#I’m a court jester as always

[mazzystar24]

Had the crackiest crack thought I ever cracked:

So you know how Ryan mentioned something about like abuela having a secret and Eddie finding it out this season?

And how she’s going to be at the madney wedding apparently?

Abuela sees bucktommy kiss, calls Eddie out in thinly veiled way and then also turns out abuela is bisexual😌

[finalhaunts]

-

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[yeonjuns-beanie]

As It Was

warnings: 18+, weed usage, smut, unprotected sex, soulmate au(kind of), little hatefuckin before real fucking, reader is a brat, mentions of suicide, oral(f receiving, logan is an EATER), claws come out when he…, little bit of primal play, breeding kink, daddy kink, implied age gap cuz i think it’s hot, im prolly gonna write him like an animal, think that’s it!! LOL

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: after saving his world from extinction, wade brings home a wolverine. you feel a tether to him but can't quite figure out what it is, but logan does. as the days go by you slowly chip away at the wall between you two and things slowly return to as it was.

word count: 4.5k

title is inspired by the hozier song of the same name....

It’s been three months now and you still couldn’t figure out the pull you felt toward Logan. The moment Wade brought him through the door, Mary Puppins in hand, you felt a tie to him. Now, it was as if the Red String of Fate was punishing you for not remembering your connection with him. It was haunting, aggravating, and pushing you towards sexual frustration because no matter how much you tried to remember, your thoughts would instantly become clouded with your attraction to him. He was brooding, grumpy, and humorous when he wanted to. The stoic exterior of him was just that, a shell. You just weren’t quite sure how to crack his nut yet.

You were sat in the main room of the apartment grinding up some green to pack a morning bowl. As you were getting ready to fill the glass you heard Wade’s voice echo through the apartment.

“You always grind Aunt Mary so hard. Don’t you think she would like to be loved tenderly, sugarbear?”

“And the last time I gave you the grinder there might as well have been a whole nug in the bowl. You damn near burned half my stash.”

“You’d think living with three addicts would be fun, but it’s more like babysitting toddlers fighting to see who can ruin my day first. Spoiler: it’s everyone.”

You chuckled, slotting the bowl into the joint of the bong, and pointed at Wade with it.

“You wanna hit this or not?”

“‘Course I do. How could I pass up a wake n bake with my girl?”

Wade jogged over to you, plopping dramatically on the seat next to you. Rolling your eyes, you took the first hit letting Wade finish off the remaining smoke in the shaft. Exhaling you spoke while the smoke billowed out of your mouth.

“Wade, baby, I love you, but I’m not your girl. What about Nessa?”

Before he spoke, he had his coughing fit like clockwork. Every time, no matter the method, resulted in a cough so bad he looked like a drooling dog. It was free entertainment but you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud because every time you did, it made it worse.

You couldn’t hold it

It was like watching a court jester and when Wade finally caught his breath he was staring off at a wall in the apartment mindlessly reaching for the glass. When his hand was left fondling the air reaching nothing, you let your laugh echo through the apartment.

“You sure you want another one?”

“Just gimme the weed, gorgeous. And to answer your question. Vanessa and I are on a break of sorts, but I’m wounded that I now have lost you too. It’s cause I brought Peanut here isn’t it?”

Wade was feigning heartbreak, just busting your balls in an effort to see if you’d crack. Your relationship was always like this and that was probably why you two got along so well. Nothing was ever too serious and yet still completely vulnerable. As wild as he was, Wade was a safe space for you and for some reason this morning, you felt like sharing.

“Perhaps.”

His head whipped so fast you thought it’d fly off. Coupled with his dramatic gasp and chest grab you nearly regretted your admission.

“I knew it!”

“Will you keep it down, it’s not that serious.”

“Au contraire. This is probably the most serious thing since Blind Al ran out of Peruvian marching powder.”

Rolling your eyes, you swallowed your pride as you knew Wade wouldn’t let it go until you told him every detail possible. As much as you pretended you hated divulging this information, it was kinda nice to let out to somebody. You’d been wrestling with so many feelings since Wade brought Logan to stay with you guys and the weight of it was becoming painful.

“Well, he’s hot obviously.”

“Tell me something more interesting, we all disrespectfully gawk at the honey badger.” Wade quipped.

“The problem is I feel this weird attachment to him. Like I’ve known him before. Maybe we met before they tried their best to wipe my memory, but I can’t shake this one. I’m drawn to him but he won’t let anyone get close enough to figure that out.”

You had your own run-in with the TVA a few years ago and instead of dumping you into the void, they were nice enough to plop you in Earth-10005. You were grateful considering the stories of this barren garbage heap that Wade and Logan told you about but you couldn’t remember why they sent you here in the first place.

You had no real memory of your life before this or what you did that fucked you up so badly. It always haunted you. Maybe you were a murderer. A merciless killer and that’s why they snagged you. A similar fate to Wade’s but they decided somewhere that you weren’t equipped for the job and the TVA orphaned you to another universe.

You weren’t complaining, you loved the life that you had now you just wanted to remember the rest of you. You were roaming this universe, a husk of your former self and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you, it did. It kept you up at night. Until Logan walked through the apartment door.

Slowly, things started to reveal themselves to you but only in a dream. You were forced to piece together your life with the shattered fragments of what your dreamscape gave you to work with. You’d wake up from the most vivid dreams only to remember one instance where you were walking down a street, the sky pouring rain in a godly attempt to cleanse you. Your hands were always coated in crimson when you looked down.

It’d come in flashes and it’d end just as fast. You were patient with yourself but a lot of times you tried to drown out the feeling with various substances. Weed being your vice of choice as alcohol made you suffer. Making you wish that an attempt of self-mutilation or the bittersweet release of dancing with death while your wrists stained the floor garnet succeeded.

They never did.

So you tried your best to make peace with your life and you were doing alright until Logan showed up. Now the universe was mocking you. Testing to see if you’d slip up and forget everything you learned.

“I think he’d like to figure you out, y/n. Do with that what you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wade shrugged his shoulders handing you the bong back. As he stood up you took one last hit and left the glass piece on the table. As you exhaled, Logan’s voice pierced through the silence.

“Jesus. D’ya have to stink up the apartment with that shit? Can’t go outside?”

“Easy, peanut. The art of the wake n bake is sacred. Plus, talk to the gardener if you have requests to make, not me.”

Wade pointed to you as he wandered off into the kitchen and you reached for the bong motioning it to Logan.

“Wanna hit?”

Logan hit you with a short ‘no’ and it almost hurt your feelings. Your gaze flicked over to Wade who was mouthing to you something you couldn’t quite make out but he was pointing to Logan while doing it. Your brain spazzed for a moment before coming up with a response as you stood.

“You want coffee or something, Lo?”

“Sure, kid.”

You walked into the kitchen with Wade and started whispering to him.

“What the fuck? Of course, he comes out while I’m blowing up the house.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, he doesn’t seem upset.”

You turned around trying your best not to look suspicious.

“Yes, the fuck he does. I’m gonna fuck this up before I even get the chance to start-”

“-You two morons know I can hear you, right?”

You hung your head in defeat finishing up the two cups before setting one in front of Logan and holding yours while you stood. The air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It just felt like everyone needed to get something off their chest and didn’t know how to start. Before you opened your mouth to speak, Wade’s voice cut you off while he sent a text message.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you lovebirds to it. I’ve got a pegging date.”

Again. Mocking you. The universe seemed to just have it out for you and apparently, today was the day of honesty. You took a seat across from Logan wondering where to direct the conversation.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“I’m alright kid, not too keen on stoner food in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m still a good cook when I’m cooked. I just wanted to offer.” You paused.

“Also if you have a problem with it, I’ll find a new spot. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No need. Just giving you guys a hard time. We all have something to cope with our shit.”

You nodded knowing he was referencing his drinking habit, or problem if we were feeling honest. You left your coffee cup on the table and stood up, wanting to Irish goodbye in your own home. But you didn’t want to add any more bricks to this wall even though it felt like the silence was already doing so.

“Well, um. I’m gonna chill out for a bit in my room if you need anything.”

He hummed to let you know he heard you and you walked down the hallway to your bedroom before stopping in your tracks. Something possessed you and you had to get this out. The test was walking away and if you finished that journey into your bedroom and locked the door, nothing would be resolved. Turning on your heel, you walked back into the kitchen and faced Logan.

“Why do you hate me?”

He nearly choked on his coffee, the noise echoing in the cup.

“What?”

You sighed, trying to not feel silly about your admission.

“Why do you hate me? And if you don’t, why do you act like it? It’s so hard to get through to you and it feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.”

“Kid-”

“And stop ‘kid’ing me! If it’s out of endearment it doesn’t feel like it.”

Your heart rate was rising and you could feel your skin getting hot. The months of pent up emotions were finally boiling over and you couldn’t stop it. You needed to know why.

“What is it then, y/n?”

“Why can’t I get through to you? Every time I try, you shut me down by being curt with me and I’m left with the same feeling as before. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you and I can’t even get close to you without you shoving me away like I have a fatal disease. So why, Logan? All I wanna know is why?”

He sighed knowing there was no easy way to escape this.

“Kid–sorry. It’s complicated. I know that feeling. I feel it too, but I know why it’s there and I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

Again?

“What do you mean again?”

Logan sighed and said nothing. Hanging his head in what you thought was shame but most definitely could be avoidance. It frustrated you even more so because why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Here we go again, nothing?! Is it so hard to just say what this is?”

