#I still have trouble drawing boxes

[cherrysnax]

actually one last thing. when I was like 16-20 I thought I was soooo cool for being able to draw faces without guidelines and it’s like. Bud. Buddy. Broski. the characters eyes are so far apart you couldn’t even tell they’re on the same face

[icewindandboringhorror]

One of the interesting bits of trying to resume working on the game after so long is looking back at my ancient Draft Placeholder versions of an image from 4 yrs ago trying to remember what the hell I meant back then, to hopefully interpret it into some more final (ish..) form of the same thing .. making slow progress lol

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I’m new to your blog and am in the middle of consuming all of it. I have to say EMT maurauders are my fav so far though! If you haven’t done it yet and if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to do something with EMT! Maurauders where reader gets a bad bloody nose in the middle of the night and can’t get it to stop on her own so she’s panicking and feels bad about waking up the boys who of course take care of you and make you go to the ER since it won’t stop?

Thank you ☺️ Keep up the amazing work, your writing is phenomenal, I can’t wait to read more 👏❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of hospital

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 986 words

You give yourself twenty more minutes before you wake James. Sidling up to his side of his bed like a child who’s had a nightmare, one hand pinching your nostrils shut and the other holding ice wrapped in a paper towel to your nose. You feel glad that it’s too dark to see all the red staining it. 

James rouses with a reluctant throaty sound. He mumbles your name and takes your hand where it’s nudging his shoulder, content until the moment he feels the cold paper towel closed in your palm. His eyes peel open. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. It feels paramount that he know waking him wasn’t your first choice. Of your boyfriends, though, James is the most likely to help you without making a fuss. 

“What’s this?” In the dark, the cold hard thing in your hand is a mystery. James cups his hand around yours with a small frown. 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you explain. 

His frown worsens. You feel bad. 

But James has no resentment for your midnight ailment; only sympathy. “Yeah?” He feels blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. “Does it hurt?” 

You slide them to his hand. “No,” you say. 

“It just…just started?” 

You should’ve taken him out of the room before telling him. Already, you can see Remus starting to wake, the covers on his side of the bed shifting. 

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, though you know it’s pointless. “About a half hour ago.” 

James is rubbing underneath his eyes drowsily, but at this, his brows draw together. “It’s been going since then?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks. His voice croaks a little, but aside from that he sounds more awake than James. 

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, dove. What is it?” 

“Her nose is bleeding,” James says through a great yawn. In between them, Sirius makes a half-asleep whining sound, but doesn’t move. “She says it has been for half an hour.” 

Now Remus is frowning, too. “It woke you up?” 

You hum, feeling your mouth pucker in distaste. “It got in my mouth.”

“Let’s see.” Without warning, James turns the lamp on. Both you and Remus rear back as if stricken, and Sirius’ head retreats beneath the covers seemingly by reflex. “Sorry, sorry,” James says, giving you soft eyes as he reaches for a box of tissues. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

You take his cue to let go of your nose. As soon as you release it, you know it starts bleeding again by the way James raises his tissues in a hurry. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, moving them just slightly to see the damage. “This much since it started? Has it slowed at all?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, stuffy. 

“How do you feel?” asks Remus. He’s sitting up now, bedsheets fallen around his waist and one hand resting on the lump that is Sirius. “Are you dizzy? Can you breathe alright?” 

“Through my mouth, yeah.” James is still peering at your nose, and it’s making you shrink. He lets you take the wad of tissues from him. “I’m not dizzy.” 

“Still…” Remus looks at James. 

“Yeah.” James sits up the rest of the way, stretching. He lets out another yawn. “Let’s go.” 

“Go to…” you hesitate, unsure “...hospital?” 

James hums in the affirmative, squeezing your shoulder as he gets out of bed. 

A moan of protest comes from behind him. You look to see Remus rubbing between Sirius’ shoulder blades, searching for his slippers on his side of the bed. 

“Get up.” 

“S’too early to be up,” Sirius whines. 

Remus shushes him, at once chiding and soothing. “We’re bringing y/n to A&E.” 

At this Sirius falls quiet. A moment later, his head picks up, puffy black hair and a furrowed brow. “What for?” 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you say meekly. “Sorry.” 

“Angel,” James laughs, coming up from behind you to pass you some more tissues. He’s already dressed. “Stop being sorry. Did you plan this?” 

“No,” you reply, softly. 

“Right. As I thought.” He grins, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

As usual, James has come awake remarkably quickly once he’s set his mind to it. Remus moves toward the closet a tad less energetically, and Sirius appears to have to claw his way out of bed. 

He does it in your direction. 

“You okay?” Sirius asks, studying you as he drags his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” 

“I don’t think so.” His concerned gaze melts you to your core. You think you’d admit to anything if it got you a hug right now. “I’m just tired.” 

Sirius cracks a smile, though his eyes are soft with pity. “Well, yeah, baby.” He stands, smushing a kiss into your hair. “It’s the dead of fucking night. Your nose is a real blight on us all.” 

“Don’t talk about her nose that way.” James gives you the hug you wished for, strong arms wrapped around your middle. His chest is warm against your back. “Don’t listen to him, angel; he’s a prat when he’s tired.” 

“It’s fine.” You lean back into James. “It is a blight on us tonight.” 

“Precisely. You get it,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James. “I cherish her nose every other day, I’ll have you know.” 

“Get dressed.” Remus emerges from the closet to give Sirius a gentle shove in that direction. He takes yet more tissues, passing them to you seemingly without noticing the handful you’ve already got from James. “Are you ready to go, dovey? Have everything you need?” 

“What do I need?” you ask, worried. 

“Nothing, sweetheart.” James drops his voice at the first sign of fright from you; Remus does the same, both of your boyfriends softening around the edges. “We’ll take care of it, yeah?” He starts taking tissues from you, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’ll take care of everything.”

[fastandcarlos]

Baby Sibling : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: whilst all his friends are having siblings, your son is keen for the two of you to start thinking about when he can have one too

Puzzled eyes looked to Max as your son refused to hold your hands as the two of you picked him up from school. It was routine for you both whenever Max was home, it had been since your son started school a little over a year ago, something you had done every single day together. 

Max shrugged back at you as his empty hand felt lost. His eyes glanced at your son who was a couple of steps ahead of you, scuffing his feet along the path. Neither of you quite knew what to say, it was unlike anything that you had ever seen from your son before.  

As you arrived home, your son immediately took himself into the living room where his toy box was. Max followed you into the kitchen as you took his bag to unpack and check for any letters or drawings. A huff came from Max as he took a seat, his head resting in his hands as he tried to piece together the pieces to figure out what was going on. 

“I don’t understand,” you sighed as you took a seat opposite Max. “His teacher didn’t say anything to make me think that something happened at school today.” 

“He was smiling until he saw us,” Max informed you. 

Your heart broke as you listened to Max, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Your son trudged in silently, picking up his water bottle that was on the side, turning his back to you both and drinking from it. 

“Evan, do you want to play a game?” Max offered, choosing one of his favourite things to do whenever his dad was home. “What about that board game you bought the other day?” 

Your son’s head shook as he took the bottle and headed back into the room. You both were sat in shock, mouths wide in disbelief at how distant Evan had suddenly become. 

“He’s quite sensitive, maybe he just needs a little bit of time,” you suggested, trying your best to reassure the two of you. 

“But we’re his parents, he should talk to us about anything,” Max despairingly sighed. 

Attempts were made by the two of you for most of the night but Evan gave you nothing. Whenever you struck up conversation you were met by short, snappy answers, or just the shake or nod of his head. 

As night arrived, Max was determined to unpick what was troubling your son, sitting down at the end of his bed after you’d tucked him in. You stayed in the room with them both, leaning against the doorframe and giving them both some space. There was a pause in the room once Max sat down, trying his best to figure out the right thing to say so that he didn’t worry Evan more. It took a moment, but eventually he cleared his throat. 

“Evan, you know if something, or someone, is upsetting you, mummy and I are here to help you, right?” Max asked him, keeping his eyes firmly on him. “We’re always here to help you, no matter what the problem is.” 

Evan nodded as Max spoke, shuffling slightly closer towards him. “I’m the only one at school who doesn’t have a brother or sister and people keep leaving me out of their conversations.” 

Max’s eyes flickered across to you to make sure that you were listening. “You’re feeling a little left out buddy? Are you saying that you want to have a little brother or sister?” 

Evan continued to nod back at Max, “I think it would be fun to have one.” 

A sigh of relief came from you, glad that it wasn’t anything worse that was troubling your son. It still upset you to know that he was being left out at school, but at least it was something that could be fixed. Most likely. 

“There’s a lot of reasons why people do, or don’t, have little brothers and sisters,” Max tried his best to explain to Evan. “It’s not always an easy thing for families to do.” 

“Is it tricky for you and mummy?” Evan enquired. 

Having another child was a subject that you and Max had barely even thought about. You were so busy, and Max’s schedule was insane, but with Evan nearing six, you didn’t want the gap between your children to be too big. 

“A little bit,” Max weakly smiled, not wanting to lie to your son. “Daddy works away a lot, don’t I? And mummy does a lot of caring for you, but hopefully one day it won’t be quite so difficult for us to potentially have a baby sibling for you buddy.” 

You weren’t entirely sure if Evan understood what Max was saying to him, but he nodded anyway. Max stood up and walked over to your son, pressing a relieved kiss to the top of his head as he began to say goodnight. 

“Can I do anything to help make it happen daddy?” Evan whimpered as Max stepped away from him, his hopeful eyes looking between you both. “If it’s tricky, then maybe I can help you and mummy.” 

“You just need to keep being awesome,” Max cheerfully told him, “that’s the only thing that me and mummy ever want from you, you’re already the best.” 

You went in to say goodnight to your son too before following Max out of the room. There was silence between you as you headed into your bedroom, both perching on your respective sides of the bed, giving yourselves a moment to debrief and take in the conversation that you’d just had. 

“Why do I feel guilty?” Max asked, breaking the silence. “It’s not up to anyone else but us when we have another child, but I hate that it’s leaving him feeling left out at school.” 

“Maybe it’s the shove that we need to do something about it,” you responded. 

Max’s body jumped, quickly turning to look at you. His smile was wide as he listened to you. “Are you saying you want to have another baby? I never thought you were keen on another with how much I’m away right now.” 

“I mean it would be tough,” you admitted, “but we’re not getting any younger, and I don’t want Evan being a single child forever. I think we’d be able to do it, it would be tough, but we’d smash it don’t you think?” 

“Absolutely, we’ve always been a great team,” Max reminded you, “and I can make sure that I’m home more often to help out too.” 

“Have we just agreed to a second baby right now?” 

“I think we might’ve done,” Max laughed, laying himself down and pulling you down with him. “Promise me that you’re not just saying this to please me, or to please Evan either.” 

“I promise, as long as you do as well.” 

Max nodded eagerly, leaning across and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your body turned inwards so that you were resting in Max’s side, feeling his arm wrap around you to keep you nice and close, exactly where he wanted you. 

“Do you think there’s any harm in getting a bit of practice in now? We might need it,” Max whispered. 

“I’d say there’s no time like the present.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[honeyryewhiskey]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒔𝒔, 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒐𝒈 ❞

moodboard for mid40s!dean x early20s!reader,

he's still hunting (sometimes) and got a call from an old friend that lead to you needing his protection. older dean grew his hair out, got some tattoos, still drinks too much. smokes, occasionally. he's tired. he's rough. he's fucking delicious.

sneak peak drabble !

"Fuck, that was brutal," Dean groans, leaning heavily against the brick wall behind him. His chest heaves with the aftershock of adrenaline, the guts of his latest kill smeared across his worn out shirt.

Your eyes track his hands as they disappear into the pockets of his jeans, the flex of his forearms drawing your attention. He fishes out a black crumpled pack of american spirits and a lighter, the familiar routine undeterred by the dents and scuffs the pack took during the fight.

He flicks the top open, lips retrieving a fresh cigarette from the box. The click, click of the lighter plays the high notes to his low grunt of annoyance as the wind  plays spoilsport with the flame.

Without thinking, you step closer, cupping your hands around his to shield the fire. It catches immediately, the ember glowing bright. Dean exhales a low groan of relief that borders on sinful, the sound curling low in your stomach, sparking a heat to rival the cherry-red tip of the cig.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he murmurs around the stick, his voice gravelly and muffled. His cheeks hollow as he takes a long drag, the nicotine visibly easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

The smoke curls lazily around him, his jaw angling to direct it away from you. Still, the sharp, smoky scent threads through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood and sweat.

"Can I get a drag?"

You're sporting your best doe-eyed stare as he fixes you with a skeptical scowl, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for the punchline of a joke between your lips and eyes.

"Easy, trouble," he chuckles, flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette with a practiced motion. The corner of his mouth quirks up, adding to the lines framing his eyes. "You just survived your first hunt. Give it twenty years before you start looking like me."

"C'mon, don't baby me."

