#3123

[sleepsucks]

[harveyphotography]

Acquapendente - (VT) La Gerusalemme Verde: un territorio dell’anima, un viaggio interiore, un posto dove ritrovarsi, una pausa rigenerante lungo il cammino della vita.

[cardismantlers]

Car Wreckers Auburn 3123 #Auburn #3123 #Victoria #Australia https://www.cardismantlers.com.au/auburn/

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

For those who know me, I tend to view celebrities of all types and all places with a slightly cynical view. My dad sort of ruined parasocial relationships with brands and famous people as he’s in product marketing. (Not entertainment, but he said marketing uses the same techniques and tactics for almost every field or situation.)

Short version: the goal of any company is to market their product/person in a positive light. They will craft this image to appeal to the majority of people that could be interested in the product/person. In order to keep things going between the audience/fan and their product/person, the company will continue to release relevant content or materials to remind the public about their product/person and encourage the audience/fan to engage by purchasing said content or materials.

Twenty One Pilots said it well with their song “Ride”: “But it’s fun to fantasize!” The fans need to remember that fantasy does not equal reality most of the time.

To those who used to support the individual in the news now, I’m sorry and I hope you’re going to be okay. To anyone affected in the situation coming to light, please take care of yourselves.

[jam-packed]

hm crack ship between esteban ocon and enea bastianini do we see the vision

[venera-787]

[l0verb0yy]

「 darlin', you're so pretty it hurts . . . 」

» an independent & selective writing blog for steve harrington of stranger things , penned by feren ﹙ they/he + 19 ﹚, as an original character . established jan. '23 . 18+ followings only . personals & minors will be blocked . b.lly h.rgroves dni + anyone who interacts w dako / jonbyers. » affiliated with ✧ hereliesnancy , goldengirlchrissy , thebanish , holybloom , fawnbled , ghospoke , goose6umps , hereliesjon , hereliescarol .

☆ BEFORE YOU FOLLOW :

this is basic dni criteria , but if you are a minor trying to get into adult spaces you will be blocked from this blog . as well , if you are known to express bigoted opinions you will be blocked . if you write r*pe , inc*st , p*dophilia , or anything of those natures , you will be blocked . i do not tolerate this behavior .

☆ WHAT TO EXPECT :

steve is rewritten as an original character , thus he is flexible for any verse or situations . much of his character will be written from personal headcanons and canon information from the show — i will be exploring his unspoken traumas from his experiences of saving the world many times over , as well as the sense of dread that comes with crashing down to ground zero after being on top for so long but slowly beginning to crawl yourself out of that pit and becoming content with yourself rather than what people think of you . steve is a closeted bisexual whose parents were neglectful to their son emotionally and paternally .

☆ OTHER :

pinned graphic by @aquareqia / nemo . you can also find me over at my multifandom blog @thesilverscreamz as well as @prettyjaws for my multimuse of canons and originals . if you would like my discord just send me a message ! i'm still new to tumblr rp and would love to receive any tips and tricks . » PINTEREST + CARRD + MY PSDS «

[peakypeakiiii]

me when when peopel reblog my silly little hc's

/pos

[paranoiias]

yoooo do people still swap currency on fr?? I'm having a tough time finding anything just posting on the forums but I need gems for an art piece. I have treasure, I'll take either of the two currency ratios, pls skgdjk

[its-quiet-colter]

Warm Hotel Rooms.

Agent Whiskey x Agent Pisco - Male! Reader

Word count: 3123

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, implied switch!whiskey but he's a bottom here. friends w benefits, anal sex, blowjob, whiskey being a harmless flirt. also implied bisexual!whiskey but nothing is mentioned for the reader.

Notes: this took me WEEKS to finish, omg i low-key hate how it turned out but here we are. i'm hoping this is one of a five part whiskey and pisco series.

| archive of our own |

The door of the hotel barges open, hitting the back wall with the force of your combined weight as Whiskey pushes you through the doorway. Your lips are locked together, and you feel the addictive rumble of the other agent groaning into the kiss as he nips at your bottom lip like a man starved. Both of you nearly trip over each other as you toe off the bespoke leather shoes you wore for the mission, courtesy of the Kingsman, and stumble your way to the couch.

Whiskey goes down willingly when you lightly push on his chest, hitting the cushion with a thump. His cowboy hat sits askew on his head and he pants with ragged breath. The rise and fall is soothing underneath your palm, his heartbeat heavy, as you feel the heat through his shirt. A sly grin sits on Whiskey’s face, his eyes flashing with excitement and anticipation– arousal. 

You’re not so different; with messy hair from where his fingers slid through it, and your top lip red from the brush of his mustache against your own stubble. You can see the visible tent in Whiskey’s slacks as he looks up at you expectantly and you hook your fingers under the loop of his tie and tug it loose. His breath hitches as you straddle him, your leg sliding between his own and he reaches out to grip the lapels of your suit.

“You’re killin’ me here, Pisco.” Whiskey chuckles breathlessly, but you notice the way his hips buck, searching for friction against your thigh. “And I ain’t a man that begs, sugar.”

“Alright, alright.” You grumble half heartedly, too worked up to argue. Pushing off his chest, you sit back enough to take off your tailored blazer and unclasp the holster strapped around your chest, discarding both in the dark hotel room. The clank of the weapon is a little jarring as it hits the coffee table and disturbs the heavy air around you two. “So damn impatient, whining like a proper pillow princess.”

The joke earns you a playful spank over your ass as Whiskey tugs you closer, the feel of his palms squeezing your cheeks, even through the fabric of your slacks is nothing if not addictive. But then again, so is the agent under you. 

Whiskey brings your lips together again, feeling the way his tongue slides against yours as you grind against each other on the couch. The previous playfulness, whilst always present– it always is with a man as cocky and self-assured as Whiskey– is forgotten in the dimly lit hotel room. Instead all that remains is the soft, heated feeling that hangs around you both, the hum of arousal that settles in your gut, and the quiet little grunts and moans that are swallowed by each other.

