#but all that i *am* doing is sitting around waiting for laundry to dry

[bandomfandombeyond]

I am home alone and sad about it -- but not with any conviction, I just have the lingering ennui attendant to knowing someone you love is having fun without you

[samandcolbyownme]

So since you’re doing Outer Banks stories (I think) if it’s alright with you can you make a JJ Maybank x Fem Reader story?

My Shirt | JJ Maybank

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, sneaking around, smoking weed, flirting, kissing, teasing, biting, scratching, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of skinny dipping, general filth

“Thanks again, JB.” You say as you pull up to the Chateau, “Sorry it so sudden, but you know how it goes.” John B hums on the other end of the line, “Just as long as you’re safe, okay. Stay as long as you need.”

You park and sit back with a sigh, “Thank you. I just got here now, so I just wanted to let you know.” You put your phone on speaker, setting it down so you can unbuckle.

“You should just move here, y/n. You know your mom can’t force you to do anything.”

You get out, taking your phone with you, “I’ve thought about it. I just- I don’t know. We can figure it out when you get back. You have a trip to enjoy. Tell Sarah I said hi.”

You hear him tell Sarah and she takes the phone, yelling a quick, “Hiiii, y/n!” John B takes the phone back and laughs, “anyway. I told JJ to stay away, but you know how he is.”

You laugh, smirking at the thought of JJ coming over when it’s just you.

“Just tell him to go away or I’ll kick his ass.” John B pulls you from your thoughts and you laugh, “I’ll do what I can, JB.”

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but JJ always keeps a joint in the drawer to the right of the sink.” John b says and you smirk, “I always knew you were my favorite cousin.”

“It’s cause I am.” John B laughs, “Alright, plane is ready to go. Call me if you need anything.” You say your goodbyes and you make your way into the house. You look around, shaking your head at the man made mess.

“Boys will be boys.” You roll your eyes with a laugh and you walk into the spare room. You toss your bag down on the bed and go over to the basket that has all the stuff you forgot each time you were there.

You pull out a grey shirt, tilting your head as you try to remember if it’s yours or not. You shrug, tossing it on the bed before you take off your sweatshirt.

This time, you didn’t really have time to grab anything you really needed, you took off with the literal clothes on your back and few others you could grab during your fit of rage, all while you argued with your mother, also John B’s aunt.

John B knows how she is, but he also understands why you keep going back, so he’s there whenever you need because you grew up together. Even though you’re just cousins, it really seems like you were brother and sister.

You kick off your jeans and pull the shirt down over your body, the hem just barely covering your ass fully.

You grabbed your clothes and the duffle and make your way to throw everything in the washer. You look around, shaking your head as you make a mental note to buy more laundry detergent tomorrow.

After spending time cleaning up and throwing more stuff in, you start the wash, biting down on your lip as you bend down to take off your underwear. You toss them in with the rest of your laundry before closing the lid and making hour way to work on the kitchen.

As much as you respected John B and his wishes to not mack on his friends, you were hoping JJ decides to break the rules and show up.

As you’re working on clearing up the counter, you freeze as you hear a knock on the door, “Yo, Yo.”

You bite your lip, smirking as you continue to scrub the bowl in your hand.

“Yo.” JJ says as he slowly rounds the corner, “Oh that’s right, John B’s with Sarah, in another country.”

You turn around and his eyes move down your body, “Yeah and you’re not supposed to be here.” You smirk, turning back around.

“Wait, is that my shirt?”

You look down, and as soon as he says that, the image of JJ in this shirt pops into your head and you feel heat rise in your cheeks.

You dry off the bowl, reaching up to open the cupboard. As you rise to your tippy toes, the grey shirt slides up, revealing your bare ass to him.

He groans lowly, trying to cover it up with clearing his throat, “And only my shirt?” He blows out air, a quiet fuck escaping his lips.

“Sorry, Jayj. JB must have just thrown it into my basket by accidental.” You say over your shoulder and he shakes his head, licking his lips, “I didn’t say it was a problem, sweetheart.”

You smirk, rinsing your hands off, “That’s a shame..” you turn around, crossing your leg in front of the other as you grip the counter, “Because I was going to tell you that you needed to take it off of me yourself if it was.”

He tilts his head and lets out a sigh, “Now that you say something, get that fucking thing off right now.” He walks over to you, his hips pin yours against the counter behind you.

You look up at him, giggling slightly as he pulls the grey fabric up over your body, revealing what he’s always pictured while his hand strangled his own cock.

“Fuck, y/n.” He slides his hands up and down your arms before he moves them to cup your cheeks, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smirk, licking your lips before you look down at his shirt, “I think you’re a little behind, Maybank.”

He chuckles, looking down, “Yeah, I guess so. Let me fix that.” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it down, “C’mere.”

He pulls you into him, spinning you around to walk you back to the couch as his lips crash onto yours.

You moan against his lips, pulling yourself closer to him, “Jayj.” You whimper out, “Please, touch me. Do something.”

“Mm.” He kisses down your neck, “Needy for papa J, I see.”

You gasp as you feel his hand slip in between your legs, sliding up and down between your wet folds, “All I need to know.”

JJ smirks and crashes his lips into yours as two of his fingers thrust inside of you.

Your back arches off the couch and your nails sink into his skin as he swallows your moans, “J-“ you whimper out, “J.”

“Does that feel good? Hmm?” He asks, peppering kisses all over your face as his fingers curl upward, “Gotta tell me what you like, sweetheart.”

“T-that.” You gasp, walls clenching around his fingers, “Feels so good, Jayj.”

His lips move to yours as he repeats the action, which has you squirming under his touch, begging for him to stop even though you really don’t mean it - and JJ keeps going, working you towards your first orgasm, “Are you close? Your pussy is squeezing my fingers for dear life.”

You bite down on your lip, nodding your head, “Oh, fuck, y-yeah.”

His lips find yours and you moan into his mouth. He swallows them with ease, glancing down to watch your cunt swallow his fingers, “Fuck, you’re so worth the lecture.”

He crashes his lips into yours and you become a whimpering mess under him as you cum. Your body tenses under his and he groans against your lips, “That’s it. There we go.”

You moan louder as JJ’s thumb rubs lazy circles on your clit, sliding your hands up to his hair. You whimper, pulling him back down to kiss you again, “Please, fuck me.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words in my life.” He pushes his hips between your thighs and his cock slips into you, making you both gasp out in shock that things finally happening.

“Holy mother of fuck.” He groans as he kisses you roughly, his cock pushing into you fully. You cry out with pleasure as his thrusts pick up immediately.

Fast and hard.

Your eyes roll back as his hand comes up to lay on the side of your neck, “You sound so pretty.” He kisses back your jaw, “You look so pretty.”

He moans lowly, “Fuckin’ pussy is taking me so goddamn well.”

How slides his hand over, gripping your throat tight - and your phone rings.

You try to turn your head and JJ moves your head back, “Don’t worry about that right now.” His lips fall to yours, distracting you until it rings again.

He looks over and grabs it, handing it to you, “Answer it. It’s John B.”

Your eyes go wide and you sit up, but JJ pushes you back down, “No. I’m going to eat you out while you talk to him.”

You answer the call as JJ moves down your body, “Hello?”

“Hey, we landed, just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.” John B says on the other end, “You didn’t clean up did you?”

You take a deep breath, “I just.. woke up from a nap.” You bite down on your lip as JJ’s tongue works it way into your pussy, “And yeah.. I did clean up.”

You try your hardest not to let any whimpers or moans slip because JJ was phenomenal at this. His tongue swipes around your cunt as his fingers rub harsh circles on your clit.

“You didn’t have to do that.” John B laughs, “But I appreciate it. I ne-“

“More laundry stuff. Noted.” You force a laugh to cover up the moan that’s desperately trying to escape, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

You bring your hand up, covering your mouth as you close your eyes.

“Did JJ show up? I tried calling him, too but he isn’t answering.”

“Haven’t seen him.” You lift your head, watching as the blonde between your legs absolutely devours you, “Which… is..” you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe out, “Surprising.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up, but you know the drill.”

You roll your hips, biting down on your lip to compose yourself, “With you constantly drilling it into my head, how can I not?”

He laughs, “Alright. Let me know if you hear from Jayj.”

“I will.” You roll your eyes, praying that John B will just hang up, “Have a good trip.”

“Will do. See ya, y/n.”

“Yep, bye.” You pull the phone away, hanging up before you reach down and grab JJ by the hair, “You motherfucker.”

He laughs, reaching down to grab your hips, “I’m only fuckin’ you, baby.” He smirks and flips you over, lifting your hips so he can reinsert his cock into you and you moan out loudly, “J-Jayj, please.”

“So needy.” He lifts a hand, allowing it to slap back down onto the skin of your ass, “I fuckin’ love that.”

He leans down, wrapping your hair around his hand and pulling you to sit up a little before his thrusts fall back into being hard and fast.

You reach up, holding yourself up on the arm of the couch as you cry out, “Yesyesyes, right there, JJ!”

“That’s it, baby.” He throws his head back, groaning out before leaning down to peck the back of your shoulder, “If only JB knew just how much of a little slut you were for me.”

“He would explode..” you laugh slightly but it turns into a moan, “Fuck, J.” You tilt your head back and he rests his forehead against it, “You close again?”

“Uh huh.” You nod slightly, “Need all of you.” You push your hips back to meet his thrusts and JJ groans, “You want it, you gotta earn it.”

He sit down on the couch and pulls you back into his lap. Your legs move to either side of his hips and you sink back down onto his cock.

He leans forward, kissing up the valley between your boobs, “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He leans back, hands sliding down your sides, “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You start to bounce, eager to get him to his point of spilling everything inside of you.

You needed him, maybe it was the forbidden love label that your over protective cousin slapped on JJ, but you could go crazy if you didn’t get it.

“Ridin’ me like a pro. Fuck.” He leans back, eyes trailing down your body to stop and fixate on your body meeting his with each bounce from you, “Jesus, fuck.”

His hands grip your hips and he looks up at you, “Gimme one more, sweetheart. One more, and I’ll give you want you want.”

Desperate for his release, you grip the couch behind his shoulders and continuously slam your hips down, moaning out constantly as you work yourself to your own orgasm.

“Fuck there you go.” JJ bucks his hips up, “just like that, keep it goin, baby. Keep it goin’.”

Your lips meet his, swallowing each others moans as you feel him finish inside you, “Jayj.” You whimper, “Feels so good.”

His pulls you into his body, arms wrapping around you as he kisses your head, “How was that, hmm?” You nod against his neck, “Amazing, Jayj.”

He rubs your back for a few minutes before he giggles to himself. You sit up, tilting your head as you look at him, “What?”

He licks his lips, laying his head back, “You have ever gone skinny dipping?”

You shake your head and he raises his brows, “You want to?” You bite down on your lip and smirk, standing up to wrap a blanket around your body, “I’ll race ya.”

You take off for the door and JJ is instantly behind you, laughing and still naked as can be, “Don’t let me catch you.”

——

Let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading! I truly love each and every one of you. See you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[gideonisms]

modern au meet-cute where gideon calls harrow her nicknames because she doesn't know harrow's name and is too afraid to ask

all right so I struggled to come up with nicknames, but hopefully the meet-cute bit makes up for it. This one also got kind of long

The girl is sitting cross-legged on Gideon’s favorite dryer in the laundry room when Gideon first sees her. Her first thought is: what the hell, now how am I supposed to dry my clothing? It’s not that they don’t have other dryers here. It’s just that the others either leave her clothing too damp, or smell extensively of wet dog. And Gideon has things to do.

Her next thought is: what the hell, she’s perfect.

Because the girl is perfect. Before this, Gideon couldn’t say she had one particular type, but as she looks at the miniature thrift-store goth in front of her, with her five different layers of black clothing, huge fuckoff boots, and grown-out buzz cut, she has to admit that the effect is both intimidating and extremely cool. That it’s working for the girl in a way it never worked for Gideon back when she’d had a brief goth phase.