“It’s not that simple, bub.”

You scoffed and turned around to walk to your room. You needed to clear your head because it was more than apparent that a solution would not be provided for you. Logan didn’t have the courage to reveal what he knew so a walk away from him would have to suffice.

“Y/n! Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head since obviously you don’t have the gall to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Slipping your shoes on, you tried to move past Logan but he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“Y/n. Just-”

“I said move, Logan.”

One wall after another you kept hitting, except this one was physically him. He nearly filled up the doorway and his frame was imposing. You tried to figure out how you’d slip past him but you were so heated that you were about to settle for dramatics before he moved his body just enough for you to slip past. You stared at him, looking for something in his eyes to tell you to stay but it just made you more irritated. You walked down the hallway and almost made it to the door before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Do you get a kick out of torturing me or something?”

“Sweetheart, if you just—just sit down and let me say what I need to say.”

“Oh, now you wanna fucking talk. Let go of me. I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened as you struggled against him and you pushed on his chest trying to get him off of you. He was stunned by your actions and so were you but you couldn’t stop. You kept pushing him away from you until he grabbed your upper arms stabilizing you but you still were pressing your hands against his chest. He was calling your name trying to calm you down but you were too lost in your emotions. You thrashed your head up, trying to plead with him silently to let you go even though you knew that was the last thing you wanted.

When your eyes met his, one of his hands cradled the back of your head and before you could register it, his lips were slotted against yours in a moment of desire and exasperation. Bated breath, fury, and sexual confusion fueled the kiss but you’d be a liar to say you didn’t enjoy this feeling. His body flesh against yours, the heat bouncing between the two of you nearly suffocating and it had only been seconds. Logan had you pressed against the wall his hands roaming the curves of your body and his knee slotted itself in between your thighs, completely caging you against him.

He pushed his knee up into the apex of your thighs applying a delicate pressure to your center. You moaned against him, your body rolling your hips into the feeling. His hands were roaming over your body in a frenzy, like if he didn’t touch you fast enough you’d disappear. Your hands wrapped into his hair, pulling on his sandy brown locks as you tried to stabilize yourself into the feeling.

Logan pulled away from you, a string of spit the only thing left connecting you two until it broke and you felt the cold air vaporize the heat on your swollen lips. You were staring at his features, locked in his gaze hoping that if you didn’t break eye contact he’d stay right here. His gruff voice broke the heady silence.

“Since you wanna be a brat and not talk anymore, I have no choice but to show you how I feel, sugar.”

Logan slid his hands down until they were underneath the swell of your ass and told you to jump. As your legs wrapped around his waist, he walked down the hallway to your room. His senses were incredibly heightened at this moment and when he breached the threshold of your room, he was intoxicated by the smell of you swirling the room.

As he laid you down on your bed, your scent wafted off of the sheets with a gentle breeze and he was soon surrounded by a nest of you and your arousal. He prowled over your body, taking you in and memorizing every inch of you, how you were restless against him, and how your lower half mindlessly moved against him in desperate need of some sort of friction.

He uttered a low growl against you as he snaked up to your neck leaving a string of hot kisses against your skin. The scruff of his beard nearly overstimulated you and had you clawing at his skin, frantic in your efforts, soft moans escaped your lips in wordless need of feeling something more.

“Don’t wanna talk but I got you whimpering for me, huh princess?”

“Lo-”

“Shh, baby. I got you.”

Logan bit your ear, pulling at the skin before he tugged at the bottom of your shirt and you lifted your back just enough so that he could slip it off of you. Your upper body was fully exposed to him as your tits pancaked on your chest. As he lowered his face back down to your body, he trailed down your skin with his nose inhaling every last inch of you. The action was so subdued in comparison to the rest of his demeanor that you got completely lost in the feeling.

As his face met your stomach, the scent of your arousal was incredibly inebriating, deluging his mind with salacity. He traced the waistband of your shorts with his nose, encasing his teeth around the elastic piece of fabric before replacing his mouth with his hands as he languidly pulled them down your legs. Tossing them across the room he looked up at you.

“You want this?”

“Please.” You mewled out.

Logan shoved his nose against your panties inhaling your scent before rubbing your bud through the fabric as he came back up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He pulled your panties from your body, your slick stretching as the fabric left your messy lips. The cool air was welcomed but was soon replaced by the warmth of Logan’s mouth against your petals.

He lapped at you like a dog. A wanton primal need taking over his senses. He wanted to be enveloped in you and you in him. In every timeline, he’d claim you and this one was no different. You tangled your hands in his hair, rolling your pussy into his face as he sloppily ate you out. His hands were wrapped around your hips holding you in place as he greedily drank you in.

You could feel the spit dripping down your folds and forming a cool pool of fervour beneath your skin. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy you could feel your orgasm begin to settle in your lower stomach, heat rippling across your skin. Your moans increased in frequency but became more breathy in nature as you came closer to your high.

Logan’s hand snaked up your curves and his fingers teased your nipples, pulling and pinching at the sensitive skin as he felt your body grow more tense with desire. Dragging his calloused hands down your body one last time, he inserted a finger into your wet, libertine cavern and you sucked him in with need. The stretch of him adding a second finger pushing you right to your edge as he curled them inside of you.

“Lo- I’m gonna-”

“I know, sugar. Let it out. Lemme hear you”

He immediately put his tongue back on your clit, and let you ride out your high against his face. Your moans gained volume completely immersed in the pleasure. When the ripples of euphoria finally dwindled, you looked down at Logan and pulled him up to your face so you could kiss him. The tang of your sex was still present on his lips and it ignited something within you.

“You got too many fuckin clothes on, Daddy.”

You were breathless. Lost in a licentious rhapsody as you had him hovering over your body and when Logan paused his movements to look at you, you thought you ruined the moment. He could smell the change in you and spoke before you had the chance to apologize for nothing.

“Say it again.”

He could feel you heartbeat pounding in your chest, arousal returning to the forefront of your mind.

“Wanna see you. Feel all of you, Daddy.”

Your voice was dripping sex, his personal psychedelic. He freed himself from his beater and you palmed his bulge through his sweats. Slipping your hand past the waistband, you stroked his heavy cock.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

You were getting ready to flip your bodies over, but Logan pinned you to the bed his eyes boring through you. You felt so small underneath him, like he could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him. When he spoke he broke you from the trance.

“Another time, sweetheart. This is about showing you how I feel about you since my baby needs me to spell it out for her.”

Slipping out of his sweats his cock was on full display, so heavy that it didn’t have the spring to bounce against his stomach. It hung in front of him, heady and in desperate need to be inside of you. Precum and prurience leaked from his tip. Logan crawled on top of you, the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, coating your slick across his shaft.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You squeezed around nothing, the action not going unnoticed by Logan. You mewled against him, just wanting him to ravish you in every way possible. You wanted to be marked, for everyone to see that you belonged to him but you couldn’t find the words to articulate this feeling while this sexual heat was radiating off of your bodies and numbing your mind.

Logan slowly pushed his tip into your rapt cunt before pulling it out and sliding it against your clit. The withdrawal of pleasure bringing you to your senses.

“I want you to make me yours. Wanna belong to you, Lo.”

You were wanton with need. The desire for him became nearly unbearable and it was all soon resolved as he pushed his cock past your pious walls, defiling you of any innocence you had left. You wanted to be claimed, he’d claim you. Animal instinct took over as he rocked his hips into your cunt, your walls fluttering around him in ardor. Low growls left his throat as he nipped at the skin on your neck, alternating between kissing the marks and swiping them with his tongue. He was marking you, making you his own.

It was like he couldn’t get close enough to you as he thrusted into you. His arms wrapped around your body as you fell limp to the pleasure. You felt another orgasm on the horizon and you tried your best to warn Logan by sinking your nails into his back, leaving red trails of morbid desire to mark him as yours. You didn’t realize the amount of pressure you were putting on his skin, but the groans that left him had that concern pushed to the back of your mind. Your orgasm washed over you and your pussy squeezed so tight around him that you nearly pushed him out of you. You were entranced, drunk on him and his cock, still desperate for more.

It was like he could hear your thoughts because as soon as you thought of a second round, Logan was flipping you on your hands and knees and you arched your back as he rubbed his hand along the small of it, accentuating your arch. His cock filled your sugared walls one more time and as he buried himself to the hilt. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he brought your body flesh against his.

“Gonna fuckin breed you. Never gonna forget you who belong to, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the preemptive squeezing of his cock at the mention of him breeding you. The thought of him filling you with all of him was grossly erotic and Logan took the chance to taunt you.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Want daddy to breed your pretty little pussy?”

You hummed, your eyes lidded as you tried to see him over your shoulder. Sweat was sticking your bodies together and you only noticed how hot it was between the two of you when he pushed your body forward, cool air hitting your back as he began to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. His tip was kissing your cervix and repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you that made you squirm against his body.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his breaths ragged and you could feel your third orgasm of the night creeping on you. Low growls complimented the whimpers that were leaving your mouth and being somewhat muffled by the fabric of your sheets. You couldn’t hold his hips against you to ensure that he stayed inside so you just whimpered out a small ‘inside’ as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over your body.

Logan wasn’t far behind, one hand resting on your hips and his other by your head steadying himself above you. Sinking his teeth into your neck, you cried out in avidity and rapture filled his veins before painting his seed across your walls. You heard a faint schwing and as you opened your eyes, you saw that his claws were extended. As you moved your hips back into him to fuck you through the rest of your high, you accidentally nicked yourself on one of his blades. He hissed against you uttering a strained ‘don’t move’ as the luxuria dissipated in his body.

