#Persian rug cleaning would

[seowork036]

Important Tips For Persian Rug Cleaning

Washing Persian rugs at home begins with you creating a clean flat surface to do the job in. You will more than likely have the best results if your Persian rugs cleaning activities are done on a solid concrete surface like the floor of your garage. The water used during the process of Persian rug cleaning would not damage the garage floor, and you will have the carpet outside to dry. If you do not wish to use the garage floor you can thoroughly clean a portion of your concrete driveway and do the job there.

[universalpositions]

Important Tips For Persian Rug Cleaning

You usually want to hire professional rug cleaning services for washing Persian Rugs. But it is good to know how to perform Persian rugs cleaning at home so you can clean the carpets between the visits you schedule from the professional carpet cleaners.

Washing Persian rugs at home begins with you creating a clean flat surface to do the job in. You will more than likely have the best results if your Persian rugs cleaning activities are done on a solid concrete surface like the floor of your garage. The water used during the process of Persian rug cleaning would not damage the garage floor, and you will have the carpet outside to dry. If you do not wish to use the garage floor you can thoroughly clean a portion of your concrete driveway and do the job there.

The most important thing is to make certain the concrete surface is thoroughly cleaned, and is level and flat. While using the same solution that you washed the carpet in, now wash the fringes of the carpet. Bagdad oriental rugs cleaning repeatedly brushes fringes away from the pile. Use a rubber window squeegee to force as much of the water out of the rug as possible. Pull the squeegee with gentle pressure in the direction of the nap until you can no longer get water to come out t of the carpet.

[blondieeu]

Please write for Aizawa you would kill it bae............

persian rugs. aizawa s.

lazy sex with aizawa is the best sex with aizawa.

when youre both so tired from the day. after a nice shower and a hot meal you gathered up the energy to cook for the two of you, crawling into the warmth of your bed and just laying there. its not like you two don't want to have sex or lost interest, you're just so tired from the day.

"shouta..?”

“mm?”

he barely responds, still laying on his side. he only wore some boxers, too tired from the day to even think about putting on some real pajamas.

“can you put it in?”

"was jus’ thinkin' that.”

so shouta rolls over lazily onto his back and shuffles out of his boxers. not even bothering to pull them off before he pulled your body on top of his, your head resting on his shoulder. and you’d slip your hand between both of your bodies to pull your panties to the side.

grabbing the base of his meaty, thick cock to push him inside with a conjoined sigh. you would lazily roll your hips against his pelvis as you tried to do as little as you could but still at least get some friction.

shoutas hands were heavy on your love handles while you rode him, wasn’t even like he was grabbing at them he just had his hands there. your hips kept at a slow rocking motion, nails scratching softly at your man’s scalp while you played with his long raven curls — you knew he liked his hair played with.

“mm…..hhmmm”

a lazy hum erupted from his scratchy throat, his eyes matching while they slowly rolled with every completed “8” of your hips. shouta took a hand off your side and used it to pull you into a slow, sensual kiss. the kiss was hot and you could feel the beard on his chin rubbing against your clean one.

your man’s tongue moved like you two were slow dancing, like he was showing you all his secrets or something.

“ m’ gonna cum sho’ “

“already?”

he teased. the made sighed before moving you from laying on his stomach to on your side. shouta lifted your leg up while he slid himself in, maybe trying to put more effort in? all the veins in his cock brushed against your gummy pink walls in a lazy but frantic manner.

quiet moans left your lips while the small coil in your abdomen erupted, a buzzing sensation filling your body while shoutas hand wrapped around your waist to pull you closer.

katsuki ver

blondieeu xx

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VI. do you trust me?

parts: previously / next plot: things are getting messy. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, descriptions of surgery, angsty mcangsty pants as always, mentions of the christian God and religious practices, maybe you and bruce wouldn't have to keep so many secrets if you just made out a lil bit, :). words: 6.2k.

a/n: edit as of 2/11/24: replaced mistaken use of "officer" with "detective".

Your needle passes through skin to the beat of a steady metronome. It's made up of muscle memory, glazing your mind as your hands thread the tear together. With each pass, you're unblinking. There are three others in the room with you but they might as well be shadows, faceless and without sound, coloring your peripheral but otherwise of no concern.

The steady metronome beats on well into your final pull of the thread, well into your dismissal of the shadows, well into the comforts of your office where your brain falls out of rhythm. It's been 48 hours and you haven't found a clue.

You'd think after 17 years that you'd have forgotten his name, but you remember Detective Russo. About 5'9, a kinky black beard, and bushy eyebrows that took up good real estate on his forehead. You remembered sizing up every one of those officers, but he was the one you'd memorized. He was the one that promised you that no one would ever know you were there that night. And now Bruce knows.

He was a detective of little significance outside of that, as far as your research was concerned. He'd served a whopping total of 20 years on the force before retiring seven years ago, but without any social media presence or nearby family to speak of, you couldn't find him. Not an old address, not a phone number, nothing. It was like he'd wiped himself clean the minute he retired. Which meant you'd have to resort to plan B.

Your boss intercepts you before you can even get to the stairs, though. Rudy Moretti rarely had good timing, after all, "Hey! Early lunch?"

You think about lying for all of two seconds, "No. Headed to the police station."

Your boss' eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, everything okay? Are one of those guys from the other night bothering you? I can come with you if you need-"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's something personal."

Rudy shifts awkwardly, "Oh. Well, be safe. And let me know if anything like that pops up." You nod, attempting to escape, but his hand finds your elbow and stops you, "By the way... how's everything with Mr. Wayne?"

You should've expected a question like that by now. You had been officially working for him long enough to warrant it, but you still wince. "Fine." When your boss blinks at you, expecting more, you have to bite your tongue to keep from swearing, "I actually... was invited to a celebration for the Mayor. Courtesy of Mr. Wayne. She was interested in the hospital's new wing. We had a good conversation."

Like a child on Christmas morning, your boss lights up at the good news. "Oh, that's good! That's good. Did she mention wanting to come down for a tour?"

"What happened to you should have never happened in the first place. I'm glad you were able to make it out alive."

Her hand on yours should've been a comfort, and to some extent it was, but even the softness of her palm couldn't have steadied your trembling. She had squeezed tighter when she felt it, perhaps thinking you traumatized for having to recall that night. Unaware of where you'd been. Unaware of the burning need to escape before you spilled your guts on the Persian rug.

"It happens all the time," a voice came from your right, a drunken councilman with his suit jacket unbuttoned, "and it'll keep happening so long as that thug's still running the streets."

"Thug?" The mayor dipped her chin.

"With all due respect, Bella, what's your plan to put Batman in Arkham for good?"

You watched the mayor's back straighten, her eyes narrow. It was the one thing everyone was itching to talk about, and the one thing everyone was too afraid to bring up first.

You felt Bruce's knee bump yours and stiffened.

"You think he ought to be imprisoned?" The mayor asks.

"I think he ought to be drawn and quartered! It's people like him that make this city a far cry from its glory days. Inviting violence, chaos. He's single-handedly responsible for that- that homicidal freak that nearly killed you, mayor. And he's responsible for everything else this city's suffered since he started infecting it. He's a menace. It'll be a cold day in hell before this city's safe with him still on the streets."

It sickened you to hear. People who'd done nothing since being elected calling for the arrest of the one person who's made any real change in this city.

The mayor doesn't immediately speak up and you think she's chewing on his words, preparing to respond with a bit more bite. Her pause is what prompts you to speak first, "If it wasn't for the Batman, I might be dead. He's done more good for this city than bad..." you watch the councilman turn his focus to you, looking baffled as to why you were butting in, as if you hadn't just finished recounting your brush with death moments ago, "...with all due respect, Councilman Roberts."

The councilman sobers up at the heavy gaze you level on him, "Oh, no. Of course. Of course! It's good that he was there. It would've been a- been a real tragedy to lose one of Gotham's good, fine citizens. I'm just saying that... maybe these things wouldn't be happening if he wasn't there to... encourage it."

"You think he's encouraging it?" The mayor chimes in, taking a sip from her glass. Whatever she was going to say before has been shelved for the time being, it seems.

The councilman laughs. You watch him twist so that he's facing you and the mayor, holding his glass to her like a gavel for judgement, "He's a glorified criminal! He's no better than that clown we put away years ago."

"He put away, councilman. I believe you meant to say he," Bruce's first words since he'd introduced you to Bella give you a shiver. With his one arm hanging off the back of the couch, he leans in from beside you and smiles that TV smile again, "Unless you've got something you’d like to share with the class?"

Snickers break out amongst the group. You can feel Bruce's breath on your shoulder for only a passing moment, and then he's falling back into the couch and taking a swig of his wine.

The councilman bristles, clearly not a fan of being laughed at. Or being faced with the truth, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just a silly theory of mine. It's just... it would make sense for a vigilante to hide his identity by publicly denouncing himself, especially if he’s in the public eye already. I mean, it would make most people cross you off their list but... you're making me think twice about you."

You chance a glance at Bruce's face. He isn't drunk. His eyes hold a steady gaze with the councilman encroaching on your space to meet it, and even with the looseness of his body, you can tell he's calculating. His arm behind your head feels drawn tight. You can sense it in its weight near your head. He's flashing his teeth and keeping his voice light, but he's not defenseless. He's leveraging.

Your heart hammers again at what lie beneath this tower.

The councilman flushes. Sinks back into his seat, grumbling, but all eyes on him has him forcing a grin, "You're funny, Wayne. Unfortunately for your theory, I have a real job. Making real change in this city. Something Batman wouldn't understand."

That does something to you, "Maybe I'm biased, but... I've seen what he's done for this city, sir. And in the wake of last year, I think we can all agree that... well, anyone can say they're making change. Even if they're just making money instead. Perhaps it feels like Batman is doing more because we actually know what he's doing."

Bruce's leg bumps yours again. Accidentally.

