities elsewhere was giddying. sometimes you can’t believe that someone you know is that successful, and other times you hate the fact that he’s so far away because of it.
more than half the time, he’s in spain. he’s never where you are at least ninety-nine percent of the time. the one occasion he was, which was three years ago over new year’s, you were fucking sick.
and all he sent you was a text telling you to get better while the rest of your group of friends get to hang out with him.
though, you suppose that’s a good thing. he barely ever texts anyway, and you don’t initiate, if only out of fear for getting in his way. (as if small speech bubbles could get in his way at all.)
you sigh helplessly as you reach the immigration hall, even more irritated as you look at the time. already past midnight, sae’s flight would’ve already left by now—or, actually, an hour ago because he doesn’t have your bad luck—so you don’t even have the chance of bumping into him at the airport.
whoopee.
your phone finds itself tossed into your duffel bag at your irritation. unwarranted but it is what it is. by the time you finally get your luggage and exit, you’re exhausted. from the disappointment, the delays, everything.
it’s only when you walk a couple more steps, lugging your things behind you when you stop in your tracks, your boots suddenly feel like they’re one with the marble below them.
“didn’t think your luck could get any worse.”
is it possible for your heart to feel like it isn’t functioning properly after hearing a voice? a voice that you haven’t heard physically for who knows how long now?
you have to take a deep breath to even get his name out. “sae…?”
his brows furrow before he cocks one, sighing as he propels himself forward from against the railing, hands in his jacket pocket as he takes a few steps towards you. his face is hidden behind a black mask, his hood pulled over his head but you can still see the clear piercing teal of his eyes and the same nonchalant expression he always wears in his interviews.
you’ve seen a bunch of them.
“who else would i be?” he sighs again, like he’s exasperated, before he grabs the luggage handle from you and starts tugging it behind him.
it occurs to you seconds later that he expects you to follow him when he doesn’t even turn behind.
“wait wait.” you nearly trip over your own feet as you scramble to catch up to him, feeling out of shape the moment you fall into step beside him. “didn’t you have a flight to spain, like, an hour ago?”
you couldn’t have gotten the timing wrong because you triple checked it in the group chat.
sae makes a confused noice in his throat before shrugging. “pushed it a day later.”
he doesn’t elaborate. like he always does. or doesn’t.
“but why? don’t you have training right after you land? or, when you were supposed to land?”
his body brushes your side when he sidesteps someone on his right. you’re ashamed of how your heart skips a beat.
“i have training the day after. i just wanted to get a day to nurse my jet lag if i could. i could still make training if i leave tomorrow.”
he’s always to the point. but he’s intentionally evading a part of your question.
“but why—”
“i’m hungry. you hungry?” he asks, and you can only blink. you can’t even say anything before your stomach growls and answers for you and sae doesn’t have to wait for your response.
he holds your luggage with his right, and his left hand reaches out for you, warmth enveloping as he tugs you beside him into the nearest izakaya, swiftly getting a table for two in the privacy of their special corner table and all he had to do was remove his mask.
“it’s a little late but… happy birthday,” you whisper to him across the table.
sae’s gaze flicks over to you, blank expression as he just stares at you for a moment. “no it’s not,” he says, and upon your confused expression continues, “i got your text.”
right, because you used the shitty in-flight wifi to try and get your message to him. looks like it worked.
“oh, good then,” you heave a sigh of relief as you let yourself relax, subtly slinking lower against the booth.
over supper, sae purposely asks you questions, about your work, your days, life in general, overloading you with them so you don’t even have a chance to ask him anything thus far.
neither of you even realise that it’s not a 24-hour place, but it’s not a surprise that being itoshi sae has its privileges. before long, the only customers are you and the boy you like and your impatience that puts its foot down and bites the bait.
“why did you push your flight back, sae?”
his bowl is long cleared and all he has to busy himself with is the hot ocha on his side. he looks out the window for a moment, as if contemplating something before he spots the waiter and asks for the bill.
another attempt at shaking the question off that won’t earn him any points because the moment you step out of the airport and into the chilly air outside, you question him again.
“sae, tell me.”
sae takes a deep breath, and you can see the bare hint of a flush in his cheeks. it’s not that obvious, but you can see it.
he finally lets up for the first time tonight, the life granting a glint in his eyes. he chuckles, and he shakes his head, though his smile is subtle—just barely visible.
“you’re still as irritating as when you were a kid, you know?” he remarks, and you find yourself crossing your arms before he finally relents.
after a small pause, he takes a step towards you, his body barely inches from yours. he leans down to your ears, with a voice that’s barely a whisper, “i wanted my birthday wish to come true.”
this isn’t fair, itoshi sae.
