#but i have a to-draw list a mile long. looking to get back to it soon

[fakakta-art]

SO excited for the tiny little remarque of Jason I got from Dan Mora at NYCC!

[shoyudon]

dad!choso is on my mind. he’d be the sweetest husband/father to-be. i just know he’d hold our hand the entire time and say things like “i wish i could take this pain away from you.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 .ᐟ

keeping up with the choso family

starring. choso x fem! reader

heads up. pregnancy, giving birth, you're in you're 20s during shibuya (around nanami's age), all information are from research.

note. NONNIE, FIRST OF ALL YES. I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS??? i just know he'd cry during every one of these moments, i'm gonna sob, i miss him so much.

the first time choso met you, he didn't know you'd be his life companion. pushing aside at the fact that you both were enemies at first, being a jujutsu sorcerer assigned to shibuya wasn't really the best circumstances for first meetings — which practically didn't happen smoothly.

long story short, he actually hurts you with his blood manipulation. not enough to kill you, but enough to consider it a 'medical emergency'. he is really sorry about it though; when he saw you protect yuuji despite your injuries, he just knew he had to have you.

choso made it clear that he regretted hurting you — especially when his technique left a scar on your skin. specifically on your shoulder, and your lower abdomen. occasionally pressing his lips onto your scars, the vivid drawings of your stitches still embedded into your skin.

"'m sorry . . ." choso whispers out into your skin, burying his face into your stomach as you both lay down on the bed. once again, he was feeling apologetic for hurting you more than a year ago. every day after shibuya, he was busy apologizing to you for hurting you.

"cho, that was what . . ? more than a year ago? you need to stop apologizing, baby," raking your fingers through his hair, he sighs out in content, leaning his cheek onto your stomach — his arms draped around your thighs.

when he asks you to marry him, he subconsciously did it because he panicked. choso had it all planned for a whole month, and managed to ruin it in three minutes on the day he was going to propose to you because you were just so captivating, he just lost all senses of everything he practiced.

"please, marry me," choso blurts out, his mind going one hundred miles per second — he wasn't even sure if he was conscious at that point, "i love you so much and i can't think of my life without you, please marry me," he whispers, squeezing your hand gently.

choso actually got help from everyone on what to say and what to do, which all went down to drain when he decided to use his heart to propose to you. and it worked out well anyways, "seriously? i'm gonna cry," you fanned your eyes.

believe me when i said that choso was on the edge of his seat, waiting for your answer. when you exclaimed out a happy and tearful, "yes!", he could finally breathe out in relief, raising your hand up to his lips in happiness, slipping the ring he even forgot for a second.

choso actually told himself that he wouldn't cry during his own wedding. months before the reception — he finds himself watching wedding videos and happily kicking his feet at the sight of the groom crying, he believed he wouldn't, because he's seen you everyday. right? right?

wrong. the moment the tall doors opened and there you started walking down the aisle slowly, choso felt overwhelmed at the fact that he was getting married to you, and you were getting married to him. he swore if it wasn't for yuuji, he would be laying down in front of the whole guest list, crying on the ground.

he stood there, instinctively wiping his tears — that were never-ending, and god, you looked so beautiful that all he could see was you. choso felt like it was just you and him at that moment, no guest, no yuuji, just you.

after the ceremony, choso just wanted to go back home and if it weren't for you telling him to wait until everyone goes home, he'd technically kidnap his own wife and bring her back to their home. with a pout and a long face, he greets the guest with you, hand in yours like a little child who didn't get what they want.

"can we go back home now? my legs are killing me," he whispers, squeezing your hand, tugging you towards him, "jus' leave them, they're eating the night away . . ."

"let's wait until everyone goes home, okay?" you tell him. almost wanting to laugh at the sight of his fake offended gasp right after, choso didn't complain anyways — nodding his head as you tugged him towards a group of people to greet them.

when you both got home after a long day, choso immediately headed for the bedroom, tossing himself onto the bed, white shirt wrinkled and his tie messily pulled towards one side. eyelids half closed.

"cho, you know you have to shower before you sleep. you stink."

"mmm . . . wanna sleep," he moans out into the pillow, reaching his hand out to you in an attempt to bring you onto the bed, which did not work since you were too busy wiping off your makeup, "can't we just shower tomorrow? 'm so tired."

choso's never really thought about having kids. he didn't know how to take care of kids, nor how to react with kids. for some reason, the universe though — seemed to have bless him with a wave of "baby fever" one and a half year into the marriage. watching videos of random babies from all over the world doing baby things, and he felt his heart flutter at the sight.

that was when he knew, he wanted a family with you. technically, the two of you were already a family the moment you both got married — but he wanted an addition to your small family. a child.

he didn't really know how to break the fact that he wanted a baby with you, and so he tried subtle ways to do so. showing you baby videos, telling you how cute your kids would be, even pointing at baby shoes or onesies when you both go out.

by that point, you'd caught on to his little scheme, "why're you talking about kids a lot? baby shoes, baby onesies, baby videos, baby this, baby that," you informed him, threading your fingers through his hair as he laid his head on your lap.

