#resume writer near me
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
avonresumes0 · 6 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Professional Resume Services: Invest in Your Career!
Boost your career with expert resume services at Avon Resumes. Our professionals craft tailored, impactful resumes that highlight your skills and achievements, helping you stand out in a competitive job market. From entry-level to executive positions, we ensure your resume aligns with industry standards and grabs recruiters' attention. Invest in your future and land your dream job faster with a polished, professional resume that showcases your true potential. Take the first step today!
0 notes
missfitcoaching · 2 months ago
Text
Resume and LinkedIn Optimization Services
Are you applying to countless jobs but still struggling to land interviews? The problem might be with your resume! At Miss Fit Coaching, we specialize in crafting resumes that not only stand out but also highlight your unique career journey and aspirations.
With over 25 years of experience, our expert team knows exactly how to capture the attention of hiring managers.
We offer comprehensive services including LinkedIn profile optimization and career coach  to ensure you make a powerful, lasting impression online.From professionally written resumes and compelling cover letters to personalized career coaching, we’re committed to giving you the tools and confidence to secure the job and salary you deserve
Your career is your most valuable asset. Investing in a polished resume or optimized LinkedIn profile can make all the difference. At Miss Fit Coaching, we’re here to support your success every step of the way.
Transform your career today Visit https://missfitcoaching.com/ to learn more and take the next step towards your dream job!
Tumblr media
0 notes
springforwardresumes01 · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Best Professional Resume Writing Services in Boston, MA - Spring Forward Resumes
Spring Forward Resumes writer's Best Professional Resume Writing Services in Boston, MA, will take you on an unforgettable voyage! We provide a transforming journey for people looking to advance their professions, and we're known for our talent at creating resumes that go above and beyond expectations. With our great insights into Boston's competitive employment scene, our seasoned specialists carefully construct resumes that highlight your unique skillset, experiences, and successes. Whether you want to break into a new industry, move up the corporate ladder, or land your dream job, our skilled professionals are here to help. We collaborate with you to ensure that your resume develops into an effective instrument in your job search toolbox, showing our constant commitment to accuracy. Join our writers' efforts to
0 notes
precisionresumesolutions · 1 month ago
Text
Top 5 Mistakes to Avoid When Writing a Cover Letter!
Crafting a standout cover letter is one of the most critical steps in the job application process. A well-written cover letter not only complements your resume but also serves as an opportunity to showcase your personality and enthusiasm for the role. However, common mistakes can weaken its impact. Below, we explore the top five pitfalls to avoid and how a professional Cover Letter Writing Service like Precision Resume Solutions can help you create a compelling, tailored letter that makes a lasting impression.
Tumblr media
1. Being Too Generic
A generic cover letter is one of the most common missteps job seekers make. Starting with a phrase like "To Whom It May Concern" or using a one-size-fits-all approach signals a lack of effort to personalize your application. Hiring managers appreciate specificity—mentioning the company name, the role you’re applying for, and why you’re genuinely interested in the position.
How Precision Resume Solutions Can Help
With deep industry expertise, Precision Resume Solutions ensures your cover letter is uniquely crafted to resonate with your target employer, emphasizing your alignment with the company’s goals and values.
2. Repeating Your Resume
Another frequent error is regurgitating information already outlined in your resume. While your resume focuses on past achievements, your cover letter should connect those experiences to the job’s requirements, showing how you can contribute to the company’s success.
Avoid This Pitfall by:
Highlighting specific skills and achievements related to the job.
Demonstrating how your experience solves problems for the employer.
Precision Resume Solutions helps you strike the right balance, ensuring your cover letter provides fresh insights into your qualifications while complementing your resume.
3. Failing to Tailor the Letter to the Role
Hiring managers can easily spot a cover letter that hasn’t been customized for their job posting. Failing to address the job’s specific requirements or mentioning irrelevant skills can cause your application to be overlooked.
Key Tip
Use the job description as a guide to align your cover letter with the employer's needs. Highlight the top skills and experiences that directly relate to the position.
Precision Resume Solutions excels at tailoring cover letters to individual roles, ensuring every word speaks directly to what employers are looking for.
4. Neglecting to Proofread
Typos, grammatical errors, and formatting issues can undermine your professionalism. A poorly written cover letter creates a negative impression, suggesting a lack of attention to detail.
Pro Tip
Always review your cover letter multiple times or enlist a trusted second pair of eyes to catch errors.
When you partner with Precision Resume Solutions, your cover letter is professionally edited and reviewed to ensure it’s error-free and polished.
5. Not Showcasing Enthusiasm for the Position
A cover letter should convey genuine enthusiasm for the role and the company. Failing to express this passion can make your application feel lackluster.
Solution
Research the company’s mission and achievements to show why you’re excited to join their team. Use an upbeat tone to convey your eagerness to contribute.
Precision Resume Solutions knows how to infuse enthusiasm and professionalism into every cover letter, helping you stand out as a motivated and engaged candidate.
Why Choose Precision Resume Solutions?
With years of experience in professional resume and cover letter writing, Precision Resume Solutions understands what it takes to make a strong first impression. Their personalized approach ensures each cover letter reflects your unique strengths and aligns with your career goals. As a trusted provider of Cover Letter Writing Services, they empower job seekers to advance their careers with confidence.
Visit Precision Resume Solutions to discover how their expert team can help you craft a standout cover letter that sets you apart from the competition.
By avoiding these common mistakes and leveraging professional guidance, you can transform your cover letter into a powerful tool that opens doors to your next career opportunity. Start strong and showcase your best self—your dream job is within reach!
Visit More Website:
0 notes
screampied · 5 months ago
Text
‘ THIS AIN’T FICTION, BABY! (it is kinda..) ★
Tumblr media Tumblr media
☆ sum. jjk men finding out you write jaw dropping smut. boo you whore. can you even do half the things you write about? well . .
warnings. fem! reader, feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, breaking the forth wall kekw, smut writer reader, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, squırting, manhandling, cuńnilingus, whiny men, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstim, spıt, impact play, breaking the bed, bréeding, size kinks.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
GOJO ☆
“oooooh,” a husky low voice coos right next to your ear. hot breath ghosts against the tiny hairs that stand tall near the back of your neck. you bit your lip whilst you’re in the midst of being stuffed full of cock. just plain evil . . satoru’s got you cockwarming him while a fat thumb of his skims down your phone. “let’s see. gojo smut, gojo satoru x reader, hey that’s me, heh,” and he pauses, a snowy brow raising up in daze once he sees your user displayed in bold near the very top of the search bar. “cockwarming gojo, how fitting, angel.”
“toru, fuck,” you whine, making a cute attempt at trying to snatch your phone away. weakly pawing at his wrist, he holds it up even higher. you gasp, feeling his swollen tip swivel its way deeper inside your cunt. “don’t read it,” you fall back into his chest, moaning once he starts to purposely bounce his thigh. embarrassment had you hot, you could practically feel your heartbeat accelerating by the minute. “ ‘s embarrassing.”
satoru squints, resuming to scroll down the glowing screen before a free hand of his trails toward your pussy. he hums, “aw, pretty girl’s got a hobby i didn’t even know of, hm. here, you say ‘he’s got you right on his lap, suppressing a moan with your teeth dug into the bottom of your lip as you’re taking him fully. .’ such nasty literature,” and the edges of your nails pierce into his pants leg. the half on long black slacks that satoru wore were merely all ruffled and ragged thanks to your pretty fingernails tugging at it with all its might. as he continues to read, you’re whining, desperate to move, desperate for at least some kind of friction. as you’re squirming on his lap, satoru’s eye then twitches. “ ‘gojo satoru also would whine in bed?’ this has to be a typo. .”
and of course, his ego gets bruised.
the pout on satoru’s face was adorable. as you’re trying to sturdy your hips, he buries his face into your chest. “mmph,” he’s shoved right between the softness of your tits, his personal happy place.
although—he had to admit, he was flattered that you wrote such lewd compositions about him. you moan as you’re grinding against him, feeling his achy cock slam into you deep within each wet bounce. satoru makes a mess as he’s buried between your plush mounds, remnants of stringy saliva dribbling down the valley of your chest. pretty, his white lashes flutter as you’re quickening your hip movements and he gasps. “oh, f- fuck, angel. ‘s no fair when you ride me like thaaat.”
and you can’t help but giggle—despite your cock drunken state, he’s still got that little glower of a pout on his lips as you’re rutting into him.
satoru’s clenched abs flex more the second you run a finger down the sharp outline of his pecs, watching him immediately fold at your touch. “but you always whine, ‘toru,” you argue in a shivering voice, your cunt tightly squeezing around his length. his wide girth makes your mouth water, such thickness was just insane. you bury your unstable knees into the center of his thighs before his broad big arms wrap around you.
he’s holding you—almost squishing you.
but just like you wrote, satoru whines the second he ends up cumming early. with the way you ride him and the crazed speed of your hips, he never ever lasted long.
it was cute,
he was always confident until he’s buried deep inside your pussy, whining and sobbing pathetic cacophonies of your name at how good you feel clamping around him. it’s merry lukewarm, as he snaps, a puddle of thick syrupy cum shoots into you deep and he’s an entire frantic mess. pants of airy breath slip out of his pink lips as he’s giving you a fill, biting into your neck to hide his slutty whimpers. “god, ‘m gonna die,” he sniffles, squeezing pressure against your bare ass. you hold onto him tight as he’s pouring such slippery wads of seed into you at once—velvety hot amounts spit inside your pussy and you’re matching heavy gasps for air right with him, entirely in sync. “fuck, fuck baby, mommy.”
“what?”
“s- shut up,” he back tracks, and he sees the smug expression growing on your face. satoru lightly smacks a hand over his face before groaning, his cock all milked and flaccid. “i said baby.”
NANAMI ☆
tender mahongy eyes stare deep into your eyes as your fingers happily intertwine with his. tangled and curled, he’s got a soft grip as his body hovers completely over yours.
with ruffled blond strands running down the front of his forehead, nanami brings a kiss toward your cheek as he’s not just fucking you, but making love to you in missionary. “sweetheart, you left your laptop open you know,” and you moan once you feel his plump tip circle its way inside of your gummy inviting walls. already, you’re coating his entire dick with your slimy slick to the hilt. your eyes widen at his words before the left side of your twitching lip is met with another gentle kiss. “i didn’t mean to be nosy, but i saw a little ‘headcanon’ about me, is that what you call it?”
you glance into his eyes with abashed intent as a burning wave of heat sprays over your face. fuck, the pulse of your thumping heart only grew louder as your first response was utter silence.
“i—” you mutter out, and he chuckles at your lack of words, digging his head into your neck. nanami’s scent was strong, it goes through each of your nostrils and you felt yourself throbbing from his touch alone.
his strokes were tender and precise. he’s swaying back and forth as his bare body continues to rut straight into you. pent up muscles of his that were merely perfectly sculptured—identical to the physique of a greek god, you couldn’t help but stare. you just couldn’t help but ogle at how he’s so pretty, how fat tears of sweat race down both sides of his bulky arms. no one could blame you for writing about nanami, although—the things you wrote about him, they were pretty risqué to say the least. with a growing pout, your arms throw over his shoulders as he’s presenting your cunt blissful deep thrusts. “okay, i write about you sometimes, ‘ken. ‘m sorry.”
