#just imagine him saying it with a southern accent

[fizzycherrycola]

Alfred: Seems to me that God granted me a special gift; made me a fine instrument of warfare. And I just think it’d be a real shame... 

(He puts his cigarette out in the New Mexico dirt.)

Alfred: ...if I didn’t use my talents to make the world a better place.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Random thought I had last night. Genuinely think they're both equally outlandish - which is just ridiculous in itself if you think about it.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Oooooh do you think gnomes would have their own language/dialect??

Short answer: Yes. Technically.

Long answer: I have. Feelings. About how language is treated in fantasy. Like “this race has their Own language” despite living in vastly different areas of the same world. Like. Humans having their Own language. Elves having their Own language. Elves, orcs, etc etc. Its not Bad but its definitely like A Thing that pokes at my sides a little lol.

Humans have hundreds of spoken and visual languages! Id like to imagine that in a world with other races, they would have their own variety of spoken language 😊 So yes; Gus does speak in his own native tongue. And he has absolutely badmouthed someone who got on his nerves without them realizing it lol

[bigs-bigshot]

trucker au. Unlike my other aus this one is very recent so I don't have much on the 'story' yet.

[cameronsprincess]

oh oh oh!!!! blue collar!rafe going to a strip club with his boys after a long work week😵‍💫 he’s all showered and smells fucking delicious. imagine his denim jeans that hug his thighs and ass nicely, a tight plain white t-shirt and fucking boots on… a beer in one hand, cash in the other as his hard blue eyes never leave your dancing body. i’m drooooooling.

he’d definitely wave you over for a lap dance, and the moment you approach him, he’s placing a hundred dollar bill in the waistband of your lingerie set, large, calloused hands gripping at your hips as you move them against his clothes covered dick. your pussy would throb the minute you heard his southern accent whisper in your ear, “pretty little thing ain’t ya, what’s to say you come home with me tonight, give me a private show?”

you’d do just that, ending up in his bed, screaming his name as your long nails dig into the skin of his back. he’d fuck you slow and hard, whispering the filthiest things in your ear as he did. after that night, he becomes a regular, always requesting you, and always ending up back at his house with you in his bed.

[vintagecandy]

Now for the 1920s reimagining of Jonathan Crane ! sorry this explanation is even longer lmao

As everyone's been saying, I should do the rest of the Dork Squad to match 1920s Jervis, and so here is my Jonathan! Easily the hardest to draw out of the three-- but I must say! Despite being outside my expertise, I'm a little surprised how much it looks exactly like I was imagining! Even if it took me ages but that's just procrastination lmao.

Anyways! What is his deal? Well, for one, design wise I did go a more drastically different direction from his usual look by doing a literal scareCROW. He's much more bird like, with a plague doctor mask being common imagery in steampunk, but he's still very southern themed with his messy broken overall strap and patchwork coat. Even his wings are rustic. ( he can't fly just glide btw lol ) Also! I leaned hard into the color orange instead of his usual green gas because it..... bugs me that both Crane and Nygma have a bright green in their color palette. I just want them to have distinct colors if they're going to be a trio. And look how vintage halloweeny he looks !!

So why is he so well dressed out of costume? Well! This Jonathan Crane is not a psychologist at all, here he is the very successful grandfather of horror movies in the silent film era. ( An illustrious origin, i hope canon Crane would be proud lmao ). This is referenced in how his face looks, he's wearing white powder and black makeup that's usually meant to emphasize key features on blurry film like his upper lip and around his eyes. And yes, he just keeps his makeup on during most events, and people just accept he's a little on the... eccentric side.

To me, the archetype of the mad artist fits Jonathan's vibe perfectly. When it comes to striking fear, he's a perfectionist, a trait that drove him to learn every single skill necessary himself, from costume design to props to making his own cameras to mechanical engineering, to.... a "fear gas" that was supposed to gently encourage immersion in the audience but ended up becoming a dangerous chemical weapon.

For his origin crime I am thinking !! Full blown Scooby Doo style monster mystery!! With some nuance! Crane, as a first impression, gives off an immediate air of pompous, aggressively impatient, pretentious director type. His presence is big and dramatic, but its distinctly not southern-- in fact, he seems to play up something between a hollywood accent and a thespian one. But this is all to cover for his farm hick background that he was once very ashamed of.

As a child of a failing farmhand during an infamously dry and dusty era, Jonathan developed an extreme resentment for his country existence from both the bullying of other children for all his strange quirks and the severe verbal and physical abuse of his father, driven to alcoholism by the stress of poverty and the loss of his wife. Originally offering his artistic ideas as a means to help them, he grows sick of their closed mindedness and berating and runs away to learn about the emerging potential of film in Gotham City.

Its been many years, Jonathan now in his early 30s, he finds himself surrounded by the shallow, champagne aristocrats that reflect his childhood bullies. Feeling wrong in his own skin, he develops a sightly unhealthy obsession with the escapism he finds in performing as the monsters in his movies.

But upon discovering that the corrupt rich of Gotham plan to push legislation that would negatively effect farmers like his own history, and that they expected him to be amongst those who support it, his irritation with the shallowness of society reaches its limits. In day, he would feign support for their behavior to cover his tracks, but at night he would don the mask of the Scarecrow, rumored to be the vengeful spirit of a farmer who was hanged, and who he believes to be a more freeing expression of himself than his true face, targeting not just the rich but striking fear in their laborers to scare them off land. And it works. So, he tries bending the will of society more.

Is he doing this out of any moral conviction or just spite and a love for the role? It's... hard to say.

As the Scarecrow, his methods are so effective he's near uncatchable, even by Batman. Its only by solving the mystery of who is under the mask are they able to catch him. They surprise him during one of his screenings, jump him in the dark, and prove his subtle use of fear gas in the theater to the police once he's cornered. Instead of being angry, he goes to the mad house applauding Batman's performance.

What an interesting character they play. He's very inspired.

[strang3lov3]

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[gothcsz]

imagine pornstar javi having an only fans 😩

girl i'd subscribe so fast

oh hell yeah nonnie, me too... top subscriber, working 3 jobs just to support this sexy man. who's with me?! 🙂‍↕️ tagging @miss-oranje-disco-dancer & @almostempty because duhhh 🖤 i hope i did this justice!

tags: f!reader, smut babes, onlyfans!javi let's gooo, he talks you through it, dirty talk duh, masturbation (f&m), use of pet names (doll, baby, sweetheart, muñeca, bella), roleplaying (?), i have no idea how OF works so just vibe with me, everyone say thank you to your bestie, unbeta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx. ~ 3.1k w/c

p.s. if you’re into pornstar!javi you should check this out 🖤

look at how yummy this dick is 👀

You frown as you read the message preview sent from your best friend. Your eyes flit up to check the time.

It’s barely past two in the morning. Does this bitch ever sleep? Granted— you’re also up late.

You tap on the notification before it disappears, going into your message thread with her and you see the link attached to her horny message.

why are you sending me unsolicited dick pics at 2 am? what would your man think of this?

She replies right away.

first of all i don’t have a man second of all it’s a video and just please go watch it

You’re confused by that first message since she was just raving about this guy she met at her job but you let it go, tapping on the link and waiting for safari to open it up.