The girl’s eyes are closed, body still. As though she’s waiting for something. Her lashes are dark against her cheeks.

“Um,” Gideon says eloquently. The girl does not respond. “Hello?” Nothing. Does she have earbuds in?

Gideon steps closer, and that’s when the girl’s body sways forwards, right into Gideon’s waiting chest. She smells kind of sweaty, and she’s warm as a fever. Gideon’s heart starts pounding. Is the girl dying? Gideon doesn’t know how to fix that.

“Hello, Morticia? Can you wake up for me?”

The girl’s eyes blink open. They’re extremely large and dark, and that’s probably why Gideon just stares down at her stupidly. But then they focus on Gideon. The girl’s eyebrows draw down immediately, and she shoves Gideon back, almost toppling off the dryer in her haste to get down on her own.

“Leave me alone!” she says.

“Okay. Sorry, it just seemed like you were having some kind of cri—”

“I am fine,” the girl says very definitely. She grabs her phone, which is lying on the table in the middle of the room, and hastily exits before Gideon can even ask her name. She leaves a bunch of cheap, badly-dyed black jeans in Gideon’s favorite dryer, too. Well, damp clothing it is.

At the coffee shop where Gideon works, she’s having a normal one. She greets the usual crowd from the university—there’s a twinge of pain in her knee whenever she thinks about the soccer scholarship she’ll never get there now. Anyway, the girls from the university are always very nice to Gideon. They ask her about herself, how long she’s worked here, what she likes to do on the weekends. Sometimes they look at her askance but later slide their numbers to her on a napkin. One even tried to get Gideon to come to a church function; Gideon thinks she would have killed it at the potluck, but she had a workout scheduled with Cam that afternoon. The guys either call her “dude” or don’t speak to her except to order.

This is the type of day Gideon has come to expect, and everything runs along the same well-worn track, with a brief appearance from Pyrrha, who turns on cheesy love songs on the store radio and shamelessly flirts with every mom who comes in until Gideon can only roll her eyes and tell her to stop stealing all the tips.

Even then, Gideon’s heart isn’t really in it. She has the vague sense that she’s running through the motions, living the life of the person named Gideon Nav because that’s the one she knows how to live.

Until around six PM, when The Girl walks in. Gideon had been starting to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole encounter, if her mind had conjured a beautiful goth girl out of sheer boredom. But no, there she is in the flesh.

She doesn’t look like she’s doing any better than last time, if Gideon’s being honest. Her boots are caked in mud, and she struggles to open the door. As she approaches the counter, she shivers even though the day is barely chilly. This time she is wearing headphones, big boxy ones with a visible wire that she keeps twisting through her fingers. She takes them off when she steps up in front of Gideon, distracted.

“Oh hey! You’re that goth bitch from before! The one on my dryer.”

The girl’s gaze immediately sharpens. Gideon could swear that she flushes darker.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

“Uh.” Gideon looks around. “I work here?”

“It’s not your dryer. It belongs to the complex.”

“Yes it is! It’s the one I always use. It’s my dryer.”

Gideon is beginning to think this whole conversation was a mistake.

“Well,” says the girl slowly. She’s staring Gideon down like she might kill and eat her, which is kind of doing it for Gideon. “When I’m sitting on it, it is in fact, my dryer. You can find your own.”

“Whatever you say, dryer despot.”

“Do you normally talk to customers like this?”

“Lord of the laundry.”

At that, the girl gives her one more withering glare, which suggests that not only is Gideon beneath her, but that she can’t even deign to continue a conversation with such an imbecile, then sweeps away. But not out the door, as Gideon expects. Instead, she sits down at a table.

For about ten minutes, she glares at the table like she wants it dead too. Or maybe she’s spacing out?

Gideon starts to ask her if she’s going to order anything, because at this point, she’s a bit worried the girl might pass out again, but then the girl pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. After about thirty minutes of this mysterious typing, she stands up and exits the building without fanfare.

Gideon doesn’t know what her problem is. But more importantly, she still doesn’t know her name.

“No, hang on,” Gideon says. “You’ve lost me again. I’m seeing an ashwaganda and I’m seeing a thething, but I’m not seeing them both together.”

“L-Theanine,” Palamedes says over the phone. “It’s a supplement meant to improve focus. Your grocery store might not have it, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I’ll keep looking,” Gideon says, although it’s late enough the people at the store might kick her out soon. “How is Dulcie doing, anyway? Does she need some soup too? Some chicken nuggets? I don’t know what people like when they’re sick.”

Palamedes might be laughing. “Perks of being Gideon Nav,” he says drily. “Anyway, it’s just the flu this time. She had it all checked. But you know how she is. She’ll want to keep working on the dissertation through it. Says she knows what being at death’s door feels like, and it isn’t this.”

Gideon hums sympathetically. She doesn’t really know what to say. She doesn’t have a lot of experience either being sick, dying, or caring for people who are sick. Recent events notwithstanding.

Gideon did almost die once, as a baby, but she hardly thinks that counts. What’s a little carbon monoxide poisoning when faced with a future strong, handsome lesbian? Although sometimes, she thinks it might be the reason she wakes sad for no reason in the early hours of the morning, as though her body is remembering the time everything almost ended.

“Oh, Cam wants me to relay a message. She says she’s going to, and I quote ‘kick your ass at Scrabble this weekend.’”

“I have work,” Gideon says absently. “I switched shifts with the new girl. She had to take off to take her weird dog to the vet.”

Palamedes is saying something about future plans, a topic Gideon has always struggled with, and Gideon gets this feeling again, like she’s gone missing in her own life.

And there in front of her, like an omen, The Girl appears. She just rounds the corner with a boxcutter in hand, running her finger along the catch over and over rhythmically. Her eyes are huge and dark and unfocused. Somehow, she looks more real than everything around her, like a dark ink blot over an aging photo.

In her other hand is a small box of cosmetics. They’re not in the aisle for cosmetics.

“Oh,” Gideon says, “It’s you.”

And then she stares stupidly. The girl seriously doesn’t look good—she’s had an air of malnourishment any time Gideon has seen her, but today, she’s practically swaying on her feet. On one side, her eyeliner is jagged. Gideon can’t tell if it was intentional.

“Yes,” Palamedes says on the other end of the line, baffled. “It’s still me. Does Thursday work, because Cam has clinicals on—”

“Look, I’m going to have to call you back, Sex Pal,” she says, and hangs up.

“Sex Pal?” the girl says in apparent disgust. “Is that really what you call your hookups?”

“Hang on—it’s not like that!” But Gideon’s protests are futile. In front of her, the strangest person Gideon knows, this unlikely bit of theatre in a world that has largely abandoned the stage, tips gently into a shelf of protein powders—and then she passes out.

When the girl comes to, it hasn’t been more than ten seconds. Gideon caught her before she could do any real damage. She wonders if she should call an ambulance. She’s halfway to shifting the girl’s weight so she can reach for her phone again, looking around for any other employees, when she feels a surprisingly strong grip on her arm.

The girl’s gaze snaps up to Gideon’s face, then to her arms, then to the tank top she’s wearing, which says #shredicated underneath the slogan for Gideon’s gym.

She narrows her eyes in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m dedicated to shredding. Why else would you keep passing out in my arms?”

The girl immediately tries to sit up, but loses her battle with gravity.

“Okay, seriously,” Gideon says. “I’m calling the ambulance. You don’t seem okay.”

The girl’s grip tightens, her short, black-painted nails digging into Gideon’s forearm.

“You will not call the ambulance, moron. Why do you think I’m working here? Does it look like I can afford to miss the rest of my shift?”

“Not really,” Gideon admits. “But it kind of seems like you’re about to miss the rest of your life, so.”

She digs the phone out of the pocket of her shorts. On her lap, the girl twitches in a futile attempt to grab it from her. Gideon puts her hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her back, and holy shit, it’s so easy to wrap her fingers around the whole thing. The girl’s pulse pounds. Her wrist is way too warm. But she stops struggling. She just looks up at Gideon.

“All right, my discount duchess. We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

For a second, Gideon thinks the girl is going to protest again. But she just says, nonsensically,

“Harrow.”

“What?” Gideon pauses in the act of dialing.

“That’s my name. Harrow.” She points to her nametag, which actually says Harrowhark in a slanting, hurried script.

Gideon forgets to dial. She forgets everything about their surroundings. Because now the girl, Harrow, is blinking up at her with something like trust. It makes Gideon stupid. She feels like she’s holding the life of some very small, very helpless baby bird in her hands, and she’s terrified she’s going to fuck it all up.

“Don’t call the ambulance. Please. Just—I know what this is. I need—” She looks away to glare at the side of a protein powder cannister as though it’s personally offended her. Gideon falls a little bit in love. “I need sleep,” she finally says. “And water. Probably food.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Gideon says.

The girl sits up slowly and glares at Gideon too. “Well? Are you going to bring me water? Please,” she tacks on again reluctantly at the end.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Gideon brings Harrow water. She brings her a box of saltine crackers. And she brings her a protein shake which she doubts Harrow will actually drink, but she can hope. As Harrow nibbles on the crackers, she seems to gain vitality. At least, she goes from looking like roadkill to looking like someone who would take roadkill home and examine the skeleton.

Finally, Harrow looks up at Gideon in sincerity. “Thank you,” she says, only once.

“Gideon,” Gideon blurts out.

“What?”

“My name is Gideon.”

Harrow blinks slowly. “Thank you, Gideon.”

Gideon’s whole chest constricts like she’s in some kind of melodrama. She feels like she’d go slay dragons if Harrow wanted her to. Maybe it is just her need to be useful to someone, like Cam once said when they were both drunk, but Gideon thinks she wants to maybe pledge herself to Harrow forever.

“Mhmm,” she says.

“Now,” says Harrow, “I need you to help me up. I’m going to take an early lunch. We’re avoiding a nondescript man in a grey button-up, by the way,” she informs Gideon as Gideon helps her to her feet and walks with her to the back. “He’ll only start telling me stories about his troubled youth as a struggling freelancer. I don’t have the time. I need to study.”

“Noted. Avoiding guys who look like freelancers.”

When they reach the double doors to the back room, Gideon almost follows Harrow in, but Harrow stops her with a hand.

“You. Stay here,” she commands, which does funny things to Gideon’s stomach? Oh hell, Gideon might as well find out some more new things about herself tonight.

“Like, until you’re done with lunch break?”

“No.” Harrow looks at her as though she’s an idiot. “I mean, I am going to go about my evening. And you should go back home. I’ve troubled you enough.”

“It’s no trouble. I mean, gotta make sure you don’t faint on me again. It doesn’t really seem like your coworkers give a shit. Harrow, are you studying during the day and working here at night?”

Harrow’s expression tightens. “It is none of your business.”

“It’s my business when you faint into my arms.”

At this, Harrow does actually blush, Gideon is sure of it. She gets all annoyed about it too, scrunching her face up in outrage. “I didn’t purposefully faint into your arms! Yours were just the arms that were there at the times I fainted.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Harrow makes to turn around and leave Gideon behind.

“Wait, I—look.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

To Gideon’s astonishment, Harrow gives her the phone. Gideon quickly opens up the contacts app and types her number in.

“I’m going to leave now. But you’re gonna text me when you get back home safe.”

Harrow raises an eyebrow. “Why should I text you? We live at the same complex. Come see for yourself. Building nine, number nine. Nine AM.”

“Are you inviting me over?”

Harrow looks her up and down. The look is brief, but comprehensive. Gideon can feel it in her spine.

“Your choice,” Harrow says.

Later, when Gideon is lying awake in bed, she’ll wonder about choice, about coincidence, about the unlikeliness of anyone ever meeting anyone, about why she lived long enough to become herself instead of dying before she could ever keep beautiful girls from hitting their heads.

But in the earliest hours of the morning, she receives a text from an unknown number. The text is a single word.

Home.

Yeah, Gideon thinks. Maybe she is, after all.