“sorry for what exactly? being talented, silly girl?” he whispers in a raspy tone.
nanami cups your chin so you could look right at him, naturally leaning into his touch. he focuses on the way your eyes soften and he’s plummeting girthy inches into you raw. your toes curl, running down his back and tickling the scratch marks that paint against his flushed skin. “don’t be sorry,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss near the crook of your neck. “i’m flattered. although, dirty talk isn’t exactly my forte. you know this, my love,” and you moan, feeling the edges of his teeth playfully nibble at your exposed flesh. as pounds of skin resume to smack against each other loudly, nanami slowly lifts up your leg, tossing it over your shoulder. “my favorite part had to be when you said i pulled on your hair ‘n called you a ‘messy whore’ .”
“y- you weren’t supposed to see that,” you nervously grin . . trying to avoid how you were so close to finishing. just a few more thrusts and that was it, you’d be finished, done for. you’ve felt embarrassed before—but never to this extent. he was teasing you, nanami kento was teasing you. and pathetically enough, your pussy twitched as he recited your exact filthy written words. the bed continues to creak and groan as jolting bodies move and move together, amongst each other, and on top of each other.
with kind eyes, nanami watches as you bring both of your hands up to your face, hoping to shield yourself from any more embarrassment.
“oh, honey,” he coos in a melodically low tone. his cock reached so deep that strangled moans flew out from your lips left and right. his tempo was always just right. he never wanted to lose control, but after reading your work, he knew you’d probably like that. crimson damp lips press under your chin before he grunts, preparing himself to be milked dry.
“hngh, don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he huffs, in a soft alluring voice. everything felt abnormally tender, nanami’s softly swerving his body against yours in irregular addictive arcs in such impassioned ardent. the more you stare into your eyes—the more your blown pupils dilate.
once he cup both sides of your face, you lean into his touch. his base was thick, swollen and full. you craved him more than anything, and it’s as if your words were actually coming to life.
“there she is, that’s my girl,” he grits in a raspy voice, prying your hands away from your face. his touch was forevermore gentle. with a soft smile, nanami presses his twitching ruby lips onto yours as you both prepare to cum in euphoric torrent. bedaubing a plump thumb over your bottom quivering lip, he slows his thrusts down a few beats—hearing you vocal pussy’s squelches before a wrinkle of a smile curls against his lips. “now, now. make a mess on your husband’s cock jus how you write them in your little stories, my love.”
GETO ☆
“oh, boo. looks like someone’s innocent all of a sudden when she’s not writing ‘bout dick, hm? wonder why that is,” geto hums, propped right up between your trembly legs. he’s staring at you with a sly smirk that refuses to wipe off his lips. two of his hands spread your thighs apart more before kissing near your slobbering exposed pussy.
with a cunning grin, he gives your drooling folds a few friendly taps as if it was a little mic test. “finish that paragraph. c’mon, wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.”
a salty taste of shame fills and salivates inside of your mouth as you watch him with heart shaped pupils. he’s got the most hungry gaze, a bit of spit already dribbling from the thin corners of his lips.
“um, okay,” you moan, picking up your phone again, leisurely dragging a thumb down the neatly typed paragraphs. “it says, ‘you whine, taking s-suguru’s thick fingers happily into your slippery cunt. long digits of his rummage their way inside before curling all around. once suguru spits on your p- pussy, he pats it and calls it a good girl.’ ”
“like this?” geto snickers—copying your exact words, using the flat palm of his hand to rub against your bare clit. you whimper, entirely sensitive as his thick digits toy with your soddened folds. your thighs continue to jostle and shake and he found it so adorable at how you just couldn’t stay still. so cute, he’s got darkened irises focused on you and only you the entire time. these seconds felt like hours, and as he gathers a nice amount of saliva, he spits right on your cunt. just like you wrote it . . you gasp at the sloppy cold saliva cascading down your pussy. the cobwebby strands that pour from his lips had such a pretty glimmer to it. the warm breath of geto that fans against your entrance makes you twitch in elated pleasure.
he’s so sloppy, unapologetically. just like your drabble said—he then pats your cunt with an open palm before leaning right up close, pulling a thumb down your pulsating uvula before licking it passionately. “good fuckin’ girl.”
you whine, your knees practically buckling and he’s just eating your expressions up. “y- yes— like that, fuck,” you move a few long black strands away from his face. geto dips two fingers inside and he stretches you out so easily with his digits. your lips form into a cute ‘o’ shape as you mewl out a desperate cry for more. as he’s watching you succumb into such bliss, he’s got such a pretty face. it makes his dick twitch in his sweats at the thought of you writing about how he goes down on you. the specifics, how sloppy he is, even how he spanks your cunt only to then shamelessly lick the slick mess right up with his tongue.
the thought that probably hundreds of your horny little readers read about this, about him, about his tongue . .
geto’s tongue was ruthless.
he lays it flat against your cunt before fluttering his long black lashes closed. he huskily groans, not even caring that you weren’t reading anymore. as his brows arch into a contorting furrow, he slides in two fat fingers. you whimper at the sudden big yet deliciously enthralling stretch, yanking roughly on his hair. “s . . sugu,” he pulls his slick covered fingers out, licking them clean whilst staring you right in the eyes. you tremor within his hold, feeling his palms tighten its grasp on both of your thighs. you couldn’t lie, this felt a lot better than fiction. so much better . .
he’s making out with your pussy, swirling his tongue around and spelling out all of the letters of his name. creating such a mess, your slick then starts to stream down his chin to which he happily licks it up. groaning, geto then slurps at your drenched hole before giving it yet another kiss. his chin had such luminescent shine to it. you cup his face with shaky hands as he’s eating you out through another orgasm and he jibes.
“mhm, your writing could use a bit more dirty talk though,” he critiques, swiping a thumb against his lips before he spanks your cunt for the umpteenth time.
with your legs sporadically quivering, he playfully bites on your clit, watching you squeal as you’re riding orgasm out on his tongue. “oh, and make sure you add in your little fics that i bite pretty clits too.”
CHOSO ☆
“bottom? w- what’s a bottom?”
choso quirks a brow in cute confusion, slouching back as you’re still getting over your most recent orgasm.
both pounds of sweltering skin melt into each other, sticking together like glue as your hips grow unsteady. choso was reading one of your published works and he can’t help but grow curious. the way you wrote about him, how you portrayed him as whiny and submissive, it does something to him—he personally always thought he was dominant. cute. .
“oh, don’t worry about that, baby,” you timidly utter, trying to conceal an incoming moan once his cock buries its way deep in yet again. he’s nice and snug everyone and it drives him crazy. choso’s got a pout—but it quickly turns into a lewd expression once your sopping pussy swallows him right up again. two jittery hands creep their way onto your rickety hips and he moans once he feels himself already bottoming out. “f- fuck, cho.”
his eyebrows were still all furrowed and he’s got a cute scrunched up expression. “ ‘m not a bottom,” choso grumps, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of your mouth. despite the raspiness lingering underneath his tone—you could hear the incoming whine desperately trying to escape. choso’s black ponytails had cute ribbons in them—by you, and he’s biting his lip at the feeling of your hips starting to grind. “i- i can be dominant too.”
“prove it,” you whisper, a bratty impish glint forming in your eyes. choso scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you but it doesn’t last at all because he’s already pussy drunk to the max.
those two words. . those two words was all it took for him to manhandle you like a rag doll, politely and respectfully tossing you into the springy soft mattress.
it bounces from the abrupt weight crashing down and you gasp once choso backs up his words, and oh, he’s fucking you stupid. you let off a gargled three second moan once choso spanks your ass, using one hand to repeatedly drag you back into his chiseled hips. sharp thrusts plow into you with such speed that you’re left with a dumbfounded expression. your eyes were rolling back and your tongue was lolled out as choso was fucking you in doggy.
as much as you write about him, he doesn’t like doggy, mainly because he can’t see your pretty face. it kills him—but he can’t deny that the view of you like this was so pretty, so enticing. your buckling knees lock as you’re cupping a hand over your mouth, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.
choso’s cock was so weighty and thick that it’s got a lazy curve, a mean curve that makes itself known in every part of your insides. he’s no stranger to your body, he knows the exact layout. such stamina—you didn’t expect him to be so feral, it’s as if he was an entire different person. “fuck, fuuuck,” he throws his head back, giving your ass more and more hard spanks. the recoil was his favorite. it was just the way your pretty shaped ass would bounce back onto him. he’s in love with love, in love with your pussy, in love with you. “ngh, gotta show you ‘m not a bottom, baby.”
“c- choso,” you whimper, and his fat base swings against your ass, almost shocking you from the electric friction. you’re drooling—he’s got you stupid as your swollen chaste clit bumps up against his pelvis every single time. the bed hollers out a plethora of cries as he’s jerking more and more into you. your cunt’s drooling dewy slick all down the undersides of your thighs. you even make an attempt at trying to touch yourself. with slickness though, choso snatches your wrist away.
“no baby. ‘s my pussy,” he grumbles, pinning an arm behind your back. you’re babbling—squatting forward as he’s feeding your needy pussy with such inches. choso hisses at the brief twinges of pleasure all due to your sloppy grip. you’re brutal, wetting up his base with your dewy slick. he can’t help but stare and gawk at the way your ass presses up against him. choso’s bottom lip quivers at how good it feels and how good you feel. no matter how much of a front he puts up, he’s gonna whine. “f- fuck. teasin’ me with your hips, baby. so mean.”
yet as he’s dragging you back and forth, watching as your chest heaving and your thighs try to clamp inward—you abruptly cum, gushing all over choso’s cock. he huffs at how sudden it was, and he knew you didn’t expect it in the slightest. so pretty, your final orgasmic cries sounded like a sweet candied harmony and he could feel your quavering body breaking down with his shaft still shoved deeply inside. your mess soaks up the entirety of the dark sheet, now being drenched in a damp grey color. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, shaking as your head slumps into the pillow. choso whines at your own pleasure, and he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t finish. he pulls out, crawling toward you before burying his face into the nook of your neck. “c- choso, oh my g- god.”
as your flimsy arms hold him close, accepting his embrace, he goes back to his clingy needy self again, speaking in a shivering soft voice. “h- have you ever wrote about squirting yet?”
with droopy eye lids, you were longing for a kiss. as if he read your mind, he leans in—planting a sultry balmy kiss right onto your lips. “no,” you mumble, moving a few strands out of his face.
choso licks near your neck, one of his hands sprawling your sticky legs apart and he brushes a finger against your slick wet cunt. “w- well, you can always write about that,” and you gasp once he lifts your leg up, easily tossing it over his shoulder. with pleading eyes, choso sighs. “but, can we do that again, baby? i- i think i like when you squirt on me.”
SUKUNA ☆
“breeding kink, interesting,” the demon gruffs, hearing you whine after he swipes his phone from your hand, wondering what in the actual hell could be so important.
he’s reading a strange explicit story of himself that’s apparently called a ‘one shot,’ according to you. how stupid, he thinks. sukuna’s irked vermillion-shot eyes skim through the many paragraphs of filth before he spanks your ass, making you keep your most recent arch.
“ah, seems like y’r even more nasty than i thought,” and your breath hitches once he circles a palm over your stinging rear cheek— an attempt at soothing the sudden pang. hearing your cute muffled whimpers, he mocks your noises. “aw, if you wanted me to ‘breed’ you princess, you could have just asked.”
