#whatever floats your boat honestly

[the-storyteller78]

We thought it would be forever, once.

[fumblingmusings]

Something something at the Congress of Vienna the moment where Ivan gets Roderich and Gilbert onside for his Holy Alliance aka the "Christian Union of Charity, Peace, and Love" aka the "we each 'protect' Orthodox, Protestant and Catholic Christianity and boo secular liberalism" friendship was also the moment where - since the Napoleon Tornado - Arthur and Francis looked at each other and went 'Oh maybe you're not so awful in context actually'.

I mean, the French called the Russian/Prussian/Austrian agreement an apocalypse of diplomacy and Britain called it a piece of sublime mysticism and nonsense so... you know.

Also the Ottomans sitting on the side like what the actual fuck is this nonsense. And the Pope.

[giggly-squiggily]

Spontaneous Headcanons #26

✨Angst Edition✨

Spoilers for the end of Blue Lock Season 1 below the cut!

Some hurt/comfort ReoNagiri for the soul cause I need it thank you :D

-So Kunigami got locked off. Everyone witnessed it but only so many saw the absolute shattering of Chigiri's heart when he didn't show up. Of course being Chigiri he's not the type to make a scene or draw attention to himself- he like everyone else knew the risk of Blue Lock and that anyone at any time can get eliminated.

-That didn't mean it didn't destroy him though.

-On the flipside- Reo and Nagi are united, kinda? Still some tension and words needed to be said but now they're all kinda living in the same setup I'd imagine so they have time to actually like- interact. Reo's living that "To be or not to be petty, that is the question" life as he finds Nagi one evening leaning against a door. Better time then ever to confront him, yeah?

-Only when he shows up Nagi looks him dead in the eye and says in a quiet voice: "Not now."

-???? The hell? Reo's about to go off when he hears it. It's soft and sad and muffled, but it's without a doubt crying. Someone's trying desperately to hide it and has hidden away in the empty locker room of Blue Lock. Reo doesn't recognize it right away but then he hears the small but definite give away- the little hiccup sound Chigiri makes when either his knee is being extra irritating or there's a storm.

-Almost immediately Reo's anger and hurt towards Nagi take a back seat- he's a comforter; it's always been that way. No matter how hard he tried to pretend Kunigami and Chigiri were just means to get back at Nagi, he can't help but care and get attached to them. Now the hero's gone- someone who'd always be there whenever the redhead needed him.

-He and Nagi share a look, and a testy peace is made. They enter the room as quietly as they can. Sure enough, Chigiri's tucked away furthest from the door, face in his knees as he tries to muffle the sound of his tears with a sweatshirt. It's big and soft looking and it cracks Reo's heart when he realizes it's Kunigami's.

-They don't talk- at least Nagi doesn't. Reo's beside him almost immediately, pulling Chigiri into his chest and hugging him tightly. Maybe he's scared he'll bolt- maybe he's preparing to get elbowed or shoved off, but the redhead freezes up like a scared deer at being caught.

-"I'm so sorry." Reo can only breathe out, and that just destroys any resolve Chigiri had to stay together. He let's out a heartbroken sob and clings to Reo as the foot drops. Kunigami is gone. He's not coming back. He's not gonna walk down the hall quoting All Might or teasingly call him Princess or tell him he did good that day or anything. It's so bad even Reo's tearing up, squeezing him tighter against him as he blinks back tears he doesn't want to shed.

-Nagi's kinda scared- he doesn't comfort people and never had to before, but he hates seeing two people he's so fond on upset and can't leave them there. It's also when he has a revelation; if Reo were to be locked off like Kunigami was- their last words would have been their fight. When Nagi told him he was past caring about their promise and he was a hassel. That he was done with him. The idea of Reo leaving with that...it hurt worse than he realized it would.

- So he does what he he can for now- sitting in front of them and taking hands. He grabs Chigiri's bone white knuckled fist and soothes a thumb over it until it's no longer shaking. He's hesitant, but he reaches out and offers a hand to Reo, not touching him but within reach so if he wanted to, it was there.

