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servicpop · 3 months

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NSFW ; BLACK , WHITE & GRAY criminal bottom m!reader x detective oc

warnings; age gap , degradation , hate sex , exhibitionism/infront of people (mentioned slightly) , hand cuffs , dubcon/noncon(?) , no after care

notes __ this idea has been sitting in my inbox for awhile but I've finally gotten around to it !

JUNE 19 1999 / 11:48PM

Red and blue lights colored the night skies; not even a slither of the moonlight slipped past the cover of the clouds. The bright yellow caution tape strapped around the fences of the home squealed when Callahan Marshall pulled them up to duck underneath them.

Officers on the scene scrambled to question him but were quickly shot down with the flash of his badge. They slowly retreated, allowing for the man to walk into the crime scene.

The rain had been unforgiving tonight, covering all traces of footprints that might have been left by the culprit in an attempt to escape. A scowl plastered Callahan's face as the stench of alcohol and smoke insulted his nose. The floorboards creaked underneath each step he took, whining with the burden of his weight.

"Careful, Marshall, we aren't too sure if the culprit even left. There's been no signs of escape." Callahan's eyes slowly met the ones that belonged to one of his co-workers — another detective. The other man visibly shuddered when Callahan's pitch-black eyes met his, deep circles tainted the bags of his eyes. A gruff noise was all he got in response before Callahan made his way through the home.

It wasn't a house belonging to someone particularly made up of money so why would anyone make such a mess out of it?

The rooms were left clean, untouched almost. Only a few drawers or cabinets were opened and a few appliances were out of place but no alarming indicator a robbery had happened. Callahan traced a finger along the countertops of the kitchen, looking at the dust that had been sweeped up. This house had been left like this for awhile, even before the culprit set foot in there.

A sudden clattering caught Callahan's attention and he turned his body to the other detective and police officers searching the house, "Did you knock something over?" "No sir, what did you hear?"

Callahan slowly approached the laundry room, twisting the doorknob with caution. He pushed the knob forward and the door swung open. It was hard to make out with the lack of light but Callahan saw a figure dart out the window. "Here!" He called out, alerting the officers before he walked up to the window, watching as the figure scrambled away. He wasn't worried though, the whole place had been surrounded by police patrolling the area.

You couldn't get far even if you tried.

JUNE 22 / 2:24PM

You got caught. It was about time you did.

You had spent the past few years doing various, sketchy jobs in the desperation for money. You lost your job not even three months into it and it had become harder and harder to find suitable jobs to spend the rest of your life slaving away at. You had no choice, it was either that or living off the streets with the local sewer rats as your only form of entertainment and friendship.

Now, you were stuck in an enclosed, dusty white room, sat cuffed to a metal table right in the middle of it with an annoyingly bright light dangling from the ceiling. It was the interrogation room. And the man you sat infront of you was none other than the 'greatest detective of our time' Callahan Marshall.

He was an older guy, probably pushing his 40s by now. You could tell from the way his brows were locked into a furrowing position and the stubble that graced his chin seemed lazily maintained. He also had quite the bit of hair on his arms, his sleeves loosely rolled above his elbows. You couldn't really tell what color his eyes were from how low he held his head and the light above you casted a deep shadow over his eyes, but through the darkness you concluded that they were a yellow-ish orange. Interesting.

"June 19." You flinched. It was expected that he had a deep voice but actually hearing it was different. His voice was coarse, gravelly like wheels crunching against a rocky trail and you could practically hear the amount of cigarettes he's smoked throughout his years of stress. "You were caught about and hour or two after police had arrived," Callahan sounded bored, mumbling his words.

Growing up, Callahan had always hated criminals. From watching bad guys on TV to coming home and seeing his parents dead on the floor and his house a mess from a robbery, Callahan devoted the past years to serving justice. His world was devoid of color, a black and white film on an old, vintage television.

"Did you steal from Mr Broadwood's home?" He pressed, leaning his forearms along the table. They were meaty, not extremely muscular but definitely built from casual hours at the gym. Could you even lie at this point? He was so sure with his words that even the fact that people were watching you from the two-way mirror comforted you from this man.

"No." And the cheap lie rolled off your tongue like it was sweet candy. He raised his eyebrows, unamused. Yeah he was definitely onto you. "So... these photos aren't you?" A confused look flashed across his face as he slid the printed images of your face in full view; it was painfully obvious that it was you. But your head seemed to shake side to side saying 'that's not me' like it was instinct. Callahan leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face as his head tilted back in annoyance. You could hear the prickly sound of his stubble scraping against the palm of his hand.

"I'll force it out of you if you don't fess up," His hand slammed down onto the metal table, causing it to rattle from the contact. "Fine, is force the only thing you cops know how to do?" It was only natural you acted this way. For all your life you've relied on cops to protect you and your loved ones, but each time you needed them the most, they turned a blind eye to you.

But, oil doesn't mix with water. Your two starkingly different perspectives caused conflict. With balled fists, Callahan stood up, the chair scraping against the floors with how abruptly he stood up. Before you knew it, a hand made its way to your hair. Callahan's thick fingers tangled in the strands and pulled your head back, eliciting a small yelp from you. He leaned in closer, looming over you with hate seeping from his pores.

"Tell me this isn't you," He growled, picking up the photos and shoving it in your face. In all honesty, you were focused on how damn close he was. His breath was fanning against the shell of your ear and if you concentrated enough, you could hear the short breaths he took. Callahan straightened his posture but never loosened his grip on your hair. He pulled your head back even further and peered down at you. "Dirty criminal," he muttered under his breath.

You swore it was just the adrenaline making you hard. There was no way you'd fall for a detective like him. So why did he have your face squished onto the table and your boxers pulled down just under the curve of your ass.

"This is what you wanted isn't it?" Callahan had one hand holding your head down and another on your waist, digging into your flesh. He found out that the more he dug into your waist, the more you'd whine and squirm against him. You couldn't deny his words though, something in you was so intrigued by Callahan. He got straight to the point, and he didn't try and fool you with kindness. But maybe you wished he'd be a little more gentle with you.

Your eyes shot wide open when you felt his tip circle your rim. You didn't even have to see it to know the size of it. Could it even fit? "Wait—" Your words were cut off as he thrust forward with no warning, letting his cock sink into your hole. The burning sensation of the stretch made tears bubble at your eyes, threatening to spill. A groan slipped from his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, "God you're too tight."

Callahan moved his hand from your head to firmly grip at your waist, leaning forward so his body weight would pin you down. His hips grinded against you, digging his cock deeper inside your warm body. "Spit it out, did you do it or not?" He grunted, beads of sweat trickled down his temples as he pounded into you repeatedly, watching your flesh ripple with each thrust. "You're leaking everywhere," He chided, snaking his hand to reach for your neglected dick, holding the tip in his palm.

Your wrists strained against the cuffs binding you to the table, the metal cutting into your flesh as you struggled. "I didn't— do it!" You managed to gasp between moans, your hair spilling out onto the table. "Oh really? You didn't do it huh?" He scoffed and his hand tightened around your weeping tip, stroking you off in time with his relentless thrusts.

"People are watching you through that mirror and through the cameras, your pathetic face is on view for everyone to see," Callahan leaned down to whisper in your ear, grabbing a fistful of hair to yank your head up, allowing your teary face to be on full display for the cameras. Fuck, that turned you on more then you would've wanted it to.

His head slung against your shoulder, an oddly affection gesture for how hard he was fucking you. "I know you're not innocent, but your fuckin' doe eyes pisses me off," Callahan's voice had gotten even rougher, and the anger was clear in his tone. He was just using you for stress relief.

Your thighs trembled and your body started to give out, the stimulation was too much for you. His cock kept abusing your prostate, grinding and rubbing against it so much that black stars seemed to cloud your vision. Your fingertips clawed at the metal table, trying to ground yourself as shameless moans came out of your throat. "You're so loud," He scowled, leaning back so he could admire your back in its full glory.

It got him off with the way you sucked him back in even if you seemed so stubborn to liking him. Watching his fat cock disappear into your hole was enough to make him groan. "You wanna cum? Admit it." It was like his dick was a truth serum, you found yourself blabbering, tears rolling down your pink cheeks as you spewed out the truth, "Fine, I did it, I did it, please— just—" A smirk plastered Callahan's face as he whistled, "Go ahead."

In a split second you found yourself spurting out white all over his hand, your back arched and your body convulsed in his grip. Callahan meant to pull out but you were sucking him in so much that he couldn't. He cursed as his orgasm crashed down on him like a wave, filling you up with his sperm before he could pull out. "Shit," he huffed, pulling up his pants before he stared at his cum dripping from your hole. It was still clenching around nothing, and Callahan couldn't help but feel a pang of responsibility for you, but he shook off those thoughts. His one duty was to protect the civilians, not empathise with criminals.

"I'm done here," He grumbled, picking up his things and leaving you slumped on the floor, still bound by the handcuffs on the metal table. He turned his head over his shoulder to glance at you one more time, feeling a strange uncomfortable sensation in his heart before he scoffed and walked out the doors.

He's never lost control like that with any other criminal.

BONUS ; IN THE OTHER SIDE OF THE INTERROGATION ROOM

"Kid looks like he's about to die," Alastair, a co-worker of Callahan, was assigned to supervise the interrogation, "Marshall sure is brutal," He sighed, standing up once he heard that Callahan was finished.

"At least his tactics work though, props to him," Alastair turned around to face the intern who was meant to learn from this experience. The poor boy had his hands covering his eyes.

"It's fine now, you stay here, I'll clean the guy up."

a/n ; i changed my layout !! Its alot easier now ^^; my previous one had so many symbols I had to copy and paste ,, anyways ! I finally wrote about him ♡♡ the original request(?) was a bit different so this is ooc of him but I will expand more on his story if you guys like him ! Also I introduced Alastair ,, maybe I can write a threesome with them sometime !! I've never done it before so who knows

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #mlm #oc x male reader #sub male reader #male reader #bottom male reader #male x male #male x reader #oc smut

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clairdelunelove · 1 year

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around the clock

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (working drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost

synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–

a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! 🕷 pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3

ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.

paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.

ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.

ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle.

ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto.

ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.

ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed.

ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?”

ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.”

ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.”

ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.

ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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milequaritchsslut · 1 year

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Yandere Miguel

Summary: A peaceful dinner with your captor

Warnings: Kidnapping, fluff, hostage, yandere, Miguel being a sweetheart, chained up hands, slight Stockholm syndrome, malnutrition/malnourishment, forced starvation, talk of weight loss, mentions of blood, mentions of biting, mentions of bruising, mentions of marking, sadism (?),

‘What are you doing?’ You asked obviously annoyed with him, hands chained above you and to the wall as you glared up at him.