As he calmed down, his claws retracted back into skin and he gently rolled you over to gaze over your features. He moved a few sweat-stricken pieces of hair off of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, which was such a contrast from before. Pulling out of you he pushed himself off the bed.

“Be right back.”

Returning with a warm towel, he cleaned you up and grabbed a shirt from one of your drawers waiting for you to put it in before sliding next to you in the bed. You curled into him, tracing patterns into his chest. Looking up at him, you felt none of the tension from before in the room and you decided that this would be the time.

“So, what did you mean by ‘again’ earlier?”

Logan sighed but not out of exasperation like it was earlier, it was softer this time.

“In my world, we were together. That’s the pull you feel. But in like so many other areas in that timeline, I fucked up and I lost you. I’d rather have kept you at a distance than not have you at all, but I fucked that up too, now.”

He laughed the last bit out, a touch of humor apparent in his delivery. Sighing, you felt like something could work here between the two of you.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me what happened between your timeline’s me and you, I’ll wait patiently for it. But until then, know that you’re not losing me here. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

You didn’t expect a response from him, nor did you feel like you really needed one. You wanted to relish in this moment between the two of you and soon enough sleep overtook both of your forms.

© yeonjuns-beanie '24

~Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The love, the dark, the light, the flame~

[dilfismz]

gihun fluff and make out sessions please 🙏 i love him ugh

Stargazing

Pairing: Gi-hun x reader

Summary: Gi-hun takes you out on a surprise date, ready to reveal his feelings. Although you've only been together a few months he can't deny the strong feelings he has towards you.

A/N: No timeline is specified, it's ambiguous.

Life with Seong Gi-hun was like a series of unexpected detours—you never knew where he’d take you next, but it was always worth the ride.

You met him on a day when everything had fallen apart. Your job closed unexpectedly. You’d been sitting on a bench in the park, staring blankly at the papers that had to be signed, when a stranger sat beside you.

“Uh, do you want some hotteok?”

You’d blinked at him, startled.

He held up a bag of steaming pancakes, his awkward grin almost as warm as the food itself. “It’s, uh… really good. And you look like you could use something good right now.”

      *. ──── ❍  Δ □ ────*.

That day had changed everything. Seong Gi-hun wasn’t the kind of person you expected to fall for, but his honesty and endless optimism were magnetic. Over the months that followed, he’d become your rock, and somehow, you’d become his.

Tonight, he’d promised you something special. You didn’t know what, but you trusted him enough to go along for the ride.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asked as you walked out of your apartment building, his excitement palpable.

“That depends,” you teased. “What are you planning, exactly?”

He grinned, pulling you toward his car parked at the curb. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

You got in, watching as he fumbled with a map he’d printed out.

“Gi-hun,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Are we going somewhere that’s not on GPS?”

“Exactly!” he said proudly. “It’s a secret spot. You’re going to love it.”

The drive was longer than you expected, the city lights giving way to quieter suburbs and eventually open countryside. Gi-hun filled the silence with stories about his childhood and terrible attempts at singing along to the radio.

“Okay, close your eyes,” he said as the car slowed to a stop.

“Close my eyes?” you asked skeptically.

“Trust me,” he said, laughing. “I promise it’s worth it.”

You complied, feeling the car come to a full stop before he helped you out. His hands were warm on yours as he guided you a few steps forward.

“Alright,” he said, his voice soft. “Open your eyes.”

When you did, your breath caught.

Before you was a wide, open field dotted with wildflowers, the sky above glittering with stars. In the middle of the field was a small picnic setup—blankets, pillows, and a basket lit by the soft glow of string lights wrapped around a nearby tree.

“Gi-hun,” you said, turning to him in awe. “This is beautiful.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking shy. “I wanted to do something special. I know things have been… tough lately, so I thought we could use a night like this.”

Your heart swelled as you took his hand. “This is perfect.”

The two of you settled on the blanket, the night air cool but not uncomfortable. Gi-hun opened the picnic basket to reveal an assortment of snacks, including the hotteok he always insisted on bringing.

“You know,” you said, laughing as you bit into one. “I think you’re singlehandedly keeping the hotteok business alive.”

“And I’m not even sorry,” he replied, grinning.

The night passed in a haze of laughter and easy conversation. You shared memories of your favorite childhood adventures, swapped embarrassing stories, and debated the best constellations in the sky.

At one point, Gi-hun lay back on the blanket, pulling you down beside him.

“See that one?” he asked, pointing to a cluster of stars. “That’s Cassiopeia. She’s the queen.”

“Didn’t she get punished for being too vain?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, queens make mistakes too,” he said with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. “I guess that makes you the court jester.”

“Wow,” he said, feigning offense. “And here I thought I was your king.”

“Not with those dad jokes,” you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He chuckled, his hand finding yours. The silence that followed was comfortable, the two of you simply soaking in the moment.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quieter. “I need to tell you something.”

You turned to him, your brow furrowing. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I know I joke around a lot, and maybe I don’t always say things the way I should, but… you’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting you harder than you expected.

“Gi-hun,” you said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He turned to you, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative but deeply heartfelt.

You responded without hesitation, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—just a slow, deliberate exchange that left you both breathless.

You move to straddle him, knees on each of his sides. Gi-hun blushes in surprise and tangles his hands in your hair, earnestly pushing you back towards him, connecting your mouths. The fingers on your right hand pull on the bottom of his shirt, while your left shoots up to stroke his curly hair. 

He groans into the kiss, hands now moving to your sides, squeezing slightly. When you let out a small whine Gi-hun cracks a smile and you feel his lips contracting during the movement, causing you to smile as well. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured.

“So are you,” you replied, your fingers still curled in his shirt.

He kissed you again, this time shorter but no less meaningful, before pulling you into his arms. The two of you lay there beneath the stars, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

As the night wore on, you drifted into a peaceful silence, the occasional sound of crickets filling the air. You traced patterns on Gi-hun’s chest with your fingers, a contented smile on your lips.

“Thank you for this,” you said softly.

He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Thank you for everything.”

And as you lay there in the middle of the quiet field, you realized that with Seong Gi-hun, even the simplest moments could feel like magic.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

All I can get

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 5

Prompts: Impact & Full Rated: E

Words: 1,130

Tags: Pre S4; Fuck buddies; Angry sex; Spanking; Dirty talk; Top Eddie, Power bottom Steve; They're in denial, your honor

Notes: Y'all liked the pre S4 fuck buddies from the July microfic so much, so have some more.

“Y'know what is weird?” Eddie asks. Steve doesn’t reply, just pushes him down onto the bed, pausing only briefly to shuck off his pants and shoes before he dives after him. The mattress bounces under his weight, ridiculously thick and soft, and Eddie needs to bite back a snort as he shuffles up, reclining against the plush headboard. Fucking rich people. 

He's not even sure whose house this is. Hagan's? Is it Hagan's? Is he gonna fuck Steve Harrington in Mr. and Mrs. Hagan's bedroom while their ugly dumbass of a son runs around downstairs, looking for the king like a court jester out of a job? 

He doesn’t get to ponder the hilarity of that thought, because Steve is shoving greedy fingers inside of his pants to pull out his rapidly swelling cock. Steve himself is fully hard already, leaking over Eddie’s thigh and stomach as he crawls into his lap, and Eddie’s attention snaps back to the present as if pulled on a rubber band.

“The thing that's weird,” he repeats, one hand cupping Steve’s bare ass and giving a tight squeeze, “is that I used to think you didn't remember these little run-ins of ours. After all, you're always drunk and high off your ass at these parties. Aren't you, honey?” 

Steve doesn’t grace him with an answer. Instead he rolls his hips, making their naked cocks rub together, sending white-hot sparks of pure want sizzling straight into Eddie’s blood. Eddie grins, shifting the position of his hand, delighting in the little gasp he gets when he spreads Steve wide open. His fingers slip inside with a wet, slick sound, all the way to the first knuckle, and Steve's hips stutter. 

“But you do,” Eddie smiles, reveling in the needy, high-pitched keen he gets when he pulls his fingers out again. “You do remember. Why else would you come and find me every single time? Why else would you come prepared?” 

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, and impales himself on Eddie’s cock, bottoming out in one smooth movement. Warm and tight and perfect, like he was made for this. Eddie likes to think he was. 

“Aw, but why?” he asks, hands finding Steve's hips, nails digging into the thin layer of skin over bones, deep enough to leave marks that will stay for days. The traces of his touch branded into Steve’s flesh. Steve bites his bottom lip, and it quivers with his soundless whine. “Why, Stevie, are you ashamed of me? I’m wounded.” 

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, grinding himself up and down on Eddie’s cock, chasing his relief with quick, practiced movements. Something coils inside Eddie’s abdomen, something dark and dangerous and mean. Following a sudden impulse, he takes aim, letting his palm connect with Steve’s ass with an audible slap. 

Steve gasps and flinches, almost toppling off Eddie’s lap in his surprise. For a second or two, they both stare at each other, wide-eyed and speechless, and Eddie begins to think that he may have made a horrible mistake. Then, he sees the way Steve is blushing, dark pink and pretty all the way from his collarbone to the bridge of his nose. Sees the way his cock has jumped to attention, flushed and leaking precum. His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost painful. 

“In fact,” he says, “I think you shouldn’t be shy about it. I think you should let everyone hear.” 