"wan' a baby."

so when you broke the news that you were bearing his child, he cried. and by cry — i mean bawled out like a baby. clinging to you, overwhelmed at the fact that he was going to have a child with you, he was actually going to have a little family of his own.

just a few days after the news, he'd grown a lot more protective of your wellbeing. asking here and there about what you could and couldn't eat, or what might harm the growing baby inside you. searching here and there.

during your first trimester, more precisely, during your fifth week; the cravings began getting heavy and wonky. despite all that, choso still indulged in your cravings. hell, he even had to try some because he couldn't say no to you when you tried to share with him.

peanut butter and salmon sashimi, pickle juice with honey, cream cheese and fried chicken, ramen soup popsicles, bacon and toothpaste, milk and ramen seasoning, and more of those odd combinations. choso never did complain even once, if you wanted to eat something at three am, he'd run out and go find some no matter what — you were carrying his child, and he figured that was the least he could do for you.

"taste good, baby?" choso asks you, swiping his fingertips over the cream cheese spread on the corner of your lips.

nodding vigorously, you brought the half-eaten fried chicken messily dipped in the thick and white cream cheese spread — eyes shining brightly, as if asking him to try some with you. blinking in surprise, he took a bite. definitely a weird experience for him, and it was one of the oddest combination of food he had ever tried.

"'ts funny, but it's not bad," he swallowed after chewing the chicken a few times; reaching for the glass of water by the nightstand.

throughout your pregnancy, choso made sure to spoil you with a lot of things. the doll you looked at for a split second while the both of you ventured into the mall, the food he sees you browsing through his phone or your phone, tucking you in bed using the pillow he bought for pregnant women, and the feet massages for you everyday.

"where are you going?" choso asks, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. the dark spots under his eyes were getting darker every time — it was obvious the changes in his life had made it, but choso was more than enlightened to do it for you.

"want to drink," you whisper, letting out a cute incoherent noise as you tried to roll off the mattress.

choso was quick to hold you back, tucking you inside the bundle of covers, "i'll get it for you, stay here, okay?" he whispers, hopping off the bed to fetch you a glass of water — choso didn't want to keep you waiting, running off to the kitchen and fetching you a glass of water topped with a lot of ice cubes; something he noticed you'd chew on a lot ever since you got pregnant.

"here you go," he walks back carefully, handing you the water, pinching the skin on your nap gently as he watches you gobble the water down, parting your lips to pop in an ice cube or two.

nearing your due date, specifically just a few days after the 37th week — the contractions started. it was the ninth month, and it was expected. choso heard your hushed whimpers in his sleep, he would probably guess it was at dawn, probably around four? he didn't even bother checking on the time because all he cared was you.

he was barely awake, kicking off the covers and helping you. ushering you to slowly breathe in and out, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the hollow of your back. choso figured that he wanted you and the unborn child to be safe, and so he decided to bring you to the hospital where the experts are.

choso was worried beyond anyone else; even you. constantly staying by your side, his hair disheveled; a few strands going the opposite way, and tangled with each other. he laid his head down on the mattress, by your hand. choso laid his hand on your belly, rubbing against the cloth gently to ease the pain from the contractions.

at the early stage of labor, you were feeling cramps and an intense backache — which choso helped you through. he was glad he brought you to the hospital because not long after, your water broke. and he was there to help you through it all, clutching onto your hand as if he was holding on for dear life.

everything that the doctors or the nurses do, he felt his heart beat a notch quicker than earlier. choso was afraid, and he wasn't really afraid to admit it — i mean, you're his wife and you were carrying his child. he didn't want anything to happen to the both of you.

choso heard the doctor explain to him about what was going to happen, but everything that came in from his left ear exits through his right. he could barely remember anything because through out the explanation, he was too busy caring for you throughout the contractions that had grew a bit more intense during your active labor.

he hated everything inside the delivery room. it smelt like blood — choso was used to blood. but he didn't like it when it came from you, his heart drumming against his chest as he felt your grip tightened on his hand. frankly, he could care less if he broke a few bones as long as you and the baby were both okay.

choso hated seeing you in pain, even while delivering his baby. he didn't blame the baby, of course; he just wishes he could do something and take away the pain from you, latching his lips onto your sweat painted forehead. salty. he could taste your sweat against his lips, and despite that, he still refused to move.

"wish i could jus' take away the pain away from you, y/n," he whispers — hearing your pained grunt, your eyes glazed with fresh tears. and he kissed them away, whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

telling you it was just a bit more until you could see your baby, how proud he is of you, how much he loves you, how much he wished he could take away your pain, everything he felt in his heart at that moment all poured out into hushed whispers.

when the first cry of your baby echoed inside the rowdy delivery room, choso cried. he looked down at you, cradling your face in his hands, singing out, "good job, good job. 'm so proud of you, i love you so much."

the baby's a beautiful baby boy.

choso didn't want to hold the baby first as much as he wanted to — he felt like you deserved to touch the baby first after risking your life to birth him. and so he told the nurse to let you at least see the baby first, he refused to carry his son until you, his wife, touched him first; whether using your hands or any part of your body.

he stared in awe when the baby's loud cry eventually stopped when the nurse brought him to you, letting you coo at your own newborn son. his tears freely dropping, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand.

when the nurse asked him to have skin-to-skin contact, choso was nervous. what if he dropped his son? what if his son doesn't like him? what if his son doesn't like the way his skin feels? so many out of the box questions that didn't need to be answered were roaming in his mind.

as he slowly cradled his son, he blinked back the second round of tears that had threatened to fall. the light blue beanie stuck to his son's head seeped with a few drops of tears, leaning down to press his lips onto the baby's skin a few times. introducing himself as the baby's father and how happy he is to be one,

daichi l/n. that's the baby's name — it meant great first son. the both of you felt that it was a suitable name for your first baby.

choso slept on the small couch inside the hospital room during your healing week, in the middle of both you and him was daichi's small basinet where he slept soundly. he made sure to knock himself awake every now and then to check after both you and daichi.

when the hospital permitted you to go home, you completely relied on choso on heavy things — which you didn't even have to ask, he was already doing it for you. daichi gets a bit fussy at night, and choso always tells you to go back to sleep and that he'd handle the baby.

