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captainpulisic · 1 year

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you've ruined my life by not being mine - m. mount

wrote this during a severe brain rot so I hope it isn't too mid, thank you to anyone who reads & I hope you enjoy :) word count : 4.4 k gif creds to owner

mason mount is absolutely gorgeous. nothing else to say, no need to elaborate. everyone who comes across him can confirm this. he’s a god amongst mere mortals, you’re sure of it. being an intern for chelsea's social media team, you have had the privilege of crossing paths with him several times a day. all these small interactions and polite ‘hellos’ have made you smitten. you’re positive that is the case for every girl who has the honour to be the winner of his attention.

you’ve come to the conclusion that he has a gift of making anyone he's talking to feel special. his eyes never leave yours, making it known that his attention is solely on you. the real killer is that smile of his. it’s very soft and boyish, with just a hint of shyness. as if he’s as nervous to talk to you, as you are to him. that bastard. how dare he make your cheeks go deep red and hands shake just by saying ‘have a nice day’. the audacity!

he could be worn out from an extensive training session or surrounded by other important chelsea people, yet he’d always find a way to squeeze in a conversation with you. it was sweet of him, really. the fact that he was nice enough to make you feel so welcome to the family, like part of the team. he probably did it for everyone, yet it still made you feel special, nonetheless.

mason was always going out of his way to make small talk with you, to ask how your weekend had been. he assured you that once you finished uni, he was positive the club would offer you a full time position. he’d confide that your ideas and content was the best, engaging everyone from fans to the players.

‘why wouldn’t they try to keep the best when they already have them, yeah?’ he would assure you, squeezing your arm. you always felt you skin burning by the time he let go.

you find yourself in that exact situation right now.

after a particularly long week full of training, everyone was filing out of the locker room. freshly showered and exhausted, mason’s only mission in life was to get home and sleep for the next twelve hours. no agents or coaches or ‘after training, distress at a club’ plans will stop that. end of discussion.

he’s almost out the doors and into the parking lot.

well, that is until he sees you. you’re near the office doors, all smiles and cheerfulness as you talk to other people from the social media team. he’d never admit this to anyone but you have him quite smitten, too. one time he practically bumped into all his teammates when he saw you across the hallway. conor bitched to him for the next hour, annoyed at how he’d accidentally shoved him into a wall. he’d speed walk at an embarrassing pace, just to be able to say hello you, to be in your presence.

as he approached your group, your co workers left you to face him by yourself. your small fangirl crush on him was a well known topic, since they swore he fancied you back. as if, you’d blush and wave them off.

“hi,” he halted, ending his unusually fast pace. “hey, you.”

“to what do I owe the pleasure, mr mount?” you felt your grin go wide. you both laughed at the nickname. it was a recurring joke from when you had just started your internship, too starstruck and using only formal names to address the players.

the first time you had been introduced to mason, you had addressed him as ‘mr. mount’. you were scared and confused when he started to turn around and look at all the people passing behind him. you weren’t sure what you had said wrong.

“oh, ‘m sorry. I heard mr. mount and immediately thought my dad was here. please, call me mason.”

you had been a giggling mess since then and even now, you always found yourself laughing around him. on masons side, he heard your laugh that first encounter and vowed to himself he’d do anything to keep hearing it.

“I just wanted to let you know that a bunch of us are going to a club tonight,” he didn’t even know what he was saying until he had already said it. his tired limbs were yearning for his bed but his y/n crazed brain overpowered him. the chance to see you outside of the bridge was such a sweet opportunity he couldn’t pass up. “come, please?”

you had never really been invited to those club or party hangouts, they were mostly reserved for the players and their girlfriends. you’re a bit stunned, you thought he’d come over to ask you if he had to do any reshoots for last week's youtube video.

you’re both silent, waiting for your own response. your face is crimson red and he’s nervously tapping his foot. it doesn’t help that you can’t even make eye contact with him, too shy to look at his face. you’ve always found it hard to say anything directly to his pretty face. of course you want to go but you don’t want to make this into something bigger than it is. you don’t want to get your hopes up that this might be a step into seeing each other in a non work environment, like a pregame for a date?

no. what if he’s just being polite and this is a work get-together? what if he’s mistaken you with a different y/n, a cooler famous y/n?

before you can even choke out an answer, you notice a goddess type woman approaching the two of you. she’s wearing an all-access visitor pass around her neck and walking with the confidence of someone who owns the place. and her heavy gaze is set upon mason. she’s truly beautiful, like someone you’d see on the runway or a vogue cover. in a totally progressive and feminist way, you don’t like how much skin she’s showing. at least not when you’re forced wear such workplace appropriate attire, anyway. it makes you green with envy on how she looks like someone more fit for mason. now that’s the type of woman he would be seen with at the club .

“time to go home, mason?” she sounds sweet, too sweet. hearing her delicate voice call mason makes your skin crawl and heart plummet.

he quickly gravitates all of his attention on her, giving her a nod. as soon as he’s in arms reach, her delicately manicured hand is wrapping around his foreman. she doesn’t even spare you a glance. she begins to pull him away from your shared spot, causing your mood to significantly dampen.

“y/n,” mason says, pulling you out of your self wallowing thoughts. he’s giving you that award winning, boyish smile. “you’ll be there tonight, right?”

his tone is so soft and sincere. it warms your heart, even as that beautiful woman is clinging to his arm.

you brave a fake smile, “i’ll try, mr. mount.”

he’s only able to smile in response, the probable supermodel eagerly tugging him out the door. you see her pull out keys from her purse, as he, ever the gentleman, opens the door for them.

you feel a fool. mason is one of the most sought out men in the country. he’s sweet and handsome and funny and probably has a thousand girls at his disposal. your chances with him are next to zero. you’ve told yourself countless times to be content with the little attention you get from him. polite conversation and shy smiles is all you’ll ever get from him and that's totally fine. it has to be, anyway.

you’re stupid and idiotic. very stupid and idiotic. you knew you shouldn’t have showed up to the club, it wasn’t your place to be here. you weren’t even planning on actually showing, preferring to spend the night at your apartment, yearning for your unreciprocated crush on a certain footballer. yet, as you were heading out of the building for the end of the work week, you bumped into a couple of the other players. you had been too busy wishing it was you asking mason if he was ready to go home, you hadn’t heard them calling after you.

all of the players were fond of you, fond of the cheeriness and lovely attitude you brought to the bridge. and you were equally as fond of them. so, when they asked if you wanted to join everyone else at the club, you said yes. you figured you’d make yourself miserable and see mason with his supermodel friend the entire night. yeah, you loved the pain.

being at said club now, you regret your decision. the music is too loud and the strobe lights are giving you a headache. everyone else has been nice enough with some small talk when passing by you, except for mason who was nowhere to be found.

an hour passes by, and you’ve lost count of all the drinks you’ve taken. it’s pathetic to admit that all you’ve done is think of mason. how can someone so beautiful make you feel so sad?

you finish the remnants of your drink and decide to head back home. coming here was a mistake and the original person who asked you to come didn’t even bother to show up. the bigger mistake though, is how you might have underestimated how many drinks you’d gone through in your short time here. you’re barely out of the main room and in the lobby when your vision begins to get blurry. your balance is wobbly and you’re quickly reaching to support yourself against a wall.

you’re not sure how long you’re in that position. trying to somewhat sober up, you wonder how difficult it’d be to go back into the main room and find one of the players to help you.

would you even be able to recognize any of them? you were royally screwed.

your train of thought is broken when you see someone on the other end of the room relentlessly pacing. you’re only able to make out their moving outline, they look nervous. you disoriented state only hears them mumbling, as if they were talking themselves up.

it endears you. it reminds you of mason, you’ve caught him doing the same before any big game. come to think of it, the figure looks a lot like masons. same build and same pretty hair at the top of their head. plus, the jacket they’re wearing looks a lot like the one you once told mason you loved. that was months ago, though. surely he hadn’t remembered you’d said that.

wait.

it is mason.

mason.

oh.

he sees you right after, his pacing coming to an abrupt stop. not having noticed your intoxicated state, he’s quick to approach you. “y/n?”

your brain isn’t on your side tonight. your mouth speaks the first words that come to mind, “hey there, gorgeous.”

“hi, love.” his smile is instant as his gaze fixes upon your face. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s always had. you adored his beautiful prince like hair. it looks as it had been perfectly styled at one point, now it was disheveled from endless tugging and fixing. he frowns when he realises you’re leaning next to the exit door. “are you leaving? I was just heading in there to see you.”

instead of responding, you try to take another step towards the exit. this is too much for you. on a good day, you’re barely able to handle being in his intoxicating presence. in your current state? you can feel him taking up every atom and particle surrounding you.

you stumble and his reflexes are quick to hold you up. as if this is a regular occurence, your hands instantly find their way onto his chest.

oh my god, you scream in your head. mason mount has his hands wrapped around my waist. my skin is burning where he’s touching me, please never let go.

“i’m okay, i’m okay,” you mumble.

“having too much fun, yeah?”

you’re tempted to lie to him. you want to tell him that you had the best night of your life without him, that you hadn’t even noticed his absence. you want to tell him that you drank too much because you were having too much fun with other guys.

you’re tempted to tell him the truth, too. you want to tell him that you were having the worst night of your life, that you drank to forget that he was probably having fun with his supermodel girlfriend. you want to tell him that it should be you asking him if he’s ready to go home, after a long day of work. while you’re at it, you think of telling him that his face is so infuriatingly gorgeous that it’s all you ever think about.

would he even care?

you feel dizzier with the way he’s looking at you with those pretty, concerned eyes. mason has always had a knack for making you blush with just a look but tonight it’s stronger. all you want to do is kiss him silly. these stupid feelings irk you, really.