He isn’t sure which he likes more: The look of panicked anticipation on Steve’s face just before the second hit lands, or the barely stifled moan he lets out when it does. The force of the impact makes him rock forward in Eddie’s lap, and he clenches around him, taking him even deeper than before. 

“I think,” Eddie says, and slaps him again, so hard he can feel Steve’s ass bounce with it, “you should let everyone hear how much you enjoy it when I fill you up with my cock. I think everyone should hear you moan and whimper and cry like a needy little whore.” 

He punctuates his words with another series of slaps. They echo in the silent bedroom, drowning out the sounds of the party downstairs, and with every single one, Steve grinds himself a little deeper, stuffing himself a little fuller. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, his bottom lip puffy and swollen from biting down on it, but not once does he cry out. 

“Shame,” Eddie quips, digging his fingers into the skin of Steve’s ass again, nails sinking right into the sensitive, abused flesh, and Steve fucking keens, slumping forward and bracketing his arms against the headboard for support. “If everyone knew, we could just stop this little game of hide and seek, y’know. I could just sit down there, and sell my goods, and keep you in my lap all night, like the pretty little slut you-” 

“I said shut up,” Steve breathes, and crushes their mouths together. The kiss is as harsh and bruising as Eddie’s hits, Steve’s teeth digging into his lips, Steve’s tongue filling his mouth, allowing him no room to breathe or break away. Not like he’d want to. 

Eddie’s climax hits him with a suddenness that surprises even himself, making starbursts of light erupt behind his closed eyelids as he screams into that warm, wet mouth and spills deep inside Steve’s body. Steve moans into the kiss, grabbing Eddie’s hand to roughly guide it to his own twitching cock. Two or three hard pumps are all it takes for him to follow suit, painting Eddie’s chest and stomach in thick, white ropes. They stay where they are for a few moments, ragged breaths mingling in the thin sliver of space between them, while they both come down and Eddie’s cock slowly goes limp inside of Steve. 

Then, without a word, Steve rolls off the bed. As he bends down to retrieve his pants off the floor, Eddie can see the imprint of his own hand on his ass, bright red and angry. 

“You might wanna spend the rest of the night standing up,” he can’t help but say as Steve makes his way to the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone the reason if you don’t.” 

Steve pauses on the threshold just long enough to shoot him a withering look. 

“Please. Like anyone would believe you.” 

He has a point, Eddie muses as he cleans himself up with the box of tissues on the nightstand and puts himself back together. King Steve? With a freak like him? Yeah, fat fucking chance! 

In the bedroom mirror, his reflection grins back at him, lips puffy and swollen. Ah, well. They’ll both remember it happened, he made sure of that. 

He'll take all he can get. 

More smutty September

[eurydicees]

someone tell the court jester i love his smile

summary: elphaba and fiyero talk about what's true and real, and what's not. pairings: fiyero tigelaar/elphaba thropp words: 2992  warnings: none  notes: not technically a prompt but this was inspired by conversations with @napo-con-fritas and @mollrat101 about fiyero with adhd and how the outsider perception of that might impact his self-perception and thus his relationship with elphaba. this fic kind of got derailed from the original topic lol, but thanks for the inspo n i hope u enjoy!

Fiyero is talking, but he’s not really saying anything. He’s just kind of rambling about something that Elphaba isn’t quite following. It’s something about a stray cat he had seen on the street that day while he was out shopping, and how the cat reminded him of someone he knew in elementary school, which somehow led his ramblings to something about the magical fish in a well at his family’s castle in the Vinkus. 

She swears that she does usually listen to what he has to say—contrary to what seems to be the popular belief about their relationship, she does actually care about his thoughts and opinions—but something about this particular one-sided conversation is itching at the back of her mind like the final piece to a puzzle she’s been putting together for awhile now. She’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something important that she’s missing. 

He talks with his hands, she notices. He makes both large, exaggerated gestures as he talks just as often as he fiddles and fusses with whatever he can find around him: a piece of paper that he’s methodically ripping to pieces, a ring he wears that he’s usually twisting around or tossing up and down in his palm, a pen or pencil he spins around his pointer finger. It’s really whatever he can get his hands on. 

Just generally speaking, Fiyero is constantly in motion. He’s not good at sitting still, or staying stagnant. He’s constantly bouncing his knee or tapping his fingers in basic rhythms against the table, shifting around in his seat during class, or toying with a strand of his hair that’s long enough to wrap around his finger and tug at. It feels like he’s just always a blur of movement, moving through the world at a velocity that Elphaba fears she sometimes has trouble keeping up with. 

She doesn’t always know where he’s going at that pace that he runs with, but his mind is constantly running forward. He’s always halfway to the next thought, the third step ahead, before he’s finished with the first sentence. It makes for strange leaps and connections in their conversations and in his logic sometimes, but there is—again, contrary to popular belief—always a real thread from point A to point B. 

Fiyero pauses his talking, looking at her with something unreadable on his face. “You’re not listening, are you?” 

She blinks. She didn’t realize that she had gotten so caught up in her own thoughts and her analysis of her boyfriend. She loves him, and she knows him, and she knows better than to zone out like that. His ability to sense other people’s disinterest is sharper than she had thought it to be upon first meeting—but it didn’t take long after that realization to understand that this ability is so well-honed because of how hurt and subdued he gets over that disinterest. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. She also knows better than to lie to him. He’s always been able to see right through her, somehow. “Just zoned out for a minute. Keep talking, I’m listening now.” 

Fiyero licks his lips, studying her carefully. “What’re you thinking about?” 

Elphaba shrugs, looking down at the book she had been reading before he wandered into her and Galinda’s room looking to spend time with her after being exiled by his roommate for the night. She’s curled up in her bed, a small crocheted blanket draped over her lap, while he sits at her desk chair. 

He’s doing that thing, she notes to herself. The thing where he tugs at the ring on his finger—he always wears it on a finger that seems just a little too tight for it to fit right—then seems surprised that it comes off. And he’s bouncing his knee again. It’s not anxiety, because the rest of his posture is perfectly relaxed. He just doesn’t seem to get stillness. 

She hums, trying to figure out how to put into words the things she thinks she’s maybe uncovering about him. The thing is that she’s not quite sure what it is exactly that she’s uncovered. She just knows that there’s something she’s missing about him, something that she wants to be allowed to understand. 

Elphaba loves him, is the thing. She’s not quite sure when that development really took place, but after only a few weeks of dating, she’s pretty sure that he’s her first real love. He sees her, in a way that very few people have ever wanted to try to see her.

Most importantly, he actually wants her as she is. Not the dulled, dimmed version of herself that she sometimes wants to carve herself into for the sake of social acceptance. Not the Galinda-fied version of herself that she tentatively has been experimenting with. Not the fiery, angry, defensive version of herself that she falls back upon as a safety mechanism. No, he just wants her as she is and as she wants to be. 

She wants to give the same thing back to him. She likes to think that she understands him well by now at least, but really she wants to give him the same sense of comfort that he’s given her. She wants him to feel at ease with her. 

And then it clicks. That’s what it is. He is at ease, he’s by no means on edge when he’s around her, but he’s also still always keeping up what’s an act of sorts. It’s not that he’s being fake or lying in any way, it’s more that he’s still desperately trying to mold himself into something palatable, a pill that’s easy to swallow, the kind of person that’s easy to want. 

He’s constantly trying to get her attention, trying to keep it, whether that’s by talking about things that neither of them care about or by telling prodding jokes until she laughs or asking her to rant about the latest book she’s read for hours. He’s constantly trying to keep her entertained, keep her laughing, keep her eyes on him. 

Doesn’t he know? she wonders. I’m always looking at him, whether or not he’s being bright and loud. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s easy to love him or not—which, at the end of the day, it was so easy to fall in love with him, even if she’s well aware that it’s much harder to keep him—and it doesn’t matter if he’s what she ever expected to want. It doesn’t matter if he’s keeping her entertained, not really. 

What matters is that he’s there. What matters is not if he’s easy to understand or easy to want, what matters is that being around him is like being free. Being around him gives her the freedom to be who she wants to, gives her the bravery to try to be who she actually is, at the end of the day. Being around him is like being set alight, like waking up after a long sleep to find that the world is just that much brighter now. 

What matters is that he’s trustworthy, and that he’s proved himself to be so again and again. What matters is that she cares about this boy who wormed his way into her heart despite all her defenses, despite all her crude remarks, despite all their differences. What matters is that—palatable, popular, suave, prettyboy or none of the above—she wants to stay at his side. 

She’ll do the work of loving him, she’ll put in the commitment and the effort to keep up with him. It’s not about being easy to want or easy to love. For her, love is about the act of trying. And oh, how she’ll try for him. 

Finally, she says, honestly, “I’m thinking about you.” 

He raises his eyebrows at that. He’s back to tearing tiny pieces of a paper apart, shredding it into small squares that flutter to the surface of the desk and pile up there like paper snowflakes. “What about me? I was talking about the fish of my childhood, it’s not really anything important to my psyche.” 

There it is—the way he downplays so much of what he says. Like he’s worried that she’ll think it has no value and so he’s trying to take the value away before she can do it for him. Something about that irks her a little; Elphaba has never wanted anything more than for him to trust her, with all of himself, and part of that is trusting that she cares. 

“Do you think we would have been friends if we met as kids?” she blurts out. 

It’s not really what she wanted to ask, not really what she had been thinking about, but the thought occurred to her when he asked that and she—she doesn’t really know the answer. She’s not sure if she even wants to know, but now the question is there, lingering in the air between them. 