You watch the councilman's Adam's apple bob, "No offense, and I'm sure you feel offended on behalf of the man that saved you, but there are laws that make sure people like me and Ms. Reál don't cross the line. What say you, when your hero takes things too far one day, hm? Who're you going to call when the Batman beats someone's brains in because people like you justify it? Or is it only okay because at least he stopped you from getting a bullet to the head?"

You're about to spew the first thing that comes to mind, probably full of anger and vitriol and a little of whatever you had to drink earlier, when you feel a hand take hold of your inner wrist. Bruce's grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt you. It's enough to stop whatever might come out of your mouth. When you look him in the eye, he's not smiling anymore.

You stare at each other like that for a few moments, not a word shared but a million thought. It was almost like he knew what you were going to say, knew how it might've made you look, made you both look. Had imagined it coming out of his own mouth too, maybe.

Instead, he releases you and turns to the councilman, "Okay, enough. We all feel pretty spirited about the topic." When the councilman scoffs, Bruce nods to you, "I think you both make good points. He's done good. He saved my doctor, of whom I never would've had the pleasure of working with otherwise. But I have to agree with you, councilman: he operates outside of the law and that is cause for concern. I'm sure these are all important issues that our mayor is working tirelessly to address, isn't that right, Mayor?"

Mayor Reál has her leg crossed over the other, eyes cutting from the councilman's to Bruce's to yours. Eventually, she smiles and raises her glass, "Indeed. This conversation was enlightening. Much to think about."

"I'm gonna get another drink." Your announcement is followed by the most graceful exit you can muster, even though your chest is throbbing with adrenaline and you can feel Bruce following you.

You don't stop until you reach the bar and have another glass in hand, doing your best to ignore his presence as he looms beside you. He allows you a full three sips before he starts talking, "Are you okay?"

The diplomat from before is long gone. He's melted, keeping his back to the group you'd just escaped and giving you such wet puppy dog eyes that it makes you want to hurl again. How could he look you in the eye?

Your hand shakes around the stem of your glass, "You're different around them."

His eyes fall to the bar top, "I am?"

"Smiling, friendly, funny..."

He cuts his eyes back to you, smiling a little, "I'm not usually funny?"

"You pretend to be laid-back around them, and I get why. But you don't do that with me. You act like I know some big secret about you and I'm this close to spilling it," you pinch your fingers together in front of his face, "or maybe you know some big secret about me."

You watch his face for any sign of recognition, but you're disappointed to find there is none. No reaction other than a sigh. "I pretend around them because I don't trust them."

"And you trust me? Even though we barely know each other?"

Uncharacteristically, Bruce tilts so close toward you that you bend back to keep some semblance of space between you, "You're asking if I trust the person I pay to keep me alive over... Councilman Roberts." He pronounces the last two words with such incredulity, then laughs right after. You note his breath smells sweet, but nothing like the wine. Had it been wine he'd been drinking? One look at his glass and you'd think so. Two looks, though...

He was stone cold sober.

You swallow, staring up into his face. Bruce doesn't back away. Questions begin to form on your tongue... destructive ones.

How do you know? How did you find out? What are you going to do about it?

Your stomach drops as you think, surely, there's quite a bit he can do about it. If he wanted to. If you made the wrong move.

His eyes narrow on you, "You look sick. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'd like to go home."

Bruce blinks, shrinks in on himself a bit, "Okay."

"I... I drove."

Bruce nods, holds a hand up to one of the suited men near the edge of the room, and turns to you, "My driver. He'll take you home."

"My... my car. I have work in the morning." You mumble pathetically.

Bruce says something to the driver when he gets close. Another man is summoned, appearing by your side in an instant. This one holds out his hand to you and it takes you a second to realize what he's asking for. You fish your keys out and drop them in his waiting palm.

It's incredibly awkward as Bruce walks you out. You think he'll stop at the front door, or the elevator, or even the lobby, but he walks you all the way to the back door of his ride and—God—even holds it open for you.

You settle in to the nice seats, blinking up at him through eyes you fight to keep dry. You wonder if Bruce would forgive you for throwing up in his car instead. "If it's any consolation," he begins, leaning on the roof of the car. You can still hear the bustle of Gotham all around you, but when he looks at you... there might as well be only him and you, "I agree with you. Councilman Roberts is a jackass."

Your boss is looking at you, expectantly. Still waiting.

"I'm sure she's thinking about it." Is your curt reply. "Is that it? I really gotta go."

Your boss deflates, but otherwise doesn't keep you.

"How can I help you?"

The cop behind the desk seems nice enough. He doesn't smile at you but his tone is pleasant, unhurried. It helps calm your nerves. "Hi. I'm looking for someone. A detective who used to work here."

"You remember their name?"

"Detective Joey Russo," you offer, watching the cop begin to type into his computer, "he retired seven years ago. I wanted to know if you could get me in touch with him. A number or a... address."

"Ah, Russo. I remember him. I'm sorry, may I ask who you are?" You give your name and the cop frowns. "You got a badge? Unless you're with the state, I can't give you anything."

You'd worried as much, "He worked a case of mine 17 years ago. Something new's popped up and I just wanted to talk to him about it."

"If it's about a case we covered, you'd have to talk to one of us about it unless he's directly involved, and even then it'd be a process." He must notice how your face falls because his own softens, "I'm real sorry. I can get you in with someone else."

You know you shouldn't be upset. After all, he was only doing his job. If they gave out personal information to every person who walked in off the street, you imagined they'd have a bigger problem with domestic terrorism than they already do.

It doesn't make it any less debilitating. Bruce Wayne had found him. That was the only way he could've gotten his hands on your file, surely. And Bruce Wayne had money, more than enough to get an ex-cop to talk.

You're thanking the man and trying not to sound as distressed as you feel when you turn and catch new eyes.

You'd only seen Batman at night, tucked into the corners of shadow of your apartment, but here he was in broad daylight—midday—standing next to a plainclothes cop who had yet to realize the vigilante was no longer listening to him. You're so relieved to see him that you actually break out into a smile.

Batman doesn't return it. Without acknowledging his partner, he stomps across the room to you, cutting off your greeting with a rushed, "Did something happen?"

You blink, unable to answer when the cop from before sidles up next to the two of you. He's got a warm, friendly look to him, even if his eyes are narrowed at the pair of you with skepticism, "You two know each other?" He asks. When Batman refuses to tear his eyes from you, the cop addresses you directly, reluctant to extend his hand without confirmation that you were friend, not foe, "Detective James Gordon. And you are?" You give your name and his eyes light up. "Hey. I know you, don't I?"

"The hostage at Gotham General," Bruce answers for him, not even bothering to glance at the detective, "they were on the news."

"You three mind moving somewhere else? The freak's making people uncomfortable." The kind cop from before has dropped all pretense now, glaring at the vigilante who, still, pays no one but you mind.

Gordon grumbles and motions for you both to follow him down a long hallway out of sight.

You struggle to keep up when the detective starts walking, much faster than he looked, and so you all but yelp when the Bat places a hand on your lower back and guides you in front of him.

A turn or two later, you empty out beside a window at the end of another long hallway, far enough away from prying eyes that the detective seems to find it sufficient.

"What are you doing here?" Batman asks immediately.

"I was looking for someone but, actually, now that you're here, I was wondering if I could talk to you." You look over at Gordon, "If you're not busy."

The detective grunts but holds his hands up in surrender, slinking down the hall out of earshot, "I'm gonna go smoke, but I need him back in ten."

When he's far enough away, Batman speaks, voice at a much lower volume than before, "What's wrong?"

"I'm looking for a cop. I need to get in touch with him but he retired and they won't tell me where I can find him."

The Bat's head tilts to the side. You can tell the gears in his brain are turning, "Who?"

"Detective Joey Russo." The Bat freezes. "Do you know him?"

He doesn't answer that, something you take note of with a funny feeling in your chest, "Why are you looking for him?"

It's your turn not to answer. You should've known he wouldn't just tell you without good reason, but your throat closes up when you think about how you'll explain it. It wasn't that you didn't trust him... but... "It's personal. Please."

"That's not enough."

"I know... I know. And I wouldn't be asking this of you if it wasn't important-"

"Then tell me why."

"I can't. But it is important. To me. I promise, it's for good reason."

"A good reason that you can't tell me? That's not enough. That's not how I work. God forbid someone finds out I gave you classified information."

"If I told you why I needed it—if I told anyone why I needed it—it would defeat the whole purpose!"

"That doesn't make you sound any more convincing."

"Batman, please," and your voice breaks as you step that much closer to him, your eyes rimming with tears you're terrified to shed, "I have never asked you for anything, have I? Not for money or your identity or anything. I am asking you for this one thing because I have no one else. You... are the only person who can help me. Please."

You see his face fall, so clear it feels like you can see right through him. Past the cowl and the facades and right into his very being. For a moment, you're just seeing the person and not the idea of him. You see your fears reflected back at you in his eyes, a deep understanding there that gives you some hope.

He draws a deep, heavy breath, and- "I'm sorry."

You're too stunned to watch him walk away.

Judith's apartment has a lack of technology and an abundance of crucifixes. The first time you'd seen it, you'd thought it was overkill. Now, since you've visited enough, it was comforting in its own creepy way. A blast into the past, memories of a grandmother who was never really your grandmother.

She startles at the stove where she's just put something in the oven, "Oh! Dear, I didn't hear you come in. Is everything alright?"

You smile and kick your shoes off by the key-holder, "I knocked. You're supposed to have your hearing aid in."

She gives you a stern look, then smiles.

You can smell hibiscus tea in the air, her favorite. She'd gather handfuls of hibiscus and dry them out in the sun, and then she'd steep their petals in hot water until it turned a deep pink. The taste was always striking, tart and strong, but she'd sweeten it with honey for you and then it wouldn't be so bad.

Without asking, she waddles over to her breakfast table where you've already found your seat and pours you a steaming cup of tea. You take the honey she's brought with her and begin to stir. "You never answered my question." Judith reminds you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, "I'm just taking a break from work, is all. Do I need to be having a bad day to visit you?"