“stop looking at me like that!” you take your hands off his chest and your fingers immediately miss the contact. you lightly shove him, “god, you make me so fucking mad sometimes.”

now mason is confused. the corner of his mouth dips, “i’m sorry, love. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“oh, ‘i’m sorry, love. I don’t know what I did wrong’, bite me!” you try your best to copy his accent. you know you’re acting childish, but you can’t help it. common sense left you long ago and now is the only time you can tell him exactly how you feel. “you have no idea how infuriating you are.”

“y/n,” he tries to tilt your head up by your chin. “look at me.”

“please stop, i’m begging you,” you whine. you know you resemble a spoiled child, but you’re on a roll. “don’t you know its actually impossible to look at you? your face is so pretty and I never know what to say when you look at me and you’re always looking at me. can you imagine what that does to me?”

“yeah, well how do you know i’m always looking at you?” he muses. “that’d have to mean you’re always looking at me, too.”

at this point, mason finds the situation very entertaining. he can’t help but laugh. he had arrived at the club twenty minutes ago, trying to build up the courage to walk in there and find you. he still wasn’t even sure if you’d shown, never have given him a real answer. being ever the optimist, he was hopeful you’d be in there waiting for him. he had planned that tonight was the night he’d confess his feelings for you, that he’d ask you out on a proper date.

fear of rejection got the better of him and he had psyched himself out. so, there he was. pacing back and forth, working up the courage to walk into the main room and tell you that he was crazy for you. he was just hoping you felt the same way, that you’d give him a chance.

the possibility of finding you drunk out of your mind, babbling about how pretty you found his face, had never crossed his mind. this was way better than him stuttering out his feelings for you. mason could spend the entire night in this position, longer, if it meant more time next to you. he’s not cruel, though. he knows he’d be proper embarrassed if the roles were reversed, he doesn’t want you to regret whatever drunken thing you say to him. plus, if you’re going to call him pretty, he wants you to be sober for it. “hey, lets go home, yeah?”

hearing those words are like a trigger to you, a switch that releases the impending dam of tears in your eyes. why can’t he tell you those words under different circumstances?

“stop,” you’re sputtering out. “this is hurting me too much.”

he lets go of your waist right away, leaning you back against the wall. you miss his touch immediately. “what is? do you want to stay?”

continuing your drunk tantrum, “you don’t get it!”

“y/n, help me understand.” he’s trying his best to wipe the tears on your cheeks but you’re shaking your head too much. you refuse to look at him, he’s desperately trying to meet your eyes. “what don’t I get?”

“that this is all your fault,” your tears can’t stop. you hate how you can hear yourself slurring your words. “you made me feel this way!”

“what way?”

you make dramatic arm gestures of the space between the two of you, “this way, idiot!”

mason is more confused than ever. nonetheless, he surrenders and apologizes for making you feel ‘that way’. you’re too distracted repeating a slurred ‘you should be’, that you don’t notice that he’s steered you out of the club and to his car.

“c’mon along now, love.” mason isn’t sure how the night is going. on one hand, he’s with you and that's all he’s wanted for the longest time. on the other hand, he’s not having the easiest time trying to unlock the passenger's seat, while simultaneously making sure you don’t stumble onto the pavement. one things for sure, he’s not complaining on how you’re holding onto his arm for dear life. plus, you keep whispering something into his ear, and it keeps making him blush.

gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.

you don’t stop repeating the word to him, as if it's a secret only the two of you could know. you whisper into him once more, as he finally opens the car door and places you inside. the long, eventful night had started to take a toll on your body, your body lazily slumped into the passenger's seat.

“you really do have a pretty face,” you whisper. you’re much more calm now and the tears have stopped. even in your state, the bittersweet thoughts won’t stop. he has the prettiest face you’ve ever seen, he’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. but he’s not yours, he’s someone else's. before the tears can return, you’re distracted because you have to tell him his face is beautiful but you had been using a different word seconds ago. what was it? its at the tip of your tongue. “it’s like… what's the word? what word was I saying?”

he spares you a quick glance as he buckles your seatbelt. teasingly, “gorgeous?”

“yeah,” you lazily smile. it’s the last thing you say before the sound of the engine lulls you to sleep, “it’s gorgeous.”

the headache is already making you wish you were dead as soon as you open your eyes. before you can tell yourself off for drinking way more than you should’ve, you begin to panic.

this is not your bed.

this is not your room.

that is not your glass full of water on the nightstand that is not yours.

you’re definitely going to scream when you look down and find yourself adorning a large, unfamiliar shirt and shorts. even though you can’t see yourself, you’re sure your face is red with embarrassment.

please don’t tell me I hooked up with some rando, you silently beg any god that will listen.

in this scenario, you’d usually pick up your clothes and sneak out before getting caught but, where the hell are your clothes? and whos fucking house is this?

stumbling into the hallway, you feel as disoriented as you did when you left the club last night. you wish you could remember who you left the club with, too.

finding your way through the maze of this large house, you come face to face with some picture frames decorating the wall. the face you see in these frames makes you wish it was actually some random guy house you were in. instead, you’re greeted by mason-fucking-mounts framed and pretty face.

you hear him before you actually see him. you hear a commotion from the other end of the hallway. you’re tempted to turn around and find the exit instead of facing him. you don’t know what happened last night and you’d rather not find out.

alas, your feet involuntarily move towards the sound and you’re met with mason sitting on his sofa. the television is on but you can faintly hear him mumbling to himself. his leg is nervously bouncing, and his eyes never waver from the clock on the wall opposite of you. unsure of what to do, you clear your throat.

you fear he’ll get whiplash from how quickly he turned his head.

“oh, you’re awake,” mason motions you to come closer to him, a smile appearing on his face. he reaches for your arm, pulling you down to sit next to him. he points at the two mugs on the centre table, “I made you some tea, did you drink the water I left you?”

“mason, what happened last night?” you don't know why you’re whispering, but you are. unconsciously, you tug the hem of his oversized shirt you’re wearing.

“oh, no no no,” he begins to sputter out. “we didn’t do anything, don’t worry!”

you’re only slightly disappointed.

mason continues, “I think you had too much last night, you were pretty out of it when I saw you.”

you can’t meet his eyes, “oh god, i’m so embarrassed.”

“don’t be!” he’s quick to reassure you. “you said some pretty great stuff when I bumped into you but still, better not to leave you alone, ‘figured you’d need help leaving so I decided to help you home. I didn’t actually know your address so I brought you here. I left you to change by yourself and I slept on the couch, don’t worry.”

“oh,” you look away from him. “i’m sorry, I bet your girlfriend didn’t like that you left her to help me. sorry for ruining your night.”

“girlfriend?” he looks more puzzled than you look sheepish.

this is the last conversation you want to be having, especially hungover. you look down at the floor. “yeah, that stunning supermodel who drove you guys ‘home’ yesterday.”

the bastard has the nerve to laugh at this. seeing your not-so-pleased face, the laugh turns into an awkward cough. “sheryl isn’t my girlfriend. she’s part of the new partnership promotion, shouldn’t you know that? didn’t your team arrange everything?”

your answer without missing a beat, “we didn’t have any involvement in it, ‘above our paygrade or something’. i’d never seen her before.”

“oh, well she’s just part of the campaign, she’s not my girlfriend. the only reason she drove me home was because my car broke down at the film set and she offered to drive me to the bridge and home afterwards. she’s nice but ‘m not interested in her like that.” your heart had just mended a smidge but it was cracking all over again when mason added, “plus, I fancy someone else.”

“cheers.” you give him your best half assed smile. of course he had his heart set on someone, you should be happy for him. it’s not like you ever really had a chance, you’re only hoping you hadn’t said anything too incriminating last night. its better if you leave right now, with what dignity you have left, and act as if none of this ever happened. you can go back to polite conversations at the bridge and he can pine over his crush. you can only imagine how stunning she is. if mason wasn’t falling onto his knees for the goddess that sheryl was, this other girl must be aphrodite herself.

“yeah,” mason is fully grinning now. “she’s just the best person. I don’t think she knows how stupidly obsessed I am with her, I do anything I can just for the chance to talk to her and be around her. I used to be too scared to make a move, because I didn’t think she’d feel the same.”

she’s an idiot if she doesn’t, you miserably think.

mason rambles on, “I think all my mates know how I feel. i’m sure they’re just waiting for me to tell her, so they don’t have to hear me talk about ‘how pretty she looked today’ anymore. I say she looks pretty but I think there's a better word.”

you can only smile in return, not trusting your voice to congratulate him on this gem he’s found.

“you know,” mason cracks a smile, “i think she’s just so gorgeous.”

“what did you just say?” your eyes snap up to meet his. hearing him say those words trigger blurbs of last night to come back to you. you remember the drinking and the crying and the tantrum and repeatedly calling mason gorgeous. now you’re certain you’ll have to disappear off the face of the earth. shaking your head, “oh god, are you making fun of me?”

“of course not.” mason is in utter disbelief. is he not being clear enough? “christ y/n, are you really going to make me get on my knees? it’s you, i’ve been crazy for you for so long. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same but i’m hoping last night was some indication that you do.”

you can’t believe a word you’re hearing. now you’re sure you drank too much last night and got alcohol poisoning. you’re probably laying in the hospital and having these deluded fantasies of mason saying he fancies you. that is the only way this can be happening.