He blinks, clearly not expecting the question. He pauses, thinking as he rips up that piece of paper. It looks like a blank sheet from a notebook, so no important notes are getting destroyed, but she really hopes it isn’t from the nice notebook. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “You seem like you were pretty introverted as a kid, weren’t you? I might have been a bit too much for you. Too loud. Bright. Noisy.” 

“I suppose,” Elphaba says thoughtfully. “It would have been nice if we could have gotten along.” 

He shrugs, staring down at his pile of paper scraps. “I was…a lot. As a kid. Hard to handle.” 

“Maybe.” Elphaba watches the deft, easy movements of his hands as he sorts the scraps of paper into piles of large and medium and small sizes. “I was, too. To be fair.” 

He snorts. “What a pair we would have made. School jester and livewire introvert.” 

Elphaba rolls her eyes at the comparison, but doesn’t deny it. She does kind of walk through the world like a livewire, constantly balancing on the edge of electrifying everything around her. It was even worse as a child and she’s well aware of that. She does think it was—at least partially—justified, given how people treated her, but still. 

“School jester?” she asks, instead of arguing the point. 

“Something like that,” Fiyero says vaguely, flapping a hand in some random direction as if to dismiss the phrase. “The reputation immediately prior to ‘heartbreaker prince’ was probably ‘court fool.’”

She wants to say that that sounds kind of harsh, kind of cruel to himself, but he says it so neutrally that she doesn’t really know what to do with it. He sounds less like he’s offended by the words and more like he’s long since accepted them as gospel.

She still wants to argue with him, tell him that he’s so much more than either of those things. She wants to tell him all of the things that she sees in him, all of the brilliant, beautiful pieces to his heart that add up to so much more than an archetype. She wants to tell him that heartbreaker and court fool are impossibly small, diminishing words compared to all that she knows to be true of him. 

But for some reason, all of those words escape her. Maybe there just aren’t enough words in the language to explain all of that easily and simply. 

Instead, Elphaba asks him, “Is that why you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

She looks down at the book in her lap, running her finger along the spine in a smooth, grounding motion. He’s gone back to tearing the paper in half and the rhythmic sound of ripping paper is another grounding sense. 

“That thing you do,” Elphaba says, unhelpfully. He just stares at her, not understanding, and she sighs. He’s been receptive to this conversation so far, she might as well push her luck a little. Her words spill out faster, harsher, than she means them when she says, “That whole act. Like you don’t care about anything or want to try at anything, when I know you do. Is it because of that? Because you think that’s all you are?” 

Immediately, something in Fiyero’s expression closes off. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Elphaba.” 

She swallows, looking up at him and standing her ground. She’s not sure it’s the right decision, but when has that really ever stopped her? “It’s just an observation.” 

He raises his eyebrows again—the only sign that he isn’t actually upset with her. “And what exacty are you observing right now?” 

“You’re never still,” Elphaba says. “Not physically, or mentally, or emotionally. You’re always moving onto the next idea or project, even if the first one doesn’t get finished. And the whole time, you’re trying to get people to keep up with you. Trying to keep them laughing.” 

“Is that really so bad of a thing?” he asks, something heavy in his voice. “To want to keep people entertained?” 

Elphaba shrugs. “Not necessarily.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, staring at that unsorted pile of ripped up paper. His hands have stilled, but his knee is bouncing again. He hooks his foot around at the leg of the chair to still himself, as if now that she’s pointed it out, he’s too aware of it. She wonders for a moment how much of this he’s actually ever noticed about himself. 

Elphaba sighs again. She places the book on the nightstand and then neatly folds the blanket to her side so that she can stand up and cross the room to meet Fiyero at the desk chair. Slowly, she leans down to kiss him. It’s a tender, soft kiss; the kind of kiss that takes its time, because it’s in no rush to find anything more than what it is. 

Fiyero’s hands go to her waist, pulling her into his lap without breaking the kiss. When they finally pull apart, she’s sitting on top of him with one of his hands on her waist and the other on her thigh. She has her arms resting on his shoulders, hands stretched out behind his head. 

“But you’re more than that, you know.” 

Fiyero frowns, clearly having lost track of the conversation. He opens his mouth as if to ask what she means, and then it sinks in. She can see the moment that it does, the moment that it all falls into place. It settles on his expression like the paper shreds settle onto the desk. 

“And you don’t have to be the—the entertainment of the court for me to want to be around you.” 

Saying all of this is awkward, and strange, and vulnerable in a way that Elphaba is unfamiliar with. She doesn’t really know how to express her feelings like this. Between the two of them, Fiyero is the one always murmuring praise and compliments and truths that she’s still working on believing. 

You’re beautiful. So wonderful. So smart. The world in my arms. The moonlight pooling in my hands. Even if our time on this land is limited, at least I get this moment. Even if nothing else, I’m okay if I have this. Have you. So pretty. All mine, all yours. 

“You’re enough as you are,” Elphaba says, looking into his eyes, not quite sure how to read his expression at the moment. “However you want to be. I don’t need you to be the court entertainment for me to want to spend time with you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s good enough to just be around you, loud and exciting or quiet and calm.” 

She hesitates, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, she chews at her lip for a moment before asking, “You do know that, right? That I’m not going anywhere if you tell a bad joke or a boring story or have a low day in general?” 

“I—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

He breaks eye contact, looking towards the desk and the pile of shreds of papers. One hand is tapping something out on her waist, a strange beat and pressure against her skin that she can’t quite place the melody of. 

“I know,” Fiyero finishes, in the way you would acknowledge something you didn’t know before that moment. Then, a little more confident, “I know.” 

She presses another slow kiss to his lips, bold in her ministrations of love as she moves her kisses to his cheek, to just below his earlobe, to his neck, to his collarbone. “It’s not a bad thing to be hard to handle. There’s very little you could do to scare me off at this point.” 

Fiyero lets out a shaky breath, pulling back slightly so that he can look at her, actually study her expression. 

Then he says the last thing she expected: “This is real, isn’t it?” 

Elphaba blinks. “I would hope so.” 

“No, I mean—” he waves a hand vaguely through the air, making some unreadable motion with it— “I mean, this is what it’s actually supposed to be like, isn’t it? I just—I lose track of things, and dates, and times. And I jump around my thoughts. And I don’t really know how to study. All things you value. But you’re here.” 

“Yeah,” Elphaba says slowly. “And I get angry and defensive, and snap at people, and sometimes throw things with my mind accidentally when I’m angry. And you’re here.” 

“I am,” Fiyero says, a smile growing over his face. “I am here.” 

Elphaba hums, and before she can reply, he’s kissing her again. He murmurs something into her mouth, something that she doesn’t quite catch, something that sounds like I love you but she can’t really be sure. They’ve never said that before. 

Still, it’s kind of a shame he didn’t say it louder. She would have said it back. But for the time being, she just returns the kiss, and keeps the thought clenched close to her heart. 

[ventismacchiato]

34 behind the lens — were you silent, or silenced ?!

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; filler :)

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

author’s notes — hard staying on hiatus when i’m a whore for robux lmfao @fffbool but ty <3 i’ll be busy next week with projects so i don’t think i can post even if someone gives me robux lmfao 😞

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

[stoat-party]

Fallout 4: Where is the Lone Wanderer?*

*a vague conspiracy theory which doesn’t actually answer the question at hand. We all have our own ideas of how the lore should go, and I’m sure yours is very canon-compliant and valid, but this is mine and I have support for it. Looooongpost.

First off: What do we know about the canon Wanderer?

We know they activated Project Purity (or had a companion do it) without the FEV and were inducted into the Brotherhood. We know they’ve met with MacCready (you can’t finish the game if you don’t), and he has dialogue indicating they had further contact. They also took the Brotherhood’s side at Adams Air Force Base.

We don’t know what happened with The Replicated Man, but since the canon Wanderer appears to have good karma, and info from 4 implies Zimmer’s disappearance was more recent than ten years ago, it seems likely they took the boring ending, which secures their membership in the Railroad.

Why aren’t they in Fallout 4?

The Doylist answer is that they’re highly customizable, and so they have no canon appearance, personality, gender, etc. But in-universe? Something happened.

“Accepting outsiders like yourself has proven disastrous in the past.” - Kells

“I've seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest... hell, some were even downright heroic.” - Danse

“Every doctor I've talked to was worthless. [] I don't need them... I need someone like you.” - MacCready

When Duncan first got sick, “someone like you” would have meant the Wanderer. This suggests (to me) that they’re not in the Capital Wasteland anymore. But they’re certainly not in the Commonwealth either.

The weird thing is that the Lone Wanderer is all over this game - they’re the namesake for a male hairstyle, a perk, a DCR song, a motorcycle brand… and the codename of Deacon’s mission to save the Railroad from certain destruction by recruiting the Sole Survivor.

Someday We’ll Find It, the Deacon Connection

Oh yeah, I’m going here. Desdemona’s terminal entries confirm it was always Deacon’s plan to get you onboard and use you to destroy the Institute. There are Railroad lookout posts near 111/Sanctuary and Red Rocket, and of course he followed you in Goodneighbor, Diamond City, and Bunker Hill (at least). His court jester vibe hides it a bit, but he’s manipulating you more than he’s manipulating Desdemona in the intro scene. And do you notice he rarely gives you a firm verbal disapproval unless you’re hurting the Railroad?