"You are a baby," he retorts, a bite of exasperation lacing his words. He takes another deliberate pull, the ember glowing as his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

The standoff lingers, but you hold your ground, keeping your pout firmly in place. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he pushes off the wall. his broad frame looming closer, casting you in his shadow. His hand lifts with unhurried confidence, the cigarette balanced between his fingers like an extension of him, natural and practiced.

"Alright," he gives in, lowering it toward you. "But take it slow."

You steady his arm with your hand, fingers curling gently around his wrist. His skin is warm, the pulse beneath it steady and grounding. The filter brushes your lips as you take a cautious inhale, the cherry burning brighter as you draw in the rich tobacco.

"Slow, slow—yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his voice threading a careful line between soothing and authoritative. His gaze sharpens, studying every twitch of your expression. He’s taking too much pleasure in the sight, like he’s savoring the moment as much as the cigarette between his fingers.

The smoke scratches down your throat like sandpaper, and you can't contain the coughs that sputter out in thick grey clouds. Your ears burn with embarrassment, but the deep, rumbling laugh that spills from Dean only stokes the fire.

"Told ya," he drawls, slipping the cigarette back between his lips with effortless ease. His eyes glint with amusement, the faint crinkle at their corners deepening as your cheeks flush a telling shade of pink. He throws you a wink, the smug curve of his smirk both infuriating and disarmingly charming. "Give it twenty years."

ok i have too many stories going on to rly do anything with this at the moment but just know she exists. more to come.

i feel as though this needs to be here as well <3

[eatfishies]

your touch sets me ablaze | 🔞

summary: Rafayel is determined to make all your worries go away.

or

Rafayel giving his "Miss Bodyguard" the time of her life.

word count: 3.5k words tags: NSFW, rafayel x reader (afab), porn without plot, oral sex (cunnilingus), clit play, swearing, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, public sex (or semi..? idk), pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: rafa fingers owo .. that’s it . i jus have an obsession w his pretty fingers ok . hehe hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

The long-awaited day of Rafayel’s exhibition is finally here. She smoothed out her dress, ensuring that there is no speck of dust or any creases. The dress hugged her curves like second skin, a dark blue shade that matches the ocean — she heard it faintly as she fixed herself on the mirror. The tidal waves swished around with fluidity as the birds chirped merrily, giving her a sense of peace despite the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside her. She sighed, biting her lip as she mulled over her thoughts when the door opened, revealing Rafayel. 

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt, paired with a dark blue suit jacket and black tailored slacks. He looked mesmerizing as he always does whenever she sees him. Many people claim that Rafayel’s paintings are beautiful, each brushstroke has its own story and together, mixed with the soft colors is enough to draw someone in. It was easy to get lost in his artworks hence why his buyers are eager to get their hands on the latest pieces of his art. Every art dealer was entranced by the beauty of it. One could say, if you gaze at his painting, the sight of it could linger in your mind even as you slumber, dancing around and luring you into the depths of the ocean.

He smiled at her, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively, “Hey cutie, looking good there.” He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips, “Why the long face…? It’s my exhibition, not yours.” She knows he was just teasing, trying to quell her dwelling thoughts but she can only give him a faint smile.

“I know that… I just…” She sighed, unsure of how to properly form her sentence. Her mind is constantly racing, overlapping each fleeting thought. “I’ve just been… overthinking about all sorts of things, I suppose. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side.

The Lemurian hummed, studying his lover’s face with deep concentration, “Well, we still have some time left to kill. Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” His hands cupped her face gently, making her stare at his handsome face. 

“Uh… I’m not sure.” She responded, still preoccupied with her troubles. 

Rafayel’s hands fall to the side before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the bedroom and into the center of the studio. He gently pushed her down to the couch, “Stay here.” He said before stalking off to grab something from the desk. She could only watch with curiosity, wondering what Rafayel had planned to distract her. 

When he came back, he was holding a box of Pile It Up. She couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a surge of competitive spirit bubbling inside her. “Oh, you’re so on!” She grinned at him.

And yet, after a few minutes of playing, she felt the same thoughts resurfacing. Rafayel didn’t need to be told twice to know that his partner is deep in her worries, he could see the frown etched on her features or the way she subtly tapped her fingers repeatedly against the block. 

He sighed, standing up and taking a seat next to her, “I hate seeing you like this.” He paused, searching her face before caressing her cheek tenderly, “We don’t need to talk about it but I wished I could take all your troubles away. It makes me sad to see you look so blue.” 

A small hint of guilt crept up, she forced herself to hold Rafayel’s gaze. “I’ll be fine, really. Just… stress, the usual.” She spoke tiredly, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek. 

Suddenly, an idea popped up inside the painter’s head. “Then… let me put your mind at ease, yeah?” But before she could inquire, the Lemurian pulled her into a soft kiss, effectively drowning out any single thought she had previously. Their lips moved languidly in a passionate yet loving kiss. His hands slid down to feel her curves, swallowing her needy whimpers as his fingers hiked the hem of the dress up, exposing more of her skin. 

He gently laid her down and pulled away, hovering above her, admiring the way her lips are now swollen and glistened with his saliva. No doubt that the lipstick has smeared onto his mouth as well but he couldn’t care less, slowly inching closer to her most intimate place. She bit her lip, growing impatient at his deliberate and sensual movements but the words of protest died in her throat when Rafayel finally touched her clit, feeling the wet patch growing as he kept stroking her.

“You’re already so wet for me… you sure are eager, aren’t you?” He smirked as she gripped his arms and bucked her hips. “Come on, let me hear your pretty sounds, cutie.” He purred, effortlessly pulling her panties to the side and rubbing her slick folds. A string of moans and whimpers fell from her lips as Rafayel continued to touch her, staring intently as her expressions contorted to one of pleasure. The worry lines on her face, the frown and the anxiousness emitting off of her earlier are all gone, replaced by fervent lust and desire. 

With a swift motion, Rafayel plunged two fingers deep inside her wet pussy. Her velvet walls clamping down tightly as he curled his digits, “Ha…! F- fuck! Raf…” She moaned out, it was the sound that he could never get tired of hearing. Her body writhed beneath her lover’s skilful ministrations. 

“That’s it… keep feeling good around my fingers. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He uttered sultry and low, pressing kisses on her neck before biting onto the flesh. He knew that once she was clear-headed, she would scold him for leaving a mark, especially when they were both due to attend his exhibition later. But Rafayel couldn’t care less, he was addicted to her scent, her taste, her sounds and everything about her makes him want to lose himself completely, surrendering himself to the woman he holds dear to. 

The heat in her stomach coiled, the tell-tale signs of her climax approaching her as Rafayel fingers her faster and deeper, noticing the pitch of her moans getting louder. Her wet cunt squelched obscenely around his long digits as he worked to bring her close to her release. He licked her earlobe and nipped at it, “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers. Come on, you can do it, can’t you?” 

Spurred by Rafayel’s encouragement, she squeezed her eyes shut as her pussy clenched tightly around his plunging fingers. “I’m… I’m close! I’m gonna come!” She cried out, her cunt clamping down on his digits as she came hard, pussy juice gushing out and all over his hand and wrist. 

“Good girl. You did so great, my little conch.” He pulled his soaked fingers out and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Rafayel felt a swell of pride at seeing the state of his lover like this, she’s no longer concerned with troubling thoughts or anxieties. Only a look of pure bliss. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her. “You taste divine, my love.” A blush spread through her cheeks as she stared at the sight of Rafayel delightfully tasting her essence. 

“But… I’m not done yet. Not even close.” His voice drops an octave lower as he spread her legs wide and tugged her damp panties off, tossing them on the floor. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, dripping with slick from her orgasm earlier. “I can’t wait to devour you.” And with that, he leaned in and lapped her pussy tentatively, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as her fingers tangled in his purple hair, gripping it. 

Debauched cries and moans bounced off the walls along with the erotic sounds of Rafayel eating her cunt out with vigor, like a man starved. “F- feels so good!” She whimpered as the Lemurian held her thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to her sopping core. 

Unable to resist, Rafayel delved in deeper, sealing his lips around her clit and suckling the sensitive nub. He flicked his tongue faster, determined to bring his dear bodyguard to her peak once more. The needy sounds spilling from her lips were like music to his ears, urging him on, to give her the pleasure that she so desperately sought. 

“D- don’t stop, Raf! Please!” Her hips bucked wantonly as she ground her slick cunt against his mouth. Rafayel smirked in response, letting her tug on his hair fiercely as he thrust his tongue deep inside her clutching heat, fucking her with his mouth, feeling incredibly turned on and eager to watch her fall apart beneath him. 

He could feel her juices flooding his mouth, could taste her arousal coating his tongue. Rafayel could go on for days burying his head in between her legs, couldn’t ever get enough of her sweet essence. “Come for me. Come on my tongue like the good girl that you are.” He spurred, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh. 

The all-too familiar sensation coursed through her body as she moaned out, “I’m gonna come! Raf, I’m gonna come!” At that, Rafayel vigorously sucked hard on her clit, feeling her walls starting to flutter and clench around his plunging tongue. He could feel the heat of her core climbing, threatening to spill once more. The Lemurian easily slipped in two fingers, knuckle-deep into her dripping cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot that made his lover writhe in utter bliss. 

It was too much, the stimulation was overbearing as her body tensed, her thighs clamped around his head as she teetered on the brink. Rafayel gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he ate them out with wild, desperate abandon. 

“Rafayel!” She cried out, arching off of the couch as her orgasm crashed over her for the second time. The painter moaned as he felt the flood of arousal coating his tongue and chin, lapping it up greedily as she shuddered and quaked beneath him. He could feel the way her walls gripped his fingers, sucking in and reluctant to let go, milking his hand for all it was worth. 

“P- please… too much…” She whined, riding out the intense wave of her climax. Rafayel gave her dripping wet pussy one last lick before pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “I could just drown in your taste for the rest of my life.” He spoke breathlessly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean, just like he did earlier.  

Just as Rafayel was about to lean down and kiss her, the unmistakable sound of his ringtone snapped both of their attention. Rafayel stared down at her, a look of surprise on his face, “Let me get it.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, grabbing his phone. Frowning, he reads the message and pockets it away, looking back at her with a sigh. “It’s Thomas. Says we need to be at the exhibition in 20 minutes.” 

A small part of her felt disappointed at the fact that they would need to go out soon but she wasn’t just the only one whos’ feeling it. Rafayel gazed at her with a slight pout, he had hoped to fuck her silly before they were called to the gallery. But alas, duties calls and if they stalled any longer, Thomas would suspect something was up, even though Rafayel is known for arriving late to his exhibitions or not even appearing at all. 

“Should we just ditch this and not go?” He said exasperatedly, crossing his arms in annoyance. She smiled softly at him, sitting up straight and pulling her dress down, still panty-less underneath. She could feel her own slick running down her inner thighs, a faint blush spread through her cheeks as she briefly recalled the way Rafayel had brought her to climax twice. 

However, her gaze lowered to the sight of Rafayel’s painfully hard and obvious bulge, straining against his pants. Biting her lips, she quickly squashed down any lewd thoughts, refraining from losing her focus by daydreaming about sinking her tight wet cavern onto Rafayel’s thick cock. No, she needs to get it together and actually drag her Lemurian lover to the gallery, lest they face the wrath of Thomas. 

With a reluctant smile, she stood up and bent down to pick up her panties, slipping them on. “I guess it’s time to go. Come on, you pouty baby.” She pinched his cheek, earning a glare from her lover but it lacked no malice, instead filled with tenderness and love. Rafayel sighed dramatically, intertwining their fingers together, “Fine, fiiiiinee.” 

As they began to walk towards the front door, she paused, “Ah wait, I need to grab something.” But Rafayel wouldn’t budge, clasping her hand tightly as he stared ahead. He leaned in and whispered hotly in her ears, “Just keep your panties on. Don’t think this is over just because we’re going somewhere.” Heat rises up to her cheeks at the suggestive implication, was Rafayel planning something? It was a risky move, she knew she should go and grab the short pants to wear beneath her dress but Rafayel only gripped his hold on her, sensing the slight confusion. “Trust me, cutie. I know a way to make the exhibition waaaay more entertaining.” 

Alas, she gave in and nodded, “No funny stuff, alright!” She warned but Rafayel only smiled cheekily at her in response. “I’ll be a good boy and behave, dontcha’ worry, my darling.” He gave her a wink, a silent promise to be on his best behavior, yet there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‧───────────────‧

The gallery was filled and buzzing with prestigious art dealers and other VIP guests, mingling around and admiring the exquisite artworks that were displayed on the walls. She stood to the side, a glass of champagne in her hand as she glanced at Rafayel who is, no doubt, forced to converse with the guests by Thomas. She hummed, taking in the scene before her, it was clear that Rafayel has always been popular but to witness it entirely was a different feeling. It warms her heart knowing that Rafayel is loved and cherished by many people here – a respected artist in his own field, earning awe-struck stares and quiet excited cheers. 

She took a sip of her drink, enjoying her solitude when Rafayel sauntered over to her. “How is my princess doing?” He smirked, standing next to her, his gaze briefly flickering down to the hem of her dress. She could tell a thing or two about what he’s thinking, all of the thoughts are most likely inappropriate. “I’m doing okay.” She replied casually, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your esteemed guests? Wouldn’t want Thomas to come hurling complaints again, hm?” 

