#Console table with out drawer

[sumuraj]

Buy Console Table Online Upto 20% OFF in India prices starting at Rs 8,099 | Wakefit

Shop console tables in India. Buy the latest range of designs of console tables at affordable prices. Available in different colors, designs, and sizes. No Cost EMI | Doorstep Delivery | Free Shipping.

[snehalpatel]

Shop console tables in India. Buy the latest range of designs of console tables at affordable prices. Available in different colors, designs, and sizes. No Cost EMI | Doorstep Delivery | Free Shipping

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC XDP Fic idea: Gamer Boy

Mr. and Mrs. Fenton are well known for turning objects found around the house into ghost-fighting gear. This was partially to save money on materials and partially because the Fentons were geniuses like that.

They had no trouble changing an object's entire purpose. It was awe-inspiring if you didn't live with them and misplaced something.

What happened to the TV remote? It's now a controller for the defense of house security weapons.

What happened to the third chair at the dinner table? It's now the main anchor for the ghost shield at the top of the house.

Where were the forks? Melted down to create the Spector-Glider jetpack, allowing any hunter on the go to fly right after the ecto-foes!

Danny learned to keep everything he wanted to be left alone in his room (Jack and Maddie had a rule not to bother the kids' safe spaces); otherwise, it would somehow become gear. His room was messy, but he knew where everything was and when he placed it there.

They vanished if he didn't.

It was odd to be so well aware of his things, but it was a fact of life he accepted growing up in the Fenton Household, like the food coming back to life. When they came to visit, his friends knew he had a strict rule of leaving everything in his room.

So, really, there was no reason for this mistake to happen. Sadly, he's gotten a bit careless since the whole Phantom thing. This is his downfall. See, it started the day Tucker brought home a cool new mobile gaming console, lending it to Danny after his parents refused to buy it for him due to his grades.

He had been excited to curl up in a ball on his bed and play the mobile version of Doom. No computer needed, connecting to the world wide web and with a ton of new updates- some even inspired by him when he went into the game last time, and some developer saw him- it was everything he wanted to spend his Friday afternoon on.

Then, a new ghost yells about wanting to be the best showgirl this town has ever seen and starts Can-caning into buildings. She was from before Amity Park was even a town or a city. She was a ghost from the late eighteen hundreds who had arrived in what would have been his hometown with the few settlers who had tricked her.

From what Sam discovered, she had been promised a stage, her name on the headliners as the best performer, and riches beyond belief. What she got instead was a bartender job where the men laughed and mocked her dreams. They wanted something pretty to serve their drinks and would not pay her for it.

She was working to be fed and to keep a roof over her head.

She was too poor to leave and had no family willing to lend a hand after her father warned her that if she ran off to chase her dreams, he would cut her off.

Danny could understand why she hated the sight of this place flourishing and booming when in life it had been her cave but he couldn't let her break it all down. The fight with her last hours then days and finally weeks before he was able to put her away in the Zone.

He had been so exhausted that it wasn't until Tucker asked for his console back that he realized he had had it for a whole month and had not gotten past the main menu.

The worst was putting it in the living room drawer on his way out for a fight. That was a week ago. Rushing home, Danny was relieved to find it still in the same place, untouched by his parent's fingers.

He was supposed to return it to Tucker the following morning, and since no one else was home, he could at least leave it on for a few hours. Not bothering to change back into Fenton, Danny floated in the air, eyes dropping but determined to enjoy this game if it killed him.

The second he powered it on, a woman's voice beeped in a familiar chilling tone.

"Ghost detected. Activating FentonTrap."

He tried to drop it, but it had a similar concept to the Fenton Thermos. His hands were stuck to the metal, and thrashing about wasn't doing anything but fling him through the air.

Before he knew it, he was sucked right into the screen. He screamed, but no one was around to listen. Just his luck. The gaming console turned into a ghost bear trap, falling the second he was sucked into.

It landed in Jazz's cardboard box of old things she had set aside to donate. She was moving out for college and felt it was good to give it away to the less fortunate.

Danny panicked inside the gaming console, floating into a box of darkness with nothing but the screen acting like a window to see out into the real world. Unlike when he entered the game, he had no control over his surroundings or the settings.

He waited a few hours, and as soon as Jazz came down from her bedroom the following morning, he tried screaming as loud as he could to get her attention. But she didn't react. Not even when he pushed his ectoplasm into the screen, holding it would do something.

The game was off. Jazz wasn't a gaming type of person, so she felt no need to turn it on when she was opening the box with tape. Danny could do nothing as she loaded it into her car and drove it to a nearby Wayne Foundation donation center. He hoped someone would pick him up and turn on the console so he could get help.

It was the very latest system. Someone had to be tempted.

But no such luck.

He was moved through hands, everyone assuming that this was only donated if it was busted. It didn't help their assumptions that the darn thing randomly beeped and cried out, "Ghost detected!". Danny tried repeatedly to get someone's attention, but he always failed and was moved between centers across the country, watching time move on without him.

Being inside the GhostTrap was a strange pain. He didn't need food or water, but he felt starved. He missed the sun on his skin, the voices of people speaking to him and not around him, and his family.

A family probably losing their minds looking for him. Danny Fenotn had vanished at fifteen years old, and the earth kept turning. He was stuck there, never aging, never moving, and always watching as years passed.

He stayed long enough for the console to become outdated, and people stopped even considering taking him home.

Eventually, Danny was pushed into the retro gaming boxes, sealed up, and moved across the states. He ended up in a pawn shop in a bigger city, placed in a glass case facing up. I was far more interested in him than the community depot the Waynes had him in.

He watched daily as various shady people entered Crime Alley's best pawn shop and traded multiple items for cash. He had stopped trying to get people's attention at this point. A little over a decade of inability to communicate did that to a person.

Danny sat back, watching people from below place cash on the counter items and wonder about them. Sometimes, they would peer down at him, getting close enough to fog up the glass, but never ask for him.

Until one day, a tiny little boy wandered in, clutching a few dollars. He said he got the money, and Hans (the pawn shop owner) didn't ask. He just counted out the bill for the tiny thing and told him what he could buy with it.

Danny was shocked to see those blue eyes sparkle with glee when they landed on his system. The boy was told that it might be busted because Hans was a good man to children, but he happily claimed he had never had a video game before, and a broken one was better than none.

The boy clutched the game tightly to his chest, slipping him into his pocket with great care, and ran home. Not that Danny could see where that home was. All he got was an eyeful of lint and a half-eaten lollipop.

It didn't stop his heart from leaping in his chest as the newfound hope he had long ago given up on bursting into flames along his rib cages. The second the boy was in his home, he washed after his mother yelled at him to bathe and eat, and he powered on Tucker's system after nearly a decade.

At once, Danny's surroundings changed into a bright light, and his powers could finally pass the screen. He rushed at it, feeling himself slipping through the traps as powering on the console seemed to be the same button as "release".

He flies out, throwing his arms wide open and laughing because, finally, after so long, he is free. He spins in circles, bathing in the feeling of air, even if it's a bit stale. He strains his eyes to listen to the city outside after everything has been so muffled, just seeing the real world.

The boy was pressed against the wall, his wide blue eyes staring up at Danny in suppressed fear. He was obviously on the poorer side, with his mattress on the floor and clothes so faded they might as well be white with a bit of color stains, but Danny didn't care.

"You set me free!" He tells the child, floating before him, "Thank you!"

The boy's mouth opens and closes- isn't it odd that he hasn't heard his name so far- before his wide blue eyes widen. "Are you a genie?"

"Hmm?" Danny wants to talk to him properly but is too busy taking everything in. He is feeling the real world again, seeing color, and feeling the walls.

No wonder his old foes kept trying to come back here. The world was a wonderful place to be in.

"You are! Like the one Aladdin found! I know my first wish. I wish my mom was sober."

Danny doesn't know who Aladdin is, but that... is a sad wish. Oddly enough, he does know how to make it come true. He had been studying under FrostBite after realizing he couldn't be an astronaut anymore and had found that his ectoplasm had a side effect of healing humans.

In theory, it should make her sober.

He considers the boy's earnest and hopeful eyes and thinks I do owe him.

"Alright, bring me to your mom. I'm Danny, by the way. Danny Phantom."

"I'm Jason!" Jason cheers, rushing to the door of his small little bedroom and grabbing Danny's hand on the way. He's practically dragging him to a small living room.

There, leaning against the wall, is a woman, her head bobbing side to side, muttering things under her breath and looking like a mess. There was a needle near her leg. This makes Danny grimace, especially with how easily Jason accepts it.

He places his hands on her face- reeling at the feeling of other humans again!- and pushes his ectoplasm into her body, removing anything he can find that shouldn't be there. He's repairing the damages done by the drugs to her body as he does so.

It might not stop her from doing more in the future, but the addiction is gone. She will no longer crave it.