The OnlyFans website loads and prompts you to log in before continuing. You go back to your messages.

tabling the i don’t have a man convo for another time can’t see it because i don’t have an account 

She’s quick to send you her log in and you laugh out loud— of course she’s a registered user.

You type in her email and password, patiently waiting before the post she sent you loads and your eyes widen.

Just the thumbnail has you intrigued. A man, dressed in a tailored navy suit sans the jacket and tie, the fabric of his white collared shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The title reads: Late Night at the Office. 

The transparent play button teases you, almost daring you to give in to the intrigue.

So you tap it.

It begins with the mystery man seated, the frame capturing him from the tip of his strong nose down to the top of his thighs. His features are striking from what you can see— plump, pink lips framed by a neatly trimmed mustache, adding a hint of rugged sophistication to his appearance.

His legs are spread wide, unapologetically taking up space, the rich leather of the chair creaking subtly beneath him. His thighs strain against the fabric of his suit pants.

There’s something about the way he sits, so sure of himself, so confident in his own skin, that draws your eye immediately to the center of the frame. One hand rests lazily on his thigh, the other cradles a phone, as if he’s deep into an intimate call. His eyes, though hidden, seem locked on you through the screen, pulling you deeper into his fantasy.

And then, he speaks.

“Have to stay late, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

His voice slides through the speakers of your phone like liquid velvet— deep and smooth, carrying an accent that’s definitely southern but tinged with something else, wrapping itself around each word like a caress.

“Don’t be upset, doll. Let me make it up to you.”

His tone is gentle but authoritative, luring you in. The air feels charged, and despite the fact that you’re watching from behind a screen, it feels as though his words are meant for you and you alone.

“Why don’t you undress for me and lean back,” the command is soft yet irresistible.

Your breath catches in your throat, a soft gasp you weren’t expecting, as your thighs instinctively press together beneath the plush comforter, seeking some form of relief from the growing ache.

It’s as if he has some kind of power over you, the pull in his voice coaxing you into compliance. Your skin prickles with anticipation as you glance around your quiet studio apartment, almost instinctively checking if anyone might be watching; like your best friend who lured you into this horny trap in the first place. 

But of course, there’s no one else here— just you and his low, hypnotic voice filling the space around you.

You pause it, antsy fingers reaching for the hem of your nighttime slip dress, the soft fabric sliding effortlessly off your skin then being tossed aside. Propping your phone up with a decorative pillow at the edge of the bed, you angle it so you’re able to see him perfectly.

You feel a rush of warmth, excitement, as you resume the video and settle back against the mountain of pillows behind you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, baby,” he murmurs, his tone low and husky, the faintest edge of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t stop picturing you, lying in bed… all warm and soft, just waiting for me to take care of you.”

Your lips part instinctively, tongue grazing the corner as you feel the pull of lust tightening in your core. Your nipples, already taut from the cool air in your space, ache for attention.

You shift, thighs rubbing together again, unable to stop your body’s response. His voice feels like it’s seeping directly into your skin, making it impossible to sit still.

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he orders so tenderly and impossible to refuse. “Slowly, sweetheart. Just run your fingers over those soft thighs of yours… don’t rush.”

You obey, hands traversing down the length of your torso until they’re at your thighs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly as you follow his instructions. Your breath hitches again, heart beating louder in your ears as his voice continues to weave around you, wrapping you in the intimacy of the moment.

“That’s it,” he purrs, “Let me hear those little gasps. I want you to think of my hands doing that for you. Think of me sliding my fingers up and down your beautiful body… teasing you.”

And so you do. You think of his larger, surely rougher touch at your inner thighs. The growing pressure at the apex of your legs builds with every syllable, but it’s not just his voice that has you derailing.

It’s everything. 

As the camera lingers on him, you watch his free hand move to the top button of his shirt. His fingers work with deliberate precision as he undoes it then the ones that follow. His movements are slow, taunting you as the shirt falls open, exposing the smooth, muscled lines of his chest.

“You want to see more, don’t you?” he asks the camera, and the teasing edge in his voice makes your clit twitch. “I’ll show you, baby. But you need to keep touching yourself for me. I want you to feel how wet I get you. Imagine me right there, taking care of that aching little cunt of yours.”

He’s intoxicating, and as he slips another button open, revealing more of his firm, toned chest, you slip your hand to your pussy, your body begging for more. You can almost feel the heat of his skin against yours, the way he’s undressing for you, the slow reveal of what you’re aching to see.

He’s unhurried, intentional— he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to keep you, the viewer, on edge.

“Let me hear you,” he commands, fingers grazing his buckle now, threatening to undo his belt. “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me how badly you want me to touch you… how much you need me.”

His words have a gush of arousal leaking from your cunt, a whine pushing past your lips as you lightly run a finger down the seam of your folds.

“Need you so bad,” you murmur to yourself, not caring that there’s no one there to hear you, no one in the room but the phantom of his presence. He’s completely transported you into another world, and you’re too far gone to feel any shame in talking to him as if he’s right there in front of you— or over the phone with how he’s set this scene up.

All he’s done is talk, but it’s enough to render you a puddled mess. The heat licking at your core is undeniable, each instruction winding you tighter.

You can’t help but wonder— are you really this starved for a good fuck, or is this faceless stranger just that skilled at weaving desire into every syllable?

His deep, commanding tone oozes with intention, a carefully crafted tease that seeps through the screen. It’s clear he’s an expert at this— at knowing exactly how to pull you in and leave you aching for more. Now, your curiosity is piqued; what other sinful content could he possibly have on his page?

It suddenly makes perfect sense why your friend is subscribed to him. The moment you come, you know you’ll be rushing to make an account of your own, no hesitation, ready to drain your bank account if it means getting more of him— every cent worth it just to see what else he can do to you.

He’s catering to something raw, drawing out a fantasy you didn’t even realize you had.

“I need you just as bad. Real fuckin’ shame I’m stuck at the office… my cock misses you, sweetheart.”

Your breath quickens as the clink of his belt being undone echoes through the speaker, slipping the leather free from its loops, and you catch a glimpse of the outline of his dick, thick and prominent beneath the tailored slacks.

The sight sends a surge of heat through your body, your skin prickling with desire, yearning for more.

His fingers toy with the waistband of his pants now, brushing tantalizingly close to the bulge straining against the fabric, teasing both you and himself with the promise of what’s to come.

His voice is low and seductive, dripping like molten honey, each word striking you like a touch.

“I wish I could be in bed with you right now,” he grunts, and you swear you can feel his eyes locked on you through the screen, as if he can see every inch of your trembling body. “You have no idea how badly I want to worship you… feel your skin against mine. I’d start slow. My lips, my hands, they’d be everywhere. I’d make you come so many times it’d make you stupid.”

You moan, finally dipping two of your fingers between your wet folds and massaging at your clit, spreading your slick all over.

“Go head, play with that pretty little pussy. Use your other hand to touch on those perfect fuckin’ tits of yours.”

Your free hand instinctively goes up to cup your breast as you imagine him there with you, his body pressing you into the mattress, lips tracing over every inch until he’s suckling on your pert nipples then moving down to where you need him most.

“I want to taste you,” he continues, his fingers popping the button of his pants then the zipper, “Feel you quivering on my tongue, feel you melt on my fingers as I fuck them into that tight cunt. I won't stop until you’re shaking, begging me to let you breathe.”