At the mention of Thomas’s complaints, Rafayel grimaced and looked away, “Puh-lease, I’m his boss here, not him. He can’t control me, no matter how much he wants to.” His hand found their way on her hips, pulling her close. “Besides, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?” Before she could voice out her objections, Rafayel immediately dragged her to the quieter, lonely 

 side of the gallery. There were no artworks framed on the walls nor are there any people here to disturb the couple. “Raf honey… are you sure we're allowed here? Isn’t this section of the gallery closed off?” Her voice tinged with uncertainty and maybe a little bit of unease at the blank and empty part of the gallery. 

“It’s fine, no one ever comes home.” He reassured her, letting go of his hand and cupping her face, “Now, it’s just the two of us here.” Rafayel captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire from before into it. She could taste the remnants of her pussy juice, rendering her completely into a puddle of mess as Rafayel’s fingers trailed down and slipped underneath her dress with ease. She whimpered against his lips as Rafayel rubbed her clit through her damp panties, soaked from the pleasure she received back in the comfort of his home. 

“R- raf… ah! Mhmm… we- we can’t” She murmured helplessly as Rafayel began to nip at her neck, licking the hickey he left there. It had bloomed beautifully, his mark on hers – a sign to everyone that she was his. Only his. 

Of course, she hadn’t been a fool, she did try to cover up the hickey before they stepped into the exhibition but Rafayel wouldn’t stop pestering her and telling her to just leave it be. In the end, she caved in and proudly showed off the mark, albeit with much reluctance and embarrassment. Rafayel rasped, “Need you… need you here, right now.” 

Swiftly, Rafayel tugged her panties aside and unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He pressed her against the wall, her back facing him, “N- now?!” She sputtered but Rafayel was already stroking his aching shaft on her sopping wet mound. 

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. Rafayel wanted nothing more than to slam inside, to consume her entirely, his body blazing with need but he knew she was still sensitive from the overstimulation. “Keep quiet, okay?” He whispered hotly before thrusting deep inside her slick walls, burying himself to the hilt, feeling it tighten. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He gripped her hips, staring intently at his lover, biting her lips to stifle the moans and cries of pleasure. Without wasting any time, Rafayel set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as he fucked into her dripping cunt with deep, powerful strokes. Anyone could walk in on them, going at it like rabbits in heat but all caution and care was thrown out of the window. Rafayel could only feel her wet, clasping heat, determined to bring her to the edge and make her feel good. There was no denying the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, if a guard were to catch them, they would no doubt be in trouble.

Then again, the risk is what makes it exciting. Rafayel groaned softly, nuzzling into her neck as she held back her cries of ecstasy, the familiar coppery tang of her blood sinking into her tongue from biting her lips too hard. Rafayel’s hands slid up to cup and knead her breasts through her dress as he pounded into her. The sensation was too much, her brain was all mushy as her pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in deeper, wanting more. 

Her hands pathetically scrambled to hold onto the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she desperately tries to not let a single sound fall off of her lips. Rafayel’s voice was low, “You're clenching me so tightly baby. Ha… what a dirty girl, taking my cock like this out in the open. You love this, don’t you?” 

A whimper escaped from her throat as Rafayel slammed his hips forward fast and deep into her dripping, clinging heat. He noticed the way her breath quickened, her face etched in a fucked-out expression, losing herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering wildly as he drove her closer to the edge. 

Rafayel withdrew from fondling her breasts and gripped her face, turning her towards him as his lips met hers in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he fucked her towards her release. “Come for me, you can do it. Come one more time for me on my cock.” He murmured against her lips, feeling his orgasm nearing.

He felt her body stiffened, coming undone as he drowned out all her cries with a wet, sensual kiss. Rafayel grunted, his hips stuttering and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her soaked cunt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he pumped her full with his seed. Rafayel pulled away and panted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a sheen of sweat trickling down from their coupling. He gazed at her with adoring eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before he reluctantly pulled out of her cum-filled cunt. Rafayel tugged the panties to the center of her clit, covering her as she caught her breath. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel scooped her into his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Her eyes shut closed, her mind dancing around cloud nine from the intensity of it all.  

“Let’s go home, my love.” He said softly as he made his way towards the exit, ignoring the curious stares and ogles from the people in the exhibition. When Thomas tried to question him, Rafayel dismissed him and continued to walk to his car, gently putting her down onto the passenger seat.

Once they were home, Rafayel put on a bath and scrubbed her clean with much affection. Afterwards, he prepared dinner and cuddled her, staring down at her peaceful expression as she slumber. 

“I love you, my treasure.” He spoke quietly, kissing her forehead before falling asleep with his lover in his arms. 

[kleptocouture]

borrowing tips 101 💋

6 life saving borrowing tips so that you are guaranteed to get what you want everytime without getting caught! 🫧

1. ALWAYS go with someone - if you go on your own you automatically draw more attention to yourself and having another person there can be more comforting+you can help eachother (remember only do this if you know for sure the person if comfortable with it NEVER borrow when your with someone without consent because they could get into trouble along with you)

2. Stay calm - speaking from experience, if you are constantly looking at security guards and acting suspicious you WILL get caught. It’s all about mindset walk out as you usually would but don’t be too obvious.

3. For beginners - if you are a beginner start off stealing small things for example, candy, cheap lipglosses, charms etc. Trust me it will build more skill and if you get caught the worst they would do is kick you out.

4. Go when it’s busy but not too busy! - when it’s busy there are barely any workers and so many people it’s hard for them to keep up. If somebody who isn’t a worker sees you it’s an 80% chance they won’t snitch, most likely if they are 10-20 ish years old they won’t but older people tend to snitch more often so be careful!

5. Check tags - if the store you are going into has no sensors most likely the security tags won’t matter at all with barcodes you can leave almost any store because they don’t go off but with some items they hide the tag inside of the box so be careful and check before lifting!

6. The most important step, don’t overthink it - when lifting just see what you like and take it, if you like you can check over everything after but do not linger or you will get caught! If you decide you don’t want something anymore still leave with it taking and putting it back is very risky and could get you into trouble just have an “I see it, I like it, I want it , I got it “ mindset.

rules for borrowers

• never borrow from small businesses large chains only!

•do not peer pressure anyone into borrowing

•keep it moderate don’t steal every time you shop

• and the most important of all have fun! xoxo 💋

extras

what to wear:

jeans with leggings underneath (so things won’t fall out or shove small things in your waistband

bring a bag (not a huge tote bag it’s obvious more like a tote bag or if your in a mall/ shopping area bring a bag from another store (buy something small) to make it look like your just going on a spree

(for female lifters) I recommend push up bras with a crop/low neck top so that it’s easier to shove things in (and the store can’t legally search you if you get caught)

hoodies but it can be kinda obvious

stores to go to:

I recommend going to mini stores from a large chain because half of the time they have a scrawny security guard with 1 to 2 workers there and they won’t be able to stop you

uk stores:

boots

superdrug

primark especially

sephora (not as recommended)

urban outfitters

tkmaxx

brandy melville

(i live in london so if you’re in the uk and don’t have these stores sorry)

us stores:

sephora

ulta

brandy melville

tjmaxx

urban outfitters

hollister

[c4tluver02]

glasses

wc: 1.2k

summary: While helping you study Steve has some trouble reading out the questions. But how could The Steve Harrington need glasses?

wanring: insecurities about glasses? nothin rlly :)

a/n: seeing Joe in his glasses on stage........... i had to write a little something about it ;)

It was the end of a school day and Steve had invited himself over. Not that you minded of course, you would have asked him to come over anyways. But you two were past that point and now anywhere you went Steve went. Which happened to be your house that was dead silent from your parents being gone for the week. Steve had always liked your house more than his. It was filled with stories and it was evident that a loving family lived there. Unlike his house that felt like a set up to look like a family had been there, but missing the pictures and memories to prove it. 

You were sitting crisscrossed at the end of your bed looking at Steve as he laid against your headboard. He had notes in his hands to help you study but so far you’ve only talked about your day. 

“Okay Stevie we have to actually get to studying now.” You try to make it come out with a serious tone but a smile ultimately gives you away. 

“But baby I haven’t even told you the drama between Stacy and Mikey. Y’know they were caught behind the bleachers-” 

“Steve! C'mon you promised you’d help me.” A laugh comes out with it. Steve was always one for the school gossip. Or any gossip in general, he loved being the ear people always whispered to thinking he was a locked box. However, whatever is told to him is told to you. 

You get up on your knees, moving forward to him. “You said you wouldn't be a distraction when you come over.” You say repeating his own words he had muttered earlier back to him. 

Steve can only smile at you. All pouty and close, skin soft touching his, and your nice perfume surrounding him. “Okay, okay let's start.” He says putting your pillow behind his back to sit up straight. You fix your position too, laying your legs over his lap and leaning the side of your head on the headboard. As if this new position will get you guys to truly focus. 

Steve automatically starts drawing little circles on your legs and you wait for him to ask you a question. But when Steve squints and brings the paper closer to his face you pick your head up. Can he not see it? The room is fairly well lit with a lamp on each side of your bed, but no overhead lighting. 

“Okay, um, what was… the main cause of World War I?” It comes out as a question. As if he didn’t exactly know what he was reading. His eyes are still squinted as he pulls the paper further away hoping the letters become clear. 

You grab the note card from his hands wondering if the question on the paper was faded or hard to see. When you read it, you notice nothing wrong with it despite the small letters. 

“Steve?” You ask in a calm tone, not understanding why he can’t see it.

“Why is the font so small? How can anyone read that?” Steve puts his hands behind his head, ready to hear you agree with him. 

“Baby I can read this just fine. Do you want me to turn the big light on? Maybe it’s too dark in here?” You say the sentence as you get up, ready to turn the light on but Steve grabs the notecard back from you giving it another look.

“Honey there's no way, it's so blurry there must have been a problem with the ink when it was printed.” Even when you turn the overhead light on, Steve is still squinting at it. 

You go back to the bed and sit on the edge right next to Steve. “Stevie, have you ever thought about glasses?” The way you say it so softly makes Steve almost miss the horrible question you asked. 

“I don’t need glasses, I can see just fine. Here, put your hand up.” Steve puts your wrist in the air. “Now show me a number.” You follow his request sticking up two fingers. “That's two. See? I can see just fine that card was just bad. Can you hand me a new one?” 

You know that it’s not a fair test to see if Steve does have bad eyesight but you decided to go along with it. The idea of wearing glasses isn’t something Steve wants to think about and you become aware of it from the way he quickly defended himself. You hand him a new card, hoping that this time he will admit defeat. 

When he has the card he tries to read it in his head before saying it out loud. The letters are mushing together and become seemingly blurry. Steve isn’t a reader by any means but how come he's having such a hard time reading these? 

“I swear these letters are too small. I think we should write them out, that might even be a good study tool.” He says, raising his eyebrows at his new idea. 

The test isn’t for another two days and you decide to put a stop to it. Steve can be pretty stubborn sometimes and if you know him like you think you know him he won’t say he needs glasses till he can’t see you correctly.

“Yeah you're right. I'll just make new cards tomorrow and study those.” Grabbing the card from Steve's hand you put them back in your bag. There are a few beats of silence. 

“Do you really think I need glasses?” Steve asks. It comes out in a whisper, if there was any other noise in the house you probably wouldn’t have heard him. 

“I mean it wouldn’t hurt to get an eye exam.” You sit back by him threading your hand through his hair. “Getting glasses also wouldn’t be the end of the world love.” 

Steve lays his head on your shoulder. “You would still like me even with glasses?” The question instantly makes you giggle. 

“I would like you no matter what you do Steve. And I think you would look really hot with glasses.” You continue scratching his head. 

This makes Steve perk his head up immediately. “You think I would look hot with glasses?” He doesn’t believe what you're saying is true, it's written all over his face. “You told me last week if I shaved my head you would have a breakdown.” 

“I said I would have a breakdown, not that I would break up with you!” You're giggling and a smile is placed on his face at your comment knowing you're being sarcastic. 

“If you really think I would look good with glasses, I guess I could make an appointment.” Now his comment is making you smile. You give him quick kisses all over his face and he lets out a loud laugh. 

“I can come with you if you want? Help you pick out some frames.” Your hands are holding his face as you put a pause on the kisses. 

“Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you baby.” He leans in to give you a proper kiss, this one deep and meaningful. As if to say ‘thank you for caring about me’. How Steve got so lucky with you he’ll never know.

[matchpointfaist]

riff lorton x rich girl! reader

the next time he saw you, you were seated at the diner, all pretty in the window like somethin' out of a magazine. your cherry red lips were wrapped around a bendy straw, sipping soda as you flipped through the pages of a book.

he hesitated before knocking against the glass just hard enough to get you attention, a goofy grin on his lips. you were up from the stool in an instant, and he glanced over your outfit curiously; a mini skirt, mary janes, a sweater that looked softer than anything he’d ever own. god, you were beautiful.