When he pulls his hands off her, Jason lets out a little gasp by his side. Already, his mother looks healthy. Skin no longer shrunken, hair growing back, skin smooth and blemished free, and a rosy tint to her cheeks.

Now she's just a pretty woman nappin' against the wall with her son holding her hand, looking like he just witnessed a miracle.

Danny isn't sure how he can explain that she could just start up again and tear apart everything he fixed. It feels wrong to speak it as the boy snuggles close to her, crying silent little tears.

"I know what I want my next wish to be" Jason whispers. He looks Danny straight in the eyes when he says, "I wish you were my big brother."

And that is sad, too. But it gives him a reason to stick around and ensure she doesn't put this kid through this again. Besides, he's been missing for twelve years and hasn't changed much. He's scared to go back and has nothing to return to.

Danny shifts into his home form, making the little boy gasp again. "Do I pass as your brother?"

"Yes! You look a lot like me!" Jason beams, "Mom will be so excited to meet you!"

Oh,, he will ensure she is. After all, he needed to scare her straight. Maybe he can find a job to help her get Jason all the games he wants in the world.

Danny Fenton went missing all those years ago. The World kept spinning, but now Danny Todd was spinning with it.

[p0orbaby]

Cute fic with Leah treating reader to a surprise romantic weekend staycation plz?

-

You’re driven thirty-four minutes away. That’s how long it takes. You check the time four times on your phone, then once on the watch Leah got you last Christmas that you never actually set. You pass a Tesco Extra, three aggressive roundabouts, and one wildly out-of-place windmill. You are not told where you’re going.

“It’s not abroad,” Leah says, hands steady on the wheel. “I did consider it. But your passport’s in the junk drawer under the broken extension lead, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to go in there.”

Fair.

She’s wearing sunglasses despite the cloud cover. Not trendy ones, not statement-y—just black and quiet and far too adult. There’s a reusable Pret cup in the centre console and your tote bag in the back seat and you realise, with a dull thump of affection, that she’s remembered your oat milk.

The radio’s off. You don’t talk much. It’s the kind of silence that isn’t tense, just padded. Familiar. Like an old coat or a train nap.

The hotel is not a hotel. It’s a converted townhouse with those tall, nosy windows and a doorbell that makes a dramatic, haunting sound when you press it. There are plants with names. Books with forewords. Wallpaper that’s textured but somehow not ugly. The woman at reception offers you “an artisanal cordial” on arrival. You don’t know what that means, but you drink it anyway. It tastes like rosemary and restraint.

The foyer smells like something expensive—sandalwood, probably—and there’s a stack of interiors magazines on the entry table arranged in descending height order. You instantly feel the need to stand up straighter, use full sentences. You suspect you are being watched by something or someone minimalist.

Leah hands you the keycard like it’s a prize. “Three days. No work. No laundry. No emails from that girl in your team who always signs off with a dolphin emoji.”

“You remembered the dolphin,” you murmur, touched in a weird, visceral way.

“I remember everything,” she says, smug.

The room is upstairs. She lets you open the door. Inside: a giant bed with throws so neatly folded it feels like an insult to sit on them. A rainfall shower. A mini bar with things that look like food but are probably beauty products. A bathrobe hanging on the back of the door with your initials embroidered on it. That part makes you stop.

“Wait. You… did this?”

Leah shrugs like she hasn’t just casually altered a stranger’s bathrobe for the bit. “They offered personalisation. I thought it was funny.”

You turn around. She’s already kicked off her trainers, lying diagonally across the bed like she owns shares in the concept of lounging. Her socks are mismatched. You don’t comment on it. That’s love, probably.

There’s an itinerary tucked discreetly into the welcome folder on the desk. You open it. It’s printed on textured card, which feels pretentious until you see the actual agenda.

Saturday:

10.00 – Lie-in (enforced)

11.30 – Brunch (I know the menu off by heart already, don’t ask)

14.00 – Couples massage (don’t make it weird)

17.00 – Read/do nothing

19.30 – Dinner (bring lip balm this time)

Sunday:

Wake up whenever

Talk to no one

Let your shoulders drop two inches

You look back at her. She’s scrolling something on her phone, relaxed in that specific Leah way—languid and quietly victorious.

“Why did you plan all this?” you ask.

She glances up. “You looked tired. And I’ve been annoying lately. I thought I’d balance it out.”

You snort. “So this is guilt-motivated romance?”

She grins. “All the best things are.”

And that’s the moment, right there, that you feel it. That low thrum in your ribs that says you’ll forgive her everything, always.

Even the robe embroidery.

Even the enforced lie-ins.

Even the 34-minute drive with no destination.

Especially that.

[yena-enha]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

Warning – Graphic depictions of abuse, psychological manipulation, sexual coercion, stalking, confinement, trauma bonding, blood, gun violence, death, and dark themes.

Note – This is a psychological thriller/dark romance depicting an obsessive and abusive relationship. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Genre – Psychological Thriller, Dark Romance, Angst, Horror

Pairing – Psycho!Jay x Fem!Reader

Song Inspiration – "Sweet Sacrifice" by Evanescence

Word Count – 3,400+ Words

Your heart pounded louder than the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood floor.

The apartment was dark, empty—for once.

You clutched the duffel bag tightly to your chest, careful not to knock over the vase on the console or the stack of books he always left messily by the couch.

You had a window. Just one.

A twenty-minute walk to the bus terminal, two transfers, and then a new life.It was supposed to be simple.

But simplicity didn’t exist when it came to Jay.

Your fingers brushed the door handle.

Then everything went black.

---

You woke up with the taste of iron in your mouth and the cold sting of silk ropes biting into your wrists.

The room swam as you blinked, disoriented.

Candlelight flickered from the kitchen. The rich scent of sandalwood filled the air.

And then—him.

Sitting on the edge of the table, blood staining his knuckles, shirt discarded, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.

Jay.

He looked at you like he’d found God. And God was bleeding."You’re awake," he murmured. "Finally."

You tried to pull back, but your ankles were bound, too. Panic shot through you like ice."You hit me," you whispered, voice cracked and hoarse.

"You were leaving me."His voice was calm. Like a lullaby. Like a curse.

He stood and walked over, crouching beside you, brushing your cheek with blood-smeared fingers.

You flinched.

"Jay… please. I was scared. I just needed space."He laughed, soft and hollow.

"Space? From me?"You nodded, tears brimming.

Jay tilted his head. "But I gave you everything. My love. My time. My patience.

I let you breathe, baby. I let you live."

"You followed me to work. You read my messages. You put cameras in the apartment. That’s not love, Jay. That’s control."His smile dropped.

For a moment, his face twitched, jaw clenching as he stood to his full height, looming over you.

Then, like a switch, the grin returned."You forgot one thing, baby," he murmured, leaning close. "You belong to me."

---

Three Months Ago

You met Jay in a bookstore.He was charming, quiet. The type who read poetry and didn’t brag about it.

He offered to buy your coffee the second time you bumped into him, and from there it spiraled—quickly.

You remember the butterflies when he showed up outside your work with flowers.

The pride in his voice when he introduced you to his friends. How his hand never left your waist in public, like he was claiming you.

At first, it felt romantic. Like someone finally saw you.But then came the little things.

The time you wore a short skirt to brunch and he went quiet for the whole day, then whispered, "Do you want men to look at you like that?"

The night you stayed late for work and came home to find all your drawers emptied, your clothes tossed on the floor.

He said he was "cleaning." But the way he clutched your phone later that night told a different story.

He cried when you forgave him. Said he just loved you too much.

Another time, you wanted to go out with friends and he looked at you like you'd spat in his food.

"You'd rather be with them than me? After everything?"

And you stayed.

Because he loved you.Because you thought love was supposed to hurt, sometimes.

Until he told you, casually over dinner, that he’d "taken care of" your ex.

You laughed, thinking it was a joke.

You never saw that ex again.

---

"I was going to surprise you tonight," Jay says now, pulling a small velvet box from his back pocket.

"Look."

He opens it.

A ring. Silver, vintage. Your favorite cut."I was going to propose. I even made dinner."You stare at him.

"You were going to propose after knocking me out and tying me up?"

"No," he replies, eyes softening. "I was going to do it before. But you tried to leave."

Tears spill over your cheeks. "Please, Jay. Let me go."He presses the ring into your palm.

"Say yes."

You shake your head.

His smile fades.

Again.

Then comes the rage.

He slams his fist into the wall beside you, the plaster cracking under his fury.

You scream, jerking away."You think you can just walk away from me?!" he roars.

"After everything I’ve done for you?!"

"You’re hurting me!" you sob.

Jay kneels again, panting, eyes wild.Then—tenderness. That horrible, terrifying tenderness.

He cups your face. Kisses your forehead."I’m sorry," he whispers. "I get scared. You make me crazy.