"you know, you're really noisy, right? mama's really worried about you," he gently poked the baby's cheek with his thumb as he cradled the small bundle of life affectionately, singing out a lullaby he remembered you singing to him years ago.

choso never knew he had a knack on changing diapers until you were occupied, and he had to change daichi's diaper. turns out he was really good at it, and from that day on — he's also told you that he got it. your body was still sore from delivery, and so everything around the house was mostly done by choso under your watch.

although choso's been the one taking care of daichi, he could definitely see how much the baby's turning out to be a big mama's boy even at a few months old. he noticed how daichi would only let you burp him, or sometimes daichi would get fussy when he felt choso raising him up during early mornings until you had to do it.

he didn't care. he wasn't jealous, daichi's still his son and he was glad that daichi loved you a little more than him. he'd like it if his baby prioritizes you first before him.

being a father is a great wonder to him. daichi's first word being 'mama', and his first steps was done while he was sauntering clumsily towards you. choso is such a proud father.

growing up, daichi turned out to be a big mama's boy. but still he loved choso too. now daichi lets choso carries him during mornings, and he relies on choso when something scares him while clutching onto your hand, taking small steps to hide behind choso. using his own father as a shield for him and you.

"don't worry, baby. 's just a lion in the screen, dada will protect us," you scooped the boy into your arms, pointing at the screen where a lion and its cub are walking.

"mmm. dada will protect you both," choso chimes in, ruffling daichi's thin hair.

daichi grew up loving boxing. you didn't know how he knows about it, but at the very next second, he was pestering choso to teach him boxing. and choso dreaded this because what was his son going to do at four years of age in pre-school with boxing? was he going to use it on his teachers? or his friends?

"no . . . maybe when you're older," choso's always said that, patting daichi's head as he does.

daichi whined every single time, but managed to forget when he saw some people drawing on TV. choso once again being a victim of his own son's pleading for some drawing lessons. as a father, choso of course accompanied daichi during his draw sessions in the living room right after the kid comes back from pre-school.

sometimes choso would draw too, having a little competition with his own son. which daichi mostly won — but at the same time, choso never complained about his loss. he was always proud of daichi.

"look, look mama! this is you, this is daichi, and this is dada!" daichi announces, pointing at every aspect of his drawing, explaining to you.

and to the fridge the drawing goes.

when daichi graduated pre-school, choso again, cried. taking pictures using the camera he had asked you to teach him how beforehand, and the pictures weren't the nicest. most of them being a blur of daichi walking down the stage with his small cap, waving his little hand to the camera.

choso was so proud of his son, of you, of himself. looking back— he's realized how far he had come despite not having to expect all of this. a loving wife. a son. a family.

choso was just glad he had his own little family now with you and his son. although . . . he wouldn't mind having another addition to the small community.

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[pickingupmymercedes]

I need you to let me go - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: Not just a pretty face / I need you to let me go / Fly on my own / Leap of faith (bonus)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angsty

wordcount: +2K

a/n: It's not even a slowburn atp, just pure longing and angst. Anyway, do we want a happy ending or just pure heartbreak and right person wrong time trope?

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The air thrummed with a deafening bass beat, the pulsating lights painting the faces in the opulent ballroom with a kaleidoscope of colors.

Y/n felt the familiar unease crawl up her arms. Parties like this were a necessary evil, a way to keep her father's business connections happy. But that night, the forced smiles and meaningless conversations felt unbearable. Her eyes flitting across the room, searching for the familiar dark hair she had seen before, a hint of that easy swagger that always seemed to draw her gaze.

Lewis stood laughing to a corner, his arm casually draped around the waist of a blonde model. Y/n recognized her from his Instagram baddies rounds; someone with a penchant for fame, fast cars and the medal that was having Lewis Hamilton for a weekend.

A sharp annoyance twisted in her stomach, but not jealousy, not exactly. It was more a bitter disappointment, a confirmation of something she'd always knew but had been trying to ignore. Lewis, the man who often made her world tilt on its axis, was just like the others and their list of conquests.

She straightened her back, forcing a smile onto her lips as a group of her father's associates approached. They were a predictable bunch – men with oil money dripping from their tailored suits, wives adorned with enough diamonds to blind those who didn’t know any better.

The conversation followed a familiar script – pleasantries about the weather, questions on her father, on who would take after his business, about her "jet-setting lifestyle." Y/n answered with practiced ease, her mind already a million miles away.

But then a voice cut through the monotonous drone. "Y/n! Looking as radiant as ever."

She turned to see Francis Chrysler, heir to a automobile empire and carrying his family name on that party, much like Y/n. They had known each other since they were kids, Y/n would travel up north to spend summer in the Hamptons with her grandmother and Francis would meet his parents in the US, back from his bordering school in the UK.