“riff!” you smiled so widely as you pushed the door open, like you were greeting someone important, surely you couldn’t be directing that at him, “how are you?” “oh, i’m alright,” he smiled slightly, “what’re you doin out and about?”

he listened to you chatter about how you were just bored to death sitting in that house, how you came to the city to live, not to sit in the drawing room with the sounds of new york as a backing soundtrack. “so anyway, i’m just out until my curfew, trying to find something to do,” you shrugged, “and what are you doing out?”

“just makin trouble,” he joked, though it was half true, “you shouldn’t be wanderin around if you don’t know where you’re goin, darlin. you need a tour guide or somethin,”

your eyes lit up, and something he could only describe as a squeal left your lips, “you can be my tour guide! i mean, if you’re not busy, of course,” he shouldnt agree- there was nothing in his part of the city worth your time, it’s not like he could take you to a broadway show or flaunt you around some museum. but you were lookin’ at him like you didn’t care, like he could take you anywhere and you’d be happy just to be out, so he just agreed.

he took you all around, past all the massive hotels and skyscrapers, showed you the broadway box office, all the clubs and cafes. you were in awe of everything, all starry eyes and big smiles and compliments. everything was perfect, until. “can i see where you live?” you looked so curious, so excited, he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. it seemed like he never had it in him when it came to you.

“well, it’s not really the nicest part of town,” he scrambled for an excuse, “and i’ve got roommates,” “that’s fine,” you smiled, like no part of you saw an issue with that, “i’d love to see it anyway,”

so he hesitantly led you a few streets over, the nice businesses and shiny new buildings growing few and far between the deeper into the city you went. finally, he stood at the edge of the lot where a little near-abandoned trailer sat. “well,” he gestured to it, biting the inside of his cheek, the visual of your pristine clothing against the backdrop of his life burning into his mind, “here she is,”

he led you past the rubble of the lot, right up the door, his hand gentle on your arm as he led you up the two steps into the small space. “i don’t know if the guys are home,” he warned as he pushed the creaking door open, trying to gauge your reaction. it was a far cry from your parents summer house, a dingy little space with empty bottles littering the makeshift coffee table and two bedrooms the size of closets. “it’s not much,” he could feel how his face was flushed and he hated it. what did he think he was doing, explaining himself to some summer bird- “i like it,”

he could’ve died right there, watching as you explored the space, the smile never leaving your lips, pausing as you spotted the polaroid of riff and tony pinned to the wall. your fingers traced the image with a fondness that had him reeling, watching you intently, “is this your brother?” you asked curiously, eyes still trained on the image. “no- no, that’s tony. my..” he hesitated. what was tony to him now? best friend, brother, stranger? “he’s my friend. he’s in jail upstate,”

you frowned, looking apologetic as ever, “i’m sorry, riff. that must be awful to be away from him,” you didn’t ask what he did, didn’t pass any judgmental looks his way, didn’t criticize him for hanging around the type of guys who ended up in jail. you were straying further and further from the image he’d had of you, more saint than classist sinner. “it’s alright,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “tell me about yourself?”

the two of you sat for so long, criss cross on his bedroom floor, talking on and on about your life back home and his friends, your family and his lack there of, your ambitions and his fears. he could’ve fallen in love with you there in that messy, cold floor. could’ve made a home for himself in the gaps between your sentences.

minutes turned to hours turned to sundown, turned to you sprawled out across his bed, still talking, still radiating light into his dim space. he had a beat up old polaroid camera that tony’s family had gifted him tucked in his dresser drawer, and he was saving the last of the film for tony’s release, but you looked so goddamn pretty, he didn’t even think twice before he used the last picture on you.

you, with your long hair draped off the side of his mattress, with your crisp new clothes and rosy cheeks and shining eyes. you, the opposite of everything he thought he believed in. you, the most beautiful thing in his universe, thawing out the coldness of the life he’d been enduring for so long, one pretty word at a time.

it was midnight before either of you realized you’d been out so far past curfew, it would do you better to never go home at all. he expected you to run out, to realize the position you’d put yourself in, the way it looked. but you just shrugged, “i don’t have to obey all the rules,” and nestled further into his bed.

he didn’t touch you, didn’t kiss you, but it was more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced, falling asleep beside you like that. your breaths were soft and deep, lulling him into a trance, deeper into this spot you’d taken up in his life so quickly.

half asleep, his hand found yours. when the two of you woke the next morning, your fingers were entwined, and your cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. “i should go,” you yawned softly, his heart aching at the sight, “walk me home?”

and for the second time, he walked you all the way across town, stopping halfway to pick a dandelion from the grass and tucking it behind your ear like this was a movie. at the gate of your house, you stood on your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “thank you for last night,” you said sweetly, voice dripping honey straight into his veins.

“will you be around tomorrow?” he asked, praying he didn’t sound desperate. “sure will,” you smiled, “come by around noon and i’ll meet you at the corner?” he couldn’t wait, already, even standing here in front of you still. “sounds perfect,” he nodded, “tomorrow, then,”

and then, to his shock, you stood up tall again and pressed your lips to his. it was quick and sweet, just enough to make him insane, enough to have his lips burning with the impression of you for the rest of the day. he didn’t get a word in before you were headed up your driveway, glancing over your shoulder and blowing him a kiss.

he could hear your parents scolding you even down the drive as he turned to walk away, thinking of tomorrow.

[ckret2]

Chapter 82 of you can really tell the writer got a new art program this week and went apeshit with it instead of doing anything productive: the Mystery Shack is in terrible peril from the government and only one thing can save them:

Teaching Bill Cipher how to flirt with humans!!

####

The Stans explained the plan to Dipper and Mabel as briefly as possible—that Bill had to save them all by flirting with the head fed—and that was about as far as they got before Mabel started squealing. They wished her good luck with Bill, wished him good luck with Mabel, and beat a hasty retreat, with Dipper tagging along after Ford on the pretense of helping figure out how to get the flash drive out of Gompers.

"This is perfect!" Mabel slammed the door closed—and Bill had the sneaking suspicion she'd trapped him on purpose—then grabbed both his hands to drag him further into the room. "I can see it now! He'll fall in love with you, and then he'll realize that living in a small logging town is so much more emotionally fulfilling than his high-pressure fast-paced big city government job, and he'll see what a special, magical place Gravity Falls is and he won't wanna do anything that could change it, and Washington will call him like, 'Your report is late! Have you forgotten your mission?' And he'll go 'I have a new mission now: my WIFE!' And—"

"Hold on!" Bill pulled his hands back. "I think you skipped the part where you married me off to a government agent."

"No I didn't! Because he says that and everyone gasps and then he gets down on his knee in front of you and pulls out a ring and—"

"In your dreams, star girl." He dropped onto Mabel's bed and crossed his legs. "Think a little less cheesy Christmas romcom, and more noir spy movie with a double-crossing femme fatale."

Mabel measured that up against her limited spy movie knowledge, and asked dubiously, "You're gonna drop him in a tank of sharks?"

"Hey, if you have one...!" Bill laughed. "But, no. The plan is just for me to keep him distracted long enough for the nerd squad to get the flash drive, wipe any sensitive data, and leave it somewhere that'll make the agents think the goat dumped it naturally."

Mabel considered that. She inhaled deeply. "Okay," she said. "But. What if it's one of those movies where the evil girl spy has a change of heart because of the good guy's charm and you do fall in love."

"Do you remember who we're talking about?" Bill asked. "Fine! If we fall in love, you can be the ring bearer, best maid, and officiant—but don't start stapling together a white dress just yet."

Mabel completely skipped past his main point. She whispered, "You'd let me make your wedding dress?"

"I'd turn down every fashion designer in Milan, Paris, New York, and London combined."

Her eyes widened. "I've gotta start drawing wedding dresses." She rummaged around the floor for an unused piece of paper and the nearest crayon and/or marker box.

"Draw me as a triangle," Bill said automatically. "So there, you're caught up on the plan!" He slowly slid off Mabel's bed toward the door. "So if you'd let me out so I can prepare..."

"Ohh no. Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford brought you to me to learn how to flirt, and I'm going to teach you how to flirt."

He groaned, but plopped back down on Mabel's bed. "I don't need to be taught how to flirt! I'm a pro! While your universe was still gearing up for a Big Bang, I was fending off marriage proposals from lovelorn generation ships and sentient oceans."

"You're not seducing ships and oceans." Mabel had already flopped onto the floor and drawn a triangle with an eye, and was trying to figure out how to put a dress on it. "You're seducing a man."

"Which is even easier! You people barely last a century, you're desperate! Humans fling themselves at me left and right!"

"Then you'll have no trouble passing my love quiz."

Bill automatically frowned. There was a part of him that still tensed up at the word "quiz" even if he did know more about romance than the entire human race combined. "What, like the one you put the guys through on your dating show?"

"Yes, but with all new questions! So you can't just copy all of Soos's answers to get a perfect score!"

"Psh! Like I need to copy anyone's answers," said Bill, who had never taken a quiz in his life without copying someone else's answers and had been planning to do just that. "All right, hit me."

"Question one! Uh..." She tapped a crayon to her chin as she thought. "What's the best gift to give on a first date? Jewelry, chocolate, a wedding ring, or flowers?"

"Ooh, we're starting with bribery, huh?" When in doubt, the right answer was usually C; but "jewelry" and "wedding ring" seemed kinda redundant. Well—cheating had never failed him before, why stop now? "None of the above! I've got a better answer than all of them!"

Mabel lowered her crayon to give him a skeptical look. "Oh yeah? What?"

"Sneak into their dreams the night before, find out their heart's desire, and surprise 'em with that," Bill said. "That's not even a romantic move. It'll let you win over a human in any context! Birthday parties, baby showers, job interviews, criminal trials, hostage negotiations..."

"What if you don't know their heart's desire?"

"Then you're not me."

She set down her crayon, laced her hands under her chin, and said, "Okay, then. If you were trying to win me over, what's my dream birthday gift?"

"Replacing your bedroom with a bouncy castle with inflatable furniture."

"Ha! No it's n..." She trailed off. "Wait. Ohmigosh."

"Told ya."

"I've been dreaming too small," Mabel whispered. She shoved aside her first drawing and started drawing her fantasy bedroom.

Bill picked up one of Mabel's dolls—a floppy tiger—and started talking to it like he was lecturing it. Forget this whole "taking a quiz" thing; he was much more comfortable in the roll of the teacher than the student. "And if it's a blind date and I can't stalk 'em beforehand, nobody's ever disappointed by a solid gold brick," he told the doll.  "It's both practical and pretty, and it appeals to humans' natural greed without making them feel sleazy about accepting a wad of hundreds from their date."

"What's Agent Powers's heart's desire?"

Heck. He didn't actually know. He'd ducked in on the guy's life a handful of times, but he'd never needed to pay that close attention to him. What did boring people like? "A really nice leather wallet," Bill said.

"Okay, you're off to a strong start," Mabel said. "Question two: what's the ideal location for a first date?"

"What are my options?"

"Fooey to the options! I wanna hear your thoughts."

"Then that's easy: anywhere they can't escape from until they love you," Bill said. "Even better if you can serenade 'em."

Mabel nodded in approval. "Perfect answer, full points! Every Inkwell princess movie and vampire novel on the market agrees! Question three: best first date outfit?"

"Sexy."

"Okay—yeah," Mabel said, "But specifically, what does that look like?"

"Tallest hat you can find," Bill said.

Mabel waited. Bill didn't say anything else. Mabel said, "What about the rest of the outfit?"

"Bow tie. Outfit complete."

"That's just what you wear."

"And it's always sexy!" Bill insisted.

"Maybe in Flatworld, but this is earth! If you go out dressed in nothing but a hat and a bow tie, you'll be having your date in the back of a police car!"

"Fine," Bill huffed. "Fifty pairs of gloves—and the more of them you have hands to fill, the better! A dress made out of blank checks! Two snakes! A fur coat made out of live kittens!" Bill shook the stuffed doll emphatically with each point. "Good enough?!"

Mabel squinted thoughtfully at him. "The kitten coat has potential."

"Damn me with faint praise, why don't you."

"What about more traditional romantic outfits? Like... a red velvet suit with a leopard print shirt? Or short shorts that say 'too hot' on the butt?" Mabel asked. "Or a t-shirt with your date's face on it in a heart! That shows your date 'I'm here to focus on you!'"

"What if my date's face is ugly, did you think about that?" Bill asked, mainly to cover up the fact that he was chagrined he hadn't thought of the velvet suit himself. "Forget about fashion. Next question!"

"Okay, how would you prepare yourself for the perfect date? Aside from finding a tall hat and stalking your date's dreams."

"Hygiene's the most important thing," Bill said. "Humans are very attuned to pheromones. It's one of your base instincts."

A look of relief cross Mabel's face. "Yes! Good start. So we're talking a shower, or...?"

"Oh yeah, if you're going on a date in this country, you've gotta scrub that skin raw. There is no smell Americans hate more than the natural smell of other human beings." 

Mabel nodded enthusiastically. "Right!"

"And once you've gotten rid of your real scent you've got to make sure you smell appealing. And that means making sure you smell the most! Cover up any competing suitors' scents with your own!"