"No, I suppose not," she sighs, taking the seat across from you, "but you do look a wreck."

You grumble. You hadn't looked in the mirror. You hadn't done anything but busy yourself in hopes that it would stave off the wave of anxious tears threatening to fall. You busied yourself until your hands started shaking and people started asking questions. And now you were here.

"Yeah. I'm sure I do. Work's... been hard."

"And besides work?"

"I don't know. I don't really have a life outside of work anymore."

Judith frowns, "You should really make some friends, dear."

That gets you to laugh. "I have friends! I have you. Are you not my friend?"

You could see the question already brewing, the narrow of her eyes as she watched you begin to fidget, "And that demon? Is he still hanging around you?"

You cast your gaze to the tabletop, "...I don't think we'll be seeing him around anymore."

"Oh?" You don't miss the hope in Judith's voice, "Did the police finally arrest him?"

"No. I think I may have... scared him off."

She doesn't respond for a while, even though you can tell from the shift in the air that she's rather pleased with this development. It makes you feel sicker to the stomach. "It might be for the best, dear," you can tell that she's being careful, minding your upset, "he's dangerous. It's best you stick to the light for now." When you don't respond, her leathery hand clasps over yours and forces you to look her in the eye, "Come with me to service this week. I've been telling everyone about you."

You snort, "About me and the demon I'm friends with?"

Judith shakes her head furiously, as if the accusation that she might have spilled your secret greatly insulted her, "They have been praying for you ever since the night at the hospital. They'd really like to see you in person one of these days. I never shut up about how proud I am of you."

Even through the despair, you feel the warmth of Judith's love. It makes you hold her hand back, gripping so tightly that you fear she may be too fragile to handle it. She doesn't seem to mind.

You two share the rest of your tea in relative silence, taking breaks to comment on the neighbors or the news or the weather (which never really changes outside of summer, but you always have something to say with her).

After a refill or two, you feel the dread begin to creep in.

"Dear, come here," Judith calls as you button up your coat at the door, "bow your head."

You frown but do as you're told. In a blink, you feel her finger swipe across your forehead in a quick motion. The familiar scent of cinnamon and myrrh hit your senses right after. You reach up to touch it but Judith captures your hand in her own. In her other is a small vial, unmarked, filled halfway with oil. "To protect you," she says, nodding gravely, "God will watch over you. You are blessed."

You want to tell her that the anointing does nothing for the stones gathering in your stomach, that the moment you walk out of this door you will be hit with a wave so sudden that you will surely drown. But you'd be lying if you said this little woman with her God and prayers didn't make you feel, even for a fraction of a second, safe. You kiss her cheek goodbye.

It's desperate, you know that. You spend the whole evening hating yourself as you pace the hardwood floors, thumbing over buttons and weighing the pros and cons.

"For emergencies only", but this was an emergency to you. It felt like one, the way it gnawed at your very center demanding blood. Every minute dreading that you'd have to see him again and pretend like you had no idea that he knew that you... You'd also spent part of the evening bent over the toilet.

At some point, you throw yourself onto your fire escape for fresh air and nearly throw the phone across the way just to breathe.

You know you've screwed up. The tentative threads of your friendship with the Bat had surely been severed. What had gotten into you, asking him for such a bold favor without anything to offer in return? You'd already given him your hands and your mind, the two things that you'd worked so hard to hone, and you would never think of taking them away.

But maybe that would be inevitable. Maybe you'd lose your license if this got out. And it wouldn't just be you carrying that burden. Every single one of you would be dug up and exposed to the world, and with Bruce Wayne involved, you couldn't imagine the lawsuits. You just couldn't. They could put you under the prison with his kind of money.

And the cops didn't even know everything.

You gasp, sob, and wrench yourself from the railing. You clench the phone tight.

Even if you could get to Russo, and even if he admitted that he gave you up, what good would it do? Bruce had already seen it. He probably had a contact at the DA's office on speed dial. You'd seen what money could do to men like him in this city. What it made men like him do to people like you. The echoes of the accusations against his father a year ago still rang in the wind, and his efforts to make up for it all would never truly make that go away. A criminal record was just as much currency as anything else. He would undeniably own you.

Somewhere between your panicking thoughts, you hear the grates of the fire escape tremor from above. You whip your head up and see a dark shape hovering a floor up. Swiftly, it descends the stairs until your eyes adjust. Your heart catches in your throat as you choke out his name.

The strangled noise causes him to pause when he turns to you. You clear your throat, "Are you hurt?" Batman's head tilts to the side. His eyes flicker from the phone in your hand and back to you. "I'm... I wanted to see you."

His shoulders stiffen. He almost looks like he didn't mean to come. A sliver of you had actually hoped he'd changed his mind, too. "I know it wasn't fair of me to ask something like that of you with no explanation. And I'm sorry. I want you to know that."

He waits, head still tilted.

You bite your tongue, tasting the blood beginning to pool on the surface.

You could tell him. Lay it all bare. And he could drop you at the GCPD without another word.

Or he could accept you. See the you that stands before him now, who had been years clean and had saved his life on your living room floor and confessed that he was why you were a better person now.

That's what friends did. Were you and the Batman friends?

Were you and Batman... anything?

"I wasn't always like this," your head throbs as you force yourself to keep talking, clenching the railing behind you with one hand, "I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I didn't just waltz through life completely innocent for thirty-something years, given where I come from. I wasn't a very good person when I was younger... and I did things I'm not proud of. And, by the grace of a very good man, a very small group of people know the true extent of that.

"But recently, I found out that someone who shouldn't know... does. And they could ruin my life if they used it against me. So I need to talk to Russo, because I need to know if he broke his promise, and then... God knows what else. I don't know. I haven't thought any further than that."

Something substantial but unclear, and if Batman were to go digging officially and find out the rest, at least you'd know Russo was the snitch.

But your heart still clenches in your chest. It feels like you are all made up of open wounds and they're all gushing blood as he watches, saying nothing. If you had really told him the truth, you imagined it would feel akin to spontaneous combustion. God, would you even be able to utter the words? It'd been so long since you'd last said-

Batman takes a slow step toward you, and the open wounds seal up at once. You are frozen.

Another, and another, until you are caged there against the railing, awaiting his verdict. Judge, jury, and... "And if he didn't? If it wasn't him that sold you out?"

You'd briefly considered that. Your friends, who were really more ghosts now than friends, had no reason to expose themselves. They'd gotten off just as easily as you did. Most of them were living lives on the other side of the country now, far, far removed from the history you shared together. Only you remained.

And who would even think to go looking into them? Outside of your history together, now sealed up and locked away, no one would look for them unless they knew what happened already.

Which only left one other option. "Then someone did—someone very close to Bruce Wayne, and there's nothing I can fucking do about it."

Batman stares at you for a while. You don't have a clue what he's looking for. "If I take you to Russo," you gasp, and he hurries his words out before you can say anything else, "it'll be the last time anything like this ever happens again. We go, we ask, and that's it."

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you."

"And I wasn't lying to you."

"What?"

"About Wayne. When you asked me if he was corrupt." You watch his eyes waver on you, eventually falling to the grates beneath your feet, and you're dumbstruck by the shift in his tone. "I never lied to you."

"I... I didn't think you had." He looks at you again. "But there are things that maybe we don't know about him," and as you speak, you place a hand on his arm, feeling it go rigid even beneath the suit, "I mean, he's a Wayne. They're older than this city. And you've seen firsthand the kind of reach people with that kind of money have. He can smile and wave and support as many good causes as he wants, but that could all be smoke and mirrors."

"You really don't trust him, do you?"

You sigh. You could almost hear Emily asking the same thing. But Emily would be smiling, and Batman is grave. Almost... disappointed. Your frown strengthens, "He's got a lot of secrets."

"So do I."

"Yeah, but you also saved my life," you chuckle, "if Wayne pushes me out of the way of a moving car, I might reconsider my stance on him."

The Bat squints at you. To your relief, you notice a bit of mirth in his voice, "No. You wouldn't."

"Listen, I am really grateful that you're doing this for me. And I wanted to say that after today, the thought of scaring you away scared me. And I would really, really like it if you could trust me. I don't want you to think that I'm taking this for granted. I'm not asking for you to take off your mask or bare your soul or anything. I just want you to know that-"

"I gave you this," the hand holding your burner is scooped up in his, held between the two of you, "because I trust you. I keep coming back because... I like... this. It's different. And I don't trust easily. If you believe me on anything, believe me on that."

A bit of your dread is chased away, and your hero is standing in the wake. Bruce Wayne is far away from this moment. He can't stain it. You won't let him. "You wanna come in for coffee?"

At that exact moment, your doorbell rings.

You see Batman jolt backwards and reflexively reach for him, using what strength you have to keep him from escaping. He watches you, wide-eyed, as you cling to his side, "Wait, wait. I wasn't expecting anybody. I'll send them off. It'll be quick."

He turns his head to the door. "You weren't expecting anyone?"

You shake your head. He shucks away your grip as he climbs through the window and takes a few, long strides to the door. He has to bend to look through your peephole, and you rush to catch up to him. After a long moment, he peers at you from the corner of his eye, "It's an old lady."

Judith. The doorbell rings again. "My neighbor. She's harmless, I'll handle it."

You expect him to walk off, find somewhere else to hide from sight, but he backs up behind the door and waits, nodding to you. Well, he was out of sight.

The door opens. The concerned look on Judith's face melts as soon as she sees you there, and holds out a pan wrapped in tinfoil, "Oh, there you are, dear. I made too much casserole so I came to give you the rest. Just in case you haven't had dinner yet."

You beam at her, taking the dish out of her hands, "Thanks, Judith. That's really sweet of you."

She returns a modest smile, but it falls away a second later. You follow her gaze past your shoulder and into the living room where- shit. "It's winter." Her brows furrow, "You'll catch cold if you keep your window open all night."