[the-doomed-witch]

DRIVING LESSONS

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nat teaches you how to ride her motorbike.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; MINORS + MEN DNI. not proof read (apologies), smut, fingering (r receiving), strap-on (r receiving), bit of teasing, bit of fluff, making out

DISCLAIMER: Please note that this is a work of fiction and you are not supposed to mess around while driving and should definitely wear a helmet and stuff. Yeah just stay safe and again, remember that this is fiction.

Author’s Note: we are going to pretend that i am not the writer who uploads a fic every two months 😁 gif credits to the creator.

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // REQUESTS OPEN

— ✦ —

Thor holds up his jug flooded with beer, and raises a toast, “Here’s to everyone’s favourite couple, the two people we adore, Y/N and Natasha!” All the Avengers cheered for the two of you. Natasha wraps her arm around you and whispers in your ears, “To us, love.”

Taking a few sips of your drink, you place the glass on the table and turn to your girlfriend. “I cannot imagine myself ever being thankful for being stupid in the past but I am. I love you.”

“I love you too. Mind who you are talking about, you’re my stupid.” She kisses your forehead, it makes you blush under everybody’s gaze.

After a few rounds of drinks and snacks around the table, you gesture at Nat to drop you back home, before she gets too drunk. She gets up and announces, as she puts on her leather jacket, “Folks, I’ll be back after dropping my gorgeous girlfriend back at her place.” She beams at you and pecks your lips. Yep, she is mildly drunk.

“Don’t forget to take your time to tuck her in bed!” Tony shouts sarcastically from afar, as you’re both walking away. He was quite inebriated and you could hear Pepper asking him to get himself together.

Outside the bar, you confirm with Nat once again, “Are you sure you are sober enough to drive me home? I could get a cab or something. I want you to be safe.”

“First of all, you’ll be sitting right behind me and you’re not scared for your own safety? Lame. Secondly, I've been trained to be vigilant all my life. I’ll be right back.”

Couple of moments later, she’s back on her motorcycle and you seat yourself on the seat behind her. “Hold me close, for precautionary concerns of course.” she tells you. She wasn’t facing you but you knew what her smirk would be like.

You wrap your arms tightly around her waist and rest your head on her back, minimising the distance between the two of you. It’s a safe, comfortably silent drive, where the breeze blows softly and the night sky gets romantically darker.

— ✦ —

Inside your apartment, Natasha sits down on your bed as you go to freshen up in the bathroom. You enjoy testing her patience and so you take your time to shower, not letting her in, but making her wait for you outside. “Y/N? Detka? At least let me shower with you or let me go back to the bar. Don’t do this to me!” you hear her calling out to you from the room. You answer back in the same volume, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

As said, you step out with a towel wrapped around your bare body. “Oh Y/N you’re not doing this to me right now.”

You reply, “I surely am, honey.” and walk around the room drying your hair, gathering clothes, putting the dirty ones in the laundry, and whatnot. While doing your currently irrelevant chores, you bring up more random things to talk about.

Clearing the pile of laundry, you ask her, “Do you think I should get a haircut? A change in colour maybe?”

“You look so beautiful today, Natty.” you say, giving her a soft peck on the cheek as you move along the room, letting her notice your cleavage.

“By the way, Nat, I would love it if you could teach me how to ride a motorcycle.”

She gets up, holds you and places you on the bed a little harshly, pinning you down with her body. In a deep, sultry voice, she warns you, “You’ll be taught a lot of stuff and being a good girl for me is going to be the first one of them.” And with that, the towel is thrown aside.

Nat leans forward to catch you in a deep kiss, the one you’ve been depriving her ever since you reached home. Instinctively, your hands clutch the collar of her shirt and pull her closer to you, till there is no space to spare.

The next thing you know is that her fingers are inside your pussy, pumping so hard. It results in you moaning into the kiss, and releasing the collar of her shirt, silently asking her to let you catch up on your breath. When she moves her face a little farther than you liked, you grab her back to proximity, all between screams and chants of her name. Small locks of her auburn hair dangle around before you tuck them behind her ears.

The movements of her digits get faster and faster till you are at the edge of your climax. It was hard to speak anything, so your body gives indications to Natasha in lieu of telling her verbally about your orgasm. It felt wonderful that none of you needed words to communicate, the silent and subtle signs were enough.

She lets you come all over her hand, adding on praiseful murmurs to bring you back to composure.

— ✦ —

The next morning, you wake up fully clothed in your PJs with no sign of Natasha. She probably went back to the bar or the compound later. But she was out on the balcony, looking at nothing tangible. “Good morning, baby.” you greet her, acknowledging your presence. She turns towards you and smiles, “Good morning, dorogoya. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. I thought you left because of work, but I guess you’re free today?”

“You know I love a bit of snuggling,” she grins sheepishly, “And I’m free for you, anytime. Are you still up for the driving lessons thing?”

“Sure! Let me freshen up and we’re gonna be ready to leave.”

— ✦ —

Nat drove the two of you to a less busier part of the city to find an empty road, for obvious reasons. You observe her throughout the trip to learn a few things ahead of the track.

On a small and empty street, Nat lets you sit on the vehicle and climbs on the seat behind you. Little by little, she points at the different stuff, explaining what their respective functions are. “Here is the clutch, you pretty much know what it does. Keep your hand on it at all times no matter what […] Place your foot here. Yes and pull the clutch. And this is how you change gears.”

An hour or so later, you were driving smoothly on the straight road with Natasha guiding you little by little. She kept both her hands on your hands at all times, praising you every now and then to encourage you.

“Keep going, Y/N. Yes, now let’s take a U-turn.”

The afternoon passed this way. She taught you some more basic things, till you suggested lunch - “I almost forgot about lunch. I know a nice place with the best Mexican food in this area, let’s go there.”

As both of you wait for your food to arrive, your girlfriend initiates conversation, “If you keep practising this way I think you’ll learn how to drive a motorcycle quite well within a week. But of course, practice is important.”

“Does that mean I could take you on a ride soon?”

“Well, it does. Here’s our lunch though.”

— ✦ —

And so, your driving lessons were continued without any other Avenger having the knowledge. Three months passed by, till one starry evening Natasha tells you, “I think you have practised enough for this moment.”

It leaves you in thorough confusion, but the look in her eyes doesn’t seem malicious so you let her do her thing. She takes you to a place you cannot recall but have definitely been to, as far as the route is concerned.

It isn’t until the both of you reach the destination when you realise you’re at the garage. Memories of her lips and gasps wash over you as you walk inside of it once again. There’s nothing very different about it as a room. There are grey painted walls and two bikes including the one you drove on just now. A few mechanical tools, cans of spray paint, some more tactical gear. In one bottom corner of the room, there were patches of spray paint, they were probably tested there.

You turn around and recall every moment of that night by keeping your bottom lip bitten. Natasha knows all the things clouding your train of thought, but she had something different planned.

She pulls a white sheet off of a motorbike you didn’t really notice was standing in the corner. Nonetheless, it is a gorgeous, matte-black one with tires wider than a usual motorcycle. The black-tainted windshield added a touch-up. You let out an uncontrollable awe at the look.

“My gosh, Nat, this is fucking awesome. It might as well be the coolest bike to ever exist.”

She smiles at your reaction, and explains, “Tony made this for me a couple of years ago. It’s designed to prevent you from falling down, but oh she rides fast, Y/N. I cannot wait for you to drive this.” She wraps her arm around you. Your cheeks are flustered at her wordplay, but you hide it from prominence.

“Quick question. If it’s made for a stable drive then why didn’t you teach me on this one? I mean, you said that I am now “ready” for this.”

“You’ll find out all about that, Y/N.” She winks at you and tosses you the keys. Her expression was easily decipherable, she was up to something cocky. You shrug your shoulders anyway and take a seat on the bike, lifting it off the stand. It’s surprisingly light for a build as heavy as it appears to be.

A few minutes later, you’re driving by on one of the emptiest yet the most romantic streets in the city. There are not many stars visible, but even the handful ones that are in sight are enough. The breeze is extremely light, and cosily cold. Both of Natasha’s arms swaddle around you. Her classic leather jacket evidently fails to give her the warmth that she feels with you. Her face is nuzzled up on your left shoulder.

Suddenly, the pleasant moment turns into an entirely different one, when you sense her sultry breath on your collarbone. Before you can speak in protest, she directs you, “Shush. Keep driving dorogoya. I am right here.”

Her cold fingers slowly glide down towards your core over your pants. Once, then twice she circles them over your needy clit. You groan lightly, as you arch your back. “Nat, we’re gonna get hurt. Let me-”

“Nuh-uh honey. This is what you get for testing my patience the other night. And now you are so needy for me, aren’t you?” You lean back into her harder and hum as a positive response. “Then use your words Y/N. Are you needy for me right now?”

“Yes. You and only you.”

“Good.” Her persistent teasing makes you hit the brakes harshly as an instinct. You park the motorcycle in an empty parking lot and hold Nat’s hand, guiding her behind a tree trunk whose sole purpose later resulted to be a mere physical support.

Your back resting on the tree, you grab her flustered face between your hands and tug her in close. When the lack of oxygen is too much, she pulls away. Sweaty palms clutching her leather jacket, you make her take it off to reveal her tank top.

You turn her around and begin planting kisses and leaving marks all over her. Natasha’s pants get heavier by the minute as you suck on her skin then soothe it, and repeat it. The redhead turns her head towards you as she unbuttons her pair of jeans. With a smug look and a twinkle in her wonderful emerald eyes, she reveals a strap larger than any that you have taken before.

Vigorously, she pins you against the tree again and unbuttons your pants, then pulls them down immediately, just enough for her to access. Before you can process the moment, the strap fills up your cunt.

On shortage of friction, you move your hips along, but Nat takes her time to pick up a pace. However, once she does, you can sense the leaves shedding due to the shaking. Her free hand covers your mouth, to keep you considerably silenced. Beads of sweat roll down her defined face, and she stares right into your eyes with a look so pure.

You anticipate your climax reaching, and your eyes widen as a result. Nat lifts her hand off your mouth and orders, “You know you have to ask for it, detka.”

And so, you barely manage to utter currently, “Please, Nat, can I come?”

As a reply, she nods lightly and thrusts inside of you harder, till you come. Soon as you release, your balance gets toppled over. Her hands come to your rescue the following second, and she places you down in the concrete ground to relax. You sit up straight with some support.

“Y/N, there’s a store right around the corner, I’ll be right back getting you a pair of new sweatpants. We’ll go home after that, okay?” Natasha asks you, handing you a bottle of water and placing a hand on your shoulder gently. “Okay.”

She helps you get changed, and you aid her with packing everything up neatly. “How are you feeling?” she asks you in a silent tone. “I- This feels wonderful. I wish you would let me return the favour, though. How are you feeling?”

“Still deeply in love with you as ever.”

She plants a kiss on your cheek and rides you back to your apartment.

— ✦ —

Upon reaching home, you grab her firmly and tell her, “You know, baby, I’m actually feeling kind of hungry right now.”

“Then wait let me get something for y-”

Tightening your grip around her, you whisper against her reddened face, “Oh, you see, I’m not really that kind of hungry.”

[rom-e-o]

Bess throwing Connie a baby shower after it's announced she and Adonis are expecting Starla. Party is great: lots of great company, good food, fun games, Connie gets a BUNCH of stuff for the baby. Everyone is in good, high spirits. It isn't until the party is winding down and the 1843D girls are starting to clean up as Connie says goodbye to her guests that the question of where Bess is arises. She's been bustling around all day, making sure things run smoothly, but now people are leaving and things being picked up, and the happy hostess isn't around to instruct how to put the food away. (She's very particular about her Tupperware and such, okay? Certain containers work best for certain things and other containers are only meant for other things. THERE IS A SYSTEM AND IT WORKS.)

"Oh, I think she went to get some Tylenol. I'll go get her," Connie says. She doesn't find Bess in the bathroom, she finds her quietly crying in the dark laundry room. "Bess?"

Bess doesn't even try to hide.

