#inspired by dangerously yours

[radskull-69]

ੈ✩‧₊˚make a wish ੈ✩‧₊˚

mafia fell sans x reader

“So… did ya make that wish?” A deep voice cut through the quiet air, save for the crickets and the muffled music behind you both. The party still going on held by the don himself despite it bleeding into the late hours, for whatever reason you weren’t told.

“Pardon?” You looked over to the owner of the voice, a monster you’ve grown closer to despite yourself. Sans. He wasn’t looking at you though. Rather, at the stars with a look you couldn’t place. But eventually those sharp red eye lights turned their attention to you, and that look on his face didn’t waver

“Ya wish, ya know? You humans have this thing where ya wish on a shooting star or somethin’. Or are you too good for that?” Towards the end of his sentence he shot you his infamous teasing grin and nudged you slightly, almost making you fall off the cement bench dramatically and into the wet grass under you both.

you lightly slapped his arm next to you and ignored his chuckles, huffing through your nose as you regained your composure. Smoothing out the fancy attire you were forced to wear with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s hard to focus on the stars when there’s an annoying skeleton by my side, did you wish on it though? Since your staring so tensely at the sky I doubt you’d miss anything.”

you nodded your head up to the sky in question, you were always wondering what was going through that thick skull of his. Maybe knowing what he’d wish for would help you understand how he ticks, but he’s a secretive man like that so you doubt it. You don’t even know his favourite food..

“My wish? Heh, what would I wish for? I’ve got everythin’ I want riiiight here~” with a all too sly grin he stretched his large arm over your shoulder and before you couldn’t retort he pulled you flush into his side, his cologne that reminded you of smokes and roses filling your nose immediately.

“But I wouldn’t mind a cocktail right about now…” he muttered under his breath as he looked away in annoyance, making your souring mood lighten at his dismay. With a chuckle you couldn’t hold back you decided just this once you’d let him hold you, but maybe that’s just the drinks from earlier talking for you.

“I think you had more than enough to drink for one night Mr Serif, you’re already making a fool of yourself. More than usual I mean.” You leaned your head back a bit to look at the stars shining as bright as they could, your hands in your lap as you sighed slightly

the situation would’ve been romantic, sitting in a fancy garden filled with flowers, statues and hedges as you both looked up at the stars. A party you both abandoned going on behind you despite your lack of absence.

but you had to remind yourself to not forget yourself, you doubt anything good would come of it if you mingled with sans. Anymore than you already have you mean.

“Oh fuck off, i can handle my drinks. But ya didn’t answer my question.” The feeling of hard bone fingers gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head away from the sky to look at him instead. A grin tugging further on his face as he looked down at you.

“Whaddya wish for sweetheart? I’m a curious skeleton, and maybe if you’re lucky I’ll make it come true.” You felt yourself go tense as he leaned down further to reach your level, impossibly close it made your heart stutter more than your speech. But you didn’t lean back, either because of his grip on your chin or because you didn’t want to your not sure.

“I-I want…” you could barely get the words out, looking down at those sharp teeth you’ve seen hundreds of times before. The gold canine of his glinting in the dim lights of the night, you pulled your gaze away from them to look him in the eye lights.

”go one sweetheart, I’m all yer’s..” sans started to close his eyes(?) as he leaned further, his breath washing over your lips. But he paused, waiting to hear your wish as his hand let go of your chin, it instead slip down your collar bones and arms to grip at your hand in your lap. Rubbing his finger over the back of it.

“I want..” you sucked in a breath, feeling his teeth nudge against your lips. Your face felt like it was hotter then grillby on a bad day, and in a flustered panic you shout something that was far from the truth.

“I wish for the moon!” You shouted, your face red and your body stiff as a board. You could barely process what you said.

…

sans blinked his eyes open, looking at you for a moment before leaning back up. Towering over you once again, a incredulous slapped across his face

“Tha moon..?” He slowly looked away from you to stared at the moon, before back at you with his head titled. It was funny as it was cute.

