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#top notch painting name
eirene · 1 year
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The Spanish Dude, circa 1905 William Merritt Chase
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Your Trusted Choice Among Auto Body Shops in Winnipeg
Auto Body Shop Winnipeg, Auto Body Painting &  Repair Services
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#shops in Winnipeg#Pritchard Auto Body has earned a reputation for excellence in collision repair#paint services#and overall automotive trusted name#providing unparalleled service and expertise. As one of the premier auto body restoration.#I. Comprehensive Collision Repair:#Accidents happen#and when they do#Pritchard Auto Body is there to help restore your vehicle to its pre-accident condition. The skilled technicians at Pritchard Auto Body hav#from minor dents and scratches to major structural damage. With state-of-the-art equipment and a commitment to quality craftsmanship#your vehicle is in capable hands at Pritchard Auto Body.#When it comes to keeping your vehicle in top-notch condition#finding a reliable and skilled auto#II. Precision Paint Services:#A flawless paint job can make all the difference in the appearance of your vehicle. Pritchard Auto Body takes pride in its precision paint#using the latest technology and top-quality paints to achieve a finish that not only looks great but also stands the test of time. Whether#Pritchard Auto Body delivers stunning results.#III. Automotive Restoration:#For car enthusiasts or those looking to breathe new life into a classic vehicle#Pritchard Auto Body offers automotive restoration services that are second to none. From frame-off restorations to meticulous detailing#the team at Pritchard Auto Body has the passion and skill to bring your vehicle back to its original glory.#IV. Cutting-Edge Technology:#Pritchard Auto Body stays ahead of the curve by investing in the latest technologies and techniques in the auto body industry. This commitm#V. Customer Satisfaction:#At Pritchard Auto Body#customer satisfaction is a top priority. The team understands the stress and inconvenience that can come with vehicle repairs#and they strive to make the process as seamless as possible. Clear communication#transparent pricing#and a dedication to exceeding customer expectations set Pritchard Auto Body apart from other auto body shops in Winnipeg.#Conclusion:
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pritchardautobody · 2 months
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Autobody & Glass Repair Specialists Serving Winnipeg
#Introduction:#shops in Winnipeg#Pritchard Auto Body has earned a reputation for excellence in collision repair#paint services#and overall automotive trusted name#providing unparalleled service and expertise. As one of the premier auto body restoration.#I. Comprehensive Collision Repair:#Accidents happen#and when they do#Pritchard Auto Body is there to help restore your vehicle to its pre-accident condition. The skilled technicians at Pritchard Auto Body hav#from minor dents and scratches to major structural damage. With state-of-the-art equipment and a commitment to quality craftsmanship#your vehicle is in capable hands at Pritchard Auto Body.#When it comes to keeping your vehicle in top-notch condition#finding a reliable and skilled auto#II. Precision Paint Services:#A flawless paint job can make all the difference in the appearance of your vehicle. Pritchard Auto Body takes pride in its precision paint#using the latest technology and top-quality paints to achieve a finish that not only looks great but also stands the test of time. Whether#Pritchard Auto Body delivers stunning results.#III. Automotive Restoration:#For car enthusiasts or those looking to breathe new life into a classic vehicle#Pritchard Auto Body offers automotive restoration services that are second to none. From frame-off restorations to meticulous detailing#the team at Pritchard Auto Body has the passion and skill to bring your vehicle back to its original glory.#IV. Cutting-Edge Technology:#Pritchard Auto Body stays ahead of the curve by investing in the latest technologies and techniques in the auto body industry. This commitm#V. Customer Satisfaction:#At Pritchard Auto Body#customer satisfaction is a top priority. The team understands the stress and inconvenience that can come with vehicle repairs#and they strive to make the process as seamless as possible. Clear communication#transparent pricing#and a dedication to exceeding customer expectations set Pritchard Auto Body apart from other auto body shops in Winnipeg.
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dilftaroooo · 3 months
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Not sure if your requests are closes right now sorry if they are-
But you should do Yuji fucking fem!reader or eating her out and Sukuna switching with him in the middle of it 😊
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nonnie im so happy to breath the same air as u
★tags: aged up characters + afab reader + she/her pronouns + spanking + oral (f. receiving) + fingering + implied piv sex (very brief tho) + praising + sukuna bashing yuji smdh.
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Your beloved boyfriend always manages to find himself emerging in the sloppy heat that rests between your thighs. Salmon fields adorned with restless digits splay across the top of his head as he licks and laps at you desperately. It's good pussy for the soul and he would hate if he would've missed this opportunity to have you sing out his name while you involuntarily send pressure to the sides of his head with your rigid thighs.
Your chest heaves and ho's at the heavy mass of passion with each inconsistent breath you take--jagged whenever Yuji coos at your hard clit, telling her how he's obsessed with her and her owner before giving her a light peck.
"I want you to fuck me already, Yu." You croak impatiently, wiggling your hips to emphasize your desires but Yuji gives you a quick slap to the side of your ass and squeezes it right after.
"Not now, baby. Let me enjoy what's in front of me first. Can I get that?" He watches you under the rise of your pelvis. His words are soft and whispered in a tone he always uses with you whenever he wants to feel you clench. Honey-glazed globes look at the feast upon him amorously. Your previously shaven hairs start to grow into stubble as it retrieves itself back to its original state; wet and coated with your juices. He buries his nose further.
A moan was a good enough answer for your boyfriend and he keeps doing what he was born to do. You continue to plead for him as he eats you out. "I'm right here, lovely. Not going anywhere." He'd respond with each fervid call.
His sucks at your cunt arouses you tenfold once you feel yourself coming to that edge at the tippy top of a mountain as gusty winds roughly kiss at the apples of your cheeks and the lids of your closed eyes. It's easy to tell you're close as Yuji hums into wet folds causing you to rattle.
"Oh fuck, Yuji. Keep going, sweet boy. 'M gonna come soon..."
Your nails cautiously dig into his scalp, not enough to hurt him severely, and your legs wrap around bulging muscle for support of your incoming orgasm. His body glistens under the light of the living room and blesses you with each defined section of muscle to pop under dark shadows.
But the devil is a conniving bastard for your reach to climax was interrupted when you flinch at the harsh bite gnaw at your clit, sending you to scurry backward away from the abrupt pain but strong arms keep your legs in place to force you into more torture. Looking down, you noticed Yuji's canines were sharper than usual. His skin was tainted in elongated markings, ones Yuji had never worn. His nails were painted in a deep violet and you think to yourself, 'Yuji couldn't have possibly put that on so fast,'.
"That sappy shit was starting to churn my stomach. How about you do that whenever I'm not possessing you? I already get nauseous knowing I'm living inside a fucking idiot." His voice was deeper too.
"Y-You're Sukuna, right? Yuji told me about you." You've never seen eyes glaringly red like his--four of them. They all watch you with a look of interest paired with a cunning smirk.
"That's right, dollface. Very good. Glad you know of me already, so we can skip the greetings." He resumes his host's previous ministrations but turns it up a notch by adding a finger or two to your drooling pussy. He teases a glossy, purple tip along the quivering hole before pushing in deep. As soon as he learns you can perfectly take one, he puts the second one in. A grin remains still on his face when hearing your moans crescendo.
"My, my. You're already soaking my fingers, dove. Guess that brat is doing something properly for once. Slobbering all over the couch, fuck, can't remember the last time I've seen pussy like this." His index and middle fingers dance across the gushy ridges in you, he moves them in ways Yuji knows you love and that feature shocks you.
He gorges on your clit and eats your pussy out like it's his last meal on earth before being sentenced to death. Saliva runs down the length of your labia, bubbles forming along the way by his boisterous lapping. Your hips can't resist gyrating against his face, ruby red remains settled on your helpless figure as you revisit that same high as before. You bathe his fingers with cum til they prune and you're too overstimulated to feel sorry.
The couch dips and you're instantly turned around on your stomach, facing the decorative pillow you believed matched the aesthetic of your living room.
"Hey, what're you-"
"You said you wanted to get fucked remember? Your cunt is still drooling cus she's hungry. Didn't give her enough." The smacks he gave your ass were harder than Yuji's and that just goes to show how rough this curse really is but you writhed nonetheless.
He was gonna fuck you good. You already figured much as hands grip around the fat at your hips and his cock carefully grinds into you.
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bellaveux · 5 months
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hi, are you still taking requests? if yes then i would like to request top! wanda x sub!reader where r was caught touching herself with their recent purchase wand vibrator and wanda decided to let r cums but r has to count 50 to 0. and after every time r cums the count will shorten by 10 but the wand will be increasing up a notch. and at the end wanda decided to finish it by fucking r senseless. please and thank you. 🥺
count for me | w. maximoff
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pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader
summary: wanda comes home and finds her favorite girl playing with that new vibrator she had recently purchased.
content warnings: minors dni. smut; dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader, pwp, use of toys (vibrator), overstimulation, strap-on sex (r receiving), kinda pervy wanda, rough sex, multiple orgasms, dumbification kinda, praising
wc: 1.9k
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She could hear you. The moment she walked through the front door of your shared home. She could hear the way you whimper, whine, and try to muffle your moans—a soft buzzing sound breaking the silence that filled the entire house. The air seemed to be holding its breath as she walked slowly down the hall. The sounds of your pleasure had already started making her dizzy, almost as if she were getting drunk off of it. It had been too quiet when she first arrived home, and you were unusually nowhere to be seen, but the hushed silence faded away when she got closer to her bedroom door. With each step she took, the prettiest moans that fell from your lips got louder and louder, bouncing against the walls and into her ears. When she got close enough, Wanda's measured steps ceased, and a subtle tension filled the air.
The door stood just a crack open, revealing a slender slit of the space inside the room. A soft beam of light filtered through, casting a delicate glow that painted the room in muted hues. Wanda's gaze lingered on the partially open door, and in that suspended moment, curiosity mingled with a gentle sense of trepidation. She took a peak. She couldn’t help it.
The lamp was on. You were there. Laying on the bed you shared with her, writhing, trembling, and quivering with your hand holding that new vibrator Wanda had recently bought for you underneath your panties as you whimpered into the pillow. You looked so pretty. Her sweet girl, moaning her name quietly as you tried so desperately to chase the high of pleasure you were struggling to get. The sight of you made Wanda weak in her knees to the point where she almost just gave out and kneeled down. She composed herself remarkably, and took a deep breath before pushing the door open even more and stepping inside.
You couldn’t see her; your eyes closed shut as you continued to pleasure yourself. And before you could react, you felt a pair of lips press against your neck. You jumped slightly in surprise as Wanda held you down against the mattress.
“Started without me, sweetheart?” She whispered into your neck. You moved slightly, pressing your lips together as you tried to pull the vibrator away from your clit, but Wanda grabbed your wrist and pushed it even harder against your bundle of nerves. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt, baby. Keep going for me.”
“W-Wanda—”
“Tell me, baby. How many times did you come before I came in?” She asked as she left wet, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck all the way up to your jaw.
You shuddered at the feeling, your blush only darkening on your cheeks, “O-Once.”
“Is that the truth?”
You nod your head rapidly, eagerly trying to convince her that it is with just your face and doe eyes looking up at her.
“Hmm…” Wanda hummed into your ear. “How about you start counting for me, detka? Fifty to zero. You can do it.”
So you started. Fifty to zero, like she said. You could feel the way Wanda smirked against your chest, nuzzling her face against your breasts, immediately noticing the way your hardened nipples pushed themselves against the fabric of your thin shirt. A hand wraps itself around the wand vibrator, her hand tracing over the buttons softly. You were on forty-five, continuing to count as best as you could as Wanda guided the vibrator against your clit.
“Come for me, baby?” She said as you whimpered into her hair.
And you couldn’t help but obey, the sound of her voice ringing in your ears. You shuddered as you came, letting go of the wand to wrap your arms loosely around Wanda’s frame as she hovered over you.
“Again. Start on thirty five, sweetheart.”
And you tried, “T-Thirty—Ah!”
With a click of a button, Wanda turned the vibrator’s intensity up and pressed it even harder against you. You shook underneath her with your mouth open, unable to say anything. She smiled against your cheek before moving to press her lips against yours, shoving her tongue into your mouth as you moaned against her.
She pulled away after a moment of kissing you and smirked, “Count, baby.”