Mabel made an uncertain hum. "Okaaay, sooo... what would you call an appropriate fragrance for a first date?"

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of the hum. "First date? You've got to make a strong impression, and set the mood for romance," he told the doll, so he didn't have to watch Mabel pass judgment. "So, I'm thinking... decaying salmon, deer pee, and ambergris."

Mabel was silent for an uncomfortably long time. Bill glanced at her. She immediately pulled her sweater up to hide her mouth. Voice strained with suppressed laughter, she said, "You don't think, maybe... floral scents...?"

Who did she think she was laughing at! He directed his attention back to Mabel's doll. The tiger didn't judge him. The tiger thought all his ideas were brilliant. "Is this guy looking for a garden or a girlfriend? I know ninety percent of the soaps and shampoos on the market are designed to make you smell like a fruit salad on the beach, but you humans don't know the first thing about what activates your own monkey-brained reproductive urges! Trust me: decaying salmon, deer pee, and ambergris! They reek of raw sex appeal!"

"What's ambergris?"

"It's a staple fragrance in the perfume industry! Some of the most popular scents in Hollywood have ambergris base notes!"

"Okay," Mabel said, "but what is it?"

"Okay so," Bill said, "when a sperm whale gets so constipated it kills 'em, the rest of its body rots off while the turd floats to the surface, and after it's bobbed around baking in the sun for a few decades—"

Mabel lay a hand on Bill's knee and gently said, "No." 

"Hey, I'm not the one who invented ambergris, that's your species's idea!"

"Bill, I'm sorry. But you've got the best and worst romance ideas with no in between, and you don't know the difference," Mabel said. "But I promise you're in good hands! I'm the best matchmaker in Gravity Falls! I helped hook up Soos and Melody, Robbie and Tambry, Waddles and Gompers, the Hand Witch and that hunky hiker guy..."

He threw Mabel's doll down on the bed, slumped back against the wall, crossed his arms, and sulked. Then he muttered, "But I've got the best ideas?"

"Oh yeah. You're like an untrained romance prodigy! You just need a liiittle help filtering out the diamonds from the coal."

He grunted. Then he grudgingly admitted, "Getting Waddles and Gompers together is pretty impressive. They have complete opposite political opinions."

"See? I'll have you date ready in no time!"

Bill heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine. But I'd better at least get a killer makeover out of this."

"Definitely! I'm getting an expert on the case!" She pulled out her phone to send a text. Plus, whatever you're wearing tomorrow? I'm bedazzling the crap out of it."

"Good!"

"But first," Mabel said, "Let's talk about your technique."

####

"Lesson one of Mabel's Guide to Flirting With Humans: pick-up lines! First impressions are super important!"

"Pick-up lines are easy," Bill said. "I know a million of them!"

"That's great! Then this should be easy." Mabel pointed at the picture of Creggy G in the middle of her Sev'ral Timez poster, whom she'd designated as their attractive human for Bill's flirting practice. "Try one out." 

Bill sized up Creggy calculatingly, and said, "You know, your eyeballs are so beautiful."

"Yes!" Mabel cheered. "It's romantic! I love it!"

"—and they'd look even better in my mouth."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"What?" Bill asked. "Too forward? Should I save that for the second date?"

The flirting lesson quickly switched track from teaching Bill how to use a pick-up lines, to teaching Bill what pick-up lines not to use.

And from there, the conversation drifted to a list of subjects Bill wasn't allowed to discuss with the federal agent, which necessitated relocating to the living room so Mabel could set up an easel pad and record all the banned topics. Partway through, Stan drifted in and started throwing in his two cents.

The list of banned flirtation topics included: eyeballs; cannibalism; squid kings; dragonfly mating habits; mandibles; the time and method of living people's future deaths; the cold and lonely heat death of the universe ("Why?! It's a perfect excuse to suggest cuddling for warmth!"); fun get-to-know-you questions like "would you rather kill your mother or your father" or "which conspiracy theories would you most hate to be true"; which conspiracy theories were true; the agent's embarrassing middle school secrets that Bill shouldn't have known about but did; the agent's bald spot; cancer flavors; pending global disasters...

Bill flung his hands in the air. "So what does that leave to talk about?!"

"Anything else," Stan snapped.

"The Chuquicamata open pit copper mine."

"Anything normal."

Bill gave him a look akin to that of a vegetarian who'd just been asked to discuss his favorite cuts of beef. "Have you metme?"

"Try topics that get him in the right mindset for romance," Mabel said. "Like, 'what do you want your future wife's favorite color to be?' Or 'you look like dad material!'"

Bill nodded slowly. "So we're aggressively leading him on. I can work with that. I've never been a fan of subtlety."

"And call him charming," Stan said. "Guys love hearing they're charming. Oh, and tell him his jokes are funny."

"What if he doesn't tell jokes."

"All guys tell jokes when they're flirting! If he's not telling jokes, you're doing something wrong."

"It's true," Mabel said. "Watch any high school romance!" Bill gave them both a dubious look.

Stan glanced up as Ford and Dipper walked by the doorway with Gompers. "Tell 'im, Ford."

"What?"

"All men tell jokes when we're flirting! It's probably in our DNA or something."

Dipper thought about that, and nodded. "I tell jokes when I'm flirting."

Mabel shouted, "You try to tell jokes when you're flirting! Heyooo!"

"Hey."

Ford grimaced. "Usually when I'm flirting, I forget every joke I've ever heard and start asking as many questions as I can think of."

Bill said, "That's because you only flirt with things you want to add to your bestiary!"

"The point still stands." 

Dipper had leaned into the room to read the banned topic list. "Why are conspiracy theories off-limits? He came to Gravity Falls in the first place because he was looking for a paranormal conspiracy."

"Dipper's right," Ford said, "he'd probably be interested in the topic."

Bill flung his hands in the air. "Thank you! That's what I was saying!"

Stan shook his head, "Too close to discussing politics. What if they believe in different conspiracies!"

"Plus, watch this," Mabel said. "Hey Bill, what do you think about Flat Earth theory."

Bill groaned. "I was drunk, those statements were taken out of context, and I can't be held responsible if some idiot with a boat misinterpreted me."

Mabel looked at Ford and Dipper.

Dipper grimaced. "Got it."

Ford nodded. "Conspiracy theories are off-limits."

"This is why you're all single," Bill said.

####

Stan said, "And if you're gonna lie about your job—"

"Which you always should," Bill cut in.

"Obviously! But make sure it's not something too easy to verify. Like, you can't claim to be the governor, what if your date actually voted and knows who the governor is?"

"That's a good point! Margaret was not impressed."

"You're telling me! My suit smelled like broccoli cheese soup for weeks!"

"You shoulda suggested she get the house salad."

"Yeah, I—" Stan cut off. "Wait. How do you know about Margaret? That was twenty years ago!"

Dipper and Ford were in the kitchen, looking for every ingredient they could find that might coax Gompers to release the flash drive the old-fashioned way and listening to the discussion in the living room. Gompers nibbled at a dish towel, oblivious to the fate awaiting him.

Mabel trotted in and patted him as she passed. "Hey, you! You're giving us major trouble, you rascal!"

He bleated at her.

Mabel pushed up to the open fridge next to Dipper, and when he stepped aside to make more room for her, she stepped into his personal space again and leaned into him with her shoulder. "Why are you in the way, bro, jeez!"

"You're in the way!" He leaned against her in turn. "What are you doing in here? Aren't you supposed to be training Bill?"

"Grunkle Stan's taking the lead right now," Mabel said. "My talent is helping people find true love! But his talent is suckering someone into liking you for a day. So I think he's better suited to the task at hand."

"Oh, yeah." Dipper chuckled wryly. "His advice will get you a first date, but not a second date."

Ford muttered, "His technique hasn't changed since high school, I see."

Dipper found the bottle of prune juice he'd been looking for, pulled it out, and stepped back. Mabel yelped when her counterweight disappeared and stumbled sideways into the fridge door.

As Dipper emptied the juice into a mixing bowl, he said, "I'm not sure about this plan. Even with both you and Stan helping. I know Bill's good at tricking people, but... he's so annoying. And not in a lovable way."

"Don't undersell him!" Mabel said. She'd retrieved a pitcher of Mabel Juice and was dumping a full bottle of sprinkles into it—hardcore romance training required high stamina. "He has the potential to be a dreamboat!"

Ford muttered, "He's a manipulative, murderous monster." He was searching through all the cans they'd moved to the kitchen counter for beans.

"Those don't have to be mutually exclusive," Mabel insisted. "Serial killers get girlfriends. Sometimes after they're arrested!"

"I'mmm not seeing a dreamboat," Dipper said. "More like a shipwreck. I mean, when you were trying to come up with a list of romantic date foods, he suggested blood licked off your date's teeth."

"And he was right!" Mabel said. "Vampires, bro-bro!"

"Okay, but I don't think he was talking about teeth that were still attached to his date's skull!"

"He didn't say they weren't attached," said Mabel, with flagging conviction that suggested she hadn't considered that and was realizing Dipper was probably right.

"And five minutes ago you and Stan told him he should pretend to be a princess, and he told you he'd be great at that because he started an Internet dating service that matches up lonely widows with overseas con artists pretending to be deposed princes."

"Well," Mabel said sheepishly.

"And then he tried to talk you two into investing in a pyramid scheme to fund his dating service."

"But we didn't invest!" Mabel said.

"Only because you looked it up on your phone and discovered he'd made it up!"

"I mean, until then, it sounded romantic!" Mabel flung her hands out in a wide shrug. (Something about the gesture looked strange to Ford.) "Finding a second chance at love with a mysterious foreign criminal with a glamorous false identity? That'd be great if it was real!"

"Mabel, it's a scam," Dipper said exasperatedly.

"And do scam artists not deserve love, too?!" Mabel pounded a fist on the table emphatically. "What about Grunkle Stan! He deserves love! A rich overseas widow would be perfect for him!"

"That's not— The point is, Bill's not romantic!" Dipper said. "This plan isn't going to work!"

Ford set half a dozen bean cans next to Dipper's mixing bowl. "He doesn't need to be romantic," he said. "He only needs to be charismatic. And for all his flaws, he's certainly that." Planets will orbit stars and black holes just the same—and not even realize the difference. "He doesn't have to actually win Agent Powers's heart. He only has to keep his attention for a few hours. By the time Bill stops dazzling Powers long enough for him to see the red flags, we'll have the flash drive." He nodded toward Gompers. "If we get it before the agents return with a warrant, we might not even need Bill to distract him."

Dipper sighed. "Then let's hope Gompers likes prunes."

"Come on! Show a little faith!" Mabel said.

Ford muttered, "The last time I put my faith in Bill..." Dipper gestured emphatically at Ford in agreement.

"Not in Bill! In me! Mark my words, Grunkle Ford—I'll get this Cinderella ready to meet his Prince Charming if I have to summon every mouse in Gravity Falls to help sew his ballgown!"

"Please don't summon the wildlife again," Dipper groaned. "The last time you did that, huge spiders kept appearing in our room for a week."

Mabel's pocket vibrated; she pulled out her phone and gasped. She chugged down the rest of her juice in three sickly sweet gulps and bolted from the room. "Biiill! Your personal style consultant texted back!"

"My who?"

She dragged him out of the living room by the wrist. "Come on!"

Ford watched them run up the stairs, then started searching through their cereal boxes for the high fiber one. Tentatively, he asked, "Mabel doesn't actually think we're trying to get Bill and the agent together, does she?" The Prince Charming comment was concerning.

"I don't know," Dipper sighed. "A few days ago she started talking about trying to get Bill a love life? Maybe she sees this as a practice round."

"Really? Why, did he say he wants to date people?" If he wanted to get out of the shack to emotionally prey on the locals one-on-one without supervision...

"I don't think she's even told him yet. It's part of her project to... reintegrate him into society? She probably thinks the power of love can rehabilitate him." Dipper sighed. "She's setting herself up for disappointment. He's been conning people into thinking he's a good guy for billions of years, right? If being loved could fix him, he'd be an angel by now."

"Instead, he's just gotten better at pretending to be an angel," Ford said ruefully. "I'm inclined to agree with you." He found the cereal he'd been looking for and set it on the table by Dipper. "But then... we let him live, didn't we? Because we all hope we're wrong. I suppose that doesn't make us that different from Mabel."

Dipper shook his head emphatically. "Not me." He dumped one of the cans of beans into the prune juice a little harder than necessary. "I let him live for two reasons: because of Mabel, and because of that prophecy. And he doesn't have to change to fulfill some prophecy to save us—when it comes, he might just be trying to save his own stupid butt, too."

"I suppose so." Right—of course, even if he'd agreed to spare Bill, Dipper still didn't have any real hope for him beyond his usefulness.

Over the past month, Ford hadn't seen anything more sympathetic out of Bill than Dipper had. He wondered at himself for even being willing to consider Bill might change. When had Ford changed enough to consider it? Or was he just more susceptible to Bill's same old tricks?