“y/n, love.” his smile never falters but you can hear the anxiousness in his tone. here he was, being vulnerable and wearing his heart on his sleeve. he was just waiting for you to do the same for him. he was waiting for you to do what you’ve been doing for months now. what you both had been doing, just secretly and shyly. he reaches out to squeeze your hand, “please say something.”

you’re sure you might start crying again. happy tears this time. “god mason, of course I like you. my heart has been yours, pathetically and desperately and always.”

he doesn’t respond, choosing to finally kiss you instead. it’s better than either of you could have imagined, and you know his heart is yours just as much as yours is his.

authors note 2.0 : if I had a nickel for every time I wrote a mason fic where its an unrequited love and he confesses that he loves reader after reader sees him w some girl, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but its still weird that it happened twice (idk im predictable ig)

#mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst

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overlyobsessivesimp · 1 month

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The heat scorched No Man's Land, making it hotter than usual. And Vash—despite never being hot—was really feeling the heat.

”Jeez, it's so hot today, eh [name]?” Vash asks. You look at him with exasperation, sweat beading down your face as it accumulates on your tank top.

”Yeah thanks, Captain Obvious.” You tease, fanning yourself with your hand not very successfully. Vash chuckles at your mockery, wiping sweat from his brow. ”We should probably find some place to cool down and relax, we've been walking for a while.” Vash replies. ”Yeah, probably.”

You both walk for a while, soon finding a small town to rest in. ”Well, at least we found something.” you say, sounding amused as you walked through the town. After exploring the town for a while, entering shops, finding future places to eat, getting weird stares, you find a hotel.

”Do you want to get us a room or should I?” you ask, observing the hotel. There isn’t much to look at besides some inappropriate graffiti on the side of the building. ”You probably should, I'll just follow behind you discreetly.'' He responds, opening the door for you.

You look him up and down, amused, ”You? Discreet? Sir, you are six feet, two inches tall and wear a bright red coat, how are you going to be discreet, hm?”

Vash just shrugs in response, you sigh and walk into the hotel to be greeted with a nicely decorated interior, a few mounted animal heads hang on the back wall alongside a picture containing, presumably, the owner of this hotel with other people.

”Hello, welcome to the Vanilla Hotel.” A monotonous voice welcomes you, an ordinary woman with a resting-bitch-face stands behind the reception desk. ”Hi, can I get a two bed room please? Only if you have one available, if not we’ll take whatever you have.” You ask politely.

She looks down, tapping at her screen before looking up again. “We have no more two beds, but we have one room with a double bed, will that be alright?” ”That’ll do, right, hun?” You turn to Vash with a wide mischievous smile, his face flushes a light red before responding, ”Y-Yeah, that’s- ahem, that’s alright with me.” He smiles sheepishly at the receptionist.

You roll your eyes playfully and pay for the room, going to check it out. You and Vash approach the elevator, seeing an ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign on it. You share an exhausted look before turning to the stairway entrance.

You eventually get to your floor, panting from the long way up. You unlock the door and enter, Vash following closely behind.

You scan the room and take it in. A double bed, a nightstand to each side, a bathroom to the right, and a wardrobe to the left. You both plop down your bags.

“Seems pretty nice, huh?” You ask, glancing over at Vash. “Huh? O-Oh! Yeah…” he responds, rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he’s turned away from you, not meeting your gaze.

”Are you… okay, Vash?” You ask, concern slipping into your voice. ”Oh, yeah, I'm fine…!” He responds, sounding totally not fine, and giving you a reassuring smile..

“Are you sure? Your face is pretty red.” You get close to his face and put the back of your hand to his forehead. His face flushes even brighter, and he backs away quickly. ”Yeah, yeah I'm alright!” He responds in a flustered manner. ”Alright, whatever you say, man.” You hold your hands up in defeat, backing away with a cheeky grin.

You decide to sit down on the bed, giving it a bounce test. ”Hey, these beds are actually pretty nice” ”Are they?” he asks, face slowly returning to its natural shade. ”Yeah, come here and sit down with me.” You pat the seat next to you, inviting him to join. Vash composes himself and sits next to you.

”Hey, you’re right, it is pretty nice!” He flops onto his back, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. You mimic him, feeling the comfort start dragging you into a comfortable sleep.

***

The sound of rushing water wakes you.

You sit up to see Vash is no longer by your side. You gather that he has gone to take a shower, the light under the bathroom door confirms your suspicion. You sit up fully and rub the sleep out of your eyes, glancing at the bathroom door.

"I should take one too” you think to yourself. You felt as if every grain of sand in no man's land was on you right now, as if it was in every crevice that just happened to be exposed on your journey here.

Only thing is, you had to wait for Vash to be done. You didn't know how long he'd been in there, and you didn't care to ask. You come to your final option, waiting patiently for him to finish.

”I'm surprised a run-down hotel like this even has running water..” you whisper to yourself. You hear the shower shut off from the other room. You gather up what little clothes you have left to get ready for a shower.

The door creaks open and out creeps Vash, cautious about waking you up, but you were already awake, unbeknownst to him. You stand up from the bed, making your way towards the bathroom door.

”Hey-”

“UWAHH!!” Vash jumps back in surprise, startling you.

“You scared me!” He exclaims, frantically covering himself with his hands.

“Why the hell did you scream so loud!?” Out of respect for your companion, you cover your eyes, looking away as Vash tucks a towel around his lower half.

“I didn't expect you to be there! I thought you were asleep, [name]!” Vash side-steps out of the way, letting you pass him to enter the bathroom.

“Like, damn, Vash! You got my ears ringin’ ‘n shit!” You rub below your earlobes, the insides aching from the pitch of his scream.

You shut the door behind you.

#trigun stampede #trigun x reader #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun vash #fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #certified_simp_4evr on ao3

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dailysabinasmuts · 1 year

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Yeji isnt entirely sure who thought Itzy having a fan impregnation event was a good idea, but they sure were wrong. Smoke alarms howl as muffled screaming echoes throughout the devastated room. Yeji scowls, hands on her hips as she surveys utter catastrophe that just took place, streaked from head to foot in blood, sweat, piss and jizz. She winces as another fan's shrieks of terror abruptly cut off, the cleanup for this is going to be... difficult.

The concept had been good in theory, Twice has been soaring in popularity since they started their impregnation events. But Itzy was still a young group, unsuitable for such a mature concept; Yeji can barely keep the girls in line during gangbangs, let alone a controlled event. So it took all of her focus keeping the girls laying on their backs, taking dicks like good girls should; she wasn't even able to enjoy any herself... Surprisingly enough, it was Ryujin who broke first, driven mad with desire by getting fucked while being watched by so many fans. Before Yeji could calm her she had already bowled over her current partner and was mounting him in a frenzy. And while Yeji was thoroughly distracted, the other girls broke away as well, practically tripping over each other in their race to slake their febrile lusts. Already deprived of a good dicking for so long, Yeji gives into the moment as well, only regaining control after some time has passed.

Now exhausted bodies fans are strewn about as if on a battlefield, splatters of piss and cum paint the walls. Yeji tenderly picking her way around the supine forms carpeting the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain coming from her continuously leaking cunt. She finds Ryujin passed out in a corner, her fingers still inside of her abused pussy; stupid whore. Lia appears to be slowly drowning in a puddle of semen, face down ass up, revealing her utterly blown out holes for all to see; Yeji yanks her head up by the hair and moves it a few inches over. She spots Chaeryeong skulking around a pile of fans, her face a rictus of awkward horror as she takes in the devastation; well at least she's doing alright. As for Yuna, well that slut is still busy fucking the life out of those fans too stupid to still be conscious; Yeji deals with her by yanking Yuna off of her lover and fisting her cunt until she screams for mercy and faints.

Yeji grumbles, hopefully the idiot that planned this was in the room when it all went awry, they deserved to get fucked until they wept for mercy. She pauses, oh wait, that may have been Jihyo; well thats going to be unlikely then...

#kpop smut #itzy smut #yeji smut #chaeryeong smut #yuna smut #lia smut #ryujin smut

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sunflowersandsapphires · 9 months

Text

Fall Drabbles, Day 1

prompt: Spiders

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank is not a fan of spiders.

warnings: swearing, sickly sweet fluff, descriptions of bugs (most bugs do not bother me so I don't think its super graphic but I could see people with fears/issues w spiders being grossed out so I'll warn you. Please let me know if its too much!)

a/n: I was in a really bad slump this week where I had the energy and time to write but none of my serieses (is that the right plural lol) were sparking joy. So I started writing some little pieces for Matty and Frank and I'm very excited to share them!

w/c: <1k words

Manhattan contained a variety of urban pests that Frank never had a problem with. Squishing roaches and chasing off rats came naturally after a lifetime in the city, and Frank never batted an eye. Flies, leeches, mosquitoes, Frank didn't have a problem with any of the traditionally abhorred creatures--except for one. Spiders.

Frank blamed his extensive time overseas for his…intense dislike of spiders. He didn’t particularly like them before Afghanistan, but regularly seeing arachnids that are half a foot long or venomous enough to put a linebacker in the ER? It’ll put them on your shit list real quick.