-Reo stares at it briefly and then him. Then he's reaching out, taking Nagi's hand in his. The touch, once so easy and comforting, feels clammy and awkward, like something was amiss. But it was there- it was a small blooming flower in the vast wasteland of unyielding destruction. They couldn't fix it overnight, but it was a start.

-Eventually, when tears start to dry and Chigiri's sobs lessen to soft hiccups; when Reo's own tears that he didn't expect to fall finally slow and Nagi's hands are no longer shaking- they're all kinda sitting there like:....now what? Chigiri's a bit embarrased, wiping at his face with Kunigami's sweatshirt, Reo's hand's still in Nagi's, and they're all kinda...tense.

-"Man, even when you cry, you're pretty." Nagi decides to say. It's unclear who he's talking to. "Over-achiever."

-And Chigiri let's out a wet laugh that's hoarse sounding and tired but genuine, and Reo's starting to smile in relief, the hand in Nagi's starting to ease into it. It's not the time but. "I'm sorry. For all of it." Again, it's unclear who he's talking to.

-But Reo just looks at him with eyes that say "We're talking asap" and Chigiri's shaking out his shoulders and gathering himself. "This is a bit awkward but...thank you." He's about to leave, probably out of embarrassment, but neither Reo or Nagi are letting him go and he's not exactly rushing to get away. "Sorry, I'm a mess."

-"A real beautiful disaster." Reo grinned, and Chigiri flips him off and their laughing and Nagi's smiling and for a brief period, things feel like they're gonna be okay.

[squiggilydrawsthings]

Not a ship unless you want it to be 👀

Based on my Nagi/Chigiri headcanons (spoiler warning for Ep. 19) I just love the idea of these two being the best of friends and absolute chaos-causing dorks.

[liibility]

idc how anyone characterizes König because they‘re all correct but. he‘s just so pathetic theres no way he doesn’t cry during sex

[tvrningout-a]

i'm gonna try to move some boxes back into my room so i can start putting my room back together, but!! maybe perhaps send me some of these hc questions to answer when i get back bc i'm feeling very soft today uvu

[lilreidgirl]

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

[mariasont]

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear. 

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen. 

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly. 

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest. 

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped. 

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily. 

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand. 

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip. 

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down. 

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all. 

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny. 

You went back to your phone.

Hi

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud. 

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter.  It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip. 

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood. 

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side. 

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[a-suspicious-number-of-ducks]

Hermit-a-Day May, day 18: JoeHills. Today's style/medium is puppet-making! Or mostly sewing with a few other things thrown in. I had a ton of fun with this one, even though it took...so much time to make. I usually explain why I chose a certain medium but this one is...pretty self-explanatory, I think. If you have any Joe clips you want to see a puppet show of, send them my way! Details, materials, and a couple more pictures under the read more.

Materials: this pattern by Abby Glassenberg and all of its required components (minus the eyes), googly safety eyes from Amazon, baby clothes from a local thrift store, and white fabric paint.

I was originally going to try to get doll clothes to dress the Juppet in, since I didn't want to sew the outfit from scratch, but couldn't find any that were quite right. After a couple unfruitful trips into stores, I stopped by a local children's thrift store and poked around their newborn and preemie section until I found an orange onesie and gray jacket/cardigan that were close enough to the right colors. I know the jacket on Joe's skin is probably a hoodie, given the pocket placement, but surprisingly, few people seem to be manufacturing hoodies for newborn babies. Once I got home, I hacked off the bottom of the orange onesie, hemmed it, and painted the at symbol on the back with fabric paint. The front (now back) still says "daddy's mighty guy" with a picture of two dinosaurs on it and that amuses me greatly.