You counted. And counted and counted. All while it kept buzzing. It was faster now. Much, much faster. The wand, your pleasure on the rise, Wanda hovering over you as she watched you. Starting from thirty-five, you made it all the way to twenty-one before you fell apart and came underneath her all over again. Wanda groaned when you cried her name out, coming for the third time tonight. Eventually, your eyes teared up as she continued to hold the vibrator against your cunt without giving you a chance to catch your breath.
Then, she turned it up all the way to its maximum speed.
You squealed and desperately tried to push her hand away as you cried her name out like a prayer. “W-Wanda! Wanda, I-I can’t–”
“Yes, you can. You’re my big girl, aren’t you?” She said, holding you still as you quivered and tried to close your legs shut, practically trapping her hand in between your legs. “Count again, baby. From ten.”
You sobbed against her shoulder. It was too much pleasure. You couldn’t think. You almost couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stop shaking. And Wanda just smiled at you, kept telling you how good you were doing. So, you kept counting. For her. You tried, at least. With your best effort, you made it to zero, but you came all over again, your slick gushing on the vibrator and Wanda’s hand. She pulled the wand away from your puffy pussy, turning it off, then throwing it to the other side of the bed, and you sighed in relief. A smirk graced her lips as you looked up at her, green eyes staring down at you with pride. God, you were perfect. Her pretty baby. You tried to catch your breath in the meantime before Wanda leaned down to capture your lips with hers, her hands softly smoothing over your legs.
Wanda pulled away to catch her breath. She looked at you with hungry eyes, carefully inspecting all of your features. Stray pieces of hair matted to your forehead as sweat dribbled down your temples. The way your chest rose and fell quickly. The way your hands gripped onto her own shirt. Your legs still quivering. A tiny smile lingering on your lips as you looked at her. Fuck, was all she could think.
Before you could say anything, Wanda pulled back and stepped away.
“Wanda?” You breathed, too tired to move from your spot on the bed.
Under the dim lighting of the lamp on your side table, Wanda suddenly came into your view after hiding in the shadows but immediately leaned down to kiss you once more. She swallowed your whimpers and your quiet moans before flipping you onto your stomach in a swift movement. The kisses she littered against your neck and back were soft as she held you down with her hands pushing you slightly against the mattress.
“Stay still for me, detka.” She whispered from behind you, her whole front pressing against your back.
The first thing you felt were her fingers playing with the hem of your panties, moving them to the side, exposing your already glistening pussy to her. She is too impatient to undress you properly. For a moment, you thought you heard her chuckle, but you could barely think already. She palms your ass a few times before you feel the tip of something hard and big against your cunt. Wanda didn’t give you a second to even ask, slipping her strap into you with ease. Your moan fills the room, louder than all of the whimpers you were letting out just a moment before.
“W-Wanda–”
“Can’t get enough of you, (Y/n),” she groaned, as she slowly thrust her strap into you.
And with the sound of your muffled moans against the pillow and the sight of your hands gripping the sheets, Wanda’s pace didn’t remain gentle for too long. She quickly sped up her thrusts, using your hips to balance herself. Nothing but sweet words of praise left her mouth as she fucked her strap in and out of you.
“Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, look at you. So pretty getting all fucked out by me, huh?”
Among all the mindless praise Wanda whispered into your ear, she straightened her back to admire you beneath her, getting high off of the way you cried her name out as she continued to fuck you. Her hand pulls the flesh of your ass cheek slightly over, watching the way her strap sank into your gushing hole, her length glistening each time she pulled out. Wanda can’t help but roll her eyes to the back of her head as she listens to the way your pussy squelches each time she bottoms out. You always looked so pretty to her, even more so when you’re taking her cock like the good girl you are. And with her name rolling off your tongue like you couldn’t even think about anything else, fuck, you were perfect.
When Wanda thrusts into you one last time, you clench hard, gushing all over her strap. She can feel the way your cum coats her lower half, and she stops for a moment, just to feel the warm, clear liquid running down her tummy and her thighs, feeling as the cold air hits them, leaving her wet and sticky. It wasn’t the first time she made you squirt, but each time she does, she always takes a second. To admire you. Her dumb baby trembling underneath her. How proud of you she was.
“Fucking hell, (Y/n)…”
Wanda leans over, pressing her front against your back as you feel the way her breasts squished against you. You can feel her hair brushing up against your neck and shoulders as she left gentle and soothing kisses against your skin and shoulders. Her hands palmed your hips softly, almost as if she was trying to calm your trembling legs.
Honestly, you didn’t really have the energy to say anything else but her name, “Wanda…”
“I’m here, baby,” you heard her say. “Did so good for me, you know?”
Wanda listened to you hum in satisfaction. She pulls out of you very slowly and carefully before flipping you onto your back. You felt her kiss your lips briefly before she disappeared again to discard her strap and grab a rag to clean you up.
This part was one of Wanda’s favorites. The gradual descent from the high she had you chase over and over and over. The warmth of her palm adorns the side of your face, her thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as your eyelids began to feel heavier with each second that passed. You try to keep your eyes open, just to see your lover staring down at you, still with those dark and lustful eyes. But they were also warm. And sincere.
Wanda rolls her lips onto themselves as if she were trying to bite back a smile. She tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before leaning down to place the most gentle kiss she could ever give you, muttering those three little words softly against your lips.
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— navigation!
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rosedom · 2 months
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Mirror sex w them genshin pretty boys?? Thinking about baizhu or kaeya sending you a video of them playing with themselves to rile you up knowing you're at work and begging you to come home just so you can satiate their hunger.
And once you do come home you fuck them Infront of a mirror telling them how much of a whore they are and make them squir-
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"an unnamed player has invited BAIZHU and KAEYA to play . . . reflections of body
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✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!male!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!characters, mirror sex, vaginal sex, squirting, creampies, praise & dirty talk, alluded dacryphilia (kaeya) .
A/N : sorry that this took so long >< i had finished it the other night, but i forgot to save; i ended up losing the majority of kaeya's part . . .
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
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Your phone lights up, a quiet ping in the otherwise silent office. You've got yourself neck-deep in paperwork, scribbling silently and going over contract after contract; really, you wouldn't have even bothered answering your phone, but when the screen reads your husband's name, you just have to.
Scenarios of, What if he was in trouble? What if the house burned down? What if, what if, what if? filtered through your mind as you hurriedly grab the device to see what he send.
At first, it worries you to see only numbers followed by a .mov in the notification bar, right under his name. You tap on it quickly, tense and ready for something, but—
"Ah!" your husband cries out your name, the speakers of your phone unbelievably loud in the silence of your office. You jump, rushing to press mute; but just before, you press your phone to your ear, the sound one notch off of being silent, and you hear, "I—I miss you.
"P—please," his voice continues to sing, "come home. I need you, please, 'm so hard for—for you!"
Well, fuck. Now you're hard for him; and you're still on the clock.
Great.
At least now you have the rest of the workday to think of how you'll make him pay.
Let's hope that hard-on of yours can be willed away, yeah?
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Baizhu paints a pretty picture like this.
"So shy, all a sudden," you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. Behind him, like this, you're not normally privy to the pretty looks that cross his face; normally you don't like to be front-to-back with him, unable to watch him.
But like this—God.
"I was behind on today's quota, y'know," you coo, nudging the head of your cock against Baizhu's drooling cunt. He whimpers, soft, trying desperately to buck down into the pressure but is forced to stay still, stay hovering above you, by the grip you have on his rather frail hips.
"What happened to all that confidence earlier?
"All because of this needy lil' cunt—" continuing, you pause for a moment to lick at the thin skin of his throat. The angle is admittedly odd, but he shivers beneath you all the same.
He shies away from his own gaze, reflected back on him in the mirror—to his wide, golden eyes; to the snake-like pupils widened to almost, nearly swallow them up. You sigh, watching the way his eyes refuse to rake over the beautiful sight you greedily take in.
"Look at yourself, sweetheart," you murmur.
He shakes his head, and you click your tongue. "But you're so pretty," you continue. "I'm only gonna let you have my cock if you watch yourself."
At that, he brings his gaze back to yourself. He stares directly into his own eyes—you know, that he's not actually looking. You cut him some slack, though. This isn't easy, for him.
You kiss the side of his neck again, a soft thing, and turn your face to the mirror. With the gentle grip you have on his hips, you rub him against your cock.
"Good boy," you coo, your cockhead tugging against his sloppy hole. "C'mon, baby. Sit on my cock, and watch yourself take it."
Like a moth drawn to the light, his pretty, pretty eyes fall to the swell of his own cock, to the way your cock catches and sinks in deep to his cunt.
"You take me so perfectly," you groan, puffing hot air against his skin. Now, with him sat squarely on your lap, you can pull one of your hands away from his hip to spread his folds, to finger at his cock.
He arches against you, pressing into your fingers and grinding on your cock in tight circles. "Please," he cries, and you answer only with a heady sigh, another drag of your cock inside him. Disobedient, he tries to close his eyes against the onslaught of pleasure; but, alas, you release the saccharine friction of your fingers to cup his jaw, to squeeze his cheeks lightly and force him to watch himself.
Instead of reprimanding him, though, you kiss his cheek and bring your fingers back down to quickly rub at his cock, giving him only the soft command to, "Watch yourself cum."
Baizhu's chest heaves, and then he's melting like butter into your arms. He grinds harshly—harsher than you would have expected, surely—against you before he's taken by orgasm.
"Go on, good boy, so good for me," you mumble, pressing into him continuously to bring yourself over your own precipe; but then his eyes flutter shut, and you can't even reprimand him for it as his cunt spasms, an erratic clench and release, before he fucking squirts.
Small splatters of cum fall to the mirror, and, truly, it's as amazing a feat as it is an arousing one. Being able to see the way he tremors in your lap, watching the way he squirts right onto his own reflection—it all sends you tumbling over your own edge.
You moan into his throat as your own orgasm forces you to close your eyes—to instead focus on the clench of his cock, of the breathlessness of his voice and moans—, Baizhu's body warm and soft against you.
You fill him easily, readily, his body accepting all you have to give. "Greedy, greedy," you mumble, your cum-wet fingers dragging away from his mons and to his hip. He only chuckles, breathless.
Quiet minutes later—the silence filled only with both of your harsh breathing—, you gently lift Baizhu from your cock. He mewls softly, and both of your eyes watch as your softened cock pulls out, a mess of both thick and thin cum—yours and his—spilling onto your lap.
Ah. It seems the mirror isn't the only thing soaked, after all this.
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Kaeya's thighs tense and un-tense, small, rhythmic motions that make him shiver in your arms.
"Little dove," you murmur, leaning over his prone body. "Look at your pretty face." You've got him cornered, your body blanketing him and trapping him between your arms and the bathroom counter-top.
He nods, meets his own eyes. He obeys easily, but his fingers curl into your forearms. "You gonna fuck me, or what?" he asks.
With a hum, you bring one hand down—his own hand falls aside, because for all the brat he acts as, he's quick to obide by your rules—and brush against his inner thighs, wet with his slick. "I dunno," you say. "You've already got yourself covered, hm?"
Rather pitifully, he softly moans and shakes his head. "I didn't cum." Kaeya leans forward, laying himself across the counter-top. The motion forces his ass to press back into you. "I wanted to wait—for you," he adds, sweet.
He's got you wrapped around his finger, and he knows it. Regardless, though, you huff and laugh and follow him down, taking hold of his hips as you kiss at his nape.
"I'm not very convinced," you murmur again, smooth as butter, as your fingers dip into his soaked, loose cunt. "You're dripping."
"That proves nothing!" he groans, mumbles, complains—indignancy falling from his parted, bitten-up lips. He tries desperately to grind back into your, to press into the warmth of your cock, but your tight grip on his hips prevents him from any real purchase, any true friction.
"It proves everything, babe." You chuckle, not unkindly, but you bely your own words by beginning to grind your naked cock against his cunt. He can't move, held by you as he is, but he moans softly at your ministrations.
Soon enough, he starts to beg for your cock. Yet still, he adamantly denies that he ever came, earlier, and you're inclined to believe him; it's hard not to, with the saccharine way his cunt spasms around you when you sink in to the hilt.
He didn't cum, earlier—that's why he's so close, so soon.
With the way his soft cunt clenches at your cock, with how easily he starts to mewl and twitch and beg, quiet little punched-out sounds spinning your head. "I'm sorry, dove," you say, licking at his warm skin in tender apology. "You've been so good for me, haven't 'cha? Not cummin' at all, all day. Let me make you feel good now, okay?"