His hand slips beneath the fabric as he shifts in his seat, and you can see the subtle movements of him touching himself. The sight alone takes your breath away, the need coiling inside you, growing unbearable as your own fingers pick up the pace, rubbing the sensitive flesh while your other hand works to pinch and tug at your nipple.

“And when I finally break you, sweetheart,” he whispers, sending shivers all throughout your body, “when you’re crying, trembling… pleading me to stop, that’s when I’ll slide my cock inside. You’d be so full, so wet, and I wouldn’t stop until I’ve reminded you who you belong to, until I’ve had you again and again. Until you’re stuffed so full of my cum that it’s leaking out of your fuckin’ mouth.”

He finally pulls his dick out and you gasp loudly. It’s fucking beautiful. Thick, long, a few shades lighter than the brown skin of his chest with a glistening pearl of precum right at his slit. He spreads it around the crown of his cock and you salivate, imagining how good the weight of him would feel on your tongue.

Yummy in-fucking-deed.

“Fuck yourself on your fingers baby, then stick two into your pretty mouth and suck on them.”

You do as you’re told, sinking two into your fluttering entrance while the ones at your tit slip into your mouth, eyes fluttering close as you suck on them like they’re his cock. It feels so good, your thumb pressed up against your clit— the stickiness of your arousal aiding your fingers in pumping in and out of you.

The sound of him spitting snaps you from the mini daze, pulling your attention lazily back to the screen. There he is— his large hand wrapped tightly around the thick length of his cock, glistening and throbbing as he begins to stroke it languidly. 

“Got me so hard,” he grunts, his voice thick with lust, “just picturing you with your fingers in your mouth like a good little slut.” His grip on the phone by his ear tightens, you can tell by the way his knuckles become flushed and you whimper.

“Choke on them,” he growls, “Let me hear you gag.”

Obedient as ever, you push your digits past your tongue and deeper, your breath growing ragged. The moment they hit the back of your throat, you gag, the wet sound loud and raw in the quiet of your apartment.

You sputter around them repeatedly, eyes filling with tears. Choking sounds echoing off the walls, bouncing back at you in a symphony of depravity. Saliva pools in then out of your mouth, dripping down your chin, and the mess of it only heightens the filthy pleasure coursing through you.

You can feel how slick you are, the sheets beneath you now damp from your horniness, every fiber of your being aching for release.

His pace on the screen quickens, the sound of his bated breath mingles with the obscene smacking of his fist against the skin of his cock, grunting between strokes. His dick looks even bigger as it pulses in his grip, thick and veined and covered in his spit.

“Bet you’re dripping for me,” his words are strained. “I can just picture it… how wet you are, soaking those sheets. Can’t wait to hear you come undone for me, baby.”

Your fingers, still wet from the mess of your mouth, slide down your body, grazing over your hard nipples before switching with the ones between your legs, where your pussy is throbbing. You moan at your own heady taste, the relief of your saliva soaked digits in your cunt almost overwhelming.

The tension builds, every stroke of his hand matching the movement of your fingers, the friction pushing you closer to the edge.

“Ahhh yesyesyes— just like that.” You whine, removing your fingers from your mouth and bringing them down to your nipples again to pinch and pull; anything to heighten the already intense pleasure you’re feeling.

The room feels thick with sexual tension, the filthy sounds of your wetness mix with his groans through the speakers, creating an intoxicating melody that pushes you further into your own climax.

“I’d have your pussy stretched out so good,” he continues, hand tightening around his cock as he pumps faster now, thrusting his hips upwards. “Have you feeling me for days… filling your sweet cunt until all you can do is squirt all over this cock.”

The things you’d do to make that happen. To have him bend and twist and fuck you in a myriad of pleasurable positions. To feel the thickness of his dick leaving you sore and hurting, absolutely helpless. These desires send you careening toward the edge.

“C’mon baby, give it to me.”

Your fingers move faster, abusing your cunt as your hips buck into your hand. Your breath comes in short, desperate gasps as your whole body tightens.

You can feel it coming, that sweet rush of pleasure towering over you, until it crashes down in a wave so intense, you cry out.

“Oh fuck!”

You spasm, back arching off the bed as your digits do all the right moves, chasing the high. In a flood of pure ecstasy, your pussy pulses and clenches, a gush of wetness soaking the sheets as you come hard, giving in to the overwhelming euphoria.

Drool leaks from your mouth like a feral animal, your chest heaving, and your eyes lock on the screen, pupils dilated, watching as he strokes himself through his own climax, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his cock twitching in his hand, thick ropes of his milky cum spilling over his fist as he finishes. “Made a mess all over my lap. Wish you were here to lick it up. Getting to feel that wicked tongue of yours on my spent cock would be like fucking heaven, mi muñeca bella.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t get any fucking sexier; he goes and speaks fucking Spanish. You’re in love. 

You’re left exhausted, trembling, and utterly satisfied. Your body hums with the aftershocks, still riding the wave of your orgasm, and all you can do is lie there. 

Your fingers lazily tracing the wet mess between your thighs, hissing at the sensitivity, as you catch your breath, the screen flickering with his smirking lips.

“I’ll be home soon,” he purrs, “Take a nap so I can wake you up by burying my tongue inside that used pussy.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you let out a frustrated sigh, wishing— desperately— that this wasn’t just a video, but reality. A real call from a real man, someone who could be on their way to you right now. You stare at his disheveled, post-climax appearance on the screen for a moment longer before the video fades out, the last remnants of fantasy slowly dissolving as you blink yourself back to reality.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, muscles still quivering, and bend down to pick up your slip dress, your legs wobbly as you walk to the bathroom to clean up. 

oh my fucking god that was amazing

You text your friend once you’re back in bed, having pulled off the loose sheet that you ruined and thankful that it didn’t seep through to the fitted one.

right? i need him so bad you should see some of his other stuff. fucking gold you’re welcome 💋

You scoff, a breathy laugh, as you ‘HAHA’ react to her message. Still, her words stick with you as you open the browser, logging out of her account. The curiosity from before tugs at you harder than ever now, and without a second thought, you find yourself signing up for your own subscription.

When the prompt to choose a username appears, you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard until a sly smile spreads across your lips.

@muneca_bella

Perfect.

[mywifealhaitham]

pre release boothill relationship headcanons!!!

a/n: I'm fiending off crumbs... I've wanted to read some x reader of him but theres none so I gotta write it myself. I hope the other 4 boothill fans enjoy

warnings: gn!reader, like 2 gendered pet names (pretty girl/boy), most of this is written with bias because we don't have alot to go off, obviously written prerelease, when we actually get content of him I'll definitely be rewriting

LEAKS AHEAD!!!

bc: Valentine_DD_ on twt

- Boothill is described as a righteous person if his bottom line doesn't get crossed, so he definitely treats you good. probably more on the protective side when it comes to you, he's probably not afraid to use his gun if someone is threatening you.

- and believe me he's intimidating. from his overall tough and "unruly" cowboy look to his mechanical body it leaves enemies just a little challenged. he lowers his voice too and probably has a more fierce look in his eyes too. after any threats have been delt with he probably turns to you and turns into the sweetest thing ever, a wide grin across his face and his hands on your cheeks peppering you with small kisses.