I just… I can’t lose you."You close your eyes, broken.

He presses the ring to your finger."You’re mine. Say it. Say you’re mine."

Silence.

Then,

"I’m yours."

---

You’d come home late from work. Jay had been waiting. He was quiet, that kind of quiet that filled the room like smoke.

"I donated your clothes," he said.

You froze."What?"

"You didn’t need them anymore. None of them fit who you are now." He gestured to your closet, now filled only with things he’d bought,

lace, silk, expensive lingerie that barely covered you."I liked those clothes," you whispered.He smiled.

"You liked them when you thought you were ordinary."

---

Jay rose, walking toward the laundry hamper near the bathroom door.

You barely registered what he was doing until he pulled a pair of your underwear—yesterday’s—from the top of the pile.

He held them delicately, reverently, like they were sacred.

Then he brought them to his face and inhaled.

Your stomach turned. “Jay—what are you doing—”He didn’t answer.

He reached into his boxers, eyes locked on you.

Your face twisted in horror. “Don’t.”He ignored you. In fact, he moaned.

"Look at me," he hissed.

"Look at how fucking gone I am for you."You tried to close your eyes.

"No," he snarled. "Watch."He came into the fabric, gasping your name like a prayer.

Then he crossed the room again, panting, shaking, haunted—and held the ruined fabric up.

"You’re going to wear them.""No—Jay, please—""You don’t get to say no anymore." He grabbed your chin, tilting your head until your eyes met his.

"Because you’re nothing without me. You understand?"You nodded, barely, trembling.

He slid the soiled fabric up your thighs, whispering filth into your ear the whole time.

"This is what love is. This is ours. Say it.""...I'm yours," you breathed, broken."Good girl."

----

Your throat ached from screaming, from crying, from begging

.Jay's thumb still pressed against your palm where the ring had been shoved.

He looked at you like you'd said your vows, like you were already his bride.And maybe you were.

Not by choice. But by design."You don’t get it," he murmured, crawling over your trembling body like a wolf approaching wounded prey.

"You leaving me… it’s like asking me to die."You whimpered when his fingers reached your face, tilting your chin up.

You tried to turn away—he didn't let you."I gave you everything, and you wanted to run?"

"Jay, please—" "You said you're mine." His breath was warm, shaky. "Say it again."You shook your head, eyes brimming.

"I didn’t mean it. I was scared—"His mouth crashed into yours.

Rough. Desperate. Tasting of blood and hunger and grief. You whimpered, pulling back, but his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you still.

He kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin. Like he’d shatter if he didn’t."You’re mine," he panted against your lips. "Say it, baby. You’re mine."

"No—"He pressed his body to yours, hand sliding between your thighs through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.

The silk ropes still bound your ankles. There was nowhere to go.

And yet—Somewhere inside you, your body betrayed you.

Because fear and familiarity sometimes wore the same skin. Because part of you remembered the early days—how safe he’d once felt.

How soft.

He found that flicker and lit it on fire.

His hand was ruthless, practiced. His other held your face like glass."You’re not leaving me," he growled.

"Not after this. I know your body better than you do. You’ll see. You don’t want freedom, baby. You want me."Tears streamed down your cheeks

. He didn’t stop."You’re gonna come for me," he whispered, fingers relentless. "And when you do—you’re gonna say it. Say you’re mine."

You tried to resist.But your body cracked under pressure, your back arching despite your shame.He saw it. Smirked."Say it."

"N-no—"He pinched your throat just enough to make your next breath hitch."Say it."

"...I’m yours."

"That’s right," he crooned, coaxing your climax with terrifying tenderness. "Say it again.""I’m yours—!" you gasped as it hit, humiliation washing over your body along with your orgasm.

He kissed your tears.Then he pulled away. His hand—slick, triumphant—wiped across his chest."Never run away from me"

---

You wait until he sleeps.His arm is draped over your waist like a shackle. You can feel the rise and fall of his breath against your back.

Carefully, you work at the silk knots with trembling fingers. The ropes slip. Your hands are free.

You hold your breath. Untie your ankles. Slide from under his weight.The floor creaks.

He stirs.You freeze.But he doesn’t wake.

You run.

---

One Week Later

They find you in a gas station bathroom.

Shaking. Hungry. Covered in bruises, both old and new. Your eyes are sunken, your lips cracked, your arms wrapped around your stomach like you're trying to hold yourself together.

You barely register the cashier's scream when she sees you stumble out, blood seeping through your shirt.

You don’t remember collapsing, or the ambulance sirens, or the officer pressing a bottle of water to your lips.

All you remember is his face.You give them his name.They don’t believe you at first.

Jay is respectable. Polished. Untouchable. An entrepreneur. A gentleman.

But when they break down his door, they find the shrine.

Photos. Hundreds. You sleeping. You showering. You crying. You eating.Locks of your hair.

The bloodied shirt from the night you tried to leave.

The ring box. Empty.

They find the cameras.

They find a journal. Page after page of “she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine..."They move to arrest him.

You’re there when it happens. You insist.You want to see him caged.

Jay turns toward you as the red and blue lights flash through the window.

He looks calm. Serene."You promised you’d love me forever," he says.

Then he pulls the gun from behind his back.

Before the officers can react, he raises it.

And shoots you.Once—straight through the chest.

You drop. Cold. Numb. Time stops.

You feel the blood in your mouth, thick and metallic.

Then he turns the gun on himself.

"Forever," he whispers.And pulls the trigger.

---

The room is silent, save for the frantic shouts of police.

Two bodies.

One twisted kind of love.And a forever that ends in blood.Your pulse flutters, faint.

You’re not dead. Not yet.

And as the lights dim, as hands press against your chest, as someone screams for backup and the blood pools beneath you—you remember the way he always smiled after hurting you.

And the last thing you think, before it all goes dark, is

He always said love meant bleeding.

Masterlist||Introduction

[leejenowrld]

What’s the dirtiest role play Jeno and y/n have ever engaged in?

these are all lowkey insane, you guys know they’re a wild and very experimental couple. i’d confidently say that all these things are canon

1. the stranger in the hallway — full-body objectification, minimal talking, cunt-dumb degradation

this one started with a single text: leave your door unlocked. jeno didn’t say when he’d arrive. y/n wasn’t allowed to speak when he did. she was already on her knees when he walked in — hood up, no shirt underneath, black gloves. she wasn’t allowed to look at his face. he walked in, locked the door behind him, dropped a condom on the floor, and unzipped. it was violent. no names. no rhythm. she had to keep her palms flat against the wall while he bent her over the hallway console table and fucked her with her own vibrator still inside her. double penetration. no prep. the first thing he said all night was, “fuck, your pussy’s stuffed like you’ve been waiting for this all day.” when she moaned too loud, he shoved two gloved fingers into her mouth and told her to shut the fuck up like he didn’t know her name. she came without permission, legs shaking, eyes watering. he didn’t stop. took the vibrator out just to push it back in again. over and over, until she was drooling and stuttering and couldn’t remember what day it was. when it was over, he zipped up and left. never looked at her face. she found a bruise on her neck the next morning and came again in the shower just remembering it.

2. the thief and the brat — home invasion, bondage, begging kink, ruined orgasm denial

jeno broke into her apartment at 3am wearing a ski mask. she was already in bed. it was part of the setup — she told him if you want to play, scare me a little. he did. she shrieked when he grabbed her ankles and pinned them to the bed, and moaned seconds later when he dragged the rope from under her pillow. wrists bound above her, mask still on, he searched her drawers for her vibrator and said, “you keep your toys too clean. i’m gonna change that.” he made her beg for it. called her a rich little slut who needed to be put in her place. made her say “please, sir, steal my orgasm,” before he let her come. except — he didn’t. he ruined it. over and over. every time she got close, he pulled the toy away. flicked it back on only when she whimpered. fucked her through the edge while her thighs trembled and her mouth hung open in disbelief. when she started crying, he kissed her knees and said, “you wanted to be broken in, right?” left the ropes on until morning.

3. the ‘roommate’ humiliation — group chat kink, forced audio, full performance degradation

jeno told her to leave her phone on speaker. told her to play dumb and pretend it was a “voice note for the girls.” he bent her over the edge of the bed and started fucking her while holding her phone in one hand. kept whispering filth in her ear, loud enough for the mic to catch. “gonna let them hear how good this pussy sounds?” she was soaking the sheets, shaking, babbling through sobs of “jeno, they’re gonna know—” and he cut her off with a slap to the ass and another brutal thrust. “let them. you’re the one who said you wanted them to know you’re taken.” she came so hard she screamed. he replayed the voice note before sending it. made her listen to the wet, slapping sounds and the way she sobbed his name like she couldn’t breathe. then — he deleted it. “not for them. just wanted you to know how you sound when you lose control.”