Your clothes rustle against one another as you roll your hips against Whiskey’s, grinding your erections against one another as you kiss. His hand wraps around your tie, the other sliding through your hair as he cups the back of your head, ensuring you stay close. Barely giving you enough space to breathe. Whiskey has always been a man that takes as much as he gives.

“Fucking hell,” You pant against his lips, your tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. Both of you have been geared for most of the night, ready to pounce on each other the second you arrived back at the rendezvous point at the hotel. “You sure know how to rile a man up, Whiskey.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, low and rumbly with that signature grin of his. “You enjoyed that little stunt I pulled with the scientist?”

With a shake of your head, you look down at Whiskey, all disheveled and flushed underneath you. A lighthearted laugh leaving you. “In a room full of biochemists bidding for pharmaceutical companies to fund their experimental drugs, you somehow still managed to find a way to flirt with the prettiest woman in the room.”

“So you admit she was pretty?” The other agent chuckles, his grin wide. It’s a playful game between the two of you. It’s addictive. Always walking a fine line between how far Whiskey can push– flirting with targets, informants, marks and the like whilst out on the field. How long can he spend riling you up? How long before the two of you wind up in bed together after missions? Or any surface for that matter. Finding fleeting moments between debriefs and stakeouts to expend all that pent up energy. That’s how it’s always been for you two. Something neither of you are willing to address or admit to enjoying far more than partners should.

You roll your eyes at Whiskey’s banter, your hands sliding down to find his belt and pull it from the loops. He moans softly, hips lifting up so you can work his slacks down. Making him shuffle awkwardly in that rare display of the real man underneath the suave Agent Whiskey. The one who likes too many teaspoons of sugar in his coffee, the one who couldn’t loop his tie properly until you taught him in the bathroom outside Champ’s office after your first mission together. The man who bites his top lip, his brow always furrowed slightly whenever he tries to work out of his slacks, just so you two can fuck over whatever surface is avaliable out in the field. The man you know and trust as your best friend, Jack Daniels.

Whatever fancy one-liner Whiskey had ready dies on his tongue as he shuffles down his pants and boxers enough for his cock to spring free and rest up against his abdomen. He hisses slightly as the end of his shirt brushes against the sensitive underside, and you push the offending fabric up enough to kiss your way down his chest. Starting from the middle of his sternum, his skin warm and soft, you leave a trail of kisses down his chest and to his navel. The end of your nose and the scrape of your stubble has him shuddering under you, heat settling in his gut.

Whiskey sucks in a breath, his palm coming to cup the back of your head. “Pisco–” He all but whines your name as you lick a strip up the underside of his cock, your hands holding his waist to keep him still. You feel him twitch against you, his resolve slipping as he tries to rock his hips up and get more of you. Blunt nails scrape the back of your neck, sliding up into your hair and messing it up further in a desperate attempt to keep you close. “Please, sugar.”

You lean up enough to take him into your mouth, tonguing at the slit as you lap at the tip of his cock. Whiskey’s head falls back against the arm of the couch with a hearty moan, his eyes falling shut in bliss as you take all of him down. You can feel the heat of him on your tongue, the taste of his precum, the heady smell of his scent. A potent mix of whiskey, worn leather, and something else which can only be described as Jack himself.

He all but moans as he feels the swipe of your tongue on the underside of his cock, and his fingers tighten in your hair. He can’t help it now, his hips jutting up in little thrusts as you suck hard and hollow out your cheeks. Your own appearance is flushed, hair stuck out in multiple directions and spit trickling down your chin. Not that you mind. Being a mess for Whiskey is as intoxicating and addictive as it is to turn him into one.

———————

The two of you had been wound up all night, the feel of arousal simmering under the surface of your skin as you watched him flirt with pretty scientists and handsome businessmen alike. Whiskey loved the attention, always jumped straight to playful flirting with targets, knowing it riled you up and put him in the centre of attention. It felt good. And Whiskey loved the tease.

Your eyes followed him the whole night at the convention, watching as Whiskey weaved through the crowds, polished and suave with his bespoke suit and his Statesmen glasses on. He was handsome. Whiskey knew it and so did you, neither of you bothered hiding it. The physical attraction to one another–the unspoken arrangement between the two of you. It somehow strengthened your partnership, your trust with the other agent. Each physical touch, a statement to your bond. Your friendship; solid and unbreakable both in and out of the missions.

You watched as Whiskey flirted with her, the scientist. Soft blonde hair, bleached a few shades brighter than her natural tone and dark brown eyes. She tied it back messily, a last minute decision to keep the wispy ends out of her eyes. Pretty, Whiskey had called her. She’s a good ten years younger than the both of you, but her white lab coat, long and unbuttoned– her achievements embroidered into the breast pocket– a signature of her achievement, shows her worth amongst a room full of male colleagues.

Her laugh is full and bright, smiling with her teeth at whatever flirty joke Whiskey made. And you watch as she shuffles on her heels, leaning towards him. The slight flush on her cheeks, the way she runs her fingers along the rim of her medical brochures, ready to hand out to pharmaceutical companies ready to potentially fund her research. Her touch, so subtle only you would catch it. Because you’re looking at him, and he’s looking at her. The slight curve to her jaw, the dimple on her cheek, the pink gloss of her manicured nails.

Whiskey knows you’re watching. It’s a part of the game. He knows you see the way he touches her elbow, his fingers soft on her skin. He knows you see the way he leads her through the expo, like he was meant to be there. You watch as he passes right by you, his eyes meeting yours. The slight curve of his lip and moustache as he grins, giving you a wink before he diverts his attention back to the scientist as pretends to indulge in her conversation about biochemics. That’s when he knows he’s won, done his job in wedging himself under your skin so Whiskey is the only thing you’re thinking about on this mission like every other one you’ve done together. He knows he’ll have it good tonight, laid out underneath his agent Pisco. 

Distracting yourself, you turn and focus on the three men in front of you. Three men in their sixties talking about some research project they all worked on decades ago. A dry, monotonous conversation that drags on like boots on carpet. All the while you pretend like it interests you, laugh and smile with your own charm and lull the men into a false sense of security. It's enough to settle the heat in your belly, enough to stem the simmer of arousal that built up when you had half a mind to drag Whiskey out the back and fuck him against the door of the cubicle. Instead, you watch and listen as you drift in and out of your thoughts. Distracted. 