He nods, whimpering, "Please," and then you go and grind, deep and just as he likes it. Each grind, each thrust, sends your cockhead nudging at his g-spot, and Kaeya can't hold back any of his pleasured sounds—nor the way his eye wells up with tears.
With a tender touch, you release the hold you have on his hip to reach for his face. Never ceasing your thrusts, you tug away his eye-patch; the fabric is discarded to the side, no longer a barrier to block his tears.
"So pretty," you murmur, cupping his supple chest with the same hand as you use the hand still on his hip to tug him into you, into each thrust.
However, one particular thrust—one that makes his thighs spasm, his cunt dribble down to your balls—has Kaeya bowing forward, head dropping to the counter-top as he moans.
You tsk, bringing your hand back up to cup at his jaw, to gently hold his cheeks and force his gaze back to the vanity. "Look at yourself, Kae," you murmur, meeting his gaze through your reflections. "Watch yourself cum all over my cock."
His gaze flitters across the mirror: it lands, first, on the rouge that paints his cheeks, and he traces the flush until he's brought to his own chest, heaving with each breath and tremoring with his whining moans.
After that, his orgasm comes quick. His head falls forward again, but this time you let him; after all, it's hard to reprimand the man when you can feel his cunt clench in orgasm, and especially-so when hot slick splashes onto your thighs.
"Oh—!" he cries out, shivering erratically. The blush extends to his nape, to where you bury your face as you cum, filling him with deep strokes.
"You were so good, little dove." Small praises and sweet nothings spill forth, easy as anything, as you keep your softened cock snug inside him to let him come down from his high.
You pull your head from his nape when he begins to lift his head, and you breathlessly smile at him through your reflections. The tears in his eyes have spilled over, and you reach to thumb at them as Kaeya grins back.
"Good?" you ask.
He says, simply, "So good."
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i fucking love creampies. i hope that these ideas were to your liking, anon !!
8 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .
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thecynthh · 3 months
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a little ink - C.S
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summery - y/n is journaling in bed but chris gets bored of his phone and begins to play around with y/n's stationary.
notes - fluff <33333, chris is so boyfriend, i thought the fandom needed more fluff, short
a/n - hey yall, this is an apology gift because ive been bad on being active and writing so enjoy this lil thing i whipped up.
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i stationed myself on my side of the large bed with a little tray table on top of my bare legs. my shorts barely covered up to my mid thigh so the vent near me was absolutely chilling. i begin to go slowly when i'm trying to write a title for my next page, i began to journal when my boyfriends brother and my therapist recommended it to me, despite how simple matt’s was, I thought i could take it up a notch and make it a little cutesy. 
my pencil case was jam packed with highlighters, colourful pens and high quality markers, my concentration stays strict on the page in front of me, i tried to keep my penmanship neat while i'm trying to write something in cursive. a warm hand wraps around my ankles as i look down beside me seeing chris look at me with want in his eyes. “hi chris,” i simply say looking at the boy while i put the cap back onto my brush tip marker. 
“hi baby,” he looks up at me with a beaming bright smile, he just radiates good energy and love. he drops his phone beside him now playing a song instead of the various audios from tiktok. 
his hand sneaks up into my pencil case grabbing a yellow marker from it. he uncaps it and i feel the light pressure of it press down onto my skin, the yellow marker glides along my scar, he continues to draw past it to make a star out of the previously hurt skin. chris knew i was self conscious about my scars, it was a permanent reminder of the pain i went through in highschool. 
he didn’t care though. he continued to draw random doodles on my leg, moving on to my arms where more scars lay hurt, he switched out his marker for a different colour the more he explored. little hearts, stars and chris’ signature riddle my legs and arms, i feel his writing getting a bit faster. It looks like a sentence but i couldn’t quite read it.
 i stopped what i was doing a long time ago, now just admiring what he was doing. he was so focused on writing his signature on the larger line of a scar i had on my arm using the line from my body to represent the line through the dollar sign he always made whenever he wrote his name. 
he does a very magnificent heart beside his name, filling it in still trying to be very soft on  my skin as the ink seeps in. he plants a fulfilling kiss onto the scar now covered in orange ink, he looks up at me with a little bit of a knowing look painted on his face. “im sorry, it was only meant to be a little ink but your scars are beautiful, as is the rest of you.” his finger underlines the sentence imprinted on my skin as he reads it out. 
“chris i'm gonna cry oh my gosh. you are so cute, you know that?” i saw trying to hold back a sob. 
a chuckle escapes his smiley lips “i love you so much y/n” his lips make contact with the star that started the rest of the pseudo tattoos. i wish i could keep this image in my head forever, because this was a moment too precious to let go of.
taglist - @westwiing13 @comet235 @mayhem73
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rakurairagnarok · 9 months
Text
Corporate Diversity
This is a commission for @bremenmask . I hope you enjoy it buddy. It has been a blast working with you.
Thomas was fuming. He had just gotten out of a call with HR, in which they talked about the position of CEO that had just opened up. They had to regretfully inform him the position would be filled by a transfer from the Turkish branch. They had made clear he would be moving up however. The new CEO had made clear he wanted Thomas to be his personal assistant and right hand man. Thomas didn't refuse this, the paycheck would be almost double his current one, but he was in no way happy about being bossed around by one of those filthy Arab brutes. He had worked his ass off for 35 years for God sakes! The new boss would be arriving tomorrow, and HR had asked Thomas to pick the man up from the airport and give him a warm welcome into the office.
"I have to work under that monkey from now on." Thomas exclaimed to his colleagues. "I can't believe I haven't been given the position."
His colleagues just nodded and let him rant. It wasn't anything new. Old man Thomas, the racist, the white supremacist. Most of them had already heard the new CEO was being considered to be a transfer from Türkiye. HR had sent them some feedback reports on what they would think of this.While most were very optimistic about this change, seeing as the department was in dire need of some diversity, they had also, anonymously ofcourse, let HR know that Thomas would be very much against this, seeing his racist demeanor. HR had taken this into consideration and told Mr. Hamad Abdul in advance. Knowing this he was still adamant to take the job and even wanted to make sure Thomas would become his closest employee, his personal assistant.
Why? HR didn't know, neither did the employees, and neither did Thomas, who was now angrily driving towards the airport. It was a hot summer day, so he was blasting the AC. He arrived at the airport, and almost immediately spotted his new boss. The man was a towering giant of a man. His tailor-made suit was almost painted onto his strong physique. A well trimmed beard adorned his strong square jaw. Thomas gulped. He stopped the car in front of the man, and rolled down the window.
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"Hey Hamad, get in." Thomas almost snarled, but he managed to keep himself calm.
Mr Abdul raised an eyebrow as he leaned down. "I sincerely hope this is not the way you treat your boss Thomas?" His voice was rough, and almost completely without an accent. Thomas started to sweat.
"Sir, or Mr. Abdul, that is how you will address me, Thomas." He put an obvious emphasis of displeasure on Thomas' name.
"Y-yes sir" Thomas stammered. He didn't know why, but he had lost all fighting spirit once the man outside the car spoke to him.
"Now, you will open this door for me, and put my luggage in the trunk." Mr Abdul demanded.
"Yes sir." Thomas replied. He quickly got out of the car and opened the door for his boss. After the man got in he quickly closed the door and carried the two large trunks to the back and loaded them into his car. He swiftly got back into his seat and started to drive off.
Thomas didn't dare speak. For some unknown reason, he felt beneath the large Turkish man. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, so he turned the AC up a notch. However after doing so Mr. Abdul spoke.
"Turn that off Thomas. It is far too chilly in this country. "
"Y-yes sir…" Thomas reluctantly turned off the AC, and within minutes the car turned into a blistering sauna.
"Ah, that is better." Mr Abdul sighed in relief. Thomas looked in his rearview mirror and saw his boss unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. His large, hairy chest was already glistening with sweat.
At the same time a warm funk started to spread throughout the car. Thomas grimaced. He wasn't an idiot so he knew what the source of the smell was, but he also knew he couldn't ask Mr. Abdul to please let him open a window.
"Anything wrong Thomas?" Thomas turned his eyes back to the road. "N-no sir."
"Good, I was almost afraid you were against my smell." Thomas looked back into his mirror and saw Mr. Abdul stare right at him.
"N-no sir… it's a sign of a real man … right?" Thomas stammered.
"What is?" Mr Abdul asked with a sly smirk on his lips.
"The… the smell sir… and the sweating."
"I suppose you are right Thomas. A real man can't help but smell."
Thomas nodded as he turned his eyes back to the road.
Slowly, Thomas' own Body odor started to fade away, the overwhelming smell of Mr. Abdul filling the confines of the car.
They arrived at the office and Thomas quickly got out, opening the door for Mr. Abdul.
"Good boy." Mr. Abdul said. A shudder went through Thomas's body.
"Thank you sir!" Thomas gleefully replied. He turned red after he had said it. He swiftly turned around and led his boss into the building. After a quick tour, Mr. Abdul nodded and said, "Alright boy, let's get to work."
"Y-yes sir" Thomas hated how he turned into a blubbering mess talking to this brick wall of a guy.
Thomas took place at his desk just outside the office and got to work. Mr. Abdul frowned as he walked into his new office and closed the door behind him.
Thomas groaned as soon as the door closed.
"Motherfucker thinks he owns the place, well, I'll let him know."
_________________________________________
The next day Thomas arrived at work, 15 minutes early as he always did. He walked into the office, only to notice his desk was missing, only an out of place emptiness remaining.
"What the fuck! Where the hell is my desk?" He looked around for his stuff, but only saw his colleagues shrug and shake their heads.
The door to Mr. Abduls office opened and the new boss was standing in the doorway.
"Looking for something? Tommy ?" He said with a playful undertone.
"Where the fuck is my desk?!"
"What was that?" Mr Abdul raised an eyebrow and stared deep into Thomas's eyes.
"M-my desk… where… I…" Thomas stammered.
Mr. Abduls eyebrow went higher.
Thomas took a deep breath. "Might you know where my desk is, sir?"
Mr. Abdul smiled.
"Of course, it's right here." He stepped aside and showed Thomas's desk, neatly fitted into the office.
"I want my assistant to be able to quickly deal with any and all requests. Having a door in between us would just hinder that right?" A devilish grin spread over his squared face.
Thomas' heart sank. He would be under constant supervision, not to mention near this asshole, the entirety of his work day.
"Come, let's get to work" Mr. Abdul motionedThomas to get into his office.
Thomas slowly made his way over, briefly looking over his shoulder, only to see his co-workers snicker at his flushed visage.
Mr. Abdul closed the door behind them and got behind his desk.
"You will answer the phone quickly, and deal with it quietly.I don't want any drawn out calls. Anything I ask of you, you will do to the best of your abilities, which I hope are up to standard."
Thomas nodded and booted up his computer.
"I'll let you know if I need anything." Mr Abdul started to type away.
Thomas opened his email and began replying. He had already gotten a massive amount of emails of executives and companies asking to meet with the new CEO. He painstakingly got to work.
After about half an hour he noticed he had started to sweat. He looked over at Mr. Abdul and was about to ask if he could maybe turn the AC on, but before he could utter a single word, Mr. Abdul said, "If I need you I will call on you, otherwise I like to work in silence."
Thomas nodded, his shirt slowly getting drenched as the minutes ticked away.
After a while he picked up a familiar scent. It was Mr. Abduls musk. Thomas deeply inhaled, and quickly got back to work.
At the other side of the room, Mr. Abdul smirked.
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Thomas had been working in the musk ridden office for a few days now. The musk slowly seeming to lose its oppressive effect. He still couldn't help but be Mr. Abduls little bitch, and obeyed his every whim, but he did slip out a few harsh words to his coworkers.
On the flip side, he hadn't felt as spry and energetic as he did in ages. He got up early, he even ran a bit before going to work.
Thomas sat down next to his coworkers in the lunch room and sighed.
"That ass really keeps me running around. Can't he do anything himself?"
His colleagues just murmured a bit, knowing full well he would have made his assistant do the exact same if he had become CEO.
"I mean, I get it. If I were a sweaty pig like him I would be lazy as well right, but fucking hell get your ass up man."
The room fell dead silent.
Thomas looked at his coworkers with confusion.