“ ‘kuna, ‘s embarrassing,” you moan, gasping once he smears his leaky tip against your entrance. he was right - you could’ve ask, you could have asked him to do all the little dirty things you wrote about, you could have . .
swallowing the invisible lump that resides at the roof of your mouth, you imagine yourself being stuffed full of sukuna’s cum. so much to where he ends up getting you all swollen—you’d be nothing but sitting pretty with a cute plump tummy, wads and wads of glossy runny cum just slickly dribbling down the sides of your ass and thighs.
“write like a slut ‘n you even act like one too,” he hums, using a thumb to slide down your pussy. sukuna’s staring openly at how you’re already so soaked, so drenched and he looks like he’s ready to feast. your puffy folds glisten with your own arousal and it’s so so cute. “wonder if you write while havin’ a pussy this sloppy too,” and he smacks it raw, feeling your entire body jolt from the sudden impact. you fall into the soft padded mattress and he darkly chuckles at your weakly spot-on reaction time, aligning himself. “poor baby. spendin’ all this time writing when you could’ve been getting . . ah, what’s the word? oh, right. bred, heh.”
and sukuna does more than just breed you—he quite literally overflows your cunt. he’s a demon, and demons cum a lot.
you’re an entire puddled mess that was filled to the brim.
the sheets were all damp and stained and you’re glistening with droplets of perspiration—radiating from his heat entirely. “s- sukuna, fuck,” you weep out his name, hearing the sloppy spurts of cum still dribbling out of you. such a mess, your mouth waters as you realize just how full you are. you always wrote about this sort of thing but never knew that your silly fiction could turn into mere reality. both of your thighs stick together as you’re left trembling with an arch in your back. he’s cackling at your state, watching as globs of creamy ropes leak out of your slobbering pussy.
“how cute, jus might mess around ‘n get you pregnant, yeah,” the demon jibes, a sharp fang poking underneath his bottom lip. you’re haplessly quivering. your panties that were lazily dragged to the side were all torn and ripped, coated in a ivory white color also. as you’re trying to collect breaths—you then let off a moan once he presses himself deep against you.
your womb was completely flooded, you’re drowning with his stringy cum and with his hot burly body right up against you, you feel him right there. you couldn’t miss it, he’s so long and thick that he’s practically tickling your goopy insides. sukuna wraps a hand around your throat whilst another hand sneaks toward your pussy. “bet you’d like that, fuckin’ freak,” and he’s smearing circles against your folds. you twitch at his cursed hand, his cock still tucked inside of you before he laughs against your ear. “you want a baby, huh. wanna carry my demon babies, don’t ya princess?”
you nod and he lets off a snicker of amusement. “keh. bet you do,” and his voice lowly pitches. you moan, feeling him pull out of your dripping cunt, plugging his spilling cum back in with a single thumb. “fuck, better write about this too, princess. let all your pathetic readers know how much of a sloppy pussy their favorite author has,” and you gasp once he quickly flips you over. sukuna suddenly dives head first between your legs, lapping his flick tongue against your folds. “mmph, now watch me clean you up,” and he spits on your pussy only to then look at it with disgust. “messy girl.”
TOJI ☆
“nuh uh, get the fuck back here babygirl,” he grabs you by the hip, and you let off a moan once his fingers trail up your skirt. a wavering crinkle prods near the edge of his left twitching eye as he’s processing such raunchy words about him. a dry chortle leaves from toji’s mouth as he makes you lie on your tummy, multitasking by slapping his swollen cockhead on your dribbling folds. “ya always told me you were a writer but i didn’t think you write ‘bout this,” he purrs, and your toes curl once he’s aligning himself against your slick heat. but fuck was your cunt just was drooling for him. both folds were weeping for him to just go in already, and yet here he was - teasing you. “really? what’s with the whole ‘toji daddy kink’ thing? i look like the kinda guy that’s into that?”
you feel embarrassment creep up your shoulder. he was reading that part, the part where reader calls him ‘daddy.’
sheepishly trying to crawl away from his grasp, you swallow ignominy. “ ‘s not real, i just made it up toji,” you try to explain through gritted teeth. but as he’s reeling you back into his keen structed hips, you lewdly mewl. he’s just so fucking big, happily massaging your walls freely with just a few inches. your mouth widens as you hear him lowly snickering in the background. a snickering laugh that never failed to make your pussy throb.
toji grabs at the fat of your ass, stubby fingertips poking through your skin. with a mean spank, it’s a non-verbal sign for you to stay still. “y’er a fuckin’ slut with your writing, baby. i bet ya haven’t even tried these kinks,” he teases, and you moan again once his cock delves deeper into your walls. with such ease, you back raises up into an even sluttier arch. “hm, lets see if y’er as nasty as you write,” and you hear him grunt briefly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your neck. toji gets right up close to your ear, flicking his tongue against your soft earlobe. “go on, say it.”
“s- say what?” you squeak, but you knew exactly what he wanted. never in a million years would you have thought toji would discover your little erotic hobby. by now, he’s balls deep—you whine, feeling yet another sharp swat smack against your left ass cheek at the lack of response. you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek in guilt before you hear toji smack his lips in sheer vex.
“c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs in a hoarse tone, salacious timbre pouring on his entire voice. toji feels your pussy dripping around him and he hums, giving you just one single tease of a thrust. your body jerks forward and you whimper sweetly. he’s so close up to you, hard washboard abs of his that were proudly flexing grinds against your back. he’s pressing his muscular weight onto you, careful not to crush you but just enough to. inching his lips back toward your ear, he kisses near your neck. “call me daddy. jus like how you write me, little girl.”
as you’re feeling a few throbbing pangs between your thighs, you shiver underneath him. burying your head in shame between your arms, you whine. “ngh, daddy,” and a weird feeling pools around the insides of your stomach. butterflies and a mixture of flutters swarm inside of you and you moan. once those words slip past your lips so prettily, toji raspily groans. he pistons his hips before not even seconds later, he’s fucking you stupid. babbles of babbles leave from you, and you’re acting just like the main character you write for. ironic, you’re clinging onto the silky cream-colored sheets, bawling up the thinly-made fabric with your clammy fists before squealing. “fuck, daddy ‘m not gonna last.”
“should hear how stupid you fuckin’ sound, baby,” he growls, merciless hips snapping into you at full throttle. you were gonna break, you just knew it. toji’s thrusts were so powerful that you’re left squeaking out pathetic whimpers—his cock stretching you out as if you were elastic. “fuck,” he runs a hand through his messy dark tresses. his shaggy strands were unkempt, overgrown a bit and running down his eyes. he’s got to cock his head up a bit just to see your pretty face and your even prettier ass. “c’monnn, do that cute arch you describe in y’r slutty fics.”
“t- tojiii,” you whimper, the weight of the bed dipping after each continuous stroke. he’s thorough. toji’s maddened fat tip has your legs becoming more and more unstable before he smacks your ass. the powerful hit against your rear rings through each of your ears—and you pout, gnawing on your lip, knowing he wants you to correct yourself. “ngh, i- i mean daddy. ‘m gonna cum, fuck.”
but right when you’re about to finish, you’re interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of wood. you’re moaning—feeling your pussy continue to squeeze around his throbbing length that’s coated with veins all the way down to the tan swollen base. it’s loud, you gasp once the weight of the springy bed suddenly drops and you both collapse—toji falling on top of you. he doesn’t even say anything, and he pulls you up to continue fucking you but you let off a whiny whimper. “you just broke my b-bed.”
“yeah, so.”
“so..? you’re gonna have to buy me a new one.”
“right. about that . .”
Tumblr media
9K notes · View notes
cvguys · 9 months ago
Text
Unveiling the Best Resume Writing Services in Gurgaon 
Are you searching for the best resume writing services in Gurgaon to give your job search a competitive edge? Look no further! In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the top resume writing services in Gurgaon that can help you land your dream job.
Why Invest in Professional Resume Writing Services?
Your resume plays a crucial role in shaping your professional image and influencing hiring decisions. Investing in professional resume writing services in Gurgaon can significantly increase your chances of standing out in a crowded job market. With expertly crafted resumes, you can effectively showcase your skills, experiences, and accomplishments to potential employers.
0 notes
talentstackindia · 1 year ago
Text
1 note · View note
all-purpose-dish-soap · 8 months ago
Note
I don't think you understand
The mer price fic is absolute perfection.
Like I'm talking a literal masterpiece
This fic will stay engraved in my brain forever. You're an absolutely amazing writer. Thank you ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
anon, THANK you. i am actually thrilled to see other people enjoying mer Price and remora reader as much as i do. please please please let me brain dump more about Price taking remora reader back to his home reef to meet the rest of shark mer 141:
SOAP is enamored instantly because you're so fucking grabbable.
within moments of seeing you peek out from behind Price's tail, he darts around and snatches you up with greedy hands. you're so small!! so tiny and cute when you squirm. and you make noises. 
he handles you like a toy until Price barks at him to cut it out. he does (and Price makes him promise not to be so rough with you; you're fragile, he claims) but Soap is incorrigible.
he follows you for days afterward. just obsessed. he loves chasing your silver tail as you dart around the reef, trying to hide from him. when he catches up to you, you have little choice but to give in and let him manhandle you. he certainly toes the line of whatever Price meant when he said no rough play, you little shit, i mean it.
he pushes the limits of your docile nature. when you do eventually reach the end of your patience and dart out of his hands just to get a break from his grabby claws, guess what? you've triggered his prey drive and he gives chase. he catches you, of course, and then before he can stop himself, he bites you.
your squeal brings Price out into the open instantly and Soap gets an earful again. he grins at you the whole time as you hide over Price's shoulder.
after that, Soap gets a little craftier about it. he eases up just enough to figure out exactly how playful (rough) he can be before you can't take any more. he learns how to stop just shy of making you shriek again. Price is aware, but he's a little too indulgent to stop it. he's happy to let Soap have his fun as long as he doesn't break you. you just have to suck it up. that indulgent nature is how you ended up with Price in the first place, after all.
goes without saying, but Soap is the first one to use you as a sex toy.
GHOST seems to take zero interest in you at first. you're not the sharpest urchin in the tide pool, are you? you can't be if you're here willingly. he figures you won't stick around long, and if you do, you won't stay intact.
you attempt to take up grooming his skin and tail and teeth as you do with the others. he moves away from you without a word, lashing his scarred tail to re-settle himself several feet away.
if you follow and try to groom him again, you earn a deep growl.
you dart off the moment he voices that rumbling displeasure. he notes your skittishness around him and uses it to make you leave him alone.
you, however, have a job to do. you won't be scared off that easily.
after he chases you off that way a few times, you begin to find him and simply sit near him. mirroring him. no big deal. instead of grooming him, you use the time to groom yourself. can't keep everyone else clean if you're grimy, after all.
he notices you and growls to warn you off again. you pretend not to hear.
he flicks his tail in irritation, considers cuffing you over the head to teach you a lesson, but you're too far away to reach without kicking his whole big self up into the water to move several feet. so he elects instead to turn over and ignore you. you keep this up for several days. you sit a little closer every time.
one day, you finish cleaning your own tail fin and casually begin to clean his. he growls. you pause. when he stops and does nothing further, you resume your work. he growls again, and you continue grooming him as if you don't hear him. he keeps growling, but once you begin to run your claws over a stubborn patch of skin to dislodge some stuck grit that's been bothering him, his growling fades into grumbling. and then silence. he lets you keep at it. victory.
this becomes a habit. you seek him out (never the other way around) and typically find him lazing on the floor of some cave or sunning in the reef's shallows. you set to work grooming him thoroughly. all business. he grumbles and growls occasionally when you move his arm or tug your fingers through his hair, but he never stops you.
one day, Soap comes looking for you and finds you in the middle of this little cleaning ritual. Soap nudges you away, insisting you instead let him chase you around the reef. but the moment your hands leave Ghost's rough skin and he hears you protest, he opens his eyes and snaps his teeth at Soap.