The puppet pattern itself was a little tricky, and there were a couple spots that I think could have used some more explanation, but I made it through. In hindsight, I wish I'd used bigger eyes, but I couldn't find safety eyes (the kind that pokes through the fabric and gets secured with a washer) in a larger size and the style I wanted, and I didn't want to just glue regular googly eyes on because I was worried it wouldn't be sturdy enough (and the edges might look messy). I ended up having to hot glue the felt pieces to the inside of the mouth, even though the pattern recommended normal craft glue for that part, because it would not stick no matter what I did. If I were to make the pattern again, I'd probably try to sew the roof of the mouth and tongue pieces onto the pink felt before attaching it to the head, rather than gluing them on after.

Honestly, there are a lot of things I would do differently if I were to make another puppet, but I'm pretty proud of how this one turned out, especially for my first time doing something like this! I just. have a Juppet in my house now. I don't know how to feel about this. I know this is a pretty complicated piece, so if you have any additional questions, feel free to message me (or send an ask, or reply to this post, or send the message by carrier pigeon--whatever floats your boat).

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

2

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ‘cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[systlin]

ooooo summarize the one where tarl gets called bosk by a mean lady and it rewrites his brain chemistry

Oh, Telima! The Mean Domme! LMAO it's so funny.

So Tarl is boating down the Big Fuckass River to Port Kar where a dude he wants to meet up with lives. Port Kar is a notorious hive of scum and villainy but has far fewer Han Solos to shoot douchebags in the face unfortunately.

We get like, ten pages of Tarl talking about how longbows are good at killing people, because duh of course they are. However, for some fuckass reason Goreans usually consider it a low class and disgraceful weapon, and Tarl is considered weird for liking it. I will give Norm credit for Tarl, raised an Englishman, having a favorable view of the longbow even in a society that views them as dishonorable. Reluctantly. Anyway.

He's in the Vosk delta, which is a vast labyrinth of swamp mostly covered in a reed called Rence, which is used to make paper and also parts are edible. It's inhabited by Rence Growers, who are actually kinda cool?

They make like, floating boat towns, and hunt and fish the marshes, and they take in fled slaves sometimes and let them live as free women. Like. They kinda rock actually?

Instead of any actual plot for a bit, we get like twenty pages here of Norm outlining Rence, how it grows, how it's harvested, how things are made from it, ect ect. This completely derails the story for a jarring length of time, and it will not be the last time such a thing happens. Norm loves his annoying and dumb infodumps.

Anyway, Tarl is in their territory, and happens upon a free woman fishing in the marshes. He is, predictably, what he thinks is polite but from her POV is intrusive and annoying, and her village takes him captive.

THEN we get to the wild shit.

 

A Sorp is a turtle, btw. And legit this is like, one of the 3 reasonable dudes we get on Gor. Ho Hak you're a king love you bro.

Champion shit.

ANYWAY.

This, in the hands of a better writer, could have been the moment when Tarl realized that, oh, shit, yeah okay in this situation he will act just like the women he's enslaved before who complied rather than be beaten or killed. It could have been a watershed moment.

It will not be.

ANYWAY, Tarl is taken slave, and Telima absolutely rearranges his whole brain with ONE SINGLE NIGHT OF BEING A MEAN DOMME.

He will go by this name FOR THE ENTIRE NEXT THIRTY BOOKS LIKE GIRL JESUS CHRIST.

He's chasing this high for the entire rest of the series. He never gets over this. Like holy shit. Fuck.

Anyway so some Port Kar slavers raid the place and take some people captive, whatever, there's not actually any plot in this book it's just here to get Tarl topped and get him to Port Kar. He fights the knowledge that he can be enslaved like he's enslaved women this whole time, and again somehow manages to do no actual growth or introspection. It's really incredible.

The only thing of note here is that there is a dude named Clitus, which is inexpressibly funny to me. I bet no one can find him.

Tarl becomes a Captain of Port Kar by killing one of the other Captains. There's like, a war with Cos and Tyros, which are also naval powers, and we are supposed to root for Port Kar but honestly I do not give a single shit. It's mostly so that Norm can jerk himself off to pictures of Greek war galleys and Charlton Heston as Ben Hur, tbh.

How TF Tarl knows without trying how to captain a war galley, you ask? And is somehow so good at it that all the other captains are in awe? Well because he's a Speshul Boy, of course.