"So that's what you think of me Tommy"
Mr. Abdul was standing right behind Thomas. His face was calm, but the tone of his voice was grim and serious.
"Stop fucking calling me Tommy. It's Thomas…" he turned as he said it, making eye contact and immediately the blood drained from his face. The room was so quiet that you could hear the traffic, even through the triple layered windows.
"Office, now" Mr. Abdul commanded and Thomas shot up, almost running out the lunch room.
When inside, Mr. Abdul slammed the door shut, and locked it with a key on his keychain.
Thomas was frozen in the middle of the room. Mr Abdul sat down in his chair and sighed.
"What is your problem with me Tommy?"
"I… I don't have a problem sir." Tommy stammered. He stared at the floor while Mr. Abdul was speaking.
"You have been rude and, quite frankly, downright racist since I got here. You may not show it to me, but I have heard complaints from your colleagues, and from HR from before I even got here."
Thomas had a hard time focusing on what Mr. Abdul was saying. It's not that he didn't want to, but the room was filled with this amazing and arousing smell.
"THOMAS"
Mr. Abdul shouted and Thomas looked up.
"I'm sorry sir. I'm listening, I just…" Thomas fell silent. Sitting in his chair, Mr. Abdul had unbuttoned his shirt, and his broad, bulky and hairy torso was in full view.
Thomas's mouth hung agape, a small droplet of drool seeping from the corner.
"I said, come here"
Thomas wanted to object but his legs began moving towards the desk before he could stop them. He walked around the desk, stopping just in front of his boss. The strong smell filled his nostrils, his mind going blank.
"Come sit on my lap." Mr. Abduls voice had turned calm, almost seductive even, and Thomas couldn't help but follow his command.
Mr. Abdul put his arm around him and smiled. He put one hand behind his head, the erotic scent only becoming stronger.
"Sir… I…" Thomas wanted to stand up, leave, from this disgusting scene. Instead, he found himself leaning closer and closer to the exposed pit of his boss.
A few inches before he made contact and stopped, his eyes drifting upward, looking Mr. Abdul in the eyes. He only nodded.
This sent Thomas over the edge. He buried his face into Mr. Abduls pit sniffing up the fresh musk, lapping up any drops of sweat he could find. Inside his head he was screaming. How humiliating, how degrading, how…
"You're such a good boy aren't you" Thomas's mind cleared. The turmoil and rage fell silent. Instead his head filled with a feeling of fulfillment and bliss.
"I think you're finally ready. I haven't been satisfied with your performance, but perhaps that will change." Mr. Abdul smiled as he pressed Thomas's head back into his pit.
"Now, take a deep breath boy. And keep it in there for a while." Tommy did just that. He inhaled deeply and held his breath.
The musk immediately started to have an effect on his body. Slowly, his skin started to even out. Any blemish or wrinkle got ironed out, making him appear years younger.
"Now keep it up oglan, deep breaths"
Tommy took another deep breath. He began to squirm a little, his buttoned shirt getting quite tight all of a sudden. His slouched shoulders straightened up, getting broader each second. Before long his shirt was almost skin-tight on his body. Mr Abdul grinned and Tommy took another breath. His shirt exploded. His broad shoulders rounded out with pounds of muscle. His arms quickly followed. His biceps and triceps pulsed, and grew. They were almost as big as his head!
After taking another deep breath his flabby stomach began to tighten. Layers of fat started to melt and move around his body. His arms got even bigger with a small added layer of fat, while his stomach became home to rows of tight, abs. Mr Abdul's hand slid down Tommy's back, down to his glutes, which were in the process of expanding themselves. The previously unimpressive, fat filled office worker ass, became a beautifully sculpted bubble but. Mr Abdul sank his hands in them, and Tommy let out a soft moan.
"That's it oglan. How do you like my pit."
"It… it's so good... sir…"
"You don't have to call me sir when we're alone, oglan."
"Y-yes… Daddy"
Mr. Abdul smirked.
"Now let's give you something new." Tommy pulled his head out of the pit and looked at Mr. Abdul, his face had lost a few years, and his eyes were vacant, no thought behind them.
Mr Abdul took off his shoes, and slowly pushed Tommy down. The smell emanating from his big feet was intense. His pits had been ripe, but now completely paled in comparison. Tommy eagerly went along and took a whiff of his bosses feet. After taking a few deep breaths, a strong itch spread across his smooth chest. While absentmindedly scratching it he felt thick hairs brushing up against his fingers. Mr. Abul grinned as he watched the forest of hair spread. He took his other foot and rubbed it against the soft carpet of hair, leaving behind a permanent mark of musk. Tommy took the sock of one of Mr. Abdul's feet and began licking and sucking on his toes. With each lick, his pecs began to swell. His fat old man moobs quickly started to look and feel like strong masculine pecs, every aggressive lick made them sway and jiggle. A quick pinch of his nipples send him into a moaning fit, revealing their sensitivity.
Tommy grabbed the other foot, and deeply inhaled. His legs quickly expanded, blasting the dress pants to bits. Quads that could crush a watermelon rested on top of thick calves. His feet burst out of the expensive shoes he was wearing, a domineering size 12.
"That's already so much better boy, come here." Mr. Abdul motioned Tommy to move back up, and as his boy did, he took him by the chin and pulled him up to his face, and locked lips with him. Mr. Abduls strong tongue forced his way into Tommy's mouth, beginning the final stages of the transformation.
Tommy moaned and groaned as his facial features began to change and shift. His round and putty looking face began to sharpen. His rounded jawline became strong and squared, his nose grew a bit bigger, and his lips became more plump. His eyebrows grew bushy and stern, while his eyes softened a bit. A heavy itch ran across his new jawline and a thick beard quickly grew in. Mr. Abdul ran a hand over his balding scalp and thick, black locks of hair sprouted from the once middle aged man's head.
At the same time a wave of color washed over the white man's skin. A tan fitting of an Arabian hunk, his skin glistening with sweat, shone in the sunlight coming from the large windows of the office.
With his free hand, Mr Abdul grabbed Tommy's undersized bulge, and began to massage it. Waves of pleasure ran through the hunks body, his undersized rod quickly growing in size. At the same time However it didn't quite seem to get hard. That was at least until it reached a massive 10 inches. Seems he was a shower not a grower. While his dick was growing, his balls had filled with a massive amount of cum. They had grown to the size of tangerines, and his dick was leaking into his tighty whities.
"You only cum when I tell you to, boy."
Tommy nodded.
"Are you ready to leave your old life behind, and become an Arab boy for your daddy?"
"Y-yes… yes sir please."
Mr. Abdul continued to grope Tommy´s ever growing bulge, his balls churning, growing and sagging, every aspect of his life condensing into the thick, salty solution.
“P-please… Baba… I need to cum”
Mr. Abdul grinned.
“Cum for Baba, boy.”
Tommy threw his head back as his massive rod began spewing out rope after rope of seed into his underwear. His deep moans echoing against the walls off the office. The small wet spot that had appeared due to his leaky cock quickly started to spread. Before long his whole underwear was drenched, and he was still shooting. All his memories drained from his balls into his soaking underwear, dripping alongside his leg. Mr. Abdul ran a finger across his boy's leg and swiped up a big swab of seed. He slowly took his finger in his mouth and savored the taste of his new plaything.
“You taste amazing Ayaz” He ran his hands across the sculpted back of his boy, and smiled.
Ayaz looked up, his dim eyes filling with light and energy. “Thank you Baba!” he said with a big grin.
“Now go get yourself cleaned up. I want you back here in an hour.”
“Yes sir!” Ayaz got serious again. Mr. Abdul liked that about his boys. They knew when to switch back into work mode and were very good at what they did. Mr. Abdul threw Ayaz a new suit, no underwear of course, which Ayaz quickly put on. His obscenely large bulge didn't leave much to the imagination, but then again, his whole body was basically for show in the tight suit.
________________________________________
The department was happy with the new figures the CEO was producing over the past weeks. He had been able to almost triple their profits in only a few weeks time. Mr. Abdul told HR it was due to his lovely assistant Ayaz, who had kept track of all the work and kept the clients very, very happy.
Ayaz was also very happy. He was able to live a luxurious life due to both his massive paycheck and his boss being his Daddy. He was of course a hard worker, but having almost two full incomes also definitely helps. He spends most of his time outside of work going to the gym to keep his daddy happy or participating in some… lets call it lucrative occupational activities. Again Mr. Abduls assistant keeps the clients very, very happy.
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mokozroach · 2 days
Text
redacted headcanons 2
(long as fuck)
Huxley grows beautiful plants for his house/garden with Damien and looks forward to taking care of them every day
Damien lights candles every evening with his powers and changes the colours of the flames
Hush loves cats and is very attracted to anything cat related: decorations, patterns, clothing, etc
Doc paints and sometimes Hush watches them silently
Hush likes bright colours like yellow and orange
Bright is 16. Frederick is 17. (imagine looking 16 forever ☠️ never getting that glow up huh)
When Sam introduced them to Darlin' at a clan meeting they couldn't stop giggling and bringing up embarrassing things about Sam when he wasn't looking (imagine when they sense the bite >:D)
After feeling empathetic regarding the circumstances of their turning, Vincent acted as a rich uncle to Fred & Bright, buying them gifts, taking them places, etc.
Bright Eyes was in their emo phase when they was turned and had long black hair
HUXLEY USED TO CHEW WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN FOR YEARS - its cute when he does it ok hes like nom nom nom :3
Hush read that you get people cards on their birthday and special occasions so on Doc‘s birthday he gave them a "congrats on your first born" card
Huxley is the biggest Abba fan to ever exist
Sam wrote a message to his future self in 10 years before he was turned…oh boy..someone write a fic about him finding it like only recently or sumn
milo headcanons >:)
cuz i didnt do any in the last part…so he gets his own section
CREDIT TO THE MILO ENTHUSIAST HIMSELF FOR THESE <333 @qhoaaaa (these r just straight copy pasted i hope thats ok 😭)
Curly hair thats shaved on the sides (got hc from this one Milo fanart I saw last year and its stuck with me ever since like yes that is his hair)
Had a lip piercing once but only for a few months bc he got scared of the side effects (metal moving on the teeth can deteriorate them 🤓)
Tiddies
Takes very good care of his teeth like damn they're white ash you'd think they're fake
Heavily had a phase as a teen where he wanted to split his tongue in two like that snake tongue shit
Tons of rings. TOOONNNSSSS (bc of Erik in that one stream with a shit on of rings on) (Milo's poor so he mightve made one himself as a kid and kept it for emotional value and the rest grew in quality so he makes his own rings and doesn't care how shitty they are and likes to nit pick at jewelers)
Hand crafts jewelry BAM. makes SH a necklace BAM. matching necklaces BAM. "Whered you get that?" "Up your moms ass" BAM (gets really cocky when he's blinged out OKAYY)
ALSO MADE AGGRO HIS OWN NAME TAG
painter Milo
Milo who loves to sketch landscapes
Then gets into drawing people bc of a picture he took of Sweetheart once and then was like , fuck they look too pretty ... let me grab my paint
Next thing you know there's a HUGEE canvas of the same picture hung up in their living room
It took days for Milo to complete bc he wanted it to be top notch and accurate with how they look and mostly bc of the landscape bc nature and shit yippee
(There could be room for me to add that Milo paints wedding pictures for the double wedding SGRJEGEEJSHW)
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shayyprasad · 3 days
Text
would you love me if i were a worm? | peter parker
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summary: you ask peter a very, very serious question.
warnings: nothing! (reader goes by rose sometimes... like a pet-name?)
pairing: frat!peter x bimbo reader
word count: 0.7k+ words
a/n: i honestly had so much fun writing intellectual, i wanted to add more to this little bimbo!verse! this trend feels like such a cute, bimbo-y thing, so i put it on here! (in no way is use of "bimbo" meant to be a patriarchal stereotype. please do not take it offensively, this is a work of fiction.)