Soap pulls back (and so do you) until Ghost grasps your lil wrist and drags you back down wordlessly to where you were sitting and cleaning his shoulder.
Soap smirks at him. Ghost glares back.
"you got something to say, then say it."
"here i thought you were toleratin' it for her sake. seems i misjudged the situation."
"there is no situation."
"whatever you say."
Soap leaves with a flick of his tail. you're so pleased that, when you're finished grooming Ghost, you burrow yourself between his arms as he lays on his side. you nuzzle into his neck and bunt your head up against him, practically purring now that you know you've apparently won him over.
he grabs you, pretending to be disgruntled, but then instead of releasing you he crushes you against his chest again and settles in for a nap. no, you don't get to leave.
GAZ wonders what exactly is going on inside your head. it doesn't escape his notice that your """instincts""" seem to have you by the throat in this situation. but he suspects you're leaning a bit more into that whole brainless servant thing than you're letting on.
he's perfectly happy to let you groom him, flatter him, fetch him whatever baubles or snacks he'd like at the moment; he's perfectly polite to you, too. really likes it when you butter him up. tell him he's got the sharpest teeth and the strongest muscles and the fastest tail in the reef and he'll listen to you for hours, preening in the sunlight as you clean the grime off his fins.
plus, he praises you too, and you love that. that's why it takes you so long to notice he's watching you much more closely than anyone else is.
see, you've already disarmed Price. Soap sees you as a toy more than a fellow mer. Ghost cares more about finding the best places to lurk around than understanding the little mer that shares their reef now. it's fascinating--how you've successfully passed yourself off as a silly, stupid little fish. the more he watches you, analyzes you, the more he wonders what exactly you're getting out of this.
when you groom him each day, he asks you questions. casual ones. are you enjoying the reef? what games do you like to play? how fast can you swim? how many other mer have you met? are you eating enough? what's your favorite food?
it's enough to make you wary, but then, he seems harmless. you're honest with him. it pays off, because when you tell him how much you like the taste of those little brown seabirds that dip into the reef from time to time, you're shocked the next day to find one of those very seabirds sitting dead--neck cleanly snapped--just for you in the shallow alcove next to where Price sleeps (and you by extension).
you find Gaz that instant and insist it's too kind a gift; you can't accept it. what you can't tell him is that it's not a good idea for you to eat in front of them. you eat scraps, and you eat them where of them can see. that's the deal--obviously you do what you do for these four sharks in exchange for protection and ostensibly for food, but you need to avoid looking like you're taking more than your fair share. and to sharks, a species that is notoriously food-aggressive, your fair share must be vanishingly small.
he just smiles at you--so disarmingly that you flounder for a moment. somehow he convinces you to keep the kill.
he begins to turn up--looking amused but not surprised--when you steal scraps of food after the group has had its fill of a fresh kill. it makes you nervous for him to see you with food in hand (much less to watch you eat) but he scoffs at the idea of holding it against you. 
at some point, he begins to bring you fresh meat himself. this is-- it's unacceptable. you're supposed to be the one working while he rests. he's not allowed to give you that kind of comfort. if you're not earning your keep, after all, you don't have a place here. you push his gifts away, busying yourself with some other task. he insists. you decline.
"you're refusing me?" he asks, feigning surprise. "i thought that went against your instincts."
you fluster, ruffling up in what he assumes is a pout. he's trapped you in a catch-22. ultimately, you have to accept the stupid meat-gift because it's what he wants. you find this makes you more irritable than it should. he smirks at you, which serves to irritate you more.
he pulls you into his lap as you eat. and he thinks it's so cute the way you scowl the whole time.
from then on, whenever you act a little too stupid for his liking, he pries and pokes and prods until he draws out that other, haughtier side of you. he has a knack for frustrating you. he loves to sass you, and when you finally drop the act and sass him back, he falls a little bit more in love with you every time.
...
more mer au / masterlist tag
2K notes · View notes
schemmentigfs · 10 days ago
Text
A Broccoli, a Baseball Bat, and a Guinea Pig.
Summary: the night in your cozy home is disrupted when your daughter Bianca wakes Melissa, in a panic. Unable to sleep, she confesses her fear of broccoli leaving your wife, well...confused.
based on this adorable video.
tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr
ps: sweetening the deal fucked me with writer’s block so i will probably focus on other prompts rn, hope that’s ok :)
Tumblr media
It was past midnight. The hour when the world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a delicate balance between today and tomorrow. Also known as the time when the Philadelphian city’s noise had long faded into a faint whisper, leaving the streets bathed in the spark of streetlights. In the Schemmenti household, serenity had settled like a heavy, comforting piece of fabric. The kind of silence that only arrived when every chore had been completed, every light turned off, and the rest of the world was tucked away into its own corners of slumber.
The house, though modest, held an air of quiet resilience. Shadows danced across the walls, illuminated faintly by the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. The familiar creaks of the old wood floors were absent now, the rhythmic hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound breaking the stillness. It was the hour when thoughts ran deep, when the burdens of the day—work deadlines, unpaid bills, and never-ending responsibilities—felt momentarily distant, softened by the promise of rest.
This was Melissa Schemmenti’s favorite time. The time when she could breathe, uninterrupted, and forget—if only for a few hours—that the chaos of life would resume with the morning light at her work at Abbott Elementary or the challenges of being a mom and wife.
Right now you lay sound asleep, your body nestled comfortably against Melissa’s, her steady presence like a balm in the quiet night. Your wife, dead to the world at your side, held you with the unconscious tenderness that came naturally to her, even in sleep. Her right arm was draped protectively over you, her delicate hand resting on the gentle curve of your four-months-pregnant belly, where the two of you eagerly awaited the arrival of your second baby. The touch was tender, instinctively maternal, as though even in sleep, she sought to guard you and the baby growing inside you.
Her legs were tangled messily with yours, one hooked firmly around your calf in her usual possessive, almost instinctive way, as though her body refused to let go of you, even in the deepest depths of sleep. It was a gesture so quintessentially Melissa Schemmenti—equal parts stubborn and caring. Her grip was neither tight nor restrictive but grounding, a silent declaration that she wanted you near, always. Forever.
And how not to mention her breaths, deep and steady, who filled the quiet space with a rhythm that might have been soothing if not for the occasional annoying snore escaping her slightly parted lips. It was a faint, almost endearing rasp—just loud enough to remind you of her presence but not so disruptive as to pull you from the comforting haze of rest. Each snore seemed to echo her personality: unfiltered, unapologetic, and somehow still charming?
Well that’s one way to put it.
The warmth radiating from her body wrapped around you like a second blanket, cocooning you both in an embrace that made the world outside the bedroom feel distant and insignificant. Her skin, soft against yours, carried the lingering scent of her lavender body lotion combined with faint traces of coffee from earlier in the day. Each rise and fall of her chest pressed gently into you, lulling you with its quiet reassurance, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly her presence made you feel safe.
The snoring paused briefly as Melissa shifted, her leg tightening slightly against yours before her arm, still draped over your middle, unconsciously adjusted to rest more firmly on your belly. Then, the snoring resumed—steady, rhythmic, familiar. It was just another part of her, another piece of the life you’d built together, and as the sound blended with the comforting heat of her body, it became impossible to imagine the night without it.
To contribute with the peace, the bedroom around you was comfortingly illuminated by the pale glow of a nightlight in the corner, casting amber hues across the environment. The walls, painted a soothing sage green, were adorned with framed photographs of family moments: a candid shot of Melissa laughing, one of your daughter giving a gummy grin after spitting mashed bananas on you and the redhead, another of the two of you on your wedding day. And a small ultrasound image taped to the mirror. The fresh air carried a faint hint of honey from the diffuser on the dresser, blending with the scent of your wife’s perfume lingering on her pillow.
On the bedside table, a well-worn copy of a parenting book sat atop a stack of crossword puzzles the second grade teacher liked to solve before bed, along with an empty mug that had once held her nightly chamomile tea. The bed itself, a queen-sized sanctuary dressed in soft, cream-colored sheets, was rumpled from the night’s movements, but the disarray only added to its lived-in comfort.
Everything was perfect and peaceful.
Then came a small but noticeable noise—soft, tiny footsteps padding across the floor, almost five minutes later. You silently moved your head to the side but didn’t wake up.
“Ma,” came the tiniest whisper, breaking the stillness. “No sleep.”
Melissa groaned, the sound of small, shuffling feet reaching her ears even as she clung to the heavy warmth of sleep. She didn’t stir much, her body too weary to fully wake. Instead, she tightened her hold on you, her arm draped protectively over your belly, and buried her face deeper into the pillow. The soft scent of your shampoo lingered on the sheets, coaxing her to stay in this bubble of peace for just a little longer.
“Not now, sweet pea,” she sighed quietly, hoping that the almost four year old would settle back into sleep. “Ma is asleep. And she wants to rest before dealing with some Janine Teagues bullshit tomorrow.”
The words rolled out lazily, her filter dulled by exhaustion. She hoped your daughter standing at the side of the bed would take the hint and shuffle back to her room. Melissa didn’t even open her green eyes, clinging to the last thread of sleep while keeping her arm anchored over you. The long day had taken its toll—between keeping up with your toddler’s endless energy and taking care of you as the worst of your pregnancy nausea kept you bedridden, she had barely sat down all day.
It had been one thing after another: wiping sticky hands, answering endless “why?” or “what?” questions, and trying to coax a picky eater to finish her dinner while periodically checking on you. She’d done it without complaint—well, almost. A few muttered curses under her breath didn’t count, right? But the truth was your wife was drained, and the rare quiet moments at night with you in her arms were the only thing keeping her sane.
What Melissa didn’t account for, however, was how you’d feel about her careless words if you’d been awake to hear them. She could already imagine the glare you’d shoot her for cursing in front of Bianca, the way your brows would knit together in that disapproving yet somehow adorable way that never failed to make her feel a little guilty.
“Melissa Ann,” you’d say in that firm tone of yours. That sounded just like Teresa Schemmenti scolding her on her childhood. “I don’t care how tired you are; you don’t talk like that in front of our kid!” And she’d know you were right, of course. But right now, as she drifted on the edge of sleep, Melissa was too tired to care, muttering an unintelligible noise of acknowledgement as she felt the soft tug of tiny hands on the blanket. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d have to apologize in the morning—both to you and to her daughter. But for now, all she wanted was a few more minutes of quiet before the day started all over again.
Still the voice persisted, growing closer and more insistent to her dislikeness. “Ma! Ma!”
The redhead’s eyes fluttered open, complaining as she sat up and glanced down at you to make sure you were still asleep. She carefully removed her arm from around you, untangling herself from the blankets. “Bianca? Why are you awake?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
At the edge of the bed stood your daughter, clutching her well-loved Barney & Friends stuffed animal to her chest. The purple dinosaur’s plush fur was worn from countless hugs, its smile as unrelenting as ever. Her expression was frightened, almost like something had horrified her.
“Ma… I ‘fraid,” it was all she simply spoke.