“You’ll get your kiss when you get me that, you said you could. And you wouldn’t break a promise, would you sans?” You put on the best smug smile you could, pushing down the butterflies on your stomach as you one upped him for once.

“Oh cmon now that ain’t fair, that’s a lot of work for a lazy bones like me. How’d I even get up there!?” He slipped his hand out of yours and chuffed, getting out a cigar from his pants with a scowl. But you could tell he wasn’t as angry as he tried to look.

“What? It’s my wish, so I expect you to respect it. I’m not to blame if you can’t make it true.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back against the bench.

“Fuck you and your wish.” You wouldn’t ever say it but it almost looked as if he was pouting, trying again and again to light his cigar as he held it between his sharp teeth. But his lighter refused to work, making him grow more agitated.

With a chuckle and some thought you grabbed sans collar with your when and pulled him over to you, barley anymore than an inch between you. Grabbing the lighter from his now limo hold, looking at him with lidded eyes as you lit his cigar first try.

“Go make a new wish and cry about it.” You felt proud of yourself for how cool you looked saying that, once his cigar was lit you leaned back to your spot and tossed him his lighter.

Sans stayed where he was for a bit, frozen before his skull exploded in his signature colour. Sitting up suddenly and swearing profusely as he took quick puffs, blowing red smoke into the air around you. His eyes glaring at the ground as he blush illuminated you in a red glow

“Fuckin’ tease… next time I see a shooting star I’ll wish for ya ass to be handed to you.

you couldn’t hold back the laugh that spilled from your lips at his angry and flustered state, a rare sight only you got to see and it was one you made sure to remember for days to come.

[mel-kusanagi]

just one lil smooch

[distant-screaming]

I love media that is about parents. the way it always leads back to the way characters have been raised, been loved, been taught to love. media about about fathers and expectations and understanding and cultural roots holding it all together, about rekindling relationships that never had a chance to exist and letting go of grief over relationships that don't exist anymore. media about mothers, and burdens, and shelter. media about generational cycles and legacies and futures that are dictated by the past, and media about nature vs nurture and the way they have lived. media about the wealth and family and what is important and when. media about family of blood and family of choice and family of convenience. I love media about history and inheritance and, most of all, parents.

[bsptourist]

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created by RileySV

[thepersonalwords]

I will not allow my mistakes of the past compromise my hope for the future.

Charles F. Glassman, Brain Drain The Breakthrough That Will Change Your Life

[beachyserasims]

Geneva Island Legacy┃Chapter four┃Imagining Things

~ Transcript ~

To Be Continued in Chapter 5

Shoutout to @lynzishell for inspiring me from this post

Beginning / Previous / Next

[xappetites]

jouissance (3)

Phillip Graves x Reader | Phillip feels himself shifting, the way it happens when he starts to think of something as his. Like he's pacing the edge of the property, keeping what belongs to him under his watchful eye, by his side. Ready to gore whatever thinks they can take it from him. | word count: 1,688

Someone has done wrong by his wife, Phillip can tell. Even if all she does is look real surprised when she walks away from baggage claim and sees him there waiting for her. 

It’s the same eyes she gave him when he got her the ring, like she never expected it; which makes it startlingly clear that she’s been made to think she’s not worth the trouble. And she’s thought that for long enough that she has no issue depending on only herself. 

And it should be one more flash of good luck for him, all things considered. It’d be far easier to live his life not putting in effort that isn’t expected of him, but the thought hits him dead in the pride.

His wife should never be pitied for it. It should be something to envy, belonging to him. No one’s going to look at his senator’s girl like they look at Marnie, no one would ever call his girl ‘abnegate’ like they do to his mother. So, of course it bothers him; enough to have him licking an orgasm out of her on the backseat of his truck, in the middle of the airport parking lot, while she giggles out something about getting arrested for indecent exposure. And he laughs into her cunt, drags a hint of teeth over her clit just to see her flinch because this is by far the tamest illegal shit he’s done these past few weeks.