"I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want to spoil your day. I'm so happy for you, Connie. You're going to be a wonderful mom and I can't wait to meet your baby and be an auntie. But... seeing you pregnant. Knowing Addie and Tom are trying. Gal possibly pregnant. Ethel and Hela both pregnant again. I'm so happy for all of you, I really am. ... But it's still all kind of a slap in the face to remind me that... that'll never be me. Even if Wolf and I tried, I'll never get pregnant again. I'll never have a baby to carry and hold like you will. And as genuinely glad as I am for you, it still hurts."

Hey, we don't question the Tupperware system. One, she's right, different containers do work best for different things. Two, we know a certain woman (cough, KAREN, cough) has no problem NOT returning Tupperware after her neighbors try to be nice to her.

The fact that her first words are, "I don't want you to see me like this" and "I don't want to spoil your day" are SO BESS. She didn't want to be found. Even when feeling her very valid emotions, she still doesn't want to spoil her soul sister's day.

Connie, of course, isn't mad or upset at all.

Slowly, she shuts the door to give them privacy. However, she can't just leave her. She does respect Bess' wishes and stay back for the moment, sitting against the door to make sure nobody else can waltz in.

"You could never spoil anything," she says, "This is a beautiful party, and you're so wonderful for hosting it. You've made today very, very special for me. You've made so many days very special for me."

Slowly, she inches closer, until she can scoot beside her.

The fact that Bess is seeing all these other women start the process of carrying their babies, but it's not meant to be for her...that's a lot to shoulder. Connie knows she can't take that pain, but she can hold her tight, dry her eyes, and be a bit of a shield from the rest of the outside world.

"Bess ... you never need to worry about upsetting me," she tells her, holding her close and rubbing her back. "Especially not about this."

Connie would sit there as long as needed, rubbing her back, braiding her hair, or just ... talking. Or, letting Bess talk. Whatever she needs. She just wants to be near her and provide any comfort she can while Bess feels those emotions. Emotions that Connie is perfectly understanding of Bess feeling.

There are LOTS of hugs, some shared tears of empathy, and if someone knocks on the door, Connie is quick to cover. "Sorry, I'm washing a stain! I must have gotten something on my blouse earlier - clumsy me. I'll be out soon!"

[llvmos]

"Hi, could you make a fic where Dalton lambert where he teaches the reader to draw, and one of these days she draws a drawing of him"

This was requested by @daltonshotgf!

A/n: I finally finished this even though it took forever. I decided to make this multiple parts just so i could include the progress of the readers drawing ability. Im thinking maybe this will be 3-4 parts but im not entirely sure. (I dont own any gifs used in my fics)

Warnings: gn!reader (but reader is Chris' roommate), use of y/n, i think thats it.

Word count: 1.6k

!Not proofread!

I’ll teach you. — Dalton Lambert

Everyday, you would let yourself into Dalton’s dorm while he was at class and wait for him to come back to his dorm.

This wasn’t a new thing. Ever since you and Dalton met, due to you being Chris’ new roommate, you guys instantly connected and its like you had known each other for forever. Since Chris still had the key to Dalton dorm from when they were roomed together, she would let you borrow it if you ever wanted to.

You started coming over before he got back from class so now he just expects you to be there. If you aren’t at his dorm when he gets home from school, he will text you and ask where you are. It has become a routine in which you both follow.

Today, Dalton gets back to his dorm from class at 3:15. So, following routine, you let yourself into his dorm at 2:45, 30 minutes before he gets back.

You try to find ways to entertain yourself. Playing on your phone, listening to music, watching Netflix, but everything bored you out so quickly.

You look around his dorm and noticed the clothes, papers, and artwork scattered everywhere around his room.

You let out an audible sigh as you stand up and start to pickup the clothes and set them in his laundry hamper, pick up the papers and set them on his desk, and organize his artwork, notably because cautious of the not yet dry painting of what looks to be a door.

You start to pick up the various drawings and take a look at each one. You notice his pattern of his drawings being people. Specifically, people that are important to him. As you flip through the drawings, you recognize his mom, brother, and his grandma, all of which you’ve seen in pictures and other drawings that are hanging above his bed.

You notice the immense amount of detail Dalton has put into these drawings. It seems as though he had thoughtfully placed each and every freckle and eyelash.

While you look at the drawings, you cant help but wish that you could’ve been blessed with such talent.

You continue to admire the drawings when you hear the door of the dorm open.

“I’m back.” Dalton states as he sets down his portfolio as he shuts the door.

“I see that.” You respond, as you set the sketches down on his desks.

Dalton looks around his room, noticing the cleanliness of his room. You see him looking around, looking a bit confused.

“I got bored here alone so i cleaned your room for you, like the good friend i am”

“And somehow you manage to make my room look better than when I clean it. ” He chuckles a little as he sits on his bed, looking at you still picking up random things off the floor.

“That’s not very hard to do, Dalton.” You say with a sarcastic tone.

“Well, if you enjoy cleaning my room for me, be my guest. Less work for me.”

You continue cleaning as you think about how good his drawings are. Part of you wants to ask him to teach you but you think he probably doesn’t have the time for that. You look at him and notice that hes on his phone, probably texting Chris.

“How did you learn to draw so well?” You ask, suddenly.

“I don’t know. I guess i just practiced and overtime it got better. I used to draw a lot when I was little.”

You pick up the last shirt and set it in the hamper. Then, you go to sit on what used to be Chris’ bed.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw, but I think with my lack of talent, im hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless…maybe.”

You fake gasp as you walk over to him and sit down next to him on his bed.

“I’m so very offended.”

“I don’t know why. You said you were hopeless first.” He looks back at you with a slight smile on his face.

You look at him as you back track on the conversation.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You did.”

“Oh. Well what i’m trying to get at is if you will teach me how to draw.”

He looks you and acts like he is thinking about it, when really he would want nothing more than to teach you one of the things he loves doing most.

“Mmm. Sure.”

You’re heart jumps as you think about him teaching you.

“Really?”

“Yeah, ill teach you. You don’t seem too hopeless.”

You roll your eyes at him before he continues.

“You want to start now? I don’t have anything to do for a while.”

“Yes, yes.” You say quickly, sounding almost too eager.

He grabs his sketch book and sits down on the ground. You follow after him.

As he starts explaining drawing and art to you, you start to notice all the light freckles that scatter his nose, one freckle that is placed below his right eye appearing slightly darker.

You notice the way his hair falls in front of his face when he looks down at his sketchbook.

You notice the way his lips move when he talks.

You notice how he smiles when he talks about one of the things he most passionate about.

But what you didn’t notice is that he had asked you something.

“You got all that?” He looks back up at you from his sketch book.

You look down at his paper and see that he has some sort of shape that resembles somebodies jawline.

“Yeah…” You say with an unsure tone of voice.

“You didn’t draw anything.” He looks down at the piece of paper he handed you and sees its still blank.

In fact, you didn’t even realize he had given you a piece of paper.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” You grab the pencil you had next to you and try to copy what he has on his paper, but no where near matching it.

He looks at the paper you had drawn on and sighs as he looks at the 3 lines you had drawn.

“Okay, lets try something different.” He says as he goes to sit next to you instead of across from you.

He grabs your hand along with the pencil as he guides your hand where to go. You feel your heartbeat speed up at the unexpected contact. The only thing you could think of was how his hand would feel casually holding yours. How it would feel resting on your waist as you kissed him.

All of these thoughts were all hitting you at once. You had never thought of Dalton in a more-than-friendly way. So why were you thinking of him like that now? Was it just your mind confusing a close friendship with romantic feelings? Or was there something there?

Once he had sketched out a similar pattern to what was on his paper, he lets go.

“There you go.” He smiles.

You don’t say anything as you smile back.

He disregards your silence and continues on with his teaching.

“Okay, so, you’re going to sketch out the features. I cant help you with that since that’s probably one of the most difficult parts.”

He offers to basically hold your hand again. But it was only to teach you what you asked him to teach you. Right?

“Ill try it myself.” You say to try and avoid anymore physical contact with Dalton.

“Yeah, I don’t think i can draw.” You say with a laugh as you try to sketch out the first eye.

“Here, let me show you a trick.”

He brings his paper over to yours and tells her the trick that helped him learn how to draw symmetrical and proportional facial features.

“Now you try it on your paper.” He hands you the pencil back and looks at you as you try to draw the features.

—

After 2 hours of drawing back and for and little side conversations, its hits 5:45. Your hand was cramping, and your legs were numb from sitting in the same position for so long.

“My hand hurts, Dalton. I don’t want to draw anymore.” You whine out.

“Fineee, we can finish it tomorrow.” He says as he stands up and sets his sketchbook on his bed.

“Yes, tomorrow. I just need to stand up and walk.” You say as you try to stand without falling over.

You pick up the piece of paper you had been drawing on. You weren’t aware of who you were drawing, but you were just drawing whatever Dalton told you to.

“I’m gonna go back to my dorm. Chris should be there by now.” You grab your bag and the drink you had brought with you there.

“Alright, Ill see you tomorrow though, right?” He says as stands up and walks towards you.

“Of course, you see me everyday.” You laugh as you guys pull each other into a hug.

Even though you guys have hugged a million times before, this one was different. Maybe it was his hand placement, or maybe it was just the thoughts you had before, or just maybe it was the fact it lingered a little longer than previous hugs. But whatever it was instantly made your heart race and your face grow pink.

Dalton pulls away as he smiles as you.

“Well, ill see you tomorrow then.” His hand is still laying on your hip.

“Yeah, of course.” You open the door and walk out into the hallway.

“Bye.” You smile at him as you see him walking back towards the bed with his hand in his hair.

He swiftly turns and looks at you.

“Bye.”

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Drabbles of Natasha out of the blue wearing Wanda’s corset?? 🥹🫶

Here you go, bro! 🥹🫶

Corset Discovery

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 657

Warnings: nothing but fluff, Nat's naughty mind. That's all. 🤚🤞

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Natasha finds herself sorting through their laundry, separating shirts by their color, texture, and fabric. Wanda finds this all fascinating and can't believe how she tricked Nat into doing simple chores.

"I can't believe a witch like you beat me in chess. I'm an international super spy for God's sakes," Natasha mumbles while throwing side glances at Wanda. She can't fathom how messed up the consequences of losing the game are, which is doing the laundry. She could have been riding her bike around, but no, she's doing batches of washing, spinning, and drying instead.

"Well, if you hadn't let yourself be distracted by my legs, then maybe you would have won," Wanda defends herself, though she finds it adorable how Nat cannot accept defeat.

"I'm pretty sure you put a little magic in my head that made me think about how those long legs of yours would wrap around my waist, screaming my name—"

Wanda cuts her off immediately, knowing how nasty Nat's mouth can be.

"Enough with your silly comments; you lost, so now you're doing the laundry," the witch proudly says while walking towards the door. "I'll meet you later after my flying drills with Vision. Have fun doing the laundry. Love you!"

"If you truly love me, then you wouldn't torture me like this," Natasha sighs to herself. She can't do anything about it, so she decides to be dramatic.

While Natasha is waiting for the second batch of clothes to dry, she finds Wanda's corset, which is part of the new ensemble that Tony designed. She knows how tight those corsets can be; knowing Tony, he'd definitely want to highlight Wanda's cleavage.

Having some time to herself, she tries on the corset to see how it would look on her body. Wearing corsets is nothing new in her line of work, and this one is pretty comfortable and truly emphasizes her natural gifts. She stands in front of the full-length mirror, clad only in the corset and tight sexy shorts, which show off her round booty. Nat seems very satisfied with the visual she sees in herself and decides to take some photos to entice the witch and maybe get back at her for putting her on laundry duty. Nat snickers when she hits the send button.

Little does she know, Wanda is already on her way back to their room at the same time that Nat sent the photos. She was right in front of the door when she received the photos and audibly gasps. Wanda is fuming with a mixture of rage and lust. How could Natasha be so daring! It's infuriating how this tiny assassin holds so much power over her. She sometimes forgets how she was able to win Natasha over when there are thousands of people out there who want her girlfriend as much as she does.