Y/n couldn’t deny he was something. Tall, impeccably dressed, and with a smile that could charm the birds from the trees, Francis was exactly the type of man everyone hoped she’d marry – stable, successful, from a “good family” and undeniably the type to merge her family’s fortune to even deeper riches.

But that night, he was also the perfect tool for the job at hand.

"Francis" she replied, a touch of coolness in her voice. "Lovely to see you."

The blonde took her hand, his fingers lingering a beat too long. "I must say, I didn’t expect to see you in the city so early in the year."

" You know me too well. I’d much rather stay in California until it’s warm enough up here" she said, her eyes scanning the room again. Lewis was gone, the blonde model nowhere to be seen.

“But duty called?” Francis focused his gaze on her, trying to get her to look at him before he touched her arm “Something like that” she finally conceded, looking up at him with a warm but emotionless smile.

The rest of the night was a blur of champagne flutes and hollow conversations. Francis, was attentive, even charming in his way. But his attentions only served to highlight the hollowness that echoed inside her.

Lewis's fleeting stares, the way his eyes seemed to see right through her meticulously facade - those were the things she craved, the things she couldn't have.

As the party started to wind down, Y/n found an excuse to slip away. She needed air, needed a moment of sanity away from the suffocating atmosphere and maybe some fresh air from her own mind.

Stepping outside onto the balcony, she took a deep breath of crisp night air. The city lights shimmered below, a glittering reminder of everything she was supposed to aspire. But all she could think about was how her mind and heart could never reach an agreement.

A sudden movement near the edge of the balcony caught her eye. Lewis stood there by himself, leaning against the railing, his face hidden in the shadows. A surge of conflicting emotions coursed her as she noticed he too studied her face – relief, anger, hope.

"Lewis," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Enjoying the company, Y/n?" His voice was a low murmur, his hands gripping a bit too tight against the metal bar.

The question was laced with a playful challenge, a reminder of her earlier display with Francis as they talked and his hand rested a bit too low on her waist. "I manage" she replied, forcing a lightness that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"So, I see," he said, his gaze dropping to where the blonde’s hand had been. A flicker of something dark crossed his face before it was quickly masked by a charming smile. "He seems...familiar with you."

"He's harmless" Y/n said dismissively, the lie bitter on her tongue.

"Didn’t look like that" Lewis countered, his voice taking on a serious edge.

They stood there, the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air. Y/n, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer, broke eye contact.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Y/n" Lewis said, his voice laced with amusement.

She scoffed. "Jealousy? Don't flatter yourself, Lewis. You can have your little arm candy."

His amusement vanished, replaced by a coldness that made her shiver. "Is that what he was then? Your arm candy?"

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/n knew she was playing a dangerous game, one that probably wouldn’t end well.

"Why the charade, Y/n?" He took a step closer, the air crackling with unspoken tension. "Why the forced smiles?"

"Maybe," she countered, her voice holding steadier than she felt "because I'm tired of the stolen glances and the late-night texts that lead to nothing."

Lewis stared at her; his expression unreadable. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, processing her outburst.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Don't tell me you haven't felt it too, Lewis. The frustration, the longing. We dance around each other like moths to a flame, but neither one of us dares to get burned."

He remained silent; his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What do you want, Y/n? Because honestly, I have no idea anymore. It was never a secret how I feel about you."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Here it was, the question she both dreaded and craved.

The answer, however, remained a tangled mess of emotions.

"I..." she started, then stopped.

There was the comfortable life she'd always known, the endless jet-setting, the security of her family's wealth. The power she carried with her from a very young age. A power her mother had taught her to never take for granted. To never trade for a man.

But then there was Lewis, her very own whirlwind of passion and ambition who challenged everything she thought she knew and wanted. He was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. And she couldn’t stand the possibility of changing a single inch of him, even if he offered.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, a tear rolling down her cheek. A truth so raw and honest it took her by surprise to being able to say out loud.

Lewis reached out, brushing the tear away with his thumb. His touch a reminder of their connection that transcended words. For a moment, they were lost in each other's eyes, a silent peace hanging in the air.

"But you want something" he pressed gently.

She nodded, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Part of her yearned for a life intertwined with his, a life with the adrenaline he came intertwined with. The other though, craved stability, a future that she could plan about.

"Why are we doing this, Lewis?" she blurted out, finally turning to face him fully again. "This game of… of pretending we don't care."

His jaw clenched briefly, a flicker of frustration mirroring her own. "Because," he began, his voice low and controlled, "because it's easier than this. Easier than admitting what this is."

He gestured vaguely between them; the unspoken truth thick in the air.

"And what exactly is this, then, Lewis?" she challenged, a tremor in her voice finally showing the faltering of her walls.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching hers, and with each step, the temperature between them seemed to rise, Y/n not backing the slightest.

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" Y/n spoke the words hanging in the air, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's torture," he corrected her, his voice raw with emotion. "Seeing you with someone else..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. The implication hanging heavy. Y/n felt his pain echo within her, a bittersweet recognition.

His eyes searched hers, a silent plea hanging between them. He wanted her, she knew that much. But the fear of disrupting their fragile equilibrium, of sacrificing their comfortable charade, held them both captive.

A wave of despair washed over Y/n. They were caught in a never-ending loop, dancing around their desires, afraid to take the leap.

"Then why do we keep doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why do we keep pretending?"

He reached out, his thumb tenderly brushing at her hand.

"Because," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "because even this… even this agonizing dance is better than not having you at all."