She doesn’t know that, though. Phil’s frankly not sure she even knows the full extent of what he does for a living, beyond the fact that it’s vaguely military related and it sometimes takes him down to shithole places for months at the time.

She knows it was the reason they didn’t have a honeymoon; which then gave her an excuse to abscond back to New York for a month.

And Phillip, he doesn’t have the healthiest impression of marriage, he’s aware. He’s met enough married shadows that get the jitters as soon as they touch down at home base, aching to get back to their spouses, to realize that the way his father and Pete gripe about their wives isn’t the norm. 

But Phil didn’t really imagine himself one way or the other, before feeling the itching under his skin to just wrap up a nice little win as fast as possible; when he couldn’t still the bouncing of his leg through typing out his mission report. Not before this last week he spent on his own in the new house.

Maybe it’s because it is new, but it’s fucking barren. The long silence after a fight he didn’t win. There’s no hair in the drains to complain about, no overspill of beauty products on the bathroom counter. None of the things he’s seen in her apartment in the city: the book haphazardly thrown on the couch and the spices standing at attention by the stove, like a splinter cell from the army of jars on the rack.

It should be unsettling to want it, should feel out of character, but Phillip’s too used to noise to be comfortable in that tomb of a house. He’s right at home in the constant din of people around him, and he happens to really like the noises she makes.

The breathless little thing she groans out as she tugs on his hair, the singing under her breath while she redresses herself —in that way that makes him wanna keep her in bed all day. All those sounds she’s keeping just out of his reach by refusing to stay in town.

“You don’t like the house?”

He breaches the topic as soon as he merges onto the highway, with a hand splayed possessive over her thigh. It’s about as subtle as a tank, bulldozing over the bore of late friday night traffic; and it makes her straighten in the passenger seat where she’s leaning back, boneless, save for the wrist hanging out the window so the smoke of her cigarette falls mostly away from the vehicle.

Phil watches like a hawk; follows each little shift in her expression, looking for the denial, the excuses. He gets a burst of embarrassed laughter instead.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it? It’s so quiet.”

“Well we haven’t been in it to make it noisy, have we?”

This time her laugh is a little higher, breathy and surprised. She reaches for his hand, teasing her fingertips over the endless little white lines of scar scattered across his knuckles; and she takes advantage of the gridlock to lean in and speak right into the skin of his neck.

“This place is so fucking boring when you’re not around.”

…

The Graves are a good, southern, God fearing family; they go to church every Sunday, they say their prayers before every meal. And they bless every single calf less than half an hour after the poor things first lay eyes on this world.

Phillip— isn’t. He can’t stand the smell of incense, he’s spent too many hours counting the floor tiles as their pastor droned on about loving thy neighbor and he’s never felt God out in the field with him. Not that he has any need for it, when he can rely on himself and his shadows.

But god damn, if this girl wasn’t heaven sent with a pretty bow and his fucking name on the tag.

He feels it in his bones with a certainty so deep it aches, bent over her in the stupid walk in closet neither of them cared about but it’s quickly proving itself a necessity. Or maybe that’s just his orgasm crawling like fire up his spine, feeling her tighten around him everytime he catches her eyes through the ridiculously big mirror. Perhaps it’s the sight of her dripping with him, his inside and out. Or the way it takes none of the cajoling he’d braced himself for, to convince her to come meet the shadows on base.

“Give me a baseline here. What are they expecting? Marilyn or Jackie?”

Her voice comes loud, so he can hear her all the way in the en-suite from where he left her starfished on the bed, chattering away with that manic sort of energy spike she gets when the sex is really good. 

Phil considers it for a second, watches her stretch like a cat towards him as soon as she lays eyes on him, and she shines in the shared petty joy of performing a different version of themselves, keeping their soft bellies out of reach.