Wanda enters the room and finds Nat sitting on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. "Look what the cat decided to play with. Having fun with my corset, Romanoff?"

"Surely I am having the best time of my life. I certainly get the appeal you have with corsets, Wanda," the spy replies with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Hmm, I knew you'd look good in corsets. Why don't we swap our superhero outfits? Imagine how sexy I would look in your tight suit, malysh."

Natasha's throat runs dry, and she finds herself absent-mindedly nodding to Wanda.

"Yeah, yeah. We should definitely do that and rip each other's clothes off afterward. What do you say we do it now?"

"As much as I would love to do that now, baby. But your dryer is screaming and calling you right now. So get back to work!"

Nat scrambles out of the bed, her boobs almost spilling out of the tight corset.

"Stupid laundry," the spy angrily says. She can't believe she's being cockblocked by a bunch of dirty clothes.

[audhdnight]

Btw, if a disabled or mentally ill person (or honestly just anyone who’s really burnt out and exhausted with life, such as caregivers) tells you that they have to use disposables to clean and function in their day to day life, and your response is anything remotely like “well you’re a horrible person because that plastic you just used is killing the planet” I need you to know that you are ableist, classist, and just a shitty person, and I hate you.

Yes, I know that using paper towels and Clorox wipes is not as sustainable or healthy for the ecosystem as just using regular towels and rags. However, I am fucking exhausted all the time, and if I use regular rags, I will not have the energy to clean them. They will sit in my kitchen and get moldy and have to be thrown away anyway. And then my family is living in unsafe conditions because we’re breathing mold spores.

Additionally, we are fucking poor. We don’t have a washer and dryer. If I want to do laundry I have to load it all up in my car, drive across town to the only laundromat, spend most of my day switching things over and waiting for machines to open up, spend about thirty bucks (probably more, because the dryers are shit and never actually dry things on the first cycle), load everything back into the car, drive back home, and then sort and fold and put away everything I just washed.

That is not feasible most of the time, because I am disabled, I don’t have that money to spend, and I am the primary caregiver for our baby who has extreme sensitivities to changes in our routine. I can’t just take him to the laundromat with me, and I don’t have anyone to watch him while I go. Most days I’m not physically capable of carrying baskets of laundry to and from my vehicle. And again, we can not afford the laundromat. Anything that I can do to reduce the amount of laundry we need to wash in a month, I’m going to do.

All of this to say, please for the love of god consider that there are literally thousands of reasons someone might not be doing “clean living” or choosing the most eco-friendly option all the time. We can’t all cut out disposables. I already feel guilty enough that I can’t just function like a normal person, you do not need to butt in and make it worse.

If your activism for the environment and the earth goes so far as to make you apathetic to the struggles and needs of the real actual people around you, you need to reconsider where your morals lie.

(It’s also worth noting that every regular person on the planet together does not generate ANYWHERE NEAR the amount of plastic and toxic waste in a year that mega corporations do in a matter of weeks or months. I’m not saying that the average man doesn’t need to make as many good and healthy choices as they are able, but seriously, most of us are not the real issue here. Go fight the logging and fracking companies killing the ecosystem. Go attack the capitalist mega-corps like Walmart and Amazon and Disney and Apple that discard so much plastic they are almost single-handedly killing the oceans themselves.)

[or0ch1maru]

You said you'd write male reader after new years, so here I am. (Don't worry about it being bad, you'll be fine. I'm starved for make reader content)

Orochimaru x male!reader headcannons for a guy who is very stereotypically manly and big, but is a big softie in private for orochimaru. Bonus points for m!reader being a little bratty lol.

hii bby🥺 happy to see you here again🫶🏻

I’m literally about to cry. My tumblr crashed right when I finished writing this out…it didn’t save and now I have to start over😭

Anyway, let’s get to it❤️

•

•your first impression is either one or the other; extremely intimidating, or a protector

•your sheer size is enough to frighten the strongest Shinobi. If people are cowering away from how ‘intimidating’ you look, others are trying to take refuge by you

•apart from the general size of you, you come off as stoic, reserved, and all around a quiet guy. Not because you don’t like socializing, it’s just who you are. Especially when it comes to tasks, and missions

•apart from coming off private and confidential, another thing that makes you different from your fellow comrades is your love life

•there’s been many times where people will ask if you have a pretty girl waiting at home for you, and your answer has always been the same

•you flash a picture of your partner, orochimaru. A picture you snapped of them during dinner. It was your fifth date together, the one where the two of you made your relationship official. That was four years ago

•and you’ve been inseparable since

• you follow the same path you always do when returning home from a mission

•you stand in the doorway of your partners lab, watching them work for a few minutes with a kind smile on your face before approaching them

•wrapping your arms around their waist, or softly palming their hips. You rest your chin gently on their shoulder. Watching as they read, clean their tools, or type something up on the computers

•when they aren’t getting lost in their research, the two of you will be found glued at the hip

•whether it’s as you two make dinner, one adding the seasonings while the other stirs

•or on laundry day, the two of you will be found outside, enjoying the weather as you hang up your clothes and sheets on the line to air dry

•or on your off days, you’ll be nothing more than a jungle of limbs. Orochimaru massaging your muscles, while you play with their hair

•the two of you settled into the domesticated life very quickly once they moved you into their hideout, and your routine has never changed

•neither of you have or want what’s considered to be a ‘power dynamic’ in your relationship, but that sure as shit doesn’t stop you or orochimaru from acting out time to time

•like today

• “what did I say baby?” Orochimaru asks while their hand gently yet firmly holds your chin in their grip

•they watch as your eyes gloss over as you get distracted staring into their eyes. The golden pools taking in your face and body language

• “I asked you to bring me my tools, did I not?” Orochimaru continues, trying to get you to focus. “Hm” is all you manage to mutter out.

• “pay attention baby, what did I ask you to do?” They pry. “Get your tools” you reply softly, relishing in their gaze

• “good boy, now do as your told. Don’t make me have to ask you again. You know what’ll happen if I do.” They finish with a warning glance and a wink

•halfway to the cabinet where their tools are, you stop. Turning around and walking back over to where your partner sits. Returning, empty handed

• “oh, sweet boy” orochimaru coo’s at you. Eyeing you over slowly. Goosebumps rise as you feel their eyes trail up and down over your body

• “now I understand what you want” they reply, a smirk slowly forming on their face

•you watch as they raise an arm, their hand stretched out for you to take. You follow the silent direction and slip your hand in theirs

•allowing them to carefully pull you to stand in front of where they sit, their work long forgotten

(Ended up pouring myself a glass of wine after the stress of almost losing the prompt a SECOND time😭😭)

[invisibleraven]

showing up outside your enemy's door AND “I didn’t know where else to go”?

ship of choice

pretty pretty please?! 🥺🙏

Carrie was having a bad day.

She had slept through her alarm, her hair refused to cooperate, she had spilled her coffee all over herself, and now in the middle of a rainstorm, her car was giving her trouble.

"Come On!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the dashboard which hurt more than helped. The car continued to slug along, but she could tell that she was not making it home to Malibu.

She would call Triple A but her cell had died around lunch time (a wilted salad and tepid water that she scarfed down between meetings) and she didn't have her charger.

"What the fuck am I going to do?" she asked, the sky providing a roar of thunder in response.

She looked around and saw she was in Los Feliz-a stone's throw away from the Molina house. She and Julie had been at each other's throats for years now, but they had friends once. And even if they could never go back to there, she knew Mr. Molina wouldn't leave her out in the rain.

She grabbed her coat and bag, and the keys, quickly making a run for it. Pounding on the door and shivering as a streak of lightning lit up the sky.

It was Julie who opened the door, a look of shock and then falling to a stony expression. "Carrie. You look like a drowned rat."

"My car broke down. I didn't know where else to go," Carrie replied.

Julie sighed, her expression softening just a twinge before opening the door wider and usher her inside. "Stay here, I'll get you a towel and a change of clothes."

"Thanks," Carrie said, shivering as she dripped on the mat by the front door.

Julie was back soon, giving her a towel and some clothes that must have been her own. They would be a little big on Carrie, but beggars shouldn't be choosers. "Go to the powder room and change, I'll toss your stuff in the dryer."

"Why are you doing this?" Carrie asked as she clutched the towel tighter.

"I mean you can always go back in the storm," Julie snarked, then sighed. "Look, we don't like each other, but I'm still a good person who helps those in need, no matter who they are. Maybe you can learn from this and do it yourself some time."

With that, Julie turned and left, leaving Carrie to change. It was bliss to get out of her soaked clothes, and ward off the chill with a towel off and warm dry clothes. Julie had even thrown in a scrunchie so Carrie could fix her hair, and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Carrie left the bathroom, but she knew where the dryer was-the laundry room had been a great hiding spot in their youth. She tossed her stuff in there, not caring about the drying instructions, only that her stuff got dry.

Julie was waiting in the kitchen, scribbling away at her notebook, two steaming mugs sitting there. "Coffee-oat milk and stevia."

"You remembered how I take it after all this time?" Carrie asked, sipping the delicious nectar.

"We were friends for a long time Carrie, and we went to the same school for even longer. I remember a lot about you."

Carrie stayed quiet at that, watching Julie write what was presumably a song, occasionally sipping her own coffee that was a milk and sugar monstrosity-it seemed that Carrie remembered more about Julie than she thought.

"Can I borrow a charger for my phone so I can call my dad?" Carrie asked.

"We still have a house phone, feel free to use that."

"Why?"

"Because there's voice mails on it from my mom," Julie said, glaring at her. "That way we can still hear her voice. Something you forgot long before she died I presume."

Carrie bristled at that. "I loved her like a mom you know. She was the closest thing I had to one either way. It hurt so bad that she passed and I didn't get to say goodbye."

"Well that's on you now isn't it?" Julie replied, the rage evident in her voice. "You chose to stop being my friend in order to be a popular mean girl. You chose not to come to the funeral or even give any of us your sympathies. And when I tried to reach out, or come back to myself, you were unnecessarily cruel. So you can live with that guilt, that ache. And fuck off trying to claim anything more."

With that, Julie stormed off, leaving her songbook there, and Carrie feeling even worse. Because she knew that Julie was right, was right in holding onto her anger this long too. She had no one to blame but herself.

And despite everything, Julie still gave her help, still let her in. Gave her the clothes practically off her back and didn't blink. Julie was a better person than Carrie could ever aspire to be.

She finally picked up the phone and called her dad who promise to send a car to get her and a tow for her car within the next few minutes. Leaving Carrie nothing to do but wait.

She glanced over at the songbook, and even though she knew she shouldn't, she glanced over the lyrics. Julie had always been a talented musician and lyricist, but since forming her band back in junior year, she had been phenomenal.

The song was an angry song, full of feelings of betrayal and regrets with a heavy bass section, pounding drums and a section saved 'For Luke'. Carie didn't know if it would be a bridge or a guitar solo, but whatever it was would only amplify Julie's song.

She finished her coffee, and laid the empty mug in the sink, not touching the half full mug Julie had been drinking from. Her clothes were was dry as they were going to get from their brief tumble in the dryer, but there was no way Carrie was leaving them here or going home in Julie's clothes-she was beholden to her enough.

She changed, and then took the bundle of borrowed things up the stairs. She knew Julie would be sulking in her room-and rightly so. She knocked on the door, and assumed the grunt she got in reply was permission enough.

"Here's your clothes back," Carrie said, laying them on the top of the old trunk she knew was full of Rose's show clothes. "Thank you for the loan, and the rescue."

"I'd say any time, but let's try not to make it a habit," Julie snarked, a whisper of a smile gracing the corner of her mouth.

"Heaven forbid the need to owe each other one," Carrie replied.

There was a horn outside, so Carrie knew that was her ride. She gave Julie a nod, and turned to leave, but then paused. "Your song is really good, by the way. I hope I get to hear it one day."