"You don't remember the whole prophecy yet, do you?" Ford asked. "What if this is what it was about? Saving our family from the government because he's the only person the lead agent finds attractive enough to distract him?"

Dipper pulled a face. "I hope not," he said. "After everything he put us through? He owes us a fight to the death with an interdimensional eldritch god."

"Now that's a sight I'd pay to see."

####

MABEL: Heyyy Paz, can I ask for a small favor. I have a friend that needs a MAJOR MAKEOVER!! 😿 Like the FULL PRINCESS TRANSFORMATION treatment!! Can you help him?

PACIFICA: Can't, I'm suuuper busy today. I have the lunch shift AND grooming day at the ranch.

PACIFICA: Plus, why would I help some total rando? 😒

MABEL: Because it's my friend with the beautiful golden hair.

PACIFICA: asldkfggh

PACIFICA: OK fine come by the ranch after work

PACIFICA: and send me a picture of his skin next to a white paper so I can grab some foundations to try out.

####

Bill took a piece of paper and a marker, wrote "Make me beautiful!" and dotted the I and the exclamation point with hearts, flopped the least sunburned part of his arm next to the paper for Mabel to take a picture, and leaned away to keep his face out of it.

As Mabel snapped a couple pictures, she said, "Okay, before we visit Pacifica, I have to warn you. She can be a liiittle bit mean when it comes to fashion. So don't get mad at her, okay? It's how she shows she cares!"

"No it's not," Bill said.

"No, it's not," Mabel conceded. "But it doesn't mean she doesn't care. That's just... how she relates to other people! By insulting their fashion, style, and body. And family. And finances."

"Don't worry, star girl. I can take it."

"But I mean, she might be really, really, super mean about your looks," Mabel said. "And you cannot curse her or threaten to turn her bones into flutes or do anything Bill-ish like that. Promise me."

"Hey, bone flutes! That sounds like a fun arts and crafts project, right?"

"Bill!"

"Re-lax, it'll be fine," Bill said. "She's just your garden-variety pageant girl with an overly-critical mom who tried to relive her glory years through her daughter! I can handle a teenage ex-beauty queen. I'm an expert on those types."

Skeptically, Mabel said, "Really?" She was slowly coming to realize that, in Bill's opinion, he was the expert on everything.

"Oh yeah. I spent years eyelid deep in the pageant scene."

"You did?" she said, surprised. "How come? Did you try to trick a beauty pageant into building your portal or something like that?"

Bill stared at Mabel.

####

Outside the flat hospital, it was a beautiful, peaceful morning. The air was clear, the unseen sun was shining brightly from some unknown dimension, and some 2D equivalent to a bird was chirping in some 2D equivalent to a tree.

And then the hospital doors crashed open with such force that passing shapes momentarily suspected that someone had set off a bomb.

"—don't give me that look, if you'd hustled your hypotenuse and had your birthday yesterday, we wouldn't be in such a rush! You're just lucky you came out so cute, or—" An exhausted, dull pinkish triangle charged out the doors with a very tiny, squishy yellow triangle in her trembling arm. She turned to shout behind her—"Hurry up! There's only two hours until the Best Baby Pageant and he is not going to miss it!"

—and was followed closely by a horrified blue triangle carrying a hat in one hand and a cane in the other. "But Scalene, the doctors still have to do those tests to check for—"

"They can test him later! If he's got some horrible birth defect, he'll still have it after he's won a trophy!" Without slowing, Scalene turned and held the baby out toward the other triangle. The squishy new shape gawked at him in mild befuddlement. "Look at this kid, Euclid! Most newborn brats look like cranky raisins, but he's less than an hour old and he's already bright-eyed and smooth-sided! He was born with the face of a pageant winner—"

Not looking where she was going, she ran into a tree. The bird flew off in a panic, Scalene lost her balance, and she nearly dropped the baby. Euclid caught him, caught her, and held her steady while she leaned dizzily against the tree. "Lene. You should be on bedrest right now. Maybe we should just, you know, take a moment to process..."

"Process what! We have our little angle. Am I supposed to sit in a hospital bed staring at the afterbirth?!"

While Euclid stared at her in shock, she snatched the child back, pushed him away, and wobbled back upright. "What kind of a lazy mother would I be if I was sleeping instead of making my child a winner! You want him to start off life on the right foot, don't you?"

Defeated, Euclid said, "All right. I'll take care of the... the paperwork. At least bring your cane."

"I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?! You just..." He gestured at her, gestured at the brand-spanking-new baby, gestured at her again, then flung his hands up in defeat. "If you drop our baby, I'm divorcing you."

She sighed huffily. "You're so dramatic." But she snatched the cane out of his hand anyway and stormed away, declaring loudly enough that shapes on the other side of the street turned to stare: "If the mayor doesn't declare my Billy the greatest baby in the whole godforsaken world, I'm grabbing the biggest trophy in the room and bashing his eye in!"

####

Bill shrugged at Mabel. "Sure," he said. "Something like that."

####

Gompers stared down at the bowl set on the floor in front of him.

It contained black beans, broccoli, coffee grounds, fiber-enriched whole-grain cereal, oatmeal, and an avocado and half a sweet potato mashed together into an orange-green mush, all stewing in a prune juice soup.

Gompers looked up.

Dipper and Ford were crouched across from him, watching expectantly. 

Gompers bleated balefully at them.

"Go on!" Ford nudged the bowl closer. "It's good for you."

Gompers knew a lie when he heard one. He turned his nose up at the mix.

"I don't get it," Dipper said. "He eats everything. What's wrong with this stuff?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Maybe it's the broccoli?" 

Ford gave him a quizzical look. "Why broccoli?"

Dipper shrugged. "I don't like broccoli, I don't know why he would."

"Hmm." Mystified, Ford propped his chin in his hand and stared into Gompers's eyes. Gompers stared back. Gompers stared into his soul. Gompers didn't blink.

Ford was dragged from this session of nonconsensual soul-searching by the sound of footsteps and Mabel's voice drifting down the stairs: "Listen, you know I love your sense of fashion! All I'm saying is everyone loves kittens, but snakes? That's a pretty niche fashion market! You're not gonna get a lot of takers."

"No, hey, hear me out," Bill said. "I listened to your professional matchmaker advice, now you've got to listen to my professional heartbreaker advice. You'll thank me for this one day! This is my number one romance tip: if you wanna impress a date, strap cobras to your arms and call yourself 'Johnny Cobra-Arms.' It works every time. Guaranteed."

(Dipper snorted.)

"Whaaat? No way," Mabel said. "Seriously, what?"

"It's true! I workshopped this! I've experimented across parallel timelines! It works."

"Quit messing with me, Bill."

"You think I would ever mislead you? No. Picture this." As the pair turned the corner on the stairs, Bill was spreading his hands in front of himself as though gesturing to the scene he wanted Mabel to imagine. "You see a guy, maybe a year older than you, kinda cute but nothing to write home about, maybe a 6/10. Got him in your mind's eye?"

A look of intense concentration crossed Mabel's face as she engaged her Imagination. "Yeah?"

"Okay, now imagine he—" Bill reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around. "Where are my shoes." He raised his voice, "Who moved my fisshoes! I left them right— oh, there they are." He disappeared into the living room. "Imagine your 6/10 has two big snakes wrapped around his arms. And he catches your eye from across the club, comes up to you, and says..." Bill's voice dropped to a pitch that was nearly in the range of an average adult human male, "'Hey. Name's Johnny Cobra-Arms. What's yours?'"

Mabel thought about it. Her eyes slowly widened in amazement. "Oh my god, it would totally work on me."

Bill re-emerged into the entryway, fish shoes donned. "See?" 

"It made him hot! What the heck, how did that happen!"

"See?! It works every time!" He shouted toward the kitchen, "Hey, we're leaving for Alpaca's! I'm taking the car!"

"No you're not," Ford said.

Bill spread his hands in a shrug. "Worth a shot!" He grabbed his umbrella and the magic friendship bracelets from the coat rack and waited for Mabel to open the door. "See, it's the best possible first impression. It shows he's got a sense of humor, he's quirky, he's a little bit dangerous, he's got a great sense of fashion, he's a world traveler, he's good with animals..." The door swung shut behind them. 

The way Bill had shrugged stuck in Ford's mind. 

In his true form, Bill didn't have shoulders. His arms extended out of his sides like the trunks of saplings extending from the surface of flood waters, and they glided around his perimeter in a way that defied conventional physical biology. No joints. 

When he shrugged in his human body, sometimes he'd bob his shoulders up and down in a deliberate mimicry of how humans performed the gesture; and lately, as Bill got used to moving his new body, Ford had seen him sluggishly raise a shoulder when he was too exhausted to gesture more expressively. But most of the time, he shrugged like he still didn't have shoulders. He'd spread his arms, bend his elbows, usually forming a W shape but sometimes when he was particularly emphatic forming a shape like football goalposts, and if he really wanted to make his meaning clear he'd twitch his upturned palms up the way a human would twitch their shoulders.

He did it all the time. He'd done it just now. The gesture was so natural on Bill that Ford had never realized how unnaturalit was on a human—until he'd seen Mabel make the exact same gesture earlier.

She was copying Bill's body language. He wondered if she knew.

He'd have to keep an eye on that.

"Hope Agent Powers is into snakes," Dipper muttered.

Ford laughed—then wondered whether someone pulling the Johnny Cobra-Arms trick would've worked on him. If by now nothing had made him take an interest in a basic, garden-variety human being, he doubted anything could... but, admittedly, he'd at least consider hanging out with Johnny. He sounded like an intriguing character. "If that's the worst thing Bill subjects him to, he'll be getting off light."

With a twinge of guilt, Ford realized just how true that was. Ford was no stranger to having to turn down the volume on his conscience for the greater good—and there were few greater goods than protecting his family—but...

He might not know Powers, but he did know that, whether Bill succeeded in seducing him or not, the man didn't deserve what he was about to be subjected to.

####

(Now that this chapter's finally out, may there be no further delays for a good long while, ugh.

Here's your "what was changed in the wake of TBOB" update: obviously, since we got five whole pages on Bill's beliefs about romance, a lot of that got incorporated into this chapter—the first and last scenes were basically written entirely in response to TBOB.

The scene with Scalene & Euclid, obviously, got their names & descriptions from TBOB & TINAWDC (and yeah, yeah, i'm eventually gonna go back to earlier chapters and edit out Bill's mom being a line so it matches up with canon), and it's obvious what the "best baby pageant" is a reference to (so you can guess whether Bill won)—but Bill being a pageant kid due to his mom was already part of the plans long before TBOB, so I just stuck a couple canon details into the story I was already writing. We were already gonna get into Bill's childhood this chapter & next (as you'll see next week).

Beyond that, most of the chapter was already in its present form before TBOB—up to & including Bill having a list of topics he thinks are acceptable for dates that no rational human would agree with—and all TBOB added was a couple tiny details (like... "mandibles".)

The fact that the list of things that were influenced by TBOB is so much longer than usual is part of the reason this chapter's two whole weeks late lmao.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed, happy new year, and I'm looking forward to (finally) hearing your thoughts on the first fresh chapter of 2025!

[p3achr-ngs]

Lost photographs - Sevika

After going through some boxes, you find a rare item belonging to your girlfriend

( by now we all seen that one fanart of sevika as a kid, for the life of me I cannot find that now that I'm searching for it. But I'll make sure to give credits when I find it again... Also SFW, FLUFF, sorry that I've been lacking)

Edit; found it

While Sevika is out working, it's not unusual for you to be cleaning, organizing, or whatever to keep you busy. So you're going through boxes and throwing stuff that you no longer need away.

You kneel down in front of the open closet, pulling and picking up boxes that you left there. Opening them up and smiling at old memories with photographs, letters, etc. it took a bit to get through most of the boxes. With your keep pile and discard pile separate, you feel a sense of pride knowing you're finally able to part with some old silly stuff.

After a while of putting the stuff that you decide to keep neatly back, you noticed one box all the way in the back.

"oh hello, didn't see you"

This is strange, you don't recall any of these items. Small and damaged stuffed animals.. drawings.. when the hell did you do these?

murmuring as if the box could hear and understand you. So you reached and pulled it out of the closet, sitting it down on the bed. You didn't even see the huge ' SEVIKA'S, DONT TOUCH!' written in bold on the other side before you opened it.

But that's when you pulled out a few pictures and saw it.

Little sevika. Looking all so innocent and adorable.

" oh my goodness.. "

You squeal to yourself. Giggling at how small she was with her cute gap teeth, big ol eyes. You just wanted to squeeze her! Being that cute had to be a crime.

...

You didn't even hear the front door unlocking or even shutting. Not realizing anyone else was in the house until you heard

" babe! I'm home!"

From sevika by the living room.

Quickly, but gently, you put back the photograph and other objects into the box and pushed it to the back of the closet. Shutting the door shut.

Shitshitshit!

You shouldn't be looking at these!! Sevika was very private and hidden about her past! You knew she didn't have it easy, now one did in the under city but still. You just totally accidentally invaded a deep personal and emotional side of her!

You celebrated quietly when you put the stuff away seemingly unnoticed.

" oh uhm! Give me a sec!"