“Pisco, Whiskey has made it to the data room. Standby. If security is alerted you two might need to get out of there fast.” Ginger’s words are like a bucket of ice, sharp and startling as she speaks through the comms. Her voice in your earpiece, always comforting on missions, brings you back to reality and into the environment. Whiskey is notably missing, presumably out the back hacking the data servers holding all the scientists research and project proposals whilst you’re out here keeping an eye on the exits and making contact with the targets.

Whiskey’s charm, for all that it does to you, makes him one of the best agents Statesmen has. He’s just cheesy enough to fly under the radar. He lays the flirting on thick, playing dumb half the time like he’s drawn to every attractive person he meets, unable to stop himself. Makes himself the loudest one in the room so as to be seen as the innocuous one in the room. Harmless and inoffensive. No one stops to think the himbo cowboy– the one preoccupied with every woman in the room is there to steal highly sensitive intelligence.

It’s something you’ve come to love about the other agent, only because you know the real man underneath is far from it. Jack cares when he wants to, and when he does it’s not done lightly. For those he considers family, Jack will protect them with his life. You’ve seen how he’s run head first into danger, following after you and giving you cover and back up. You’ve seen him half heartedly try to patch you up after you’ve done the same. He remembers the coffee order you like, he always gets you something on your birthday, always lets you fly in the front seat of the Silver Pony.

Jack is your dearest friend. Agent Whiskey is your partner. Neither of you dare to break what trust you two share.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I need a word with my associate.” Whiskey’s voice breaks the conversation, the men watching as he takes your arm and pulls you away towards the entrance.

“You got it?” You ask, watching as he takes out a disk holding the intel you both need. 

“It’s all in here, darlin’.” He says, his hand still holding your arm. Leading you much like he led her. Only this time he’s more hurried, anxious to get out of the expo. It's only a matter of time before security figures out they’ve been hacked.

It’s only about an hour’s drive to make it to the other side of the city, where the rendezvous point is set. Room 802 in some bougie downtown Hotel in Seattle where Statesmen have gadgets stored in the walls and behind the closet doors, a bottle of their finest liquid gold on the nightstand and the perimeter secured. 

Whiskey could barely keep his hands off you in the car as you drove. His palm, rough and calloused as he untucked your shirt, touched the skin above your hip, palming over your erection. Red lights and speed cameras be damned, both of you were ready to be out of the car. The other agent barely able to contain himself once you checked in, his hands scrunched in your lapels as he pushed you through the door of Room 802. Pressed against your front, the two of you kissing with moans shared between you.

———————

“Ngh, fuck. Give it to me, sugar.” Whiskey all but purrs, his amused grin faltering as he feels the stretch of your cock bottoming out. He clenches around you, hands clawing at your back as you hold his leg up to his chest. 

Neither of you move from your place on the couch, muscles tight and tense as Whiskey pants underneath you. Giving him the time his body needs to accommodate you. His skin is slightly coated in sweat, already wound up and ready to come since you spent a good twenty minutes holding him on the brink of an orgasm whilst you lapped at his cock and worked him up to three fingers.

“There you go,” You can’t help but praise, almost cooing as you feel him relax. Whiskey shuffles on the couch slightly, giving you more room to plant your knees and pull back, beginning to thrust into him properly. 

The first brush of your cock against his prostate has him crying out, arched beautifully under you. His cock, untouched and leaking against his stomach twitches with precum beading out of the tip. “Ah..” He whimpers, hands planted on your back as he draws you closer.

“Whiskey,” You moan his name, your hand cradling under his knee as you hold him open, watching the way your cock slides into him with each moan you drag out. His lips, soft and red from where he bit them, are held open as he’s lost in pleasure. Each little noise falling off his tongue as he looks up at you with doe-like eyes.

He begs for it harder, deeper but no less intense. And who are you to deny your partner anything?

Whiskey groans, one hand settling on the couch to steady himself as he fists the pillow, the fabric stretching under strain from his palm. His brow furrows as his prostate is hit again, eyes fluttering shut. He’s so pretty like this, you think. You hold the angle, thrusts steady and deep as you ram that one spot inside of him, your own chest panting with the exertion.

He clenches around you again, the warm feel of him around you causing heat to pool in your stomach. But you hold on, determined to see him come first. Whiskey isn’t far away, his thighs starting to shake under your hands as he takes all that you give him. His toes curl and he cries out, head thrown back slightly.

“Pisco– please sugar.” Whiskey begs, gasping with each thrust of your cock inside him. He wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you down on top of him. He likes to come like this, sweaty and flush against you, panting in your ear as he scrambles to hold onto your back. “C-cumming–”

You groan as you feel him spill between your stomachs, warm come adding to the heat that surrounds you both. Whiskey’s moan in your ear is like heaven, his southern accent thicker when he’s riding out his orgasm. Breath hot and panting against the shell of your ear, his hair sweaty and stuck to yours.

It’s only a few more thrusts before your own orgasm crashes into you, pulling out a deep groan as you pull out and add to the mess on his stomach. You pump your cock, once, twice and three times, spilling over Whiskey as he moans underneath you. Still shaking in his residual pleasure.  

You had half a mind to lick him clean and wring another orgasm out of him, but both of you are spent. Reaching over to the coffee table, you pick up the tissue box and wipe the two of you clean whilst Whiskey comes down and regains his breath.

“You know… this place has a pool, Pisco. It’d be a shame to waste Statesmen money…” Whiskey says, his eyebrow raising expectantly with a knowing look.

A soft laugh escapes you, light and satisfied after your orgasm. “We should shower first.” you say with a kiss to his shoulder.

“Alright, sugar.”

[professorsnape394]

DAY 14: Potion Predicaments

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 😠

Prompt: Trick

Summary: Y/N gets back at Snape for interfering with the Gryffindor students one too many times.

A/N: Part 1 to the 'Trick' and 'Treat' prompts. Something a little bit different but I hope you all like it.

Warnings: Pranks. Unwilling intake of potions (none harmful).