"Is it?" she questioned, the tears she had tried so fiercely to keep in finally spilling over. "Because all this yearning is slowly breaking me."

He flinched at her words, the pain in her eyes mirroring his own. They stood there, bathed in the city’s lights, the weight of unspoken desires and the reality of their relationship created a suffocating silence between them.

Finally, Y/n took a step back, pulling away from his touch. The physical distance mirroring the emotional chasm that seemed to be growing between them.

“I can keep you in the dark, Lewis. You deserve love. And I can’t give you that. Not right now” The look of raw vulnerability on his face tore at her heart, but she knew she was right. They couldn't keep living in this state of perpetual longing.

"Y/n, I’m not a child, I know what I’m getting myself into" he began, his voice laced with annoyance. But she held up a hand, silencing him.

"I need to go" she choked out, turning away from him before she crumbled completely.

Without another word, she walked back inside, the party lights blurring with the tears that she fought so valiantly to hold in.

Weeks later y/n found herself sneaking into a european f1 paddock late at night on a Friday.

The roar of the engine had long been replaced by the sterile hiss of the garages closing around them. It was a sound she would normally hate, a constant reminder of the world that made Lewis impossible to her.

But that night, it was a chilling and fitting melody to accompany the hollowness in her chest that threaded to swallow her.

They hadn't spoken in almost a month. Not since the party and since their talk, the one that shattered the fragile peace they'd managed to balance.

His silence was a language she knew all too well, a tapestry woven with disappointment and unspoken blame, his and hers.

She watched him from across the dimly lit garage, the harsh overhead lights glinting off at his temple. He looked beautiful, untouchable, a goddamn champion shrouded in the shadows.

It was a sight that would've probably lighten something in her, a reminder of why she kept coming back.

But tonight, all she felt was a cold dread.

"I need your help Lewis.” she whispered, the words a plea and a surrender all at once. The air hanging heavy, thick with the unspoken truth that both refused to accept it.

His eyes flickered to hers, surprise quickly replaced by a steely glint. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his lips as she continued. “I need you to let me go”

Maybe he saw it too, the raw vulnerability etched on her face, the fear that threatened to consume her.

"Because honestly," she murmured, her voice barely above a choked sob, "I haven’t been able to do it on my own”

The words hung in the air, a desperate confession that shattered the carefully constructed walls around her heart. Lewis took a hesitant step towards her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Y/n?" His voice was rough, laced with something that sounded suspiciously like hope.

She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "Nobody gets me like you" she choked out, the words echoing the hurt in the duty she felt to follow her better judgment instead of her heart.

It was a messy confession, a tangle of contradictions and unspoken desires. But in the quiet of the garage, under the harsh glare of the lights, it felt like the only truth that mattered.

Lewis closed the distance left between them, his arms enveloping her in a warmth that chased away the chill that had settled in her bones since that NYC night.

There were no answers, just the echo of a question hanging in the air, a question that they both knew neither had the answer to. But for those moments, in the fragile space between letting go and holding on, they hung to a sliver of solace, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way out.

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[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Hangry

Word count: ~2,000

Pairing: Steve x reader and Bucky (platonic), no pronouns used

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff. Mild cursing.

It's been a year and a half since my last posted works! I'm VERY out of practice 😅 I'm trying to work on some smaller prompts on my list while I get myself back into writing and continue working on the Loki blip in the universe prompt. It's not my best, but I hope you enjoy in any case!

This was based on a Prompt for Steve x reader as well as a prompt where reader and Bucky bug Steve while he's making a public appearance.

“Tell us, Captain, sir - how did the Avengers manage to track down the villain’s hideout this time?”

“Well, good sir - we have state-of-the-art technology that allows us to track electronic signals from thousands of miles away…”

“Ugh, he is such a ham!” you muttered to Bucky under your breath as you observed Steve from a distance. “We’re never going to make it to the store if he keeps stopping every time a reporter tries to chat him up!”

“Steve can’t resist bragging about us,” Bucky chided, nudging you with his elbow.

“Yeah, well… some of us are hungry!”

You huffed and folded your arms across your chest in annoyance, trying to catch the reporter’s eye with your scowling face, but she was far too enamored by the star-spangled captain to pay you any mind. How had a simple grocery run for ice cream turned into a twenty-minute interview with the press??

“I swear, I’m gonna go drag him away from that reporter by the ear if he doesn’t stop talking in the next 60 seconds,” you grumbled.

“Why do that when we can mess with him instead?”

You turned to look at Bucky, who had a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Go on…”

He smirked, shooting you a wink. “Watch and learn.”

You watched silently as Bucky meandered casually toward where Steve stood speaking with the reporter and her photographer. Steve was none the wiser to his friend approaching from behind.

“… but the serum isn’t the only thing that makes us heroes. It takes a whole load of grit and determina-HAY-tion-!”

Steve flinched as his best friend subtly reached up and pinched his side mid-sentence, effectively silencing him. The captain recovered quickly, though, chuckling nonchalantly as he flashed Bucky a look. He continued on with his sentence after that, refusing to acknowledge what just happened.

“Wait - Steve is ticklish??” you whispered incredulously as Bucky returned to your side.

“Very. Why does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just assumed the serum eliminated weaknesses like that.”

Bucky chuckled. “Nah - if anything it made it worse.”

“Oh-ho, I’ve got to try this for myself!”