Melissa exhaled a quiet sigh, already feeling the pull of motherly duty despite the leaden weight of exhaustion in her limbs. The sight of Barney—Barney, of all things—in Bianca’s tiny hands sparked an automatic flicker of irritation. That stuffed dinosaur had been at the center of far too many sleepless nights. Between her demands to watch the show on repeat and her insistence on singing the same cheerful, saccharine songs at the top of her lungs, Melissa had developed a deep-seated loathing for the overly jolly purple menace. Every time the theme song played—I love you, you love me…—she swore it shortened her lifespan by at least a year.
That damn purple dinosaur! He could simply go to hell. Along with Kristen Marie who introduced him to her daughter.
But tonight, this wasn’t one of those Barney-induced interruptions. The girl’s frightened expression and the tight clutch of her stuffed animal told Melissa this was something different. The irritation dissolved for a second.
She sighed, her heart softening despite her exhaustion. She knelt down to look at the tiny redhead with pigtails in the eyes. “Afraid of what? Un incubo? se è così, la mamma può cantarti una canzone per aiutarti a dormire di nuovo, tesoro.”
“No bad dream. B-Bockli...” Bianca whimpered, her lips quivering in genuine fear.
The mother frowns, confusion twisting her exhausted features. “Broccoli? What—baby, it’s... it’s just broccoli!” she protests, already turning back over, trying to sink under the covers. “It’s... it's a vegetable. You eat it.”
But the little girl wasn’t convinced and shook her head fervently, her fear not swayed by this logic. “They big an’ green an’ dey make my tummy go yucky!”
Melissa pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing toward the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers glared back at her: 3:27 a.m. Green eyes scanned the time, doing a quick mental calculation of how many hours of sleep she could still squeeze in before the alarm would drag her out of bed for another grueling day. Your wife’s sweet patience, already worn thin from a day spent juggling your pregnancy symptoms, was hanging by a thread.
“Piccola, It’s broccoli. It’s not a monster. It’s not going to hurt you. Now, please, go back to bed,” the second grade teacher shuffled back toward the bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders and muttering. “I can’t believe I’m losing sleep over a stupid vegetable.”
“But, Ma—” she started, pleading.
“No,” your wife cut her off, her tone sharper now as she rolled over, burrowing her face into the pillow. Her messy ponytail fell across her face, and she blew an irritated puff of air to move it aside. “I need to sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow, and Mommy’s pregnant—she needs to rest, too. And I’m not sleeping on the couch again because of pickles or whatever!”
The memory of the infamous pickle incident from weeks earlier flashed through Melissa’s mind. That night, after you’d insisted on an emergency run for pickles at midnight, the two of you had gotten into a heated argument. It ended with the redheaded woman stomping off to sleep on the plastic covered couch in the den while you sulked in bed. The couch had left her back aching for days, and she was determined not to let a repeat happen—especially not over broccoli.
“Ma, help me,” your almost four year old tried again, clutching Barney closer, her tone insistent.
“Nope. No more arguments. Go. Back. To. Bed,” Melissa grumbled, pulling the blankets over her head. She let out a deep sigh, nestling into the mattress as the comforting pull of sleep began to take hold again. Her body relaxed, her breathing evened out, and for a moment, it felt like she might actually drift off.
That is, until a sharp jolt shot through her side.
“OW!” The older woman yelped, bolting upright as a small foot jabbed her sharply in the side, she instinctively clutched her ribs. The comforting warmth of the covers fell away, replaced by the sharp sting of the unexpected kick. Her olive eyes widened in shock, and she turned to see her daughter standing there, her tiny foot poised for another kick if necessary.
“Mama!” Bianca wailed, her tiny face scrunched up in determination now. Before she could say anything else, Melissa’s expression turned into an outrageous one and she snapped.
“Bianca Francesca Schemmenti!” she barked, with disbelief and irritation. “Did you just kick me?!”
Wide unapologetic eyes stared up at her mother. “I told you me ‘fraid.”
The second grade teacher groaned, rubbing her side where the tiny foot had made contact.“Unbelievable,” she muttered, slumping back against the headboard. She had handled unruly second graders, parents at school meetings, and even Janine Teagues and Jacob Hill on their first days as inexperienced teachers but this? This was a new level of chaos.
“Ma,” your little girl tried again in a hushed but insistent whisper. “You check kitchen. The bad bockli’s home!”
The stillness of the house was disrupted only by the creak of the bed as Melissa sat up, running a manicure hand through her tangled auburn hair and releasing a groan that practically dripped with frustration. Bianca stood near the nightstand, her wide, teary green eyes unwavering in their plea, the kind of stubborn determination she recognized all too well—because it came straight from her. Like they say, like mom, like daughter. Even though all the poor mother desperately wanted was to just sink back into her bed with you and forget this ridiculous conversation about broccoli, she couldn’t.
“Fine!” she hissed, cutting through the silence as she threw her hands up in surrender. “Let’s go see what’s so terrifying about this stupid broccoli, huh?” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold hardwood floor with a sharp contrast to the warmth of her comforter. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the pounding headache forming behind her eyes. “But I swear, bambina, if it’s just leftovers in the fridge, you’re grounded. No TV for a week. You hear me?”
Your daughter’s face transformed instantly, lighting up with an excitement that completely ignored her mother’s grumbling tone. “Ma, can’t just go! Need a plan first!” Her tiny voice bubbled with an urgency that made it sound like she was planning a military operation, not a trip to the fridge.
Green eyes blinked, the weight of regret settling firmly on her shoulders. “A plan?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. She rubbed a hand down her face, glancing toward the clock on her nightstand—it was nearly midnight. “Hun, it’s broccoli, not some rabid dog. We don’t need a plan.”
“Yes, we do!” the toddler insisted, tugging on her mother’s hand with a strength that belied her tiny frame. “And we need Edith!”
Melissa froze mid-motion, her sharp eyes narrowing suspiciously as she crouched down to Bianca’s level. Her tone dropped an octave, now edged with suspicion. “How do you know about Edith Houghton?”
She shifted her weight, looking at the floor as she clutched her well-loved Barney plush tighter. Her little voice softened into a sheepish whisper. “I saw you put her under the bed when you thought I was napping…”
The teacher groaned audibly, leaning back on her heels and pressing her palm against her forehead. Of course Bianca knew. Edith Houghton wasn’t some magical object; she was Melissa’s old, trusty baseball bat, kept stashed under the bed (or couch) as a holdover from her fight or fight days—and an added layer of security in case of emergencies.
“Look, kid, Houghton is for grown-up stuff. Real emergencies. Not your imaginary broccoli monsters.”
“But Ma!” Bianca whined, practically bouncing on her feet as she tugged Melissa’s arm harder. “We need her! C’mon, let’s go get ready!”
Before your wife could argue further, the mini Schemmenti had already taken the lead, dragging her reluctant mother out of the bedroom and into her own brightly decorated space. The pastel walls were covered in crayon scribbles that you and Melissa had long since given up trying to clean, and toys were scattered across the floor like a minefield.
“Alright, what now?” the redheaded woman asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, watching as Bianca dove headfirst into her toy chest.
The toddler emerged moments later, holding an assortment of mismatched items: a toy soldier helmet, a small plastic flashlight, and—was that finger paint?
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Melissa muttered under her breath, her lips twitching into an exasperated smirk.
Her daughter climbed onto her bed, her movements purposeful as she began assembling her gear. She gestured dramatically toward the edge of the mattress. “Sit, Ma!”
An eyebrow was raised but Melissa complied, plopping herself down with a heavy sigh. The springs creaked under her weight as she watched Bianca with amusement and disbelief.
She approached her with the toy helmet, the cheap plastic strap barely holding it together. Before her mother could protest, Bianca jammed it onto her head, the strap cutting awkwardly into her chin.
“Piccola, I look ridiculous,” Melissa deadpanned, shooting her daughter a mock glare.
“No, look ready,” the troublemaker corrected, her tone serious. She grabbed the black finger paint and dipped a tiny finger into it, smearing two uneven streaks across her mother’s freckled cheeks with the kind of concentration that made Melissa both proud and concerned.
The older woman groaned, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “This is really what we’re doing, huh?”
“We’re soldiers, Ma. We have to be brave.”
Despite herself, Melissa felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of her lips. “Alright, soldier,” she said, adjusting the helmet so it didn’t press directly into her scalp. “What’s the plan, Rambo?”
“First, we go to the kitchen. Then, you fight the broccoli while I hold the flashlight!”
Your wife smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, so I’m the muscle and you’re the brains, huh?”
The little one nodded solemnly, completely missing the sarcasm.
“Got it,” Melissa replied, rolling her eyes before standing. “Lead the way, General Bianca.”
She marched out of the room, Barney tucked under one arm and the flashlight held high in the other, her steps brimming with exaggerated confidence. The mother followed close behind, the toy helmet slipping awkwardly over her eyes as she ducked under the low hallway light.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Melissa was barely holding back a laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Alright, baby,” she announced, grabbing the fridge handle with exaggerated flair. “Let’s see this broccoli monster you’re so scared of.”
“Wait!” Bianca shouted, grabbing her mother’s arm. Her wide eyes were serious, her voice urgent. “We need Edith!”
Melissa sighed deeply, bending down to pull the baseball bat out from its new hiding place under the couch. She gave it a few test swings, the weight familiar and comforting in her hands. “Got it, you happy now?”
The girl nodded. “Ready!”
She yanked the fridge open with a dramatic flourish, her green eyes scanning the shelves. “Alright, broccoli,” she muttered, stepping forward with the bat raised. “Let’s see what you’ve got—”
Before your wife could finish her sentence, something darted across her field of vision.
“What the hell was that?!” Melissa yelped, instinctively jumping back and gripping the bat tighter.
Bianca let out a high-pitched shriek, pointing wildly at the fridge. “Ma, it moved!”
The teacher squinted into the fridge, her pulse quickening. There it was again—a small shadow scurrying behind a container of leftovers. Without thinking, she swung the bat wildly, hitting nothing but air. “Stay back, sweetie!” she barked, her tone shaky despite her attempt at sounding authoritative.
The shadow darted out of the fridge and onto the floor, revealing its true form under the kitchen illumination.
Melissa froze, her bat still raised.
It wasn’t a broccoli monster.
It was Sweet Cheeks, your family’s perpetually escaping guinea pig.
Your daughter gasped, dropping Barney as she ran to scoop up the tiny animal. “Cheeks!” she cried, cradling the guinea pig in her arms.
Melissa lowered the bat, her shoulders slumping as the realization hit her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained, leaning against the counter. “Sweet Cheeks escaped again?”
Bianca giggled, lifting the guinea pig to nuzzle its furry face. “He was fighting the bockli, Ma!”
The fifty year old groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well, Sweet Cheeks can fight my battles from now on,” she settled the bat aside.
Reaching into the fridge, Melissa grabbed the container of broccoli and held it up for the toddler to see. “Look, kid,” she said, popping the lid open and holding it under her daughter’s nose. “It’s not scary. See? Just food.”
Bianca scrunched her nose and turned away. “It still looks yucky!”
Olive eyes rolled in amusement, shoving the container back into the fridge. “You’re a huge rascal, just like your Mommy.”
Just as she closed the fridge door, Sweet Cheeks scurried across her foot, causing Melissa to jump back with a startled yelp. In her panic, she tripped over the edge of the kitchen mat, landing flat on her backside.
Bianca’s laughter echoed through the kitchen as she pointed at her mother. “Ma, you’re scared of Cheeks!”
Melissa groaned, rubbing her sore tailbone as her cheeks flushed red. “I am not scared of him!”