- Its said he's a bit sophisticated due to his experiences so I'd like to imagine sometimes he charms you with facts and details about other planets or just genuinely sharing some tips and tricks he's picked up from other cultures. he's also a person who can get along with others pretty well but he can easily give strangers an impression he's selfish and is a bad person.

- again this kinda feeds into he's basically you'd guard dog... but I mean who wouldn't want to be saved by a handsome and sweet cowboy. despite his unpredictable personality and looks he's a huge gentleman for sure. always opens doors and pulls out chairs for you, makes sure your behind him and okay if any danger approaches and practically listens to your every command (lowkey giving off my girl and I don't argue she tells me to shut up and I do)

- one part I'm so excited to see is what they mean by he's illiterate and using metaphors. it's probably just him using slang but it's still kinda cute. I feel like his cheesy and strange metaphors turn into pick up lines when talking to you. perhaps he'll pull a "did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" or something cheesier. Definitely a huge nickname guy, almost never uses your real name. I'm guessing he'd use stuff like doll, sugar, baby, pretty girl/boy and more teasing names. heavy on doll and sugar and just imagine him saying it in a deep southern accent... 😍 kicking my feet. also I imagine he loves making you giggle by not cursing (because he literally cant) and normally he'd get pissed if someone laughed at him like that if it's you he doesn't mind at all.

- that's pretty much it for like analyzing the leaks I saw but now the stuff up ahead is just bias yapping because I always project

- HE DEFINITELY IS A HAND KISSER. greets you by getting on one knee, holding his hat to his chest and kissing your hand. makes eye contact with you too and does that toothy smirk of his IM SWOONINGGG

- maybe he's a dancer! pulls you into his arms and places his hat on your head when a good song plays in taverns. even if your clueless on any type of dances then he'll pull you along to the beat whispering Instructions in your ear.

- gets so lovesick when drunk it drives everyone mad. any folks he's sitting with at a bar gets a whole speech on his wonderful beautiful darling who he owes his live and would happily die by their hand. and may God save you when you come pick him up because he'll be all over you. Immediately he wraps a arm around your waist as he slurrs his hello as he proceeds to tell you he loves you like 40 times. besides the mass amounts of kisses you'll receive once you both reach a private spot he let's some feelings that he might be too shy to share normally, holding your face as he calls you his pretty girl/boy and how he's so lucky to have you.

- honestly not the best for cuddling however unfortunately he needs to cuddle you to sleep so goodluck! his metal body isn't completely uncomfortable it's just cold alot. he tries to get around this by literally preheating himself with blankets before you go to bed.

very bad boothill brainrot atm... only a few more weeks until we get official content 😭 everyone hold hands we got this

here's the actual leaks if anyone is curious ^_^

[seaslugfanclub]

Silly little idea, reader who has a southern accent that isn’t super prominent, too the point that people can hardly tell that they have one, but does become more pronounced on occasions; like for example certain words, when startled or upset/ angry, or talking to certain people. And the villain’s reactions to it when they are inevitably jumpscared by the sudden accent when they hear it for the first time.

(Y/N) with an accent

As someone who has a comically thick Boston accent, I love this ask. Enjoy!

——————————————————

It wasn’t until the Villains got to know (Y/N) better, that they noticed just the slightest twinge in their voice

Or the times when (Y/N) used unusual phrases

(Y/N): Hey, do you know where tha’ closest bubbler is?

Clayton:….the what?

(Y/N): Y’know, the water fountain?

(Y/N):Guys look! The lightnin’ bugs are out tonight!!

*Hook, following (Y/N)’s gaze out the windows*: You mean fireflies?

(Y/N): Yeah, lightin’ bugs!

At first most of them thought (Y/N) was a little dumb, or maybe a speech impediment

But the American Villains like Alameda or Facilier, who both have different American accents recognized (Y/N)’s voice right away.

One day, a few villains were witness to (Y/N)’s full accent when a ….small… disagreement broke out between (Y/N) and a less than polite park guest.

(Y/N)’s accent went from barely to heavily noticeable, their voice thick and sharp

Jafar, who was one of the villains watching the argument, had to have Facilier translate what they were saying

Facilier was trying to hold his laughter in, (Y/N)’s accent so thick it reminded him of a cartoon

After the argument, word of (Y/N)’s accent spread around the Villains, everyone now understanding why (Y/N) talks like that.

Now a lot of times, Villains would go up to (Y/N) and ask them to say a word or phrase just to hear their accent

*Gaston, giggling to himself*: Hey (Y/N)— (Y/N), say: “water bottle”

(Y/N):….water bottle?

*Gaston devolving into laughter as (Y/N) watches him in confusion*

Some Villains actually think (Y/N)’s accent is pleasant to listen to, attractive even

I can imagine whenever Hook gets anxious, (Y/N)’s voice calms him down. I could see him asking questions about (Y/N)’s interests just so he could hear them ramble on

Hades will always use (Y/N)’s accent as an excuse to flirt

Hades: God I love it when you speak like that to me~

(Y/N): this is just the way I talk?

Hades: Oh yeah, just like that~

——————————————————

Do any of you guys have different regional phrases, or funny accents?

[jennasslut33]

Keep quiet..

Warnings: 18+, Lorraine x Fem!reader, smut, mommy kink, praise, fingering, pussy slapping, car sex. MDNI!!!

It was a normal day as usual for you, Lorraine, Maxine, R.J, Wayne, Bobby-Lynne and Jackson.

You we're all finishing up one of the scenes from the movie that you've all been filming, for everyone it was pretty normal for them, but you. You seemed pretty uncomfortable with the whole situation, so did Lorraine.. When you were all filming, you and lorraine looked at each other, both of you looking pretty disgusted and uncomfortable, but you thanked the lord that it ended. You had one of the mics that Lorraine holds up, Lorraine had a mic as well, R.J has the camera and Bobby-Lynne as always is smoking a cigarette as well as Jackson. Maxine is walking with Wayne and you're all bored so, Maxine decides to break the awkward silence, "did you all wanna maybe.. go into town?" Wayne answers, "sure Maxine, does anyone else wan' come along?" he asks, looking around the group of people. "uhm.. i-i'll come..?" you say nervously, because of the awkward scene you just had to watch and shoot, you're just thanking the lord that it wasn't you who was riding Jackson's cock and that it was Bobby-Lynne, as always. "alright, what about you two?" Maxine asked Lorraine and R.J. You look back at them, however, you cant help but admire Lorraine, how her dark wavy hair goes in front of her shoulders, her deep, dark brown eyes, the freckles that run along her cheeks and nose, her perfectly sharp jawline, her perfectly plump maroon coloured lips, you cant help but imagine what it'd be like to kiss them. You have always despised R.J, and how he doesn't show Lorraine enough attention, love, affection, etc. You wish that you could give her all of the love, affection and attention she needs. Lorraine has always been a bit quiet, she looks so innocent. But you snap out of that thought when R.J speaks. "Yeah, we'll come." Lorraine speaks up right after him. "yeah, its pretty boring with nothin' to do on this farm anyway." You swear you can feel yourself getting weak at the knees at her sweet, southern accent, you go crazy for it every time she speaks, which is very rarely. "Y/N, you coming?" Bobby-Lynne asks. "o-oh.. uhm.. yeah.. yeah I'm coming." you say as you walk to the back of the van and get in it. Wayne and Maxine in the front seats, Wayne in the drivers seat, Maxine in the passenger seat. Bobby-Lynne and Jackson are right up against the Driver and Passenger seats, talking to Wayne and Maxine. Lorraine and R.J sitting next to each other on the left side of the van together. Then there's just.. you. you sit on the right side of the van in the back corner closest to the back doors of the van, giving R.J dirty looks as he's being oblivious to anything around him, since he's looking back at the footage from the dirty scene you all just had to film. You look over at Lorraine, you see how she looks a bit.. upset, bored and just looks a bit pissed at the same time. If it was because of R.J, you don't blame her. He never pays attention to her, he's always been so fixated on this dumb movie that both, you and Lorraine don't even want to be apart of. You then get the courage to speak up, your voice is a bit quiet, with your southern accent, you speak up to Lorraine "hey.. uhm.. L-Lorraine, i just wanted to ask, are you alright..?" She looks at her and her facial expression changes completely, she smiles softly at you, she sits up and looks you right in the eyes. "Yeah, I'm alright, why do you ask?" ugh.. that face.. the smile.. the eyes.. the voice.. It drives you absolutely insane every time you hear it. You feel butterflies in your stomach when she smiles at you, her deep, dark brown eyes looking into yours. and you finally speak up after snapping yourself back to reality. "oh i was uh.. just.. just wonderin' you.. uhm.. you didn't seem alright, that's all." you say in a quiet tone. She speaks again as she smiles at her sweetly, "oh, no, I'm alright Y/N, thats just my face i guess." she chuckles and R.J of course has to ruin the mood. "Lorraine, can you shut up for two seconds? god, im trying to focus and i cant with you yappin' in the back."