Of course Tarl wins the war and shit, it's pointless, I don't give a single shit about Port Kar vs Cos Vs Tyros and I want Tarl dead.

Anyway, Tarl hooks up with Samos, but not the way Tarl would really like. Stupid PK vs Kurii plot shit is droned on about for like fifty pages. It's all stupid, the end.

[elegantlyeva]

Thank you again for the story! It was fantastic! I was wondering if you could maybe write one about different stages of their relationship. Like when they first met. Did Scott like her at first sight or did she wiggle her way into his heart? How was their first date?? Who fell first? It can all be one story or multiple. Whatever floats your boats! Thank you again!

DAY ONE

Snowy Encounter

a/n: This is long overdue <3

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: Scott meets (frostbitten) you for the first time.

The gloves covering your hands did nothing to stop the sting of the cold air, your knuckles becoming ashy from the dryness. 

You were passing out free hot cocoa, after being coaxed by your friend, who ended up backing out, and unfortunately for you, you never checked your phone. Oklahoma was borderline freezing this winter, compared to others.

Your toes were numb despite the layers of socks you had on, and you were now rethinking your decision to choose style over practicality in your boots.

You’d been giving out hot chocolate for at least 30 minutes before you couldn’t take it any longer. The urge to quit hit hard, or at least to take a 15-minute break, and you were about to ask for one when your (new) partner in this horrible task made a beeline for the bar across the street to ‘use the bathroom.’

Still, you knew helping people would be worth it, though

Wrong. It wasn’t worth it.

Ryan, you think her name was, never returned from the bar, and worse, it started to snow.

Sure, there was a small makeshift roof over the stand, but it was made out of an old blanket and wasn’t doing much to stop the snow from sticking to the ground.

It hadn’t snowed in Oklahoma for years, but of course, the day you had no choice but to be outside, it decided to pile up.

Your teeth chattered, your fingers were stiff to the point where it hurt each time you grabbed a cup to fill, and you were sure the hot chocolate was cold by now. Despite telling people, they still insisted on lining up.

With a sigh, you handed a cup to the stranger in front of you, ready to say the same line you’d been repeating:

“It’s cold by now,” you muttered, staring at the ground to keep any snow from blowing in your face from the wind.

“How much do I owe you?” the stranger asked, instead of reacting to your pessimism.

You did a double take at the voice, willing yourself to look up because anyone who sounded like that must be worth looking at.

Taking a frostbitten hand, the weird itchy feeling on your knuckles, which must be a sign they were falling off, you shielded your forehead to look up, and honestly, you were grateful you did.

He wasn’t just worth looking at, he was beautiful.

A steady frown on his face and hair poking out from the cap on his head, not to mention his eyes.

He cleared his throat, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Rubbing your hands together to warm them, you replied, “Oh, sorry. It’s free. I mean, it would be kind of cruel to charge you for a cold cup of milk.”

“You’re giving out free hot chocolate?” It was a lot of judgment coming from someone chewing gum in this cold—especially considering he was about to buy hot (cold) chocolate.

You furrowed your brows. “It’s for a good cause,” you said, shoving the cup into his hand.

“Right,” he deadpanned. “What’s the cause?”

“Holiday spirit?” Honestly, you couldn’t remember why you’d agreed to do this.

He snorted. “Well, I hope it’s worth getting frostbite for.”

You held back a glare, thinking he was much too pretty to be rude.

He stared at you for a moment, as if considering his next words. Without saying anything, he turned around and addressed the line behind him.

“I just took the last cup, so the rest of you idi... people can go home.” You heard the crowd groan, even a few curses thrown out, but for the most part, people left without too much fuss.

“Thank you,” you said, a smile appearing on your face. For a moment, your body warmed, at least internally.

“It would be a stupid ‘cause’ to give out free hot chocolate,” he muttered, shuffling in place.

“I’d like to point out that you were willing to pay for this cold cup of milk two minutes ago.”