“and what’s that?” you ask because he’s still there, his neck right next to your lips and sucking the energy out of you because it’s always nerve-wracking being near him even if you’ve known him most of your life. l
“i wanted…” he pauses, hesitant to say, “to see you. in person.”
and he finally straightens back up, giving you room to breathe.
is it greedy of you to not be satisfied? you feel like this could be a fever dream. are you sick?
“why?” you ask again, and you find yourself trailing after him when he refuses to answer.
sae flags down a cab, telling him your address, word for word correctly and it doesn’t register to you that despite never having been there, he remembers it like the curve of the soccer ball, like the arc of his passes.
nothing is ever too much effort if it’s worth it.
you’ve just never thought you were ever in sae’s head.
by the time you reach your apartment, the both of you are shriveling in awkwardness, too stubborn and stupid for too long that you’re too used to it.
“this one, right?” sae asks when he gets to your unit, the one in the corner of the top floor.
you nod weakly, and sae purses his lips before he pushes the luggage towards you.
“get some rest. you must be tired,” is all he tells you before he starts to make a move, heading back towards the elevator.
but you’re sick of it. sick of the chances you never take and sick of how you’re too scared to even try. your fingers reach out to grab the hem of his jacket sleeve, holding him back.
“i wanted to see you too,” you declare, even if he never asked. you get greeted by the sight of his widening eyes, by the slight upward tug of his lips. “you’re never free when i am and i just—fuck—i hate it. and you’re so accomplished and i’m happy for you, really, but i… i miss you.”
(sae looks at you, looking at the floor, looking guilty as if saying you miss someone is a sin. he feels the way his heart aches in his chest—fuck, did he really miss you this much too?
he’s used to having the upper hand, always having you squirm in embarrassment, but why does he feel like it’s slipping with every instance he’s about to tell you how he really feels about you? why is it slipping every single time he sees you smile? in your photos, your stories, even the emojis you send in your fucking texts.)
“yeah, missed me that much?” he asks, teasing you a little as he sees your feet shift nervously.
what you do next catches him completely off-guard, his eyes snapping shut the moment you grab his jacket lapel, pulling him close and kissing him, tasting so sweet he would be tempted to ask you to do that all night.
by the time you pull away, sae isn’t ready. he’s not ready anymore. to leave you. not so soon. you’ve always been one of the few reasons he couldn’t bear to leave japan and not seeing you all this time has helped him tolerate it. now that you’re here, in the flesh, his fingers digging into your hips, he doesn’t think he can leave.
“you- um- what time’s your flight tomorrow?” you ask, breathless when you finally manage to pull away.
sae groans, shaking his head. “don’t wanna talk about that, doesn’t matter it’s fine, i’ll make it,” he mutters, eyes shutting close again because the next second he’s chasing your lips, swallowing your chuckles as you stumble to open your apartment door.
he makes the effort to kick your luggage inside before he feels his back hitting the back of the door, eyes flying open and being greeted with a smirk on your face.
so you have this kind of side to you too.
sae smiles a little wider now, shaking his head when you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up with your legs around his waist as you drown him in kisses that would probably last him at most a few days.
“sorry, i know this is more than you wished for,” you laugh weakly in between kisses.
sae shakes his head. “i don’t mind a bonus,” he jokes, and you hit him playfully on the chest.
it’s a little surreal to you that the boy you’ve had a crush on for half your life is actually reciprocating. you’ve watched him play pro-soccer since he was a teen until now, when you’re both full-fledged adults. you’ve never thought that anything would work out. not when you’re just barely navigating through life while he has his whole career figured out.
not when you’re always shit out of luck. but if this is the kind of luck that you get, you’ll take it.
“i… i’ve always liked you, itoshi sae,” you confess, foreheads pressed against one another’s as he continues to hold you in his arms, stronger than you remember.
a low hum leaves his throat. “i know, rin told me the first time i came back to japan from spain.”
you might actually kill rin.
(sae bites back a chuckle. he never thought of it much at all back then. he barely cared for anything except soccer. he can’t even remember when he started to think of you more. miss you. wish to see you on birthdays, on new year eves, on new years, christmases, whatever occasions there are in a year.)
“i think i might love you,” he confesses, and it takes your breath away.
you can only blink, slowly letting it sink in. you get down off his arms, both of you locking gazes and never looking away.
“think you could do that from halfway across the world too?” you ask.
it dawns on him what you’re afraid of, but after years of pining for you, sae has no doubt in his head.