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M.LIST | RULES/REQUESTING | ABOUT ME
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you're scrolling through your instagram reels, trying to pass your time. you're snuggled against peter - he's nice and warm - and lazily draped against him.
his arm has lost feeling at this point, but he couldn't care less, he's totally happy with it. being close to and loved by you is the best thing he could ever ask for. peter's lost a lot in his life, but you'll never be one of them.
he has his head laying on top of yours, tapping away at his laptop. peter's been busy with spider-man, to the point where the essay that is due tomorrow completely slipped his mind. he's trying to multitask since he hasn't spent that much time with you lately.
he's struggling, typing with one hand, but it's worth it.
you swipe to the next video using your freshly painted nails (they're a nice shade of pink, topped with a glitter coat). what's playing is a girl talking to her boyfriend; you can't hear the audio, but there a subtitles. the girl poises a very important question:
what would he do if she were a worm? would he love her still?
which leads you to think, what would peter do if you were a worm?
would he still love you?
or would he give you away? throw you into the dirt? would he step on you?
you gasp at the thought, and peter turns to look at you. "you good?" he doesn't look nor sound especially concerned, but the look in his eyes gives it away.
"petey?" you ask, eyes wide and wet.
"yeah, rose?"
"would you still love me if i were a worm?"
he's about to burst into laughter, he really is, but with one more look at you, he realizes that's not a great idea. the way you're looking up at him, expectant and weary, almost like you're afraid of his answer has him rubbing your shoulder, a chuckle slipping out.
if it's even possible, your eyes widen more. "you wouldn't?" eyes glossed over, lips pouted, he wishes he could take that stupid little chuckle back. he doesn't like the way you're tearing up, even if it's for a reason like this.
peter doesn't get fazed by much, he's spider-man, but watching you cry is number one on his list.
peter thinks it a silly question; he'd love you if you were a damn rock.
you're so gorgeous like this (not the crying), he can't help but think. with your hair in soft curls, satin hugging your figure. the curve of your lashes, how you blink up at him.
god, he's so happy he's with you.
"of course i would," peter says quickly, realizing he's been quiet a moment too long.
"really?"
"yeah," by the look on your face, it's not enough. "uh, i'd love you still."
"you'd carry me around with you?"
"sure. i'd figure out how to give you a cute pink bow, we could tie it around your waist- er... around you. and buy you a little dollhouse, you could use the rooms."
peter's committed now, and your eyes aren't welling with tears anymore.
"can it be a, like, pink dollhouse?" you ask, softly, voice moist from tears.
"with glitter," he adds, "and if we can't find a nice enough one for you, that's absolutely perfect... i'll make you one myself."
"oh my god, really?"
"anything for my favorite lady. in fact, i'd get you the finest food too. top notch- top notch whatever-it-is-that-worms-eat food."
peter's so glad none of his frat brothers are seeing this, he would've died of mortification. but here, in this room, where it's just the two of you - peter doesn't have a care in the world.
"and, y'know what? i think i'd even find you a pink little louis-v bag. that's right, my rose." he's spewing facts right now, he'd do all this. well, maybe not the bag. the two dollars in his bank account might not work out great with that.
but you don't have to know that part, it's fine.
"i'd read your, uh- fashion magazines and stuff to you. show you the pictures and everything," he loves the smile you have on right now.
"you'd be the most beautiful worm there is," he finishes.
"awww. i'd love you if i was a worm too," you say, nuzzling your nose against his.
"i've got no doubt, rose."
it's not all a lie though, hypothetical or not. he's made a promise to never leave your side, worm or not.
taglist: @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod
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eurhythmix · 3 months
Text
“Do you ever wonder?”
“Wonder what?”
Her hands curl around the bannister. Knuckles whitening. “If there’s a version of us… that made it stick?”
Beneath them a horn blows. The city rumbles, pedestrians flocking the streets. Inside they’re starting the countdown.
He stares down at his champagne. At the bubbles rising. Pop. Pop. Pop.
“I think about that more than I should.”
She scrapes her hair back. Those curls he’d dragged his fingers through. Those hands he’d thought he’d hold forever.
Her finger gets caught in an unruly lock. A finger that now wears another man’s ring. He can’t help but stare at it. His vision forks, his heart beating off rhythm.
“Me too,” she whispers. Her voice breaks. She spins the ring with her thumb.
They’re both fixated on it now. That slice of ore wedged between them.
Inside they’ve started the chant.
Ten.
Nine.
“I’ll always love you,” he confesses. It’s gnarled as old tree bark.
Eight.
Seven.
“Me too.” There’s gravel in her tone to match it.
Six.
Five.
She takes a step towards him.
Four.
He takes a step towards her.
Three.
“Draco I—“
“There you are darling.”
They spring apart as the door swings open. A man walks out onto the balcony and places a hand on her back. He leans down and kisses her. It’s soft. Gentle.
Draco’s eyes narrow.
What they had was never gentle. What they had could burn this whole city down.
“Come inside,” his thumb rests on her jaw.
She looks up at him and—
And Draco knows it’s over.
Knows that in this battle he’s lost. Because she never looked at him like that.
Safe.
With him, she’s safe.
In that single look he’s forced to see it all.
What they had was magic. Divine. Desire and dreaming.
But it was destruction too.
She was blood in his mouth and he was acid in her bones. Her name was inked on his tongue and her being branded in his breath.
He can still feel her skin.
Her warmth.
Their hearts beating in tandem.
He can still smell her perfume. Can still hear her favourite song. Can still taste all the comfort she cleaved right through his cold hard exterior.
He remembers the nights wrapped around her. The days they didn’t leave bed at all. The silken sighs that showered the air with sparks. He remembers her smile in the half-light. Her head tucked into his neck and the press of her lips against his jugular. He remembers the rise and fall of her chest. The splay of her fingers as they twist through his hair. The warmth of her skin as he draws lines along the notches of her spine.
All those seconds he thought would last forever. He remembers them all.
The bad days too.
In vivid hyper-colour they’re painted blue.
The days filled with screaming fights and storming through the house. Of bending floorboards beneath pounding feet and shattered glass sparkling like snow. A champagne flute tossed at that wall. A tumbler thrown at another. Of shaking windows with fistfuls of rage and shrieking souls that refused to silence.
He remembers how they tried so hard. He remembers how they failed. How their love made them mad.
If she was the fire, he was the wick waiting to light. If he was the earth, she was the quake waiting to swallow them both.
A ship in a storm, they were made to wreck.
Best intentions got lost in the waves of reality breaking against the shore. Two birds dancing in the great big blue, sailing against unrelenting winds. Torn apart by opposing invisible forces.
People can’t always be what they want to be. And isn’t that a slap in the face.
They say loving is easy. Or maybe that’s just the fools. In truth it’s an uphill climb. And sometimes… sometimes the whole thing crumbles the moment you reach the top. Because you turn around. You look up. And find there’s so far left to go.
That can break a person.
It broke them.
They should have been each others shelter. Instead they’re ravagers. Thieves that stole their own happiness away.
Her attention slides back to him and there’s an apology creeping out of the crooks in her face.
She was always apologising for things she shouldn’t.
For a long time he let her.
Draco’s swallows down the lump in his throat. It’s a burning sliver of ember against his oesophagus.
She deserves peace and he can never give her that. She’s owed soft and he’s all hard edges.
Two.
One!
Fireworks pop, colourful lights scatter, filling the night with confetti-like star bursts.
They missed it.
Her fiancé introduces himself. “How do you know each other?”
“Old friends,” Hermione answers. “That’s all.”
She’s in his bed. She’s moving beneath him. He’s nipping at her lips and she’s kissing between his collarbones. Spring blooms all around them and her skin is petal-soft against his fingertips. Heat builds. Spreads. Her eyes haze, simple brown bursting into a kaleidoscope of colour. He smiles. Kisses her. Kisses her. Kisses her. Cant stop kissing her. Not when she’s summer-wine against his tongue.
Time fluctuates, a ripple of their tiny histories whispering on the wind. Its parasitic. Barnacles cloying to the underside of his ribs. A silent chord that bleeds for only them to hear.
Inwardly, he screams.
Hermione clears her throat. The man places a possessive hand around her waist. Smiles with too-white teeth.
He is no fool.
Draco shifts, fingers gripping his champagne glass. A swift vision of shattering the top and plunging the stem through his neck momentarily blinds him. The feral creature within writhes. He wants to kill. He wants to take back what’s his.
But she isn’t.
Not anymore.
He’s never professed to be a good man. A kind man. But this… this is the greatest kindness he could ever offer.
This is goodbye.
Hermione’s throat bobs as she searches for a way out. A way to end the awkwardness.
Their twinned gaze sharpens.
Draco exhales.
They’re years and days and hours flattened down to this one, final second. They were inevitable and they were inevitably doomed all the same. Destined to end up right here. A cold winter night and the clock counting down to one.
Funny all the things eyes can say.
I’m sorry.
I’m so glad I met you.
I wish I never did.
I will never, ever forget you.
I’m terrified that I will.
A particularly riotous bout of fireworks stain the moon-drunk horizon. Draco twists towards them. This is it, that movement says.
It’s a jagged spike through his chest.
Hermione is released. She turns. She walks away.
He lets her.
He lets her.
He lets—
For a full minute he lets her.
And then—
What the ever-loving fuck am I doing?
He’s running.
Running.
Shoving people aside, ignoring their disgruntled shouts. He can see her across the room entering the elevator. He calls out but it’s too noisy for her to hear.
The elevator door slides shut.
There are no thoughts now. Nothing but feet moving. A rattle in his ribcage. A tug he can’t ignore.
Fuck.
Heart in his throat, he veers towards the exit sign. Slams the escape door open and takes the stairs two at a time. Theyre on the top floor.
He’ll never make it.
Even as he races as fast as he can. Running. Leaping. Tossing himself down, down, down. Floor after floor.
He’ll never make it.
A choked sob cracks his mouth open.
No.
He won’t do it again.
He can’t lose her again.
It’s not want anymore. It’s need. It’s love over anything. Over goodness or sanity or ‘supposed to be’.
As he spirals down, more memories spiral up.
He’s holding her hand as they whirl about a dance-floor. She’s leaning over a desk, scribbling on a notepad and he’s tickling her back until she squirms and drops her quill. He’s whining in protest as she drags him out into the snow, their feet the only marks on the fresh layer of powder. She’s nuzzling into his warmth and slipping her cold hands into the sleeves of his jumper. Her fingers are languidly exploring and he’s shivering from head to toe.
They’re laughing and they’re playing and they’re happy. They’re so fucking happy it hurts.
At last he falls through the final door, bursting into the lobby.
It’s empty. The elevator is entirely bare.
He let her go.
He—
A small gasp.
He spins.
She’s standing there by the desk. Eyes wide.
Time unspools. A frayed ribbon flapping. Reaching to find its severed end.
“Don’t marry him,” he blurts.
She blinks. “What?”
“Don’t marry him.” He strides towards her, grasps both her hands. “Don’t. Please. I know—I know it didn’t work. But—please. Let’s try again. Let’s try and try and try until our hearts stop beating. Don’t marry him. Marry me. Be mine. Let me be yours. Marry me.”
Hermione’s eyes grow glassy. Her bottom lip trembles. She tries to speak but all that leaves her is a strangled whimper.
That’s when Draco notices it.
The absence of metal beneath his fingers.
He looks down. Thumb gliding over her fingers.
There’s no ring.
Draco’s breath punches out of him.
“I—I—I—“ She swallows. Mashes her eyes shut. “I—in the elevator—I couldn’t. I told him. I saw you and I couldn’t. I thought—I don’t know. But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t marry a man when my heart still belonged to another. Would always—“ she broke off, eyes snapping open. “You really want to try?”
Draco nods. Aggressively nods. Embarrassingly so.
He realises he’s still holding his champagne and tosses it aside.
It hits the floor, golden bubbles spilling out in jagged bursts.
“It’s all I want,” his hearts takes a hesitant step towards her. “Every day. Every minute.”
“Even after everything?” She mirrors him.
“Especially after everything.”
Hermione’s expression softens. Her fingers move slowly. Gliding up both sides of his face until her palms press against his jaw. She holds him like she’s worried he’ll break.
But he’s done braking.
She rises up. He lowers. They crash together. Arms thrown in haphazard dissaray. No thought but to touch. To pull. To own.
He lifts her off her feet, spinning them in a tight circle. Her lips slant over his and he urges her closer while her fingers rake his hair into a wild tangle.
It’s a kiss that really ought to be stamped out in the stars. There’s little fears painting its edges black but the light burns bright either way.
When they finally pull apart her cheeks are stained with a crimson flush. They bring their foreheads together, breathing the same sweetened air.
“Ok,” she whispers, her voice cradled by the cosmos. “Let’s try forever.”