‘Don’t give me that attitude baby girl’ he cooed, his tone surprisingly warmer then usual. He gave you a quick peck on the cheek as he knelt down and began unlocking your chains.

You looked at him totally confused on the whole situation—he hadn’t come down in days. Let alone untying you and speaking in such a kind tone. It’s been 3 weeks since he had captured you and thrown you down here. You actually weren’t even sure how long—but that was your best guess.

‘We’re gonna have a nice dinner together mi amor’ he helped you to your feet, though your legs were wobbly and trembling from the lack of walking you did nowadays you maintained your posture. He looked at the marks and bruises you had on your legs and arms, all from him when he had to punish you.

‘Here baby’ he offered, as he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his torso—arms around his neck and began walking up the basement stairs.

You felt unusually calm, you still hated him—but you felt so protected and loved in his arms. You hadn’t eaten in awhile—and from that you’d lost a ton of weight, you were so small compared to him now. You felt like a child being held and coddled, but you liked it? You laid your head on his shoulder and sighed as he held you close to his chest.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t come down in a few days mami—I’ve been so busy. I missed you so much, I hope you know that. We can finally have a nice dinner together’ he says in a slightly sad tone, kissing your cheek as he walks to the kitchen.

As you listened to him, you felt slightly guilty from the attitude you gave him before. But you quickly brushed it aside as the realization that he literally kidnapped you came flooding back in. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his pity apology, did he seriously think that was an excuse??

‘Whatever’ you hissed, eyes narrowing as you looked at the interior of the kitchen. It was a nice home to say the least—he made a shit ton of money so you weren’t really surprised. The kitchen counter top was white and grey marble with brand new shiny appliances scattered nicely on it. The fridge was an electronic one—with a modern screen on the front. A shiny silver water machine indented on the right side of it, with over 5 different options for water.

He didn’t say much after that—he set you down on the kitchen table. There was a shiny white plate with golden lining around the edges. On top was a divine looking slab of steak—lush looking mashed potatoes and asparagus laid next to it. It looked absolutely delicious and you had to stop yourself from shoving it all down your throat. You were starving to say the least, it felt like your stomach was eating itself more and more by each passing day. You were completely malnourished and dehydrated. Your skin was ashy and dry, your knuckles were hard and scratchy. Your hair had become dry and gross—you had nothing to comb through it. Your clothes holes in them from the amount of times you’ve fought back and he’s put you right back into your place. Dried blood was running down your neck on both sides, coming from his bite marks—and a horrid smell emitting from your frail body.

The bones from your wrists were practically poking out from your skin—begging to be broken free from the flesh. Your weak hands laid on the table as your mouth drooled from the site in front of you. Hands trembling from your self restraint—cause you knew you’d get scolded if you ate before he told you to. He sat from across the table and watched your every move—grinning at your weak attempt to be a good girl from him. He found pleasure in making you wait for the one thing you really needed—so that’s just what he did, he locked onto your every movement for a few minutes until finally he spoke.

‘Go on and eat baby girl’

You snapped—shoving the food into your dry and deserted mouth. Hands rapidly picking up more and more until before you knew it—it was gone. You sat there confused—where had it all gone? Your eyes scanned the room for the rest of it, but came up empty handed. Confusion and desperation filled your mind and eyes, a feeling of helplessness igniting inside of you. Your gaze met your hands—food was covered in them. Mashed potatoes smeared along your knuckles and fingertips, pieces of asparagus shoved in between your finger nails. You finally caught on—it was you. You were the thief in this mystery, you must’ve blacked out while you ate. Now it was gone—your needy eyes slowly looked up from your plate and to your captor.

Miguel had a sly smirk plastered along his face—he had your right where he wanted you. You were helpless and needy—desperate for more. And he was the only one who could give that to you, and he knew you’d do just about anything for another plate. He gave you mock kind eyes as a fake concerned expression flew onto his face as he stared into your eyes.

‘Miguel…can I have more?’

Taglist: @jennieskimichi @addictiontowardstheinternet @rawegggohan @raaaaainn @horror-cassettes @adrunkskeletonsduck @nejirehh @222a1yssa @beiroviski @lana-4life @ladyfairenvale

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potionpeddlerpatchy · 1 year

Text

word count: ~4.3K

paring: Kageyama x fReader

warning(s): panty stealing, male masturbation, nonconsensual listening (he purposefully listens in on the Reader getting it on), peeping (a hint), and slight obsessive behaviour, Kageyama is a perv in this, so be warned.

authors note: well, much like the Bokuto fic, this has finally arrived; and has taken just as long to complete. After the success of the Perv!Bokuto fic, figured I would continue on and make a series out of it - with the next character (due to popular demand) being Kageyama. If you like it, and want more, please let me know (and who you wanna see next), otherwise please enjoy this fun little piece with our favourite tsundere volleyball player~ 🔮

Having a roommate was a sensible thing.

It meant that bills and rent were split evenly, which in turn meant less stress on a young person’s life to make ends meet - to not have to worry as much about having enough to eat or being able to buy the important things in life - and it meant shared resources, things like appliances, necessities, and cleaning supplies; which meant not having to worry if you’ll go without for long. And it especially made sense that an up-and-coming professional volleyball player would want a similar professional as a roommate.

At least, that was how Hinata Shoyo put it as he begged, nearly going to his knees, the taller raven-headed man, trying to convince his closest friend to get an apartment in the city with him.

And that was Hinata’s main point:, that he was a friend. One that Kageyama had known for years, which meant that not only were they in a similar boat together (having similar schedules, and professional careers), but Hinata was one of the few people Kageyama could stand being around for more than a few hours.

“So come on please!?” Hinata cried out, clinging to the taller man’s shirt. “You won’t get a better deal, 'cause I know you can’t afford to live in the city yet! And do you really wanna chance moving in with a stranger that you can’t stand!? That might have disgusting habits?”

And well, that was what sold it for Kageyama.

Within a month he was packed and standing in the middle of an empty apartment, with an over-eager red-head as they took the lay of their land; it wasn’t a big place (a standard two-bedroom, one-bath) but there was room to breathe and get comfortable in. And, at the end of the day, if Kageyama had to be stuck living in a place like this and needed a roommate, Hinata was his first and only choice.

It didn’t take long for things to be unpacked and for the dust to settle; because really there was only so much furniture two early twenty-somethings had to their name, but the principal remained the same - that a routine was formed, and rather quickly, that fit Kageyama’s standards.

And really, how could it not? Kageyama would wake up, shower, eat breakfast, and be almost out the door by the time his roommate would finally wake up - meaning there would be no hindrance to the strict routine he wanted to keep and maintain further. And the same can be said whenever he finally got home, he was able to eat and get settled for the evening without too much fuss or interference; able to enjoy the living room, and the apartment as a whole, in peace and silence for a few hours. To allow him to recharge and be more prepared to deal with his more extroverted friend/roommate.

That’s what the weekends were for anyway, to let loose and enjoy life; and that was where Hinata’s presence was appreciated the most - how he was always able to convince him to step out of his comfort zone and try new things. Though Kageyama would be reluctant, would complain and think of any excuse to not go somewhere, he was always thankful at the end of the day to have someone who cared enough about his social life to not let it crumble. Almost strangers during the week, but roommates and friends when the weekend arrived - it was an ideal situation.

And then you showed up.

Appeared within the apartment without warning; sitting on his couch, on your phone, when he woke up one morning, getting ready to start his day and routine of training and maintaining his schedule; you even had the audacity to tell him, with a sickly sweet and obnoxious smile, coffee was made and ready if he wanted any - as if caffeine was good for an athlete. He left without a word, just a mere roll of his eyes and an annoyed scoff before leaving for the day; coming home later in the evening to give Hinata a piece of his mind.

The redhead was apologetic, as always, doing his best to apologize for the lack of proper warning. “Though, to be fair, she has been over before! You just were never around!” he tried to reason as if that made anything about the situation better. Hinata explained that he met you at a game; you were the one fan he remembered that night - cheering for him the loudest as they played another round-robin in their division - coming up to him afterward and offering him a celebratory drink; and hey, the man was only human.

One drink turned to two, then three, and soon, they spent the night chatting away; he even left with her phone number and the promise to see each other soon. After a few dates, Hinata proposed the idea of going steady, “‘cause seriously dude, she’s really an amazing girl! I couldn’t pass up this chance and let her go!” Things were going pretty well, and after hanging out the night prior you decided to spend the night, that was all.

And it all made sense, one way or another, as to why you were there that morning; you weren't just some stranger in his home - you were a guest, his roommate's girlfriend. Though Kageyama found it hard to believe that the ‘amazing girl’ Hinata kept gushing about, kept going on and on until Kageyam’s eye would twitch in annoyance, could possibly be you.

Because you were a nuisance to his entire way of life. A constant hindrance and blockade in his way as he tried to go about his usual routine.

In the mornings, when he used to be the first and only one up, he would have the bathroom and kitchen to himself; to shower and eat in a timely fashion before heading out the door. Now, after you got comfortable staying the night, he would be lucky to make it to practice on time. You hogged the bathroom, your annoying humming as you brushed your teeth and did your hair took too long for Kageyama’s liking - forcing him to use the kitchen sink to get rid of his morning breath. And if you weren’t taking up the bathroom, you would be in the kitchen, monopolizing the space as you made breakfast; constantly getting in his way, dirtying as many of his dishes as you possibly could, and using up all his food that was in the fridge…; he can’t help but roll his eyes, a scowl on his face, whenever you try to offer the sad excuse of a breakfast you had just created to him - he was always too angry to say anything to you when you did, he would just simply put his coat on and leave.

And it wasn’t just the morning routine you would infiltrate and destroy;, oh no, you seemed to want to rip apart the entire routine - one that took him months to build and maintain. Now, when he would come home after a long day of training, of pushing his body to the utmost limit and wanting to do nothing more than relax in his living room (an area normally empty and silent most days of the week, to just breathe deeply and meditate for a few hours and recharge, was now ruined, as whenever he would walk through the door, there you were sitting on his couch, playing some obnoxious and loud game on your phone, and greeting him once again with that stupid giant smile on your face like you’re happy to see him. It made him stomp to his room annoyed and frustrated - always ensuring he slammed the door for you to hear.