The handsome stranger rolled his eyes, but you saw the corner of his mouth tip up. “You live in town?”

The question surprised you, but more so the fact that he was helping you pack away the cups and marshmallows into the bins.

“For the holidays.”

“That’s... descriptive,” he said slowly, giving you a side-eye.

“I’m staying with a few friends. They try to convince me every year to move here, but I don’t know.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, and after a couple more minutes, he was walking you to your car, carrying the rest of the stand, and helping you shove it into your trunk. Scott (you’d learned his name at some point between then and now) shut your trunk, and you quickly thanked him for the help.

“Thank you for that. You didn’t need to stay and help. I’m sure Ryan would’ve come back eventually.”

He raised a brow. “Boyfriend?” Then, “You’re welcome.”

The confusion on your face must have been obvious because he sighed, as though regretting asking in the first place.

“Ryan,” he clarified.

“Oh. No, I hardly know her. She’s a friend of a friend, I think, and she certainly didn’t find me very entertaining since she ran off.”

He laughed then, or at least you thought he did—it came out gruffly, and you could hardly tell.

You sneezed, and he dug into his pocket, pulling out a beanie and holding it out to you. “Here.”

Shaking your head and sneezing again, you replied, “No, that’s okay. I’m about to get in my car and head back anyway. You’ll need it more than I do.”

He rolled his eyes, shoving the beanie into your hands. “You look like you’re going to turn into an icicle. Just take it. I have a hat,” he said, motioning to the cap on his head.

“That’s hardly a hat,” you thought, but decided against saying so. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When you sneezed again, he ushered you into your car.

You turned on the engine immediately to start the heat. “Where’s your car? Do you need a ride?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too far, not wanting him to have gone out of his way to help.

He pointed across the street to a white truck.

Nodding, you smiled up at him. “How will I give you your hat back?”

His lips tipped up into an almost smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

[itsa-me-lily]

I am still tired, but brain is less mush after some lunch. (Can you guess what I had)

Here is other Simon & Thimble playlist

Here is more Military Program Spouse AU

It helps to assume here that unless stated otherwise Simon is wearing a medical mask around reader. She’s just like whatever floats your boat my dude

Content warning;

Mention of food, medical devices, scars, cellulite

“Simon whatever your middle name is Riley you better not be looking at my legs.”

Maybe his mum had a point, that women developed eyes in the back of their head. He wasn’t deliberately looking at your legs, but he wasn’t not not looking either. For some reason unbeknownst to him, you had decided that you had to make the biggest batch of soup known to man. Sure the seasons were changing, summer slowly letting go for fall, but it wasn’t as if a chilly wind was rattling at the windows threatening to steal whatever heat existed. It was still relatively balmy, warm enough to have the windows open and enjoy the breeze. Warm enough that having the stove going made the kitchen borderline stuffy, encouraging you to cook in just a loose tank top and shorts that hit mid thigh.

Simon wasn’t a prude, he wasn’t scandalized at seeing the curve of your thighs, or grossed out by the cellulite. Everyone had fucking skin and however you wanted to dress in the comfort of your home you were welcomed to it. But he had eyes and well he was curious. His own body was covered in scars and tattoos that told a myriad of stories. So he looked to see what yours had to say.

Picking at the chicken you had left on the counter he counted the spots that your insulin pods left behind like stars, noticed how you missed a small strip of hair when you were shaving, even the mole that you had on the back of one ankle; they all came together to make up parts of a story about his wife that he was just starting to get.

He was so lost in thought, mechanically putting piece after piece of poached bird into his mouth, barely paying attention to anything besides the action of seeming busy, that he didn’t notice when you turned around, the exasperation in your voice finally catching his attention.

“Seriously? What did I just say?”

Simon wasn’t someone who startled, didn’t jump or hunch his shoulders to his ears. He had spent far to much time sharpening himself as to cut anyone who tried to catch him unaware. He just wasn’t prepared for you to admonish him like that, hands on your hips and looking for him to answer your question.

“What? You said not to look at your legs…I wasn’t lookin’ at them”

Not a lie, but not quite the truth.