Happy new year ❤️
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cringevalue · 1 month
Text
a list of eddie and steve (definitely not head)canons because they are gnawing on the bars of their enclosure
EDDIE is transmasculine
was raised catholic until he moved in with wayne (who is christian) and is allowed to follow whatever religion he wants
he makes up his own.
has a lisp, but is very good at hiding it after years of being teased; when he can't hide it, he puts on a dramatic accent
former gifted kid to late diagnosed burnt out autistic adult pipeline follower
is allergic to watermelon but still eats it because he loves the taste, even though it gives steve a fucking heart attack every time he breaks out into hives. he solves this issue by only eating watermelon when he's with hellfire. dustin unsolves this issue by calling steve every other campaign with "your little boyfriend has consumed the death fruit again," to which steve promptly freaks out and breaks thirteen traffic laws to make sure eddie is still alive
thinks his own health issues are funny. never takes anything seriously when it comes to his own issues.
has tourette's and has conditioned steve into responding whenever he tics 'hello there' by huffing and puffing and refusing to look steve in the eye until he says hi back because eddie thinks this is top notch comedy
laughed the first time he slapped himself in the face with a tic
loves playing the sims 4
cried while watching big daddy because he was on his period and couldn't handle the scene where julian was taken away from sonny. steve is the only person who knows about this because eddie threatened to turn his balls inside out if he told a soul and steve is lowkey kind of scared
STEVE has a very bad addiction to stickers. they are everywhere. he has a packing box FULL of random stickers
loves playing the sims 4 and introduces eddie to the world of free custom content
pretends to not understand anything eddie is saying when he talks about music, but secretly listens to iron maiden and wasp when he misses eddie
is allergic to a very specific prescription pain medication, but he can't remember the name of it so he refuses to use any sort of pain medication no matter how much pain he's in and wouldn't even touch a bottle of ibuprofen with a ten-foot pole even though he knows he's not allergic to ibuprofen
has a very bad fear of allergic reactions
wants to write a romance novel even though he can't focus on reading a book for longer than eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds (he was timed)
is a middle school painting teacher and absolutely loves it when students paint on him and his clothes, even though he now has only one shirt that doesn't have paint on it. this made him the 'coolest' teacher in the school and his classroom is always full at lunch
wants to adopt a teenager because he knows that nobody is ever too old to be convinced they're loved, and he wants to give someone the love he never got as a teenager
is always wearing a homemade bracelet a random kid on the street gave him
can only wear one brand of socks and refuses any other brand
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supernaturalgirl20 · 1 year
Text
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Public Sex
Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), public sex, Frankie being loud AF, cursing.
Gif: @nicolethered
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The heavy green blanket was coarse as it scratched against your bare skin. Hands tangled in his messy locks as he shoved his tongue inside you. “Oh fuck. Love when you do that thing with your tongue.”
He stopped his ministrations as he pulled the blanket from over his head, eyes darting around the room. “Gotta be quiet, amor. We don’t want to wake the guys.”
“Sorry.”
The smirk that plastered his face could melt butter as he winked and dove right back in. Frankie was always amazing at eating you out and this was no exception. You bit into your bottom lip as you came again trying hard not to moan loudly.
His lips pressed featherlight kisses along your skin as he worked his way up your body, his head finally emerging from the blankets and kissing you softly on the lips. “Gonna fuck you like this hermosa. Don’t want the guys to catch a glimpse of my woman.”
“Please Frankie, just….fuck me.”
His hand reaches between you both, running the tip along your slick before he finally notches the head of his cock at your entrance and slowly pushes in. “Oh,” you gasp as he stretches you open with his thick cock.
He stills, his body flush with yours and his eyes closed. “Frankie, baby are you ok?”
“Hmm, Hmm. Just…just need a minute. So fucking tight…..want to last.”
With a deep breath he opens his eyes and begins to move. His hips moving in and out of you slowly. “Mierda!”
His movements are languid as he slides in and out of you and the feel of your tight walls clenching around him as you come has him groaning loudly. “Frankie shhh,” you whisper and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin.
His hand slides along your thigh pulling your leg over his hip as he begins to pound into you with abandon. “Missed you….so fucking much….missed this beautiful cunt…fuck…”
A noise coming from one of the other beds stops you both and you wait with bated breath, hoping you haven’t woken the guys. Frankie doesn’t wait to find out for too long before he begins to move again and you bite your lip as you feel another orgasm coming.
“Fuck Frankie….so good…..keep going,” you whisper into his ear, before biting into the skin in his shoulder causing him to groan. With one more hard thrust he comes hard painting your walls with his seed. He collapses on top of you as you try to calm your breathing.
He kisses you softly as he pulls back a little, “really did miss you baby. Can’t wait until we get home and I can take my time with you.”
“Not long now, baby. Four more weeks. I should go.”
He groans in disappointment, a pleading look in his eyes. “You know I’d love to sleep here with you, but we get caught..”
“I know, baby. Fuck I can’t wait to have you just sleep beside me. To be able to hold you.”
“I know. Get some rest. See you bright and early.” With one last peck you sneak back out and back to your room. Frankie smiles after you and when he climbs back into bed he’s met with cat calling and whistling.
“Oh Frankie….keep going…”
“I love when you do that thing with your tongue.”
“Oh shut up. Ye are just jealous my lady is here with me and not back home.”
“Shit Fish, you were telling Y/N to keep quiet. You were fucking louder man,” Benny jeers.
“Fuck off. Hijo de puta.”
Santi sits up, turning to face Frankie, “what exactly do you do with your tongue?”
The others laugh and Frankie curses at him in Spanish before turning over and giving his friend the finger. “Oh Frankie….”
“Good night you idiots.”
The three men laugh hysterically for another minute before they all fall asleep. Frankie lay there with a smile on his face at the thought that in four weeks he could have you all to himself and you could scream his name as loud as you wanted.
Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @hungrhay @tusk89
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Text
Fireball - Hamish Mycroft (Merlin) X Female Reader
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Title: Fireball
Hamish Mycroft (Merlin) X Female Reader
Additional Characters: Eggsy, Harry, Ginger (Mentioned), and random guards and other random characters for the plot (Mentioned)
Requested by Anon!
WC: 2,674
Warnings: Reader is from Statesman, mention of alcohol, bombs mentioned, love at first sight (sort of), teasing, taunting, nervousness, embarrassment, anxiety, guns mentioned, murder mentioned, flirting, confessions, bets, slight angst, and fluff
Stepping off the small helicopter, you held down your hair as you ducked under the blades; holding your briefcase tightly in one hand. A little ways away, stood two men in suits, hands clasped behind their back. You mentally rolled your eyes. Kingsman always seemed so... Extra. Them in their perfectly tailored suits and framed glasses. Brushing down your hair, you stood in front of the two men, letting out a sigh. 
"Welcome to Kingsman, Fireball." The older man greeted you. 
The younger man turned to his partner, an eyebrow raising. "Fireball? What? They ran out of names?"
"Yes." You spoke up, "In some senses they did. You two must be Harry and Eggsy." The looks on their faces were priceless. Eyes wide, Eggsy's jaw dropped.
"How do you know our names?" Eggsy asked and you shrugged with a grin.
"I'm a hacker. That's what you wanted when you contacted the Statesman, correct?"
Harry was quick to recover, clearing his throat before he said anything else.
"Yes. we need you to locate someone." His voice hardened, his expression darkening slightly as they led you into the Kingsman mansion.
"Mmm, my favorite activity. Anyone fun?" You asked, wiggling your eyebrows teasingly at them. As you followed them inside, Eggsy nudged Harry with a slight smirk. Harry gave him a stern look.
"They have codes to a bomb," Harry replied and Eggsy grinned.
"And we need them so we can disarm it." He finished, and your eyes lit up in recollection.
"Oooh! Mr. David Frizzle. We've been monitoring him for some time."
"His location has been locked down pretty well though. Even our wizard couldn't track him." Your lips curled upward slightly as Eggsy spoke.
"Mmm, and you think I can't? Watch and learn, boys. Take me to your hacking room."
Harry and Eggsy looked at one another briefly before leading you through the fantastic mansion. Walking down long hallways with large paintings, you took your time looking around, until you stopped in front of two doors. Harry opened the door for you and you looked around. The room was clean, white floors and dark wood walls. Along the back wall were rows and rows of electronic cases of blinking lights and other do-dads. It was a bit smaller than your office, but you could make it work. Looking over to the desk in the room, it faced a bunch of screens. And, in a chair, was a man. He turned as the three of you entered, standing. You couldn't help but stare at him. You have seen a lot of people in this line of work. But not like him. Bald, clean-shaven, dark eyes that glinted with intelligence behind his glasses as he stared right back at you.
"Fireball," He addressed you formally, pulling you back to reality, "Merlin." He offered his hand out to you. With a smirk, you shook it.
"I know. A pleasure to meet you." 
"You know?" Merlin asked, and you nodded, taking in the man before you.
"Of course, I'm a hacker." You shrugged, before realizing you and Merlin were still shaking each other's hands.
He cleared his throat, dropping your hand as you brought your hand back to your side. “So tell us about David Frizzle.”
Your face fell. "We've been tracking him for years and his computer systems are always top-notch."
"What have you learned?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Well, this... Frizzle is only the middle man it seems. Ginger and I think his boss is the real target here."
"Can you find out where he is?" Merlin asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Most likely." You agreed, before moving past Merlin and to his desk. Sitting down in his chair, you pulled up your briefcase, setting it down before you. Harry, Eggsy, and Merlin watched as you clicked open your case, revealing the various pieces of equipment within. "Alright, let's get this party started." You said, before rapidly typing on your small keyboard.
You smiled as you began to scan the screen. There were files everywhere, but you weren't having trouble reading it all. As you navigated through the servers, you found several pieces of information regarding the specific individual. You quickly pulled up a map and began working your way through the different locations. As you worked, you felt a presence beside you. Glancing quickly, you spotted Merlin leaning next to you, his dark eyes staring at your screen. Biting your lip, you tried to calm your racing heart and flushing cheeks. You glanced back at the screen, trying to ignore the close proximity of the both of you. "Done!" You exclaimed, your screen displaying a map of England, a red blinking dot placed over Glasgow. "The best guess is that he'll probably stay put somewhere near here." You pointed to the screen.
"Wow," Eggsy laughed out from the other side of you, almost startling you. "That was quick."
"Three minutes quick," Harry spoke up, glancing up from his watch.
Merlin swallowed thickly, looking down at your screen, at you, and back. Merlin would admit it, he was impressed. You were incredibly fast, more so than any other hacker he knew. Not only did you have the skills necessary to access multiple systems, but also you could handle them. He had thought you were just a normal hacker. Not a master hacker, who was practically immortal and could take on entire governments by herself. But you proved otherwise when you're hacked into the MI6 database, bypassing the firewall, and hacking into national security databases. "Good job, Fireball. I'm sure he won't expect us to track him directly."
"No, he won't." You confirmed, before beginning to type away again, "I think I'll be able to find out exactly where he's residing as well. Just give me... Five minutes." You typed away furiously, ignoring the fact that Merlin was watching you intensely and that Eggsy and Harry were now chatting. You didn't care if he was watching. It wasn't hard to see your mind whirring, analyzing every detail as you narrowed your map closer and closer to where Mr. Frizzle was located. In about 15 seconds, you had figured out where he was being kept. "Got it."
"Where is he?" Harry asked immediately.
"A penthouse apartment in the city."
"Do you know his address?" Merlin questioned.
"Yes."
"Let's go. Now." Eggsy ordered as he and Harry ran out of the room. 
Letting out a sigh, your eyes widened in realization as you scooted the chair back, standing up. "Sorry for stealing your chair like that." You apologized to Merlin, who only shook his head.
"No, it's fine. You can have mine." He spoke, accent thickening slightly as he walked past you as you sat down again, pushing a chair to sit beside you.
"So," You began, watching the screens before you to see Harry and Eggsy already driving. "This is what you do? Hack and lead the team?"
"Something like that," Merlin said simply, staring up at the screens.
"Well..." You paused, thinking, looking at him. "Do you also go out into the field?" You asked, tilting your head towards him and he hummed lightly, turning to face you.
"I used to." He answered, his voice soft.
You smiled, nodding. "Me too." You let out a sigh, before looking back at the screens, "But that darn Tequila took my place when he joined."
"Yeah?" Merlin asked, turning to face you.
"Yup." You replied, popping the 'p', "They're a pain in the butt."