You quietly paced up behind the blabbing soldier, pretending you were casually walking past to avoid drawing attention from passerby. As you stepped by him, you reached out and swiftly dug your fingertips into his ribs for less than a second. Steve choked on his words and whipped his head around instinctively. You ducked out of his field of vision and prodded his other side.

“Excuse me,” Steve requested politely, turning around as nonchalantly as possible to find you standing behind him with a guilty grin on your face. “Can I help you?”

“I just came to remind you that we have somewhere we have to be,” you stated sweetly.

“Yes, but it isn’t urgent,” he muttered.

“Oh, I think you’ll find it to be very urgent, actually,” you whispered, shooting him a cheeky wink. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Steve turned to the reporter.

“My apologies, ma’am. Duty calls.”

You saw Bucky clap a hand over his mouth and nose to cover the snort that burst from his nares. Trying hard not to openly roll your eyes in front of the reporter, you nodded in the direction of the grocery store and began marching purposefully toward your destination, with Steve following in your wake.

“You two are infuriating,” Steve grumbled once you were out of earshot from the reporter.

“Excuse me - I just want to go get my ice cream and head back home to eat it,” you countered. “You’re the one who decided to schmooze with the first person who asked you about your superpowers.”

“I’m just trying to maintain good public relations. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Ugh, no. I hate talking about myself.”

The three of you bickered amicably the entire way to the store. It hadn’t ended by the time you’d made it back to the tower kitchen and dropped your grocery bags on the counter.

“I’m just saying - it wouldn’t kill you to wear a hat or something to hide your face from reporters when we’re just trying to go to the store,” you griped, shrugging your sweatshirt off your shoulders and hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen stools.

“It wouldn’t kill you to try to be friendly to strangers every once in a while,” Steve retorted.

“Excuse me - I am a very friendly person! I’m just selective about it.”

“Friendly as an angry porcupine, sure.”

You gasped indignantly. “Are you saying I’m sharp with people??”

“You’re just a little… prickly.”

“Ooh, now that’s an insult,” Bucky hummed sarcastically.

“You’re just as bad, you know. Forget porcupines - you’re like a venomous sea urchin or something,” Steve shot back at his friend. You snorted.

“Steve… you’ve really got to work on your teasing skills,” you chuckled. “A ‘sea urchin?’ Really?”

“I could just take your ice cream”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Steve held your gaze for a moment, eyes darting briefly to the bag on the counter between you with the ice cream inside. You lunged for the bag handle, but Steve predicted your move, snatching it out of your reach before you could get a hand on it.

“Damnit, Steve!! Give it back!” you whined, rounding the counter to swipe for the grocery bag. He turned his back to you, maintaining a barrier between you and the prize. “Bucky! Help me out here!”

“Nah, this is pretty funny to watch,” Bucky chuckled, snickering as you swatted at Steve’s arm.

“Yeah but your ice cream is in there too!”

Bucky sighed. “You make a fair point. Steve, buddy, give it back.”

Steve snorted. “You’ve been just as much a pain in my rear today! Why would I give it back to you either?”

You gasped dramatically, catching Bucky’s eye. “Are you gonna let him talk to you like that?”

“‘Course not!”

Without warning, Bucky lunged at his super soldier friend, tackling him to the floor. The bag of ice cream slipped from Steve’s grasp in his surprise, which you quickly snatched up before he could regain the wherewithal to take it back. With a triumphant shout, you tore the cover off your pint of ice cream and dug a spoon out of the drawer, swiping a scoop off the top layer and shoving it in your mouth with a contented sigh.

“Mm… finawwy,” you mumbled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you pointed your spoon accusatorially at Steve where he was currently trying to shove Bucky off himself. “You know, you’ve been a pain in my rear all day. You deserved this - it’s nice to see someone teaching you a lesson.”

“You two are pains in my rear every day!” Steve huffed as he grasped at Bucky’s shoulders and pushed.

“You did not just say that!” you gasped dramatically.

“Yeah, how dare you!” Bucky added, pinching at Steve’s side for emphasis.

“Bahah- Bucky, don’t start this,” Steve warned as he grasped his friend’s wrists to still his hands.

“Ooh! Wait!” You set your ice cream and spoon down on the counter beside you. “I want a go! Bucky, hold him there for a minute.”

“Whahat??” Steve laughed in surprise, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Sure!” Bucky offered, ignoring his friend’s protests as he maneuvered his wrists from Steve’s grasp and swiftly pinned his arms to the floor a few inches from his sides. “Quick, before he gets free!”

"On it!" You crouched down beside the super soldiers as Steve tugged against Bucky's grip. Without waiting to listen to Steve's protests any further, you began to scribble your fingertips into his exposed sides and ribs rapidly. You heard a thump behind you as Steve kicked his heel against the floor in protest, now pulling more frantically to escape his best friend's hold.

"HA-HEHEY! Cut it ohout!!"

"Nah. I deserve a little reward for tolerating you all day," you snickered, prodding at his belly. "Hey, Buck - where should I get him next?"

"Ohh, definitely under his arms," he suggested with a smirk. You pinched your way up his ribcage before slotting your hands into the narrow space between his biceps and his upper ribs. Bucky adjusted his grip to pry his friend's arms away from his sides as he attempted to clamp them down to limit the space under his arms.

"BUCKY!! Let me go-HO-HO this I-HI-INSTANT!" Steve demanded.

"No can do, buddy. I'm enjoying watching you get taken down a peg."

"DAHAMNIT BAHARNES!!"