4. the “punishment” tape — camera work, forced eye contact, full dom filth with denial play

he set the phone up against the headboard. locked in focus. she wasn’t allowed to look away. he told her to keep her hands behind her back, legs spread, ass on his lap while he used the vibrator on her — and the entire time, he whispered into her ear what he saw in the camera. “look at you. dripping. pathetic. you like knowing someone could see you like this? think they’d know you’re mine?” she tried to twist away and he yanked her hips back down. “stay still. this isn’t for you. this is for when you forget who you belong to.” when she finally came, he made her watch the whole thing back. three times. legs shaking. vibrator still pulsing on her overstimmed clit.

5. mean professor jeno vs. bratty student y/n — flipped halfway, power reversal, oral control, face fucking

it starts with him pacing behind the desk, thick binder in hand, voice cold. “you think i wouldn’t notice you copied that final paragraph word for word?” she’s in uniform. skirt way too short. knees together like she’s playing innocent. but she’s not scared. she smirks. lets her fingers trail along the edge of his desk. “so what? you gonna fail me? or fuck me?” he’s thrown. just for a second. but it’s enough. because the second he pulls her out of the chair and puts her on her knees, she drops the act. takes control. deepthroats him fast, sloppy, loud, looking up with those tear-glazed eyes. “you’re the one who wanted this,” she breathes between sucks. “you needed a reason.” he moans. tries to pull back. she grabs his hips and shoves him deeper, gagging herself on purpose, humming until he begs to come. she spits him out, wipes her mouth, and says, “that’s what i call an oral exam.”

6. handcuffed in the backseat — officer jeno and the girl who won’t behave, full restraint, grinding, public edging

he tells her she’s being too loud. too reckless. caught trespassing on campus after curfew. cuffs her hands behind her back before he even gets her in the car. she’s not scared. she’s giddy. climbing into the backseat with her skirt bunched and no underwear, daring him with every breath. he sits beside her. doesn’t even drive. just stares. and she leans in, lips brushing his neck, whispering, “are you gonna take me downtown, officer? or bend me over right here?” he chokes on air. she laughs. slides her thigh over his lap and grinds. slow. filthy. restrained. she keeps her arms cuffed behind her the whole time, riding him with nothing to hold onto but her own balance, until he’s cursing into her neck and telling her to slow down. “you cuffed me,” she moans, dripping onto his lap. “you wanna stop it, uncuff me.” he doesn’t.

7. roommate walk-in: ass eating chaos — pure carnality, spit, dominance, tongue-deep obsession

this one doesn’t even start as roleplay. they’re at her place. he’s teasing her. says she’s too shy to ever sit on his face. she looks him dead in the eye and says, “lay down.” he does. shirt still on. belt undone. she straddles his face backwards — skirt still on — and sinks onto his mouth. he moans so loud it echoes. hands gripping her thighs like he’s trying to anchor himself. she rocks back slow until his tongue’s at her ass and doesn’t stop. he licks like he’s starving. she’s already wet, panting, grinding against his face with full weight, and he doesn’t stop even when her legs start to shake. “fuck—jeno, you’re gonna make me come again,” she whines. he just groans harder. she pulls her cheeks apart, fully riding him until he’s moaning into her hole like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. when their roommate walks in and screams, she doesn’t even move. just grinds down harder and says, “busy.”

8. casting couch chaos — porn parody, objectification, verbal filth, fast and feral

jeno plays the hotshot director. black cap, clipboard, camera already recording. she plays herself — but sluttier. sits on the edge of the couch with her thighs spread, licking gloss off her bottom lip while he paces and says, “so what makes you think you’re right for the role?” she shrugs, pulls her shirt over her head, no bra. “i take direction.” he laughs. “prove it.” she kneels between his legs and unzips him without blinking. takes him in her mouth, strokes what doesn’t fit, moans around his cock until he starts slipping — then pulls off. sits on his lap. rides him slow, while whispering, “what do i get if i pass the audition?” he growls. she clenches. he nearly spills. she grins and says, “guess i’ll wait for a callback.”

(longer scene)

6. “you’re here to learn.” — roleplay setup, control dynamics, initiation

they don’t tell her what it is. they just invite her upstairs. jeno’s shirt’s already half off, face flushed from the weed he hit too hard off yn’s tongue. the new girl’s glossy-eyed, dizzy from the shot she took downstairs, all pink lips and fluttery lashes, trying to keep up. yn circles her like smoke, trailing her nails down her arm. “you ever been in a threesome before?” she asks, sweet like poison. the girl shakes her head. yn hums. presses a kiss under her jaw and turns her face toward jeno, who’s already palming himself through his jeans. “good,” she says, voice like silk over something sharp. “then you won’t mind if i show you how it’s done.”

everything’s already melting. yn lights the joint and blows the first drag into jeno’s mouth, then pulls the other girl in and does the same. secondhand high, passed between tongues. her lipstick smears over both of them. someone slipped something into the tequila—just enough to make their skin buzz, just enough to make every moan echo. jeno’s panting before anyone’s even naked. yn grabs the girl by the chin and murmurs, “you feel that? that’s your pussy getting wet from my mouth. now imagine what it’ll be like when you’re on your knees for him.” the girl gasps. yn licks the sound off her lips.

jeno’s laid out on the velvet couch, shirt discarded, jeans around his thighs, eyes barely focused. his cock’s flushed and leaking, twitching in his hand, and yn’s already sinking down between his legs. she nods at the girl. “get over here.” the girl crawls. eager. innocent. stupid. yn strokes jeno’s cock slow, then licks a stripe up the shaft without breaking eye contact. “watch closely,” she purrs. “you want to make him cry? go for the vein.” she wraps her lips around him and sinks deep, pulling off with a messy pop, then pats the girl’s cheek. “your turn. open up.” the girl takes him. jeno moans. yn pulls her hair back and whispers, “don’t be shy. choke on it.”

jeno’s gone. hips jerking, throat tight, hands gripping both heads. yn grabs the girl’s hair and holds her down just long enough to make her eyes water, then yanks her off and kisses her hard, open-mouthed, spit-mixed, wet and sloppy. “you’re trying,” she says with a laugh, slapping her cheek once lightly. “but you’re not there yet.” she spins her around, bends her over, fingers in her pussy while she sucks him again. yn kneels behind her and licks her open like it’s dessert, hands spreading her thighs. “maybe he’ll come for you this time,” yn hums, mouthing her ass while watching jeno twitch. “but only if you beg.”

jeno’s crying out by the time yn straddles him. his cock’s soaked in spit and slick and shame. she sinks down in one go and throws her head back, pussy swallowing him so fast it punches the breath out of his lungs. his hands claw at her thighs, but she pins them down to his chest and starts riding, slow at first, a taunting grind that makes him twitch and whimper. the other girl’s kneeling beside them, wide-eyed and flushed, lips swollen from sucking, but yn ignores her. “watch,” she says without turning, bouncing harder, riding jeno like she owns him—and she does. “this is how you fuck him. not with your mouth, not with your hands. with your power.” she grabs jeno’s jaw, makes him look at her while she fucks herself on his cock like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do. “you like her mouth, baby?” she purrs. “you gonna come for her?” he shakes his head, moaning. “say it.” he gasps—“no, fuck, only you.” yn smirks. clenches. he nearly sobs. the other girl touches herself beside them, soaking wet and silent, and yn glances over just long enough to spit, “don’t even think about coming unless i tell you to.”

she leans in close, hair sticking to her cheeks, sweat dripping down her back, hips slamming down faster now, filthy and feral. jeno’s toes curl. his voice breaks. he’s mumbling her name over and over while his cock jerks inside her and his stomach flexes—he’s close, gone, finished—and yn locks eyes with the girl just as she starts to shake too. “you wanna finish?” yn snarls. “then watch me break him.” she slams down once, twice—jeno cries out—and comes deep, so deep, her pussy milks him through it, and she doesn't stop moving until he’s shaking, body limp, twitching beneath her, so overstimulated he can’t breathe. the girl comes too, on her fingers, soft and ruined, and yn just laughs, licking jeno’s sweat off her lip as she sits there, full of him, still throbbing.

“lesson’s over,” she whispers, hips still rolling, “but he’s not done yet.”

[bella-studio]

◾️It all started with the fact that I wanted to make an animated short that would take place in Skid's room.

◾️But then I realized that we don't have the full design of his room, so I made my own version based on what we have at the moment.

◾️All I could work with was a couple of scenes from the first episode. And the room in these scenes was very sparsely decorated.

(I would add screenshots, but Tumblr didn't like it the last five times for some crazy reason)

◾️Perhaps depiction of Skid's room from ep1 is no longer relevant, but based on it, I believe that Lila buys everything Skid needs for comfort and entertainment (he has a computer and a TV with a game console in his room, like damn).