For the next four hours, you and Merlin conversed with each other, even sharing lunch together while you watched Harry and Eggsy enter the apartment. And in that amount of time, you had grown to like the Scottish hacker quite a bit. He was nice, polite, kind, and intelligent. He was quite handsome too. Sharp jawline, dark piercing gaze... You found yourself becoming very fond of his company. He was extremely attractive. And, for whatever reason, made you feel safe like there was nothing to fear when you were around him. It frightened you slightly... How quickly you had fallen for the man before you.
~~~
It had been three months since you joined Kingsman temporarily and you were loving it. Working with Merlin was something entirely new and exhilarating. The two of you had begun working together fairly regularly, helping one another with missions, and even talking at length on occasion. Merlin was a smart man, and you found yourself getting to know him rather quickly. Well, minus his real day-to-day life outside of Kingsman. And he had grown quite fond of you as well, unknowingly to you. He told you stories of times when he went on missions, and you told him yours. You loved when he spoke, and you often found yourself smiling at everything he said. You loved the way his eyes lit up and the way his mouth curved upwards in amusement.  You found yourself falling more and more in love with him every day. 
Merlin thought you were incredibly intelligent, talented, and funny; And as the days went on, it grew harder and harder to hide his smile from you. He loved your cheeky grin and the way you laughed; it sounded like music to his ears. He loved your eyes, which were always bright and a bit mischievous. It was like you were a magnet, drawing him into your orbit, and he couldn't stop himself from being affected by you. It didn't help matters that you were absolutely gorgeous; not only your appearance but your personality and everything about you seemed to make his heart beat faster. 
"Merlin, sugar, you're staring." You spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts, making him blink. He quickly turned back to the screens.
"Am I?"
"Yes." You laughed, sitting back in your seat. "I know. I look cute today. Very distracting." You teased, making Merlin chuckle lightly.
He wasn't affirming or denying. Instead, he continued typing. "Have you located the address yet?"
"Yep! Here we go…" You muttered, your fingers flying across the keyboard as you scanned through various documents and data to find the address you were looking for. By tapping 'enter' you sent the address to Eggsy. You then looked up, noticing how closely Merlin was watching you. He quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks tinting pink as he focused on the monitors in front of him. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile as you looked down at your lap. You were hoping your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. And you hoped you weren't reading too much into the way he was looking at you. The look in his eyes, it was like admiration at most, but there was something else underneath. Something deeper. Something... Hidden.
Merlin sat frozen in his seat, forcing himself to stare at the screens before him, and forcing himself to remain focused on the task at hand. It was hard though, especially because his focus would drift to you every once in and while, watching you from the corner of his eye. He watched as you fiddled with your hands in your lap, chewing on your bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought. And Merlin found butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the sight, causing him to avert his gaze. He cleared his throat softly, trying to suppress his thoughts. This isn't the time to think about this right now, Merlin. Focus! 
"Merlin?" Your voice pulled him out of his trance as he glanced towards you. "Where?" You repeated, and Merlin looked away from you, biting down on his lip.
"Um, yeah. Right here." He stated, pointing to the screen. "Here," He pointed to a large white building surrounded by an impressive array of guards. "You have to find a way in, Eggsy. There are guards at each entrance." Merlin spoke through the mic.
You pursed your lips as you looked at him, "Uh, Merlin, uh... He’s already in." You spoke and Merlin froze before you spoke again, "He doesn’t know which way to go, you have that information." You told him and Merlin nodded his head, before swiftly getting back into business.
He swallowed before speaking, "Alright, take a right down this hall." He spoke through the mic before turning to you. "Fireball... Uh, I was wondering-"
"Which way now?" Eggsy spoke through the speakers, interrupting Merlin. "Any guards I should know about inside?"
Merlin turned back to the microphone, "Take the next left and up the stairs, no guards on the second floor." He said before turning back to you, as you looked up at him curiously. "I was wondering if you'd like to-"
"Merlin! Where to now?" Eggsy asked as he ran up the stairs, gun in hand.
Growing frustrated, Merlin turned back to the mic, "Third floor, keep going, guards are stationed at the office door." He spoke impatiently before turning back to you, "I was wondering-"
"Merlin!" 
Merlin swirled in his seat, pressing his hand down on the mic, "Yes, Eggsy?" He asked, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Hurry up and ask her out already, mate." Eggsy taunted as Merlin's eyes widened slightly and he froze. You looked at Merlin with those same wide eyes, confused and more so surprised as Eggsy continued to talk, "Ask her out and focus on the mission." You could tell Merlin was embarrassed by Eggsy's words, as he shifted in his chair, avoiding your eyes; his cheeks and tips of his ears tinted pink.
After a moment he sighed softly before turning back to you, "Right, sorry..." He mumbled quietly. You watched as he adjusted the knot of his tie from beneath his sweater, eyes glancing everywhere but at you. "Do you... Want to have dinner with me?" Merlin asked nervously.
"Like a date?" You asked, trying to sound calm and collected. But your heart was pounding and you knew the blush growing rapidly on your face gave it away. Merlin just nodded, looking away from your eyes.
"If you wanted." He answered simply, his voice soft as a gentle smile appeared on his features.
You let out an infectious laugh, "'Bout time you asked me." You teased, "I'd love too, Merlin." You breathed out.
"Finally!" Eggsy spoke from the speakers, gaining both yours and Merlin's attention, "Harry owes me thirty quid."
"You bet on us?" You asked and Eggsy laughed again, stepping over the bodies of the men who had been guarding the office door.
"Yeah, either Merlin was going to ask you out, or you were, once you were done waiting." He said, "Harry voted on you."
You hummed, shifting awkwardly in your seat as you glanced down, feeling embarrassed. Merlin just sighed, "Eggsy. Enter the office." He commanded softly.
"I'm just saying, I better be invited to the wedding." Eggsy continued to tease.
"Go into the office, agent," Merlin stated, his tone growing irritated. "Merlin out."
A few moments passed and you felt your heart flutter at the silence that fell between you and Merlin.
"So... Dinner?" You finally spoke, clearing your throat as you tried not to stare at Merlin.
"Dinner, yes, of course. I know this nice diner." He asked, and you finally turned to look at him. “If you’re interested?”
"I love diner food.” You gushed before you shifted in your seat, biting your lip briefly, “And, since we're going to go to dinner together, you might as well know my real name." You spoke, before scooting your chair closer to his. Leaning forward, you cupped the side of your mouth with a hand as you whispered your name into Merlin's ear.
Pulling away, Merlin smiled, a real genuine smile. "That's a beautiful name." He complimented, and your stomach fluttered.
"Thanks." You murmured shyly, both yours and Merlin’s hands finding each other’s.
"Y/- I mean... Fireball." Merlin uttered quietly, gazing deep into your eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned forward, whispering in your ear, "Hamish Mycroft." He pulled back as you stared up at him. 
"Beautiful name." You hummed with a smile.
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icedbatik · 5 months
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Penguins to retire Jaromir Jagr’s No. 68 during pre-game ceremony on Feb. 18
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By Pittsburgh Penguins
November 10, 2023
The Pittsburgh Penguins will raise two-time Stanley Cup Champion Jaromir Jagr’s no. 68 jersey to the rafters at PPG Paints Arena on February 18 versus the Los Angeles Kings as part of a pre-game celebration, it was announced today by the club.
As part of the ‘Celebrate 68’ festivities, all fans in attendance that night will receive a replica Jagr No. 68 banner. In addition, a commemorative Jagr bobblehead has been added as a giveaway to all fans in attendance on Thursday, March 14 versus the San Jose Sharks.
Jagr, whose NHL career spanned over two decades, is one of the most accomplished players in NHL history and a member of the league’s ‘100 Greatest Players.’ In 1,733 career regular-season games, the 6-foot-3, 230-pound winger scored 766 goals, 1,155 assists and 1,921 points. He ranks fourth all-time in games played and goals, fifth in assists, and only Wayne Gretzky (2,857) has recorded more points than him. No player in NHL history has more game-winning goals than Jagr’s 135.
Drafted by Pittsburgh in the first round (5th overall) of the 1990 NHL Draft, Jagr spent the first 11 seasons of his 24-year NHL career with the Penguins, appearing in 806 regular-season games notching 439 goals, 640 assists, 1,079 points, 78 game-winning goals and was plus-208. He is in the top-5 in franchise history in games played (5th), goals (4th), assists (4th), points (4th), plus/minus (2nd) and game-winning goals (4th). He was one of 13 captains in team history, serving in the role from 1998-01. 
Jagr was an instrumental piece of Pittsburgh’s back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships in 1991 and ’92 – his first two seasons in the NHL. In that two-year span, Jagr suited up for 45 postseason contests, notching 37 points (14G-23A), which was sixth in the NHL over that stretch. Jagr shined during the 1992 Stanley Cup playoffs, recording a playoff career-high 24 points (11G-13A) in 21 games. In total, Jagr has dressed in 208 Stanley Cup Playoff contests, accumulating 201 points (78G-123A). He is one of just six players in NHL history with 200 or more playoff points. 
The 10-time NHL All-Star has won a plethora of awards over the course of his NHL career. He is a five-time Art Ross Trophy winner (NHL Scoring Leader – 1995, ’98, ’99, ‘00, ’01), three-time Ted Lindsay Award winner (Most Outstanding Player – 1999, ’00, ’06), and was the recipient of the Hart Trophy (NHL MVP) in 1998-99 and Bill Masterton Trophy (Perseverance, Sportsmanship, and Dedication to Ice Hockey) in 2015-16. Jagr was named to the NHL’s First All-Star Team seven times (1995, ’96, ’98, ’99, ’00, ’01, ’06), the Second All-Star Team in 1996-97 and was a member of the All-Rookie Team in 1990-91.
Throughout NHL history, only Chris Chelios (26), Gordie Howe (26) and Mark Messier (25) have played more seasons in the NHL than Jagr’s 24. Of his 24 seasons, he notched 20-plus goals 19 times and 30-plus goals 15 times, which both rank third in league history. He’s also hit the 100-point plateau five times, and was the sixth-oldest player in NHL history to accomplish that feat during the 2005-06 season at 34 years and 31 days old.
The native of Kladno, Czechia has multiple accolades on the international stage. He’s won a gold medal (1998) and bronze medal (2006) at the Olympic Games, two gold medals (2005, ’10) and two bronze medals (1990, 2011) at the IIHF World Championship and a bronze medal at the 1990 IIHF World Junior Championship. Jagr is one of just 30 players in history to join the Triple Gold Club, which includes winning a Stanley Cup, an Olympic gold medal and an IIHF World Championship gold medal. He and Jiri Slegr are the only two players of Czech descent to accomplish this feat. 
Jagr currently owns Rytiri Kladno of the Czech Extraliga and has been majority owner of the team since 2011-12.
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nico-di-genova · 7 months
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Paperwork and Chinese Food
Summary: It was just supposed to be a normal date. Jaime wasn't meant to get so overwhelmed that he launches himself from Jenny's balcony in a desperate search for the air that has left his lungs.
Inspired by a prompt from @averagemartian: too much information. TW: panic attacks
It starts with Jenny. Or really, that’s not fair, because in honesty she’s just the catalyst. What really starts it is the itch at Jaime’s back, where Khaji Da is embedded into his skin, their six little legs like needle points in his spine. It’s the sort of itch that doesn’t go away, a constant low-level annoyance that is now just part of his life. He wants to scratch at it so bad, gouge at the enflamed skin around where Khaji had formed their new home, until he can bury his fingers inside himself and get to the source. He’s taken to picking at his back subconsciously, when he’s sitting down and watching a movie, in the kitchen of their rental listening to Milagro explain to their mother why she’s covered in paint, laying in his bed late at night when he can’t sleep because his brain refuses to conform to anything regarding a normal sleep cycle. He will dig his fingernails into the skin at the notch of his spine, until he’s just there – can feel the promise of reaching that damned itch.
He’s picking at it now even as he’s sat in Jenny’s house – or apartment really, a luxury unit on the top floor where she has a wraparound balcony and a view of most of Palmera. It’s the sort of place Jaime had always thought he would end up, before he realized all of his problems wouldn’t be solved with a piece of paper that cost him six figures of debt. They’ve set up at Jenny’s dining room table. It’s elegant, modern, and made from reclaimed wood that’s been stained and sanded down until it looks less like the notched and un-level version that’s in Jaime’s house – used to be. Used to be in his house, before it went up in flames with the rest of what he had always regarded as home.