"Right! I was just... looking out over the city. Taking a breather. You caught me in the middle of it."

She presses the back of her hand to your arm and you note the very stark difference in her body temperature to yours. She frowns hard, stepping closer to you in order to whisper, "Has that demon come to see you again?"

You can't see him from where you're holding the door open, though it's your instinct to glance, but you feel yourself warming up pretty quickly, "He's not a demon, Judith."

No matter how often you repeat it, it goes in one hearing aid and out the other, "Then why does he have horns-"

"Judith, I'm fine, I swear. Even if... he did come visit, I would be fine. He wouldn't hurt me. As I've told you before."

She stares at your window, looking for little goblins with pointed tails and pitchforks no doubt. But as the curtains blow this way and that and no shadows make themselves clear, she is forced to take your word for it. "Alright," she relents, and you try not to visibly deflate, "enjoy the casserole, dear. Keep the window shut."

You watch her waddle all the way down the hallway, smile every time she glances back at you, and wait until you can no longer hear her kitten heels click-clack-clicking on the stairway down. You immediately shut the door and drop your head against it with a dull thud.

A few moments pass. You can feel him still next to you. Even worse, you can feel him trying not to laugh. "She thinks I'm a demon?"

You stand up and shove the casserole into his hands, only a little taken aback by the smile on his face when you do, "You're going to eat this casserole and then you're gonna tell that woman you're a God-fearing man and it tasted fucking delicious."

a/n: there's a scene I'm really excited to write for next chapter if it's gonna go the way I plan for it to go :)

[lipglossanon]

Haunted House

Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

Warnings: mean/condescending Leon, Leon being spooky lol, ghost story involving child murder, dirty talk, spitting, oral (m receiving)

not proofread ✌️

“I dare you to go in there.”

Leon raises an eyebrow, “Okay, and what do I get when I do?”

You bite your lip and he zeroes in on the action, “What do you want?”

“To eat your cunt in the back of my squad car.”

Nipples stiffening in your bra, you gasp scandalized, “Leon!”

He shrugs easily, “You asked.”

“I don’t want to get caught,” you murmur quietly. 

“I’m a cop,” he laughs, “you won’t get in trouble.”

“You’re not scared?” You try changing subjects back to the dare. 

He rolls his eyes, “Why? Just because some kids disappeared around this place back in the 20’s?” 

You nod, “Yeah, I mean it’s still pretty spooky.”

A wide grins splits his face making you nervous. 

“Let’s sneak in right now.”

Leon drags you into the local haunted house before you can even blink. There’s a makeshift doorway on the side that draws you up short making Leon’s grip around your bicep tighten. 

“I bust kids partying here all the time, nothing to worry about,” he pulls you along, shoving you into the doorway first. 

It doesn’t look as rundown as you thought it would, just beat up old furniture and dusty rugs lining the floor. The plaster walls are cracked and worn, covered in graffitied cuss words and dicks. Leon guides you past this room further into the house.

Teenagers or whoever must not venture past that opening room because these walls are bare save for the peeling wallpaper. Time worn photographs hang at odd angles but are too weather worn to see properly. Cobwebs coat every surface making your skin crawl. 

“Leon, let’s just turn back,” your voice comes out quiet, spooked by your surroundings, “we’ve went far enough for the dare.”

He clicks his tongue tossing you a wicked grin over his shoulder, “Don’t you wanna have some fun, sweetheart?”

He pulls you into another room, this one suspiciously less dusty than the rest of the house with a clean looking fainting couch sitting atop a Persian rug. 

“Leon this is…”

Weird? Off putting? Uncomfortable?

Something about the space is making your hair stand on end unlike the other more overt creepy part of the house. 

He chuckles low in his throat and pushes you down onto the couch. 

“Surprise,” he gestures around the room, but your eyes never leave his face. 

“I don’t understand.”

“This is where they went missing,” his dark blue eyes sweep around the room one last time before meeting your gaze. 

“I did some digging and come to find out, the nanny this family hired went a little nuts,” he laughs gleefully, “seems like she fucked the owner and when he wouldn’t leave his wife, she,” he makes a slicing motion across his neck, “decided to take care of the children permanently.”

You gasp softly, eyes wide as Leon only laughs harder. 

“What’s fucked is she told him but he didn’t believe her, just fired her on the spot,” he sighs, smiling a little too wide for his face, “she stayed in town and married some other poor schmuck.“

You clear your throat nervously, “How do you know—“

“Oh, she’s like my great, great, great aunt,” he waves his hand like it’s inconsequential information, “that’s beside the point. The point being is she killed them in this. very. room.”

You lick your lips and take a quick glance around; aside from it being cleaner than the other parts you walked through, it’s pretty nondescript overall. 

“And they say,” Leon’s deep voice murmurs in your ear making you jump, “you can still hear them crying if you show up at the right time.”

He grabs your forearms and pushes you down onto the rug. 

“And since we have a couple of hours to go til then, why don’t I keep that pretty little mouth busy,” he tilts his head, sandy fringe covering one eye, “sound good?”

And now, you’re not even sure why you let it happen, but you’re on your knees with Leon’s thick uncut cock dripping over your face. Even though you’re angry at yourself, you can’t help but feel turned on in the situation. Clit throbbing with need, you loll your tongue out, holding your mouth open for Leon. 

“Such a good girl,” he croons, “so eager to please.”

A bolt of heat pulses in your cunt. His hand cradles your jaw gently before he spits onto your tongue making you whine, nipples tightening to aching points in your bra. He slaps his cock down onto your tongue, smearing his spit and precum all around the wet muscle. 

“You’re gonna give me some sloppy head, baby,” he grins meanly down at you, “and if you’re good, I’ll let you swallow.”

Eyes fluttering, slick fills the gusset of your panties, making the cute lace stick to your pussy lips; you press the dough of your thighs together hoping to alleviate the pressure in your core. 

“Mmm so slutty just letting me fuck your mouth like this,” he goads with a smirk, dick sinking into your open mouth, “bet I could get you on your knees anywhere.”

Your eyes water as his thick cock obscenely stretches your mouth open. 

His hips thrust forward, sinking another inch into your hot wet mouth.

“Such a pretty little throat,” he murmurs to himself, letting his hand squeeze around your neck. 

You whine as your thighs clench together, more slick pooling in your already drenched panties.

His hand shifts to the back of your head, rocking your mouth further down on his dick, fat tip kissing the back of your throat and making you gag. He presses there until you cough and retch around the tip, making him slip his cock free. You cough slightly, breaking the stringy lines of spit connecting his thick length to your lips. 

“Aww too much?” he coos mockingly, “don’t worry, we’ll train this slutty throat til it can take me nice and deep.”

Your cunt aches as he slaps his cock across your face, smearing spit and precum everywhere before slowly easing it back into your drooling mouth. He pulls out until you’re suckling on the fat head of his dick before sinking back into you, balls slapping your chin. 

“M’gonna give you a nice throatpie, sweetheart,” he grunts, hand moving to the top of your head to guide himself deeper.

You swallow around his dick, saliva dripping from the corners of your lips while Leon’s fat, heavy cock ruts in and out of your mouth. Hands grasping at your leggings, you move them to brace on his legs and let your mouth sink down on his cock even more, tip knocking into your throat making you gag. 

He pulls you off and takes a seat on the couch, patting his leg, “Crawl over here and suck me off, pretty girl.”

A full body shudder runs through you, pussy feeling like a wet mess between your legs as you crawl the few feet over to him. 

“Good girl,” the praise drips like honey from his lips, “being so good for me, tonight.”

With a mewling sigh, you eagerly wrap your mouth around Leon’s dick and sink down. 

“Gonna keep my dick warm for a while,” he pets your head, rocking his cock into your mouth, “if you try to suck, I’m gonna spank that soaked little cunt.”

Moaning, you go slack against him, letting Leon nestle his dick deep into your mouth, leaking tip bumping against the opening to your throat. You constantly swallow to prevent yourself from gagging but it only seems to make more precum dribble from his cockhead.  

He murmurs condescending praise making your brain mushy and cunt leak until you’ve soaked through to create a wet spot in the front of your leggings. It doesn’t seem like long at all before he’s slowly pulling out of your mouth with a groan. You whimper and chase after his cock, mouth kissing and licking at his spit coated shaft making him laugh down at you. 

“So needy,” he grasps your jaw and fucks his cock back into your swollen mouth, “think it’s time I give you your reward. Ready to drink all my cum? Cream that throat like you deserve.”

He thrusts half a dozen times before burying his cock into your mouth with a low groan, spilling down your throat. You feel dizzy as hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat before you’re swallowing it down, greedily sucking his cock.

“Good fucking girl,” he humps against your drooling mouth, “drink every drop.”

You milk Leon’s cock until he’s spent, pulling his softening dick away from your mouth as you press a soft kiss to the head. He glances down at his watch before pulling you up onto the couch with him.

Your brain feels empty, cunt needy for stimulation as Leon kisses your cheek and teases across the inside seam of your leggings. 

“When we get to the car, gonna make good on my promise, sweetheart,” he nips your earlobe, “gonna eat you out til you’re crying.”

You arch against him with a whine, “Please, can we go now?”

He hums shooting another glance to his watch, “I guess so, not like it’s real anyways.”

Brain too muddled to argue with him, you squirm as Leon pulls you up from the couch. Neither of you notice the two pairs of luminescent eyes watching you from the corner as you leave the room.  

divider: @firefly-graphics

[theweirderstuffblogdontlook]

part 1 of 2

Thanks to his supernatural regeneration, the attempts to get rid of Bob haven't exactly been going well. And after the hours of frustration cleaning blood out of her expensive carpets from Bob bleeding everywhere after she's stabbed him multiple times, she's hit a breaking point, and wants to experiment with methods for making attempted murdering of Bob be a bit less messy and more hygienic. and less at the expense of her expensive treasures and collectibles. Cus like, sure, he's been stabbed or maimed or whatever, but would it kill Bob to bleed on the tile or linoleum instead of the silk Persian rug?