Word Count: 3123

Credits to Gif Creator.

“That man is infuriating.” I yelled, pacing behind my desk.

I was confronted with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, all looking at me for guidance. They had traipsed into my office mere minutes ago, after their practice was due to begin, looking forlorn and pissed off. They all suddenly began to speak at once.

“This is the third time this month he’s let them steal our time slot for practice.”

“What gives Slytherin the right to train over us?”

“Can’t you speak to him, Professor Y/L/N, he won’t listen to any of us.”

I raised my hand to silence the rabble of teenagers.

“Of course, I’ll speak to him, Miss Bell. Not that I think it will do much good, that man answers to no one but himself.”

As Ginny Weasley had pointed out this was the third time Severus Snape had allowed his students priority of the Quidditch pitch over mine, and it was threatening to become a weekly occurrence.

I knew something had to be done about the situation, but I had tried talking to him before and yet still the issue continued. Like I said, Snape wouldn’t listen to me. Short of taking the issue to Dumbledore, which is not something I planned on doing, there wasn’t many other options. But I knew something had to be done, and soon.

“I’ll deal with the issue as soon as I can. For now, move your practice to the following day, I’ll let you all know when it had been resolved.”

The team groaned collectively, and began pouring out of the room all at once.

“Fred, George. Do you mind staying a minute.” I called to the Weasley twins, a thought suddenly occurring to me.

It was well known that they had a proclivity for mischief; causing havoc around the school since their very first week here at Hogwarts. And for once I found that their particular set of skills may in fact be a benefit. At the very least it would teach Snape a lesson.

My conversation with the twins lasted no more than a few minutes before the details of my plans were set in stone. It hadn’t taken much convincing, or rather any, to persuade them into helping me. The three of us had concocted a plan that would have Severus Snape paying for how badly he treated my house.

“And you give us full permission to do this?” Fred clarified.

“And we won’t get in any trouble if we’re caught, you’ll take the blame?” George added.

“Yep, and Yep. Just make sure you don’t mess with anything that could be fatal, just things that could inconvenience him for a bit. Do you think you’ll manage it.”

“Easy.” They said together.

“We’ve been pranking Snape since first year, we know his potions cupboard inside and out by now.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting in my office once you’re done. I’ll vouch for your whereabouts.”

The twins high-fived, faces looking like they had just been given the keys to the kingdom. An exploding cauldron, filled with countless potions whose very aroma would have even the most intense effect. It was genius.

~

Allowing Severus one last chance to redeem himself before my plan was set into action, I paid him a visit that evening to confront him for the third time that month.

“Enter.” He droned upon hearing my knock echo through his office.

“Severus.” I greeted him, storming my way up to his desk. “We have to talk.”

The Potion’s Master barely lifted his head from his marking when he spoke.

“Again, Miss Y/L/N. What could I possibly do for you now?”

“It’s Professor Y/L/N.” I corrected. “Or better yet just call me Y/N. And you know fine well what you can do.”

“Care to elaborate?” He said boredly.

“My Gryffindors have been deprived of their practice time yet again. By none other than the Slytherins.”

“I see not what this has to do with me.”

“You are the one who gave them permission, Severus, or have you already forgotten?”

“My house require practice for their upcoming game.” He offered no apologies.

“Oh, and mine do not?” I folded my arms defensively across my chest.

“The damage is done now, Professor Y/L//N. What exactly do you expect me to do about it.”

“I expect you not to do it again. I am sick and tired of coming down here and trying to reason with you when you refuse to even look me in the eye.” Feeling even more pissed off now, I found myself practically yelling at the man.

Severus finally, reluctantly, looked up from his papers.

“If my students in my house come to me with a request, Miss Y/L/N, it is my duty to help then in whatever way I am able, as I’m sure you well know.”

“But not at the expense of other students. Don’t you see what you’re doing isn’t fair.” I threw my hands in the air, exasperated with the whole conversation.

“Unfortunately, life isn’t fair. Now if there’s nothing else?”  The professor shot me a stern gaze, his eyes finally meeting mine.

I opened my mouth to speak but came up with nothing. He had his chance. With a final sigh I trudged out of his office, feeling his stare burning into my back as I left.

At least now that last shred of guilt I felt for what I had planned had immediately been squashed upon visiting Snape. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

~

The following evening the plan was set in motion.

I waited patiently in my office, as I said I would, anticipating the twins return from setting up the prank.

Not much long later, they sprinted through my door; practically barricading themselves in with their bodies.

“Is it done?” I jumped up at their entrance.

“We think so.” George panted breathlessly.

“What does that mean, you think so? I pressed.

“We heard the bang.” Fred smiled.

“And his scream.” His brother added.

“He swore, like a lot.”

“A lot, a lot.”

“Is he hurt?” I wasn’t sure why I bothered to ask.

“No. Just pissed I think.”

“Good, it’s what he deserves.” I finally relaxed.

The three of us hid out in the safety of my office until we could be sure Severus would not come knocking.

~

The next morning Severus was not seen at breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

The same happened the day after that.

And the day after that.

Eventually my stress and curiosity got the better of me and I finally enquired about his absence.

“One of the students broke into his classroom and set something explosive off.” One professor explained.

“He’s under the influence of a dozen different potions but he has no idea what they are.” Another joined the conversation.

“He’s been holed up in his office for days trying to figure it out.”

“I heard that if he doesn’t return to teaching soon, Dumbledore has been ordered by the Ministry to let him go.”

“What?!” I gasped, listening to the information my colleagues had gathered over the past few days. “Shouldn’t they have worn off by now?”

“Because of the rare combination of the ingredients, there is no telling when it will wear off. Or if it will even wear off at all, the only solution is to find a cure for each potion individually and hope for the best.” Minerva confirmed as she took control of the conversation.

“So, he has to know what they all are?” I pondered.

“He’s working through it as we speak. I believe he has already successfully identified a few.”

“I should go see him.”

“Severus isn’t the most gracious host on the best of days.” She warned. “I don’t believe he is taking any visitors at the moment. I think it’s best if you let him be for now.”