Before him is spread a mountain of paperwork. Lease agreements, legal documents, financial statements, all of it scattered across the surface of the table in a chaotic mess that sets Jaime, who is already tense, on edge. Jaime’s name is stamped in clean script across most of the paperwork, because he has been noted as the beneficiary of Kord Industries’ gracious “rebuild the Edge Keys that were stolen from the people who were there first” grant. Jaime went to law school, or at least pre-law, he knows how the corporate paper trail works. If Kord is going to shell out millions of dollars in reparative funds to the family whose home they had first been planning to steal, and then ultimately destroyed, they want his signature as collateral. They’ll take these documents, file them away neatly in a folder stamped ‘Reyes Incident – 2023’, and hand it all over to their legal department who will keep it carefully stashed away from now until the event that took his father from him fades into irrelevancy.
Elbows on the table, arms pressed against his neck so he can feel the reassuring pressure, his fingernails dig further against the notch of his spine, until he can feel one of Khaji’s pincers shift. The bug themself chirps, alarmed, in his head.  
 “Are you alright, Jaime?”
“What is all this?” Jaime directs his question at Jenny, ignoring Khaji. Even though he already knows what the mound of papers are, he’s still trying to grasp that this is why Jenny invited him over. The dinner she’d ordered in for them is already going cold on the plates she’d placed everything on – an effort to feign a home cooked meal. He doesn’t want to eat orange chicken and fried rice, even if his stomach feels cavernously empty, he knows it would taste like guilt on his tongue and stick heavy in his throat.
“It’s just Kord stuff, it’s not a big deal, just some stuff they need you to sign before they release the money.”
Not a big deal.
Jaime tries to draw in a breath, already feeling the beginnings of anxiety threading its way through his veins. It’s a cold feeling, like ice water is trickling slowly through him and pooling in his gut. He thinks of Milagro’s tear streaked face, the way she had screamed his name, like they were kids, and he was the big brother who was going to bandage her skinned knee and convince her to get back on her bike. Like he was going to fix it all. His hands shake, his breathing stutters.
“I went over everything myself. It’s just the standard stuff, just a formality really. We’re still going to give you the money Jaime, I promise.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you,” Jaime manages, and it comes out venomous. There’s a buzzing building at the base of his skull, a staticky sound. Jaime wonders if it’s maybe Khaji, if they’ve somehow found a way to manifest as more than just a voice and are now buzzing around inside his head like a trapped fly.
Jenny reaches across the table until she’s close enough to brush her hand gently along his bicep. The soothing gesture burns and he flinches away from her.
“Jaime…”
The buzzing grows louder. Jaime looks at the paperwork and it seems to grow in size, it spills off the table, across the tiled floor, fills up the space of the room until Jaime is choking on his own name written in ink. He cannot breathe.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Jenny tries again, still trying to reach for him, to touch him, to keep him tethered here. Jaime thinks of a metal collar heavy around his neck, and then he’s stumbling out of the chair so fast that it clatters to the ground behind him. He trips over his own feet as he blindly stumbles for an escape.
Jenny is still calling for him. He knows none of this is her fault, distantly, he knows that. She is just trying to fix what her aunt broke, and Jaime wants to let her. He wants her to wave some magic wand that he’s always assumed wealth would grant, and for everything to be fixed. He’d have his home back, the photos on the wall, the blankets on the couch, the quiet whir of nana’s sewing machine and the tv playing reruns of his favorite cartoons. He’d have his dad sitting beside him on the couch, and Jaime could curl up against him the way he used to when he was little. He tries to stay in the comfort of that lost place, but the fire finds its way in. There’s a blazing inferno hot against his face, and the paralyzing pain of an electric current keeping him frozen to the spot – forcing him to watch again and again as everything he has ever loved crumbles into nothing.
Jenny manages to grab at him and get ahold of his wrist. He can feel his heartbeat  thundering against where the pads of her fingers rest just over his pulse point, can hear the rush of blood in his ears. Benefits of having an other-worldly bug buried in his spine and heightening his senses, or a side effect of his worsening panic, Jaime isn’t sure which.
 "Hey. Jaime, look at me,” Jenny pleads.
He tries. He really does, but he gets as far as the worried furrow of her brow before he knows he can’t be here and yanks away with a force that must be Khaji’s doing. He doesn’t ask them to get him out, but Khaji is in his brain now, so they must sense the silent scream building within him. He’s encased in the protective layer of his suit and out on Jenny’s balcony before he can really process any of it.
When Jenny screams his name, scared and confused and mixing with the screams of his little sister that he cannot block out, Jaime is already being launched into the sky.  
“You need to breathe, Jaime,” Khaji warns.
Jaime tries, but the air sticks in his chest like a brick. He chokes on a sob and claws at the front of his suit with blind alarm. With the helmet tight around his head and his own half breaths loud in his ears, Jaime cannot think past the base instinct of needing to escape. It is all too much, everything. The itch at his back, the papers on the table, the suit tight on his skin, the quiet sobs he hears coming from his mother’s room every night, it’s drowning him. It’s killing him.
“You are not dying,” Khaji says, factual, “you are experiencing a heightened state of emotional distress. I cannot regulate your nervous system if you will not listen to me, Jaime.”
“I’m trying.”
“You are scared. I understand. But we are safe now.”
Jaime feels tears prick at the corners of his vision, feels saliva pooling in his mouth, feels like he might vomit.
“I can’t breathe,” he cries out to Khaji, hoping they will understand.
When the helmet falls away from him, Jaime sobs in relief. The cool wind rushing against his face chills the heat that has been steadily crawling up his neck and collecting on his cheeks. It dries the tears tacky against his skin. He has always sought out height when feeling overwhelmed. Once, it had been the roof of his house, where he could stand and see the skyline of Palmera in the distance. In college he’d frequented the Wayne building, which housed the school of engineering and also doubled as the tallest building on campus. The door to the roof was usually unlocked, and if not, Jaime would just find the nearest window and open it so he could sit with his legs hanging out over the sill. The height, it soothed something inside him; if he could get high enough he could look down and see the bigger picture of it all. He could feel less live everything was crashing down on him.
Khaji has learned this, in the way that they have learned everything else about him.
“This is the highest you can go without the helmet,” the scarab intones, and then stalls the boosters of the suit so that they hover above the city which has grown small beneath him.
“Are you now able to breathe?”
Jaime tries, finds the air fills his lungs just a little bit easier, and nods, “Y-yeah. Thanks, Khaj.”
"Of course, Jaime.”
They stay there until Jaime comes back to himself, until the fire in his mind is dulled to a simmer, and Jaime can pack everything away neatly. He will sort through it all later, preferably when he’s with his mom and they can lean on each other for support. He will let her hold him as they both cry and he will ask for the horchata she was fond of making him in high school – when homework would weigh him down and he’d emerge from his room past midnight with a headache and an empty stomach. It wouldn’t fix everything, Jaime knows that, but he thinks it could help soothe it all over.
He closes his eyes, breathes deep. It’s quiet here, high above the earth, where not even the distant sound of traffic or music or any indication of life can find him. Jaime floats in a sea of stars, the whisps of clouds, and he feels finally at peace. When he looks back at Palmera’s blinking cluster of lights beneath him, he feels maybe like things will one day be okay.      
Khaji returns him to Jenny’s reluctantly, and only at his request. They’re unsure about taking him back to the place that had triggered his panic attack in the first place, but Jaime knows that’s only because it goes against their directive of protecting him. They keep the suit on him, mainly because his clothes have burned away, but also as a layer of defense.
When he lands on Jenny’s balcony, stumbling only slightly because flight is still a foreign concept to him, she is there waiting for him. He can tell from the way she’s curled up on the patio furniture, hair pulled into a messy bun and biting nervously at her thumb, that she hasn’t been back inside since he took off. She’s been waiting for him. When she spots him, she’s on her feet and in his arms in the span it takes for him to blink twice.
“Oh thank god,” she cries, one hand cupping the back of his neck and the other burying itself in the tangled strands of his hair. The pure relief in her voice is enough to make Jaime melt against her.
“I’m okay,” he promises, hugging her back. He hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck, and holds her like an apology. She’s not good with abrupt departures.  
“I’m so sorry,” she sobs against him, “I wasn’t thinking.”
Jaime pulls away enough to look her in the eye, cups her face in his hands and wipes away the tears with a blue gloved thumb, “Hey. Hey. It’s okay, I’m okay. I just…I just needed some fresh air.”
Jenny nods, sniffles, “Yeah, I know. Your sister told me.”
At the confusion that filters across his face, she holds up her phone in answer.
"I called her. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Jaime opens his mouth to say something but instead it’s a half laugh that escapes him. The sound surprises him a little because it feels out of place. But something about his girlfriend frantically calling his baby sister to explain that he’s just blasted off into the atmosphere because of paperwork and Chinese food is funnier than it should be. Jenny smiles before she’s laughing too, and then they’re just two teary eyed idiots giggling on her balcony. Jenny still in her slacks and suit jacket from work and Jaime in his superhero suit.
Eventually Jaime will explain that Kord’s money feels dirty to him, tainted in his father’s blood and dropped at his feet. It’s more than simply signing his name, it feels like giving away a piece of himself, and Jenny will look horrified as he says it. She forgets sometimes, how her wealth has shaped her worldview, and it’s Jaime who puts that in a startling perspective. He’s thankful for her help, but he won’t give any more of himself to Kord.
“My money then,” Jenny will say, “you can take mine. I’ll move some stuff around, I’ll get you what you need. Just enough to rebuild your house. No paperwork, no strings.”
“Jenny-”
“You need your home back, Jaime. You and your family. This is how I can help, please let me do this.”
The paperwork that had loomed before Jaime earlier still sits like a threat at the dining room table, so they sit cross-legged across from each other on the balcony, close enough that Jaime can pick at the fabric of her leggings covered knee. Jaime’s changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that he’s started to keep in her room, Jenny’s wearing one of his Nightwing shirts he left during his last visit. They’re sharing a bowl of reheated Kung Pao chicken because Jaime’s hunger had finally set in somewhere between him landing back on the ground and the length of time it took him to figure out how to get Khaji to pack the suit away.
Jaime picks at the rice in the bowl with a chopstick and thinks. The money will still technically be Kord’s, given that Jenny is their CEO now. Which is also another thing that seems insane to think about. He is dating the leader of one of the world’s top tech companies, he’s been in tabloid photos as “Jennifer Kord’s unnamed beau.” It borders on overwhelming, so he quickly pushes that to the back of his mind and eats another bite of chicken.
“You do realize this isn’t going to help the Maria accusations,” Jaime says around a mouthful of food, already picturing how his family is going to break out in that damn theme song when they hear.
Jenny smiles, there’s a hint of relief in her eyes, “Yes. But it won’t be like that. It will be just enough to get you guys back to where you were, and then the rest will be all you.”
Jaime knows it’s what needs to be done. He knows his family is sick of sleeping in beds that aren’t theirs, in a temporary rental that reeks of cigarette smoke. They need their own space back, and this is realistically the only way they’re going to get it – since clearly Jaime’s four-year degree is shaping up to be worth absolutely nothing. And he knows Jenny, knows that she’s one of the most honest people he’s ever met. He trusts her, and it’s only because he does that he accepts the offer.
“Okay. Yeah.”
"Yeah?”
“Yes, but only enough to rebuild the house. Nothing fancy. Just…just the same house, okay?” And he knows it won’t be the same, not in the way he means in, but Jenny understands that too and he thinks that’s maybe why they work.
“The same house, I swear,” she says before leaning forward to kiss his cheek, leaving sticky traces of kung pao chicken behind.
She’s the first to head inside. Jaime stays out for a minute to take in a few lungful’s of fresh air, his nerves are still frayed and will be until he finally crashes into exhaustion later tonight. He leans on the railing of the balcony and listens to the sirens, horns, the drone of an airplane overhead. Khaji unfurls from where they’d been resting inside him, and he can feel them taking in the city the same way he is.
“You are still operating at a high stress level,” Khaji says, and it almost sounds like a question, or at least as close to a question as her robotic voice can get.
“Always, Khaj. I’ll be okay, though.”
When Jaime does finally go inside, the papers have been cleared from the table. He doesn’t see them again.
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