At night it was the worst; normally he would go to sleep without issue - as he would go to bed early enough to miss Hinata’s loud nighttime routine - ensuring that he would get the 8-hours of rest he needed to ensure peak performance the next day. But now? With you staying the night? He doesn’t get nearly that many hours. He knows you do your best to muffle the sounds, to make it seem like nothing else is happening on the other side of the paper-thin wall then you and Hinata trying to get comfortable in bed, but it doesn’t work. Kageyama can hear everything; your moans, mewls, gasps, and sighs of pleasure, they all ring so loudly in his ears making it impossible for him to fall asleep - even after they go quiet, after you have been tuckered out and are fast asleep, they play on a loop in his mind.

He knows that neither of you are aware that he can hear you, that he inadvertently listens whenever you fuck, given the bright and cheery smile you both cast his way in the morning as if nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t in on your dirty little secrets.

But he knows, and it plagues him constantly.

Now whenever he finds you in the kitchen, either making coffee or breakfast that is far too much for one person, he cannot stand near you or look in the eyes whenever you offer him a mug or plate; cannot begrudgingly work alongside you as he tried to fix his bowl instant oats and honey; cannot just merely scoff and roll his eyes at you like he normally would - his biting responses now turned into quiet shakes of his head, his heart beating out of his chest as he tries not to stare at you; as he tries not to be entranced by your plush thighs that were barely caged within the smallest shorts he had ever seen; how they would ride up and hide nothing, giving him plenty of fuel for his imagination.

Whenever he sees you on the couch when he gets home, all sprawled out playing on your phone, he doesn’t stomp off to his room and slam the door like he normally would after finding out you ruined his plans; instead, he’s almost stunned in the doorway as you greet him; having the unusual giant impact of making his cock twitch in his pants, made worse when he realizes you're wearing his old high school's jersey. Merely greeting you with a slight raise of his hand before scurrying off as quietly as possible to deal with the newfound tent problem in his sweats.

And at night, he can’t help himself from pressing his ear to the wall; shirt tucked between his teeth to keep his whimpers and moans down as he stroked his heavy, leaking cock to the sounds of your high-pitched moans; closing his eyes and picturing what position you must be in, how pretty you would look with your mouth stuffed with his length, and how thankful you would be with your pussy leaking his cum. The guilt and shame that washes over him once he cums into his hand is almost devastating, but he cannot help but think it’s worth it whenever he wipes himself clean.

You, on the other hand, were clearly blissfully unaware of the situation that had been slowly unfolding over the past few weeks; sweetly ignorant of the secrets your boyfriend’s roommate had been hiding. For all you know, the man who seemed to hate the very earth you walked on - the man who could barely tolerate your existence or be in the same room as you - was slowly starting to warm up to you, becoming somewhat tolerable to be around.

You were ecstatic, happy to know that your relationship with Hinata would no longer jeopardize his friendship with one of his closest friends and overjoyed that the possibility of forcing Hinata to choose a side would not have to befall him. And Hinata? He was just happy to see his two favorite people slowly starting to get along, especially as it meant more opportunities to invite you over.

You liked Kageyama, in the simplest of terms. He seemed to be a decent guy, even if he was high-strung, but you knew it was due to his passion for being the best he can be - and how could fault him for that?

Besides, you liked his company. He was quiet and more relaxed than Hinata was, which at times was a little more welcomed after a long day of work, or when you first got up and haven't had a cup of coffee yet. And he was polite–sweet even, surprisingly so. It always caught you off guard; Whether that be telling you he bought the kind of yogurt you liked or allowing you to watch something on the TV, even though he was clearly just trying to enjoy the living room in peace, Kageyama's niceness always caught you off-guard.

You were grateful for the change in dynamic, even if it did seem out of the blue; it was a welcomed happenstance, one you weren’t going to jinx or question too much. For you were happy to continue on without the answers, happy to continue to be with Hinata and the perks that came with it, happy to finally feel comfortable in his apartment - to live in the shared space without being seen as a burden.

You finally felt comfortable, and really, what was better than that?

Well, you were too comfortable.

Kageyama knew it to be fact, though Hinata would disagree.

He was grateful you finally felt comfortable in his home. Kageyama wishes you didn't. Because when a person is comfortable, the little, embarrassing habits that they try to hide slowly start to show. For some, like Hinata, it’s having conversations with himself - sometimes loud, sometimes quiet - as well as leaving half-eaten food in the most random of places because he got distracted and forgot them. Kageyama can even admit that he oftentimes forgets food in the microwave, or leaves his shoes in entranceways, inadvertently causing people to trip on them. All things normal, and natural, once comfortable in a space.

Kageyama wishes yours were little things like that. Talking with your mouth full, or singing loudly in the shower, or leaving wrappers all over the place; anything that could put you in a normal, negative, light (would be better than your bad habits).

But no. Your bad habit was leaving, your panties where just anyone could find them. And he can tell, neither you or Hinata are aware of it.

Kageyama didn’t notice at first, why would he? Why would he care about your clothes, not like he had any use for your dirty laundry? When he finally did, it was an accident. He entered the bathroom after you had taken a shower, and as he placed the bathmat down on the floor he saw them; a navy pair of lace panties just sitting there, right by the tub. The shower he took afterward was long and very cold.

After that incident, he found them more and more; much like noticing red cars only after you start thinking about them. He would notice that you often forget about your panties when you leave the next morning after spending the night; whether in the bathroom crumpled in the corner nearest the tub, or scattered in some hap-haphazard form near Hinata’s doorway.

At first, he tried to ignore them, leaving them there and pretending they didn’t exist. It did help you were usually close by, your “would you like some coffee, Tobio-san?” or “your breakfast looks ready, don’t forget it this time~” often effectively stealing his attention and thus having him suppress his thoughts to speak with you about the little things you leave behind.

Then it turned into something he couldn’t ignore. Llater as he stared at them a moment or two too long before walking away from them; burning into his memory the colour, shape, and fabric type as he uses the image of you wearing them whenever he wakes from a naughty dream, or needed to cool off in the shower after a stressful day, or whenever he couldn’t sleep because his cock ached for you.

But it didn’t take long before an embarrassing habit of yours turned into a disgusting habit of his. His cheeks would burn red as shame would fill his being, knowing he was the very roommate that Hinata had threatened about when convincing him to move in together, but he couldn’t help it; you unlocked something depraved in him and he was just trying to keep it at bay.

He knows you don’t mean to leave them, or at least not in plain view, but after a while he couldn’t help but have that perverted voice in his head tell him that you were purposefully leaving them for him to find; that they were for him, so why not take a pair? What was the harm in doing that?

And try as he might, that perverted voice broke him down - he was only a man after all. A sinful, disgusting man, who was utterly, hopelessly, and inappropriately attracted to his best friend’s girl.

Kageyama didn’t steal every pair, he had to be applauded for that. Not because he had self-control, but rather out of self-preservation to not be caught or confronted by you or Hinata. If he stole every pair then you would start to get suspicious, and that could lead to you asking him the dreaded question of ‘have you seen my underwear Tobio? Maybe it got mixed in with your clothes’ and he knew if you did, his flustered face and voice would give it all away. Or worse, that you would take matters into your own hands and start snooping around his room. He could already feel his stomach drop at the thought of your pretty eyes widening in horror once you found his little stash.

No, he couldn’t have it. So, despite all the voices in his head telling him otherwise, he had to have some self-control; even if it was killing him slowly.

He wanted to take your prettiest pairs, the ones with lace and silk, but he worried you would notice that for sure, for panties like that are always remembered, so instead he took some of your more plain ones - ones he was sure you wouldn’t notice they were gone as you had plenty of them to spare.

And how useful they proved to be late at night, when he could hear your pretty mewls get higher and higher as you tried to stifle them; not that it would do much, not with how he moved his bed so his head was next to the shared wall, thus gaining a perfect (and comfortable) spot to hear all your pretty sounds. He would wrap your panties around his aching, heavy cock as he used them to help get him off to you; the soft material providing just the perfect amount of friction, different from his fist, to further make believe he was the one ravaging you.

Arm over his face, shielding his eyes from what he was doing and trying to cool his flushed face as his teeth would bite down harshly to his bottom lip,trying to keep his whimpers quiet as he vigorously pumped his twitching cock to you, angry and red in overstimulation. He tried his best to feel satisfied; to reach that high that would finally allow him to sleep…but always ended the same: him bringing a hand up to stifle a wail as he painted those cotton panties of yours with his cum - wishing it was your pussy instead. Shame washed over his being as he kept his eyes shielded from the world. Now that he's gotten away with it, it's only going to get worse from here..

And it did.

Kageyama didn’t want it to, but he fed the beast and now it was clawing at him for more.

And more meant beig risky, much to his dismay. If he could, he'd keep this part of himself hidden deep; but this part could never be sated, not unless he could finally have you. And since he able to fuck you, he had to get as close as he could.

Close meant dangerous. Close meant palming himself through his shorts as he stood behind you while you bent over to grab something out of the oven–trying to distance himself enough so you couldn’t feel him, fighting the urge to pull you by your hips to be flush with his own. Close meant pulling his leaking cock out of his sweats in the morning as he tries to get off as quickly as he can while he peeps through the keyhole of the bathroom door, trying to get a glimpse of your wet naked form through the shower curtain.

Soon, even all that wasn’t enough. Soon, just hoarding your panties wasn’t enough, he had to carry a pair in his pocket - even to practice, despite how easily the flimsy fabric would fall out of gym shorts Soon, just smelling your shampoo as you walked by didn’t leave the lasting impression it once did, now he was reduced to smelling your lavender lotion you kept in the bathroom as he tried to imagine your soft skin in his hold. And soon, after a long day of training= he would find he was too pent up and tired to even make it to his room. Simply spreading him out on the living room couch and slowly slide your panties up and down his shaft; pretending it's your pretty lips wrapped around his sensitive tip; enjoying the thrill, the shivers of pleasure, in the thought of knowing that you could come home at any moment and catch him in the act.

It was bad, and he knew it, but he still couldn’t stop himself from doing it; from spreading his legs wide on the plush cushions and taking hold of his cock with a delighted sigh; for really, it was the only time he could be vocal and let out his frustrations that he was currently faced with - and the possibility that you might find him was more than worth it for it either meant you would finally confront him and snap him out of his lust-filled craze, or you would join him; either way, it was a victory for the man.

And this habit, this vile and disgusting habit, had now grown into his routine. Instead of coming home, kicking his shoes off, and meditating his stress away he now found peace by coming undone by the thought of you as he did his best not to make a mess of the shared couch.