Not bothering to heed Minerva’s word, I mentally prepared to pay a visit to the infamous dungeon bat. If only because the guilt had begun to eat me alive. But first I had to speak to the perpetrators of the prank.

“What did you do to him?” I questioned the Weasley’s upon summoning them to my office.

“Exactly what you said to do; inconvenienced him”

“Nothing will actually hurt him.”

“I only meant for it to last a few hours; it’s been days.” I cried.

“He deserves everything he got for all he’s done to us.” Fred huffed.

“You need to remember boys; Severus has a job, one that he is currently unable to do. Anymore time off and he’s at risk of getting fired.”

“Even better, then we’ll get rid of him for good.”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” I shook my head.

Fred and George shared a knowing look that said they thought otherwise.

“I’ll need a list of everything that you gave to him.”

Fred hissed through his teeth, while George shook his head slowly.

“No can do, I’m afraid.”

“What?” My eyes bulged; this was the only plan I had to help Snape save his job.

“We didn’t keep a list; it was more of a fire at will situation.”

“We just grabbed anything that wasn’t dangerous and chucked it in.”

I buried my head in my hands, utterly defeated.

“Okay, I guess you’re dismissed.” I sighed.  “I’ll have to figure it out myself.”

~

“Severus.” I rattled on the door erratically. “Severus, open the door.”

“Go away.” He growled from inside.

“I’m not leaving here until you open the door so you might as well get it over with.”

The Potion’s Master grumbled agitatedly, but eventually, after a long pause and a few muffled curse words, Severus opened the door.

I expected the worse from his reaction, wincing I looked the man up and down, scrutinising his features.

Fortunately, there wasn’t too much different about Severus’ appearance. Well…besides his hair; being that it was now bright blue and sticking up on end. It was a struggle to stop myself from bursting out into hysterics, but I bit my lip and silenced myself knowing he would did not see the humour in it.

The worst of the prank had manifested itself in different internally; most notably the chronic hiccoughing Snape could not seem to put a stop to.

“I mean, it could be worse.” I covered my mouth to hide my reaction.

“It is not amusing, Miss Y/L/N. Once I find out who did this to me there will be hell to pay.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?” I ventured.

“The usual suspects; those infernal Weasley twins.”

“It wasn’t them.” I rushed to defend. “I mean, it couldn’t have been them. They were serving detention with me that whole evening.”

Severus hummed, unconvinced. Slowly he opened the door a little wider and disappeared back into his classroom.

I took this as an invitation to follow him in.

The room was clouded from the steam of a dozen different cauldrons all bubbling at once; their different scents mixing in the air to create an aroma of confusing smells. It was a sensory overload, but one Severus seemed used to. The thick fog of smoke didn’t seem to faze him as he continued to work away like usual. He had returned to his desk, yet again hunched over numerous pieces of parchment paper.

“How many have you figured out?” I asked.

“Seven. So far.” He ran a hand through his cobalt hair. “But I only have the antidote for two of them.”

“Hence all the cauldrons.”

“Correct. I have taken to brewing as many counter potions as I can think of so when I do discover what infernal afflictions have been forced upon me, I am able to rid myself of them as soon as possible.”

“Let me help.” I begged. It was clear all this work would be too much for one person to tackle alone, and now he had the pressure of a ticking clock to consider.

“Why would you want to do that?” He looked at me sceptically.

“Because I don’t want you to lose your job.”

Severus stopped scanning the page, and stared up at me blankly.

“I see word has gotten out of my precarious employment status; news does travel fast.”

“Let me help you.” I repeated.

Severus dropped his head with a resigned sigh.

“Okay.”

A pleased smile spread across my face.

“Budge up.” I ordered, dragging another chair behind his desk. “Let me get a proper look at you.”

“You really think looking at me is going to help? I have studied myself countless times and have come up with nothing, and I think I possess more knowledge on the subject than you do.”

“I just thought that maybe a fresh set of eyes would be a benefit.” I huffed.

Severus continued to avert his gaze from me, refusing to look me in the eye.

“Fine. Then show me what you have so far.” I snatched the parchment from his grasp. One was the inventory list of his store cupboard which he seemed to be cross referencing to account for what was missing. The other was a list of his possible ailments, a few having already been scored out.

“Tell me what you’ve found so far.?”

“Within the first few minutes I was able cure two of my afflictions.” He stated plainly.

“What were they?”

“Babbling Beverage and Elixir to Induce Euphoria.”

This time I couldn’t help but laugh.

“That must have been fun for you.”

“It was hell.” He glared.

“At least they were easy to identify. What else?”

“I’m currently brewing the cure for a few more; Hair Dyeing and Hair-Raising potions, and Hiccoughing Solution.”

“That much is obvious.”

He rolled his eyes at me.

“I also took the antidotes for both a Fatiguing Infusion and Befuddlement Draught. But neither seem to have taken affect yet.”

“Hmmm.” I scanned my eyes between each parchment, wondering why they might not have worked. “What if it’s not taken affect because you’re curing the wrong potion. What if it’s something similar like a Confusion concoction or a Dizziness Draught.”

Severus’ brows shot up his forehead, it was clear he had not considered this possibility.

“You could be on to something.”

“Do you have the antidote for either of them.”

“I believe I do, let me go check.” He rounded the edge of his desk, disappearing into this store cupboard.

Severus and I continued to work through his list for the next day and a half; with me helping him in the brewing of the cures crossing off item after item on his lists.

In that time, we were able to cure him of all visible affects, and discover almost all of the missing potions used in punishing him, which were; Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Babbling Beverage, Hair-Dyeing Potion, Hair-Raising Potion, Hiccoughing Solution, Confusing Concoction and, as we eventually discovered, Drowsiness Draught not Fatiguing Infusion.

As we sat waiting for the final cure to finish brewing Severus’ stomach growled.

“Hungry?” I asked realising we had skipped lunch.

“Not particularly. Though now that I think about it, it has been doing that a lot more recently.”

Both our eyes widened as the realisation hit.

“Garrotting Gas?” I wondered.

“It appears so.”

“Do you have the cure.”

“Yes.”

“Then go take it, quick. Let’s see if we’re right.” I squealed with excitement.