So yah, Frank was not a fan of spiders. But he didn’t readily volunteer this information after realizing that most of the population—his compassionate girlfriend included—found it amusing when hulking, grown-ass men had issues with bugs. The first time he’d seen a spider at your apartment, the thing had chased him on top of the coffee table as he let out a string of curses—a scenario that had humored you to the point of tears.

“It’s just a wolf spider, Frankie. It’s not gonna hurt ya.” You’d giggled, scooping the damn thing into a cup and letting it out a window. Serves him right for having a soft spot for kind women, he ended up with a godforsaken spider saver.

Thankfully, you had enough love for your boyfriend that you tended to rescue said eight-legged things before he ever spotted them. (Though, now that he thought about it, that could be for their benefit rather than his.) Regardless, it meant that his distrust of spiders went pretty much unnoticed…until fall rolled around.

New York was palatable in most seasons, and Frank was more than used to extreme temperatures, which meant the weather wasn't the reason he hated autumn so much. It was the goddamn bugs. Every year, without fail, those spindly hellspawn would take shelter in his apartment the moment the climate shifted. This year was no different, with Frank having to chuck his boots and random household objects at the creatures as they scuttled across his floor in an effort to stop them from laying eggs in his walls. If he didn't know better, he'd think they were taunting him. Maybe he should start mounting their heads on toothpicks along his front door.

Grumpily plotting their annihilation, he drained the rest of his shitty coffee before shoving his mug across the dark wooden table. His aversion to spiders wasn't so great that it regularly added to his insomnia, but waking up to a spider crawling over his pillow had been enough to force him out of bed for the night.

Pushing his aching body away from the dining room table, he shuffled blearily to the couch, crumbling into a horizontal position and turning on the tv. The mindless cable channel allowed his mind to enter a state of hibernation, laying there like a corpse as dawn came and went. A sudden knock jolted him out of his daze.

“Frankie?” Letting yourself into his tidy apartment, you tutted in sympathy when you saw him slumped on the couch. ”Here, I brought coffee.“

”'re we doin' somethin' today?“ Frank rasped, gratefully accepting the offered paper cup and taking a swig.

You giggled. “You asked me to come over at 3 am. You said you wanted me to, and I quote, 'bring poison for the squatters that keep crawling into bed with you.' Thankfully, I am fluent in exhausted Frank because that could have been very alarming to wake up to otherwise.” Perching on the cushion his torso was on, you set a bag of assorted items on the floor. Threading a hand into his hair, you studied the purple tinge under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all, sugar?”

Shaking his head, Frank let his eyes fall closed as you kneaded at his scalp. “Sorry I texted ya, I don't remember doin' that.”

“Not a problem, pumpkin. Sounds like you might need some back up if the squatters have been causing so much trouble.”

“Meant spiders.” He groaned, gesturing in the direction of his front door. “Damn things are buildin' an army in here.”

You chuckled. “How about you take a nap while I handle the spiders, hmm?”

Nodding tiredly, Frank shifted into a more comfortable position and llet his head thunk against the armrest.

Rolling your eyes, you poked his shoulder. “I meant in bed, tough guy.”

Pretending not to hear you, Frank simply flipped over. Smirking at your exasperated grumble, he settled in for a nap. Before nodding off, his heart swelled with affection as you threw a blanket over his body and slid a pillow under his head. “Sleep well, sugar.”

As he slept, you diligently scoured the place for creepy crawlies, capturing them in the plastic box you'd brought before releasing them into the wilderness--spraying the borders of his door and windows with diluted peppermint oil to prevent their reappearance. Brushing your hands together with satisfaction, you curled up against your broad-shouldered boyfriend for a well earned mid-morning nap.

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #the punisher x reader #punisher #the punisher imagine #nmcu #my writing #fc #fall prompts 2023 #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal

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angelbaby-fics · 2 years

Text

Christmas Music

Pairing: CG!Eddie x Little!Reader

Word Count: 710

A/N: After going back and forth with myself I decided I like the fic the way it is & I don't need to change it into headcanons 😅😁 I feel bad because all my Eddie fics tend to be on the shorter side and I think it's just because 9 times out of 10 I'm fully Stuck-brained so when I write Eddie I have to think about it more instead of the plot just coming straight from my daydreams lol 😅 Maybe I ought to rewatch season 4 for inspiration anyways I hope you guys enjoy and happy December!!! 💕❄️💕

You’d been napping in Eddie’s bed all afternoon, exhausted from school and your part time job. Eddie knew that naps were the easiest way to put you in your little headspace, so he was more than happy to let you hog his bed. Besides, this nap would be the perfect opportunity for him to work on your little holiday surprise. Once he was sure you were sleeping peacefully, Eddie quietly crawled out of the bed without disturbing you, grabbing his guitar from its mount on the wall, and snuck into the living room, leaving the bedroom door open just a crack, just in case.

It was time to get to work. Eddie had been setting aside a portion of his tips from the Hideout to buy a book of Christmas sheet music for the guitar from the local music store. He knew how much you loved the holidays, and he wanted to be able to accompany you on all your favorite songs. Being the perfectionist he was, he didn’t want to reveal his plan to you until he was absolutely flawless at every song in the book. It was rare to get a moment by himself since he was usually glued to your side, so for once he was glad you were so sleepy.

Settling down on the ratty couch, Eddie propped the sheet music book against a cushion and positioned his guitar on his lap. Opening the book to your favorite song, he started learning the music, effortlessly reading the notes and translating them to the guitar. His fingers moved across the strings in a way that was already second nature to him, every wrong note played was effortlessly corrected within a second, the tiny flaws and mistakes noticeable to Eddie and only Eddie. The notes carried out across the trailer, through the cramped hallway and into his slightly open door.

The music made its way into your dreams, swirling around your sleepy little head until you were pulled out of slumber and back into the real world. You recognized it immediately, one of your favorite holiday classics. You sat up immediately, all remnants of sleep immediately shaken off by the excitement of hearing one of your favorite songs. You didn’t know where the music was coming from, and, determined to find the source, you hopped off of the bed and padded out into the main room of the trailer, dragging the blanket around your shoulders. Eddie didn’t even look up, he was so focused on playing the song perfectly. You sat in front of him on the floor, so as not to disturb him, and when he finished playing you started to clap.

“Oh! Baby, I didn’t know you were up!” Eddie said with wide eyes and a soft smile.

“I heard my song.” You whispered.

“Did I wake you, baby?”

He did, but you knew he’d beat himself up over it if he thought he’d disturb you in any way, so you shook your head.

“Pretty music, dada.” You blushed.

“Yeah? I’m still learning, so it’s not that good yet.” “I thought it was perfect.”

“Well that’s because you’re my number one fan, aren’t you, my little hellraiser?” You giggled and hid your face in your blanket, but peeked back out when you felt a calloused hand brush your cheek.

“Wanna come up here and help me learn, gumdrop?” Eddie asked, patting the couch cushion beside him.

You nodded and scrambled up, blanket still enveloping you as you settled next to Eddie, as close to him as you could be without getting between him and the guitar. He pointed to the open song book.

“Okay, see the words there, baby?”

You nodded.

“Follow along with me, alright?”

And he began to play again, the festive song you knew so well. You’d had the words memorized for as long as you could remember, but you still kept your eyes trained on the page, dutifully following Eddie’s instruction. Every now and then, however, you stole a glance up at him, eyes practically heart shaped as he played your favorite tune. You didn’t know it, but every time you turned your gaze back to the book, Eddie was looking back at you with just as much love in his eyes.

#eddie munson x little!reader #little!reader #cg!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #daddy!eddie #daddy!eddie x little!reader #eddie munson #cg!eddie x little!reader #sfw agere #stranger things agere #cg!eddie #agere fic #chloe's fic

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plasticfangtastic · 11 months

Text

Can We be Lonely together? Epilogue

a Homelander x Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader reader fic

Author's note: too self indulgent not to write an epilogue, thanks for reading and am looking forward to making more fics for this fandom, this is Bi Homelander content if y'all read this as fem or non male reader. prev. chapters in my blog under the my fic tag or can we be lonely together? tag will be making a masterlist fairly soon tho.

R18+ mild smut, exhibitionism kink, gore, murder, dub con, dirty talk, surprise butchlander, butcher x reader, 3-way?, amoral protagonist, unreality.

Epilogue

Breeze sang in the ample halls bringing whispers from the balearic sea, a top the mountain overseeing endless azure, greens and neighborhood roofs the world seemed so far away to him.

So many absent walls in this villa, the house was airy and open, blurring the idea of inside and outside with is design.

Cream coloured linen danced against the wind to the seas secret songs, the sun leaving no corner in the shadows, sandy granite warm under the sun, evergreens could be seen from all windows, cascades of green coloured the view, and a pair of cats slept in a guest room.

There was not a sight disturbed by ugly grey buildings, just mountains and sea– left him feeling as Zeus on the top of mount Olympus, inside the airy home only the dull sound of oak ceiling fans pushing the breeze disturbed the halls.

No longer did the steps of strangers disturbed the dull accismus of this temple by the hill, camera crews left most of the home untouched, it had been a busy and exhausting week for Homelander.

Walls had been sparsely decorated, remnants of a past life clung on smooth oatmeal walls and indigo blue wood beecher paneling accentuating one living room of three-- paintings he had grown attached to and the occasional marble statue laid around, but now there were photos of a man one could hardly recognize.

With each new image, time had eroded wounds off his face, there was a glimmer on his features that had never resided there.

Garden pots had been shuffled around for the perfect frame, now he would've had to move them much to his annoyance.