That was where he found himself now, panting as he pulled his athletic shorts down and freeing his rock-hard cock from where it was uncomfortably caged; wrapping his hand around it with a strangled moan, he began to squeeze the tip; normally he would have a layer of cotton to help soothe his angry erection and provide it that sinfully sweet friction it craved, but you hadn’t visited in over a week - away with Hinata for an away game - and thus he didn’t have any new pairs to use as the others were hidden away, awaiting being washed and returned to you so you could dirty them again.

His hand just had to do as he slowly dragged it up and down, the longwinded whimper clear he needed some relief as his precum slowly lubricated his length, providing less resistance and allowing him to go faster and faster. Before long the only sound that could be heard in the empty apartment were the wet sounds of his hips thrusting up into his fist and the occasional whine that would escape his throat as he tried desperately to finish; all the while his eyes remained closed as he visualized about how pretty you could look bouncing up and down on his cock, how blissfully you would look with your head thrown back as you moaned over how good he made you feel.

“That feels good, doesn’t it baby?” He babbled out, pretending he was teasing you as his hips purposefully thrust up into his tight fist. “Like the feeling of my cock stretching out that pretty pussy don’t you? Nngh! Feels… fuck,,, feels better than Hinata’s doesn’t it?”

His voice was getting higher the closer he got to cumming, feeling his lower stomach twist in knots as he tried to hold back just a little bit longer, wanting to remain in the fantasy he created.

“Just want me to fill you up, don’t you? Make a mess of you for him to find, yeah? Want to show him how to really make you feel good, naughty, dirty, fucking girl. Yeah, just like that, keep doing it just like that, keep squeezing me! I’m! I’m gonna, fuck, gonna cum!”

He cried out, your name leaving his mouth in a broken wail. His body tensed harshly as he threw his head back violently into the pillows and came all over his fist and stomach, body twitching and jumping as he slowly pumped his angry, red cock. He tries coming down from his high slowly; regaining his breath and coming back to reality while still savoring that euphoria.

But his reality came crashing down when he heard your startled and shocked gasp, piecing his ears so sharply that it felt like ice water had been poured over his head,.He whipped his head to face you, entire being filled with fright as gazed at you. Watching as you stood there with the most horrified look on your pretty face, making it clear to him that you had heard everything he said as he feels his whole body heat up in shame and embarrassment; unable to even squeak out a word of explanation or apology.

And yet, a moment passed, and then another, and you still stood there looking at him with the same stunned expression; shoulders still by your ears and body still frozen in shock as your eyes never left his cock - still oozing with sticky cum.

You didn’t run away…. He thought to himself as he heard you gulp down a breath as he stood up. So maybe…. maybe you wouldn’t mind helping him out?

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #hq x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #hq kageyama #kageyama smut #kageyama tobio smut #hq smut #kageyama x you #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu!!#hq oneshot #haikyuu oneshot #🔮.the peddler brews #🔮.potion for kageyama

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stararch4ngelqueen · 11 months

Note

hey! just hopping on the period train here…can we get tender, soft, tooth-rottingly sweet ghost with a reader on their period? reader has cramps and will 100% try to overexert themselves if not directly managed lol. Anyway love your work🤍🤍🤍

The unintentional period train 😆 I’ll try, haven’t written about Ghost in a hot minute.

It’s not as grand as I’d like it to be, but I think it’s pretty good for a quick half hour ✨let’s say this is at home too for convenience sake

—

Simon wouldn’t be aware you were on your cycle at first, which makes the most obvious sense.

You; his sweet, bombshell of a woman, had a tendency to hide what irritated you. Physical or not.

Moving into a new house was a bit of a process, one that had a lot of challenges to overpass before enjoying the rewards. You believed their wouldn’t be as many boxes, or as many things to haul off the moving truck and through the front door.

Simon would then assume something was wrong by the amount of breaks he’d find you taking. Moments you’d catch your breath, stand completely still with a hand along your side, or sitting down in the passenger seat of the truck.

Try as well as you like, it’s his job to be concerned about your well-being. Exertion was a high price to pay in the military; sore muscles, lack of proper sleep, etc.

You weren’t in the military anymore. Pushing yourself wasn’t necessary inside your new home.

You figured this pain would go away. Exercise was always a factor to lessen cramps. An annoying tale, but sometimes effective.

Sometimes.

The more boxes you hauled, the quicker you’d walk, the more you’d pace yourself was met with more pain on your end.

“Go rest.” Came his voice from behind you, startling you after you settled some kitchen appliance boxes on your new marble counter.

“I’m fine,” you quickly state, turning your head to meet your husband’s gaze. “I’m okay—“

“That’s an order.” Simon states, leaving little to no room for doubt or denial. You’d frown, but he didn’t care, maintaining his ground with a firm brow and stern expression.

“Simon—“

“Now.”

You scoff, glaring up at him as if he asked something vile from you. Again, he didn’t care.

“Fine,” you bite back a bitter tone before leaving towards your bedroom. “You can finish unpacking all by yourself.”

Simon expected this, seemingly unfazed as he watched you go. He didn’t mind the attitude, he would’ve found it funny. He kind of did, but you didn’t see his smile.

He’d find you later curled up on a bare mattress, yanking blankets out from their boxes to wrap yourself up in. Your head settled on a pillow, his pillow, he recognized after a second glance.

He approached, proceeding to pull off your socks and shoes for you.

He pulls the blankets back after crawling into bed, per your irritation, only to apply a warm bottle compress along your tummy.

“M’sorry,” he murmurs into your ear, proceeding to lay the blankets back over you. Your raised hand stops him, your fingers grasping along his wrist.

Your quiet plea encourages him to join you in bed, clutching your body like a gentle wall of support. Occasionally, his hand would remain over the compress, moving it around along spots you desired it the most while his other massages the back of your neck.

“I’ll start unpackin’ in the morning,” Simon murmurs, his head settled ontop of your head, breathing in your sweet scented shampoo.

Your mouth opens to persist, but he beats you to it.

“No no, don’t wanna hear it. I’ll unpack the rest of the frame, an’ the sheets, give you a proper bed to rest on.”

Your silence meant you were listening, which makes him assume you’re growing irritated by his unique form of ‘persistence’.

“Sickness an’ in health, love,” He kisses underneath your earlobe, hearing your small sigh.

“I’m not sick.”

“You’re cranky.” A faint rumble of a chuckle erupts from his chest. “Often times I’d hear ya say you would get lobotomized back in the day for this type of behavior.”

“That’s what I used to tell Soap just to mess with him,” you faintly muse, nearly falling asleep from his rough hand providing the most gentlest of massages along your nape.

“Get some shut eye, sweetheart. Talk about your self diagnosis in the morning.”

I don’t know how to end this 🧍🏽‍♀️this is not proofread. Back on the grind.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost modern warfare #I’m sorry this is so short #I gotta work super early and I’m dreading it.#I also don’t know how to end this

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abandonedography · 6 months

Text

A Well-Preserved Abandoned Time Capsule House

Along a scenic road lies this incredible time capsule house with everything left behind. This large home built in 1956 features interior design elements from the 70s including shag carpeting in the bedrooms, a carpeted wall in the primary bedroom, appliances from the same era, and even an Asian-themed tiki bar/room in the basement. There are several personal items left behind as well from clothing, to photos and even letters from the children to their father.

The Home was owned by a German man named Hans. He was born in 1923, and he married a woman named Emma at a relatively young age. Hans was a school teacher by profession, teaching at a nearby school. He was a hard worker and was always furthering his education, as seen in several certificates found throughout the home. I believe he also had a small business selling renewable energy sources such as solar panels and wind turbines which he operated out of a separate part of the home. In his spare time, he liked to build and maintain his elaborate model train display in the basement.

He and his wife Emma enjoyed travelling and did so often until finally deciding to settle down. They had two children, Adele and Michael. They led an idyllic life for a few years but as time went on cracks began to emerge in the marriage. Emma decided it was time to leave and she moved with their children a couple of hours away from Hans.

Hans moved on and met a woman named Ida. Michael would occasionally send letters to Hans and from what I read, they did not have the best relationship. Michael being very religious, was always optimistic they would see each other during the holidays but from the sounds of the letters, that likely didn't happen. He was also upset about the fact that his father did not call him regularly. In one of the letters Michael said that after a phone call with his father, he was scared to death of visiting him after speaking his mind. Emma did not get along well with her ex husband and this likely played a role in the ability for the children to visit with their father as well.

Life continued on for both families until Hans passed away in 1980, he was only 57. Ida lived in the home until at least 1983 as seen in a handwritten letter from Michael addressed to her. At some point after that, Ida moved to Pennsylvania since she likely had friends/family there. The house has sat abandoned ever since.

Emma passed away a few years ago but I have not been able to find out any information about Adele. Michael however spent a lot of time in school training to work in a religious-related field. He had inherited a strong work ethic from his father, reminiscing about how Saturdays were work days and how that impacted his life. He has since found a very rewarding and successful career in religion.

source - video of the house

#abandoned #time capsule

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otakusparkle · 2 months

Text

The Manor Safety Class is now open!

While visitors are having a happy summer trip, please also pay attention to your own safety~

Beach side...

- Hello everyone, this is Oletus Radio and Television program! There are many friends on the beach during the summer vacation, follow our camera and take a look!

- When exercising under the scorching sun, pay attention to sun protection! Also pay attention to replenishing water in time~

Norton : "Who hit me!?"

Demi : Always pay attention to safety when playing on the beach to prevent drowning~!

Patricia : Also pay attention to heatstroke prevention and cooling down~

Daily life...

- Pay attention to electrical regulations! If an electrical appliance catches fire, cut off the power supply quickly.

- If you encounter a fire, do not take the elevator to escape, but take the safe passage!

- Always pay attention to electrical safety at home, and do not touch electrical appliances with wet hands or wet cloth! If you encounter circuit or appliance aging, leakage, etc., you should immediately unplug the plug and cut off the power supply.

- Obey traffic regulations when you go out, walk on the sidewalk, don't run red lights, don't look at your phone or play around in the street, and always pay attention to traffic safety!

- Be civilized and smart in surfing the Internet. Do not indulge in the Internet, pay attention to protecting personal information, and be alert to telecommunications fraud traps!

Phone screen : "Grand prize"

Out for a journey...

- Minors should not go out alone to play! They should follow their parents when going out to avoid getting separated!