Lorraine looked at R.J. She looked down and said sheepishly “o-oh.. I’m.. im sorry, R.J—“ R.J put his hand in front of her face, cutting her off “I said shut your damn trap. God, you don’t know how or when to listen do you?”

You were seething quietly. You hated the way he spoke to her, your fists subconsciously clenching that your knuckles turned white. you were about to say something until Bobby-Lynne exclaimed “oh! There’s a bar up here, let’s go!” ugh, great. if they drank, you’d be the one to drive, it happened every time.

“do y’all wanna go have a drink?” Wayne asks, his eyes looking at everyone in the back of the van. “We’ve been filming all dang day. We deserve a drink or two, Wayne.” Bobby-Lynne says, sounding a bit irritated. “Alright, Bobby-Lynne, we’ll go.” Wayne said. “I’m up for a drink.” Maxine said, lifting her head from the magazine she was looking at. “Yeah, me too. All this work, I need a drink as well.” Jackson says, taking a drag of his joint.

R.J had agreed as well. You weren’t a big drinker, you’d only drink every now and then. But it was very rarely you drank. Bobby-Lynne and Maxine looked back at you and Lorraine. “Y’all gonna come have a drink?” Maxine asks, her eyes darting between you and Lorraine. “o-oh uhm.. n-no.. no thank you.. im alright..” you say shyly, and you fiddled with the ring you had on your index finger. “Alright, what about you? you comin’?” Bobby-Lynne asked Lorraine, who looked up from her hands and she cleared her throat.

“oh, uhm.. no, im alright. Are.. Y/N and I allowed to stay in the van while y’all are gone?” she asked, looking at Wayne. “uhh..” he looked at Maxine and then back at Lorraine through the review mirror. He sighs “yeah, fine. whatever, go through that sweet footage we’ve got while you’re both here.”

As much as Lorraine didn’t want to, she wouldn’t have much of a choice. She wasn’t gonna do it anyway. she just nodded in response, and you hung up blankets on the windows, because the sun was way too hot. There were only windows in the front of the van, and on the back doors of the van.

. . .

You finally stopped out the front of a bar, because the one that Bobby-Lynne pointed out was closed due to being short on staff. everyone got out, except for you and Lorraine. All windows were covered by the blankets you put up, you and Lorraine were sitting quietly in the back of the van, you were just laying down, Lorraine was just sitting there as she looked at her hands.

It was quiet for a bit. You were starting to get a bit hot, so you removed your jacket. You were wearing a low cut shirt with dark grey pants. The shirt had half of your tits spilling out of it. You felt like that if you had taken your jacket off with everyone else in the car, you’d be awkward. You laid back down across the van, your eyes closed that you didn’t even notice Lorraine staring at you, biting her bottom lip slightly.

“Nice shirt..” Lorraine said, her dark brown eyes not leaving you for a second. Your eyes opened and you looked at her “oh, thanks.” You said a bit shyly, a faint blush on your cheeks as you answered. She nodded, and as you were laying there, you felt a hand on your abdomen.. your eyes shot open and you looked at Lorraine.

“d-do you.. do you need anything..?” you asked, a bit flustered feeling her long, slender fingers slowly curling and uncurling on the skin of your abdomen as she looked at you. “hm.. no, just looking.” she said softly, her deep dark brown eyes looking your body up and down. “Just looking?? then why is your hand on my stomach?” you asked, looking a bit confused and flustered.

There was silence for a while, then you heard Lorraine breathe in, about to speak. “How good are you at staying quiet?” your eyes widen, what kind of question was that? and why did it ever even come to her mind? you spoke up quietly. “u-uhm.. i-im.. im not sure.. w-why do you ask..?” Lorraine smirked. she traveled her hand up your stomach, across your beasts and then cupped the side of your face in her hand. “You wanna test that out, sweetheart?” she said, almost purring. you sat up, but she pushed you back down and held your thighs.

“L-Lorrraine.. what’re you doing..?!” you exclaimed in a whisper. Lorraine pulled you closer to her by your thighs, prying them open. “What does it look like im doing? we’re gonna see how quiet you can be for me, baby.” She purred, her fingers trying to undo the button on your pants.

“I- I didn’t.. I didn’t think you were doing this kind of thing..” you say nervously, Lorraine’s hands now slowly pulling your pants down, and off of your body, leaving you in black lace panties and that white low cut shirt. You whined pathetically as you felt her fingers rubbing against your clothed clit, and she looked at you.

“Keep quiet for me, baby..”

she whispered. Moving her fingers faster against you. A soft gasp left your lips when you felt her push your panties to the side, her fingers teasing at your dripping pussy. “hm.. so wet for me, aren’t you?” She said, in almost a purr. She then settled between your thighs, her face so close to your aching cunt. Lorraine then tore your panties off of your body, and tossed them aside. She then held your thighs tight against her shoulders, and she buried her face between your thighs, her tongue lapping around your dripping hole as she sucked on your clit.

“L-Lorraine.. fuck.. mmh..” you moaned. Lorraine made you look at her while she ate you out. You couldn’t handle eye contact so, you looked away. She slapped your pussy, making you look at her again after you whined.

Lorraine the bought two fingers up to your entrance, teasing at it. The tips of her fingers circling around your sopping, aching cunt.

“P-Please..” you whine, looking at her as she smirked. “please what, honey? use your words.” she said teasingly, her fingers still continuing to tease at your aching hole. “please.. mommy.. fingers.. mmh..” you whine, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you breathe heavily.