But he doesn’t like the thought of her playing stupid for the Shadows. He doesn’t want to put on a show for them; hell, just imagining it makes him move to grab her, scrambling over the bed until she’s giggling under him; putting weight on her before she’s lost, drifting too far from him.

She grins, assuming that Phil’s reaction comes from the impulse to mark his territory, which in a way it is. He’s simply taken by the humiliating notion that he wants every man under his charge to know this is true, for there to not be a single doubt that this woman loves him. The Shadows aren’t like Pete, or his parents, they’re trained to mind the details and pinpoint weaknesses; if they catch even the slightest clue that this is an arrangement , he doesn’t doubt they’ll mock him over the comms channels he has no business being in. Or worse, they’ll pity him.

“Would that make me JFK?”

It’s a joke, but it makes her smile falter. And she drags the pad of her thumb over the scar on his cheek. Staring at him for a second of silence that feels significant in a way he can’t put into words.

“Won’t wear pink, then.”

…

The Shadows are on their best behavior, which in fairness, isn’t strange. Phil isn’t training animals, he’s beating excellence into himself and whoever chooses to trust him with their talent. Besides, this meeting —after his wife’s no pink, no heels, no pearls, entrance— is a smaller affair. Team Leaders only. The men he trusts to make this request of.

“Alright, I know there’s been rumors,” some shadows laugh, some roll their eyes, which Phillip hopes it’s enough to loosen the tension of a dozen well trained, deadly people in a crowded office, no matter how comparatively big it is. “And I’m aware y’all have better things to do than minding my businesses, but I thought I’d bring the missus over to meet you lot.”

His girl shifts behind him, Phil catches it out of the corner of his eye, holding his gaze through the reflection on a window. Deliberate, where she knows he can see her, as intimate as the pinky she brushes against his hand.

“And I want you to get familiar with this pretty face, ‘cause I’m gonna need you to make her top priority, in case anything happens to me.”

Phil waits for a few nods from the shadows, as they collectively watch his wife’s microexpressions. Covertly as their training allows. The way she narrows her eyes at the back of his head, burning a hole through him, her body twisting infinitesimally to better face him; and her subtle point of touch that becomes her full palm against his, so Phillip has the chance to hold on firmly to her hand.

“Vance, you and your team know what to do. The rest of you will receive instructions if necessary.”

The shadows can tell when they’re dismissed, so they break lines with the usual callout, moving in pairs and threes and single file out the door until his office is quiet. And then Phil can turn to see her, waiting for the questions he saw forming across her face in real time but never come.

She just pulls him flush against her, slowly —the gentlest she’s ever been with him—, and she kisses him until he’s tugging at her clothes and panting out her name into the mid summer heat, barely audible under the constant hum of the air conditioning.

[archdevilsupreme]

Fellow arsonists and dearest onlookers,

THIS is the reminder you needed to maybe, just maybe, remember some idiot dragging along Cazador's corpse all around Baldur's Gate (for like most of Act 3, as I kinda ran into this palace at level 9 like a fucking idiot not knowing where tf I am until I thought, oh just fuck it and go through with it now (I did die a lot...)

I would like to present the "Bag Of Death- Shenanigans" to you!

These determined adventurers swore themselves to be as fucking ✨dramatic✨ as possible.

So they started putting every corpse of their enemies in a backpack. Which they then put into their camp chest. While they do often fight about who is a worse influence on the other, they can agree on being insufferable as a team thus I need you to imagine Mazikeen (my Tav) arranging this pile of corpses while Lord Fangs is just standing by complimenting her on the creative display and giving signature sass. He's not helping. Of course he's not. Why should he, his job is to make this shit burn. He's also 15 points behind on strength compared to her. I love the thought of her moving and carrying stuff for his majesty, Lord Fangs.

But anyway.... I'm straying...