Calling back, realizing your silence was most definitely suspicious to your darling girlfriend.

Smirking, you turned around. Only to freeze, stunned with your blood turning cold.

Sevika in the doorway. Arms crossed, looking unamused at you.

" fuck! Hi babe- didn't uhm.. hear you.."

Fuuuuuuuucccccck.

You were caught. Caught big time. Oh dear lord.

You squeaked out. Most definitely giving a nervous smile. One a dog would make at its owner when it was caught doing something it shouldn't have, and then getting scolded.

"what was that box."

Sevika bore into you. Her sentence is more so testing you, rather than a question. She knew what was in the box. You knew. You were in trouble.

Gulping. You come to terms knowing that it's best to tell the truth. Especially with the look she's giving you now.

" I swear it wasn't on purpose sev!"

You began

" I was going through my boxes, cleaning them out! I thought I was done until I saw one in the very back. So I grabbed it without seeing or reading any of the writing on it. And looked through! That's when I noticed it wasn't mine!"

You told her the truth. Feeling so guilty.

Hearing a deep sigh, and seeing her run her eyes. Sevika walked forward, standing closer to you now and looking down.

" what did you see."

Sevika huffed out..

" nothing much!..well.. I did find this cute picture of little you.."

You murmured.

There was silence. Clearing your throat, you tried to ease the tension.

" I'm sorry. I swear didn't know. "

Sevika did scold you for opening the box up and such, telling you not to do it again. But after a while you two came in terms of her favorite dinner being cooked alongside her favorite dessert.. of course you pampered her with kisses too.

But really, in the end. You're not sorry for seeing the adorable picture. Who knew she was once innocent and free.

( this was low-key kinda rushed and free balled, but thank y'all for reading and such!)

[intheorangebedroom]

I love how this gif jumped straight from WhatsApp to my inbox.

Explicit yes below the cut.

When you moved in with him, he plucked the Gladiator VHS out of one of your boxes and asked if you still had a VCR. You shrugged and said no, but you love that movie and that VHS has been with you forever and “have you seen Russell Crowe in his Roman uniform???” with an upward curl of your lips that had him raise an eyebrow.

Okay. Russell Crowe. As a Roman general. He knows only too well -and appreciates- your taste for veterans, but he had no idea it extends to the Roman legion.

First, he thought about finding an old VCR and surprise you with it. So you could play that tape and watch the movie together with What’s-his-face commanding his legion or whatever it is that put that spark in your eyes. Show you he’s not the jealous kind.

But then… well then he gets a far better idea.

He takes him a while to find it, and when he does, he has to drive all the way to the city to the rental place, then back home, where he hides the whole thing in an inconspicuous container under the workbench in his toolshed. Not too close to where he keeps the zip ties because then you’ll surely find it.

It's huge, and cumbersome. It comes with so many accessories, the shoes and the cape and a sword and the frigging golden laurel wreath in a wooden box…

Yovanna and Santi are throwing their annual Halloween party, which will provide him with the perfect occasion to wear it. As the day draws closer, and you keep asking him what he’ll go as, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain a poker face. “I don’t know what you got up your sleeve, Morales, but your Halloween costume better be scary.”

At long last, the 31st is here. He dashes in from work and goes straight to the toolshed. The whole attire is a nightmare to strap on by himself, but after 15 years of his life adjusting tac vests, he manages. 

When he steps into the bedroom, you’re zipping up a dark blue Michael Myers suit. You usually prefer to coordinate your costumes, only this year he decided to play solo, so you had to improvise on your own.

You turn around to the sound of his footsteps on the carpet just in time to watch him walk through the threshold, clad head to toe as a Roman general. 

And oh! he’s a mighty vision. His silhouette looks twice as massive. The chest armor, adorned with two winged chimeras, emphasizes his impossible breadth. His shoulders fill up the entire door frame. A white cape, embroidered with threads of gold, is flowing behind him, and on his plush lips, a devastatingly smug smile, and you forget how to breathe. Your ribcage caves in on a breathless gasp. Your eyes grow wide and your mouth falls open.

It's not... It's not the grime and crimson of battle. It's the white and gold of triumph. It’s as though all the light in the room emanates from him. Like he is made of it. Made of gold. And his hair, oh his hair, underneath that golden crown, curls in every direction, like that bust of Agrippa you once fell in love with in the Louvre.

He is magnificent.

And that son of a bitch knows it.

“You son of a bitch…” you whisper.

His grin stretches, revealing his dimple. And he fucking chuckles.

You briefly consider texting Yovanna to cancel. Bail out on your favourite evening of the year, but then you think different. You're going to go to that party and walk into their house with that man of pure golden light on your arm. Parade him all night. And then, you’re going to go home with him and ride him into next year.

When you get there, you are rewarded by the attendees' collective gasp upon his entrance. You’re probably hovering 10 centimeters above the floor with sheer pride. Yovanna shoots you a “good for you, girl!” look you have no trouble interpreting.

You spend the entire party watching him with a coveting gaze, hiding behind your mask. You might die, from want and anticipation and also dehydration with how hot and sweaty you get, with the size of his arms, and his naked legs on display, thick and solid and strong in just the right proportions. He looks so good it's obscene, and from across the room, he makes sure you're looking at him. That grin hasn't left his gorgeous face. You know he can see through your mask, through your thoughts, through your need.

On the drive home, both of you are silent. There's too much tension, it's crackling and sizzling like butter on a pan, and you zip your combination down to your waist to free the upper half of your body from the dense cotton material. With a side glance, you catch the working of his pebbled throat, confirming he’s registered how snugly your black tank top hugs your breasts. 

You are wet all over. Saliva pools into your mouth at the sight of his freckled skin, the rippling muscles of his exposed forearms and his thick fingers curled around the wheel.

You don’t even make it to the bedroom.

As soon as you get home, you step in front of him and brace both hands on his massive chest. The rigid armor feels so real, and you are reminded, once more, of the fabric of him. Of what his life has been. Of what he's done and seen. The battles he’s fought, the wounds he survived. And the way he chose love to redeem all his sins.

A warrior. A lover. Your man.

Quietly, you undress with trembling hands under his trained gaze. The dark pool of his eyes glimmers in the semi-darkness, in the feeble glow from the table lamp that catches at each and every golden detail of his uniform.

With a light touch, you back him up into the armchair. When he sits down in it, it looks like Caesar's throne. 

And then, you kneel before him, on the rough carpet, between his spread legs, hands splayed around his calves, skimming up to rest over his thighs. Feverish palms to feverish skin.

His tongue peeks slowly between his parted mouth to lick at his plush bottom lip, and you clench, sticky slick leaking down into your ruined underwear as you bunch the white toga in your fists and push it back.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice a quiet rasp.

“Yea,” he husks, bucking his hips forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his large hand a loose curl around your jaw as he guides your face closer to what has you begging.

Brushing your cheek against his thigh, you nuzzle the bulge of his boxer briefs, and the heady scent of his sex makes you dizzy. He’s hard when you pull him out, hard and warm and throbbing in the palm of your hand, and his heavy breathing fills your ears. Pursing your lips around the fat tip of him, you taste his want. The tangy flavour travels down to your core and you squirm wantonly at his feet, eyes fluttering shut at the heavy glide of his cock over your tongue. 

Carding his fingers through your hair, his hand wrapped on your nape, he draws you in gently, down to his base, inch by inch, and you focus on what he’s giving you, on the impossible size of him, eyes flickering open to lock onto his, as he watches you take him in. Your fingers burrow into the thick of his thighs, nails digging in, and he thumbs away a stray tear from the round of your cheek as you keep him there, pulsating hot and heavy inside your throat until you can’t breathe. 

When you pull away, heaving chest and teary eyes, with a thread of saliva bowing down from your mouth to his cock, he bends forward in a creak of leather, to grab at your waist and motion you up. You moan in complaint, please Frankie please, jolting at the cold touch of his golden cuff on your skin.

“Shhh, c’mere,” he husks.

You stand up ruefully but docilely between his legs, and you might be crying, looking down at him, because it rips through your chest, it tears your bleeding heart apart, the timeless beauty of him. The reassuring breadth of his solid frame, the fathomless depth of his dark eyes, the pensive crease in his brow. His perfect features framed underneath the wreath of laurel. The softness of his touch, the restraint on his strength, when he slides your panties down carefully.

You cup his face between your hands to make sure this man is real, scraping your nails through the scruff of his beard, thumbs resting over the bare patches of his sharp jaw. 

He runs a thick digit through your soaking folds and your whole body shivers, knees buckling, you’d crumple on the floor if it wasn’t for his firm hold on your hip. 

“So? Do you like the costume?” he asks softly, teasing your entrance with his middle finger, and you laugh through your tears. 

His grin falls as he leans forward with a frown, rustling fabric and creaking leather, to press his forehead into your belly, chin pushing at the apex of your thighs, tongue darting to lick a broad stripe across your folds. His primal grunt vibrates along your spine and down your limbs, so fucking sweet, baby. 

The sharp edges of his golden crown bite into your palm when you thread your fingers through his curls. 

“C’mere,” he beckons, drawing you in, “come sit on it.”

His large hand skims down along your smooth skin and curls at the back of your leg, sitting you in a straddle over his lap. The armchair is large, but he’s larger yet, and even more so with the cape and the chest plate and the leather pteruge, and it’s a fumble to find a good position. 

He scoots forward over the seat but your knees knock uncomfortably into the armrest, and he huffs in frustration. You tilt up his face and realise you haven’t even kissed him yet, too caught up in his glorious beauty. 

“Francisco,” you breathe out, and he stills. 

You lower your mouth to his, tongue gliding over the soft cushion of his lips, and he opens up, kissing you back full and deep, your tongues entwined and swirling languidly. His hands find the plump of your cheeks, spreading you for him.

When he breaks the kiss, it's with a rushed grumble of “let me take this fucking thing off,” but you're already sinking down onto his length with a pained moan, furrowed brow and eyes clenched shut at the blinding stretch, fluttering walls and quivering chest.

You settle there, the coarse hair at his base grazing your swollen clit, his warm shuddering breath fanning your face. You feel him throb at the center of you, and you cling on to him, to his cape, forehead to forehead, the cool surface of his armor pressed to your peaked breasts.

“Keep it on, Frankie, please. I want to know what it feels like to fuck a god.”

—

HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY, MY LOVE 🧡

[rottenherbs]

Just A Squib (pt.6)

Pairing: F.W x Squib! Reader Summary: What happened the night you of the wedding? What was that package? Who was it from….. W/C: 1.3k A/N: welpppppp. Big information chapter! [masterlist] Much love, Saige

You watched Fred leave around the corner, his fiery red hair just out of sight. You stood in place almost star struck at the interaction. You couldn’t move for a moment, just recounting and replaying everything that just happened. He wasn't a figment of your imagination, the drawing was in fact his, and his smile made you feel something.

It wasn't until your name was called that you were pulled from your daze. You blinked a couple times, bringing you back to reality. Turning on your heel, you walked to the front counter and collected your coffee. Looking around again, you found a small spot in the back corner and made yourself comfortable, placing your coffee and gift in front of you.

“This is insane” You thought to yourself. None of it made sense, but somehow you felt more sure that it was for you, and perhaps from him. You shook your head in disbelief, taking a deep breath in, unwrapping the box slowly. You sighed, realizing that it was an unmarked box on the inside.

Chuckling lightly, you lifted and tipped the box on its side near your ear, listening for a clue. A dull thud as the item hit the sides, it rolled around in the box as you maneuvered it around. Setting it back down, you looked around as if you were doing something wrong. The sound of the roaring conversations in the coffee shop eased your stress slightly. No one was watching you.

You slowly lifted the corner of the box, opening it away from your gaze. Tipping it slightly into your hand, a small golden ball rolled out. The metal was cold in your palm, feeling a small pattern indented around the orb. It was beautiful, but what was it? Rotating it around in your hand you noticed an engravement.

I Open at the Close

What could that mean?

——————————-

Fred turned and walked out of the coffee shop, his hands tucked tightly into his coat pockets. He did not want to be there when you opened it, his heart already racing at the interaction.

He was dumbfounded. You looked exactly how he last saw you. He tried to push the memories down, the pain of leaving you alone in a new place. He still had trouble forgiving himself.

———

His arms were around your shoulders holding you up as you laid in the car. Remus made the call to drive you all to the muggle hospital. Molly protested but where else could you go? To be cared for?

It wasn't Fred's idea to leave you in London, but it was the easiest way to keep an eye on you in such a busy city. He could hide amongst the crowds, just another body passing by.

He didn’t have the heart to do this alone, and the family knew that. You were under a simple sleeping spell, your body limp in his arms. Arthur was in the passenger seat trying his best to give directions to Remus, the two of you tucked in the back. Fred hated that you had no clue who he was anymore, or any part of magic in your life. You were stripped of your found family - now all alone in your own mind. Tears fell down Fred's face the entire ride, his hands lightly combing your hair. The start of the day was so bright and beautiful, how could he have thought this was how it was truly your last day together.