It was the most anticipated interview of the decade, it had gone smoothly, Oprah had been delightful, manly tears had been shed and hair raising stories were shared, she had found him approachable above all.

After a year of silence the whole world was kept on edge awaiting for his return.

The trial hadn’t even televised but they were plenty of updates by the hour circling around-- more than sufficient. Now he had a full schedule, he was to be in the cover of GQ magazine, had some big podcasts lined up for an appearance, and Vogue to model for… it would be so strange to do without his suit.

Homelander sat with his legs dipping into one of his infinity pools, his loosely fitted honeycomb shirt draped around his shoulders like a poor’s man cape, his hair had grown a tad longer, salty seas had turned his flaxen locks almost wavy and a dark thick stubble began adorning his face.

His tablet resting behind him buzzing with a new email, the wrinkles around his eyes sank as he squinted from the blinding wet mirror, distracting enough that your step barely registered.

“You looked quite handsome in the suit this morning…” You spoke gently– I think the people are gonna love your new look… between the tan and the beard you look… sumptuous.”

“I should’ve shaved. They’ll think I look like a complete slob! I bet they’ll say I let myself go.”

You joined him by the pool as the hot Mediterranean sun stood above you, pulling his head closer to yours for a flurry of butterfly kisses.

“You look stunning, mi sol. Either way… lunch is ready… Ryan called and said him and Jaythaniel’s family just made it to Disneyland, don’t forget to pick him up tonite.” You said softly squeezing his thigh– he said he’ll call after lunch.”

He nodded absentmindedly.

“You don’t think Theodore is going to wake up?”

Worry clung to his tongue, his ears picking up the soft lull of his son’s snoring, Blender making biscuits on his sides but the child slept deeply, you could tell he had entered deep REM stage, you shook your head much to John’s relief.

“I can’t believe we are doing this… you spoil us too much.” He kissed your ear before lifting himself and dropping into the pool.

The sun sparkled harshly against the glass tiles, the sky more blue from below, your sinuous reflection watching him until he emerged, the tired breeze doing very little to dry him, you followed him giddy as his wet footprints led you to the wine cellar.

It had been an expensive endeavor to have all of this installed… several 3x3 plastic acrylic panels of 32 mm thickness, a high tech locking mechanism plus humidity and temperature control systems had to be installed independently of a good enough contractor who could reinforce the flooring with a steel mesh and coat the cement flooring with resin just to make it impossible for their friends to dig, there had been many logistical nightmares from finding the right contractors to finding a spot for it, it was easy to sell the strange boxes as a sex thing– blaming having super-abled kids increasingly longer list of powers that made it hard for dear ol’ daddy to get off… especially when the word ‘soundproofing’ had been mentioned, or his super strengths which led to some nasty laughs and a bit of murder later down the track, the last thing that mattered had been costs.

No amount of sound ever escaped the wine cellar, the zinc plates coating the walls prevented Ryan and himself from seeing in or out, Theodore was young enough to listen to instructions, if not it was your turn to discipline the toddler.

Opening that door was always a surprise, bringing him almost as much joy as that first christmas day as a complete family.

As they took the stairs he could smell mullet wine and lebkuchen– the tension in his muscles still fresh as he entered a home that had only existed in childish fantasies, awkwardness that never seemed the fade as the strangers hounded him with questions, but he had had you, Ryan and now Theodore for much needed emotional support, it had been almost perfect as it had been intense, it had been strange to hear all these stories of a woman he had murdered, who had only suffered, it was stranger how her only sister had not blame him for the nature of his birth, still grateful that he had found her even if it took forty years, grateful that something more than a pristine corpse was left behind.

Her body refusing to decay inside that pine box.

The cellar door beeps, and cogs turn inside the heavy metal door, fluorescent lights sung awake by the entrance, bringing much needed light to the dark sub-basement, only the three small lights inside the boxes lighten the area for most of the day.

A woman shuddered, flinching as more light hit her eyes, hiding beneath the bolted desk, you walked past Homelander carrying today's menu, there was something enjoyable about the challenge of creating an ever changing menu that was nutritionally balance, delicious and required no cutlery. The disheveled woman approached eagerly at the floating box, awaiting for you to place her meal, intentionally keeping her starved, this had been his decision for this particular guest-- to see if she would go mad. Due to the lack of windows she had no concept of time after all while the lights were on a timer, they were programmed to be irregular enough to cause confusion. To visit at random intervals and feed her whenever he remembered.

Homelander and John wanted to watch her scoof down her meal, to see her choke and tear up as she filled her cheeks and swallowed greedily– but their attention was reserved for guest number two.

“If I knew I had you getting all wet and bothered for daddy, I would’ve worn something nicer” His voice dry, barely lifting his head from the bed.

Homelander helps himself to the mini bar cracking open some pale ale for the world’s largest paper cup, humming a tune as he prepped today's round of meds while you set his meal.

“Got you pale ale… unless you’d like some peach bellinis?”

Homelander opened the cabinets, rows of neatly organized sex toys, booze and cleaning supplies were displayed– sex toys solely for decor, you both had committed to the bit, much of these had never been used nor did he want to, you had no need for vibrators when his hands did the job so perfectly. He took out a cattle prod, then pressed a code unto a small hidden panel making sure the guest couldn’t peek.

The inner latches came apart, the door hissed open.

There was no need to consider escaping, it was futile, the door upstairs was thicker than the glass, and no amount of yelling got anybody’s attention-- but he didn’t try killing himself either, for the last time he’d tried he had been here in no time, he had a chip monitoring his vitals at all times, and the camera on top of his room watched over him.

You also helped in that department.

Homelander entered first, you placed the food on the floor for Homelander to give Butcher his back.

Almost encouraging him to jump him.

“Would it kill you to wear pants?”

Homelander chuckled as he turned around with Butcher’s meal, wearing nothing but his wet shirt clinging to him tighter than his suit ever did, and black briefs.

“Would it kill you to agree to my offer?”

“Not going to play house with you, stupid cunt.”

Butcher didn’t argue with the meal, taking the food off his hand and sitting by the bolted table, the chair also bolted which made for an awkward fit.

“You got three months left William… these meds might get you one more… it's already been weeks… you want to spend the rest of your days here watching her starve to death or you want to be with Ryan? He wishes to see you. Be there for him… you just have to be with us.”

Butcher bared his teeth, mutterign curses under his breath as he gave him his back.

You entered the room taking the cattle prod tucked under his arm, Butcher ate ignoring him, throwing the tray towards his face, forever amused as to how he never bothered to dodge it, John rolling his eyes as the plastic dropped around him.

“I’m being generous after what you did to Dolores… that was… well… you lived up to your name.”

“Said I’ll get even.”

He had made Dolores into the antithesis of her craft, it had stung, to witness her unrecognizable being-- a DNA test confirming its identity. Close casket was the only choice.

Homelander watched him eat as you prepared yourself, undressing in the corner, fresh bruises adorning your thighs, handprints where he had held you solidly against his mouth.

Closing the door behind, locking Homelander and Butcher inside one box, giddy he jumped into the thin futon.

“Here I thought we were having the world’s most disappointing threesome… all thirteen seconds of it.”

He took a sip of the ale, it was utterly delicious but he wouldn’t let Homelander hear it from his mouth, this his only joy while stuck in this box. He turned to you watching as you opened the door on guest number 1, then back at Homelander already squeezing himself, a wet suther escaped his lips as your nude frame approached her, Butcher buried his brow.

You had ignored her for weeks, fed her irregularly while feeding Butcher on schedule. She survived on saltines and peanut butter, only receiving proper meals on the occasion but never did either of you touched her, or spoke to her.

She squealed as the tip hit her breast, too weak to do more than just scream, he had been so distracted by Homelander he hadn’t noticed the crowbar by the entrance… he could’ve sworn it was his own.

“Families should always have a mommy and a daddy… grandpa and grandma… cousins… but I don’t have any uncles… nor does Ryan have uncles… ahhh” he tugged harder hand fondling the dripping tip of his hardened member– just like that pumpkin.”

His skin crawled at the sight of the awoken thick member as he pulled it out his tight underwear, with a wet snap.

He turned to you, watching her face split red as you smacked her face with the cattle prod, she clutched at her cheek, blood spilling from the sides of her fingers, a distressed mess tried escaping you. You grinned as you felt Homelander excitement, his chest flushed as you gave a parry of messy heavy swings, she cried and as she covered her face you shocked her hands off until your eyes met, turning limp while Butcher’s heart accelerated, craning her neck, she opened her mouth leaving it frozen mid-air as you took to the crowbar.

“Pick a number of teeth … or Pusher will take the whole jaw” he whispered as he laid long languid strokes on his cock, rubbing his thumb on the glistening tip– or you can say yes”

A curved tip pressed right behind her upper chompers.

“One…?” You muttered– that’s not going to excite you right, mi sol?”

Homelander pouted, slowing down his hand, focusing on the base with short lived pumps.

“Break her jaw– let’s see how long she’ll last before she starves to death… she might dehydrate first, no?” He scoots patting the empty spot on the bed encouraging Butcher to join him— make it clean babe.”

You take the tip out her mouth and get in position to tap her jaw.

“We’ll visit in a week… hope you last my dear William.”

Butcher stood up, still with enough energy in him to fight, he might be dulled by the meds, exhaustion and his captor's cruel tactic.

“Kill her you wanker just bring some fucking fabreeze.”