The almost four year old giggled harder, her laughter infectious as your wife let out a resigned sigh.
“Next time, you’re on broccoli duty,” Melissa muttered, a small smile creeping onto her lips despite her embarrassment.
She couldn’t help but feel the corners of her frustration soften. Sure, the night had been ridiculous but seeing her daughter’s joy made it all worth it.
219 notes · View notes
toxicanonymity · 1 year ago
Note
You can totally say no if your not comfy doing it but maybe you can suggest another writer who you may think might? But if yoir request are open is there anyway I can convince you to write on the topic of reader being Sara's best friend and has tried to come onto Joel multiple times (ie sneaking into his room etc) and then escalating to slipping a roofie into his drink one night while her and Sara are home on winter break from college? If you're not comfortable i totally understand and im sorry if I made you uncomfortable its just your writing for the darker stuff is so amazing 💖
locket.
Tumblr media
2k, joel miller x dark f!reader | master list A/N: here's your dead dove in a pear tree 🖤 in a way, it's kinda the inverse of night talks 😅 didn't overthink this one, so FIWB. WARNINGS: I8+ big girthy age gap (44/21), drugs, dosing, f masturbation, dubcon unsafe p in v, somnophilia-ish, choking adjacent move, degradation (both), cum, dead dove december
You're tired of her hot Dad playing hard-to-get, and you're going to put an end to it tonight.
You've come home with your college roommate, as you often do since your family lives far. Once again, her dad is dressed like a piece of meat. Tight, white, ride-me t-shirt. Cock bulging in his slutty joggers. He’s walking around double cheeked up on a Friday night in front of his daughter’s best friend. His daughter’s best friend who thinks about him every time she touches herself. 
Sarah falls asleep fast, and you can still hear the TV downstairs. You put on your locket, take off your underwear, and adjust your oversized, wide neck t-shirt to make a wardrobe malfunction inevitable with the slightest movement.  You creep down the stairs and pause at the landing, where you lightly caress your nipples, bringing them to full attention. You’re already tingling downstairs. You creep up to the edge of the living room with your arms straight down, pushing your boobs together, hands clasped together near your crotch as if you're cold. And to be fair, the air is a little cool on your bare cunt. You’re dripping for him, and the shirt barely covers your asscheeks.  Joel barely glances, then does a double take.  
His eyes fall on your breasts before reaching your face. His jaw clenches. After a few seconds, he asks, "What?" 
"Sorry to bother you. I couldn't sleep."
"What am I s'posed to do about that," he grumbles, looking away from you, resuming his focus on the television. 
You shiver and briskly rub your arms, feeling the air hit your exposed nipple for a moment, and you ask about changing the thermostat. He sighs, braces his hands on his knees, and gets up. You shamelessly ogle the bulge in his gray joggers. While he's on his way to adjust the thermostat, you open your locket and drop a little medicine into his can of beer: half a sleeping pill and half a Viagra. 
In the corner of your eye, Joel is lingering in the hall. He rubs his beard, looking at you while you pretend to look at the TV. He slowly walks forward. "Goddamn slut," he mutters under his breath, and you force away a smile as you sit down.
When Joel returns to the sofa, you're sitting next to his seat.  You bring your knee up to rest on the sofa and feel your pussy exposed.  He picks up a blanket off the other end and sets it in your lap.
"Take this with ya." He picks up his beer, and moves to the easy chair. You don't miss the way he adjusts himself as he settles into the chair. 
You make yourself comfortable, and when you just sit there, he says, "thought ya said ya were cold.”
“I'm comfy now.” 
You sit there in silence watching TV. He finishes his beer and gets another. You keep an eye on him. The sleeping pill seems to hit him first. His eyelids get heavy and he rests his head back on the chair. His breathing is steady. You think you see him getting hard. Yeah, something definitely moves in his joggers. He’s nodding off and jolts awake. He grabs his crotch and mutters, “fuck,” before he remembers you're there. You shift positions to lie on your stomach, facing him, with your ass exposed so he can see your butt cheeks. 
“Go to sleep, darlin’. God damn.” Your heart flutters. Oh, now he’s done for.
“You sure?” You ask and go into a cat pose with your ass higher in the air. 
“Yeah.”  His eyes are half shut. He tries to be subtle about slowly rubbing himself for relief, but you can see just fine.  “Fuck-” he interrupts himself with a yawn.  He shakes his head at you. “gave me somethin’, didn't ya?” 
You wet your lips and look down. “What makes you say that? Do you feel funny?”
“Like you don't know.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. You shift onto your side, then swing your legs around in front of you as you sit up on the sofa. “Well. . .I feel funny, Mr. Miller,” you purr as you spread your legs for him. “Yeah, I feel funny right here.” You slowly, lightly caress your mound near your clit with two fingers, then spread them to trace down your outer lips. 
“Somethin’ wrong with you,” he shakes his head. His brow furrows and he swallows. But he doesn’t leave. . .He looks back at the television. Your body is churning out slick, getting ready for him, but right now it’s going to waste on his sofa. You gather some from your hole and bring it up to your clit. You grab a breast and begin to touch yourself. He’s sleepy, but he's hanging in there. The heel of his palm is planted in his lap. 
When he begins to nod off again, you get up and approach the chair. He stays seated, awake but sleepy, and his breath deepens as you brace your hand on one arm of the chair. You wedge one knee between his outer thigh and the chair’s arm. Then the other side, so you're straddling him. You both look down at his visible erection. He looks up. His lips form a subtle pout, then part slightly. His brown eyes glaze over as he studies your face. 
“Dress like you want it,” you whisper. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. You reach for his cock and he gently stops your wrist. 
“I could be your dad,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.
“Please,” you whisper. Your hand doesn't stop, and he doesn't try to stop it anymore as you reach. You grab the rock hard protrusion and he silently grunts from the back of his throat. He’s throbbing against your palm through the thin cotton. Your breath hitches at the first contact. You twitch and ache for him. His brow furrows. 
“‘If you’re gonna do it, do it,” he challenges you in a near whisper. He must be painfully hard. He can't take it. You massage him through the soft fabric. 
Your lips part, and you tilt your head as you read his face. 
He mumbles, “Gonna pussy out?” He cracks a little smile and adds, “with your pussy out?”
You sigh. “You’re so fucking cute.”
“Such a rotten girl,” he murmurs with half lidded eyes as his hands come to your thighs. You shiver in a bolt of pleasure as his hands wrap around the backs of your thighs and slowly run down to your knees, then up to your ass. He squeezes your cheeks, and his cock throbs in your hand. 
“Coward,” he whispers with a snarl and takes his hands away, resting his arms on the chair. 
You brace one hand next to his head on the back of the chair, and your heart shaped locket dangles as you take down his waistband with your free hand. His cock slaps against his white t-shirt, making a wet spot. 
Good Lord. Your mouth falls open. You tug the joggers down more. He grunts softly when you cup his soft, fuzzy balls. Then you release them, grab his shaft, and hear yourself moan. Never felt anything stiffer. It's angry and now the tip is actively oozing. Your mouth waters and your body opens up for him. 
He watches your face, then yawns again. You rub yourself and gather your slick, then wrap your slippery hand around his cock. You scoot your knees forward and hover over it. He inhales through his nose as you lower yourself to make contact. You pause with the tip just inside. It's already a stretch, but deeper inside,  your core is begging for more. Your entrance spasms around his tip.  He gasps and tenses, gripping the arms of the chair as you begin to sink down.  He closes his eyes and winces as his cock divides your walls and you moan as your bodies become flush. You sit on his dick while your body makes space for him and you get even wetter. 
“Fu–ohh” he tilts his head back. His neck veins strain. He's so goddamn hot. 
You slowly tilt your hips and let out only an inch of him before bottoming out again. His cock takes up so much space inside you. You look down between  your bodies. His white shirt has ridden up to expose the happy trail and the slight pudge of his lower belly. His stomach heaves with deep breaths. You begin to move on him, slowly. 
“Ahhh, fuhh-uhhhk,” he sighs. His brows knit together and he watches you ride him. 
You tilt your hips, seeking the pressure of your clit nudging his body. “Yeah,” you breathe and move a little faster. Your necklace swings, the silver heart getting closer and closer to him. Then his hand flies up to wrap around your neck, trapping the chain. His grip isn’t firm, but the presence of his hand around your throat is enough to freeze you on his cock and give you a surge of need. Your pussy spasms, your slick walls begging for the friction they've earned. 
“You’re sick,” he mutters, then his hips punch up and he sighs. He lets go of your throat, then tugs your shirt down under your tits. 
“Fuck,” he sighs, the corners of his mouth glistening with saliva. He reaches out and palms your breasts, then hooks his hands under your arms. He watches your tits move with your rhythm. 
“How many times have you thought about this,” you ask. 
“I don't think about it,” he claims, but his face says constantly. You massage your own breasts as you ride him, and he sighs. Hopefully he can't get enough. Hopefully he comes back for more. You roll your hips with a moan. That's why you didn't use a roofie - He needs to remember this. He needs to need it. “Mmm.” Maybe he’ll be desperate, mad. As he watches you ride him, his eyelids begin to droop again. Maybe he’ll be mad enough to take it. 
You gently slap his cheek. “Stay with me,” you command, and begin to ride him harder. You slot your fingers into his hair. “When's the last time you came,” you ask, massaging his scalp as you move on his cock. “Hmm?” You pause with his cock all the way inside, and he twitches inside you. “Hmm?”
“Days,” he whispers. You start rolling your hips again. “Been days, ohhh–fuck.”
“You're gonna come inside,” you nod. His cock twitches again. 
“Ohh, fuck. Are you–ohhh,” he sighs, “are you–ugghh.” 
“It's okay,” you reassure him, “It's okay.” God, the thought of Mr. Miller nutting in your cunt has gotten you over the edge so many times alone. You're close. You bring your body closer against his and grind your clit into him, your body moving his swollen manhood, subtly rocking it as your clit presses into his pubic hair and your insides swell with the pressure of pent up pleasure. “Ohh, God,” you sigh and feel your body tighten, tighten, almost there. “Ohh, fuck,” you pant. 
“Ohh,” he moans and his hips lift under you. The tension snaps and your clit pulses, making you whine. You grind into him as you pulse, release pressure, pulse, release more, losing yourself in waves of release. 
“Oh, God,” you moan, fluttering around his stiff cock. 
“Ugggh,” he groans and his hands come to your ass. He begins to move you on his cock as your climax wanes. He moves you harder and moans unrestrained. He grits his teeth, and his fingertips dig into the plush of your ass. ”Ohh,” he sighs and fucking erupts. 
“Oh shit,” you whine, and keep clenching around him with warm bursts of him flooding your core. “Ohh God.” 
“Oh, fuck,” he pants, bursting again and again, filling you with his seed. “Ohhh,” his pulses fade and you come to a rest in his lap. He lays back against the chair breathing heavily. You lean forward and hug him. He doesn't have the energy to push you away. Soon, he's snoring and you're just sitting there enjoying the fullness of his cock and cum. 
“Mmm,” you sigh softly and begin to push yourself up. You let his cock out and some of his cum comes with it. You scoop it up from around his tip and draw a heart on his shirt, imagining how cute it'll be when it's dry and hard. Then you get off the chair entirely and draw a few small hearts of cum on his joggers. You pull the waistband up for him, then plant a kiss on his lips before leaving him there. Then you go back upstairs and put on your underwear before you get back in his daughter's bed. 