You were taken out of your sleeping spell just as you all arrived at the hospital. Terrified that you would lash out again at the sight of any of them, Arthur took your arm and guided you to a chair near the front desk quickly and left. They had only minutes before you were fully conscious.

It felt like abandoning a child. You were alone. Unknowing. You had no family, no parents, no friends. You had to fully start over.

Arthur waited for a moment from around a corner, watching you stand slowly. Your balance was terribly off center, falling to your knees. A nurse ran and grabbed you quickly

. Fred cried, his hands covering your face. Arthur left, he was satisfied that you were in good hands but hurt by seeing how helpless you were. You were like another child to him, his second daughter.

——-

The gift wasn’t Fred’s idea but Harry’s. Periodically each member of the Weasley family would check on you, either shopping at your place of work or seeing you on the street. They kept you safe secretly. As much as Fred missed you, your brother mourned you like you were dead. He shut himself away for weeks, only coming out periodically, the sight of Fred only made him weep more. Harry understood that you needed to be separated from him; the danger he engulfed those around him in. The pain was guttural, he lost weight, he lost his sense of reality.

Harry knew his snitch was inconspicuous, yet a physical manifestation of himself. A touch of your past life, a piece of him. He begged Fred for weeks to get it to you, but no one knew how to do it safely, the risk of bumping into you again was too risky.

They waited. The war came, lives were lost, and they kept waiting. The magical world had to be rebuilt and it took years. Harry decided after all the torment, he’d make a trip to London to deliver it himself. He wrapped it in cardstock, the package is small and discrete yet hopefully intriguing enough for you to open it.

Secretly Harry loved London. He felt like he could just be a person, not just Harry Potter but a stranger. Everywhere he would go ever since his youth he was a spectacle. It didn’t change much after the war either. But when he walked down the busy streets he could imagine a life where he was just a muggle, just a person. He relished in it.

Walking up to your apartment building he looked around for a second. He didn’t necessarily think this far. How would he get in? He could break in of course, but it was too busy, too populated. He checked over his shoulder again uneasy at what he was attempting to do.

“Alohomora” He whispered, his wand tucked within his sleeve. The door clicked successfully allowing Harry to enter. He opened it quickly, surprised by the lobby. Beautiful and ornate, several elevators operating to his left. It could be mistaken as a luxury hotel. But now that he was in, he didn’t know which apartment was yours. The building was tall, probably at least 10 stories high; any door could be yours.

He turned around looking for any clues. He tried to think on his feet, not to look too out of place.

Spotting the mail boxes, he walked over, searching for his last name.

Relief washed over him. There it was, third floor, 109.

Harry took a quick look at his watch before leaving, confident that you would be at work and out of the building.

Ascending the stairs he imagined how you lived in this building, much more modern than the old Dursley’s house. Flower vases strewn on little columns as he walked the halls, plain paintings, unmoving, yet beautiful. It was your own little castle and the thought made him smile.

He soon arrived at your door; it felt like the world stood still.

“She lives here. Alone.” He thought to himself. He wished to go inside, look around at the little life you made for yourself, but he hated the idea of disrespecting your privacy like that. Harry took a deep breath, setting the box down to the side out of the way. He rubbed his thumb over the top where a small “HBD” was written sloppily on top, a small addition from Fred.

Deep down Harry didn’t think it would be right to give you back your memories, a hopeless endeavor, you were gone to the Wizarding world all together. But Fred kept his hopes up, brightly optimistic that the right time would come, and that you would come home.

Maybe starting with this small package.

(next part)

[harunayuuka2060]

Che'nya: Nya-hoo~!

MC: ...

MC: Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka.

Che'nya: ...

Che'nya: You remembered my full name, nya?

MC: *smiles* Of course. I won't forget the person who refused to return my mask.

Che'nya: ...

Che'nya: It was just a harmless prank, nya... I'm here to return it now.

MC: Thank you-

Che'nya: Or not. I think you look really cute~.

MC: ...

MC: I'm in the middle of working now, so I won't be participating in your harmless prank.

MC: And I need to serve my patrons. Without my mask, I will not be able to work efficiently.

Che'nya: But that's not what I see here, nya~. *smiles* I think your customers like you a lot~.

MC: ...

MC: Whether they're not bothered with my face or not, I prefer not to draw attention.

Che'nya: I still don't see that as a reason~. *grins*

MC: ...

MC: *doesn't want to deal with him and walks away*

Che'nya: Nya? I'm a new customer nya! *runs after them*

Che'nya: *got spiked with a catnip* *is on the floor, playing with a beach ball*

MC: ...

The co-worker: Looks like you will have to drag that home.

The customer: *who just wanted to see if the catnip would work* I'm really sorry...

MC: No, it's fine. Alchemi-

Che'nya: My name is Che'nyaaaaaaa~.

MC: ...Che'nya, sir. I will be taking you home. *proceeds to pick him up*

Che'nya: Ooh~ :3

MC: ...

The co-worker: He's bonito.

MC: ...

MC: He's annoying.

Neige: Eh? Che'nya was here a few moments ago?

The co-worker: Yes. One of our patrons gave him a catnip, and you know the rest.

Neige: Oh dear.

Vil: So MC isn't here now. Hmm, I see. No reason for me to be here then. *stood up*

Neige: Wait, Vil! Didn't you buy a new mask for them? Why not leave it here to the staff?

Vil: No. I will personally hand it to them.

Vil: *just as he is about to leave*

Neige: *receives a call from MC*

Neige: MC?

MC: Neige...

Neige: You sound tired. Are you alright?

MC: *sigh* Please tell me Che'nya's address. He has been leading me to every box factory in the city.

Che'nya: But a caaaaat~ lives in a boooooox~!

Neige: Are you carrying him?

MC: Yes. Since he said that he gets carsick.

Che'nya: *purrs*

Neige: *chuckles* I'll send you his address. Be patient with him, MC.

MC: Hm. Thank you, Neige. *hangs up*

Vil: Looks like your friend is giving them too much trouble.

Neige: *chuckles* I think that's just Che'nya's way to get to know MC better.

Vil: And why would he do that? *raised an eyebrow*

Neige: Che'nya wants to be friends with them.

Vil: ...

Vil: Friends, huh.

MC: *finally arrived to where Che'nya is living*

MC: *has put Che'nya inside a big box because that's what he wanted*

Che'nya: :3

MC: ...

MC: I'll cook you some dinner and then I'll leave.

Che'nya: You're going to abandon me, nya? :3

MC: ...

MC: Yes.

Che'nya: Meanie~ MeaniemeaniemeanieMEANIE!

MC: ...

MC: *closes the box then proceeds to go to his kitchen*

Che'nya: MEOWWWWWWW!!!!!

MC: ...

MC: I should ignore him.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tattoos II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: Mamí has pens now

You break into the box of Mamí's skin pens that night.

It was very fun to draw all over her arms like how she was drawing over Tia Alexia's. The little pictures on her arms are very fun and Mamí's even got your name written there too because she loves you so much.

Mamí always says that you're a little artist because all of your artwork gets hung up on the fridge at home. When you draw, Mamí says that it's abstract because you always tell her that you like to draw your feelings and Mamí says that's a very good habit to have for an artist.

You think Mamí's an artist too but a different kind of artist to you. She does art on people's bodies instead of on a canvas. It must be fun for her, you think, which is why you're pressing the pen to your own skin to see if it's fun for you too.

Mamí is outside the hotel room talking to Tia Patri and Pina while Mumma is in the bathroom, on an adult call with her parents.

That gives you enough time to grab the pens and start drawing on yourself.

They're a little ticklish but you mix a few of the colours together to reflect your feelings and try to draw a picture of Bagheera too.

"Oh, teeny," Mamí chuckles when she comes back into the room," Did you get into my pens again?"

It's a fairly adorable sight. You're sitting on the floor with your tongue poking out of your mouth as you run the yellow pen up and down your arm as Mapi catches sight of a black blob that was clearly your impression of Bagheera.

"Like you," You grunt as you drop the pen and reach for another one.

Mapi intercepts you before you can, pulling you into her lap and reaching down to put all the caps back onto the pens again. "Like me? Like my tattoos?"

You nod, trying to reach for the pens again.

"How about I do them?" Mapi asks," And then we can compare styles?"

You nod at that too, suddenly excited. At home, Mamí likes to sit with you at the kitchen table and draw together before swapping pictures.

The pens are still ticklish even though Mamí's using them and it brings a big smile to your face as the nibs run over your skin.

Mumma comes back out through the bathroom, shaking her head in amusement at her phone. She looks up at you and Mamí and her smile gets even wider.

"Look at you!" She laughs.

"Like Mamí!" You say proudly, looking down at your arms and then back at Mumma again.

"I can see that. You're just like your Mamí."

That makes you feel very good and the sunshine yellow you already put on your arm reflects that.

"That washes off, right?" Mumma asks Mamí, giving her one of the looks that she gives her when she forgets to put your clothes in the laundry after a bath," And it's not going to stain?"

"It definitely washes off," Mamí says, switching colours to add the finishing touches.

"And the staining?"

Mamí stays silent for a little bit. "Only a little? It's barely even noticeable!"

Mumma sighs, massaging her temples like she did that time Tia Patri and Pina babysat you and she came home to them passed out asleep on the floor and the kitchen covered in flour.

"If anyone makes reference to it tomorrow," Mumma says in a tone that means she's being very serious," Then you're in trouble."

You frown. "Me?"

Mamí laughs. "No, teeny, your Mumma means me."

You think for a moment before smiling. "Okay!"

Mumma starts laughing at the offended look on Mamí's face and you give her a toothy grin in answer as she shakes her head in disbelief and puts the pens back on your arm.

Mamí works away for a few more minutes before putting the lid back on the pen.

"All done," She says to you.

"All done?"

"All done."

You look away from the video Mumma's showing you on her phone to look down at your arm. You pull at the skin a little bit to see all of it before you crash into a hug with Mamí.

"Mumma! Mumma!" You say excitedly," Look! Look! Like Mamí!"

"Wow!" Mumma says," You're exactly like your Mamí! Should we take a picture?"

You nod. "Picture! Picture!" You tense your arm like how Mamí does when she wants to show off and beam at the camera.

"And how about one with Mamí too? Because you both look so similar."

"Mamí! Mamí! Picture time!"

Mamí kneels down next to you, flexing too as she smiles at the camera.

"Send me that," She says to Mumma," I think that'll have to be my new home screen."

[bigfan-fanfic]

Your Home (Male!Reader x Steve Rogers)

Something nice and sweet with sugar daddy Steve taking care of bf after his family kinda turned their backs on him.

You knew you had expected Steve to return without incident, but relief still practically chokes you when he does, unharmed and bringing in a few boxes of your stuff.

"Steve!" You almost whimper, throwing your arms around his neck.

He easily places an arm around you, lowering his head to gently hold you with all of him he can.

The moment you let him know that your parents kicked you out, he immediately came to pick you up, his motorcycle roaring down your street.

He took you to his place and immediately assured you that you would stay there.

"Steve, I can't-"

"Doll, you're not staying on the street." he had said, and that was that.

They never really cared much, but it's still a shock to think they'd kick you out. Steve had wangled a list of your stuff out from you before he left to retrieve it.

And now he's back, and Bucky's bringing in a few boxes.

Steve smiles. "Baby, are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. I just... it's all so much at once, you know?"

"Of course. But I want you to know that I won't leave you in the lurch. Honestly, I was going to ask you to move in anyway, so maybe... blessing in disguise?"

You chuckle softly at his apologetic smile before he draws you into another kiss.

"Did you have any trouble?"

"No." Steve answers softly. "Everything went smoothly, don't you worry."

Bucky returns. "I went ahead and put the boxes in the master bedroom."

Steve looks at you. "Is that okay? I don't mean to pressure you. We can set up a-"

"That's just fine." You whisper, nuzzling against his strong chest.

"Thanks, Buck. Check in tomorrow, maybe? Just make sure Y/N's doing well."

"Will do."

When Bucky leaves, it sort of hits you that this is your home now. That you're with your boyfriend, who likes to buy you things and spoil you, has given you his home to share with him.

You hold him even more tightly.

"How about I get us some vittles, eh, Doll?" he rubs your back. "Go ahead and set the table, maybe get some of your things in order in our room."

You blush and smile - Steve's bedroom is familiar to you - you have a desk in the study, and a lot of your stuff is already here. You were kinda halfway moved in anyway.

He's cooking when you make it back into the kitchen, and it's clear he's doing a special breakfast for dinner thing to cheer you up.

"I'm really grateful for this, Steve. You don't have to-"

"Y/N." He chuckles. "I'm fully aware that I don't have to take you in, or make you breakfast, or do whatever it is I do. But I want to. I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy. I love you."

You can't stop grinning - this is the first time either of you have said the L word.

"I... I love you too."

He turns and places a kiss on your forehead. "I wish it was under better circumstances, but... welcome home."

There's such love and admiration in his voice, but also something more.

Determination.

He's determined to make your life better, and to love you.

And you know what?

For once, you don't feel like a burden for it.

Maybe, just maybe, you deserve his love.

And he deserves yours.