◾️But, unlike Pump's room, in which absolutely everything is pumpkin themed, Skid's room remains simple in terms of furniture, as custom furniture is much more expensive. So Lila buys only toys and decorations for Skid in connection with his interests.

◾️So let's unpack what I did here:

• ceiling fan and wooden floor, like in Lila's room.

• there is no big light (due to my headcanon that Skid doesn't like using it in his room, so Lila unscrewed the light bulb altogether).

• the couch is now a fold-out one (and it's usually in an unfolded state).

• the pillows are orange, referring to Pump, who has purple pillows in his room.

• the computer's CPU is now under the table.

• glowing stars on the ceiling.

• pumpkin-shaped headphones, taken from the 4th Episode's OST video. Pump has skull-shaped headphones.

• a few posters: two of them were in ep1, one was added by me.

• there is a Nintendo GameCube under the TV, since in ep1 SnP played, I think, "Luigi's Mansion", which was released on this console.

• a drawer for toys and a carpet near it as a "play area".

• the toys are random toys that appear in the episodes.

• Skid's drawings and his height marks on a wall.

• a wall lamp by the door instead of a big light (headcanon: Lila also uses it when she checks on Skid at night).

◾️I could have done a better job of showing how Skid is a little messy, judging by the look of his room in ep1, or adding more decor, but damn...

◾️It's hard to decorate a room for a character with whom your mentality is not similar. And I also have a limited interest in media, so this was also a problem during the decoration.

◾️Maybe in the future I'll figure out what else I can add to Skid's room.

[the-liars-art]

Konrad and Tarot Cards: Compiled Excerpts

Tarot cards have been a part of his motifs, imageries, and aesthetics since the very beginning of the Horus Heresy publications (featured heavily in two short stories from 2007, and much less so in later stories where he gets more character development) and in his official miniature sculpt. Our primarch the Night Haunter used his deck of cards, a 40k Nostraman version of real tarot cards, for divination. The cards helped him interpret his visions, before the precognition became vivid and clear enough to do without. He used to consult his cards frequently and not in secret.

He and his Nostraman deck could have played a part in the later development of the Emperor's Tarot (though it won't be featured in this post), with the appearance of the card "the Dark King" and such, but Black Library inconsistency says no.

Also if I have a nickel every time Konrad is looking at his cards and one of his good sons walk in, I'd have 2, which isn't a lot but it's fun that it happened twice.

Now, the excerpts galore, in publication order:

Night Haunter turned over the last card and his jawline tightened as the familiar pattern emerged once more. The strategium of his flagship was kept dark, the faint blue light of consoles and hololithic displays islands of light in the darkness. The Primarch of the Night Lords paid no attention to his surroundings, ignoring the pregnant pressure of anticipation that bristled from every member of his bridge crew. A deck of worn cards sat on the softly glowing lectern before him, their edges scuffed and curled from decades of shuffling and dealing. Little more than a parlour game played by the indolent rich of Nostramo Quintus, he had since discovered that variations of these cards had been employed in the hives of Merica and by the tribes of the Franc as a means of divination in the time before Old Night had descended. The cards apparently corresponded to the stratification of society at the time, with the various suits representing warriors, priests, merchants and workers. Ancient belief held that the future could be read in the patterns of cards known as the Lesser Arcanoi, but such traditions were outmoded concepts in this colourless, secular galaxy… Except that no matter how thoroughly he shuffled the cards and dealt them on the polished glass of the lectern, the pattern was always the same. The Moon, the Martyr and the Monster lay in a triangular pattern. The King lay reversed at the feet of the Emperor on one side of the pattern, and on the other, also reversed, was the Dove – a card academics postulated was a symbol of hope. The card he had just dealt sat at the top of the pattern, a card that had changed little over the centuries and the meaning of which, though often misinterpreted, was unmistakable. Death. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Captain Shang approaching, clad in his battle plate and wrapped in his ceremonial black cape of gleaming patagium. His helmet’s flaring wings framed a death mask of an alien skull, its tusked lower jaw thrust beyond his throat. Behind his equerry, Night Haunter could see the gently rotating orb of Nostramo displayed on the viewscreen. Thick clouds of pollutants ringed the grey planet, shot through with emphysemic yellows and leprous browns. The radiation-blasted moon of Tenebor was just visible as a sickly orb emerging from the stained-lung corona of Nostramo’s dying sun.

--the short story The Dark King, by Graham McNeill (2007)

‘There is one other thing,’ said Malcador, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. ‘Something I want to show you.’ Malcador crossed the chamber, and took something from a drawer in an old bureau. He walked back to Dorn, and spread that something out on the low table between them. Dorn opened his mouth but no sound issued. Fear gripped him. ‘You recognise these, of course.’ Old cards, worn and fraying, discoloured and liver-spotted with time. One by one, Malcador laid them out. ‘The Lesser Arcanoi, just gaming trinkets really, but used widely before the coming of Old Night for divination. This deck was made on Nostramo Quintus.’ ‘He used them,’ Dorn breathed. ‘Yes, he did. He relied on them. He believed in cartomancy. He dealt his fate out, night after haunted night, and watched how the cards fell.’ ‘Oh, Holy Terra…’ ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Malcador asked, looking up. ‘You are quite pale.’ Dorn nodded. ‘Curze.’ ‘Yes, Curze. Had you forgotten him, or simply blocked him out? You have bickered and sparred with many of your brothers over the years, but only Konrad Curze ever hurt you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He nearly killed you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘On Cheraut, long ago,’ ‘I remember it well enough!’ Malcador looked up at Dorn. The primarch had risen to his feet. ‘Then sit back down and tell me, because I wasn’t there.’ Dorn sat. ‘This is so long ago or like another life. We had brought the Cheraut system to compliance. It was hard fought. The Emperor’s Children, the Night Lords and my Fists, we affected compliance. But Curze didn’t know when to stop. He never knew when to stop.’ ‘And you rebuked him?’ ‘He was an animal. Yes, I rebuked him. Then Fulgrim told me.’ ‘Told you what?’ Dorn closed his eyes. ‘The Phoenician told me what Curze had told him: the fits, the seizures that had plagued Curze since his childhood on Nostramo, the visions. Curze said he had seen the galaxy in flames, the Emperor’s legacy overthrown, legionaries turning on legionaries. It was all lies, an insult to our creed!’ ‘You confronted Curze?’ ‘And he attacked me. He would have killed me, I think. He is insane. That’s why we drove him out, sick of his bloodletting. That’s why he burned his home world and took his Night Lords off into the darkest parts of the stars.’ Malcador nodded, and continued to deal the cards. ‘Rogal, he is what you are truly afraid of, because he is fear incarnate. No other primarch uses terror as a weapon like Curze does. You are not afraid of Horus and his sallow heretics. You are afraid of the fear that sides with him, the night terror that advances alongside the traitors.’ Dorn sat back and breathed out. ‘He has haunted me, I confess. All this time, he has haunted me.’ ‘Because he was right. His visions were true. He saw this Heresy coming in his visions. That is the truth you fear. You wish you had listened.’ Dorn looked down at the cards laid out on the table before him. ‘Do you believe in this divination, Sigillite?’ ‘Let’s see,’ said Malcador, turning the cards over one by one: the Moon, the Martyr and the Monster, the Dark King askew across the Emperor. One other card, the Lightning Tower. Dorn groaned. ‘A bastion, blown out by lightning. A palace brought to ruin by fire. I’ve seen enough.’ ‘The card has many meanings,’ said Malcador. ‘Like the Death card, it is not as obvious as it seems. In the hives of Nord Merica, it symbolised a change in fortune, an overturning of fate. To the tribes of Franc and Tali, it signified knowledge or achievement obtained through sacrifice. A flash of inspiration, if you will, one that tumbles the world you know down, but leaves you with a greater gift.’ ‘The Dark King lies across the Emperor,’ said Dorn, pointing. Malcador sniffed. ‘It’s not exactly a science, my friend.’

--the short story The Lightning Tower, by Dan Abnett (2007)

One brief mention of cards and pre-discovery Night Haunter:

The pale man knew he’d have to appear before many of them tonight – the cards had revealed that much to him. The thousands gathered into this place of sleazy sanctuary would see him for the first time. A necessary indulgence, nothing more. He’d learned from them. Now they would learn from him.