- You should maintain good hygiene habits when outside, wash your hands frequently, and don't touch or eating anything recklessly.

- During holidays, there are more people in scenic spots. You should avoid cutting in line, making noise, littering, and traveling in a civilized manner.

- Obey the instructions on various signs, do not climb over the guardrails, do not go to prohibited areas, and do not go to undeveloped tourist areas without permission!

Board sign : "No climbing over the fence"

Rainy season...

- Extreme weather such as thunderstorms and typhoons occur frequently during the summer vacation.

- When going out on rainy days, pay attention to road conditions to avoid falling into dangerous areas such as manholes, pits, construction sites, etc.

Dungeon : "This is not the dungeon, this is sewer."

- In heavy rain and strong winds, stay away from billboards, street lights, temporary buildings, etc and take shelter in buildings in a timely manner.

- During thunderstorms, be sure to close doors and windows, cut off the power to household appliances, and try not to answer or make phone calls.

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archangeldyke-all · 10 months

Note

sevika and reader who've grown together and now are "slow living" (it's not as easy as it sounds) or whatever people are calling it. reader is always outside working on the ever-growing garden of veggies, fruits, herbs, and flowers. sevika is the home depot lesbian of the house, always fixing pipes or upgrading things in the house. maybe they got a honeybee hive recently? just domestic bliss in that!!

this is the dream. like actually.

men and minors dni

when you first buy the property, it's a dilapidated little house in the middle of a few acres of overgrown weeds and bushes. it's an ugly sight, but you and sevika have a dream.

sevika works on the house, and you work on the garden.

anything you want in the house, sevika will build. built in bookcases and shelves? done. a big kitchen island and a walk in pantry? you got it, babe. heated bathroom tiles, a wrap around porch, even a built in laundry chute. she just wants to make you happy.

she lets you pick out all the paint colors and appliances and features. she has no opinions on interior design, she just wants to build you your dream home.

you spend the fall clearing the land, the winter designing the garden. and then when spring comes, you finally get to get your hands in the dirt and start planting.

sevika helps you with some bigger projects. the pond on your property is perfect for ducks, so sevika constructs a little coop they can live in when they're not swimming. it also means you get fresh eggs, whenever! (there's nothing sevika loves more than a freshly made omelet for breakfast, except for maybe you.)

your first year on the land, you focus on your vegetable garden.

but as the years go on, you begin to expand. you and sevika plant an orchard in the backyard, all your favorite fruit and nut trees. you transform your front yard into a native wildflower garden, attracting butterflies and hummingbirds and bees in the spring.

when she finishes with the house, sevika moves onto building you guys a swimming pool.

you get a few goats for milk and weed maintenance. sevika builds them a lavish little barn by the duck's coop.

you feed the animals, and sevika collects the eggs and milk. sevika refuses to go anywhere near the beehive-- she swears they hate her. you think she's just scared of bugs. it's fine, though, you don't mind the bees being your own responsibility.

after long enough, you guys build enough solar panels for your property to be completely self-sustaining.

your lives become much slower and smaller.

in the mornings, you both share tea on the porch as the sun and birds begin to rise and wake.

you go off to do your morning chores, and then you make the two of you breakfast. if the weather's nice enough, you guys like to eat out on a little picnic table in the middle of your wildflower field.

your days are spent working. sometimes in the garden, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes helping sevika maintain the house. there's always a record playing inside. sevika's always within yelling distance. between chores, when you have a loaf of bread in the oven or when sevika's waiting for paint to dry, you guys are always chatting with one another, or swaying along to the music, or making out on the nearest flat surface.

while she lets you handle most of the garden and food stuff in the house, she loves to cook you dinner. so you get to spend your evenings sipping on wine and watching sevika whip up a meal for you.

it's a lot to maintain, but it's a fulfilling life to lead. and with sevika by your side, it's the easiest thing in the world.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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unremarkablehouse · 3 months

Text

Pet Names

MSR | PG | WC 990 | AO3

Summary: Mulder and Scully aren’t the only names these two dorks call each other. Ch1, Ch2

Tagging: @today-in-fic

“Yes, Dear..”

Dripping with sarcasm and said as a retort to Scully’s frustrated plea that Mulder use a glass instead of drinking straight from the carton; it inadvertently became the first term of endearment Mulder had used on Scully since the change in their relationship status.

“No, Dear…”

Filled with sass and condescension in response to Mulder’s suggestion of a romantic weekend hunting Bigfoot; Scully’s derisive retort fanned the flames for terms of endearment to be used as an ongoing joke throughout their relationship.

And so, “Honey”, “Sweetie”, “Tiger”, “Dear”, would all be used interchangeably to lovingly mock and tease each.

The times when Scully asked for Mulder’s help on fixing an appliance; “Oh Honey, it has to be plugged in for it to work.”

The times Mulder bumped his knees on cabinets or furniture; “Oh Sweetie, did the cabinet jump out at you?”

Regardless of who was being mocked with the pet name their responses were generally the same; an eye roll, tongue poked out or flipping the middle finger.

At some point they forgot that the pet names were meant to only be used sarcastically and found they also naturally came out when they were comforting or grateful to one another.

Mulder when finding a sniffling Scully on the couch.

“Aww Honey, don’t get up. Just rest and I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Never said in public, these terms of endearment were a part of their own private lexicon that they guarded amongst themselves.

Scully was always amused by the way Mulder co-opted every nickname that had ever been given to her by another person immediately after hearing it. Any time one came up incidentally, he immediately jumped at the chance to use it on her. “Scout”, “Shooter”, “Squirt”, “Starbuck”, were just a few he’d heard and tested out. Scully couldn’t begrudge him this eccentric trait as he always used them with the highest affection, but ultimately reverted back to Scully.

Mulder’s resemblance to an excitable Golden Retriever leant himself to Scully calling him a “Good Boy,” as a term of endearment when he surprised her by listening or did something she approved of. The giant grin on his face whenever she praised him was irresistible and so it perpetuated the term of affirmation throughout their relationship.

“Good girl,” said only in the bedroom on penalty of friendly fire, Scully’s body betrayed her own fierce feminine values. The drop of her heart and rush of excitement she felt when Mulder uttered the words became part of the complex choreography that was their mating ritual. Not exactly a pet name, Mulder often thought of an old university parody; ‘when she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad she was erotic.’ He loved his bad girl just as much as the good one and every variation in between.

Scully wasn’t sure exactly how or when Mulder found out that her Confirmation name was Theresa, but he definitely made her regret it. Whenever Scully cursed or told an off color joke, Mulder would pretend to clutch at invisible pearls and cry out “Theresa,” in a feminine scandalized (and vaguely Southern) voice. At first, this ongoing bit made her begrudgingly smile, but then he did it around her siblings and cousins- so her family got in on the joke. One Christmas a young Mathew happened to witness Mulder doing it and then proceeded to imitate him and cry out “Theresa” every time Scully addressed him. Scully’s attempts to correct Mathew and have him call her “Aunt Dana” were futile, a five year old Matty yelling back “Theresa”, spurred on by all the adults who were unable to contain their laughter every time he did it. Despite receiving the silent treatment from Scully on the ride home, Mulder maintained that it was totally worth it and still laughed with her family over the incident.

It was around that time Scully had her friends and family start calling Mulder by his first name. Without a word being uttered on the subject, Mulder knew it was some form of penance. However, Mulder’s aversion to being called Fox had waned significantly since being with Scully. He loved the way she said his name and felt it had somewhat been reclaimed.

“I love you, Fox Mulder,” would be said as part of a dramatic declaration by Scully, often after life threatening situations, always after he handed her a bowl of ice cream. He loved it when she panted his full name in bed, her declaration ensuring there was no ambiguity as to who she was with- who was responsible for her pleasure. Purred into his ear, Fox became a nickname of its own, and he relished every time she used it.

However, there was one version of his name that could stop Mulder dead in his tracks. When Scully called him “Fox William Mulder,” his blood turned cold and he knew he was in for it. He wasn’t quite sure when or where she picked this trick up, but if Scully uttered his full name Mulder knew he better watch his next moves and words very carefully. Fortunately for him, Scully didn’t abuse this power, but there was an awareness that she had it in her back pocket if need be.

As for Mulder, he began to use ‘Dana’ more often when addressing Scully right before they started dating. ‘Dana’ was favored for intimate conversations, but he liked to alternate between Scully and Dana in bed.

Regardless of the monikers Scully adopted along the way; aliases and titles alike, in his heart Mulder knew that she would always be his Scully. Just as he would always be her Mulder.

#txf #the x files #Msr #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully

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bharathomeapplianceservices · 1 year

Text

Pro-Maintenance tips for your Microwave to prevent it from frequent repair

A microwave oven is the most frequently used appliance in your kitchen. That means, there are many chances of its breakdown. Thus, you need to be more cautious about its maintenance.

In this guide, we will be telling you some of the maintenance tips for your Microwave oven to prevent it from frequent repair or replacement.

Regular cleaning of Microwave

The foremost tip for maintaining a microwave oven is to clean it regularly. Regular cleaning ensures its longevity. Many individuals are unaware of the fact that food and liquid splatters can absorb energy, resulting in burn marks and potentially harming microwave parts. With warm soapy water or a specialised microwave oven cleaner, the majority of foods and beverages can be eliminated.

Try heating a cup of water in the microwave for 60 to 90 seconds to help with tough stains; the steam from the water should help release the dirt.

Don't run on empty

Running a microwave while it is empty can seriously harm it. The energy that a microwave generates when it is empty must be absorbed by the microwave's parts, such as the glass or the magnetron that generates the radiation. These components can be expensive to fix or replace because they were not intended to endure this level of exposure. Most microwaves include separate timer functions that countdown the time without generating any internal energy if you wish to use your microwave as a timer.

Beware of Microwave Door

The most important thing about a microwave oven is its door. Your microwave will be of no use if its door is damaged. Never open its door while it is running.

Avoid smacking its door. Most of the time it happens, due to not having a free hand; people latch its door with their elbows or unlock it without turning off its switch. So, beware of it while baking anything in your microwave oven.

Selecting kitchenware sensibly

Never put anything metallic in your microwave. This comprises dishes with silver or gold accents, metal, and aluminium foil. Having metallic objects in the oven just causes the interior to heat up unevenly, which might lead to damage. Waves released from the oven bounce off of metallic materials. Glass, ceramic, and plastic are frequently microwave-safe materials. However, you should use only dishware that has a sticker stating that it is microwave-friendly and err on the side of caution.