Meanwhile Bob's jut happy to be included cus she almost never actually calls for him. Though he's also a little hesitant so ya know he's learned a bit of a lesson from the prior floor pie incident where he got creamed by a bucket full of rocks and covered in knives.

[xfgpng]

𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 —

— : [nsfw ] best friends to lovers, fingering, cunnilingus, pet names, degrading + mentions of breeding

— : wc : 1.6k

you and eren have been friends for a few years now. you met through sasha in your second year of high school. you knew sasha growing up and after moving back, you two rekindled your friendship and she introduced you to her other friends.

in your second year of college, you two were practically attached at the hip. you couldn’t find eren without you or you without eren.

you friends loved to tease you two but it was easy to play it off than to acknowledge any of your feelings towards the taller man. he had grown out of his awkward phase and he was so much hotter than you ever imagined he would be.

it didn’t help that he was your college’s heartthrob and everyone wanted a piece of him. it was almost funny that despite his reputation, he’d still drop anything and everything if you needed him.

“does it have to be here?” you whine, walking into your kitchen to get a glass. you always hosted stupid parties and no one bothered to help clean up the next day.

it would mean you, sasha and mikasa would have to deep clean your entire apartment even though they didn’t stay there.

eren grins from where he’s laying on the couch, jean sprawled out on the carpet. a brand new rug because just 2 weeks ago, one of jean’s many suitors threw up all over your pretty persian rug.

you’d never kick eren or jean out. you’re so used to coming home to then arguing over their video games or taking turns cooking. they took care of you just as much as you took care of them and your apartment was far too big to live alone. the perks of having rich parents that lacked parental responsibility when it came to emotional support.

“it’s so much better here” jean says, “we can get drunk and not have to drive back home”

“you get drunk regardless” eren rolls his eyes. his eyes are low and red rimmed so you know they’d been smoking just before you woke up.

“open the windows please” you sigh, closing the fridge to glare at them.

“yes mom” they say in union and you take a deep breath, pushing down the urge to strangle them both. you’ve done it before and it ended with eren awkwardly rushing to his own bedroom and jean laughing his ass off. it wasn’t something you wanted to think about too much.

“i promise to move the rug into the laundry room and lock the door until everyone leaves” jean says and you hide your smile behind your glass.

“fine” you sigh, “but you both owe me”

“anything you want baby!” eren smiles and you hate the butterflies you feel at his nicknames for you.

you roll your eyes instead, deciding to go back into your own room.

“i wish you two would get over yourselves and just fuck already” sasha says dryly, “everyone knows how much you both like each other”

“shut up” you say, “we’re just friends”

“no babe, eren and i are just friends” mikasa scoffs, “he doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you”

you don’t say anything, reaching for a shot. it was easier to forget these things when you weren’t so coherent. you didn’t plan on getting drunk and you weren’t exactly a lightweight so you wouldn’t get drunk off a few shots anyway.

you know eren is probably off somewhere getting high or flirting his way into someone tonight. he didn’t even need to try, you’ve seen the way girls threw themselves at him and you didn’t blame them. it was just that he never showed any interest in being in a serious relationship with any of them.

jean had told you it was because eren was already in love with you but he didn’t think you felt the same way. you didn’t believe any of this, usually telling jean to stop smoking so much. he would just sigh and go back into his own bedroom or into the kitchen.

you end up on the balcony in your own bedroom. the cool air makes you feel a lot better than being inside. you didn’t mind parties, the drinking or the smoking. you definitely knew how to have a good time but you’d often need a moment to yourself like this every now and then.

“there you are” you hear eren before you see him. he’s closing your bedroom door behind him before he joins you.

“having fun?” you ask and he grins, kissing your temple before he sits on the little couch you have on your balcony.

“hm” he nods, “it’s more comfortable here”

you laugh. he often spent his free time up here when he wasn’t working, studying or gaming. you didn’t mind, you enjoyed his company anyway and he was the one person you trusted in your personal space when you weren’t around. you trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone.

“you’re the one who wanted to have the party” you roll your eyes, going to sit next to him. he immediately pulls your legs onto his lap and places his hand comfortably on your bare thigh. you’re glad you decided to wear a skirt.

you can tell he isn’t drunk but he’s definitely high. he was always a lot more relaxed when he smokes. sitting this close, he smells like the scented shampoo he steals from your bathroom and his own cologne. eren always smells so good and when he’s in your bedroom, your things end up smelling like him and you wonder if he does that on purpose because it never happens with jean.

“are you upset?” he frowns, drawing circles on your thigh. he looks adorable like this.

“no, of course not” you place your hand on his nape, “you know i don’t really mind, right?”

he nods, looking up at you. he stares for a while and you notice his eyes drop to your lips and he licks his own.

“I want to kiss you” he says, “for so long”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you lean closer, cupping his cheek.

“kiss me then” you whisper, “i want you to”

the first touch of his lips is soft and tentative, like his testing the waters but he’s so patient with you. he’s always had a softer spot for you than most people and up until now, he’s never wanted to cross that line. eren loves you, so much and the idea of losing you scares him but he needs you. he can’t pretend that he can walk around like he’s fine with the way things were.

not anymore.

his worries fly out the window when you deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and gripping the loose hairs that’s fallen out his messy bun. he groans, hands coming up to hold your waist.

“fuck” he sighs, “i—”

“it’s okay” you smile, kissing his cheek, “i want you just as much ‘ren”

“I want to make you feel good” he says, “lay back for me”

you nod and reach for a pillow behind you. your outside couch is comfortable and soft.

he kneels on the floor, spreading your legs and kissing up your thighs. he grins when he sees your panties, seeing how wet you already were just from his kissing.

“you want me that much baby?” he chuckles

“don’t tease” you pout and he laughs, biting down on the insides of your thighs before blowing. he watches goosebumps rise and how you try to cover you mouth.

“let me hear you baby” he says, “i don’t care about anyone else”

he rips your panties off, half heartedly apologising as he presses his thumb against your clit. you moan louder than before, eyes squeezing shut as he flattens his tongue on your pussy.

you’ve sobered up a while ago so there was no way either of you could blame this on alcohol. the feelings between the two of you were glaringly mutual.

he groans into your pussy, nose bumping against your clit as he slips his tongue inside you. your hands grip his hair tightly, grinding against his face as he adds his middle finger in beside his tongue.

“your pussy is so fucking perfect” he says, “i can’t wait to fuck you baby, gonna stuff you so full of my cum until it can’t fit and you’re gonna take it because you’re a dirty little cumslut”

you gasp as he adds another finger, scissoring you open. it felt so different from your own fingers and you didn’t want him to stop. you clench around his fingers when you think about him fucking you raw.

you wanted him to cum inside you, over and over again until you were both overstimulated. you’ve thought about it enough times before.

“dirty girl” he chuckles, “squeezing my fingers like that, you want it?”

“yes” you moan, fucking yourself on his fingers as he goes back to sucking your clit. he’s so good with his tongue and fingers and it drives you crazy the way he learns to fast what you like.

“what a fucking slut” he laughs when you beg for another finger. you were so close, your toes curling over his shoulders. you don’t think you’ve ever enjoyed being eaten out like this in your life.

“you gonna cum?” he moves his fingers faster, pressing his thumb against your clit, “gonna make a mess all over my fucking fingers?”

you nod, back arching as you cry out his name, cumming so hard that he has to hold you down. he watches in awe and amusement as you struggle to catch your breath. he can’t help but feel smug about it.

“so good ‘ren” you whisper, finally able to hear the music again as well as your own heavy breathing.

“good because i’m not done with you baby” he kisses your pussy one last time before he stands, “you ready?”

you nod, spreading your legs again and he grins.

[xotaemintol]

FLIRTY JONGHYUN THOUGHTS//SMUT

::This is in no way, shape, or form, meant to be disrespect or hurtful/triggering to anyone, this is purely FICTIONAL and not at all real nor is it meant to seem that way. I understand that there are some who would disagree with smut of Jonghyun being written and I will consider everyone's points as best as I can, I did ask in a poll how people would feel and the majority have said that they would not feel uncomfortable or dislike it, if you are uncomfortable with it or dislike it, please keep scrolling or leave me constructive criticism/feedback obviously nothing hateful or harmful), I'II be sure to consider your point:) if not, enjoy!::

“Said baby come fuck with a pro” ~ Persian Rugs

I can't stop thinking about how good Jonghyun would be at flirting, the way he'd flash you a panty-dropping smile as he's walking beside you, and how good he'd look wearing a plain white shirt with the classic black jeans and a small gold chain to add an extra ‘hemp’. How his hand would brush yours and how everytime you say something that surprises him he'd go: “Really?!” The way he'd smell so good too, every time he slyly bumps into your side you’d catch a whiff of him and your knees go weak, don’t think it’s an accident either, he knows what he’s doing when he looks at you with those shiny puppy-like eyes, and that pussy throbbing smile, he knows that he’s eating away at your self-control with every compliment and every question and he loves seeing how you react, although he’s shy at first, he plays one hell of a game.

Give him three minutes and he’ll have your number, address, every social you have, your friends and family’s names, a date and time, and your ring size. He could talk you out of your panties before you even realize what’s happening, Don’t catch him when he’s out in public at night that man is absolutely unstoppable, and adding the romantic and suggestive elements of nighttime only makes him more dangerous. You’d be leaving the convenience store just as he’s going in and of course, he sees you and can’t miss his chance, so he’ll rush in and buy what he needs, and instead of getting back in his car he’ll catch up to you and politely stop you.