You grinned mockingly, breaking more than her jaw, her body thud and her voice returned smashing her skull repeatedly caving into a pancake. Homelander groaned, edging himself as your vicious attacks drew your victim closer and closer to death, legs moving on their own, pressing his forehead against the wall, the sight of your bloody torso didn’t just titillate him, he craved the sight, knowing the glass stood between you two, knowing how far away you were and just how untouchable you were was better than any x-rated video, your ragged panting, the sweet sweat falling from the tip of your chin, blood specs bejeweled your body, was too much.

You had become more than he had ever imagined, you pressed your behind against the bloodied wall as you caught your breath.

Butcher could only try to ignore your sick kinks.

Homelander will bring as many innocent people he could and make him take part of their scenes, he whined as you got out the cage, walking painfully slow towards his– ignoring him in favor of the minibar, his hand stopped with a sneer, turning to see that Butcher had skulled down the last of his ale.

“You know he’s being nice asking you… I could just make you say yes…”

Butcher looked back at the mass, almost flinching as the woman was back on her feet, her face a torn mess but there she was still eating the last morsels of the chunky yiros with her torn jaws, for every bit of garlic sauce that dripped down her hands there was an equal amount of chunky blood spilling unto the ground.

Deepthroating the yiros more than eating it.

Her face just hanging by red ribbons, one eye swollen and bulging while the other just hung out of her socket, clumps of broken scalp swinging with the weight of her once straight hair, now dirty and matted.

She turned to see him sensing she had been watched and her face had no bruises.

He looked back at Homelander then back at the corpse now immobile, rotting, fluids escaping its bloated body, gangrenous pus seeping thru its sunken eyes while the skin darkened and dried, now his nose picked up on the revulsion, he looked at his drink and figure out that there was no drug in him– Homelander was back in his bed, his cock tucked in and not a sight that he had moved once, his toothy grin more real than the full cup fizzing in his hand, your breath warming Butcher’s ear.

Months, weeks, days, hours… he had no clue how long he actually been here, this was an illusion… some of it… tragically you two were disgustingly real.

“You want to break me into compliance?”

The white glow of your eyes not as menacing as Homelander's lasers, he took a short sip of his beer letting it dry his tongue, feeling the warm building in his stomach.

Hot fingers creep from around his hips, exploring the softened torso, he is still strong and firm under the weakened body, the illness making it hard to maintain his shape, hot water dampened his shirt, nails bruising trails as he trapped him, pressed tight against the leaner man, craning his neck to place his chin on the older man’s shoulder– no doubt floating to do so.

Before he could protest further, before he could do more than curse under his breath and wriggle, your teeth met the underside of his chin.

Intertwining your hands with his free one, no doubt he could snap your wrist but a little red light shone next to his head, telling it wouldn't be a good idea.

Homelander closed his iron grip around Butcher’s neck, leaving him gasping, feeling his pipe collapse slightly.

Your tongue licked his neck, your touch more gentle, more tender but to his shock Homelander only purred, you both stared at each other lovingly, Butcher’s neck nothing but a barrier between you two, you climbed to meet his lips, while your loved was manhandling Butcher lower so Homelander could give you wet, loud and messy kisses.

Arching him much to his displeasure, the beer spilling down his arm.

Squeezing harder on his neck, Homelander eyes are coloured a pretty dark pink, he grunts pressing Butcher into him, begging for friction.

You two kissed the older man missing his lips, feeling him shudder, kissing the blanket of goosebumps all over his body.

You loved him more than anything.

You would make him happy in all the ways that your body could.

And sometimes things are easier to do when he just communicated them, usually that would involve murder but now it was this.

Butcher had no idea what he had to say yes to. what exactly you two wanted out of him, and he had yet to spot the hidden vial of V in the cabinet.

John giggled as Butcher's hateful glare tried to burn him.

“Is okay… you’ll be the one fucking me…” he needily purrs– right, pumpkin?”

“Just let all that hatred out… make him cry…” you whispered into Butcher’s ear– make him your bitch.”

It had been his own mind that picture the blonde’s cock, that had been his own worst nightmare, but as he felt those needy kisses– be it the beer on an empty stomach, your powers or the tumor pressing on the smart sections of his brain he chortle at the thought, straining his neck to see the desperate flush on the blonde, his grip loosening, allowing him to turn just enough.

This could also be a part of this illusion.

“You just wanted to be daddy’s cute little slut?” he spat– my cum dump?”

Homelander let out the most obscene moan from within the depths of his core, you felt the heat rising from your own loins as you heard him.

Butcher tugged at your scalp, yanking you away from him.

“Both of you are such weird needy bitches… is okay… I’ll make you both into my good little whores.”

Breathy moans, both men eager to see this new game of yours play out, you would make him happy, please him, take care of all his needs… it was easier when you also felt just a tenth of that spark the first time you met William.

Unlike the last ones before these brother’s you would never grow out of love… you had so much to give after all… and he had so much to give you still.

What a bad thing you two were.

#homelander #personal #my fic tag #can we be lonely together?#homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander x butcher #butcher x reader #I am esl sorry #will post a masterlist soon to make it easy to read the prev chapters #just tryign to make a mood board as a cover #this was not proof read btw #homelander x you

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anjaelle · 1 year

Text

Warped | Part I

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Characters: Jake 'Hangman' Sersin x Black!Reader (Late 20s) x Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia Word Count: 3k Warning: Unreality (basically) Summary: A road trip cuts through a small, nowhere town and gets a little freaky. a/n: I'm a bitch who loves to be a little extra with her plots. Below is an accompanying mixtape with some vintage bangers.

Masterlist | ꩜The Warped Mixtape ꩜

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"C'mon, c'mon. Work with me."

SIGNAL NOT FOUND

"Fuck."

You sat, stranded and exhausted, in the middle of a strip mall parking lot. You'd crossed over into a small town in the middle of nowhere--you think you saw a sign that said "MILLERSFORD." But you'd been driving for hours, and could've easily confused it for someplace else. The neon lights of the 24 hour convenience store buzzed menacingly, and the cashier curiously eyed your car from the inside. Your cell signal refused to cooperate, it was an hour until midnight, and you were beginning to run low on gas.

You mentally kicked yourself for blindly thinking you'd start the new year in a new city, among friends.

You swallowed hard and slouched down in your chair, well aware that you'd need to find a place for the night. You couldn't keep driving under these conditions.

As you pushed the store's door open, a bell rang announcing your arrival. The middle aged, blonde cashier brightened up. It was then that you noticed that she was wearing a colorful garland around her neck, attached to a flask.

"Hey there! Happy almost New Year!"

She blew a tiny kazoo and you couldn't help but tiredly grin at her enthusiasm. Her joy would be infectious if you weren't dead on your feet.

"Same to you. Um--" you glanced briefly at the TV behind her, showing the raging crowd in New York. "--Is there anywhere nearby where I can sleep for a bit? I've been on the road for most of the day and I need to lay down."

She leaned forward on her elbows and hummed in thought. "There's an inn a few minutes down the road." She pointed south, into the darkness, "That probably has some vacancies. I think Dawn's boy might be working the check-in there." The woman giggled and shook the flask that appeared to be empty now, "I need to ease up on the sauce. I forget the boy's name. But let him know that Janie told ya about it, and you might get a little discount."

You weren't sure you really needed a discount for a small town inn, but you appreciated the friendly reminder anyway. You grinned, thanked her, gave her a tip for her troubles, and dragged yourself back to your car to contemplate your life and terrible choices.

"'No, I won't take the train'," you murmured to yourself, "I'll drive. It'll be nice to be alone.' What an idiot."

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Dawes' Inn wasn't particularly difficult to find. The bright green vacancy sign beamed like an oasis in the middle of a vast desert. You could almost smell the hotel disinfectant the minute you got out of your car. And as you rolled your luggage through the dimly lit lobby, you noted how depressing everything looked. Faded floral wallpaper decorated the walls, and a church service played on the flat screen mounted on the wall. The overhead ceiling fan lazily circulated, moving around the humid air that was uncharacteristic of December...but apparently normal for the area. Your t-shirt clung to your back and your braids were beginning to frizz at the root. Your skin felt sticky. Your mouth felt dry.

As you crossed the lobby to the concierge desk, you noticed a college-aged boy with blue hair and tattoos, reading a comic book. On the wall behind him was a large American flag with a framed photo of Donald Trump in the middle. You pursed you lips, and began to consider if sleeping in your car would be the better option. The boy glanced up at you and waved politely.

"Hey, sorry," he motioned with his book, apologetically, "I was kind of in the zone."

"No problem. I just wanted to get a room for the night." Your eyes glanced up at the photo again, and he followed your gaze, then winced.

"My Aunt Ginny's idea. Sorry..." he placed the comic book under the counter and began typing away at the desktop, "I promise, me and my mom aren't like that."

"That's comforting to know." At this point, you didn't have much interest in small talk. Sleep crept up on you, and you hid your yawn behind your hand. Getting the gist of your capacity for conversation, the boy rushed to get your information. As you mentioned Janine from down the road, he rolled his eyes but laughed.

"I swear, she'd be our official marketing rep if she wasn't so stubborn."

He tore your receipt from the printer and handed it over, along with two keys ("One for the safe and one for the door. They're labelled."). As you hauled ass across the parking lot, you checked your phone and saw that it was 10 minutes until midnight. You'd given up hope on getting to watch the ball drop. What was the point, if you were alone in an unknown town? It was just another day now.