“think i could do that forever, no matter where we are,” sae assures you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “could you grant me one more wish?”
you swallow the lump in your throat. “what is it?”
“be mine.”
and this is his birthday (it’s still not 11 october in other parts of the world!) but you feel like it’s your lucky day.
“i think i’ve always been yours, itoshi sae.”
and for the first time since you’ve known him, you see him smile. wider than you’ve ever seen. you finally see the path clearing, you can finally tell, somehow—itoshi sae will be yours for life.
#i JUST put this together so pardon any mistakes :’) but i hope you guys still enjoy it <3#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#sae x reader#itoshi sae x reader#bllk x you#bllk x y/n#sae x you#sae x y/n#itoshi sae x you#itoshi sae x y/n#itoshi sae fluff#bllk fluff#blue lock fluff#૪ aeri’s fics !
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I just had this thought but-
Price absolutely hates corner of the mouth kisses.
Not that he genuinely doesn’t like them, but if you were to give him one, he simply cannot function unless you make it a proper kiss.
If it were his cheek he’d be fine, he gives those to you all the time. But the corner of his mouth?? It’s too close, that’s just a tease. And he won’t stand for that.
You have to get to work and are rushing, kissing him goodbye on the corner of his mouth? He’s grabbing your arm and pulling you back in for a proper kiss before sending you on your way.
You’re drunk and accidentally miss his lips, giggling after? He’s grinning softly and cupping your chin, turning your head straight on to face him before he leans in to kiss you proper.
The two of you are laying in bed, cuddling and you lean up and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth? His hand is cupping the back of your neck, holding it sweetly and tilting your head up so that he can softly kiss you, pulling your body closer to his with his other hand.
Doesn’t matter when or why or how. Even if you just had a full on make-out session and you end it with a kiss to the corner of his lips? He’s making sure to get one more proper kiss for good measure.
He just can’t get enough of you, and that little half-kiss just doesn’t do anything justice.
#john price x reader#captain john price#captain john price x reader#john price#price x reader#cod x reader#captain price x reader
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existence
Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader
summary: There's a rumor at the base that MRs. Torres doesn't exist. No birthday parties, no drinks at the bar after a mission, no base run functions. Sam crashes at the Toress' after the White House incident and sees if she actually exists.
wc: 1457
a/n: Spoilers for CA:BNW
His ears were still ringing.
Echos of gunfire and police sirens shrouded his mind, Sam’s body was on autopilot with his eyes burning holes into the dirty apartment complex carpet and his sore feet dragging along it. He still doesn’t comprehend how Joaquin could be in a chipper mood after that. Sam noticed the limp in Joaquin's step and the bruise on the back of his neck. It could have been worse, the President could have died, Cap reminded himself.
“Wait till you meet her, Sam! Ugh, I have been waiting for this for the longest time!” he cheered, clearly forgetting the late hour. Right, Sam blinked, he was finally meeting Mrs. Torres. After working together for three years, he thought this mystery woman didn’t exist. The younger man would make excuses “She’s working overseas,” or “She has no service.” But after catching a glimpse at his lock screen which proudly displayed a photo of the pair at a Hurricanes baseball game he changed his mind. The rest of the base thought it was AI-generated.
“I’ll believe it when I see it, man,” Sam forced out a chuckle, ribs screaming back at him.
Joaquin stopped at the door, digging his key out of his pocket and turning the lock. The echoes disappeared once Sam took a step into the small DC apartment. The smell of baked goods and a soft “We’re home, Amor” coming from the other man was enough to silence them for a moment, the pain in his ribs dulled with the feeling of anticipation rising.
She was real. His brown eyes discreetly widened as she appeared in the doorway that divided the kitchen and living room, wiping her hands with an orange and green rag. He didn’t take his eyes off her, she examined Joaquin up and down before giving herself the ok to crash into him. “I’m so happy you’re ok,” She muttered against his neck, his arms holding her against him.
The soft interaction made something in his chest ache, and the way Joaquin then cradled her face and whispered reassurance in two languages almost made him tear up. Almost. He’d be sure to make fun of him for this later.
“Sam, this is my wife.”
The woman smiled softly, aware of the situation at the White House, and introduced herself, outstretching her hand. He noticed her firm grip, but he could feel the tremble. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sam. I can’t get him to shut up about you,” she chuckled, leaning back into Joaquin’s embrace.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a small smirk.
“There’s a pillow and blanket on the couch for you along with some clothes. Half his closet is just U Maimi stuff—I hope you don’t mind the colors.”