"Oof, language Steve!" you teased, digging your fingers into the soft spot under his arms. "Where else is he ticklish?"

"The spot on his stomach right under his ribs - that'll really get him good." Steve nearly managed to slip his wrist from Bucky's grasp, but he quickly shifted his grip once again. "Better do it quick - I can't hold him much longer."

"Say no more." You pulled your hands free from under Steve's arms and danced your fingertips across the muscle-clad skin of his abdomen just under his ribcage as Bucky suggested. He threw his head back with a heavy stream of laughter at your touch, arching his back against the floor in desperation. It was only another moment before he finally succeeded in escaping Bucky's grasp.

Steve sat up swiftly, a playful but menacing gleam in his eye as his gaze immediately landed on you.

"Oh-ho, shit!" You scrambled to get to your feet to make your escape, groaning defeatedly when you felt a strong set of arms wrap around your waist and yank you backward.

“You really think I’d let you get away with that?” Steve asked rhetorically as he tightened his arms around your midsection to hold you in place.

“W-wait, Steve, we can- ahaha nohoho!” Your protests were cut short as Steve’s fingers kneaded into your sides. “Bucky! Hehehelp!!”

“Nuh-uh. You’re on your own, my friend.” The infuriatingly unhelpful super soldier waltzed over to the counter to retrieve his ice cream, planting himself atop the countertop and digging in while observing the two of you wrestling on the floor below.

“USELEHESS!!” you cried, attempting futilely to pry Steve’s hands off your sides.

“Nice try. You should know better than to mess with me by now,” Steve teased. He loosened his grip slightly to scratch at your belly. A rumbling laugh erupted in his chest when you screeched in protest and doubled over, suddenly much more frantic. “Oh, what’s this?”

“DAHAMNIT STE-HEE-HEVE!” Your grip on his hands was far too weak to even budge them now - not that you’d had any hope of succeeding before your muscles had weakened from his tickling. You leaned more heavily into him as you succumbed to laughter. He responded by lowering you down to lay on the floor beside him, freeing both hands to dart randomly around your sides and stomach. Weakly, you tapped your palm on the floor beside you in surrender. Steve threw in a few more exceedingly ticklish light scratches along your belly before relenting in his revenge.

“That’ll teach you,” he teased with a grin, offering you a hand to help you off the ground. You grasped your abdominal muscles that were now aching from laughter.

“I-hi… I’ll probably still mess with you,” you admitted breathlessly. Steve made a noise of protest in his throat and reached over to pinch your side, but you swatted his hand away. “Noho more! You’ll kill me!”

“So dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “Here - here’s your ice cream. Hope it melted while you were tormenting me.”

“Harsh!” You snatched it from his hand and stuck out your tongue, then turned to look at Bucky. "And you - you were zero help, thank you."

"Hey! I held him down for you! I was very helpful, in my personal opinion."

The three of you went right back to your friendly bickering session, as though nothing had happened. Any outside might wonder how you could all be friends, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

[yelspyder]

hi can you are gwen and miles (separate) x fem reader headcanons with a short s/o?

˚‧⁺.-“I’m just compact and ridiculously adorable”

↳ summary: them w/ a short S/O

↳ characters: (separately) Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy

↳ Fem! Reader

↳ notes: ugh, i will never be able to put into words how much i love gwen and miles. they two are just so asjfjddkdkddkd anyway, thanks for asking and hope you like it!

Miles Morales

Miles would find your height difference cute, after all, it was all the more reason he could praise you. This boy would be wanting to hug you all the time, but it's not his fault you're so cute, your size just makes it easier for him to hug you.

He would give you a ride on his back whenever you wanted, after all, he is your hero. No arguments, he would just agree and carry you like a princess, not to mention that he wouldn't do it out of obligation or anything like that, but because he loves seeing your stupid smile and gremlin laughs on your face whenever he carries you on his back.

Miles might not always be there due to his duties as spider-man, but whenever he is, he makes sure he treats you like a princess and always compliments your height, listing all the perks and assuring you that he loves that about you. He would 100% compare the size of your hands, and he would definitely die from cuteness inside.

He always emphasizes your height in the drawings and sketches he makes of you in a good way. He doesn't accept that your drawings are less than perfect, and that includes being true to your height, after all you are perfect in his eyes.

If you were sad or unsure about your height, Miles will wrap you in a blanket burrito and have a conversation about how awesome you are and should see it like him, followed by a movie session with snacks and sweets. In the end, your self-esteem would be high (at least for a while) because, come on, this is Miles we're talking about and we know he's the best "psychologist" out there.

Gwen Stacy

Gwen would tease you a bit about your height, but nothing to offend you of course. If she saw that you were uncomfortable with her teasing, she would immediately go over and give you a few hugs as an apology.

She thinks it's super cute how you depend on her to get something from the top shelf, so she always leaves a few jars on the top shelves so you have to ask her for help. Whenever you asked for help, she would arrive with a teasing smile on her face as she helped you, but the tables turned as soon as you dropped a quick peck on her lips and called her 'my hero' dramatically, she would turn into a puddle of shyness.

If you found this whole teasing funny and even joined in on the joke, Gwen would definitely joke about how you look like Lord Farquaad from Shrek. The next day, you showed up on her doorstep in a badly done cosplay of him and it became a meme between the two of you.