Wrap Up

Enjoy the long-lasting life of your Microwave oven by following these maintenance tips. You can also get microwave oven service to ensure its longevity!

#home appliances repair services #microwave repair services #ac maintenance #home appliances maintaining #washingmachine #electronic #fridge #appliances repair #home repair service

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oleander-nin · 1 year

Note

For the follower special may I please request yan!Leo and yan!Mikey with the following prompts?

18.a soft kiss

and

"You ate it?!"

Hope you don't mind me mixing verbal and not verbal.Also keep yourself hydrated and well fed.Don't forget to sleep too!☆◇

A/N, not important: I am so sorry for the wait, I hope you like it. Despite how long this took and how much I struggled, I'm fairly proud of this one. And look at that! I'm not posting at 2 am for once! I've almost finished all my follower special requests. Only one more to go and I'm home free. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: stalking, mention of planned kidnapping, drugging, planned drugging, sleeping pills, nonconsentual touching(non-sexual)

Words: 2001

Prompt(s) requested: 18(A soft kiss) & 17("You ate it?!")

Summary: Mikey and Leo can't get along when it comes to you

Mikey hums to himself as he takes the cookies out of the oven, kicking the door closed with his foot. He sets the hot tray on the counter, peeling the oven mitts off his hands. The cookies he made were perfect. It was a small batch, only around three cookies, but it would do. After all, they played a very important role in Mikey’s current plan. He grins to himself as he scrapes the cookies off the tray and onto a cooling rack. He was sure to beat Leo now.

Mikey looks proudly down at his recent baking work. They were your favorite. Made just to your taste to be perfect. With an addition of .5 mg of Triazolam, of course. He needed these to bring you home after all. Mikey puts the now empty cookie sheet into the sink to let it soak for a while. It didn’t need immediate attention, and it was always easier to scrape off the cookie crumbs after it soaked.

With one last satisfied grin towards his cookies, Mikey walks off and heads back to his room with his feet softly padding against the ground. It was best to let them cool for now before giving you one. He just had to make sure you only had one. He’d feel awful if he accidentally caused you to take too much and get hurt.

As Mikey steps out, the kitchen is quiet once more. The stacks of dishes sat in the sink, waiting to be washed and put away. The room maintained a peaceful calm for an entire ten minutes before Leo walked in, his head held high. He moseys over to the fridge, leaning in while examining the contents. Leftover pizza catches his eye and he grabs a slice, ignoring the bright sticky note that showed Raph’s claim over the food.

Leo shuts the fridge and leans against the appliance as he eats, his eyes drifting over the kitchen. He grimaces when he spots the piled up dishes. It was his turn to clean them this week, and he was dreading it. Hopefully he could pass it off to someone else.

His drifting eyes land on the three cookies, sitting innocently on their plate. Leo quickly shoves the rest of the pizza in his mouth, wiping his hand absentmindedly on his shorts to get the grease off his fingers. Leo couldn’t help but move closer to the mouth-watering cookies. Looking around the room for anyone watching, Leo picks up one of the cookies and takes a small bite, leaning against the counter and over the plate.

Leo’s eyes dilate as he smiles, the cookie melting on his tongue. Before Leo even realizes, he eats all three. Looking down at the empty plate makes Leo freeze, the last few crumbs of the final cookie falling from his mouth. Leo stares blankly down at the empty plate. He didn’t mean to eat them all. He barely even meant to eat two.

The sound of a furious gasp makes Leo’s head whip towards the door, a shaky smile on his face. He waves at his angry brother, Mikey’s face twisted into a look of shock and fury. Leo understands immediately he messed up.

“Did you eat all of them!?” Mikey asks. His frustration was clear on his face as he stared his older brother down. Mikey was just as tense as Leo.

“They were really good?”

“That doesn’t- You- Leo!” Mikey sputters, trying to process his words properly. This wasn’t fair. He made those for you, and now Leo ruined his chance at bringing you home. Mikey was beyond devastated at Leo’s thoughtlessness, and even madder he now had to find more Triazolam. That was his last amount of it that he could squirrel from Donnie, and he didn’t want to have to find more on his own. All that bribing, and for nothing. His voice is a harsh whisper when it comes out, anger forcing his voice into a tight tone. “Those were drugged.”

“And delicious.” Leo jokes. He laughs nervously at Mikey’s unimpressed face. Leo clears his throat, glancing down at the empty plate. “What with? And why did you drug cookies, Mikey?”

Mikey runs his fingers over his face, groaning. “Point five milligrams of Triazolam each. And they were for (Y/n).”

Leo considers this for a moment. Leo wanted to be angry, mostly because Mikey was planning on doing something with you and didn’t tell him, but he would’ve done the same thing. Leo no longer felt bad for eating Mikey’s cookies.

“Okay, well,” Leo starts, brushing off any fallen crumbs from his wrappings. “Maybe you shouldn’t have left them out in the open with no warning.”

“Maybe you should’ve asked.” Mikey shoots back.

Leo and Mikey stare at each other in standstill, neither moving a single muscle. To move was to give in to the other, and both were too sure they were in the right. Well, Leo knew he was wrong, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Not after learning Mikey was going to use the cookies on you. Leo had to get you before Mikey, and if eating the cookies aided in that, then so be it.

That’s it. Leo needed to get you before Mikey does, and if Mikey was going to start being this sneaky, so would he. Leo shifts, sighing dramatically. His pout is dramatized as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, leaning heavily against the cabinet. “I think the medicine is kicking in, I need to go check with Donnie to make sure I’m okay. Wish me luck, hermano.”

Mikey’s face scrunches up at Leo’s words, his eyes studying his older brother. Mikey didn’t believe him in the slightest, he knew it took way more than three simple doses to put even a small dent in their tolerance to drugs. They were designed as war machines after all, there wasn’t much that could touch them. It just sucked when it came to pain meds, those never helped enough no matter how many they took.

Leo slips past Mikey and heads towards Donnie’s lab, Mikey watching him until he turns a corner and disappears out of sight. Mikey stands in the doorway of the kitchen, his foot rapidly tapping the ground. Mikey highly doubted Leo was actually going to Donnie’s lab for a check in. The slider was up to something, Mikey was certain. He just wasn’t sure what.

Mikey stands in the kitchen for only a moment more before retreating himself, making his way to his room. He still planned on going to your apartment, at least to see you to make sure you were okay. He just needs to grab his sketchbook first so he can practice drawing you a bit more. He would bring you home some other day instead.

Mikey grabs the sketchbook and small pencil bag sitting on his desk, tucking it into a small messenger bag before slinging it over his shoulder and strapping it tight to his shell. Mikey makes his way out of the lair, climbing the nearest fire escape so he could move by rooftop. It was much quicker, and in Mikey’s humble opinion, more beautiful. Mikey heads towards your house, taking his time. He wasn’t in much of a rush, considering he knew you would be there. After finding your schedule that Leo had in his room, which was stupidly left in the open on his desk, Mikey was able to memorize it so he’d know where you should be at all times. Unless you broke your schedule, which was highly unlikely.

You never broke your schedule.

Mikey admires the way to your apartment, gazing out at the skyline. The light from the full moon lit everything he needed, so he didn’t need a flashlight. Plus, New York was bright anyways. The last time he needed a light to lead the way, there was a power outage after a thunderstorm. Mikey would rather not have lightning be his light source ever again.

Skidding to a halt at the end of the roof on your apartment building, Mikey prepares to climb down onto the fire escape so he can make his way into your apartment. Looking over the edge, Mikey nearly falls down when he sees Leo. So that’s what he was up to, ditching the lair to come here. Mikey grumbles for a moment before climbing down to meet his brother, pouting slightly. He wanted to be alone with you, not have Leo be here too.

Leo looks up at Mikey, his eyes widening in surprise before morphing into slight annoyance. His voice was hushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing! This sure doesn’t look like Donnie’s lab-”

Leo panics slightly at Mikey’s loud voice, quickly clamping his hand over his little brother's beak. Leo holds a finger up to his lips, shushing the younger turtle. Mikey tries to argue, but then sees into the window. You were in your bed, fast asleep.

Leo stares at you, his features melting into a soft smile. He loved the way you looked in your sleep, so peaceful and snug. He was confident you would look the same way in his arms. Mikey seemed to be thinking the same, his eyes softened in a similar way. Mikey reaches over to the window to tug it open. He wanted to bring you home. He was done with waiting.

Leo’s eyes widen as he watches Mikey start to pull up the window, yanking his brother back by the lip of his shell. Mikey’s head pops into his shell before coming back out, glaring at the older turtle.

“What was that for?” He hisses, keeping his voice low. Mikey was still trying to get to the window.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to wake them up?”

Mikey scowls. “No! I’m just… I’m taking them home.”

“Absolutely not!” Leo protests, taking his brother by the shoulders. Leo sighs, shaking Mikey a bit as he continues whispering. “They just fell asleep. If we do something too bold, they’ll wake up.”

Mikey pouts before looking at your sleeping figure. He was right. Your breathing was light and he could see your hands still twitching. You were in too light of a sleep to be messed with much.

Leo lets go, moving on the fire escape to face you once more. Mikey frowned. He didn’t want to just watch you and leave. That wasn’t enough. Mikey moves to open the window again while Leo sputters behind him.

“What did I just say?”

Mikey ignores his brother and opens the window fully, dropping silently into the room. Leo hesitates, but follows. He couldn’t let his brother have all the fun after all. Mikey moves up to you and brushes some of the hair off your forehead before planting a soft kiss to the skin. He stands up, smirking at Leo. You hadn’t even flinched.

Leo rolls his eyes before pushing Mikey out of the way, an indignant cry coming from the box turtle. Leo scans your face with a soft smile. He couldn’t wait until you were home safe with him. Maybe Mikey was right, taking you now couldn’t be that much of a setback, could it? Leo kisses your cheek, his hand cupping your face and caressing the soft skin.

Mikey sputters behind him and Leo chuckles. Older brother privileges were the best. Leo continues to push Mikey away playfully, his eyes flickering between you and his brother. Both him and Mikey freeze at a soft groan coming from you.

You shift in your sleep, making both of the turtles step back, their teasing quickly ceasing. Leo and Mikey eye each other. The tension between the two rose, but this time from fear of being caught. A flash of blue illuminates the room for a moment, only the main occupant being left. You roll over in their sleep, unaware of the danger you just avoided.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 months

Text

Over-the-top modern 2021 mansion in Los Angeles, California. 12bds, 17ba, $139M. It also has $5M worth of Italian brand La Contessina furniture that's included with the house.