“Good girl..” with that, Lorraine slammed two fingers into you, curling them as she hits that soft spongy spot inside of you, making you squeal and she went at a brutal pace, pumping her fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

“don’t stop..” you moan, looking down at her as she sucked on your clit and kept her fingers pumping. You two were still in the back of the van, parked next to a street, in front of a bar, where the others were.

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” Lorraine asks, taking her mouth off of your clit for a moment. her fingers didn’t stop, you clenched around Lorraine’s fingers, so close to your orgasm as she kept going. “please.. fuck— mommy.. can I cum?? please.. please let me cum..” you begged, whimpering as you were on the brink of your orgasm.

“not until I say so. hold it, you can do it.” Lorraine says in almost a commanding tone, making you whine desperately. You were needy, extremely desperate for a release. “please.. p-please— mommy, I can’t..” you say through moans and whines.

Lorraine chuckled and took her mouth off of your clit again. “yes, you can. Hold it for mommy, understand?” “If you cum and I haven’t said you could, you won’t be able to cum at all.” she said her voice almost an order, like she was ordering you not to cum. All you could do was give a pathetic whimper. “answer me, do you understand?” “Say something, Y/N. Or I’ll leave you edged.” She hissed, trying to get you to answer her. All you could do was let out small words. “I— mmh.. ye-yes..” you said through heavy breaths and soft moans. “Good girl.” Lorraine said, latching her mouth back onto your clit, her hand travelling up under your shirt, her fingers teasing your nipples as she had her hand underneath your shirt and bra.

After a good 9 minutes, tears of overwhelming pleasure streamed down your face, your legs shaking, keeping yourself quiet because you didn’t want people walking past the van to know what was going on. Lorraine saw how you were shaking, nothing but a trembling mess under her touch.

“do you wanna cum, pretty?” Lorraine asked, almost as if she was being sarcastic about it. A moaned out sob left your lips as you spluttered out words “ye-yes.. please..” you beg, you’re so done, and you need that sweet feeling of relief leave you. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on my tongue.” She said as she withdrew her fingers from your pussy, making you whine, feeling empty. She then kept her mouth on you, licking and sucking at your throbbing clit, and aching hole.

Once she said you could cum, you didn’t hesitate. Your back arching off the van seats, your thighs squeezing Lorraine’s head to tight her ears started ringing, your hands gripping the bedsheets that were laid out across the van seats so tight that your knuckles turned white as you screamed with pure pleasure and relief. Lorraine cleaned up every drop of your sweet sweet nectar, licked you clean. She then licked her fingers and smirked at you.

“You did so good for me, baby. you were such a needy slut, weren’t you?” she said, her hand around your throat as you nodded “ye-yes.. mommy..” you said through pants as your eyes were hooded. “Good girl. You’re a slut, my slut. Do you understand me?” she said in a possessive tone. You nodded your head in response and she got you dressed just in time. The moment she pulled you onto her lap, her arms around your waist, your face buried into her neck, and your thighs bracketing hers. Everyone had come back to the van.

“What’s up with, Y/N?” Jackson asks as he jumps in the back of the van. “Nothin’ she’s just sleepin’” Lorraine says as if she didn’t just fuck you in the back of the van.

She then whispered in your ear.

“Just wait till later tonight..”

[pumpkin-cake]

hi this request isn’t for S4 i hope that’s ok!

but takes place in s2 where five strands everyone?

his spouse gets stranded a year and a bit before he gets there

and they made a career for themselves as a singer? maybe they have some sort of siren power or they are just naturally talented !?

but he finds them on a billboard or something that says where they will be performing next and they have a reunion where the reader has a love hate reaction to seeing him?!

sorry if this is a lot!!!

totally okay! i like all the other seasons better than 4 anyway lmao- this is actually an idea i have for my upcoming reboot of a five story i'd written, so i'm excited to sort of test it out! this turned out a bit more fem reader coded, but no she/her pronouns are used last i checked.

also my swiftie is coming out for this story, sorry to all you non-swifties ;-;

divider credited to @cafekitsune (lmk if you'd like me to remove it or anything of the sort!)

warnings: taylor swift (i love her actually but some people don't so)

The last thing you remembered was holding hands tightly with Five, and then he was ripped from your grasp, and you were falling ass first into an alleyway. Where did he go? Where were the others?

"Five..?!" You cried, hurrying out of the alleyway and bumping into somebody, who glared at you and walked off. You looked around and spotted a newspaper box, and you were over there before you could think. Your eyes scanned the paper. Year, year, what year was it?!

1960.

The sixties?! What the fuck?! All you could do was drop the newspaper to the floor, collapsing against the building wall beside you. You were the only one there. Some of your found-family wasn't even here yet, you'd imagine. There had to be some kind of time frame. You felt bad for whoever was put the farthest. Were you put the furthest in the past? What if you were super old by the time you found everyone again?! Well, you are already old, but what if you looked like it?!

All you could do was wait. You knew Five, he'd stop at nothing to save you and his family.

Unfortunately, there wasn't exactly anywhere to go. You looked pretty young and had no identification. You were wearing strange clothes, you didn't fit in. This felt like the apocalypse in a way, loads better obviously, but being alone? The worst feeling.

You had to stealth around, stealing and pilfering where you could. Sitting in alleys in the rain, starving. That was until you were dumpster diving behind some sort of bar. The heavy door creaked open and you froze inside the green box.

"Them damn raccoons again." A heavy southern accent was muffled to you, but you could tell it was a woman. You heard heels clicking on the ground and the dumpster opened and a broom whacked you in the head.

"Ouch!!!"

"Oh my heavens, yer a person!!!" The woman exclaimed, dropping the broom with a clatter. She reached over and helped you out of the trash, her nose crinkling. The woman was wearing a scantily clad flapper dress, a cute headpiece adorning her blonde hair. "What're ya doin' inside the trash, sweetie?" She asked with worry, brushing some garbage off you like it was nothing.

"Uh...I'm so sorry, I can go." You apologized, ready to get out before she called the cops like everyone else.

"Oh no, baby, no. Here, you come in, we'll getcha somethin' to eat." She assured you, ushering you inside. Some other women (and some men) that were dressed similarly didn't seem to mind. "Most of us here, came from poor too, we'll take ya in." She smiled, taking you to the back and providing you with a meal.

"Thank you...." You said, completely shocked at her kindess.

"Oh! Right, my name's Jess, nice to meetcha." She cooed politely, and you gave her your name through bites of food, making her giggle. "Tell me, sweetie, can ya sing? Dance? Anything of the sort?"

You paused. A golden opportunity was just presented to you. 1960. Some of your favorite artists haven't even been born yet. Not to mention your power dealt with your voice, similar to Allison's. You were frequently named The Siren in Umbrella Academy material. And, you didn't have any stigma to using it like Allison did.

"I write songs." You blurted, and a wide smile came across her face.

"Do ya?! Oh, you'll have to show Bruce then. He's the owner of the place." She hummed, and soon you were cleaned up and sitting in a private room on a nice sofa with a guitar in front of a sleazy looking man who looked like he'd run some kind of club with sexy women around to exploit.

"Alright, sweetheart. Show me whatcha got." He said, a fat cigar between his greasy looking fingers.