Severus dashed to his stores, and downed the entire contents of a small crystal vial.

We waited.

Silence.

“Has it stopped?”

“I think so.”

I cheered gleefully, noticing the ghost of a smile appear on Severus’ face.

“Finally! Surely that is all of them now.” I prayed, flopping back down into my chair.

“Let’s hope so.” He sighed.

Silence fell around the room as Severus’ gaze landed on me. His eyes were softer than I had ever seen them, staring at me in almost awe-like state. The weight of the pressure he had been feeling now gone, Severus allowed himself a moment to relax.

“Thank you, Y/N, for helping me. It really means a lot.” My eyes snapped to his, it was the first time he had ever called me by my first time. I returned his almost-smile.

“Really it was no bother. Actually, I sort of feel a bit guilty bec-“

The professor silenced the words from my mouth with a wave of his hand. He didn’t seem to care about what I had to say at this moment. Continuing to keep his eyes locked onto mine, he slowly made his way across the classroom towards me.

“I mean it, Y/N.” He said sincerely. “I am so very grateful to have you in my life. Your beauty and your wit are simply astounding to me, so much so I find myself struggling to even look at you when you are near. You are such an incredible woman.”

“What?” I looked at him dumbfounded, my body tensing as he stopped at me feet.

“I know I must piss you off sometimes, but I mostly do it on purpose because it means I get to see you more. You only ever seem to visit when you’re angry with me. You’re adorable when you’re angry with me”

“Severus, what are you saying?” I laughed nervously.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N.” He confessed. “I like you; I always have, I’ve just never known how to tell you before now.”

“Ah.” The penny drops. “I think we may have discovered another potion.”

Severus raised a single eyebrow.

“Amortentia. Or some other generic love potion.” I got up from my chair and started rummaging through his cupboards once more. “You’re clearly infatuated with me.” I laughed again.

“Y/N.” Severus whispered from the other room.

“Two minutes, I’m just double-checking what potion it is.”

“Y/N.” He repeated.

“Just a second.” I called back.

“Y/N, I don’t keep love potions in my stores.” He spoke louder this time.

My hands froze mid rummage.

“What did you just say?” I emerged slowly from the room.

“I don’t keep love potions in my stores. I brew it fresh when it comes up on the curriculum, and dispose of it immediately, I see no benefit it keeping it in my stores, it poses no purpose to the welfare of the school and I-“

“Wait Severus, what are you saying exactly? Why else would you be saying any of this?”

Without a word he rose from his seat, and disappeared into the store room. I stood with bated breath while he furiously searched his shelves. Finally, he emerged from the room, face even paler than usual.

“Veritaserum.” He stated simply.

My eyes rapidly searched his face for any sign of humour before understanding finally dawned.

Was Severus Snape in love with me?

.

.

.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil @entirelymesmerising @mikariell95 @snapefiction @a-queen-and-her-throne @amazingzou @peridot-pineapple @snapesno1thighrider @kittenlittle24 @forfaehou @caseydoodles98

[cardismantlers]

Cash for trucks Wreckers Auburn 3123 #Auburn #3123 #Victoria #Australia https://www.cardismantlers.com.au/auburn/

[justarandomreaderxoxo]

Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 1

Word count: 3123

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Violence, Drugs (Mentioned), Alcohol

A/n: Sorry for the couple hours of delay in uploading guys, i was obsessing over refining this before posting. You also may notice many grammer error. So, forgive me please as i am not a native english speaker. Also if missed any warnings please let me know as well as if you wanna be tagged in future updates. Enjoy!!!

When you get a tip that your rivals are trying to smuggle drugs in YOUR CITY, where you do not only not deal the drugs but also strongly, very strongly discourage anyone who tries to, you got to do something about it. Lucky for you, the tip included location of their consignment which was unfortunately a moving van.

So now you are on the mission to hunt down the perps using the consignment. You sit in your car, parked just far enough from the cafe to go unnoticed. The neon glow from its signage casts streaks of colour across your windshield as you narrow your gaze at the nondescript white van idling across the street. You know that van’s make and plate by heart now—one of the many moves by the Black Hand, a rival gang brazen enough to test the borders you’ve drawn. They’ve been inching into your territory for weeks, pushing product onto your streets. But tonight, you plan to send them a message.

The van hasn’t budged in twenty minutes. You lean back in your seat, fingers gloved and relaxed around the steering wheel, eyes locked between the van and the cafe entrance. Your informant tipped you off about a possible drop-off around midnight, but so far, there’s no movement. You exhale, feeling your pulse settle as you slip into the familiar rhythm of focus, watching, waiting.

Then, movement. A figure approaches the van from a side alley, pulls up his hoodie, and darts a glance around. Your senses sharpen as he taps on the driver’s window, mutters a few words to the man inside, and waits. You tense, taking in every detail, assessing your options. Now would be the time to make your move, to intercept him before he can go any further. But you’re not about to jump the gun; you need them with product in hand—ironclad proof.

The man steps away, scanning the street and even glancing toward the cafe as if considering his next move. Your brow furrows. The Black Hand’s drops are predictable, but this cafe is unfamiliar territory. It’s either a random choice or a cover—a test to see if you’ll take the bait.

You reach for your phone, ready to signal your backup waiting nearby, when a faint chime catches your attention. The cafe door swings open. You look over, expecting just another late-night customer, but a woman steps outside, glancing toward the van with a curious expression.

You frown, assessing the potential risk. An innocent bystander complicating things is the last thing you need. Calm but decisive, you slip out of your car, moving toward the cafe with purpose, your eyes darting between the woman and the van, where the dealer still hovers.

Your mere presence is enough to make him falter. He catches sight of you, nerves etched in his face, before retreating to the safety of the van. Satisfaction flickers through you as they pull away from the curb. No words were needed; your reputation alone was enough to interrupt.

Now putting on your backup to follow the van, you decide to take a breather in the café from where the woman came from. It looked cozy enough to breathe for a few minutes.

The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the warm, inviting atmosphere of the cafe. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills the air, momentarily pulling your thoughts away from the weight of the mission that brought you here. You glance around, taking in the cozy decor and the gentle hum of conversations from patrons savouring their afternoon.