—the novella Prince of Crows, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden (2012)

Then we reach the most recent mentions in the primarch book:

Ledgers and data-slates were piled around his chamber upon the iron table. The mortal Ekra Trez worked quietly in the ­corner of the room. When the darkness came upon Curze, Trez’s psychic talent blunted the horror. At other times he aided his master, autoquill scratching on an accompanying screen as he compiled the data Curze himself had processed. The information was there to see, all aspects of each recruit meticulously recorded: genotype, origin, records of crime, set out in plain language. The men destroying his Legion from within were either confident they would not be discovered, or were so proud of their actions they felt they had nothing to hide. Curze glanced at the spread of worn cards in the middle of the table. Their reading suggested that could be it. They could believe they were doing the right thing. False rectitude was no shield against justice. The door to his chamber opened. ‘Sevatar,’ said Curze, without looking up. [...] ‘We shall see it done after Cheraut. Before then, I have another task to perform. It is time I spoke with my brothers.’ Again he looked at the cards. ‘What will happen is unclear to me, but perhaps all this horror can be forestalled. Perhaps the rumours are inflated, and Nostramo might be saved,’ murmured Curze. ‘Maybe Balthius is alive still, and this situation can be rectified.’

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Shang reached up and removed his helmet. His scent hissed into the room more strongly with the escaping air. ‘My lord,’ he said. He licked dry lips, eyes flicking about the scene of ruin. ‘They are getting worse. Your visions.’ Curze nodded his head. His mouth swam with spit that tasted of blood. ‘They are, my son,’ said Curze. ‘Once, they were but images flitting through my mind, presaging events that I must labour over my cards to fully predict. Now they come to me wholly formed, and their violence flows out from me.’ Curze hauled himself up to his feet.

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

In pride of place, at a table by his side, sat the battered deck of cards he had consulted so many times. He meant their presence to be his last comment on fortune’s cruel grip. But the cards dragged at his attention, forcing him to reappraise them as a tool of his delusion.

--Chapter 13 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Make of the it what you will. Ave Dominux Nox🦇

[sumuraj]

Buy Console Table Online Upto 20% OFF in India prices starting at Rs 8,099 | Wakefit

Shop console tables in India. Buy the latest range of designs of console tables at affordable prices. Available in different colors, designs, and sizes. No Cost EMI | Doorstep Delivery | Free Shipping.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

hi hiiiii! I was wondering if you could do a Hotch x reader where there’s maybe an age gap and it’s based on Peter by Taylor swift? I’m obsessedddd with that song. Thankssss <3

PROMISES NEVER TO KEEP

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Synopsis: He said he'll change. You believed he'd change. It's no one's fault, really. Waiting forever is just too long for heartache. WARNING: angst. pure free writing. 700+ word count. not proofread!!! A/N: tysm for this req!!! The age gap was vague, and honestly, the gap is like 9-10 yrs, r around late 20s. Also can anyone believe I sat, played the song, wrote along, and called it a day? The power of a TS song is just unmatched. I strongly suggest listening to the song while reading it.

  Aaron’s late.

  Again.

  You stare at the empty seat across from you. Then, glance at the loud ticking over the mantle. Ten past eleven. Dinner was eight.

  Deep inhales mixed with salty tears you aren’t aware have been flowing for the past five minutes enter your lungs. There’s a tug in your chest that you swear to be a phantom. You smile ever so softly with a sniff as you tuck your head to study the cold dinner on your plate.

  Was it too last minute? Was it on you?

  You told Aaron about dinner two months ago. He said he had it written down and made a note on his phone’s calendar. He said he’d make it this time. Was he lying?

  The pit of your stomach sinks. And you wonder what else he lies about.

  Hot, achy streams trail down a path on your cheeks. You stand and clear out the table, covering his serving and throwing out yours. You watch as the residue drains down the sink.

  Aaron promised.

  And you believed it like any other promises he’d broken before.

  And you’ll believe him again and again and again until there are no more promises he could outswore.

  And it’s depressing because you know you’ll forgive him every single time like a chore.

  And it’s heartbreaking because he’ll make the same promises.

  And it hurts to know he’ll never keep any of it.

  Because he’s Aaron Hotchner. The man who saves lives. The man who put away monsters. The man who’s done many good things to the world. The man who caught your heart and dropped it many times, just for him to fix it with a consolation smile.

  Aaron once said you're his favorite book. He's read you enough times to know the important lines in mind. Just never enough to notice the spaces in between by heart. Maybe it's your fault for being easy to read. Or you're just not smart enough to read Aaron. Not mature enough to understand his limbs of idioms.

  And Aaron tries. God knows you try. He does his best, and you do yours. It's no one's fault that his best is so little, and your best goes unnoticed.

  You zip around your luggage, taking a moment to see how empty the drawer Aaron saved just for you. What will he put there now?

  A familiar tune rings. The tightness on your chest, along with the sobs that echo in the empty bedroom, muffle his call into a far buzzing sound.

  With a sharp gulp to clear the ache in your throat, you pick up, “[Hey, honey…]”

  He won’t show.

  Again.

  But he promised. Your heart cries in agony. And you hug your middle like a child who deserves everything the world can offer as you reply, I know.

  Where are you?

  When are you coming home?

  Why aren’t you here?

  “Hey, sweet man,” Comes out of your lips, masking a shaky sob.

  There’s a sigh on the other end, “[I’m sorry. I won’t make it to dinner. Did you wait long?]”

  You always do. You wait until the daylight peeks in the window. Wait for him to return every single time.

  “After almost burning the house down. I think you would’ve waited longer if you had come.” The laugh comes out damp. You like to think you’re getting better at it. Lying to make him feel better.

  He hums. “[I’m sure it still would’ve tasted amazing.]” Aaron wouldn’t have known. He hasn’t known what your amazing cooking tastes like for a long time because he’s never shown up for a very long time.

  You wipe your tears and take a deep breath before staring into the place you’d once ached to call your home. Reminded by a series of his apologies and empty promises. The place where you burned all by yourself like a candle in the middle of winter.

  And now’s the final flicker of your light.

  “[Still there, honey?]”

  You give your best to sound naturally groggy, “Sorry, handsome… I had an early morning.” A lie over your breath.

  “[Go ahead and rest. I’ll see you when I get home?]”

  You grab the handle of your luggage. Memories of his sweet words flicker, clutching onto false hopes.

  You make a promise that you’ll call him to explain.

  To end things maturely.

  To offer closure.

  To meet acceptance.

  To move on.

  You promise to grow better as a person so that you’d understand an increment of the reason why he can’t make you his person.

  You promise to cross Aaron’s path again one day. When he’s old and gray. When you don’t need to pray. When you know, he’ll stay.

  Placing the spare keys on the bowl, your fingers press the switch to dark.

  “See you when you get home.”

  It’s a promise you won’t keep.

hotch masterlist | masterlist

[snehalpatel]

Shop console tables in India. Buy the latest range of designs of console tables at affordable prices. Available in different colors, designs, and sizes. No Cost EMI | Doorstep Delivery | Free Shipping

[wh0re43van]

And they were roommates (Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Description: You and Peter are long time best friends and now roommates. Things take a weird turn when he admits that he found your sex toy drawer.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving)

A/n: this is based off this request! I’m sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations, I’ve been having writers block. I’ve also been a bit inactive bc college rawdogging me without lube rn :/ (also I left this open to possibly a pt 2 with pegging Peter?? 🙊)

Peter sits on the edge of the couch clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, playing that mindless video game that he loves so much. His skilled fingers move in a blur across the plastic controller, the sound of the rapid clicks on the joy stick and buttons are drowned out by the blaring music coming out of the stereo. The music is so loud in fact, that the boy doesn’t hear you stumble into your shared home, dropping groceries and cursing at him as you stagger towards the table.

“Goddamnit Peter!” You groan after dropping off the bags of food, stomping into the living room as you dodge empty bottles of soda and dirty clothes on the floor. “Peter!” You gripe, now completely out of patience. But Peter is so fixed on the game and the music is so loud that he isn’t even aware of your arrival.

You let out an irritated sigh before ripping the cord to the stereo out of the wall. “Peter Maximoff!” You shout, crossing your hands over chest. He jumps a bit, startled by your sudden appearance, but soon enough his signature smirk is plastered on his stupid face.

“Hey babe! Where’ve you been?” He asks nonchalantly-choosing to ignore your obviously pissed off stature- as he shifts his attention back to the video game.

“Are you- oh my god,” you groan, completely exasperated as you pinch the bridge your nose. “I’ve been out for three hours getting shit for my party tonight. The one thing I asked you to do was clean up this mess!” You pace infront of the tv like a disappointed mother- a feeling you’ve become all too familiar with since renting an apartment with your man-child of a best friend.

“I don’t think four girls in their 20s getting wine drunk and talking shit for hours on end counts as a party,” Peter snickers before he zooms around you, now between you and the television with his nose nearly pressed to the screen in attempt to finish his game. Your blood is boiling at at this point.

“Beats locking yourself in your room and playing with your dick to those old VHS tapes you still have from high school,” you roll your eyes. “Atleast get with the times and use the internet,” you add with your lips pulled taught in an unamused line, you reach down to unplug the console. Peter of course grabs your hand before you reach the plug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“And abandon my girls? Come on babe, don’t be ridiculous. We have history!” Peter snickers, unfazed by your attempt to humble and embarrass him.