You took a deep breath. "Um...so...this song is called...." Shit, you had to think. You didn't have much time to come up with the song to sing. You had to pick a song that was popular in the modern era, maybe it would be good here too? But maybe you should stick to country. You were in Dallas, Texas after all. Not to mention you'd need to change some words if needed.

"C'mon, don't have all day." Bruce took a puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke into your face.

"Um. It's called...Mean." You blurted, and began to strum the guitar. Taylor Swift had been a hit as a country singer, this was a good idea in your mind. You were careful to control your power, and also make it believable. A southern accent and changing the word 'football' into 'baseball'.

As you sang, Bruce stopped focusing on his cigar and was completely focused on you and the shitty guitar you managed to make sound so good.

You finished the song and had a job immediately, with a small lie that you were 18. No liquor, but you could have beer! Thus began your career in that small club, becoming friends with the women who worked there. Soon enough you had the money for a small apartment. You despised the creepy looks men at the club gave you. All you could think of to continue was Five. He'd find you, right? Surely!

But after years? It was tiring. Dancing in sexy outfits in front of men with cigars, smoke and alcohol filling the air. The harsh lights on you while you had to make acoustic country covers of Taylor Swift songs. The more sexual songs like 'Dress' and 'Don't Blame Me' were your least favorite. You'd just have to withstand it. For days. And days. And days. And weeks. And years.

Five crashed into Dallas after witnessing the second apocalypse, with his hand empty. He forgot which sibling he'd been holding onto, but he knew he had you in his other hand.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He had hissed to himself, looking around and calling your name desperately. He'd never admit how panicked he currently was, and composed himself immediately upon the meeting of Elliott, some weird nerd.

"Alright, before I do anything." Five walked up to the man, looking up at him with fierceness. "Do you know anything at all about someone by the name of (Y/n) (L/n)." It was more a demand than a question. "If I find out you've been lying, I'll kill you." He threatened.

Elliott cracked immediately, telling Five he'd seen a billboard of that name recently. He didn't listen to music much, but their name was everywhere. Five was instantly gone, and was amazed to see your face on a huge billboard. You? A star? Not that you weren't talented, you absolutely were! You just weren't that kind of person. He asked around and found the club, teleporting in without an issue.

Ordering a drink, he sat as close to the stage as possible. A sleazy man you would absolutely despise walked out with a grin, golden teeth shining under the light as he began to speak. About you. Five clenched the glass of whiskey in his hand. This asshole looked so smug. Like you were his property.

Then you walked out with a shining silver guitar. He felt his breath leave him. "My God..." he hissed under his breath. You were gorgeous. He wasn't a fan of the makeup on your face, red lips and such. But you were glowing, looking so confident in yourself. You started singing 'You Belong With Me' by Taylor Swift, and he understood the situation quick. The folks around were immediately entranced, and it made him sick. You were using your power to reel them in, keep you popular and making money.

Your eyes met his and you faltered for just a moment, but no one else noticed as you kept singing. After the song was over, you gave him a look and walked backstage. Within seconds he was back there, so relieved to finally see you again.

"A singer, huh?" He said with a lopsided smile nobody else in his family got to see. "Not what I expected."

Your face dropped a tad, tears filling your eyes. "That's all you have to say to me?" You asked, and Five panicked. He hurried over and very gently held your face.

"No no, sweetheart, I'm sorry if that came off wrong. I'm so glad to see you." He quickly said, letting you fall into him for an embrace. "How long was I gone for?"

"Three years." You murmured, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry, I'm here now. You looked really good up there." He said softly. He decided to not tell you about the upcoming apocalypse. At least, not yet. When everyone was together.

"Thanks." You said with a weak smile, not at all letting go. Last time you let go, you were without him for 3 years. You didn't ever want to let go again.

fuck im sorry that ending was so rushed, but if it wasn't i wouldn't have had this out

[joanofexys]

I think Neil subconsciously switches accents. Like, he’ll be in the Deep South for a tournament or something and subtly take on a southern lilt, and the foxes’ll be like: “Neil wtf why are you talking like you eat homophobic fried chicken” and Neil would genuinely just say: “I have no idea what you’re talking about” because it’s so not on purpose for him.

okay YES

and I might be biased cause the audhd accent mimicry is real and I do this so much but I’m still accepting it as fact

In addition: he mimics the accents of specific people he’s talking to sometimes and people assume that he’s making fun of them but he doesn’t even realize it’s happening

I imagine he also snatches peoples ways of speaking and text styles super easily too. Inflection, common phrases and slang they use, and how grammar is used in texting. That sort of stuff

When he gets really passionate about something and his voice raises suddenly a lot of his cadence matches Kevin and the way he sounds when he’s yelling at them about Exy. He’s tired, he’s stopped giving a shit, and bam there’s Andrew. Worst part is when someone points out that he and Aaron speak similarly about academics (Neil abt math and Aaron abt medicine) and they both HATE it. I also imagine he gets a lot of sayings from Nicky and Matt. He’s got Dan’s cadence and tone down and it comes in handy when he becomes captain and can easily lean into the way he remembers her talking

It’s part of being on the run for some long and having to learn these things about other people to fit in and not get caught. But the fact that it sticks and it’s the foxes specifically also shows that he’s found a home with them

[am-i-interrupting]

hazbin hotel with a reader with an American accent. not like a light one but like literally thick southern accent and they grew up in the south

Alastor

When he first heard you spoke, his head cocked to the side and his smile widened.

You wouldn’t find out why until much later when he trusted you enough to actually be. . . vulnerable.

Alastor liked listening to you talk.

It reminded him of when he was alive. The thrill of the first man who begged for his life at Alastor’s hands, his mother’s voice singing as she cooked, the chatter of people in speakeasies.

He grew up a southern boy, after all.

It comforted him.

Some days, if things have been particularly unpleasant, he might even just sit next to you and ask you questions about topics he knows you’re passionate about just to hear your voice.

One day though, in private, you hear his voice slip into something resembling a thick southern accent rather like your own but different.

He quickly rectifies it but maybe he’ll start being more loose with his stage persona around you and let his true self show.

Vaggie

Vaggie didn’t explore Heaven when she was there. She main trained and focused on work, spending time with other exorcists.

You were probably the first person with a southern accent she met.

Depending on how thick and strong your accent is as well as how many southern-specific words you use, she might need just a bit of help understanding you.

I imagine you’d have to repeat things several times when you first met her.

She will try to mimic your accent.

It’s not out of mockery, she just wants to figure out how things flow off your tongue.

Her attempts are atrocious but adorable.

Vox

Vox’s whole image is perfection. Falling for someone with a thick southern accent would be something seeing as certain stereotypes exist.

He loves your accent and will get in a fist fight with anyone who says something snarky about it.

He has a file of audio samples that are just your voice as your ramble on about things he puts on as background noise when he’s stressed.

Would probably try to encourage you to start a podcast so he can have more samples of your voice.

He absolutely adores the way that you pronounce his name.

Absolutely a slut for a good southern drawl.

Getting a little NSFW, if you say any form of “god” “lord” or “holy (fill in the blank)” paired with the accent, it makes him feel like he’s defiling a church goer even if you’ve never been very praising of god and he loves that.

Definitely calls you “bell” because you’re his southern bell.