-----
-----
Thank you so much for reading, ILY 💖 If you really like dark reader, you might wanna try my ghostface fic every inch
---
I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not receiving a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" link on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.
1K notes · View notes
imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese · 3 months ago
Text
Dawning Oasis ILLUSTRATION BY ROBYN!!! *falling over in happiness*
I do not know if there is a greater joy for a writer than for a beloved artist to have drawn something from their words. I was able to commission @haykebyr aka @dredgensimp and of course I begged for Drifteris.
To my great delight she chose to draw a scene from my story A Dawning Oasis.
Tumblr media
The Drifter’s eyes shifted as he talked to a visiting guardian in the Annex, tracking movement behind them. For just a moment his entire face lit up in uncharacteristic glee and then he resumed his usual detached-but-friendly expression. His smile never faltered as he accepted the dark chocolate motes being gifted to him.
He nodded appreciatively at the guardian transmatting away and then his eyes flicked back, snake-like, to focus on the silhouette of an additional shadow in the Annex doorway, his smile becoming a delighted grin. Eris Morn stepped out of the darkness, her green glowing orb in her hands.
“And here I thought my Dawning couldn’t get any better!” The Drifter flipped the coin in his hand into the upturned helmet on his work table, landing it perfectly without even looking at it, as he stepped forward, arms wide offering a hug he knew she would decline. “How’s everyone’s favourite former Hive god doin’ today?”
“Germaine,” Eris glanced over her shoulder before walking up to him swiftly until she was close enough to reach out and lay her hand lightly on his wrist. “I have come seeking refuge.”
“Any time, anywhere, Three-Eyes,” he said, his voice flirtatious while his eyes flicked over her face, carefully analyzing. His gloved hand shifted to brush his armoured knuckles up against the inside of her wrist through her own gloves. She did not flinch away.
“I find myself wearing thin, my composure fraying. It is worse than usual this year. I seek solace… a respite from the near-constant persecution.”
A look of concern came over his face. The flirtatious grin was gone. “Of course Moondust,” he said quietly. “Is it… nightmares?”
“No. I can handle those. I can handle the screaming of the Hive through the ascendant plane. I can handle the whispers. What I cannot handle is…” She looked up at him and sighed deeply, her hand on his arm tensing. “...the cookies.”
The Drifter threw his head back and laughed. “Sick of ascendant oatmeal raisin already? Wanna trade? He spread his free hand out and indicated the set of small boxes piled up on his work table. I have enough dark chocolate motes to last me for the next century. Don’t tell our heroes, but I’ve been sneaking down to the Eliksni quarter every night and redistributing the Dawning cheer.”
“I have nowhere to redistribute mine. They are in piles everywhere. On my work tables, on my ritual surfaces, on the bed, the counter, the floor. I trip on them when I wake. I stumble over them when I try to go to sleep. Even now I fear well-meaning guardians will find me here with you and inflict more upon me.” She stepped closer to him, her voice a low whisper. “If I were to never see an ascendent raisin again, or any raisin for that matter, I would not sorrow.”
His eyes glittered in delight at her willing invasion of his personal space.
“Got a gambit match starting in seven minutes,” he said quietly, not wanting her to move away. “Come up to the Derelict with me and watch the show? Best seat in the house, and… not a single cookie on the entire rig.”
He raised an eyebrow enticingly, tilting his head.
“None at all?” Eris asked hopefully.
“Derelict’s a cookie-free zone, Moondust. Not only that but anyone transmitting on board, that ain’t with yours truly, goes straight to the gambit ready room. They won’t be able to find ya if you’re with me. No festivities. No decorations. No well-wishers. And…” He waved his hand with a dramatic flourish. “...not a single baked treat to be found. A veritable oasis in the overwhelming oppression of holiday cheer.”
He grinned and leaned forward playfully as he spoke, expecting her to draw back or bristle in her usual frustration with his constant flirting. She did not move away.
“I would very much appreciate coming with you.” Her three green eyes stared at him earnestly from behind the cloth wrapped around them, her hand still on his wrist, a look of relief on her face apparent even through her perpetual black paracausal tears.
Time seemed to slow as they lingered in each other’s space longer than was necessary or normal for either of them. He caught his breath and leaned in even closer. She still didn’t pull away.
The obnoxious clang of the Drifter’s pre-game alarm rang out and Eris jumped back with a start, her now-free hand frosting over instinctively to defend herself.
He swallowed, blinking, a frustrated smile on his lips over the ruined moment.
“Five minutes till go time,” he explained, wistfully.
Eris relaxed, the frost dissipated from her fingers.
“You comin’ with?”
She nodded.
“All aboard the escape-from-Dawning express!” He held out his hand once more.
She took it eagerly and firmly in a way that made him briefly hold his breath without realizing he was doing it.
The world shimmered around them as the Drifter’s transmat kicked in and transported them. They appeared in a small room with consoles on three sides and sixteen monitors all showing different views of the same area.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing her hand and releasing it with reluctance before walking through the door, out onto the catwalk.
Eris watched him through the doorway, out of view from the people below. The rogue lightbearer stepped up the metal stairs to his usual platform, tumbling his coins across his knuckles.
“All right, all right, all right. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He looked back at her with a grin and a glint in his eyes briefly before turning back to the guardians assembled for the game. “Hive!” He held up the coin. “Bring a sword.”
Eris heard the murmurs from the participants and listened as several of them swapped out their weapons and gear while the Drifter continued with his pregame patter.
“I’ve always wanted a pet Hive.” He said as he tossed a coin from one hand to the other, flipped it in the air and bounced it off of his ankle. “The ascendent plane must have all kinds of…” He spun around with a grin to wink at her before turning back to the group on either side of him. “...I’m oversharing.” He whirled his arms at the elbows and pointed forward. “Transmat is go!”
He sauntered back into the room with a grin.
“A pet Hive?” she asked him. “Really?”
“I mean, outside of the mass-murderin’ psychopathy and universe-spanning genocide, they’re really just overgrown shrimps, right?”
Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm, from whom the Hive had taken everything, glared at him reproachfully.
“Besides,” he continued as he walked past her, turning to look into her surgically and magically implanted eyes as he moved toward the console, “on the right person, Hive eyes can be weirdly cute.”
Eris tensed and the soulfire-glow in her eyes flared.
“Not to mention,” he continued, “...cook ‘em right and they’re delicious, make ya see colours for days.”
“Watch yourself, Rat,” she growled through clenched teeth.
He picked up a headset and pushed a button by his ear. “Lock and load, hotshot,” he spoke into the microphone. “Bring those motes to the bank.” He pushed the button again.
“Awww don’t be mad-mad, Moondust. You know I only tease you so much cuz I like you.”
She tilted her head in surprise at the forthrightness of his statement. He stepped close to her, gently touching her elbow. She looked down at his hand and back up at him but did not pull away.
“I’ve got maybe two minutes before I have to say somethin’ again.” His voice was warm now, gentle. “Let me make it up to you. Can I start ya some tea?”
She sighed deeply, her irritation leaving her. “An acceptable peace offering. I would like tea, yes.”
“Sit down in the chair. I’ll be right back.” His eyes sparkled as he walked backwards into the hall before slipping through a doorway.
Eris stood still for a moment, considering his offer. Then she walked to the chair at his console and sat down stiffly, resting her soulfire wreathed Ahamkara bone in her lap.
Not much later, the Drifter reappeared beside her to push two buttons which lit up blue when he touched them. He tapped the mute button on his headset. “Hostiles, incoming at the beach!” he barked excitedly into the microphone. Then he hit the button on his headset again.
“Water’s set to boil.” His voice was soft again. “When’s the last time you ate, Crota’s Bane?”
“I… do not remember. Probably this morning? It was this morning, yes.”
He crouched down next to her, folded his arms on the arm rest for the chair she was sitting in, looking up at her. “I got soup in the crock pot. Been cookin’ all day. Hot and ready. I was gonna have some for dinner now. There’s lots. Will you eat it if I bring you some?”
“Is it made of Hive eyeballs?”
“No. It’s made of chicken, lentils, vegetables and a creamy coconut curry. It’s good. You’ll like it. Trust.”
“That… does sound nice.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He half-stood and reached across the console, leaning across her and bringing his face close to hers. Eris tilted her head quizzically at him but did not move away. He pushed two more buttons which turned blue like the first two. He then pressed the button on his headset, his nose still inches from hers. “Incoming hostiles, at the trees,” he called out before clicking the mute button again.
He stayed there, close, his eyes lingering first on her lips, then looking back into her eyes, and then back to her lips. The corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile. The Drifter’s eyes half-closed and opened his mouth to say something when a shrill continuous whistle pierced their ears from the hallway behind them. They both flinched away from each other in alarm.
He blinked several times, the frustrated smile once more on his face.
“Hmmm…” There was a hint of gentle amusement in her tone.
He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something to her and then shook his head, standing up.
“Incoming tea, from my kettle,” he said it the exact same way he’d have announced it in gambit, as he walked briskly out of the room.
A few moments later he was placing a steaming mug into her gloved hands and pushing more buttons on the console.
“High value target’s on the field. Hunt it down and put some rounds in it,” he said into the headset before re-muting himself.
“Is that team down one person?” Eris asked him, pointing at a screen.
“Yup. The one that jammed out’s getting a warning for that. That’s rude.”
“Do they always lose when they’re only three?”
“Depends on how good the ones are that’s left behind. Mostly yes,” he told her. He pushed the mute button. “Portal’s up. Go say hello!” He waited and then pointed at one of the screens with a grin as Eris watched one of the three-person team run to the other side.
“Embrace the Darkness,” he told the invader.
Eris leaned forward to watch.
“Well done,” she murmured appreciatively as the hunter took out two guardians with headshots from a sniper rifle. Then she gave a small gasp in delight as they danced around the remaining two, dodging and swapping weapons before bringing them both down with a submachine gun.
“Wooo!” The Drifter leaned back and whooped into his un-muted headset.
Eris’ face split into one of her rare open-mouthed smiles at his infectious glee.
“Your invader's back and they just took out the entire opposing team! Glad they're on your side.” He hit the mute button. “With an invader like that, those poor bastards might just pull this off. I’m excited to see how this turns out.”
“As am I,” Eris said quietly, her smile subdued but still present as she watched intently with him, sipping her tea.
He pointed to a progress bar on one of the screens. “When this gets to 100, press this button here,” he reached out, took her hand gently, and placed it on top of the button.
“Won’t you need to know when to talk?” she leaned in as she asked him while he was standing.
Her nose brushed against his ear.
He froze and sucked in a shuddering breath. She smirked and leaned back.
“I um…” He swallowed and gave her a small, almost shy, smile. “I’ll be able to hear it on the feed.”
“Hmmm…” She let her chin rest on her other hand, smiling back at him like she had just won something. “And this is so you can go get the soup?”
He stared back at her, the smooth charismatic mask temporarily gone, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “Yeah,” he said, as though he had forgotten what he was doing entirely and she’d just reminded him.
Shortly after he disappeared into the hallway behind her the number of motes hit 100 and Eris pushed the button, as directed. From down the hall she heard his voice with his usual practiced gambit tone, “Opposing team’s got a primeval. They kill it, they win.”
Eris continued to watch as the other team's mote bank also approached 100 and found a very similar button on that side of the console. As they hit their target she pressed it.