Their teammates hate them & their bullshittery, all these two wanna do is commit arson all the fucking time. You thought Karlach is starting fires? Nuh uh, it's this hellfire duo, they're just little devils, all mischief, all mayhem- all the time. I love them for this. (Tbh we all know it's just me, I'm Fãerun's most pathetic revenge seeking arsonist.)

Also Astarion very much deserved to igni the fuck out of this pile (what a weird way to spell Cazador).

Thank you for your attention, here's to having fun with fire!

[jacarandaaaas]

was thinking about life threatening situations and how I feel mirabel would be one of if not the first person to react. mira’s a quick thinker and she’s fast to react in the movie, she’s also incredibly impulsive as we see many many times. mirabel is also resourceful using whatever is around her to her advantage! another strong trait is her selflessness, she would put the madrigals over herself in a heartbeat and that’s obvious. See mirabel throws herself into danger if it means saving those she cares about! so in conclusion if someone was trying to hurt the madrigals I think she would be the first to react even if it’s not the smartest choice I feel she would just try to be heroic even if she’s absolutely terrified.

[krsc2]

the forcefem dew brainrot is BAD today y'all

[senselessalchemist]

On one of my usual walking routes there's a pair of mannequin legs out in the front garden of one house and today they were standing in and topped with snow

There's nothing else to this really but I do enjoy someone having a pair of very shapely mannequin legs that cut off at the lower torso out in all elements. If no one else got me the mannequin legs on [redacted street name] got me

[guinevereslancelot]

please do not judge a teacher for whatever corny shit they have on their desk or in their classroom/office or even their home. it was a gift

[violetlunette]

OH! Oh! I was just listening to the Labyrinth ost and got another AU(ish) idea! When Silver was a baby, and Lilia first found him, Malleus was super jealous that he had to share Lilia’s attention. One day, while watching the baby as Lilia went to chop wood or something, Malleus tells Silver the tale of the Goblin King, not realizing that reciting his tale summons him. Malleus then makes an ill-thought comment that he wishes the goblin king would take Silver away, so he can have Lilia to himself again. And low and behold, David Bowie does just that. (What he plans to do with the babe, I’ll leave to your angsty minds. Does he plan to eat him? Make him an heir? Steal his body? Raise him as a love? Your pick.) Malleus—having a conscience regrets his words and finds Lilia. Together they go to the Labryth and navigate it to save Silver. The hitch? They both lose their magic there, and their fae abilities are toned down to the level of a human, so they have a hard time. After many traps and tricks, they make it to the goblin city. While Lilia handles the army, Malleus faces Jareth and saves baby Silver, who crawls into his arms. After Jareth’s defeat, the trio goes home, and slowly but surely, Malleus starts to fall in love with the little baby.

[the-writing-mobster]

Hey.

Just a gentle reminder... That in an overwhelming majority of Undertale fanfic, Frisk IS the villain.

This is a gentle reminder that a majority of fanfics where Frisk is Sans's victim... Sans is the point of view character.

A gentle reminder that in an overwhelming majority of murder mystery novels, victims are used as plot devices and seen as objects to be brutalized for the story, and detectives are the main characters.

A gentle reminder that pop culture is deeply fascinated with the minds of cruel men, and their stories are told 90% of the time.

.

.

.

So... TMDG is a small drop in the well of something that is not that. It's a murder mystery I want to tell focused on the victims; their hopes, their dreams, and how that was robbed of them...

And Undertale just happens to be the gift wrapping I chose to present this story in, because Sans is my muse.

Thank you! Enjoy! Go forth and prosper, darlings.

Mwah!

🫶🏻💗

[rxttenfish]

i love writing this scene because i love pointing out how quickly merfolk go from "haha silly/absurd cute animal" on land to "oh god oh god oh GOD thats a very very large predator and i will not be able to escape in time" the second you get into the water with them

[inkisionary]

"I see.. Destruction and Despair . . .

. . . Gᴏᴏᴅ / Eᴠɪʟ the line blurs. . ."

                                        【 Carrd Here 】

                                    > [ 💜 By Borb ]

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