What could have caused Deacon’s interest in you, unless he’s made the connection between you and the Lone Wanderer? He’ll vouch for you if you haven’t accomplished anything yet, or even if you’re a Brotherhood member. A Pip-Boyed stranger emerges from a vault in the middle of a crisis, gaining friends, skills, items, and special abilities at a suspicious rate? Probably with the same gender and playstyle as the previous one? Heck, when he first heard the rumors, he probably thought you WERE the Lone Wanderer.

There are other indications the Railroad has been in contact with them — Desdemona mentions the Capital Wasteland as their primary destination for synths, and Deacon references Harkness’s recall code. If you refuse to pick a codename, Desdemona even assigns you “Wanderer.”

So what happened, then?

I think the answer lies with the Brotherhood, specifically in Deacon’s hatred of them. Sure, ideology is enough to hate them for, but Deacon sure seems suspiciously happy if you nuke their base of operations. (Some of) his comments on that:

“The Brotherhood... well, I met them on an op in Capital Wasteland a few years back. But now with Elder Maxson... Let's just say, not a fan.”

“That bastard Maxson really screwed them up. The Brotherhood used to be the good guys. Well, goodish.”

[Who’s Elder Maxson?] “He’s a piece of work, is what he is.”

And on his time in the Capital:

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Capital Wasteland? Now there's a tale.”

“Capital Wasteland. Exports: purified water, some decent tech, oh, and an insane suicidal cult that worships radiation. Thanks, guys.”

“I miss Capital Wasteland. You can actually drink the water there.”

And a few lines I’ve decided (with no evidence) directly refer to LW:

“Last partner I had wound up going... well, a little insane. I think it was all my show tune medleys.”

[After Maxson orders you to hunt Danse down] “See? This is what the Brotherhood's really about.”

And my favorite: “I’ve been looking forward to kicking the Brotherhood’s teeth in. I owe them.” This line comes before Glory is killed, so he’s not referring to that. The Brotherhood only recently arrived in force in the Commonwealth. He’s talking about something that happened in the Capital Wasteland.

So Here’s What Might Have Happened:

In early 2286, Deacon moves to the Capitol Wasteland for awhile, probably to get a face change and lay low for a bit. He contacts the Lone Wanderer, who has barely heard from the Railroad in nine years. They begin to work together.

(In context, this journal entry looks like he’s somehow gathering intel to predict when Vault 111 will open, but I can’t think of a way for him to get that information or know why it’s important, so I’m not going to believe it just yet.)

The Wanderer is still a knight, maybe a paladin. Maxson has been elder for 2-3 years and is monitoring the Institute. Meanwhile, the Lone Wanderer and Deacon are setting up infrastructure to receive escaped synths.

And then the Brotherhood finds out about one of the safehouses. With their limited understanding, they believe that the Institute is holed up there and attack. The Wanderer intentionally throws the mission — maybe disobeys orders, maybe downs a vertibird or collapses a subway tunnel, or maybe even attacks their brothers to protect the synths.

And, well-

Either they were killed, or they escaped court martial and execution by a hair’s breadth and fled the Capital, leaving Deacon to believe Maxson had them killed.

There you have it. That’s why they aren’t in Brotherhood dialogue or records. Their accomplishments couldn’t be recognized because they’re a traitor. And that’s why it’s personal for Deacon.

[hotvintagepoll]

Hi! Love your work here. Do you have a tag for old movie recs? I know throughout the hot women tournament I would see lots of recommendations for old comedies in the 40s and 50s, and now that I’m getting around to watching some stuff from that era, I can’t seem to find any of them! Has that been compiled anywhere?

I'm really glad you sent this ask because I've been meaning to write my big rec list for ages and this kicked me into remembering to actually do that. Until I get the full post up, you can find some in #recs. Here's a mini list that could be a good place to start:

The Talk of the Town (Jean Arthur, Cary Grant, Ronald Colman, Rex Ingram)—usually findable on Tubi or YouTube

The Court Jester (Danny Kaye, Glynis Johns, Angela Lansbury)—on Hoopla (which is free through some libraries) last time I checked!

Singin' in the Rain (Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor, Debbie Reynolds)—not sure where you can watch this for free, I think HBO has it sometimes (but there are always...sites. Or your local library!)

Charade (Audrey Hepburn, Cary Grant, James Coburn)—Tubi or YouTube

The Duke Is Tops (Lena Horne, Lawrence Criner, Ralph Cooper)—Tubi

Pot O'Gold (Jimmy Stewart, Paulette Goddard)—YouTube

The Philadelphia Story (Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant)—usually on Tubi

The Adventures of Robin Hood (Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Basil Rathbone, Claude Rains)—not technically a comedy but a damn good time, on Tubi

His Girl Friday (Rosalind Russell, Cary Grant)—Tubi

The Big Sleep (Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart)—sometimes on Tubi, not sure if it's up right now though

To Be Or Not To Be (Carole Lombard, Jack Benny)—I'm not sure where you can stream this for free, but it's worth the watch!

I will eventually elaborate this into an actual post that includes summaries, content warnings, and more movies that aren't comedies or musicals. As always with old movies, go forward with caution. I hope you find a movie you love! :)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Rafayel who would much rather continue being the fool, the jester of your court if it meant maintaining a permanent place within your life. If that’s all it takes to stay in your life then he’ll make a fool out of himself for the rest of forever if you need him to.

He acts like nothing could ever truly phase him that even you start to believe that lie, but the one thing that Rafayel feared more then anything was being abandoned, left at the wayside to dry up and die of loneliness and a broken heart.

Out of everyone who fell for that lie, he wished you’d be the one to see through it and call him out on his bullshit bravado, just so he could finally hang it up and put it to rest and live a relatively modest lifestyle with you.

Rafayel the man who insinuates that he likes you a lot, even going as far as to point out the moments where he found himself falling harder for you, only to deeply fluster himself into backtracking his words out of pure embarrassment and fear that you might not feel the same as he first assumes.

He’s always been a coward when it came to being honest about his feelings. So much that he felt more comfortable teasing you about liking him in order to cover up the fact that he was purely projecting his own thoughts and inner most emotions onto you a hundred percent of the time.

It’ll probably cause a point of contention between the two of you as you assumed he wasn’t taking things seriously as he should before telling him that you were leaving for some time apart. Naturally this sparks Rafayel’s fear and he’s already holding onto your forearm for dear life just as you were about to leave.

‘Please.’ He’d utter too softly for you to hear.

‘What?’ You’d say

‘Please don’t leave.’ He say a little louder. ‘I’ll stop with the teasing and the joking from now on if that’s what you want. Just…just don’t leave me alone again…’

‘It’s not the teasing or the joking I have issue with…it’s the fact that that I don’t feel like you’re being with genuine with me anymore..’ you open up to him and as you go to look at him, you were to see a man with a face that looked as though it had all life drained from it. ‘You’re hiding from me and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.’ You’d tell him.

‘I’ll be honest from now on, promise.’ Rafayel said desperately as he practically clings onto your side as though his entire life depended on it.

‘Then what are you hiding from me?’ You asked, equally as desperate to fix whatever has been broke between the two of you. ‘More importantly what are you so deathly afraid of that’s leading you to pushing me away?’ You added on upon seeing his hesitance towards answering the question.

‘You.’ Rafayel responded. ‘I’m in love with you and that scares me, which is ironic because falling in love with you is all I’ve ever wanted and now that I have it…I’m scared that it’ll chase you away if I ever were to admit it.’ He chuckled humourlessly as fear gripped at his throat with each word that left his lips.

‘You could never scare me off Rafayel.’ You say softly as you hold his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks as you brought your forehead to his. ‘For I love you too silly boy.’ You’d continue, pressing a small kiss to his nose, feeling him physically relax under your touch.

‘Yeah but I’m your silly boy.’ Rafayel replied as he smiles widely in relief as his arms caged you against him.

‘You are indeed my silly boy.’ You echoed, smiling yourself as you both could finally put aside the misconceptions for good and revel in the presence of the other.

[umathurwin]

you're the treasure, dive down deeper still

jj maybank x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Y/N just wants one evening to herself in a bar, alone. Is that so much to ask?

Well, for JJ, it is.

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“Come here often?”

She cringed. It wasn’t like she didn’t expect people to talk to her; it’s a Kook bar, and most of them were massive extroverts, but she still wasn’t in the mood to make any conversation. Y/N pasted on the not-very-apologetic “sorry, not interested” look on her face before turning and replacing it immediately with a grimace when she saw the messy blonde hair. “Ugh, go away.”

JJ’s mouth dropped open in fake-shock, slapping a palm to the buttons on his vest—clearly part of some uniform. “Now now, Elsa. Why the cold shoulder?”

“That’s not even a good joke,” Y/N wrinkled her nose and took a sip from her drink. “How do you manage to work at every well-off establishment on this freakin’ island?”

“Labor shortage.”

“What do you want?” she asked monotonously.

“To talk to you.” JJ set an arm to casually lean onto the counter, and acted like his hand didn’t slip a little on the varnished oak surface.

“Are you even allowed to be talking to me?” she asked, glancing over to see if any management was monitoring this boldly lazy employee. They were not.

“Of course I am. In fact, right now, I’m telling you all about the special drinks we have tonight,” JJ winked, waving his arms to give mock-recommendations.

“I don’t drink.” JJ’s eyes flickered down to the sweating drink sitting in front of her. “It’s Diet Coke, smartass.”

He snorted. “Didn’t even say anything, princess,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw like he’d been punched.