Sam turned around and glanced at the neat pile resting on the arm of the couch. “It’ll do fine. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome anytime. I’m going to get him cleaned up, let me know if you need anything else.” She patted her husband on the back and ushered him into the kitchen, dismissing all of his protests.
Sam walked towards the couch and ran his fingers over the plush olive green material of the blanket before picking up the vibrant green t-shirt. He snickered and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Shit!” a shrill curse came from the kitchen followed by soft apologies. It was instinct for the hero to look over and check out the scene. Joaqquin was fine, sitting on the counter with a piece of gauze covering his eyebrow. She stood between his legs, a look of sympathy on her face while she dabbed at the wound.
Love looked good on the kid. In their line of work, there wasn’t much room for love or even just the look of it on someone's face. He remembered the first night he saw it on Joaquin’s face; it was at a bar somewhere in Europe and Sam had been counting on his fingers how many girls the other had turned down for a dance.
“Five,” he laughed wiggling his fingers in his face.
Joaquin rolled his eyes and playfully shoved his hand away, “Yeah, yeah.”
“Wanna go for six or do you wanna tell me why you’ve said no to every pretty girl in this place.”
The curly-haired man took a swig of beer for confidence, letting out a deep sigh as he put the bottle back on the table. “I have someone back home,” he finally admitted.
“You got a little girlfriend!”
There was a small blush on his cheeks and a smile so soft and sweet it was sickening. “A wife.”
“Wife,” Sam repeated slowly.
“College sweethearts, I think that’s what it’s called.”
Yeah, love looked good on him. Sam snapped out of his memory and opened the blanket his eyes watching her press her hand against Joaquin’s chest with his wrapped around her wrist, his thumb swiping along the bone. His heart was beating, he was alive. Sam wondered if that was something they did after he came home from deployment, or now when he returned from a mission. Tonight was just supposed to be a fun night celebrating their mission, not stopping an assassination attempt.
“Sam…bro, you good?”
The couple stood in front of him, a red first aid kit in her hands. “Go get changed, I’ll patch up Captain America,” she smirked. Joaquin smiled and kissed her on the temple before retreating to the bedroom down the hall.
“I’m fine,” Sam laughed it off.
Her eyes flickered down to his arm, wet crimson staining a patch of his forearm. “Sit,” she told him firmly.
He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeve. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought as he looked at the sliced skin, it shouldn’t need stitches. She popped open the kit and got to work in silence. He should say something, the gears in his brain working overtime to come up with something appropriate.
“You know, I was starting to think you didn’t exist.” He settled on that. Nice going, Sam.
Thankfully she laughed, pouring a clear liquid over the cut that made him wince. “We get that a lot. We have a tally of all our friends who’ve said that.”
“Sorry to add another. Work keeps you away?”
She smiled and nodded, “I work for a charity. Helping communities rebuild after the blip. Some places haven’t been as lucky as we have. I was away a lot—it worked out when he was deployed.”
A sadness began to loom over her as she gently wrapped his arm with a white gauze. She missed him, and he missed her just as much. “Was?” he narrowed in on the past tense of her words.
“I requested a transfer to a desk job as soon as he finished those wings. I need to be here if something happens.” There was a tremor in her voice, “Him being Falcon puts him in even more danger. I want—need to be closer to him.”
“He’s a good man,” Sam told her gently, “a damn good Falcon, he learned from the best.” He got a smile and a small chuckle out of her relieving her of some of the nerves she carried.
She put her hand over the gauze and looked at him dead in the eye. “Keep him alive, Sam.” It was a gentle command. “He means everything to me.”
His lips parted and glanced down at the silver wedding band around her finger, thinking of a way to tell her that he might not be able to in this line of work. Joaquin saved the day, strolling into the room with a signature toothy smile. “Have you been talking about me this whole time?” he joked.
Her smile instantly brightened. “You wish,” she laughed, collecting her things from the couch and rose to her feet.
“She’s a miracle worker.” Sam raised his arm to show his partner the neatly wrapped gauze.
“Looks good, Sam!” The other man cheered, leaning forward to get a better look. “We don’t have a well-stocked medicine cabinet for nothing.”
“Yeah, I learned after too many scraped knees from the basketball court back in Maimi.”
Joaquin winced and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side. “Let’s let Captain America get some sleep,” he suggested, pressing his lips to the side of her head.
“Let us know if you need anything, Sam,” she told him.
“Will do, Mrs. Torres. Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime. We’re here or you.”
Sam got comfortable on the couch, and surprisingly he felt like he could fall asleep instantly. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to his friends at the base: ‘Mrs. Torres exists.’
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