“Yeah instead you’re eating your way through them!”

He blinked at you slowly once and then twice, following your gaze down to the plate of chicken leg quarters he was indeed making his way through. At least one looked like it had been pounced on by scavengers.

“You said no lookin’, nothing about no tasting.”

That was most certainly a twitch to your eye. That probably should have been concerning, but honestly Simon was secure enough in his height and size that if you tried to suffocate him he could throw you off. He was a good head taller than you, honestly how much damage could you do? When you pointed your wooden spoon threateningly at his chest it didn’t do much besides remind him of a little old grandma who would wield the same utensil as a weapon.

“You sir, are an asshole. Now go run to a shop and get me one of the pre cooked chickens.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve eaten half my damn chicken and like hell is my sancocho going to suffer for it.”

“Your what now?”

Yes Simon Riley knew he was being as ass. Yes he also thought that there was a realm of possibility that your upset face and clear murderous intentions were slightly endearing. But only slightly.

“My god damn soup. I swear to god if you fuck this up for me I will find a way to make you suffer the consequences.”

“Alright alright, no need to have a bird over some-heh, bird.”

He didn’t stay to see the double middle fingers you aimed for his back, he didn’t need to. He was pretty sure you were also cursing his name and maker. It wasn’t until the front door shut behind him that your colorful vocabulary was loudly shared with the world. It made him chuckle as he picked up his pace.

Heaven help anyone who got between a woman and her soup.

Edit

I am very passionate about my soup

[brynn-lear]

Note: these are all yandere characters I had back in 2022. I'm describing them very vaguely. I can't bring myself to spoil even minute details I find intruiging even though it's unlikely I'll make this webtoon-isekai-otome game concept come to life. Shoutout to mochi and harmony. I would've forgotten these men exist if it weren't for them lol

Yan!Butler: People kept mistaking your deceased brother's butler as a nobleman, especially with how you both appear to be best friends rather than master-servant. His butler is one of your greatest allies and critic; not once has he missed his chance to tease you in such “polite” yet convoluted ways. But you at least know his sharp tongue comes from a place of affection, and not from disdain as he would with other nobility. Your older brother took him under the family's care when his small village was brutally extinguished by unknown assailants. That butler thinks all other nobles deserve gruesome ends. There's not a single day where he does not feel paranoid. So when you feel as though the pavement you passed by in your private gardens had splotches of red… you turn a blind eye. You trust your brother and his allies. As long as you ignore that what he does is far beyond ensuring your brother's safety, you can go on sleeping peacefully at night.

Yan!Eccentric Immortal: You honestly thought it was so weird for a wandering pink-haired tourist to wear red shades and a short-sleeved shirt with tons of hibiscus printed on it, but whatever floats his boat. At least, that's what you thought at first before you struck a conversation with him out of pure boredom. No matter how… “modern” he looks, he was dejected enough at the time to confess that he came to see how his hometown looks— only to discover it is practically unrecognizable. He kept pointing to business shops, claiming some used to be parks, a small forest, his favorite bookstore, and a place his old buddy used to have a successful shoe factory on. And then it hit you. This man you're with… is one of your ancestor's mayor turned revolutionary best friend who struck a contract with the devil. There's one small problem... You're involved in said contract.

("Oh, so he's immortal, huh… no wonder he was burying his face in his mushroom hat when we were walking around in the museum. On one hand, impressive that he was the first man ever photographed, but he's also the first photobomber ever. He was just cleaning his shoes and got in the way…")

[More descriptions utc]

Yan!Crown Prince: He is your childhood friend crown prince, who was once a quiet and lonesome kid. You belonged to the very few children who properly befriended him, but in each playtime, he always clung to you tightly. The adult nobles in your life had always made it a point to remind you to be wary of his lineage. “The royal bloodline’s first love is their last— and such obsession reigns supreme.” There is also a legend of how the first king confessed to his tactician after the war. However, he dismembered & hid her limbs when he faced rejection. The royal family has been plagued with unrequited love and unhappy marriages since then, yet you don’t believe him capable of perverse and violent thoughts. He harbors a hopeless puppy-like “one-sided” affection on another childhood friend of yours (THE main female lead) but he takes it “like a champ”, you're sure of it!!! Plus, the prince has grown so mature and independent, always asking for your counsel on politics more than personal affairs. You haven't met a man who enjoyed his duties as much as he does. If anything, he has distanced himself from you… Right?