[frogchiro]

okay wait why am i now just hearing about butcher/slasher ghost, and why am i foaming at the mouth!!!???! like ripping apart pillows, tearing down walls, doing flips—RAHHH i am officially OBSESSED!!

i read it and thought of texas chainsaw massacre, but it’s the 2006 one so like simon is an absolute menace but he sees a pretty lady who’s new to town and his cold killer heart just can’t help but swoon :((( and she’s so polite, nervous, and timid because it’s so different in this town and simon with his cursed blessed keen sense of smell

OH MY GOD BUT SLASHER GRAVES IN A SMALL TOWN DOWN IN TEXAS!!!?

so sorry if this is a lot!! 😣 i’m just a little obsessed 🤭🤭 either way, have an amazing day!! stay hydrated and make sure to eat 🩷🩷

HOW THE FUCK DID I NEVER THINK OF SLASHER GRAVES

My dear, I know that you probably expected Butcher!Ghost but I'm highjacking this ask now and writing slasher Graves because oh my god-

The setting I imagine to be in a small southern town in Texas, and I imagine it to be like one of those creepy, small southern gothic towns with the old abandoned churches, houses and old beaten up signs that say "His return is near" or "God is watching you", you get the idea.

And there we have Philip Graves who owns a big ranch passed down for generations in his family, and by big I mean HUGE. Enormous pastures, corn fields, cows, horses, pigs and all that which means he and his name is quite well know in the area which admittedly makes his...hobby a lot easier than you'd think. Graves has friends in high places and he's buddy buddy with the town's sheriff, basically the golden child of the town which means that both the police and the sheriff will turn a blind eye to the "sudden disappearances" of people, be it locals or newcomers to town.

But the thing is that Philip Graves is bored. Bored out of his mind and nothing seems to excite him anymore, not even the desperate hysterical screams of his victims do the thing anymore. Sure he definitely has the money, the looks that refined well with age, he's respected and liked in the community but the truth is-he doesn't give a shit about it.

I imagine that Slasher!Graves is an incredibly arrogant man, and while he may put on a pleasant facade, his accent a thick and purring drawl and his southern charm do the trick he's a whimsical and capricious prick who gets easily bored and when he does...Well let's just say that it doesn't end pretty.

So imagine how surprised he was when he was in town once in his pickup truck, cowboy hat low on his brow as he watched the cars go by when suddenly his eyes were caught by a bus, one of those that travel for very long distances and the only person who got out was you. To say that Philip's interest was piqued would be an understatement; what's a pretty soft little thing like you doing in this bumfuck nowhere in Texas?

A pretty young lady, seemingly around 20, who looked like a lost little lamb, but just what were you doing here? Everything about you screamed that you're obviously not from here and while he could see even from a distance that you tried to act confident, his sharp blue eyes saw right through that act-you were scared shitless and more than lost. Were you here to visit someone? Or maybe...you are running from something? Whatever the case was, you definitely caught his attention in more than one way.

You just looked...so soft, so pretty, lovely he'd even say and I'm sorry but this Graves that we're talking about would definitely be a little misogynistic :(( He's old fashioned, maybe it comes with his age or maybe due to how his pa raised him but the further he observed you the more he he couldn't help but think about how such a pretty young lady like yourself should be married off already to a nice gentleman, getting provided for like you deserve and in return takin' care of your husband too; bringing him beer, cookin' and popping out a kid or two :((

His train of thoughts got interrupted only by a loud booming voice calling out his name cheerfully and when he turned around annoyed to see who was interrupting him, it turned out to be old Michael, an old friend of his pa. He greeted him politely but when he turned around to watch you a little more it turned out that you already wandered off, sneaky girl.

Philip cursed under his breath but on the other hand he decided to just ask the sheriff about you since he knows that the man has access to all the information about any newcomers to town. It looks like his bored streak came to an end <3

[writerjuliannaf]

Wolverine Headcanons

after a VERY long hiatus from Tumblr… I’m happy to say that I’m officially back!!

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Has a chunky pet squirrel named Bruce

He likes to eat Logan’s sandwiches, runs around the mansion and knows to stay indoors, and he has a black cowl/stripe shape on his face —which instantly reminded Logan of Batman, sparking his pet’s name

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Frequently visits a local diner and orders the same thing every time: waffles drenched in maple syrup, with a large plate of bacon on the side

The waitress who always serves him is a sweet, older, southern lady —either named Althea or Ida— and she knows his order by heart, often calling him “sugar” or “baby” in her thick accent

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Is secretly VERY clingy when he gets attached and loves to cuddle

When I tell you this man loves physical touch of any kind (I’m talking in a non-spicy way) HE REALLY loves it… cuddling, spooning, holding hands, having you sit in his lap while you both eat… it’s non stop with Logan (but I’m not complaining, lol)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ He also loves when his hair and beard are softly scratched

Logan may seem like a no-nonsense baddie… but at the end of the day, he is a huge softie, loving his hair, beard, and back scratched. Who doesn’t? But Logan… he craves it

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Loves texting his girl, and often sends her too many gifs and emojis

I think when Logan finds the girl of his dreams (NOT JEAN) he surprises everyone at the mansion when they see him texting and smirking at his phone. Gifs, emojis, encouraging quotes from Pinterest, you name it… and he’ll send it to her. Because it not only makes her smile… but man, it makes him smile too

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Collects either shot glasses or pins every time he travels, especially when he’s on missions

I like to think this started when Logan officially moved into the X-Mansion, sooooo many years ago. He finally had a place to stay and somewhere to store his new belongings that he’d eventually buy/collect. And at first, he probably saw a pin/shot glass with a funny quote on it and decided to swipe it. But then, on each mission, it just became a habit

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Enjoys the musical 7 Brides for 7 Brothers because it’s very nostalgic for Logan and reminds him of the traditional lifestyle in the 1800’s

So this is not really that surprising, since he was born in the 1800’s (In 1832, right?) and I believe the movie was just randomly playing on the tv one day, and he instantly fell in love. It warmed something inside him to see, once again, how his life in the frontiere looked —since he probably lived in a Canadian small town that resembled the town in the movie

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Loves when you wear his shirts

Wanna make Logan extremely happy? Wear something of his. His shirts, sweat pants, jackets. And OMG… his cowboy hats!! This man is FERAL and he just LOVES when his scent mixes with yours. You could even wear his SOCKS, and I can bet you, you’ll immediately see hearts in his eyes

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ REALLY loves when you read to him, especially before bed

Okay… this gives beauty and the beast vibes. And I’m telling you, every time I see that movie (one of my favorite Disney movies, btw) I just imagine Logan just adoringly gazing at you like the Beast looked at Belle as she read. And Logan WILL beg you to read to him (in a casual way though, cause he still has that gruff reputation to maintain) more so before bed. Maybe his mom, or even Victor, read to him when he was sick? Who knows… but just know, it soothes him

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ Most definitely hums and sings in the shower

He has a great singing voice, but no one knows that except you. And when you’re chilling in his room while he showers, just be prepared for him to belt out some 80’s rock songs or even some old country tunes. He also likes a lot of songs from the 50’s too, which would definitely give him that bad boy, biker/greaser vibe

⋆˙⟡ Comment, like, reblog & follow for more ⟡⋆˙

Thank you for reading!! And if you have any requests, lemme know ♡

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