“Ok, you can still win this. Focus on that primeval,” she heard him talking into his microphone behind her. Eris turned to watch him enter the room walking slowly, a bowl of hot soup in each hand. As he placed a bowl on a flat spot in front of her, he silently mouthed the words ‘thank you.’ He placed his own bowl next to hers, flipped a different switch, said “Portal's up. Grab your gun,” to one team and then, with another switch, “Invader's on the field. Get ‘em!” to the other.
Eris smiled at how he always sounded like he was supporting the side he was talking to as she removed her gloves. She ate a spoonful of soup. It was warm and delicious, the taste of it shifting on her tongue, giving her too many flavors at once to process.
“It's very good, but also very complex,“ she said quietly.
“All good curry is,” he whispered before pressing the button on his headset again and continuing to call the match from a stool he’d pulled up next to the chair she was sitting in.
The three-person team had only just begun to damage their primeval when the Drifter pointed out to Eris how their opponents were on the last leg of the primeval damage phase.
“Alas,” she said softly into her soup. “They tried.”
“Oh, it ain’t over yet.” He leaned in closer to her again. “I mean, it might be, but let’s see what our hotshot from earlier can do.” He reached across her and flicked a switch. “Portal’s up,” he said through his headset, “Go make a mess.” He clicked the mute back on.
“There’s no way they can possibly win at this point.”
“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” His eyes sparkled in glee.
“I have nothing to wager.”
“If the underdogs win, you come over here for dinner tomorrow night. And before you ask, no screeb guts or Hive eyeballs. Actual dinner with actual food.”
She frowned. “A… date?”
“Yeah,” he tilted his head to look her in the eyes. “A date.”
“I do not date.”
“I know. That’s why it’s a bet.” He shook his head side to side slightly to accentuate each word.
She pursed her lips. “And what do I get if the other team wins?”
“Whatever you want,” he said quietly with more intensity than he’d intended.
“Hmmm… if they win…” she began.
“Yeah?”
“You ‘redistribute’ my cookies for me.”
“Deal.”
The four-person team converged on their taken primeval, guns blazing. Eris and the Drifter watched as the primeval’s health indicator decreased rapidly. The hunter from the three-person team ran in, jumped up, and flung two kami into the middle of the fray, summoning a stasis whirlwind.
“Ugh. Too slow,” Eris critiqued. “That will not kill them quickly enough.”
The Drifter reached behind her to flick a switch swapping one of the screens to an over-the-shoulder view of the invader. He left his arm draped over the back of the chair. Eris noted the positioning of his arm while swallowing another spoonful of soup, but said nothing.
The invading hunter switched to their heavy weapon slot, pulling out Xenophage. Eris sat up straighter and smiled grimly as the first opponent fell with one shot, feeding the primeval and raising its health up from a sliver to a still-manageable, but significant chunk.
The Drifter chuckled in her ear as another guardian fell to Xenophage, feeding the Primeval further. “That’s your gun, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice proud. “It is Omar… from my fireteam. His spirit is within it.”
“Still a badass.”
“Yes.” her voice was warm. Then she sighed in disappointment as the invading hunter was taken down by a well-placed punch from a solar titan.
Still holding his soup bowl, the Drifter held up one finger away from it and pointed, drawing Eris’ attention back to the screen focused on the primeval. The stasis whirlwind was still going.
The hunter who had invaded was resurrected on their own side. They immediately began emptying Xenophage into their own primeval from across the map as they ran in. As Eris watched, alerts of the four-person team’s deaths popped up on the screen and their primeval’s health bar skyrocketed back up to full.
“It continues after they are dead!” she said excitedly.
“Yup. There’s a reason people hate stasis hunters more than most in this game.”
The four-person team’s portal came up and their invader ran in, but the three-person team made short work of their primeval, dancing together as the Drifter praised them for their hard-fought win.
Eris leaned back in the chair against his arm. He stumbled over his closing commentary when she touched him. She smiled and finished her soup as the Drifter continued to tell the exiting gambit players how well they would be paid.
With the game over and all participants transmatted away, the Drifter leaned forward and tapped several buttons, killing the feeds and opening up a single screen with a list of people waiting in the queue. He took his headset off and set it beside his empty bowl on the console, his arm still draped over the back of the chair.
“Want more soup?” he asked her gently, leaning in more than was necessary.
“Perhaps later,” she handed him her empty bowl.
He turned back to her after nesting her empty bowl within his just as she leaned forward and their faces once more became far too close together.
They smiled at each other, neither one moving.
“How long until your next match,” she asked, touching his face with her fingertips.
“Ten minutes,” he whispered, staring into her eyes through the cloth that was covering them.
She curled her fingertips slightly and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering closed as their lips met in a gentle kiss.
After a few moments he pulled back slightly, sucking in a shaking breath. She leaned in further and her hand slid around his neck to press their mouths together again.
Kiss after kiss followed. Reverent. Hungry. Teasing. Soothing. Hard. Gentle. He clung to her as though she might disappear at any moment. She pressed her lips against his tightly, drinking in his affection like he was water in the desert.
Eventually they had to breathe for a bit, but, loath to separate, they instead panted softly against each other’s necks, still holding tight. At some point he had slid off the stool and was partly in her lap, one knee on the floor. Her fingers were laced into his hair. Their breathing was in sync. The Drifter’s hands were soft and trembling, brushing against her face, her neck, pulling her close. Eris’ hands were cool and almost claw-like in how tight she held on to him.
“Hey-o! Drifter! Time for gambit!” someone shouted from one of the platforms in the ready room.
She felt his eyelashes blinking against her skin. He felt her lips smile just behind his ear.
She leaned back, cupping his cheek in her hand, her fingers buried in his beard.
“Driiiiifter!” someone else called.
“You should go start the next match,” she whispered.
“Screw the match,” he whispered back. “Is… is this real?”
She kissed him again. “Yes. Go start the match. I will wait.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
He got up to go and then sank back down to his knees, kissing her one more time before backing away, shaking his head, adjusting his headband, willing the mask of the meretricious rogue back in place.
Cheers echoed through the doorway as he appeared, his coins tumbling on his knuckles once more.
Eris had followed him and stood to watch, just out of sight.
“Took you long enough!” someone called out.
“Ya know what, just for you…” the Drifter pointed and snapped his fingertips, holding out the coin that had appeared with his trademark sleight-of-hand. “Scorn approaching.”
Everyone groaned.
Eris laughed silently and the Drifter’s eyes twinkled as he glanced back at her through the doorway before returning his gaze to the people assembled below.
"Never trust a Scorn!” he told the group as they were preparing for the match. “They're little balls of instinct. Shoot first, talk to it later.”
“You had to piss him off. Scorn are the worst,” someone said on the left.
“You ain’t seen me pissed off, brother.” the Drifter pointed at him. “For both our sakes, let’s hope you never do. Prepare for transmat!" He whirled one arm around his head and sent them off.
Eris handed him the headset as he stepped through the doorway. He put it on and then immediately pulled her into a kiss, pressing his whole body against hers.
He broke away from her lips reluctantly, tapped the side of his headset, spouted off some words of encouragement, and re-muted it so he could sink back into her lips again.
Three matches later, Eris was comfortably snuggled against the Drifter in his lap, pressing buttons for him with calm precision as he called the matches between tender feverish kisses, soft clinging touches.
Here they were, two of the most hardened, vicious, efficient killers, survivors of more horrors than any reasonable person could withstand and, for the first time in longer than either of them could remember, they were both content, smiling, quietly drunk on being gentle with each other.
. . .
The next evening, after a long shift at her post in Sanctuary on the Moon, Eris returned to her living quarters for a few moments of solitude before she would need to leave for the dinner she’d promised to attend for losing her gambit bet: her ‘date’ with the Drifter.
As she entered through her doorway she froze. Something had changed. It took a moment for her to realize what it was. She stood in the middle of her rooms looking around, first in surprise, and then genuinely impressed. There was not the slightest trace of an ascendent oatmeal raisin cookie anywhere.
At some point while she was working, the known thief, conman and criminal she had spent the last evening passionately kissing had snuck in through her perimeter defenses, skulked undetected past the many guardians who had been visiting her all day, bypassed the locks on her doors, and stolen every single one.
“A happy Dawning indeed,” she whispered to herself as she prepared a Hive portal to the Derelict, a small smile on her face.
87 notes · View notes
avonresumes0 · 8 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
How to Write a Resume!
A resume is a concise document that highlights your skills, experiences, education, and accomplishments to showcase your qualifications for a specific role. It should be clear, well-organized, and tailored to the job you're applying for. Focus on relevant achievements, use action verbs, and maintain a professional tone. Include contact details, a summary, work experience, education, and skills. Proofread carefully to ensure it’s error-free and leaves a strong impression.
0 notes
missfitcoaching · 2 months ago
Text
Boost Your Job Search with Professional Resume Writer
In today’s competitive job market, a standout resume is crucial to securing your next job opportunity. Hiring a professional resume writer can make all the difference. Here’s why:
Expert Craftsmanship: A professional resume writer knows how to highlight your strengths and skills.
Customized to You: Resume writers tailor your resume to align with your specific career goals, ensuring it speaks directly to potential employers in your field.
Saves Time & Reduces Stress: Writing a resume can be time-consuming. By outsourcing this task, you can focus on networking and interview preparation, knowing that your resume is in capable hands.
Tumblr media
MissFit Coaching brings 25 years of experience as a career coach and resume writer, offering personalized career services that go beyond traditional resume writing.
When choosing a resume writer, seek out someone with experience in your industry, positive client reviews, and a collaborative approach. Investing in a professional resume writer is an investment in your career giving you a competitive edge to land the job you want!
Ready to take your career to the next level? Visit https://missfitcoaching.com/ today!
Want to dive deeper? Read our blogs. https://missfitcoaching.com/blog/
1 note · View note
precisionresumesolutions · 2 months ago
Text
Choose The Top Professional Resume Writers for Career Success
If you want to stand out in a competitive job market then Precision Resume Solutions offers the top certified Professional Resume Writers that transform your career goals. This helps you to achieve your goal so that you can reach your dream job.
Tumblr media
0 notes
firemama · 24 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The GoFundMe Is Here.
Other Options for donation are Patreon and Kofi.
So my savings is drained, my car is fucking dead, and by extension my job is also buried. I've got no income, no ability to transport the animals i need to care for to the vet in the next couple months let alone get anywhere else, and my every effort to find a job in the near future will be hindered by having to say no to the good ol "Reliable Transportation" question, and every day i go without income i'm threatened to be eaten alive by my debts from the out-of-state-move and my bills.
Commissions are now open. Please bare in mind for those interested in written commissions, i am really not an erotic writer.
The Patreon goal is set at 15,000$ but i severely doubt i'd ever get that far. My most important goal is 3,000$ which would at the very least get me a down payment on a car, and would dramatically help me resume working and egain an income. Mind you, my nearest town is about 30 minutes by car- I *really* need transportation for any work out here.
41 notes · View notes
cvguys · 9 months ago
Text
Elevate Your Career with Professional Resume Writing Services in India
In today's competitive job market, having a standout resume is essential for landing your dream job. With the increasing demand for skilled professionals in India, job seekers are turning to professional resume writing services to help them stand out from the crowd. In this article, we'll explore the benefits of using resume writing services in India, the top providers in the industry, and how CV Guys stands out as a leader in the field.
The Importance of Professional Resume Writing Services
Crafting a Compelling Resume
A professionally crafted resume can significantly impact your job search success. Resume writing services in India specialize in creating resumes that effectively showcase your skills, experience, and achievements, making you a more attractive candidate to potential employers.
0 notes