Then your gaze lands on the counter, and the rest of the room blurs into the background. There she stands—a beautiful woman, commanding yet effortlessly charming as she chats with a customer. Your heart flutters, and you catch your breath, feeling an unexpected thrill. Something about her presence draws you in, an invisible thread that makes your pulse quicken.

You gather yourself, steadying your thoughts as you approach the counter. Your eyes settle on the name tag pinned to her apron: “Wanda.”

“I’ll have a cappuccino, please,” you say, managing to keep your voice calm.

Wanda looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a warmth that feels unexpectedly personal. “Coming right up! Do you come here often?” she asks, her tone friendly and inviting.

“Not until today. I was… just passing through,” you reply, hoping your smile is as relaxed as hers. Leaning slightly against the counter, you feel compelled to ask, “What’s your secret? How do you make this place feel so… welcoming?”

She chuckles softly, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “It’s all about the people. Everyone who walks through that door has their own story, and I just try to create a space where they feel at home.”

You’re captivated, not just by Wanda’s beauty but by her passion. “Well, you certainly succeed. It feels like a little oasis in the middle of all the chaos,” you say, your gaze lingering on her smile.

As she prepares your drink, you sense that this encounter is more than a simple coffee order. Maybe it’s the mission that’s led you here, or maybe it’s something entirely different. There’s a connection forming, one that feels powerful, as though it could lead to something life changing.

“Here you go,” she says, placing the cappuccino in front of you. “On the house for my new favourite customer.”

Your heart skips again, and you grin.

“Are you sure you want to be giving away free coffee? I might just become a regular.”

“Then I’d be glad to have you here,” she replies, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Just promise you’ll share your story next time.”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread through you. “Deal. I will be back, Wanda.”

As you turn to leave, you cannot resist glancing back one last time, meeting her gaze. And in that moment, you know—this is the start of something significant, something that could change everything.

After successfully taking care of The Black Hand, which took a few days, in which you can’t stop thinking about the shy cute barista you met. So, you decided to just fuck it and go meet her now. That’s why you are here now at a not really a café hour standing outside her café.

The streetlights cast a soft glow over the quiet street as you hurry toward Wanda's cafe. You can see the lights are dimmed inside, and your heart sinks at the thought of missing her again. Since your last meeting, you’ve found yourself thinking about the beautiful barista more often than you care to admit.

As you reach the door, you notice it’s slightly ajar. Taking a breath, you push it open, the familiar chime of the bell echoing in the near-empty space. The cafe is almost dark, with only a few flickering candles on the tables and the warm glow from the kitchen lights illuminating the back.

Wanda is wiping down the counter, her focus on her work, unaware of your presence. A few moments pass before she notices you standing there. “Oh, hey there,” she says, looking up with a gentle smile that shifts quickly to a look of surprise.

“Sorry I’m late!” you say, stepping closer, your heart racing. “I didn’t realize you were closing up.”

For a heartbeat, Wanda is silent, her expression unreadable.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of your words. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this,” you add sincerely. “I just had to come back. Do you remember me? I was here a few days ago.”

Wanda’s eyes brighten at the mention of your last visit. “Of course, I remember you. It’s not every day I give away free coffee.” A faint blush warms her cheeks, and her gaze dips toward the counter.

A rush of warmth floods through you at her words. “Really? I was worried you might forget about me.”

“Not a chance,” Wanda replies, her tone playful. “I was actually hoping you would return.”

Your heart skips at her admission. “Then I guess I’m lucky,” you say, stepping closer, sensing the spark in the air. “So, what were you hoping I’d come back for?”

Wanda’s expression softens as she meets your gaze. “To share stories, maybe. I’d love to know more about you.”

You nod, feeling both curious and amused. “Well, there’s plenty to tell. I’m involved in… let’s say, interesting work.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Interesting work? Do tell.”

“I run a couple of businesses, it’s complicated.” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I can tell you it doesn’t involve making coffee.”

“Pity,” she teases, stepping out from behind the counter and gesturing to a nearby table. “Why don’t we sit? I’d love to hear all about it over some of my best pastries. I can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

As you settle into the cozy warmth of the cafe, you feel a surprising sense of calm. This is more than just a chance encounter; it’s an opportunity to connect with someone who stirs something in you that you hadn’t expected.

You exchange stories, laughter filling the quiet space as time slips by, both of you savouring the easy joy of each other’s company. As the last customers trickle out and the cafe grows even dimmer, you realize you’ve found more than just a break from your chaotic life—you’ve found a connection that feels electric.

After leaving Wanda’s you thought to get a drink before going to sleep, knowing the excitement of time spent with Wanda won’t let sleep come that easy. And come on who could blame you, it's Wanda we are talking about. With all the shit you see every day, Wanda was a nice, warm ray of sunshine in your world of shadows. You didn’t even notice when time passed when you were talking with Wanda. It felt so natural like you two were some long-lost friends who just picked up where they left things.

So, to get the said drink you go to your dad’s bar knowing it’s well past the last call. Shield was a really exclusive bar. You needed to know the right people to get in. It was also a neutral ground for all the families, not that many were left after your father combined the most prominent ones and formed The Avengers. A crime syndicate whom everyone feared.

At the centre of the said syndicate was You, the young firecracker. People who knew the name Y/N Fury knew to fear it too, everyone knew you were ruthless. But what most didn’t know is that you were also truly kind and compassionate. You weren’t just there because Nick Fury adopted you, you made that clear that you deserve to be there with your charm and your brilliance in business. But enough about you, everyone knows you’re awesome.👑

The city outside is quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights as you step into Shield. The bar is dimly lit, its usual buzz replaced by a peaceful stillness; it’s open only for Avengers tonight, even after hours. It’s exactly what you hoped for -a quiet moment to savour the evening after your delightful second encounter with Wanda.

You make your way to the bar, still carrying a spark of excitement. A permanent smile lingers on your lips, a trace of the warmth Wanda stirred within you. The night air seems to hum with the thrill you feel, and you can barely contain it.