The room was clean, at the very least. The scent of lemon cleanser smacked you across the face. You sighed tiredly.

5 minutes to midnight.

You pushed your bag under the writing desk beside the entrance and collapsed onto the springy, quilted bed. The digital alarm clock on the nightstand had to be as old as you are, if not older. It looked like something you'd find in your grandmother's house.

1 minute to midnight.

Your eyes drifted closed. You missed your parents. You briefly wondered if you should call them. You knew they'd very likely answer you, but your pride wouldn't allow you to concede.

10...9...8...7...

Someone in the distance shot off a gun. Or maybe it was a firecracker. Your head was pounding. You should've taken ibuprofen.

4...3...2...1...

HAPPY NEW YEAR AND YOU ARE LISTENING TO KMRB, PLAYING THE BIGGEST HITS OF TODAY

The clock went off, blasting the radio at damn near full volume and causing you to shoot out of the bed with a start. The sun peeked from behind the floral curtains and you shielded your eyes. As you reached for the nightstand, you noticed that it was 9am and that you'd been dead to the world far longer than you'd intended.

"All you've got is this moment Twenty-first century's yesterday You can care all you want..."

Through the fog of confusion, you managed to find the volume button and turned the music down so you could collect your thoughts.

"Huh," You rubbed your tired eyes. You heard people chattering outside of the door and numerous car doors slamming. It was the most life you'd heard since your arrival to the small town. First things first, you needed to find your phone. You could've sworn that you'd put it on the nightstand, but it may have fallen in your sleep. You looked around, moving the pillows and the blanket. You jumped to your feet and pulled the blankets off, listening for the telltale clatter. When nothing fell out of the sheets, you groaned in frustration and dropped to your knees to look under the bed.

"Fuck..." you mumbled, "Did I leave it in the car?"

If you did, it was very likely dead by now. You looked down at yourself to see if you could get away with running out to your car and running back without being judged for your appearance. Rumpled denim short-shorts and a tank top wouldn't be the most risque thing to show up on the streets of a town like this. You decided to risk the judgement.

As you crossed the threshold and stepped onto the scorching hot motel pavement, you squinted through the sunlight to see the parking lot filled with cars and people. When you took a closer look, you noticed how old the cars looked, and how outdated people were dressed. You could tell the confusion was evident on your face as your eyes swept over the scene in front of you.

A chorus of excited voices chattered over one another as they walked in the direction of the hotel lobby--presumably for breakfast. The freeway was busy with traffic, which was a large difference from how empty it was the night before.

A few women around your age walked by you, one clad in a pink sundress with ruffles across the neckline and the other in a blue polka dotted dress, with hair teased higher than you knew was even possible. They were deep in conversation when you waved them down.

"Excuse me?" You asked as they passed. They stopped and regarded you, the blonder of the duo in the pink dress looked you up and down and frowned. You couldn't get a read on what that expression meant. But you powered through the urge to question it, "Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Is there a convention going on or something?"

They exchanged confused glances, then looked back at you.

"...A convention?" The polka dotted dress asked.

"I mean, everyone is wearing vintage stuff. The cars?" You motioned in front of you. You were confused what THEY were confused about.

The two women exchanged glances again and the pink dress squinted at you.

"What the hell are you talking about? Vintage? This is custom made." She turned to her friend and scoffed, "Cassie, is she crazy?"

You squinted back, "Are you playing with me? Are you guys in character or something?"

"You're insane. Crack is wack, you know." The pink dress said, guiding her friend away. "You'd think they'd be more selective about who they let into this place."

"Oh get over yourself," you called back. "It's a MOTEL in West Nowhere. Not the Ritz Carlton."

You'd be more upset about the microaggression--macroaggression, really--if you weren't sure you were surrounded by people who were in on a joke you didn't know about.

You decided to just get to your car, find your phone, and head back to your room so you could plan the rest of your trip accordingly.

But you couldn't find your car anywhere. In the sea of ancient red and silver cars, or cars with wooden paneling, you couldn't find your trusty 2018 Honda Accord anywhere in sight. You walked between the rows, growing more frantic by the minute.

"Where the hell are you?" you muttered in frustration. You decided to fish out your keys to click the unlock button, and the car that responded was...not your car.

It was a Honda. It had your plates. It was the same bright red color But it was NOT yours.

You backed away from it and looked down at the keys in your hand to see that it didn't match the ones you had last night.

"Cool, cool, cool, cool. Someone's just playing a trick on me." You muttered. You felt your breathing picking up and you turned on your heels to rush to the hotel lobby. Following the crowd of people, you heard bits and pieces of conversation.

"...and I told Clara that it's expensive to go to West Berlin. We're trying to save for college here..."

"...forced to take Benny to the mall. I dunno, I might just leave him at the arcade..."

Some song from the 60s played through the speakers in the lobby--which looked much more vibrant than it did the night before. And as you rushed to the front desk, you caught sight of the smiling portrait of Ronald Reagan beaming at you evilly from the wall that had an entirely different portrait just 9 hours before. The young woman behind the counter smiled curiously at you, as you absolutely had a look of both confusion and panic written all over your face. She wore a sky blue dress with huge shoulder pads, and her hair in a big, feathered style that you imagine took a very long time to do. You were impressed with her dedication to the bit.

"Good morning, sweetie." She popped her gum cheerfully as she shuffled around some papers in front of her. "How can I help you?"

"Hi, um...I need a little bit of help here. I can't seem to find my car. I thought I parked it in the spot designated for my room, but maybe I made a mistake. I was pretty tired last night."

She waved away the apologetic tone of your request, "It happens to the best of us. I wasn't in last night, so I won't be the best person to help you. But my cousin was. Let me go grab him from the back."

You thanked her profusely as she disappeared behind the office doors. And as your drummed your fingernails on the counter awaiting the blue haired boy from the night before, you thought about how worried your friends must have been. To them, you drove into the night and didn't show up the next day. They probably thought you were in a ditch somewhere.

You were deep in your thoughts when a blond man sidled up to the counter. A blond man who was absolutely NOT the person who helped you the night before. You felt hyper aware of the fact that you looked a mess. You were in last night's clothes, and you hadn't even washed your face, yet. And, still, his eyes raked over you like he was dying of thirst and you were a glass of ice water in the desert.

"Well, now...you're a sight for sore eyes. How can I help you, ma'am?"

He shot you a wide, flirtatious grin and leaned forward on his elbows. You forced yourself not to stare at the way his sleeves hugged his arms. Your car was missing. Now was not the time.

"Uh...hi. Hey. Um..." you mentally kicked yourself. Use your grown up words, Jesus Christ. "Could you please check to see what spot I was supposed to park my car in? I think I may have made a mistake, and I wanna double check."

He quirked a brow at you and leaned back slightly.

"When did you come in?" He pulled a massive leather bound book from under the counter and began thumbing through it.

"Around 11:45-ish."

His hand stilled over the pages and he peered back at you, curiously. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

He hummed and tapped his fingers on the pages again, "I was here all night long, and I don't remember you coming in. And trust me...I would've remembered you."

You pushed away the warmth in your cheeks to clarify, "Well, you weren't at the counter last night. It was a boy. He was kinda young. Had blue hair and tattoos."

The confusion on his face intensified, "Nobody here looks like that. Ginny would have a fit." He suddenly laughed, "Are you sure you weren't uh...imbibing?"

You didn't laugh. This wasn't funny. You just wanted to know where your goddamn car was. You pulled your ID out of your pocket and handed it to him.

"Here. See if you can find my name in the system. I obviously made a reservation here if I have keys and managed to park in the lot."

He picked up the card and laughed again. It was a loud, sharp guffaw that made you even more annoyed than you already were.

"Are you pullin' my leg?" He said, laughing again, "Did you get this from one of those joke shops by the freeway?"

"What are you talking about?" You said, leaning forward on the counter. At this point, you were stopping yourself from jumping over it to strangle him.

He pushed the ID back over the counter and tapped his finger at your birth year.

"You need to go to the DMV and get this sorted if this is real, Marty McFly. How the hell are you gonna give me an ID saying you're born almost a decade from now? C'mon."

Now you were looking at him like he was deranged. Almost a decade from now? You looked at your ID again, and it looked the same as it always had.

"Are any of you ever going to just break character and help me?" You asked in frustration. "I'm sick of this. You weren't doing this yesterday!"

"I didn't know you, yesterday." He responded, the mirth of the situation still evident in his face.

If you had the energy, you would've jumped over the counter then. Instead you took a deep breath and asked if you could borrow his phone. You weren't surprised when you were handed a rotary phone instead of a cell phone. Because of course he'd do that.

You dialed the first number that came to mind, begrudgingly, and listened as someone picked up on the second ring. You expected to hear your mother's voice, but your heart stopped in your chest and your hand trembled.

"Hellooo hello... this is Myra Lloyd. Happy New Year!"

You nearly dropped the receiver. The voice was as clear as day, but younger than you remembered. And you hadn't heard it in over ten years. You swallowed hard. You had to be dreaming. This wasn't real.

"...Grandma?" You whispered, gripping the phone in your fist.

"Hello? I think you may have the wrong number, dear." She said, in her vibrant sing-songy voice that you missed so much. You heard a teenager calling for your grandmother in the background, and she responded, "Oh! It might be her. I'll ask. Are you looking for Deirdre?"

Your heart squeezed at the sound of your mother's name and you immediately hung up. Suddenly everything sounded far away and all the air escaped from your lungs.