Julie looked surprised, but settled her face into muted gratitude. "The Orpheum, two weeks time, 9PM. I'll tell the bouncer to let you in."

"I'll be there," Carrie promised, and then went to the door, grabbing her stuff before going out.

Miraculously, the rain had petered out into a gentle drizzle, and Carrie managed to get to the car with minimal soakage. She plugged her phone into the built in charge cord, sighing as it came back to life.

And made sure to put the next Julie and the Phantoms show on her calendar for two weeks from now.

[portraitoftheoddity]

Besides shoes you can wear, is there any other gear or supplies you'd recommend for beginner hikes? I usually just take a water bottle or 2, depending on how long I think the hike will take

So, the official answer is "always bring the 10 Essentials", but if you're a beginner doing a relatively short hike on a well-trafficked and well-marked trail and you aren't deep in the backwoods, you can get by with a simpler list to start, and then expand your gear as you start taking on longer hikes that take you further out.

Basically, you want to pack for the worst case scenario. If the worst case scenario if you get injured or lost on a particular trail is that you wait for an hour for someone an ATV to come get you or you walk a little further until you hit one of several nearby roads, you won't need to pack as much as if you could end up waiting several hours for a search & rescue team to reach you, or even spending the night alone in the wilderness waiting for a search party because you lost the trail.

I recommend, to start, for easier, well-trafficked trails:

Comfortable Backpack. No draw-string bags -- something with actual shoulder straps and preferably a waist-strap too so that most of the weight sits on your hips. Your back will thank you!

Water. I always bring at least 1 liter, usually more because I drink like a fish. Gatorade is a valid substitute, especially in summer when you're sweating.

Food. Bring some snacks, even if you anticipate being home by lunch -- granola bars, trail mix, and jerky are all good; you'll want something that won't spoil or melt in your pack, and these foods all give you a pretty dense boost of sugar, protein and salt. If you wind out being out longer than you expected, you'll have something to eat, and if you work up an appetite, you'll be less cranky because, hey-- snacks!

Extra clothing layer. I typically layer when I hike so I can strip down layers if I'm sweating or add them back if I cool off, and keep one more layer than I think I need in my pack so if it gets cold, or if there's A Situation™ and I have to wait around without movement to keep me warm, I have something to put on. If you're hiking a trail with elevation gain, it will almost inevitably be cooler at the top than it is at the trailhead. A light rain shell or a cheap plastic poncho if there's even the slightest chance of rain is also good call, and doesn't take up much space.

Ziploc baggie. Good for trash, but also invaluable if it rains or if you have a tricky water crossing to keep your phone dry. Phones love jumping in rivers. Don't ask me why.

Printed trail map. Don't rely on just your phone -- phones break, batteries run out, and signals drop. Having a paper copy of a trail map on you is safest, so if some of the trail blazes get confusing or you run into a fork in the trail, you know where to go. I also keep a small compass attached to my pack.

Simple first aid. Keep a baggie with some bandaids, an antiseptic wipe, a couple blister pads, and a dose of your preferred over the counter painkiller on hand. The most common issue you're likely to run into as a beginner are blisters on your feet, or some bumps and scrapes from tripping. For longer hikes, you may want to add more supplies, such as an ACE bandage.

Whistle. Easy to clip to your pack, and very light -- If you're hurt or lost, you can blow on a whistle a lot louder and longer than you can yell. Three short blasts is a signal for 'hiker in distress!'

Depending on the length of the trail and how much you expect to sweat, you may want to bring sunscreen with you, or just apply sunscreen and bug spray in the parking lot before you set out. I personally always carry a travel-size tube, but I am also the kind of white person who burns if I even think about sunshine.

So, that's what you're carrying. As far as what to wear:

AVOID COTTON. DO NOT WEAR JEANS.

Cotton is a nice, breathable, natural fabric that soaks up water like a fucking sponge. If you've ever done laundry and found your jeans were still damp at the end of the dryer cycle when the rest of your clothes were done, this is why. If your cotton clothes get wet on the trail from rain, sweat, or slipping in a water crossing -- they are gonna stay wet. And that can range from uncomfortable to downright dangerous if hypothermia becomes a factor (big issue up here in the White Mountains).

Athletic wear made of "moisture-wicking" or "quick-dry" material is gonna be ideal. You don't need to blow a huge amount of money on hiking-specific brands; your workout clothes may be just fine (I got one of my favorite hiking tops at Walmart for like, $8). Just check the tags to make sure they're not made of cotton. Lightweight, breathable clothes made of nylon, polyester, and merino wool are all decent options that will dry quickly, and you'll be more comfortable than you'd be in sweaty, chafing jeans. I also recommend a nice thick pair of wool socks.

Happy hiking!

[wardenswateringhole]

More to Love

[This was a request from Anon Germany. I apologize for how long it took to write this. I hope it proves worth the wait.]

Warden Ingo x Plus-sized AFAB reader

CW

Body image questioning

Oral

18+ after the cut. Please Enjoy the ride.

Ingo had thought he was watching the love of his life being taken from him the moment you hit the water. He managed to drive the glalie pursuing you away before yanking you from the water with terror driven strength. The sound of the splash still echoed in his head as he dug frantically through his clothing chest trying to find the thickest garment he could.

“Ingo...” Your voice sounded behind him, quiet and pitiful. He had told you to strip and keep yourself next to the irori. Your clothes had threatened to freeze to your skin by the time he had gotten you to his abode. You had discarded the wet clothing to the floor in favor of wrapping your limbs around your freezing form.

“I know, Dearest! I am sure I had a robe in here!” He dug deeper not finding the garment in question. A thick ornate blanket that had been gifted to him caught his eye instead.

“Ingo. I don't think anything you have will fit me...”

“Not to worry! I have a blan--”

Ingo turned around to see you there, naked and shivering. He had never seen this side of you. You had always worn that over sized sweater that he swore had to be uncomfortable. Especially in the warmer season. You always insisted upon it though, that or any other clothing that hung off of you like a poncho. Hugging you was like hugging a load of laundry with all the excess fabric. It had annoyed him slightly but he respected your choices and only ever questioned your wardrobe when he felt you were uncomfortable. You would assure him you were fine and he would leave it be.

But now? You sitting on your knees by the fire, arms wrapped around your chest. The residual dampness from your impromptu swim still glistening in the flickering light. Ingo couldn't seem to get his thoughts straight. His eyes traced over your curves. How your breasts bulged against your arms. The flesh of your midriff sitting sweetly on your hips.

“Ingo?”

Ingo shook his head, trying to ground himself before moving swiftly to your side. He draped the blanket around you. “Is this fine?” He asked, still teeming with worry.

You nodded. He nodded back before he began to gather your clothing from the floor and set them up on racks to dry by the heat of the fire.

“I must ask you to not go swimming in freezing waters again...” He spoke as he straightened your sweater on to the rack. It drooped and dripped from the water it had absorbed.

“Especially in this sweater. Yarn soaks up moisture like mad. It's weight could have made it impossible for you to escape the lake... This sweater could have killed you.”

Ingo looked back at you as he finished his task. “You wear this frequently. Is it a sentimental piece?”

You shake your head. “No... not really...”

“Ah. I see. So just a comfortable garment?”

You look away sheepishly at the question. He cocks his head. “Not comfortable? I do not understand. Why wear it if it does not suit you?”

You pulled the blanket to your face, burying it to hide your expression from the curious warden.

“Why do you like me?”

Ingo paused. He looked thoughtful. “What do you mean?”

You sighed as he came to sit on the floor beside you. “I'm so different from all the other women you associate with... I'm not as pretty as they are... I'm just...” You swallowed hard at Ingo's stare.

“... Fat.”

Ingo's mouth fell open. “My dear, what has brought this on!? Have I done something to make you feel unloved!? I'm so very sorry!”

“No! No. You didn't do anything.” The blanket fell from your face as you spoke. You wrapped your arms and the blanket tightly around your form. The cold and lack of clothing was not the only thing that made you feel exposed in that moment. “I just want to know... What could make you love someone like me?”

Ingo closed his eyes in thought. “Tell me something.” He began, his voice low and smooth. “Why do you like me?”

You stared at him, taken aback by the question. “What?”

“I am not young and handsome like Lord Adaman... or am I large and strong like Warden Gaeric.”

His eyes opened. His silver stare carried a heavy sense of uncertainty. “You keep saying that you wonder why I like you since you are so different from people that you think embody beauty. I am just a thin old man, mentally lost and alone in the mountains...” He looked at you square in the eyes. “You question my judgment, so now I'm questioning yours. Why do you like me?

You were struck silent. Ingo shook his head.

“There are so many more things that make up beauty than our looks. I admit that I could not name off all the things about you that make me love you... I just know that I do. That's really all that matters to me.”

You went to respond but a fierce shiver cut off your words. Ingo was beside you in a flash, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as possible to him. You could feel the strength he used to traverse the cliffs of the highlands in his embrace. It was comforting. You felt the safest you had ever felt there in his arms. His heat pierced through the blanket and into your skin quickly. You managed to speak as the shivering subsided.

“Fair.” You looked up at the man who held you so tightly. “I can't really explain why I love you either. I guess those kinds of things don't need explaining, huh?”

You both chuckled lightly. The heaviness in the air dissipated with the sound. Ingo kissed you softly. As the kiss left your lips, his lips began to wander over your neck. Each gentle peck left bursts of heat in your chest. He nuzzled into your hair before pulling away and looking you over. His cheeks were growing redder by the second.

“I... I'm getting a ahead of myself... It's just...”

Ingo took a deep breath to steady his trembling voice.

“I would... I want to express to you how beautiful I think you are. If you are accepting of course...” His pale skin almost looked like it was burning from the blood rushing across his nose and cheeks.

“Perhaps a small taste, at least? I do not wish to overwhelm you...”

You looked at him a few moments, mind numbing for a moment. Was he proposing what you thought he was proposing?

You barely registered the small nod you gave him. Ingo's chest swelled as he breathed in suddenly. His eyes widened and the bowed smile returned. It didn't take long for him to return to your waiting lips once more.

The blanket was opened and your arms draped around his neck. Slowly and gently, Ingo pushed you backward until you lay on your back against the floor. The blanket was forgotten under you as the kisses grew deeper. Ingo's tongue touched at your lips, asking for entry. When it was granted, your tongue was swiftly caressed with his. You both pulled and pushed, a sensual dance of love taking place between you.

Your lungs felt emptied as he finally pulled away. You both sat panting and nuzzling against one another for a few moments. Without a word, Ingo began to kiss at your neck again. He didn't stop at your hair this time. His attentions continued along your collar bone and down your chest. Strands of silver tickled your skin as he pressed his face lovingly between your breasts. A new trail was blazed with his lips, up the slope of your breast and stopping at your nipple.

Ingo's mouth opened wide and pulled your breast in. You could feel his teeth poking into your skin as he sucked. His tongue ran in circles around the nipple. The other hand wasn't that much gentler. It grabbed at the other breast greedily, flexing and squeezing. Flesh bulged out between his fingers as they sunk into you.

The harsh grabbing eased into his forefinger and thumb rolling the pert bud gently. It stiffened even more with his ministrations. You squeaked as he pulled himself off of you with an audible pop. Ingo was quick to switch sides. His hand played at the now reddened and glistening flesh of the first breast while incisors pinched gently at the nipple of the other.

Ingo once more shoved his mouth onto you. His tongue soothed the bitten nipple while he added more tantalizing pain by squeezing the other breast tightly in his hand. By the time he had his fill, both your tits were as rosy as your cheeks.

He continued down your stomach. A rarely seen mischievous side made itself known as Ingo made sure to target your more ticklish areas to nip and suck hickies into. Your squirming did little to deter him as he laughed into you. The vibrations of his laughter along with your own did little to quell the waves of tingling that erupted with each of his actions.

The tickling faded as Ingo moved ever lower. His smiled into your skin and rubbed his face into your ample flesh. Stretch marks were traced lovingly with his nose and tongue.