Yan!Doctor: As a child from a loving noble home, you had remained firm in your stance on committing acts of kindness. When an injured kid your age was starving outside your estate, you did not hesitate to order your brother's butler to fetch food and drinks. Since he was nameless and you weren't one to gloss over a book of baby names— you gave him one that sounds like a dog’s. Years later, you've fallen gravely ill. No physician across the continent could help you despite your philanthropist reputation. But there was one who had done the impossible. The doctor cured you in under a month, and when you tried to cover his services, he said everything was paid with “three glasses of milk and a box of biscuits.” Honestly, you should've remembered who he was sooner, considering how strange his name was. Despite such a grand revelation that he apparently owes you his life, there's unbridled hunger beyond his “kind” eyes. Something lonely and unhinged.

Yan!Ex-Hitman/Politician: There was a boy you've always seen each time you went to church. You see him every week that you both watched each other grow up. Apparently he came from a noble bloodline just like you, but despite being the eldest, his parents greatly favored his younger sibling. Deciding he had no talent to best him, the boy went to the monastery to practice the word of God instead. You always thought he was an ambitious and good-hearted person— especially since it's not exactly common for someone in their late twenties to aspire for the position of prime minister and appear so incredibly wholesome. On your quest to find someone to help you solve the mystery behind your older brother's death— you found out that the kind mint-eyed man who often carved wooden toys and sewed plushies for the orphans was the notorious hitman who killed plenty of corrupt nobles in his prime. Could he be behind your brother's death…?

[clourey]

“satoru,”

ouch.

“i prefer the way you said my name yesterday, you know!” satoru feigns hurt, clutching his chest dramatically— eliciting an eye-roll from you.

how did you say his name yesterday? you can’t recall, it wasn’t important. satoru, conversely, remembers in perfect detail the enunciation that caused his heart to throb.

each syllable of his name, spoken so tenderly, and paired with a timbre that conveyed feelings of worry.

“whatever— how’s your bruise?”

satoru’s eyes momentarily flickered with mischief, seizing his opportunity, “you mean the bruise you left on my heart?”

“you.. dumbass.” you irked, heaving a heavy sigh, whilst satoru’s form began to stutter with his familiar mirth.

“you’re incredibly annoying,” you remark to no avail, as the tittering evolved into full-blown husky laughter.

the sounds reverberated through your chest like the gentle buzzing of a bee, warm and fuzzy, unlike any other, for reasons you couldn’t quite tell. it remedied the exasperation and utter frustration that often came with being satoru’s friend— he created a problem and sold the solution, what an asshole.

“satoru, please.”

it isn’t until you cross your arms that satoru decides he’s had enough amusement, “gee, sorry! you just know my jokes are funny.”

“the characteristics of a funny joke is that other people also find it funny, yet here we are.” you flick his forehead, earning yourself a stagy whine. one that could land another bruise on his face, honestly.

alas, you were too deeply absorbed in concern to physically hurt him, so you instead settle for an injury to his sentiments, and his passion for horrible jokes (hopefully).

“come on, look up.” you instruct, and it would be a lie to say that you didn’t shudder at the way satoru complied so naturally— like it was instinct. to add fuel to the fire, his hands snaked around your waist, pulling you close enough that you were forced to prop your knee between his legs. if you didn’t want to lose balance and topple onto the couch (and potentially satoru too), that is.

you carefully peel the bandage off of his skin, your thumb grazing over the purple bruise that adorned his cheek. he closes his eyes, your touch almost lulling him to sleep.

yes, adorned. this man never fails to look beautiful, as much as you despised the fact.