Look at this loooong sparking chandelier that pools on the floor. (There's a dedicated caretaker's quarters, but it's gonna take more than one person to maintain all this.)

Remember that all the furniture is included. Wonder why they chose brown. Now, here we are in the main living area with a huge bar. (aka "The Nightclub.")

On view here is this 6 car elevator to show off your car collection to guests (what, only 6?).

"The Nightclub" extends way out to the patio.

The wine room holds 1, 050 bottles, with a Murano glass art installation overhead. Wow, this wall of wine bottles is way different from the house I posted yesterday, with the bottle walls.

For entertaining, the residence has multiple bars. This is an ice-cold vodka-tasting room (notice the fans in the ceiling & the frost on the walls). Hanging on hooks are fur coats for the guests to wear. (Is this crazy or what?)

Home gym with a ridiculous amount of Peloton equipment. How many people are they expecting? There's also a climbing wall and a cigar lounge.

This looks like one of the more casual seating areas and bar. Don't expect to see the kitchen that's fitted with Wolf appliances and is supposedly a chef's dream. You don't concern yourself with something as mundane as cooking.

Here's the hot tub room with a massive chandelier.

The home theater is fitted with plush Belgian leather seats.

Beautiful views from the patios and terraces.

Check out the reclining marble tub in the primary suite. The wall opens to a large deck. (Guests get a penthouse suite.)

Massive en-suite bath. That big glass room on the right is the shower.

Her closet.

His closet.

The colossal 23-foot LED screen out by the pool comes up from the floor.

Around this bar are illuminated swing seats, plus a full commercial kitchen hidden from sight, for entertaining, b/c nobody wants to see a kitchen.

This home is really focused on entertaining.

The house is on a 2.08 acre lot and not to worry, bulletproof glass, and a hidden state-of-the-art safe room ensures security and peace of mind. A high-tech 36 camera security system with a full security command center including staff quarters vigilantly watches over the property.

#mansions #over-the-top homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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bats-and-birds-24 · 1 month

Text

A Charming Life

Chapter 2:

Daring didn’t like the glint in his father’s eye, it never was a good sign of things to come. “Son, I’m going to give you the principality of Dragon’s head. Pack your things.”

That was how he found himself on a train to the wildest and most remote Charming principality. Part of him was glad for it, it meant that he wouldn’t have to face his relatives, some of which will be disappointed, and others who will revel gleefully at his loss as the Charming Golden child. He was actually glad that for once in his life, a plan of his actually worked. All he had to do was finish up some paperwork and keep his head down, and after everything that had happened, he would be more than happy to do that.

Of course, heaven forbid his life ever be that easy. The Castle he was sent to didn’t have any servants, or any running water or electricity for that matter. He groaned, how could it have slipped his mind that his exile was meant to be a punishment. Thank the throne that he had some wilderness knowledge.

He cracked his knuckles and got to work. Having clean water was his first priority, he set out to create a makeshift water purifier and started a fire to get the somewhat clean water boiling. While that was getting started, he went up the castle to find the boiler room. It is summer right now, so the weather outside should be fine, but who knows how long his exile will be for? If it carries on into the autumn and winter months, it could get chilly fast, especially this far north. As a prince, he wasn’t trained in plumbing or electrical work, but there should be a user manual somewhere around here. He spotted a dusty old book beneath some cobwebs in the corner of the room. Once cleaned, the cover read, dummies guide to basic plumbing.

The rest of the afternoon was spent following the guide and fixing as much of the castle’s plumbing as he could. Some of the machines were just too old, so he would have to spend some of his stipend on ordering new ones. That was a pity, he was hoping to save some of it in an account his father wouldn’t have any control over. Looks like that plan would have to wait.

He saved the clean water in a secure container and went up to the castle’s living room, if it could even be called that at this point. The furniture was old and dusty, and the carpet had mold growing on it. He would need to call a furniture restorer, but as he went to look them up, his phone showed that it had no signal. Daring wanted to bang his head against the wall, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. As he scanned the room for anything that could help him he saw an old phonebook on an old coffee table. Flipping through the pages, he came across the number for a business that installed cable. By the end of the call, he was certain that he was being overcharged, but he had acquiesced as the day had been exhausting and he just wanted to go to sleep.

The next week or so went in much of the same way. Wake up, fix as much as he could by following what he now realized was a very outdated manual, and argue about the cost of fixing the many broken appliances and systems in his home for the near future.

By the time the weekend rolled around, and he was finally able to take a breath, he had come to two startling conclusions. The first was that most of the people at Dragon’s Head didn’t seem to like the Charming family. This was a drastic change from how people usually treated him when they found out that he’s a Charming. The fawning, the fake plastered on smiles the transactional relationships, along with the immense pressure to maintain all those connections. There was none of that here.

People seemed to eye him warily, the half troll plumber who came to fix his water issue seemed genuinely surprised that he not only attempted to fix his plumbing issue by himself before calling anyone else, but also that the attempt was not half bad. There were other examples that were not as flattering. He remembered fixing a fence by a dirt road, and the couple walking by saw him out and about and turned around and left immediately. Their body language went from open and cheerful to closed off and fearful, as if he was going to order them to kneel before him out of the blue.

The other fact he noticed was that Dragon’s Head had a large beast population. Nearly everyone he met had some beast ancestry, from trolls to goblins, the odd giant, and even a dragonborn. A dragonborn. Everyone in his family believed that they went extinct a long time ago, and yet here they were, right in front of him.

If nothing else, it gave him the courage to explore his beast side. A side Daring had been suppressing for so long, he didn’t even know it existed for most of his life.

That Saturday night he looked out into the vast wild forest and felt something stir in him. He wanted to tear his princely skin to shreds and jump into the wild and never come back. With all the work he had to complete upon his arrival, he’d never really had the time to look around at the splendor of nature that sat right outside his house.

Icy gray mountain peaks topped with millennia old glaciers, dark green trees that towered over him, and crystal clear lakes untouched in eons lay before him. Before he realized what he was doing, he had already leapt out the windows of his chambers and landed in the soft knee length grass outside.

Unbeknownst to him, his body had already begun to change into a beast as long snow white hair sprouted from his skin and his nails turned to claws. His perfectly whitened teeth sharpened, glinting in the moonlit night.

As if possessed by a primal urge, he took off, running deep into the wilderness.

Daaring had never felt this alive in his life. This body of his never seemed to tire. In fact, if he thought about it, it had been this way since he was a child. While the other children tired themselves from a few hours of practice, he could continue for the whole day if need be. It hadn’t made him very popular with the other boys back then. They always scowled at him since they were constantly getting compared to Daring by their teachers, coaches, and even their own parents at times.

In hindsight, it was a very obvious example of the beast's blood in him. He supposed it was overlooked since he seemed to embody the ideal Prince Charming from fairytales. People envied his relentlessness until the root cause of it was revealed.

No point in dwelling on that nonsense now, no one here cared about him being a beast, no one here cared about Daring Charming.

Who was Daring Charming anyway? Was he that golden haired, bright smiled, flirtatious himbo everyone from Apple White, to his own mother thought of him as? Or was he emotionally fragile and narcissistic, which was how most of his detractors including Darling, his own sister, and formerly, Rosabella Beauty. As he looked at his reflection in a stream of glacial water, he wondered if he was the powerful, terrifying beast that everyone, including himself was disappointed in?

Was he disappointed in being a beast? Or was he just (rightfully) scared of the negative reaction from his family?

He stared at his reflection some more, watching it change from beast back to a prince. His clothes were in tatters, the roots of his hair reverting to its traditional silvery white, and his eyes retaining their slight violet hue.

Daring had seen his reflection many times. Hell, it was practically what he was known for back in Ever After High. However, this felt different. He usually checked for imperfections, a stray hair, food stuck in his teeth, or god forbid, a pimple. This time he was looking at himself, as just him.

The old Daring would have been mortified in fear of being caught looking like a beast. But there was no one around to see him, that pressure, for once in his life, wasn't present. Now he was free to complain about anything about his appearance that displeased him. Surprisingly, nothing came to mind.

The white hair and violet eyes suited his pale skin better than the blonde haired blue eyed princes of the past he had originally modeled himself after. Maybe he really was always meant to be a beast.

Drained from chaotic thoughts swarming his mind, he laid down on the cool grass. Looking up at the ink black sky with a splash of the brightest stars Daring had ever seen in his life, he felt at peace. Who cared what he was, here he could finally rest. Maybe being forgotten has its benefits after all. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

#ever after high #daring charming #darling charming #dexter charming #rosabella beauty #apple white #snow white #a charming life

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Eyewitness Accounts of the London Blitz

The London Blitz (September 1940 to May 1941) was a sustained bombing campaign by the German Air Force during the Second World War (1939-45). Londoners were subjected to nightly bombings that killed thousands, destroyed homes, and necessitated long and uncomfortable nights spent in air raid shelters. This article tells the story of the Blitz through the eyes of those who experienced it firsthand.

After the fall of France in the early summer of 1940, the German Air Force (Luftwaffe) set itself the task of destroying the British Royal Air Force (RAF) both in the air and on the ground, a necessary prelude to an invasion. However, as the RAF began to win the Battle of Britain and so maintain air superiority, the Luftwaffe switched objectives to the bombing of cities, particularly London, in the hope of destroying civilian morale. Colonel Adolf Galand of Luftwaffe Jagdgruppe 26 explains this switch:

We didn't know at the time why he changed to London: we had only to obey orders. I believe today that Hitler and Göring wanted to make use of their advantage of having the capital of the enemy in the range of their fighters which could therefore escort the bombers. On the other side Berlin was far out of the effective range of the RAF at this time...Nobody knew at the time how much was needed to destroy a great part of the town. Perhaps Hitler and Göring hoped that they would force England to negotiate after these attacks.

(Holmes, 138)

Peter Stahl, a crew member of a Junkers Ju 88, noted in his diary his experience of bombing London in one of the first raids in early September 1940:

It must be terrible down there. We can see many conflagrations caused by previous bombing raids. The effect of our own attack is an enormous cloud of smoke and dust that shoots up into the sky like a broad moving strip.