Y/N’s back stiffened. “Don’t call me that.” She turned away from him in the hopes that he wouldn’t catch the apples of her cheeks heating up.

“Why?” he cooed, tilting his head cheerlessly. “You’ve liked it before.”

“Stop.”

“And you kind of are one. I mean, your father owns half the boardwalk. Dontcha sometimes feel like royalty in this little town? Guess that makes me your court jester.”

“Don’t talk about my dad.”

“Mm, sensitive topic? Is that why you’re so nervous that I’m chatting with you? You think I’m gonna mess up that sweet reputation you have if word gets out you’ve been getting fucked by a Pogue?”

“JJ—!”

“Or are you that flustered because you’re thinking about the last time we were together?”

“Please, d—”

“’Cause if that’s the reason, I honestly don’t blame you. I think about it, too. Have you ever cum that hard before in your life?”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, now just burying her face in her hands because it was definitely bright red by now. “Don’t you have some Cameron clan member to piss off?”

“Not ‘til 10,” he shrugged. “Until then, I’ll be here, taking empty glasses from rich people, replacing them with full ones, and whispering things in your ears that’ll make you cross your legs.”

“And what if I leave?”

He sighed, finally taking his weight off the counter and stepping away from her. “That’s the funny thing, doll. You always come back.”

***

JJ had to hold onto the headrest of the driver’s seat to keep himself stable while rocking his hips. A bead of sweat dropped off his forehead and plopped down onto Y/N’s body, but she was far too preoccupied to notice or care.

“Didn’t have to prove me right so soon, baby,” he teased, relishing the way her back arched up into him to increase their contact. “We didn’t even leave the parking lot.”

She whined. “Be nice.”

He bottomed out, leaning down to hungrily kiss her. “I think I’m bein’ real nice to you right now, sweetheart.”

Y/N gasped at his cock pressing against that one spot, digging her fingernails into the flesh on his back. “You’re gonna—fuck—get in trouble,” she whined, hand reaching up and streaking down the fogged window. His brain melted; as cliché as it was, it’s fucking hot.

She was unfortunately right, and if he isn’t careful getting back inside for his shift, she was gonna really be right. “Don’t care,” he gritted out anyways. “I’ll lose a thousand jobs for a chance to get this pussy.”

“M’gonna cum,” she admitted, and he could honestly tell. Her walls pulsed around him, threatening to release at any minute.

“Mm, really?” he purred, forehead dropping down. “M’little princess is gonna cum all over my cock? So good for me, and what did I do to deserve this?”

“Fucked me right,” she choked out in between thrusts, and boy, if that didn’t stroke his ego.

“Oh yeah? Like this?” JJ picked up his pace just a bit, slamming his hips against hers even harder, resulting in a delicious noise echoing around the cab of his truck.

In return, her eyes flew back and her entire body shuddered, her pussy clenching down around his cock and becoming suddenly so much wetter. He didn’t stand a fucking chance, and came with a shameless moan shortly after.

Redressing was the worst fucking part, for both of them. It was silent, and tense, two things JJ refused to subject himself to.

“Same time next week?” he joked, chest fluttering slightly and eyes darting around conspicuously. He always made some form of joke to cut the thick air between them (which she enjoyed, unbeknownst to him), but never anything about meeting again. It was supposed to stop happening, anyways.

Y/N sniffled after tugging her dress and heels back on. “S’exactly my problem, isn’t it? You know I’ll always be back.”

JJ forced a smile that lasted until she ambled out of the car and slammed the door behind her, leaving him alone in a steamy ass truck cab.

[finalhaunts]

Man.

[watarfallar]

I've ran out of title ideas............................... DESERT DUO!

Scar: Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined. Grian: Heck. Scar: You're on thin fucking ice. Scar: Oh no-

Grian: This is ridiculous! Scar: Hey, someone’s gotta be the jester for the court.

Grian, having recently lost their glasses: KILL THE BUG!!! Scar: ….That’s a gecko—

Scar: Holding up a picture of a seemingly young anime girl WHO IS SHE?! IS SHE TWELVE?! Grian: No! She's a thousand years ol- Scar: Cocks shotgun Grian: NO! NOOOOOOOOOO-!

Scar: Can I have some? Grian, mouth full of cheesecake: It's really spicy, you wouldn't like it.

Scar: Fight me! Grian, standing behind them and holding a knife: mouths Do not.

Scar: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey! Grian: But I'm a vegan. Scar: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

Scar: I'm trying to juggle family life and work life but I can't seem to find a balance. What do you suggest I do to keep everyone happy? Grian, deadpan: Quit your job, kill your family.

Grian: You want some leftovers? Scar: What are those? Grian: You've never had leftovers before? Scar: No, ‘cause I’m not a quitter.

Scar: Why do humans have different blood groups? Grian: So mosquitoes can enjoy different flavors.

Scar: I thought I told you to stop reading my emails. Grian: Well, I thought I told you to stop keeping secrets!

Grian: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer. Scar: Grian: Scar: …Please, go back to bed.

Scar: I suppose you’re right. We really would be better off working together. Grian: So, then… détente? Scar: Agreed. Grian: Understanding? Scar: Possibly. Grian: Cooperation? Scar: Maybe. Grian: Trust? Scar: Out of the question.

Scar: I'm very scary. Grian: You're about as scary as a wet kitten. Scar: Wet kittens are cute, at least I've got that going for me. Grian: And small. Scar: Scar: …Yeah, yeah. I guess.

Grian: Unpopular opinion, not all dogs are good boys. Scar: Blocked. Grian: Sometimes, they’re good girls! Scar: UNBLOCKED!

Scar: Come on Grian, do it for our friendship. You can't put a price on that… Grian: Yes I can, dear. Fifty dollars.

Grian: Do you take constructive criticism? Scar: Not without crying

Scar: What’s up with you? Grian: What do you mean? Scar: You’ve been nice and helpful and considerate all day. What’s your game?

Grian: The universe is cold and unfeeling. The only constant is chaos. Scar: Was that place out of chocolate-chip pancakes again?

[roseredcheeks]

I just can’t shake off the thought of being my daddy’s little court jester…

I mean, not much would change. I already worship and adore my daddy, @storytimewithwambo , as a king like he deserves. My only purpose and concern is pleasing him, fulfilling his every request. But to be given the honour of having everyone know thats my role, my duty… oh I just want nothing more😍🤤

To be presented in front of everyone in the most humiliating, degrading jester costume, the makeup, ruffles, bells.. all of it; not to mention my big, cartoonishly bulky diaper out on display for everyone to see, daddy would have it no other way and it’s not like I would put up a fight or go against what he wants.

The outfits only purpose being to make everyone laugh and to make me look like more of a joke than I already am… an outfit no self-respecting woman with any dignity left would EVER wear. Everyone already letting out chuckles at the sight of me while daddy sits on his throne, looking down at me, unimpressed. He knows I can do better.

But even by just hearing everyone’s chuckles I would get so horny, because all I am is just a simple minded, tits for brains with a NEED to be laughed at; a pathetic little diaper girl who gets off on being laughed at and loves every second of it.

Desperately doing everything I can to make my daddy laugh: dancing as all my bells jingle, boobies jiggled and my big-babyish-booties honked and squeaked.

Getting all the actual adults in the room to ask me questions, basic first-grade questions because I know it will just embarrass me further as I’m just too dumb to answer any of them correctly; so to showcase my actual skills: all I do is suck on my thumb to show off how good I am with my mouth, while squatting down to push out a huge mess in the back of my diaper as my farts echoed throughout the throne room, doing this all with an ear-to-ear ditzy grin on my face. As I go to stand back up, I clumsily trip myself up and land straight on my fresh, muddy behind with a loud SQUELCH!!

All the adults erupt with laughter, I couldn’t help but bounce up and down in my mess just to get more out of them. But as I look up at daddy, all he’s giving me is an expected grin… He’s right, I can do better!! I didn’t care that all the other adults in the room are laughing I want HIS laughter, I NEED his laughter.

I push myself up by my mitten covered hands, droopy butt sticking up in the air, holding my arms out as I gained my balance. I waddle my way up to my daddy, getting lost in his eyes along the way.. he’s just so dashingly handsome even a girl with an actual useful brain wouldn’t be able to help themselves! As I present myself before him, he bends down for me to give him an expected kiss on the cheek, just like always to show my respect, I do just that before taking his goblet filled with wine

And pour it into my diaper.

And thats when that gorgeous, hypnotic sound entered my ears.. daddy’s laughter. If I had any shred of dignity left it was gone, nowhere to be recovered as I started shamelessly rubbing my diaper up against me, tongue out, eyes crossed and dazed, drool dripping off my chin and straight onto my breasts.

This is all I was, this is what I lived for,

Daddy’s laughter.

AMAZING, OUTSTANDING artwork drawn by my talented daddy: @storytimewithwambo 😍😍 I’m such a lucky girl🥰

[darkbluekies]

What would Edmund do with a Jester! Reader? *COUGH* asking for a friend 👀

Dance, my puppet

platonic!Yandere!king OC x jester!male!reader

Summary: being the spoiled king's personal jester puts a lot of pressure on your shoulders ... but what happens when he overworks you to the point of needing rest?

Warnings: unreasonable Edmund, choking, kidnapping, objectifying reader, mentions of killing

Word count: 2k

You hate how he looks at you. The way his icy blue eyes stare right through you as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat. You should be used to it, shouldn’t you? You’ve performed for him more times that you can count, but it never sits right with you. Every time he’s in need of entertainment, you’re brought out to embarrass yourself. 