“are the hands necessary?” you mumble to yourself, as you apply ointment on satoru’s face. unfortunately for you, your voice is never gone unheard by satoru, no matter how hard you try.

he replies with a hum, startling you.

“i was serious when i said you bruised my heart, by the way.”

his words cause you to nearly tumble, exacerbating your struggle to stretch your body to reach the fresh gauze that laid on the other end of the couch.

he’s holding me so tight, and that he was. his hands had planted themselves on your hips, rendering you unable to shift positions.

“and—” you pant, relieved when your digits finally grasp the gauze, “when did that happen?”

he reopens his eyes, “a month ago. the party at shoko’s.”

your hands come to an abrupt halt, recounting the events satoru was referring too. his pupils, meanwhile, trace intangible lines across every feature on your visage, as if he wouldn’t ever see them again.

“you were drunk, satoru.” you resume dressing his injury, “we all know you actively avoid drinking because you say dumb shit you don’t even mean when you’re drunk, among other reasons.”

“i’ll have you know i did mean it when i said i hate kids.”

your brows raise in amusement, “and that’s why you intentionally let yuji land a hit on you?”

“i only wanted to gauge yuji’s improvements, plus you were so worried about me. i mean come on, you’re here right now, so win-win, yeah?”

you chuckle— risible truly is an adjective perfectly fit for satoru.

“whatever floats your boat, and..” you helplessly try to swat his arms off you (were you even trying? you don’t know, perhaps you wanted to stay with him longer), “let me go now, you’re all patched up.”

“nuh-uh! i’m not done talking.”

you know you’ve lost the fight before it even started. satoru would let you go if that’s what your body told him, but of course he noticed the subtle way in which your frame leaned into his touch. nothing gets past this him, really.

“make it quick—”

“i meant it when i said i like you,” his grip around you loosens, “that quick enough for you?”

“too..” you’re scared you’ll stutter, “too quick, i think.”

it was, once again, his turn to laugh. although there was nothing happy about it, nothing that warm and fuzzy.

satoru can read your expressions. what he perceives doesn’t please him, but loss was a constant in his life, so why would he expect anything else? stupid man.

“i’m.. not sure what to say.”

strange, your sentence felt empty. you intended to say his name; why didn’t you? were you hesitating?

or, perhaps satoru stole the alphabets of his name from your mouth and swallowed it, so he wouldn’t have to hear it from you— but he’s choking on the letters now. the back of his throat hurts, it stings and wells tears on his waterline.

for a fleeting moment, he wants so badly to take back the revelation he had made to you. yet he fails to, because the truth will always be there for you to realise. he knows it.

his words are just one of the many mediums through which he has expressed his affection for you. flowers, touches, time— you name it, and he’s given it all.

“i’ve gotta go.” you hurry, without knowing why.

and satoru? he doesn’t dare to look at you. instead, his gaze settles on the remaining gauze.

he wonders, could it be of any use to a heart, that is bruised and beaten?

[that1nerd-20]

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️Hey yall, I need someone to write a 'monster fucker werewolf fluffy/smutty/angst/whatever floats your boat' piece, preferably many people write many pieces about the van helsing werewolf. 🤭🤭🤭👀👀I don't even want Hugh Jackman as van helsing as a human I just want like the design of this hunky beast man to put a reader into a mating press and have a go at her/him/them all night🤩🤩 or have a cuddle session.🥺🥺🥺😙 Or maybe both who knows.👀 Because goodness gracious the directors/writers/creators of that movie knew what they were doing. 😩😩I would write it myself but honestly I don't trust myself enough to do it justice.🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️😭😭 Also maybe he doesn't shift/have a human form and just is permanently like this 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

I mean look at the way his muscles move!! 🥵🥵🥵

Or even this pretty boy, like I just wanna cuddle all of them. They all look so soft and fluffy!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and he could knot me all day long

Just look at him, hes such a pretty puppy!! They all are, they just need some luvin!😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺

Cuz fr this is me-^

But like this is also me - ^