(Holland, 731)

On the ground, F. W. Hurd, a member of the Auxiliary Fire Service (AFS), describes the sound of a bomb dropping close to him when fighting a fire in a London gasworks:

Guns started firing, and then I had my first experience of a bomb explosion. A weird whistling sound and I ducked behind the pump with the other two members of the crew. The others, scattered as we were, had thrown themselves down wherever they happened to be. Then a vivid flash of flame, a column of earth and debris flying into the air and the ground heaved. I was thrown violently against the side of the appliance…what a sight. About a mile to our right was the river front. The whole horizon on that side was a sheet of flame. The entire docks were on fire! On all other sides it was much the same. Fire everywhere. The sky was a vivid orange glow…And all the time the whole area was being mercilessly bombed. The road shuddered with explosions. AA shells were bursting overhead…The shrapnel literally rained down. It was now about midnight and still the racket kept on. It surprised me how quickly one got used to sensing whether a bomb was coming our way or not.

(Gardiner, 15-16)

Bombs landed on all sorts of places, but it was local landmarks being destroyed that often shocked the most, as explained by Anthony Heap, a local government official:

I heard that Tussaud's cinema caught a packet last night. So as soon as the All Clear went at 6.25 I dashed along to see. And by gosh it had too. Only the front of it in Marylebone Road and the proscenium was left standing. The rest was completely demolished as were some buildings behind it as well…not a single window in any building in the vicinity remained intact. Huge crowds thronged along the Marylebone Road to see the ruins. It was one of the sights of London today.

(Gardiner, 44)

Londoners went on with their daily lives as best they could, as explained here by Phyllis Warner:

One of the oddest things about our everyday life is its a mixture of ruthless horror and every-day routine. I pick my way to work past the bomb craters and the shattered glass, and sit at my desk in a room with a large hole in the roof (a block of paving stone came through). Next to a house reduced to matchwood, housewives are giving prosaic orders to the baker and the milkman. Of course, ordinary life must go on, but the effect is fantastic. Nobody seems to mind the day raids. It is the nights which are like a continuous nightmare, from which there is no merciful awakening. Yet people won't move away. I know that I'm a fool to go on sleeping in Central London which gets plastered every night, but I feel that if others can stand it, so can I.

(Gardiner, 48)

Sometimes people had no time to seek shelter, as told here by an anonymous East Ender:

The day I was hit was October 13th, 1940. About ten to eight I said to my wife and my in-laws, 'Well, I'll be off now,' and I just walked out the door. Lovely, big three-floor houses they were and I just walked up the approach road about twenty yards from the church which was our air-raid post and suddenly there was – shh – nothing. I heard nothing and I fell flat on my face. I picked myself up, I turned around and all I could see was just a grey curtain hanging down the middle of the road, about twice as wide as this pub. It was just a brownish-grey curtain hanging there and I thought, My God, something's happened. So I staggered down to the post and I said to the post warden, 'Jim, I think something's happened up at the Prince of Wales.' When we went up there and when I saw it I said, 'Christ almighty, the family's down there!' And there it was – we were there, about fourteen of us all on this big row of houses, and it was just one bloody great hole.

(Holmes, 140-1)

The authorities took some months to build communal shelters and then make sure they were not themselves unhealthy death traps. Barbara Nixon, an Air Raid Precaution (ARP) volunteer, describes the poor state of shelters in her district in Finsbury:

They were poorly ventilated, and only two out of nine that came in my province could pretend to be dry. Some leaked through the roof and umbrellas had to be used; in others the mouth of the sump-hole near the door had been made higher than the floor, and on a rainy night it invariably overflowed to a depth of two inches at one end decreasing to a quarter of an inch at the other, and rheumaticky old ladies had to sit upright on their benches for six to twelve hours on end, with their feet propped up on a couple of bricks. four or five times during the night we used to go round with a saucepan and bucket baling out the stinking water…There were chemical closets usually partially screened off by a canvas curtain. But even so, the supervision of the cleaning of these was not adequate. Sometimes they would be left untended for days on end and would overflow on to the floor…Then there was the question of lights…We had one hurricane lamp for about fifty people…The one paraffin light was the only heating that there was in those days. It was bitterly cold that winter.

(Gardiner, 62)

A shelter was not a guarantee of safety. Margaret Turpin recalls the night her shelter was hit by a bomb when she and her family found themselves buried in rubble:

I must have had lots of periods of unconsciousness…I remember seeing an ARP helmet, and it was way, way up, a long way away. And then suddenly it was quite near. I do remember the man saying to me, 'We'll soon have you out.' He said, 'All we've got to do is get your arm out.' And I looked at this arm that was sticking out of the debris, and I said, 'That's not my arm,' and he said, 'Yes it is love, it's got the same coat'…and I don't remember coming out of the shelter. I do remember being in the ambulance, and I think for me that was probably the worst part…I felt somebody's blood was dripping on me from above, and I found that awful - mainly I think because I didn't know whose blood it was, whether it was someone I knew and loved or not. And I tried to move my head, but of course it was a narrow space and I couldn't get my head away from the blood. And I heard a long time afterwards that the man was already dead. But it couldn't have been my father because he was taken out of the shelter and he didn't die till two days later…He died, my mother died, my baby sister died, my younger sister died. I had two aunts and they died, an uncle died…I knew almost immediately because when I came home from hospital…there were milk bottles outside and I just knew then that nobody had come home to take them in…The seven were all buried on the same day. My brother said that they put Union Jacks on the coffins…They sent me to Harefield…But unfortunately the people at Harefield could see the raids on London, and they used to come out to watch, to view it like a spectacle, and I couldn't stand that.

(Gardiner, 64-5)

The stations of the London Underground were a popular refuge, with people sleeping on the platforms in rows. A journalist describes the scene in the Elephant and Castle station:

From the platforms to the entrance the whole station was one incumbent mass of humanity…most of this mass of sleeping humanity slept as though they were between silken sheets. On the platform when the train came in, it had to be stopped in the tunnel while police and porters went along pushing in the feet and arms which overhung the line. The sleepers hardly stirred as the train rumbled slowly in. On the train I sat opposite a pilot on leave. 'It's the same all the way along,' was all he said.

(Gardiner, 84)

Some families preferred to stay near their homes, and so they erected an Anderson shelter in their garden. Made of sheet metal and packed around with soil, they could resist close calls and flying debris but not, of course, a direct hit. A London air raid warden, Mr Butler describes one tragedy where the Anderson shelter survived but not the occupant:

There was an Anderson shelter and apparently there was a little girl inside. Her parents had gone round the corner to visit their friends or relations or something and the shelter was more or less caved in and covered with soil. I got down into the shelter and there was this little girl about fifteen or sixteen and her mouth was full of soil. Naturally, I got hold of her hand, which is our job to console these people and try to quieten them down. She was in a pretty bad state and I cleaned her mouth out; she laid back and as she was catching her breath, sort of breathing heavily, some stupid devil walked over the top of the shelter, soil came down and went back in this girl's throat and as she squeezed my hand like that she just faded out. Now I had the feel of that girl clenching my hand for weeks and weeks and weeks. I could never forget it and I don't forget it now.

(Holmes, 144)

One family that stayed at home was the Royal Family, who earned much respect for remaining at Buckingham Palace. When the palace was slightly damaged on 13 September 1940, Queen Elizabeth was not too distressed:

I'm glad we've been bombed. Now I feel we can look the East End in the face.

(Ziegler, 121)

The government was keen to keep tabs on people down in the shelters and find out if any social unrest could be bubbling under the surface. There was a Mass-Observation unit that sent out secret observers who then compiled reports on the public's behaviour. Mostly there ended up next to nothing to report beyond rumours as to what some couples were getting up to in the darker corners or the existence of a black market in getting the best positions to sleep in. One mundane report is typical, the highlight being a little aggravation between understandably stressed family members:

First was a girl, shouting and screaming at her mother. In the end they were separated by force, and led away from each other, struggling and screaming. The other case was of a man and his wife. The wife wanted him to sit down, the husband wanted to walk about. She became very excited, and a crowd of 'rubberers' formed round them. She bit his ear and tore out his hair. He smacked her face and threw her to the ground.

(Levine, 88).

The number of homeless kept on rising, and the need to look after them inspired such organisations as the Women's Voluntary Service (WVS), as here remembered by an anonymous East Ender:

A big morale booster was the Women's Voluntary Service – the WVS…When the Blitz started they certainly proved their worth. They went out with mobile canteens right in the middle of the Blitz; the following day they had their clothing centres open. People who had lost everything were fitted up with clothes and then taken along by the WVS and be given a cup of tea and a bun, then taken along to the assistance people who doled them out £10 or £20, whatever the size of the family was.

(Holmes, 142)

Tragedies were everywhere as people lost much more than their property. Frances Faviell, a Red Cross nurse in London recalls one woman's grief:

There was a little woman from Dovehouse Street sitting on a bench…Dovehouse Street had had a parachute mine on it and the Chelsea Hospital for Women had dealt with many casualties. Suddenly her control gave way and she began screaming in a frenzy of grief…'He's gone…He's gone and I'm all alone and no home, nothing. No one wants me…Why didn't I go with him, it's cruel, it's cruel, cruel. Why? Why?' Her anguish was terrible.

In the appalled silence with which officialdom treats such outbursts – almost as if she had said or done something obscene – a sleek, well-dressed clergyman…told her sternly to desist – that what had happened was God's will and that she must accept it and thank Him for her own deliverance from death. She looked at him in dazed misery as if he spoke a foreign language and began screaming even more wildly. 'God! There's no God! There's only Hitler and the Devil'

(Gardiner, 317)

A spirit of defiance drove people on, as evidenced by this anecdote from Anthony Eden, then Foreign Secretary, who was with Wendell Wilkie, the US politician sent to determine the mood of Britain during the Blitz:

We were coming out of the Foreign Office and his leadership. But immense credit is also due to the British people, because it was their victory.

(Holmes, 147).

The 'Blitz spirit', the pulling together of strangers from different levels of society to defiantly resist the terrors of the bombing, was, for many, the defining experience of those dark days of 1940 and 1941. Much has been made in recent times of a 'myth' of the Blitz with undue emphasis given to rare incidents of social unrest, looting, and prejudices against perceived outsiders. The vast majority of eyewitnesses speak of people simply getting on with their lives as best they could in terrible circumstances. Another recurring theme in witness accounts is that people had an all too clear sensation that they were playing a role in a drama that would have consequences for the future of Europe. As Caryl Brahms noted in her diary in December 1940:

These are the days to be alive in. These days now. They are hard, unhappy, lonely, wasted, infuriating, terrifying, heartbreaking days. But they are history. And in them we are a part of history. We are lucky to be living now.

(Levine, 313)

#History #AirWar #London #LondonBlitz

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