“Excuse me miss.” His opener and insanely irresistible voice immediately catch your attention and when you look at him all he has to do is say that he wants you, he doesn’t even need to speak but of course, you can’t give it up that easily, so you walk and talk for a while, getting to know the basics about each other. Names, hobbies, occupations, love lives, and all the other simple things, your conversation goes smoothly and flows so perfectly, You both perfectly bounce off of each other’s sentences so easily that it seems like you’ve met the man of your dreams. When he offers to drive you back home and tells you that his car is just around the corner you jokingly say that he seems like a player, to which he’d laugh and deny as you walk back to his car. The inside would be so clean and smell so good that it would immediately turn you on, As soon as he turns on the radio and starts to softly speak to you it’s wraps. A quick detour from your house to his and some passionate kisses later and you’re suddenly in his bed, undressed, and high on endorphins. And his game doesn’t just stop when you hit the bed, No no no, Jonghyun easily checks all the boxes.

A soft dom with an amazing bedroom voice, guiding you sweetly and building you up with ease as he’s touching you, everything you thought about sex is completely changed and turned inside out in the best ways possible. Being a pleaser whose main goal is to leave you on cloud nine Jonghyun would be able to make you cum multiple times without making you feel too sensitive to go on, somehow with every time you finish you crave more instead of being worn out, not to mention the way he’d encourage you, telling you that you’re doing such a good job, asking you if that feels good, asking you if that’s the spot you like and if you want more, you don’t have to beg either, he’s quick to give and he’s going to give and give until you are beyond satisfied. By the time he starts to fuck you it’s like your whole body has ripped into a million pieces and become something completely new, his stroke game is so good that it feels like he was reaching parts of you that had never even been imagined before, being able to bring you to a height that you’ve never known was reachable with slow and steady movements. Every time he moves forward your whole body reacts, and the chills don’t stop for a second, while with others it’s always a come and go, a “find the right spot.” With Jonghyun, every spot is the right spot, forget good, he’s a pro. When it’s unfortunately over, you almost immediately fall asleep, you’re too tired to even take the water he offered or the shower and clothes. Of course, he’d be able to knock you out easily, he could’ve done it in one round, but the excitement made you pull through two.

…I think I got a little distracted lol.

[consumare]

i'm gonna take some time to talk about h.annibal's office today because that's what's on my mind.

this is his office in baltimore. i was thinking that maybe the building could hold several leases in it, like have different offices, but we know how h.annibal is with his money, so i have to assume he bought the whole thing. there's no way he planned to share anything, so the building is his to do with what he will. it was built in 1873, and it's neighbors with a fucking church. i could probably talk about how ironic that is, but that's for a different post. h.annibal liked this building because of the windows, how much light could be let into his office, and the architecture caught his eye. this was the third lease he'd look at, and this was the one he chose. it's a historical building that he took over and paid for out of pocket, most likely.

the interior is very interesting. there is an art nouveau style ( quoted as 'characterized by its use of a long, sinuous, organic line' ) and neoclassicism. there is a lot of danish furniture, which gives way to his european roots. the walls are a warm grey, but then there's an accent wall with a pop of red. i personally think this office was meant to make people comfortable, but have that little bit uncertainty. he wanted the space to feel welcoming, but overwhelming. there are hundreds of books on his shelves, some first additions even. the art, sculptures, books, they're all put there purposefully, since he has a meaning for everything in there ( quoted as 'a stunning library that has become a symbol of demonstrative, straightforward art and object collecting that reflect the course of a person's entire life' ). i think he decorated with a few intentions in mind, contradicting somewhat, wanting his patients to feel both ease and unease, so they couldn't really be comfortable there, even with how charming / open their therapist seemed to be. and they wouldn't really know why they couldn't get to that point, which is why hannibal did it - because it's amusing.

the rug is persian. the striped curtains are 13 feet high. i was trying to find what the photography framed on the walls might be, or what art he collects to put in his office, to no avail. will update if i find anything, though i did find this about the art in his waiting room -

quoted from this post - 'this painting in h.annibal's waiting room is part of a triptych called “suzumi no hotaru” (納涼の蛍 - “catching fireflies in the cool of the evening”). the triptych is part of a larger collection called “shiki no yuukan” (四季遊観 - “pleasures of the four seasons”) by utagawa kuniyoshi and it dates from around 1843.'

his desk is an original leif jacobsen design. he doesn't sit behind it when patients are in the office, he reserves conversations for the two grey leather chairs in front of it, to make therpy feel more open. his desk is always clean, always neat and tidy. he puts everything back where it belongs. found there are his therapy notes, several notebooks. in one of the drawers he keeps his sketches, pencils, and scalpel ( which he uses to sharpen his pencils ). the desk is reservd for after appointment work only, basically.

and finally the floorplan. there is a waiting room, and then there is also a foyer, which doubles as a private exit for his clients. outside the waiting room is where the receptionist would be if he hadn't eaten her.

edit: i found some of the art, cause i'm a boss.

the fall of the rebel angels from book i of paradise lost by john milton c. 1868.

summer: buckwheat harvest by jean-françois millet. c 1874.

i can't find anything concrete for this one. this piece could be another by utagawa kuniyoshi or perhaps utagawa kunisada, or it could be by anyone who used the triptych style, so i can't say for sure nor can i find this specific print anywhere.

[heejayy]

So for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Todo and a fem reader in an Aladdin AU please? I imagine the reader as a princess with Todo as her palace bodyguard. The fic would involve the reader trying to help Todo with his crush only to develop feelings for the guy. What do you think?

Your Majesty || Aoi Todo

Warning • none?

Genres •Alladin Au! fluff, a little angst

Pairing • Todo x reader

a/n: cried while making this. And not because it’s sad it’s because it got deleted and I had start over 😶

————————————

After your handmaidens got you ready for bed you sent them off for the night- well more like rushed them off. You were waiting for everyone to leave so you could let Todo in.

“Psst Todo they’re gone” you whispered out your bedroom door. He slipped in but not without knocking a few things over.

“Sorry” he whispered placing back in the rightful spots. You couldn’t help but laugh at the big goof. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t do anything too gracefully, but who could when you’re 6’3.

“Get the game ready while I go close your balcony doors” you nodded stepping over your pet fox resting by your bedside. You grabbed the monopoly box and skipped over to where Todo stood.

“shall we your majesty” he bowed pointing towards the Persian rug offering you a seat.

“You know I hate when you call me that, we’ve been friends for a while now.” He shakes his head disagreeing

“You’re the crown princess and I’m just your bodyguard, if anyone heard me not using your correct honorifics they’ll have my head”

You frowned “Todo you’re more than just my bodyguard, you’re my dear friend” you smiled pinching his cheek. His face instantly turned a bright shade of red.

“How was your day your maj-“ you whipped your head towards him giving him a glare. Todo noticed and rolled his eyes “how was your day y/n?”

You smiled “good, yours?”

“I met Malia in the royal gardens” your ears perked up at the mention of Malia. She was one of your handmaidens, but you didn’t see her at all today due to her being assigned elsewhere.

“Oh, is that the girl you have a crush on?” You asked fully knowing the answer.

“Yes, she’s a lovely girl” you nodded looking at the rug tracing the designs.

“Do you remember that old tale in the children’s story book about a princess, that poor guy and her magic carpet?”

“The one with the unrealistic genie… no why?” You glared at him rolling your eyes “Don’t act funny, but anyways I was just thinking how lovely it would be if we could fly anywhere in the world on this very carpet and have a magic lamp to make wishes.”

“That’s impossible stop reading fairy tales” he teased.

“You just have no imagination do you?!” He shrugged fully aware he was annoying you.

“Out of curiosity what would you wish for?” He asked moving his playing piece.

“To have a normal life and fall in love.”

———————————————-

“Ha! Go to jail!” You laughed as Todo moved his playing piece to jail.

“Cheater” he huffed crossing his buff arms making his uniform tighten around them. You swallowed looking away hoping he didn’t notice you gawking at him.

“So Todo…do you like Malia?” He gazed up at you, “well she’s pretty and has a nice personality, but- I don’t know” it might sound mean but hearing that gave you a slight relief.

“Oh, well just talk to her it shouldn’t be that hard” he scoffed.

“Oh really?” You nodded knowing fully k

“Whatever…anyways are you interested in anyone?” You gulped.

“Um no?-” he nodded. You two sat in silence for a while until he spoke again.

“It’s getting late and I should get back to my position before my replacement comes” you nodded watching him as he cleaned up the game.

“I’ll see you tomorrow your majesty” you watched him as his veiny hand reached for the gold door handle. You wanted to call out for him, but you stayed silent. You walked over to your bed cutting off the lamp as you got into bed.

You didn’t get a wink of rest that night due to overthinking. You watched the sun rise from your open balcony door over your beautiful kingdom, one that will be yours be yours.

“Good morning princess y/n it’s time to- oh you’re already awake?” Malia said surprised as she walked in.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked while pulling back your curtains, you shook your head ‘yes’ lying squinting your eyes as the sun came pouring in.

————————————

You absent mindedly walked the halls of your beautifully decorated palace. No where specific you were headed you just wanted to walk.

“Your majesty where are we going?” Malia asked trailing behind you.

“No where” you shrugged as you rounded the corner, you spotted Todo talking to another guard. You two made instant eye contact as if he could sense you.

“You’re dismissed” you told Malia trying to put her off on Todo, “but your majesty-“

“Dismissed” you said more sternly, she bowed and back away.

You wondered around longer making your way to the garden maze as you spotted your fox.

“Leo!” You gasped smiling as he ran up to you. You got down on your knees to pet him “that’s my baby!”

“I found him chasing a butterfly” you looked up slightly startled.

“Oh, good evening Todo” he bowed.

“Where’s Malia?” You asked innocently. He chuckled responding with “in the kitchen.” You nodded picking up Leo making an effort to walk around him.

“I know what you’re doing” he spoke following you around the garden. “What are you talking about?” He sped up his pace walking in front of you cutting you off.

“Todo if you don’t mind I’m walking, you’re welcome to join me-“

“Cut it out” he laughed “you’re trying to set me up with Malia” You shrugged “I thought you liked her?” You said tilting your head now genuinely confused.