Peter finally beats the level, sounding off the victory music. With a proud smile, he sits down the controller, finally giving you his attention. “Plus, don’t act like I don’t know about your drawer of toys. Neither one of us are getting laid,” Peter laughs casually as he walks back over to the couch, leaving you with wide eyes and blushed cheeks.

“What the fuck! H-how-Peter! Dude! What-what the actual fuck!” You look at him dumbfounded, now twice as furious and extremely embarrassed.

“Oh, so you can go through my stuff, but I can’t go through yours?” He smirks as he takes a swig of soda out of a two liter bottle, looking at you with pure amusement on his face.

“I-I don’t go through your stuff, Peter!” You shriek, looking down at your feet in attempt to escape his gaze. When you do, you notice a bright orange plastic rectangle on the ground amidst various snack cake wrappers. “Th-there’s a tape literally laying right here!” You chuck the VHS at him, he catches it, sitting it on the couch beside him.

“Alright you’ve got me,” Peter holds his hands up in defense with playful grin. “But you can’t blame me for snooping. You don’t exactly make an effort to keep quiet. Our rooms are right across from each other ya know,” he chuckles as he settles into the couch, wiping his Cheeto covered fingers on his grey sweatpants. “So yeah, maybe I was curious to see the loud ass vibrator that you abuse most nights of the week, and maybe I found a lot more than I was looking for,” Peter laughs at how red your face is. He’s clearly enjoying your utter humiliation.

You feel mortified. You can’t believe he would just reveal that he knows you about your dirty habits so casually. Had he seen everything?

‘Why would I keep everything on the same place,’ you internally facepalm as you imagine Peter digging through your underwear draw to see your Hitachi, the vibrating dildo, the strap.

‘Jesus Christ does he know I have a strap on?’ Panic begins to set it. ‘How long has he known about this?’ Your mind is racing almost as fast as your heart.

You swear you’ve never felt so embarrassed in your life. Despite the snow on the ground outside, you feel like your skin is on fire. You’re a clammy, stuttering mess that wants nothing more than to vanish into thin air, but you can’t even will yourself to move.

“Y-you can hear it?” Is all you dare to ask sheepishly, your eyes still wide in horror at the conversation that’s unfolding between you and your best friend.

“Mhm,” Peter snickers as he stands up, nonchalantly stretching and flexing all the muscles in his bare torso. You think for a moment that he might be flexing on purpose as he walks over to inspect the groceries you’ve brought home. “And I Gotta say,” Peter hums as he pops open the new box of twinkies you got for your party. “I’m really not impressed with the settings on that thing,” he says through a mouth full of yellow sponge cake.

You don’t know what to think of the situation. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what he’s playing at, but to no avail. He seems to be amused more than anything; at the very least he doesn’t think any less of you.

You sigh, walking over to the boy, prying the blue hostess box out of his hands. “T-these are for tonight, Peter,” you make a meek attempt of scolding him, but you can’t even look him in the eyes right now as you trip over your words. This only fuels Peters teasing.

“I’m serious babe,” he grins as he slowly rests his hands on either side of you. His bare biceps and chest tense as he grips onto the table, trapping you right in front of him. “I can show ya real speed if you’d let me,” his voice is low and silky smooth as he lets out a small laugh. You blink at him, not sure if you’re understanding him right.

“I-uh…well… if-I uhm-” Your voice is shaky as you stare up at him with wide eyes. At this point you’re sure that your face is as red as those cherry slushies that Peter always gets from the corner store.

“Am I making you nervous?” Peter asks as he leans ever so slightly closer to you. His sultry tone sends heat straight to your core.

“N-no,” you whimper. As if your tone didn’t give you away, you instinctively pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says lightly as puts a gentle hand on your face, his thumb pulls your lip out from under your teeth. “This always gives it away,” Peter hums.

You feel ridiculous at how worked up Peter has managed to get you. You chalk it up to being dick deprived and attempt to pull yourself together before you literally start drooling. But before you speak, Peters next words make your mind go blank.

“These pretty lips of yours are always getting you in trouble, huh?” Peters voice is husky as he drags you lip down with his thumb, focusing on your mouth with a lust laced gaze.

He’s right. Your entire time growing up together your nervous habit of chewing on your lip has always gotten you caught in your lies. It’s a little weird to think about all the adolescent trouble you and Peter got into as he’s standing only inches away from you; very obviously not that little boy anymore. No, Peter is definitely a man now- his mind may not have matured past 15, but his body absolutely has.

He brings his other hand to the back of your head as he steps closer to you. You can feel his warm breath fanning on your face, as your knees begin to go weak.

“Okay Peter that’s enough teasing. You got me. j-just clean up your mess so I can get ready for my party,” you say quietly as you examine his face, taking in how truly handsome your best friend is.

“Oh come on, we have time,” he smiles. That seductive tone is one you never thought you’d hear from Peter, and it’s definitely going to get you in trouble.

Peter dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours, making your breath hitch. Butterflies erupt in your stomach from the small contact. He teases his lips over yours, gently ghosting over the skin as if testing the waters.

The moment your lips touch, you’re a goner. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into an intense kiss. Peter laughs into the exchange as he grabs onto your hips.

You never thought of Peter in this way in all the years that you’ve known him. Sure, he’s an objectively attractive guy- anyone can see that- but he’s just never really been ‘your type’ and aside from casual flirting like he does with every woman he comes into contact with, he never showed any romantic interest in you- as far as you were aware at least. But right now, you’re completely desperate for your best friend.

The kiss quickly becomes anything from innocent as Peter grabs your ass, sitting you up on the table so he can stand between your legs. Your hands run through his hair, tugging on the silver stands as his grips onto your lower back, keeping you as close to him as possible.

Reality sets in as his lips trail down your neck where he stops to nip at sensitive skin. As you catch your breath you stutter, “W-what are we doing Peter? Are we really gonna risk our friendship just because neither of us have gotten laid in a while?”

While you are concerned for your platonic dynamic, you just can’t bring yourself to push him away. His warm lips on your skin and his strong grip on your body is too intoxicating.

“We aren’t risking anything, dude,” Peter smiles into the crook of your neck as his hands run up your thighs, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your short dress. “Just two friends helping eachother out. Nothing wrong with that,” he hums. You’re silent for a moment, considering his words.

Peter Steps aways from you, leaving you to whimper at the lack of contact.

“But if you don’t want this, I understand. I won’t press-“ he begins with a small grin as he continues to slowly back away. Without thinking, your hand shoots out, almost causing you to fall off the table. You grip his arm as you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please Peter,” is all you have to say before he’s back on you. Smashing his kiss bruised lips to yours.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter has been waiting for this moment for awhile. He wasn’t ‘totally in love with his best friend’ but you are the one person who knows him better than anything and his domestic partner and you’re smokin hot and he hears you masturbate in the room beside him a couple times a week- not to mention he hasn’t been with a woman in months. I mean, can you blame the guy?

You let out a small gasp as peters fingers brush against your clothed core. He gives you mischievous grin as he pulls you to the very edge of the table.

“Let’s get these out of the way,” he breaths as he slowly wraps his fingers around the waist band of your silk underwear. With in half a second, the thin fabric is gone- where to? You have no idea.- and Peter is on his knees below you, admiring your exposed core. “You must really be desperate. Damn,” the boy chuckles as he collects some of your wetness on his finger. You groan, kicking him in the arm gently. But you can’t argue with him.

“Ugh Peter if you’re going to-“ before you can finish whining, Peter has his arms wrapped around your thighs and mouth attached to your swollen clit, licking like his life depends on it. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden intense stimulation.

“At least now I know how to shut you up,” Peter chuckles against your core. Caught up in your own pleasure, you grab his hair and grind into his face. Peter let’s out a hum of satisfaction before he slips a finger in your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan, throwing your head back. Peter is having the time of his life, struggling not to cum in his pants from how erotic you are. I mean yeah, he knew you were hot but he never would have guessed just how sexy your moans are or how good you taste. Call him a munch, but Peter could suffocate right here between your legs and die a happy man.

“Just like that Peter. Please don’t stop,” you pant out lowly, moving your hips faster against his face. You look down to see Peter who is already staring up at you. His silver strands of hair tickle the inside of your thighs as he laps at your clit desperately. The image of your best fiends head between your legs triggers a flash of embarrassment and guilt, but that’s soon forgotten as soon as you feel it.

Peter begins to vibrate his tongue as he sucks on your clit, his fingers curling directly into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Peter!” You shriek, pulling his hair. The sensation is nothing like you’ve felt before. You quickly melt into his touch as you revel in the pure pleasure shooting through every nerve in your body.

Peter replaces his tongue with his thumb before breathlessly pulling you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, your legs beginning to shake from how much pleasure is flooding you system.