Finally, Ingo settled down between your legs. He took a leg and kissed a slow trail from your knee and up your thigh. Teeth and tongue teased you once more as he reached your apex. The corners of his mouth were curled into a bowed smile as he rubbed his beard over your pubic area. The coarseness of his facial hair provided a new and very delightful sensation. Argent eyes caught yours as you watched him turn his face downward. His hot breath hit your folds in heavy huffs.

“I-Ingo?” You breathed. Your head already felt floaty from what he had put you through. A tightness coiled in your stomach as he grinned. A wide and happy grin that you had only seen once. It had appeared the day you had admitted your feelings for him. His eyes had glittered with it. The same sparkle lit up his eyes at that moment as well.

“Now, now, Dearest...” Ingo's voice returned to his low authoritative tone. “You have just suffered a traumatizing experience. I cannot do too much or I might cause you more harm than good.”

A lilt wound it's way into his tone. “...and when I said, 'A small taste' I meant it.”

Ingo licked gently at your folds. His tongue felt almost scorching against your still chilled skin. Saliva mingled with the slick that was already escaping you.

You could feel him pressing deeper. His mouth was wide as his tongue curled and writhes between your lips. It teased your hole a couple times before leaving you. Ingo swallowed like a man parched before diving back into you once more.

It hit you like a train. A jolt of excitement and pleasure shot through you as he found your clit. Your hips moved without your input, bucking up against Ingo's face. He didn't stop you. Instead a hand pulled at your thigh, encouraging you to press the plump appendage against his head.

The long calloused fingers of his other hand slipped into you effortlessly. Their subtle movements made it all so much more intense. You couldn't control your volume. Moaning loudly and wantonly as eyes of molten mercury watched you through it all.

Your body tensed as you released into Ingo's mouth. You back arched and your moans dropped to a desperate whimper. Ingo enveloped your sex with his mouth, catching as much as he could. He raised up as you fell limp against the floor. He licked at what you had left on his lips. What he couldn't get with his tongue, he gathered on his finger to lap off after.

“Ah. My apologies. It seems I overdid it. I was trying not to overwhelm you...”

A soft look graced his features as he looked over your panting form. He thought of how cute you looked with pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Your chest rising and falling, causing your lush bosom to sway.

“Let us move to my cot. It will be easier to rest there.”

With feather gentle touch, Ingo assisted your wobbling limbs in conveying you to the bed. He stripped down to his ideal comfort level before joining you. His chin settled on top of your head and his legs intertwined with yours. The blanket was pulled up over the both of you. The steady rhythm of his heart beat lulled you closer to slumber as you snuggled against his chest. Your eyes drifted closed as you felt a long soft kiss pressed against your forehead.

“Sleep now, Dear.” Ingo whispered. “There is much more where that came from once your recover...”

[dotster001]

TWST Galavant AU, The Plot Begins

Au Masterlist

"Oh God, you're still asleep!"

Leona opened a single eye at Ruggie's  more frantic than usual voice. He watched as he rushed around the room, trying to straighten it out, hiding empty bottles, and leftover piles of laundry he hadn't gotten to yet.

"You have to get up sir, you have a visitor," Ruggie said, throwing a pile of clothes into the closet and shoving it closed.

Leona simply turned over with a groan.

"Sir!" Ruggie rushed over, shaking Leona aggressively, "I understand, I really do, but this could be huge for us! Please just hear what they have to say."

He ran back to the door, and opened it with a flourish.

"Presenting, their Royal Highness, Y/N, heir to the throne of Pomefiore!" He announced.

You entered the room, scanning for a knight in shining armor. Instead, you found a lump lying in a crappy bed. You looked at Ruggie, who gave you an encouraging nod. You took a deep breath, straightened your spine, and began to address him with a calm confident tone.

"Sir Leona, I  am the rightful heir to the Pomefiore throne, and I am here to request your help. The king of Scarabia attacked my kingdom and overthrew us, and is now holding my father hostage," you knelt and bowed your head low, "I humbly request you come help my people and my father. We are a small kingdom, with no army of our own. Please, save us Sir Leona."

You kept your head low and waited for the inevitable yes. Instead you heard a dry laugh. You looked up and watched him sit up, stretching his arms over his head with a low groan.

"Nah," he said simply.

Your jaw dropped, "But…."

"I don't really do the hero thing anymore, so don't waste your breath, herbivore," he said, standing up and walking over to his stash of drinks.

"Leona, I really think we should reconsider, they seem to be in an awful jam," Ruggie said hurriedly.

"Ruggie, a kingdom like that won't give you a nice paycheck," Leona smirked. 

"If money is the problem…." You stood up and hurriedly rushed to his side, reaching into your bag.

"It's not," he snapped. "It only matters to our boy Ruggie over there. I'm done saving people. That's it, it's over, good bye." He tried to wave you out the door.

"But how am I supposed to…"

"Don't care."

Now you were angry. No, not angry, furious.

"I hid for months in a cellar while I heard my peopIe murdered above me for fun. I traveled for thousands of miles to come find you, because you stood for truth and right. My people and I have heard your stories and songs. And we need a hero. We need you! What happened to you?" You smacked your hands down on the table, causing the knight and squire to startle for a moment. "Where is Leona Kingscholar?" 

His startled expression morphed into one of anger.

"Have you ever been in love, herbivore?" He growled. You shook your head no. "Good, stay that way. Cause otherwise, the love of your life will choose someone else."

"What?" You breathed sitting down in the chair across from him.

He scowled, "If I tell you, you have to go away forever, and tell all your little friends to stop talking about me."

You nodded.

"When I fell in love, I fell hard. Everything about him brought me joy and light for the first time in my life. Then one day, he was kidnapped by King Kalim, and was forced to marry him. I broke into the castle, took down the guards, and spilled my heart to him, only for Vil to turn and tell me that he would rather be a rich queen than a poor lover. I lost the only thing I've ever loved that day"

"Wait, Vil? Queen Vil?" You startled.

"Yeah, why? What do you know about him?" He said suspiciously.

"Oh…nothing, it's nothing," you started to stand up, but he stood up as well, and grabbed your arm.

"What, what is it? What do you know?" He snarled.

"You're just…you're not going to like it." You muttered, but he stared at you expectantly. "While I was in the cellar, I would hear the queen crying every night, exclaiming to his bodyguard and servant about how much he regretted his choice, and how he'd change his mind in a heartbeat. I never knew what he meant until…."

Leona stared at you in shock, processing your words. After a moment,

"Ruggie, ready my horse. We leave for Pomefiore within the hour."

[queen-of-deans-booty]

LARP and the Real Girl: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I am so sorry I haven’t posted. I was sick with the flu and completely forgot about it. I will be posted both episodes now!

I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

Joanna is at that age where she is mimicking you and Dean. You have to be careful what you say, what you do, and how you react around her. She is becoming bolder and more confident in what she says and how she acts. She takes after Dean, for sure, but you see your confidence start to shine through in her.

Most people dread the terrible twos, and you know something is just beginning to creep up behind you. The best thing you can do is to teach her not to throw tantrums or to ask politely for something, but it doesn't always stick in her head. She is still learning, no matter how slow it may seem.

You're trying to make her lunch, but she thought it was a good idea to scream her tiny head off. She is sitting on her booster seat at the kitchen table while Dean is trying to read some files he gathered for a potential case. He doesn't look bothered, but if Joanna continues, he will have a headache. Sam is somewhere else in the cabin, but you don't care about him right now.

"Jo, please stop screaming," he says.

"She wants her food. I told her to be patient, so that's what she'll have to do," you shrug.

You quickly place the food on her plate before setting it in front of her. She raises her arm as if she is going to hit you, but you quickly shut that down before it becomes a problem.

"No. We do not hit people," you say in a stern voice. She whines and tries to wiggle out of your grasp, but you're not letting up. "Hitting people is wrong. It is not something you do."

She begins crying, but you roll your eyes in slight irritation.

"You are being dramatic." You wipe her tears and push the plate closer to her. "You are fine. Eat your food." She knows she is being dramatic, so she stops crying to eat her food. "She gets this from you, you know."

"What did I do?" Dean says.

You shake your head and leave the kitchen to do some other chores you need to finish before heading out. You head to the laundry room where Sam is there, taking out the dry clothes and folding them. He's been doing all of your chores lately as a way to say he's sorry. You hate the drama between you and the brothers, and all you want to do is forget about it and move on.

"You don't have to do that," you say.

"Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't," you sigh. You walk into the laundry room and grab an article of clothing to fold. "You made a mistake. As long as it doesn't happen again, I can overlook it. The twins are fine."

"I will never do something like that again. I promise. If I have a problem with you, then I will make sure to talk about it with you first."

"Sounds like a plan," you smile.

"Hey! You two! Come out here!" Dean calls from the living room. You and Sam leave the laundry where it is to join Dean in the living room who is on the phone with someone. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks."

"Who was that?"

"Garth. We need to lose the GPS on our phones because he's been tracking us and other hunters to assign cases to."

"Total Bobby move," Sam chuckles. "Did you find something for us?"

"It's close to where we are in Farmington Hills, Michigan. A dude got ripped from limb to limb inside his locked apartment."

"That's never good," you sigh.

"Maybe after this, we should take a couple of nights off and go see a flick or maybe hit a bar or two. You know, have some fun," Dean suggests. "You remember fun, don't you, Sammy?"

"Let's focus on this case. As long as we're waiting on Kevin, that'll be our fun."

Dean rolls his eyes, but you don't comment on this. You know Sam gave up a lot when he ditched his girlfriend to hunt with you and Dean, so you're not going to make a bigger deal out of this than it is. You quickly finish the laundry while Joanna finishes eating, and then all four of you are on the road headed to Michigan.

You get there in record time, and you're easily accepted into the apartment building where the crime scene is. You let Sam go off on his own while you and Dean hang back for a second.

"Listen, I've decided to forgive Sam for what he did," you say. "The kids are okay, I'm okay, and as long as he doesn't do it again, we're going to be okay."

"Yeah, I agree." You moan in pain and stretch your lower back that aches from the weight of two kids. "Are you okay?"

"I have terrible lower back issues. Having your kids is a blessing, but carrying them is a bitch. You're so lucky to be a man. I wonder what it's like."

"If you were a man, you two would be having a very different relationship," he chuckles. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job."

"Doesn't feel like it sometimes," you say honestly.

He pecks your lips and shifts Joanna to the other side of his body before walking into the apartment with you. Sam is already talking to the sheriff, and you flash him your badges with a smile.

"Sheriff, this is special agent Rosewood and Fry."

"Like I was telling him, you guys are quick. We haven't even got the body out yet."

"Well, the FBI is all work and no play," Dean says and looks at Sam.

"You know, why don't you give us the tour while my partner looks around?" Sam says.

"Alright, Follow me."

The sheriff takes you and Sam into the bedroom while Dean stays in the living room with his EMF reader to see if this might be the work of demons. The victim was killed in his bedroom, and his body is still on the bed underneath his sheets. However, the sheet is flat where his arms and legs should be. The walls are stained with blood, and his limbs are scattered around the floor.

"His name was Ed Nelson, thirty-one years old, and an insurance-claim adjuster. He lived alone, which was a real shocker, considering his place is full of toys."

Toys as in action figures and other trinkets a kid might collect.

"What happened?"

"There is no sign of forced entry. Near as we can tell, he was tied up and pulled apart. He died of shock or massive blood loss. Dealer's choice on that one. We did find clear rope-burn marks on his wrists and ankles."

One of Ed's arms is on the floor, and since you can't bend and look at it, Sam does. He pulls back the cloth to reveal a black tree symbol. It could be a tattoo or something more, so you file that away for a later time if you need to use it.

"Was there anything missing from the body?"

"You mean aside from the arms and legs? No," the sheriff chuckles.

"What about the neighbors? Did they hear anything weird?" Sam wonders.