“I do- I did- she’s ok but i- I don’t know!” He exclaimed flailing his arms, Todo has always been dramatic especially when he’s conflicted. You watched him in distress as he paced the around. “She’s gorgeous, has a nice smile, tall and has a nice body…”

“Todo I don’t want you with Malia” you blurted out cutting him off. He stopped pacing turning his muscular frame to you.

“What do you mean?” You rolled your eyes.

“You big dope I- I like you” you confessed biting the inside of your cheek twirling your gold bangles on your wrist as you held Leo. He was silent for a while and you couldn’t read his expression which made your heart drop to your stomach. Maybe you made a stupid mistake, you shouldn’t have confessed that was idiotic of you. You held Leo closer to your chest trying to gain a sense of comfort. You wanted to run away but your body wouldn’t allow you.

“Y/n” he called your name gaining your attention. You loved when Todo said your name, given there has only been a few times when he does it makes it feel special.

“Yes?“ you answer.

“You like me?” You nodded.

“Well I- it would never work! We’re too different I’m your body guard I have nothing to my name, while you are the crown princess, heir to the throne, the most beloved princess in the nation. I’m sure your father already has someone for you to marry-“

“I don’t want be with anyone else but you!” Todo was taken back at your outburst. You’ve never raised your voice in such an angry manner before.

“I love my father but he can’t control me or my feelings, I want you Todo.” A smile appeared on Todo’s lips “don’t worry you’ve always had me y/n.” He cupped your cheeks and kissed you, you smiled into the kiss feeling butterflies erupt in your belly. You might not have gotten your magic carpet ride but you feel like your wish has come true.

JJK Masterlist

©heejayy 2022 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission

[thebiggestlies]

“  you always had an eye for things that glittered.  ”

“What the absolute f...” 

Adrenaline rang in Brian’s veins. Every nerve on high alert, trigger finger still coiled until the counting part of his brain whispered the mag was empty. He reloaded a fresh one on instinct. The creature looked dead. Over a dozen holes punctured its furry chest and those razor-sharp claws now hung limp against the hardwood floor.  Lawrence’s Persian rug had started the evening in shades of cream and beige, but now it cradled a corpse as crimson spread along the silk. 

“Homo sapiens lycanthropus. More commonly referred to as werewolves.” Plucking a handkerchief from his breast pocket, Lawrence wiped clean the splatter of gore from his jawline. Three jagged lines shredded the edges of his suit jacket, evidence of the split second between the lycanthrope bursting into his study and Gamble, standing sentry inside, opening fire. Nothing human could move so fast. 

Finally, Brian lowered his weapon. The mag he had just reloaded unclipped and the topmost bullet observed, so bright it almost glittered. “Silver.” The look he cast at his boss would have made lesser men crumble.  

Lawrence merely tossed his ruined handkerchief atop the corpse. “An upgrade when you weren’t looking. And if I had told you what I needed protection from, would you have believed me?” 

Would he have? A question impossible to answer. Brian believed in what he could see. Touch. Kill.  

“You owe me hazard pay.” Shimmering bullets disappeared with another click. He didn’t need to play cool. He could delay examining the delicious idea of an adversary out there which might, finally, be an actual challenge for him. “And we need to talk about hardware because silver is soft as shit to work with.” 

Mr Lynch merely grinned.

[tacosaysroar]

*waves*Hi!

11. Are there any recurring themes in your dreams?

18. What does your dream home look like?

Hi! *waves back*

11. I used to have two:

One was that whatever man-made place I was wandering through would start to crumble and decay the further I wandered and eventually be overcome by jungle. The most memorable was a mall. There was an open atrium where you could look up through the two floors above to a giant broken skylight, and all of the vines taking over the stores and kiosks were growing over the railing of each floor, reaching toward the light. It was beautiful.

The other is a white farmhouse with a secret passageway. It would just show up in random dreams. It got so I’d even be aware of it, like “oh, I’m dreaming about that farmhouse again.” Sometimes it was empty. Sometimes it was full of people. Sometimes the passageway sealed off and I’d be in an MC Escher-style backwards version of the same house. Once, when I was hiding from a pack of werewolves massacring the partygoers in the house, it was full of holes and missing panels and no bigger (or taller) than a crawl space.

I told someone recently that I think maybe these dreams were about my marriage and how smothered I was in it, and considering I haven’t had either of them since the divorce (when I used to have them quite often) I think that’s probably accurate.

18. Oh, I have SO many styles I love. A craftsman with a big porch is high on the list, but I think if I won the lottery and could buy whatever I wanted, I’d wind up in a Victorian. Something ornate and Addams-esque. I like the clean, minimal Scandinavian look — I do — but I think I’m more at home in what I think of as “cozy opulence.” I love antiques and Persian rugs and chandeliers. And I love a house that creaks and settles. A distinguished old lady. With beautiful woodwork and lots of natural light.

[blue-kyber]

Seeing as I know nothing about this movie that doesn't exist aside from it's a 1973 Martin Scorsese Russian mafia movie starring Goncharov, Katya, and....that's all I know, I'm going to bullshit my way through a scene. A mood. (This is my first time writing in this genre while trying to make it sound like it could come from the 70's.)

Enjoy.

(the song I had on repeat while writing this).

Thunder explodes in the stormless night, shattering the winter stillness.

A cold wind tresspasses through the billowing ice-blue curtains of an open window. It steals the light of a bedside candle, harrasses the flames of a crackling fire, and banishes its comfort.

Blood - thick, crimson, and warm - oozes over the threads of a persian rug; liberated by a single eighteen millimeter bullet lodged between open, soulless brown eyes. The blood takes with it the life once behind those eyes, darkening them, and leaving behind the lead as a memento of its former presence.

Moonlight dances on the slick surface of its slowly expanding pool to the muted instrumentals of a favored song.

The cold wind thieves its steaming heat as well - an offering in exchange for its silence.

Within the dim, flickering yellow light, the utterings of a conversation, and the passionate lies of a sexual interlude haunt the chilled air in echoes of the past.

The blood reaches toward the clean, white bare feet of the one who freed it, as though the waning life it held struggled to enact revenge on their murderer.

They shift their right foot backward in denial of its grasp.

Their hand tightens around the worn handle of the pistol lowered at their side, the metal barrel still hot from its fatal bite.

It's done.

Tonight, this weapon served its purpose. It rid the world of a stain that used manipulation to steal lives in an insidious cruelty a gun could never achieve.

And they had used used their own tactic against them. To defeat an enemy, one must learn to command the favored tool of their enemy.

They turn their naked back on the blood's desperate grasp without regard to let the criminal wind feast on the fading heat of his body.

She lays the gun on the soft bed she had used to lure him in with her body as the bait. The sheets were of high quality linen - a testament to the life of extravagance he prefered. As nice as they would be on her own bed, they held the memory of her action and the sticky remnant of his final, disgusting throw of lust.

She pulls her agate-red lace bra from the bedpost and slips it on. Her underwear, ivory-white dress, and heels follow.

A lone sapphire ornament decorating a cherrywood table catches the firelight within its inner facets, containing it away from the merciless wind.

This is what she came here for.

Her fingertips brush with a delicate, feather-lightness over the smooth surface of the precious relic.

Of course he wouldn't hide it away. An item this valuable would take center stage. She knew he would display it in a prominent place as a show of pride, arrogance, and superiority. And she knew that place would be in private where he could dominate using the power of those qualities.

Allowing his dying eyes to absorb the sight of the treacherous treasure as the last thing he saw held a poetic justice she could not pass up.

She covers the relic with a silk cloth, tucks it and the pistol into her purse, an retrieves a bottle of expensive brandy set out during the conversation for him to enjoy after he'd conquered her.

A small sip of it dulls the sharp edge of her deed.

Why should she deny him one last luxury.

The amber liquid splashes over his body, soaks into his blood. It blesses the curtains, curses the bed, and glistens with a promise to her.

Taking the candle, she lights it in the fireplace. She tosses the empty snifter next to him so that he may lay with a love as cold and dangerous as the heart now festering in his chest.

She looms over his crumpled form.

It never mattered what Goncharov said - that killing Ivan Komarov would change nothing. His life wasn't the one this monster destroyed.

A tightness draws its lines in her face.

Her hand releases the candle.

She puts on her coat and walks out with the relic that ignited her revenge, leaving behind the building roar of a feral beast turned loose to devour Ivan and the wind.

Its flames lick the frame of the open window.

She keeps her back to it as she walks away from the estate. Its heat breathes on the nape of her neck. She accepts the breath of her new lover. It curls its fingers into her and pulls out the weight of the burdon she carried for so long. She lets it take her rage with it - a gift relinquished to the fire to strengthen its power so it can become the sun.

A rare lightness washes over her with each exhale clouding into the crisp winter air.

The sheets, the rug, the table, the curtains, the brandy, the finery, and his body would burn to ashes in the snow to the soundtrack of a song Katya never wanted to hear again.

tagging @feral-bookwoomm because they were the only one who responded to a previous post. :) For you. *offers it with the gun next to a slice of pie on a silver platter.*

[curse-breaker-bill]

Dust rained down upon Bill for what felt like the twentieth time that day. Even when the handkerchief covering his mouth and nose, he felt like a pound of dirt had settled into his lungs. Shaking the grit from his hair and trying to find a clean spot on his shirt to wipe his eyes, Bill sat back on the ground and studied the impenetrable wall of earth before him that was preventing him from entering the room that held what would be his latest acquisition. Whoever had set up the hexes around this tomb had been very, very clever.  They had buried the door behind the dirt wall, and hexed it so that no matter how you went about it, you could never break through more than a few inches before a massive cloud of dust appeared and practically smothered you.