“I want you to cum for me,” Peter growls against your lips. You whine into the kiss as you clench around his fingers. The tightly wound rubber band in your stomach finally snaps, releasing intense euphoria through your body. “That’s it. Good girl, fuck, just like that,” Peter coos into your ear as the unholiest string of profanities he’s ever heard falls from your kiss bruised lips. You collapse into his chest, your legs shaking, head spinning, chest heaving.

“You okay?” Peter chuckles as he rests a hand on your back. You simply nod your head, trying to catch your breath. After a minute or so of recovery, you open your mouth to speak but are quickly interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. You jump up from the table, looking at Peter in horror as your release drips down your legs.

“My friends,” you gasp. Peter chuckles as he gently stands you to your feet.

“We’re not done here,” your best friend winks before he’s gone with a fwip.

In a Silver Blur, Peter zooms around the apartment. Within five seconds, the living room is spotless, the groceries are put away, and there are four glasses of wine are poured and set at the table with an organized array of the snacks you’d bought.

“Come on in ladies, y/n is in the kitchen,” Peter answers the door, allowing your friends into your home.

“Ew, why is your face wet?” One of the girls ask Peter as they turn the corner into the kitchen.

“And where’s your shirt?” Another girl asks as they exchange confused glances with each other.

“Oh-“ Well I guess Peter forget a couple crucial pieces of evidence. He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “What’s with the interrogation girls?” Peter chuckles as he holds his hands up.

Your face goes red in embarrassment as you walk over to great your group of friends on shaky legs- and with a bare core since you couldn’t seem to find your panties anywhere.

“Sorry, ignore him. Peters just leaving,” You smile at your friends then give peter a death glare.

“Oh, y/n, let me know once your little party is over. We need to finish that conversation,” he winks as he picks up a snack cake off the bar. As he ascends up the steps, you see your purple panties hanging out the pocket of his grey sweatpants. You send a silent prayer to every all-powerful incorporeal being you can think of that your friends did not see Peter with your underwear.

“Y/n, are you okay? What’s with-“ one of your friends begin to question.

“Wine!?” You cut her off as you offer-more or less force her to take- a glass of Pinot Grigio which thankfully is enough to shift the conversation.

You’re left in anticipation the rest of the night, half temped kick the girls out just so you and Peter can finish what you’ve started, but you decide against it. As you go commando for the next four hours, you think about how you’re going to get peter back.

[russellsppttemplates]

So... pure and so you (Charles Leclerc)

Going back home means Charles sees how you've been healing, and your parents haven't missed it either

Note: english is not my first language. I know it's past Christmas, but this still counts, right?

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: talks about having kids

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Is your mother making those biscuits I really like? Those fluffy ones, they're like little cakes actually", Charles asked, his hand over the console and resting on your thigh as he turned left for the final cut to your house.

"She said she was planning on making them these afternoon, I can't wait!", you squealed, clapping your hands together at the prospect, seeing your parents left the gate open so you could drive in.

Parking the car, Charles ensured it was safe before coming out of it as well, being greeted by your family dog while you hugged your parents, "hello buddy, how are you? You're very excited to see us, hm? Yes you are!", Charles cooed, rubbing his belly as he wagged his tail at the attention he was receiving.

You hugged your parents before looking for your boyfriend, "Arlo loves Charles more than he loves me", you chuckled, seeing the labrador run back to you as Charles followed him.

"Hi, how are you?", Charles offered as he kissed your mother's cheeks, opting to shake your father's hand as you walked inside, "did you have a good drive back here?", he questioned him, "yes, not too bad actually. It wasn't too busy", your boyfriend replied, seeing you store your coats and get comfortable in your parents' house.

After lunch, your mother asked for help with baking while your father and Charles helped with preparing the table to you could then roll the dough properly.

It was a sight to behold. You were helping your mother with Christmas cookies and the cakes your boyfriend mentioned, your clothes littered with flour stains as you touched your mother's cheek with some of the mixture, containing your laugh as she didn't seem to notice the powder on her skin.

You were happy, giggly and you had a glow that Charles was sure put all of the products you had back home to shame.

"It's good to see her like this", Charles commented when he felt your father's eyes on him, "work has been a lot lately, and she'll only listen to so much of what I say and take the advice even less than I'd like", he chuckled.

Your father shook his head, "She's always been like that. It was worrisome for a little bit, and we always make sure she's not pushing herself too much. And we know we have you in our team, too", the older man touched a Charles' shoulder, rubbing it slightly before he offered him a drink.

After wishing your parents a good night, you and Charles headed to your room upstairs, needing to catch up on some sleep after the busy day. Your old bedroom had slightly changed since you moved out to live with your boyfriend. Your parents swapped your single bed for a double one, for whenever you and Charles visited, and updated the colour of the walls, wanting to keep it on the neutral side in case they needed it for other guests, "are you showering now or after me?", Charles asked, grabbing a towell from himself, "I'll go after you, I need to hang my clothes first", you smiled, kissing his lips as he went to the bathroom.

Looking through your wardrobe, you noticed your mother still kept the family albums in there, remembering something about the downstairs drawers being humid and her worry about loosing the memories. You flickered through the pages, recalling some memories from when you were younger, some of them you probably constructed by other people telling you the moments.

Charles walked in a little while later, ruffling his hair with a towell only in a t-shirt and underwear, "you can go now, amour", he said as he noticed you closing the album, pressing a kiss to your forehead when you walked to take a shower.

You were already in bed when you noticed Charles looking at the books, "you want to look at what's inside them, don't you?", you chuckled as his eyes lit up, "I'm not too tired to look at them, and I bet there are some good memories in there", he confessed.

Opening the book while your boyfriend pulled you to rest against his chest, "this is so pretty", you appreciated all the details on the pages, either doodles or descriptions from the moment when the picture was taken.

"Look at these cheeks!", Charles groaned as he pointed at a picture of you. From the date on the page, you were around four, two pigtails on your curly hair and a toothy smile, "if our kids have your cheeks, which I hope they do, I won't be able to stop kissing them, I know I just won't", he breathed out.

"Do you think about that a lot?", you wondered, looking at his face as you adjusted your position slightly, genuinely curious about the subject. It had been something you had talked about before and it seemed to come to again.

"Yes, I do. I still think we should wait a little bit longer, get married first, enjoy married life just you and me and then we can think about little ones, but everytime I see a child or someone asks, it's you I see. With a baby bump, then a little baby in your arms, and we play with them and love in them like they deserve", he cooed, rubbing the tip of his nose on your cheek, kissing it softly.

"Me too", you smiled, "I mean, its always you I see whenever I think about the future. And it looks so good. Sometimes it looks scary, because I don't know how it will play out, but I'll have you with me, so all will be well", you admitted, kissing his lips properly.

You had been friends before you dated, and it has been a whole process to get you to be this open to him when you started dating, never wanting to put too much on his plate as he had his own things to deal with, not wanting to burden him and not wanting to lose him from your life.

"We're a team, amour, there's no need to fear", he said, closing the book and setting it down on the floor, cuddling you to him.

The next morning was slow. Charles' lips littered kisses on your neck and cheeks, seeing the smile as you slowly woke up, "it's Christmas, ma belle", you heard his whisper, his eyes looking for yours, "Merry Christmas, handsome, I love you", you muttered, pulling your hands out from under the covers and cupping your boyfriend's' cheeks, rubbing the stubbly skin before kissing him.

"I love how smiley you are", Charles complimented, big coats and scarf on as you walked on the trail after having breakfast, occasionally pestering your mother with a fallen tree branch or twigs as she thought some animal was crawling up her skin.

"Am I not smiley regularly?", you wondered, knowing what he meant. Coming home meant, after a lot of work on yourself over the years, you would enjoy yourself without any outside pressures. You were amongst family and in the safe place you grew up. No prying eyes, no one commenting or second guessing what you said, wore or looked like.

"You are, but you're carefree, I think. You're not so stressed, your inner child is showing so much more, and it's so... pure. So you", he smiled, kissing the side of your head as he pulled you to walk closer to him.

They had both become adults way faster than the rest of the people their age. Charles' career forced him to grow up earlier and grow thicker skin very early on, and because you were there with him, too, you were also taken with the wave. You started working as soon as you finished your degree, and while you wouldn't complain about it, it did come with a lot of work and investment of yourself that you lost some of your younger years.

"Whenever we are not doing well, when it gets too much, we will do this. Visit your parents, do all the childish things we want to do, no matter how silly they may be", Charles stated as he rubbed your palm with his thumb, "I never want you to give up this side of you, and I'm willing to do anything to see you smile like that again and again".

Smiling at his words at chuckling slightly at the fact that there was no way this man was ever getting away from you, you held out your pinky, "I promise", you smiled as you two laced fingers, sealing it with a kiss.