This time when you go to the dressing room reserved for you, you can hear the door open behind you. You turn around … and there he is. 

“What do you want?” you ask and quickly add: “your majesty.”

“I want you to be the royal jester”, king Edmund says simply, cutting straight to the point. “I want you to perform for me only.”

“I wish I could, your majesty, but I have more clients I’ve already booked.”

He takes a step forward. 

“So cancel them”, he says. 

“I can’t”, you tell him. “They’ve scheduled months in advance, I can’t just … cancel. They’re high class families, if I cancel them, they’ll give me a bad reputation.”

“I don’t care. Cancel them. You’re going to be the court jester from now on.”

“Your majesty-”

“If you don’t accept the offer, I will force you to. You’ll be my personal jester whether you like it or not, so choosing the preferred way is entirely up to you, sir.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. There’s always been an eerie feeling after you’ve been performing for him. You’ve felt … dissected — like a frog or a fish. You only perform for him because you have to, he’s the king after all, but you don’t want to make it into a habit. 

“How dare you roll your eyes at me?” king Edmund scoffs. “You have a lot of nerve.”

“And a lot of stress, your majesty”, you mutter. “I’m honored that you want to have me as your jester, but-”

You don’t have time to finish the sentence before you feel his hand wrap around your throat. It shuts you up in an instant, and brings you at his mercy. 

“As I said”, kind Edmund says lowly. “I do not care about your other clients. I’m your king and you shall obey me, is that clear?”

You nod quickly. Even if he wasn’t squeezing his hand around your throat until you saw dancing dots, you’d not dare try your voice — unsure if it was going to hold. 

“You will cancel every, single event”, king Edmund tells you warningly. “Otherwise I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?”

You nod again. Your blood has gone icy and soon your vision has gone black. Edmund lets you go and you draw in a deep breath while stumbling backwards. You grab a hold of the drawer and give him a wide eyed look. Edmund walks over and pets your hair.

“I’ll see you back here tomorrow”, he says and leaves. 

The second the doors close, you gulp. What are you going to do?

From day that onwards, you perform for him every. single. day. If you come late, repeat jokes or show the slightest disinterest, you get a taste of the rat infected dungeons. You want to rip your hair out from the stress of coming up with new jokes, new acts, new songs. You’ve gotten a room a the castle and while you’re not performing, they lock you in and tell you to come up with something new for the next day. You’re not burned out, you’re run over, thrown in a ditch and left to rot. 

“He looks weird today”, the king mutters as you start your act. 

You can barely hear what he’s saying. There’s a wall between you and him. Your limbs are heavy and hard to move, your voice comes out in a sluggish mumble. The world around you shrinks along with your vision and before you know it, you’ve hit your head on the marble floor. Edmund stands up and signals for a guard to pick you up. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Edmund asks. “Why is my puppet not up and running?”

“Your majesty, I think he fainted”, the guard who holds you says. He touches your forehead. “I think he has a fever.”

“A fever? How can that happen?”

“I’m not sure. I think we need to get the doctor.”

“Go put him to bed.”

Edmund follows the guard to your room and watches how you get tucked in. The guard runs to fetch the royal doctor. Edmund stays … and watches you. He removes your jester hat and places it on the nightstand. The bells on it rings, mocking him. He stares at you. 

The doctor arrives and examines you thoroughly. 

“He’s overworked, your majesty”, he says and sighs. “He needs to rest. No performances for at least two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!” king Edmund bursts out. “I can’t go two weeks!”

“We can hire another jester”, the guard suggests. “Until Y/N is well again.”

“I don’t want another jester!”

“I know, your majesty, but for now there’s not much we can do”, the doctor says. 

Edmund runs his hand through his dark hair and looks at you. 

“Give him something!” he demands. “Some medicine, some elixir, I don’t care! He needs to be working as soon as possible!”

“And that ‘as soon as possible’ is in minimum two weeks, your majesty”, the doctor reminds him. 

Edmund grabs the jester hat and throws it against the wall. 

“Fine”, he says and turns to the guard. “Get another jester. They better be half as good as Y/N or else I will kill them, do you understand that?!”

Edmund has time to kill three jesters before you have the energy to leave the bed. The king runs to your room and slams the door open. 

“You can stand!” he says in satisfaction. “Therefore, you can perform for me!”

“Your majesty … I can’t”, you say weakly and sit down on the side of your bed. “I feel horrible.”

“But … you’re a jester … you should be able to crack jokes … and sing. That’s your whole thing.”

“Your majesty, have you ever felt tired of your royal studies? Your teachers force you to do more and more homework when you feel like you’re going to fall asleep?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“If I could perform for you, I would. That’s what I mean. You need to believe me that I’m not feeling well.”

“How much longer is it going to take then?” Edmund almost whines. “I’ve been bored out of my goddamn mind these last two weeks! I’ve hired jester after jester, but none of them entertains me in the way you do. You have to get well quickly.”

“In that case, I need the right type of rest.”

Edmund looks lost. For once, he can’t buy what he wants, he can’t get what he wants in an instant. And it makes him crazy.

“What can I do to speed up the process?” he asks. “What do you need?”

“I need to sleep, eat and get some fresh air.”

“Fre- … fresh air?” Edmund almost chokes on his spit. “I don’t want you to go out. I can open a window.”

“I want to be able to change environment, your majesty. You’ve been keeping me locked in for a month.”

“Stop calling me that. Call me Edmund. It sounds so weird when you call me that.”

“Are you sure? We’re not friends.”

“Well, you’re my private jester. You’re obviously something to me. I’ll stop calling you ‘sir’ and you’ll stop calling me ‘your majesty’, okay?”

You nod. 

“Alright”, Edmund decides. “I will go out of my busy way to personally make sure that you get well.”

“Oh, uh, thank you … Edmund.”

For once, he smiles. 

“Shall we start now, then?” Edmund asks with his hands clutched together tightly behind his back. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ve been lying in bed for two weeks, I’d like to stretch my legs. Can we go out?”

“...fine.”

You walk side by side, wearing your pajamas while Edmund is wearing his entire costume. The garden is currently covered in red, yellow and brown leaves, there’s not a single flower left in sight. You shiver. 

“Why didn’t you bring a coat?” Edmund asks harshly, but before you have time to answer, he’s taken off his own and hung it around your shoulders. He starts buttoning it up. “You’re a clueless little puppet. When you’re not well you can’t even think on your own.”

“I’m not a puppet.”

“Yes, you are. You speak on command, you sing on command, you dance on command — what else would you be?”

“Sounds like a bird trapped in a cage.”

“At least you have nice feathers then.”

You stroll around the garden for fifteen minutes before Edmund decides that you’ve had enough. He grabs a hold of your arm and drags you with him. 

"Oh, please be careful!" you beg him. "My legs hurt."

Edmund halts.

"They hurt?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me? I need to know everything if I'm going to be able to help you!"

"It's manageable, I thought it didn't matter."

"Didn't matter? Fucking hell, Y/N."

He takes a harsher grip on your arm and steps closer. You want to back away, but stand your ground.

"You are to tell me everything you feel, think and want", he tells you warningly. "You're my jester. My property. And if I want you to tell me something, you do it without fuss. That's how things work."

He reaches out his free hand to touch your hair, but you flinch your head away. Wrong move. Edmund pulls you closer by your arm until you're standing chest to chest.

"Stop resisting me", he whispers. 

"This isn't … professional", you mumble with your head turned away. "Stop."

"You're quite a thing, aren't you? Do you really think you're in any position to boss me around?"

You try to pull your arm away, but Edmund doesn't let you. He can't let you go. If he doesn't feel your warmth under his fingertips he'll freak out. When you fainted in front of his throne, he thought you died. He has never been so scared in his entire life. The thought of being without you sends him into a void he's afraid to never get out of.

Your attempt to get away doesn't succeed. Edmund pulls you even closer and wraps his arms tightly around you. You can feel his palm press on your back. He hides his face into your shoulder and breathes in. At first, he can only smell his own scent from his coat, but then … there's a small tingle of your sacred scent. It clouds his head and he brings you even closer to chase it.

"Ouch, you're hurting me", you mumble. "Your majesty, please let go-"

"Edmund", he reminds you without lifting his face out of your shoulder.

"Edmund, please let go, you're crushing my ribs …"

Edmund loosens his embrace ever so slightly.

"You need to go inside now", he says. 

He brings you inside, and back to your bedroom. Edmund tucks you in (rather forcefully) as you lie and watch.

"Now sleep", the king says. "In an instant."

You hold in your laughter. The king must be magical if he can fall asleep whenever he wants.

"What are you smiling at?" Edmund mutters. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing", you say.

His body language tenses. "What is so fucking funny? Tell me!"

"Fine. The way you want me to fall asleep in less than a minute amuses me."

He relaxes. "Oh, okay. Yeah, I suppose it could be taken … in a funny manner."

But you do fall asleep quickly, much to Edmund's delight. He sits down on a chair beside your bed … and waits for you to wake up again. You might not be able to crack jokes, sing or recite poetry, but your presence is all Edmund needs. Just being by your side is enough to make his day. Edmund lets his upper body rest on the bed right by your legs. Edmund shuts his eyes and decides to drift off to sleep. He can’t wait until his little puppet is well enough to perform for him again. But don’t you worry, he’s going to help you. He’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re how he wants you to be.