Bill Weasley was never the type to give up, but after a week of choking on dust, he was nearly ready to call it quits. His employer had already been nagging him about how long it was taking to get this job done, and he loathed having to report in after another failed day that they were no closer to acquiring the treasure than they had been when they started this expedition. Still, he exhausted and he needed to consult a few texts before having another crack at the wall. A shower wouldn't hurt, either.

Leaving the tomb, Bill apparated to his employer's office in the Cairo branch of Gringotts, dust falling from nearly ever part of him and leaving a small pile of sand on Grinrig's pristine Persian manticore rug. His usual grimace deepened at the sight, his gruff voice cutting across Bill before he could even speak.

"Don't tell me, you've wasted another day."

"Whoever put up the curses knew what they were doing," Bill said by way of explanation, knowing that no answer would appease the goblin.

"I don't need to remind you that you will not be paid until I receive the item, Weasley." Grinrig paused for a moment, eyeing the wizard with disdain. "Should I look for someone more qualified?"

"No, sir," Bill answered readily. "I promise, I can retrieve the item. I just need a few more days."

"Two." Grinrig replied evenly. "You have two days, then you're fired. Get out."

Bill felt grateful for even the smallest extension and nodded his head, sending another shower of dirt and sand onto the rug. "Thank you, sir."

Before Grinrig could grimace again about the added mess, Bill apparated to the small village that had become home to him in Egypt.  Karihsmak was home to a predominantly Egyptian collective of witches and wizards.  Much like Hogsmeade in Scotland, there were shops, and taverns, and affordable living. Lying near the banks of the Nile River, the desert gave way to green-space here, providing a small oasis in the otherwise harsh climate.

Making his way to his favourite tavern, Bill cast a quick cleansing charm on himself to remove most of the dirt from his hair and clothes. He knew his face would still be streaked, but lately that was nothing new. As he entered, he spied a man at a table near an open window, an orange tabby seated on the table top pawing at a saucer the man was pouring milk into. Bill laughed and shook his head as he approached. 

"Still feeding that bloody cat, Seb?"

The young Egyptian wizard smirked but didn't look up as the cat began to lap at the milk. "All creatures deserve charity, my friend."

"Says the wizard who makes a living by swindling Muggles." Bill smirked as he slid into the chair opposite the other man.

At this Seb did look up, holding up a finger as he countered, "Muggles believe only what their eyes and minds allow." 

Seb, a parseltongue, billed himself as a snake charmer to unsuspecting Muggle tourists, knowing they wouldn't understand the magic that was taking place between the snakes in Seb's employ and Seb. It always worked out well for Seb and the snakes--Muggles would practically throw money at him to see him kiss a cobra, and the snakes were always well fed and well cared for.  

"Besides, Muggles who can afford the luxury of going on holiday hardly need the charity, do they?"

"Fair point," Bill conceded, motioning to the tavern keeper to bring them a round.  

"I take it you still haven't broken the curse?"

"What gave it away?" Bill deadpanned, sitting back and watching the cat drink. "I really think Grinrig's on the verge of sacking me this time."

"He won't. You're the best curse-breaker there is, and he knows it. Goblins are just...impatient." 

"I've got two days to figure this one out, Seb. Two days!! This is the Cursed Vaults all over again, except this time I'm not facing expulsion from Hogwarts and Professor McGongall's wrath... I'm facing being fired...or worse."

Seb was laughing at the English wizard with open amusement. "You will break the curse. Of this, I am certain."

"Yeah, wish I had your confidence." Bill picked up the shot glass brimming with Firewhiskey and tossed it back quickly. "You still on for going to the match this weekend? If I'm not sacked and selling my possessions by then, that is."

"Egypt against England," Seb grinned. "You think I would miss seeing your team getting crushed again?"

"Again? Pft." Bill argued, picking dirt from under his nails as a distraction. "England can't possibly lose as badly as they did last time."

Seb roared with laughter, making the cat jump beside him, and the wizard pet her to sooth her.  "Admit it, Bill. England doesn't stand a chance against our players."

Downing a second shot of Firewhiskey to avoid having to make that confession, Bill wiped his mouth on the back of his dirty hand, merely smearing more dirt across his face. "I best get to the flat and see if I can figure out a counter-curse against that bloody wall." He rose and scratched the cat behind the ears. "You mind if I borrow your owl? I think I might see if I can get a second opinion from someone." 

"About the curse or about your Quidditch team?" Seb teased with a smirk, then nodded. 

Bill clapped him on the shoulder. "See you back at the flat, then."

Leaving enough sickles on the table to cover the tab for the two shots, Bill headed off and made his way to his and Seb's shared flat, making a mental list of everything he needed to do. First, the shower. Second, he would write to an old professor he'd kept in touch with and inquire about spells that he, perhaps, had yet to consider. Third, he would pour through his texts to try and find the answer. 

The only thing Bill knew for certain at this moment in his life was that if England didn't win the match against Egypt this weekend, he was giving up all hope on ever hearing the end of it from Seb.

[roosterbruiser]

I humbly request some landslide crumbs

and some Landslide crumbs I will give you!!

here's a bit of Stevie/Faye content for you

Stevie was Maggie’s cat. She’s a Persian, or something like that, and she was the first big purchase Maggie made when she got some money. She painstakingly created the perfect environment for Stevie--bought air filters and an electric litter box, bought the vet-recommended food based on Stevie’s age and breed, curated ridiculously expensive furniture dedicated to Stevie entirely. Stevie loved only Maggie from the first day Maggie brought her home. No one else was able to cuddle her, let alone touch her. 

When I first picked her up from the boarding facility, over a month since Maggie died, she howled and mewled the entire drive to my house. She was lying in the dome carrier Maggie had spent an arm and a leg on, crying and crying. My ribs, the cracked ones, ached deeply with every breath I breathes. My left wrist was slung across my chest and it hurt badly enough that I’d been prescribed hydrocodone. I’d hit my head very hard on a tree branch when landing and sometimes I still got confused--things felt fuzzy, even a month later. Possibly what caused the most discomfort was the frostbite on three of my toes on my left foot. The doctor’s considered it a mild case and they were healing, scabbed over, very ugly. I had to clean each of the toes individually and wrap them nicely or I would get an infection. 

“Stevie,” I’d called to her from the driver’s seat, narrowing my eyes at the road. The sun was blinding, “shhh, girl.” 

Stevie was desperately moaning. I tried to turn the radio on, but suddenly couldn’t remember which button turned it on. 

“Oh, fuck, come on!” I’d yelled, exasperated. 

It was exhausting to be hurt, exhausting to have a dead sister, exhausting to pick up the pieces of the life that had imploded so randomly, so terribly. I’d been pushed over the edge then and there, somewhere on Pacific Coast Highway. I pulled the car to the side of the road, held my scabbed and bruised face in my hands, and screamed into my palms. 

“Do you think I want this?” I yelled to Stevie, who was blinking at me from inside her kennel, “Because I don’t!”

Our parents had told me to just forget about Stevie--surrender her to the boarding facility. She would be taken to a shelter and would be adopted quickly since she was a purebred. I knew, though, that Maggie would’ve keeled over again if Stevie wasn’t taken care of.  

Now Stevie lives with me, in my house that I’m always renovating. Mingled among my antiqued furniture--my velvet sofas and solid wood tables and ornate rugs--are the expensive pieces Maggie had bought for Stevie. The chrome litterbox lives in the laundry room, plugged into an outlet, beneath the quartz counter that houses wicker baskets and glass bottles of white vinegar and baking soda. Her four-tier cat tower lives in the sun room, a blob of flower-shaped levels and bright green rope against the rattan patio furniture I’d carefully selected. Stevie’s food bowls were even a stark contrast--pink BPA-free plastic dishes--against the original wood flooring in my home. 

This is all to say that nothing Maggie bought all those years ago matches the aesthetic I’ve curated. I cannot get myself to switch any of the items out, even if I’ve looked before. The self-cleaning litterbox reminds me of how busy Maggie always was, one foot out the door all the time. The tower reminds me of her exuberance--her love for bright colors and feminine things. Her uncharacteristically cheap plastic bowls are reminiscent of Maggie’s tendency to accidentally kick or trample things on her way out the door. They are little fragments of her. 

[oooohno]

goooood morning nana 🌄🌄🌄 what does yours and Hirugami's house look like? Inside and out!

Jaaaaaas, I’m so sorry that it took me so long to finally answer this ask but oh god it took me so long to find images that capture my preferred home vibes 🙈

Okay so I’d love to have lots of rich colors as accent details & lots of warm wood flooring & furniture!

I like these two kitchens the only thing that kinda bothers me is that I’d love to have a kitchen island + stools for quick meals + more space to prepare & store stuff (the one on the left is Dakota Johnson’s kitchen & ever since I watched her AD video on YouTube I fell in love with it)

I can’t decide if I want the bathroom to be super out there with fun colorful tiles (or wallpapers!!!) or more neutral so you can fully relax in there (I don’t like the wooden floors & would prefer more funky tiles, maybe a design out of black & white ones, but I like the black faucets/ fixtures)

I looooove these living rooms!!! Especially the first one is so stunning with lots of plants the only things that’s missing for me is either a funky rich colored persian rug OR a colorful piece of furniture like that big green armchair in pic 2 or the velvet green poof/ coffee table in pic 3. Also I like the leather couch in pic 3 (but the flooring is ugly lol) because it is easier to clean than the white one in pic 1 & Hirugami & I definitely have at least one dog lmao.

Okay tumblr won’t let me add more pictures BUT I like the idea of having a round table for proper meals. I know they are not that practical compared to rectangular ones but I don’t think we’d have people over a lot & I really like how they look (but I’d prefer one out of solid wood & not one with a glass tabletop). ALSO the last picture just shows wallpaper accent walls & I’d absolutely love to incorporate those in our home too :3. Not shown here are the bedroom (I couldn’t find proper images that I liked) & the small conservatory (no idea if that’s the right word) filled with lots of plants & wicker chairs & a hammock, so we can soak up all the sun even during colder months hehe