“Just a quiet nightcap,” you murmur to yourself, slipping behind the bar where you know you're allowed. With practiced ease, you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the low light.

Leaning back, you take a slow sip, letting the rich warmth spread as you sink into your thoughts of Wanda. You savour a blissful contentment, letting the usual worries of your life slip away, if only for a while.

From the shadows in a corner booth, two familiar figures—Yelena and Natasha—watch you, their eyes glimmering with shared amusement. They exchange a glance, clearly entertained by the blissful look on your face.

“Look at her,” Yelena whispers, nudging Natasha with a grin. “She’s like a giddy schoolgirl.”

Natasha chuckles, her eyes bright with sisterly mischief. “Oh, she’s definitely smitten.”

Lost in your thoughts, you take another sip, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes studying you from across the room. A contented sigh escapes you, and your smile doesn’t falter.

“Should we go tease her?” Yelena suggests, barely containing her laughter.

“Absolutely,” Natasha replies with a grin. “It’d be criminal to let this pass.”

They slide off their booth and make their way over, their footsteps quiet as they approach. Yelena clears her throat dramatically, and you blink out of your reverie, startled as you spot them in front of you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our little Fury,” Yelena teases, leaning against the bar with a grin.

You laugh, surprised and delighted to see them. “You two scared me! I didn’t think anyone else would be here. And I am at least older than you Yel-bear.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk. “And here you are, grinning like you’ve just hit the jackpot. What’s got you so happy? A new mission? Or maybe… something else?”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread to your cheeks. “Maybe a bit of both. I just had… a really good evening.”

Yelena leans in, a playful gleam in her eye. “With someone special, maybe?”

You pause, your smile turning coy. “Maybe,” you admit, still savouring the memory. “There’s someone.”

Natasha and Yelena exchange a look, their teasing softened by genuine warmth. Natasha’s smirk softens, and she says, “Looks like someone’s in deep.”

“Oh, shut up!” You swat at them playfully, your laughter filling the empty bar.

Yelena chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “We’re only looking out for you. If someone makes you this giddy, they must be worth it.”

A wave of gratitude fills you, and you lean against Yelena’s shoulder, feeling the comfort of her embrace. “Thanks, you two. It means a lot.” You glance up at them, feeling the bond you share—the connection forged through battles and triumphs—wrap around you like a safety net.

Natasha’s gaze softens as she looks at you, a mix of pride and protectiveness in her eyes. “We’ve always got your back. Anyone who makes you feel like this has got to be special.”

Yelena nudges you playfully. “Just remember, if she hurts you, we’ll take care of it. You’ve got the best bodyguards a sister could ask for.”

You giggle, letting the joy of the moment sweep over you. “I know you would. I couldn’t ask for better sisters.”

The three of you settle in together, the quiet of the bar now filled with laughter, the warmth of camaraderie mingling perfectly with the whiskey in your glass. Surrounded by the two of the three people who know you best, you feel at home in a way you rarely do. Tonight, the world is small, warm, and perfect. And as the hours drift by, the bonds of sisterhood grow even stronger, leaving you smiling at the thought of the mysterious woman who sparked a new joy in your life.

Pietro was on his way to check up on Wanda that same night you both met. But as he got near to her café, he could see her talking and laughing with you over her pastries. He also notices how her eyes lingered on you a second too longer sometimes. Ultimately, he decides to leave, he is not a menace. He will just tease her later about it.

The morning sun hadn’t quite risen over the city, and Wanda was already busy in the cafe kitchen, kneading dough for the day’s first batch of pastries. The rhythmic motions of her hands and the comforting warmth of the oven filled the room as she lost herself in her morning routine. The door swung open, and in walked Pietro, looking far too awake for the hour, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Dobroye utro, sestra,” he greeted, his voice filled with teasing warmth. “Already hard at work, or are you just distracting yourself?”

Wanda looked up, wiping flour off her hands onto her apron. “Good morning, brat moj. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off last night’s adventures?” She raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden appearance.

“Ah, but how could I sleep,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter, “when I saw my mila sestra sharing her cafe with someone after closing hours?” Pietro’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now who might that be?”

Wanda felt her cheeks grow warm. She turned back to her work, forcing a casual shrug. “Oh, dosta, Pietro. She’s just a customer. She was friendly, that’s all.”

“Samo prijateljica, hmm?” Pietro raised an eyebrow, pressing on. “Well, most ‘just customers’ don’t get private late-night talks.” He smirked, crossing his arms as he watched her. “You looked… well, a little smitten.”

“Stop it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes but unable to hide a small, sheepish smile. “Not every friendly face means something, you know?”

Pietro moved closer, playfully poking her shoulder. “Ne lazi, Wanda. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since… ever.” His teasing softened slightly. His tone more serious. “Come on, moya sestra, you can tell me. She seemed important.”

“She’s…” Wanda paused, caught between wanting to share and keeping it all to herself. “She’s just different, that’s all. She listens.”

“Listens?” Pietro raised a brow. “It’s been two days, and already she’s got you all… like this. Look at you, smiling like lovesick puppy!”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, swatting him away with a light smack on the arm. “Stop! She’s a friend, dobro? Someone who’s interesting, that’s all.”

Pietro leaned in, whispering with a grin, “You don’t give free coffee to just any ‘interesting’ person, moya sestra.”

She shook her head, feigning exasperation but smiling despite herself. “Fine. Maybe she’s a little more interesting than others,” she admitted. “But only a little.”

“Oh, I know” he said with a grin, crossing his heart. “I won’t say a word.” He winked and headed for the door, calling back, “Remember, you can’t hide anything from me, moya mila!”

Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as he left. She couldn’t deny it, Pietro had a point. And as she went back to her work, the thought of seeing you again brought a warmth to her smile that even her brother’s teasing couldn’t chase away.

[lady-lostmind]

Lovesick

a @strangerthingsreversebigbang fic

WC: 3123 | Warning: N/A | Rating: T

Pairings: Steve Harrinton / Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Sick Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Domestic Bliss

Summary:

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. 

“Stevie?” 

See the art by @ahhrenata here!

Read the fic by @lady-lostmind here!

Beta: @oh-stars