"Uh, the neighbor downstairs said she got woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of horses stomping their feet and galloping. We didn't find any hoof prints. She probably heard a TV, was having a bad dream, or she was high as balls. Fortunately, we got a real lead off his cell phone."

"What did you find?"

The sheriff brings you back into the living room and removes his notebook from one of his many pockets.

"According to the phone records, Ed's last call was from a guy called Lance Jacobsen." Dean comes out of the kitchen and shakes his head, which means he didn't find anything with the EMF reader. "He's an accountant, also in his thirties who also lives alone."

"How is he a lead?"

"The two of them talked together for fifteen minutes, and then Lance sent Ed all kinds of angry texts. Some of them were your typical threat stuff, but some were a little weird."

"Weird how?"

"Like 'you shall bleed for your crimes against us', followed by the emoticon of a skull. There's this beauty: 'I am a mage. I will destroy you'. These kids today with their texting and murder. My men just brought Lance into the station for questioning."

"We're gonna need to take first crack at the suspect," Sam says.

"Like I said, Agent, it's your world."

There's nothing left to do at the apartment, so you three leave as quickly as you can without the sheriff. He called it in that you three were coming, so when you arrived, no one seemed surprised to see you there. One of the officers at the station escorted you to the interrogation rooms where Lance is sitting by himself. When he sees you, he becomes more nervous than he already is.

"Lance Jacobsen? We're with the FBI."

"The FBI? I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe Ed's dead," he cries.

"Lance, take a deep breath for me, okay?" you ask. "Just breathe for us."

Lance stops crying for a moment, but then picks it right back up.

"Lance? Lance, just breathe. Just breathe. You're fine," Sam says calmly, and Lance listens to him. "We just need to ask you a few questions. Try to calm down."

"We want to know about the texts you sent Ed last night."

"I told them when they brought me in that those texts weren't from me."

"Your phone and Ed's phone say otherwise," you state.

"No, I mean, they were from me, but they weren't from me me."

"Did you really think that sentence was gonna clear things up?"

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "This is all a big misunderstanding. Those text messages were from Greyfox the Mystic to Thargrim the Difficult. Our characters in Moondoor. Moondoor is a game that Ed and I play. We're LARPers. Live-action role-playing? We play Moondoor every other weekend at Heritage Park. All the info about it is on our website."

"You guys have a website?"

"Yeah, one of the players designed it. In fact, if you log onto the site, they should have posted pictures from last night's feast. I was there all night."

"What does any of this have to do with the texts?" Sam asks.

"I play a character named Greyfox the Mystic. I'm a very, very powerful mage in the game. Ed is... was Thargrim the Difficult of the Elder Forest, son of Hargrim and Bouphin, brother to--he was Lancelot to my Merlin."

"Well, if you guys were so tight, then why the threatening messages?" Dean asks.

"We were both named to the queen's honor guard in anticipation of the coming Battle of Kingdoms this weekend. I thought he broke protocol, so I called Ed after game hours and accused him of cheating, and then I challenged him to a duel."

"A duel?"

"Wands and swords at dawn."

"Now, when you say 'wands', do you mean magic wands?" Dean asks.

"No. Un-magic wands, agent. Because what I really want in a duel is an un-magic wand," he says sarcastically. "Yes! Fake wands! It's a game! I can't believe it."

Lance starts sobbing again, and that's your cue to leave. You three get up and leave him alone. Lance says there is a website, so the best thing to do is to look it up. There is a computer being unused at an empty desk, so you take a seat and log into the website.

"So? Do you believe 'Dungeons & Dragons'?" Sam chuckles at his own joke.

"He didn't put a whammy on us. Those weren't crocodile tears, man. That's not our guy. Let's check out the Moondoor site, see if Lance's story checks out."

"Way ahead of you," you state. A big banner with the words: "Welcome to Moondoor, Michigan's Largest LARPing Game" flies across the screen. "Wow, and I thought we needed to get out more."

You click on "Picture Gallery" and then on "Festival of the Endless Night." A picture appears of Lance dressed in costume and holding a tankard, followed by two women, one of whom is kissing him on the cheek. Another picture scrolls on screen showing Lance who is smiling.

"It actually looks kind of awesome," Dean comments.

You and Dean look at him, and he quickly wipes the smile off his face.

"Here's a video," you say.

"Moondoor. A world of intrigue, honor, and passion," the narrator says. The video is all flashy words and people dressed up in costumes. "Four kingdoms: followers of the Moon, Elves, Warriors of yesteryear, and the dreaded Shadow Orcs. All will fight on the fields of never in the biannual Battle of Kingdoms. Pick up a sword or a mace. Take control of Moondoor and defend the current ruler, the queen of the Moons."

Your jaw drops when you see who is on screen. Charlie Bradbury is in costume, smiling and accepting the crown. You haven't heard anything from her since she helped you with Dick Roman, so you have no clue what she's been up to.

"Looks like we're visiting an old friend," you smile.

Suddenly, commotion breaks out as officers rush to the back of the station where the interrogation rooms are. Someone calls for the ambulance and the coroner, and you know that something happened to Lance. He was found with blood running out of his eyes and nose. He is found dead inside of his empty interrogation room.

The sheriff was called back as the paramedics did their thing. You have no clue as to what got to him inside the locked room, but thankfully, there are cameras inside.

"You're gonna want to see this," the sheriff says to you three.

You follow him over to a different computer where the footage from inside the room is played. Lance is normal until he starts scratching at his arm and coughing up blood. You notice something on the inside of his arm, so you play it back again and freeze it on his arm. Just like with Ed, Lance has the same black tree symbol on his arm, and now you know it's not just a tattoo.

"He has the same one as Ed," you comment.

"Maybe they had matching tattoos. I mean, they were brothers in arms. Do you recognize it from anything?"

"You mean besides from a Tim Burton movie? Looks like the only thing they have in common aside from the mark is LARPing."

"Like I said," you grin, "it's time to visit an old friend."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[pearlescentpearl]

❄️🌈

I'm going to take this as a request for two snippets

For a snippet of my choice;

“So what do we know about this guy?” Findekáno mutters to Angaráto in their partially secluded corner of the receiving hall, absently resettling his braids around his shoulders

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Angaráto sighs back. “It’s not like Fëa— uncle Fëanáro talks about his family around us. I wouldn’t even know what his wife looks like if it weren’t for official portraiture.”

True enough.

Crown Princess Nerdanel is, according to her painting, a square jawed woman with broad shoulders, thoughtful brown eyes under straight, thick brows, and a fall of red curls hidden under a linen wimple. Findekáno has a distant memory of her visiting court once in his lifetime; she didn’t speak much, preferring to observe.

According to the gossip he’s not actually supposed to know about, a great many people found the Crown Prince’s choice of wife flabbergasting, and opinion hasn’t shifted much since.

Well,” Findekáno concludes glumly, “he’s probably like his father.”

Angaráto sighs again in agreement, and Aikanáro on his other side with him. “Prepare to duck and cover.”

It’s not really a fair assessment of their eldest uncle. 

But it’s not not a fair assessment either. 

He’s a difficult man, their eldest uncle. Sharp and decisive in his choices and opinions, blistering and hard if you tried to question them. Fëanáro would blow into court like a lightning storm, chaotic and dazzling and tempestuous, the center of attention with a head full of brilliance and hands full of gifts, and yet leaving a kind of windswept devastation in his wake that never quite recovered. 

For something soft;

“Here I am,” Eöl says, mouth dry. No one’s ever called him a dream before. Certainly not a pleasant one. It’s a hole of his own digging, yet it takes him off guard all the same. “Come over here while the water’s still warm. I remember I made a mess of you.”

Maedhros sits up, makes a face. “I seem to remember you doing a great deal more than that.”

“Sore?”

“Pleasantly,” Maedhros says, throwing back the sheets. His foot finds Celebain’s discarded robe on the floor, and he pauses, making another face. “And now I recall my sartorial dilemma is unchanged. This is… mortifying.”

“Oh no,” Eöl drawls, layering in amusement with his sarcasm. “My husband has no clothes to wear. I shall have to keep him in my bed, gloriously nude, only fit for mine own company, until the laundry is done. It’s going to take days to see a single linen back.”

“It will not!” Maedhros exclaims, color rising in his cheeks. He steps with the mincing hesitancy of someone who couldn’t see very well and feared to stumble, and Eöl finds himself moving to grab his elbow, to guide him, without even thinking about it. It’s going to be an adjustment to live with someone so night-blind. “Can we not have one little light in here?”

“No,” Eöl says, simply for the joy of being mean. “Also, way to expose yourself for a lordling. How long do you think laundry takes?”

“Depends on what you’re using, really. The washboard takes the longest, but the stick barrel or the hand crank barrel really cut down on—”

“Wait, wait, the what? What are you talking about?” Eöl demands.

Maedhros, attempting to squeeze the water out of the washrag one handed, gives him a horrified look. Or, well, shoots a horrified look in his general direction. “Don’t tell me you’re still doing things by hand?”

There’s a different way to do laundry?

[australiablog]

18/7

My sleep seems to be getting worse, I think I coughed all night and nothing is helping. I am happy I started the antibiotics last night already so I hope they will kick in soon! All the laundry is dry and hallelujah it all fits. I don’t have extra room though so I can’t buy anything before cairns or it’s not gonna fit. Unless they let me bring my doctor who bag as a purse and stuff things in there on top of my backpack. I am really early but I can either sit around in my hotel room or at the airport and be there just in case something goes wrong. Yes I’m a paranoid bitch so option two it is. I stopped at the cafe across the street to get a breakfast muffin and a coffee for the bus. I only had to wait a good 5 minutes before the bus showed up. The drive itself was pretty quick, just 20 minutes or so. So I’m flying nationally so I definitely don’t need the international terminal so when I was walking towards the Virgin Australia desk to check in, a woman walked up to me and asked where I was going and what airline because the international terminal was not here. I just stared at her for a few stunned seconds before replying I was in fact going to Melbourne and I needed virgin. I was honestly offended. Like fuck off Karen, I take public transport in places I’ve never been before, and I can find my way in a brand new airport too. Just because I look like a backpacker (which yes granted I do) does not mean I don’t know where I’m going. I tried checking in at the self check but somehow it wouldn’t let me, so I asked a staff member and she had a look at my list with all my flights. She thinks because they are all booked under Singapore airlines but are operated under the local airlines the kiosk was having difficulty. So I walked to the international virgin desk and she checked me in with no problems. I always have matches and a lighter in my toiletries in my big baggage. Now I had to put them in my cabin bag, which confused the hell out of me. That you can’t have power banks I can understand but matches???? Well thank god I knew immediately where they were. Security was another mess, I asked if I had to take off my hiking boots and the guy said no. Of course going through the metal detector it went off and I had to take off my shoes. When I was through my backpack was nowhere to be seen. It got selected for a bomb swap. I packed that backpack to perfection in a tetris kind of way with all my souvenirs, she of course took everything out to see that my tripod had set off the alarm. My entire backpack is a hot mess now because I can’t remember how I packed it and I had to do it with everyone around me. At least it closed and I’ll sort it out later. I still had 2 hours before my flight so I just got a drink and worked on my diary. The flight was only an hour and they did offer refreshments, after the air pocket I once experienced with Bieke I am wary of drinking warm things on an airplane. Also they recommend not drinking tea because it’s not very clean so I got a coffee with lots of milk and basically drank it in a few goes. Melbourne is in a slightly different time zone as I was before, so for the rest of my trip I’ll now be +8 for my family. I don’t think I’ll notice it except for when I wake up they will most definitely be asleep. Before I usually still caught mum and dad before they went to bed. Andrew was waiting for me at the baggage which confused me because apparently you can just walk up to that here. We waited a bit for it to come along, I tied my pink straps around it so it was nice and visible. The drive to his house was about 3 hours. It was pretty late by the time we got to this house. We didn’t do very much, we ended up watching deadpool since the new movie is coming out next week. Andrew is giving up his bed for me, and he’s sleeping on the sofa that turns into a bed in their second living room! I told him he didn’t need to do that, but he insisted!