You stared at the phone in shock, and the man behind the counter waved in front of your face.

"Hey...are you alright?"

You couldn't explain to him that you'd just heard your dead grandmother's voice on the phone. Who would believe you? You wouldn't have even believed it yourself if you hadn't heard it with your own ears.

"What year is it?" You asked, refusing to look him in the eye. You silently begged him to give you the right answer to prove you weren't going crazy. To maybe give you an ounce of relief. Even if there was no explaining what just happened...

"It's 1989."

"...Oh."

It was all you could muster before you blacked out and hit the floor of the hotel lobby.

#Jake 'Hangman' Sersin x reader #glen powell x reader #Hangman x reader #This is my first time in ages writing for someone new so be patient with the baby #jae writes

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diabolus1exmachina · 2 years

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Gordon Murray T.50s Niki Lauda

Gordon Murray's T.50s track special, as expected, does not disappoint. In fact, while limited to just 25 units, the T.50s Niki Lauda comes with such a remarkable spec sheet that this side of attacking the track in a Formula 1 car, it should be nearly impossible to match its performance. The list of wow factors begins with a power-to-weight ratio of 823 horsepower per tonne, only to continue with a rear fan that goes to maximum downforce mode at all speeds above 50 miles per hour. All GMA T.50s Niki Lauda models will be individually named after F1 victories of Murray designs, starting with chassis 01, the 1974 Kyalami (South African Grand Prix, Brabham BT44) car.

Gordon Murray says the T.50s project began some 18 months ago, and instead of just being a track-happy version of the road car, it's been a parallel design development. That translates to more aggressive aero changes instead of just add-ons, and 317 pounds shaved from the road car. The 4.0-liter Cosworth V12 is actually 35 pounds lighter in the Niki Lauda editions, while the six-speed manual gearbox is replaced by Xtrac's six-speed IGS paddle-operated race box. With no body panel carried over from the "regular" T.50, the T.50s features a dominant central fin to enhance stability wearing Niki Lauda's logo, along with a delta-shaped fixed wing paying tribute to Murray’s 1983 Brabham BT52. Further enhancing the 15.74-inch fan's effect is the truly massive active diffuser. Meanwhile, ground effect at the front is boosted by barge boards sculpted to improve airflow to the side ducts, an LMP1-style splitter, and Koenigsegg-rivalling dive planes. Despite Gordon Murray repeatedly referring to his Brabham fan car as a "blunt instrument," the rear grille features a "Fan Car" script next to the T.50s logo.

Still revving to 12,100 rpm, the Cosworth V12 of the T.50s Niki Lauda comes with revised cylinder heads and camshafts, plus a higher compression ratio of 15:1. GMA says weight-saving measures extend to the intake, exhaust and control systems, as well as the engine itself. All the valves are made from titanium, and there is no variable valve timing because this car is always in full attack mode. A simpler induction system features 12 throttle bodies on top of the engine, fed directly by that racing-style air box. The exhaust system does without catalytic converters, has thinner Inconel walls, and, with only track noise limits to meet, benefits from smaller silencers. The result is a specific output of 178 horsepower per liter for a total of 701 horsepower at 11,500 rpm, and 357 pound-feet of torque at 9,000 rpm. With the even bigger roof-mounted RAM induction airbox, maximum output goes up to 725 horsepower. GMA goes on to say that "right through the rev-range, it promises to be one of the greatest and most characterful sounding cars ever made." Finally, GMA's bespoke Xtrac IGS (Instantaneous Gearshift) electronically actuated, six-speed, paddle-shift gearbox is 11 pounds lighter than the road car's manual transmission.

Brembo's carbon-ceramic brake discs measuring 370mm by 34mm at the front and 340mm by 34mm at the rear are carried over, along with their six- and four-piston calipers. Eighteen-inch forged magnesium center-lock wheels improve brake cooling, all while weighing 13.2 pounds each. GMA says the braking system, the slick Michelin tires, and the active aerodynamics combine to produce an eye-popping deceleration of 3.5g

#Gordon Murray #t.50 #niki lauda #Brabham BT44

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canadablower · 1 year

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Ventilation by Exhaust Fans

An exhaust fan is a mechanical ventilation device that helps to draw out stale and impure air from your home and bring in fresh air, thereby improving the quality of indoor air. Exhaust fans are typically ducted to the exteriors of your house, through which bad indoor air can effectively be removed from your living space.

Exhaust fans are classified into various types, mainly depending on the type of mount and the location where you need to install the fans. The different types are:

Ceiling Mounted Exhaust Fans: As the name suggests, ceiling exhaust fans are those which are installed in the ceiling. Such fans expel stale air from your home upwards through the roof. The fan is connected to ducting, which is exhausted outside the home via an external vent, like a roof cap or soffit exhaust vent.

Inline Exhaust Fans: Unlike ceiling exhaust fans that are installed directly into the ceiling, inline exhaust fans are typically mounted in-between ducting, hence the name inline fan. For instance, if you wanted to ventilate an area that did not have clearance or space for a ceiling mount fan, you would make use of inline exhaust fans to ventilate such areas. The exhaust fan would be placed in between the ductwork and the stale air would travel through the ducts and ultimately be expelled from your home. Since inline fans are not mounted directly to the ceiling, they are very quiet. When installing an inline fan, to reduce noise, we recommend using an insulated flex duct that is at least eight feet long from the intake port on the ceiling to the inline fan. Inline exhaust fans are ideal for exhausting areas or rooms where you cannot, or do not wish to install the exhaust fan directly. Since these types of exhaust fans are mounted in remote areas, they are also referred to as remote mounted exhaust fans. Inline exhaust fans can either be single-port (exhausting from a single area) or multi-port (exhausting from multiple areas).

Wall Mounted Exhaust Fans: These exhaust fans are installed on walls. Since they are installed on exterior walls of the home and not on interior walls, the stale air has a direct route to the outside of your home and thus no duct work is required in installing these exhaust fans.

Combination Exhaust Fans: Exhaust fans are also available as combination units. You have the choice of a fan-light combination where the exhaust fan provides illumination as well, or heat-fan-light combination wherein you get a heater, light and ventilating fan all in a single device.

Exterior Remote Mounted Exhaust Fans: While most other exhaust fans are installed inside your home and push stale air out, exterior remote mounted fans are installed outside your home and pull out stale indoor air instead of pushing it out. The main benefit of these exhaust fans is that regardless of however noisy they are, most of the noise remains outside your home.

Kitchen Range Exhaust Fans: These fans are mounted inside the range hood over your kitchen stove. Such fans not only help to rid your kitchen of stale air but also help to expel bad odors and reduce moisture levels in your cooking area.

These several types of exhaust fans can be used for complete ventilation of your bilding including intermittent local ventilation for baths, kitchens, dryer rooms; continuous whole building ventilation, and for exhausting hard-to-air spaces such as crawl spaces, attics, and basements.

Canada Blower exhaust fans are very effective at ventilating your home and other living spaces. Without proper ventilation, the air inside your home can get filled with harmful contaminants and disease causing pathogens.

Pollutants such as pesticides, harmful gases, smoke, pet dander, lead, asbestos, dust mites, paint fumes, grease etc get released into indoor air due to daily activities such as cooking, smoking, burning fuel, bathing, renovating etc. In addition to these pollutants, activities such as bathing, cooking, and washing also release excess moisture in the air and make indoor air extremely humid. If not ventilated adequately, these added pollutants and increased moisture levels can decrease the quality of indoor air greatly, thereby leading to various problems such as:

Health problems including asthma, allergies, nose bleeds, skin rashes, headaches, nausea, and other breathing disorders. In fact, according to the Environmental Protection Agency, a large percentage of the over 20 million annual asthma cases in the US alone can be attributed to bad indoor air quality.

Split, warped and rotted furniture due to excess humidity.

Cracked and peeling paint on the walls.

Formation of fungus, mold spores, and mildew, which in turn lead to severe health problems.

Thus, by using exhaust fans to ventilate your building efficiently and completely, thereby improving indoor air quality, you can avoid of all these problems ventilating.com fanblower.com highpressureblower.net industrialblowerfan.com industrialfanblower.net industrialfanblower.com pressureblower.net northernindustrialsupplycompany.com industrialpressureblower.com tenderall.com chicagoblowercanada.com cbblower.com buffaloblower.com buffalofan.com nis-co.com canadianblower.com olegsystems.com canadablower.com abbblower.com acmefan.net industrialblower.net fansandblowers.net americanblower.net barryfan.com cincinnatifan.net canadafans.com barryfan.net.

When sizing a Canada Blower exhaust fan that does not open directly to the outside but is ducted, it is important to ensure that the exhaust fan has the capability to move stale air throughout the duct and ultimately to the outside. Here, we first need to understand what static pressure and equivalent duct length is.

Inside every duct, there is a constant pressure being exerted at any point from all directions. When an exhaust fan moves air through the duct, the air counters resistance from this pressure which is known as static pressure. Thus, an exhaust fan has to have the ability to overcome the static pressure in a duct so as to effectively duct stale air to the outside of your home. This can be done by calculating the equivalent duct length of any duct.

#Canada Blower #fan #blower #ventilator #Chicago Blower #pressure blower #high temperature ventilator #centrifugal fan #axial ventilator #scroll cage blower #blower wheel #ventilator blade #fan impeller #radial ventialtor #propeller ventilator #vaneaxial blower #tubeaxial blower #inline fan

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