She always finds all the teasing amusing, but if anyone else does it, especially in a mean way, she quickly becomes aggressive. It wouldn't escalate into a physical fight, but she would have a private "friendly" conversation with them and, if they continued, the ghost-spider who would deal with them.

Even though Gwen says you're small (she's not wrong here), all she wants to do after a long day is hug you. Due to your size, she would be the big spoon most of the time, holding you does decompress her tense muscles, but she doesn't mind, and even prefers, to be held when she needs comfort. Hearing you talk about your day as she hugs you does wonders for Gwen.

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

[auxcordlawd]

Part Three: Wandering Thoughts of a Ravenclaw

Words: 1024

Summary: You continue your detention with Professor Snape, finding yourself thinking of him a bit too much.

Warnings: PG-13, talk of heavy petting, sexual fantasizing, drinking, 18+ student and professor

18+

Part 3

Tuesday morning instead of going to the Great Hall for breakfast, you went to the library. Your head was buzzing with your dreams from last night. Images of your professor looking down at you with his onyx eyes, with hunger. Straddling over you, kissing your neck with a light bite at the end. Feeling his large hands grab your waist tightly. You felt heat between your legs.

“Uh hello?”

You were startled out of your thoughts when Miles suddenly sat down next to you, tapping your shoulder. “How long were you sitting there?” You asked feeling embarrassed for your concealed thoughts.

“Not long, enough to say hello a few times, you seem kind of out of it. I felt like I haven’t seen you in days between Quidditch practices and detentions with Professor Sprout, thanks to that asshole Snape.” Miles stated with clear anger towards the end of his statement.

“I know, I’ve been suffering too,” you stated meaning it in a slightly different manner, “after Easter break I will no longer be in detention.”

“Yeah but I still have another week after we are back. At least I’m visiting my family over the break. Are you going home for break?”

“No, I would but my parents are on a cruise, so I didn’t see the point. I have studying I want to catch up on though, especially if I want that Potions position.”

“I can’t see how anyone in their right mind would stay here after we graduate.” He said, seeming to regret the way he said it.

“I have to get to class.” You stated before quickly leaving him in the library.

Classes dragged on, you wished you had a DADA (Defense Against the Dark Arts) today. After what felt like forever it was time for dinner. You thought about sitting down and enjoying yourself, but decided to grab a ham and cheese sandwich and a butterbeer and head to your dorm to primp yourself before detention. You decided to change out of your uniform top and put on a deep v-neck cable knit sweater, and decided on not wearing a bra, wearing a necklace to draw more attention to your breasts. You left your skirt as is, but put your hair up.

Professor Snape was waiting for you at his office door, with a hand full of empty bottles. “We’re going to the Potions classroom, grab the remaining bottles on my desk and meet me there” He stated before turning on his heel leaving you standing near his doorway. You walked into his office, and took a deep breath in. You saw his pensive sitting there on top of the potions cabinet, desperately wondering what a peak in his mind would be like. You found a cloak of his hanging on the back of his chair, and smelled in his stimulating scent. His smell led your dream to creep back in your mind, his lips on your neck, hands gripping your waist trailing down to your skirt, slowly pushing it up to reveal your panties soaked- “Miss (y/l/n).”

You quickly stood up straight to see Professor Snape looking at you impatiently yet with some question in his eyes. “Quickly now, grab those potions, we have much to do.” He stated grabbing a few of the potions leaving me with only a couple to carry. You followed him beet red in the face, grateful he did not question you, only hoping he did not use Legilimency on you.

He had two teas sitting on the teachers desk, one near him, the other in front of the desk. You sat down at the chair in front of the desk, and he pushed the other tea towards you without at word. He was writing down notes, ingredients for his potions you assumed. You sipped you tea in silence as he continued scribbling. After several minutes passed he handed you the list and instructed you to get the ingredients needed while he readied the cauldrons.

“Good,” he stated as you returned with the needed ingredients, “I want to see you create each of the potions. I will watch over you, of course, but I want to ensure you can successfully recreate even some of my most complex potions.” He stood back and allowed you to get started. He leaned on the desk behind you sipping his tea while you worked. You made several potions to his liking over the next hour. You came across one you had never seen. “Professor?”

He was standing next to you before you finished asking for him. “Mm yes, I tweaked that one myself.” He said with a proud smirk. “Care to guess what it does?” After a minute of you attempting to figure it out he announced it was a modified version of The Elixir to Induce Euphoria. He began walking you through it. You’d never seen him so relaxed and in his element. Your arms touched from time to time, as you were standing so close together, you could feel his heat. “I didn’t know how you take your tea.” Snape said in a surprisingly warm tone.

“It was very good professor, thank you.” You stated smiling up at him. He looked down at you, his eyes trailing down to your lips, and then your chest. You followed his eyes down. You felt his large hand on your chin, pulling your eyes back up to his. Your breath hitched in your chest. You thought you were back in your dream. His thumb traced your lip with your chin still in his hands. He leaned down until you felt his breath, close enough to kiss you. “Very good.” He said in a dominating tone yet being a whisper. Heat spread throughout your body focusing between your legs as you looked up at him doe eyed. After a few seconds he released his grasp, shifting his focus back on the potion. You attempted to gather yourself. As he began to bottle the potions you started to clean up. “Alright Miss (y/l/n), lets bring these back to my office, then you are free to go.”As you followed him to his office your thoughts were all over the place, all you wanted was to be locked in his office, on top of him. You didn’t want to be free.

Inside his office you took the liberty of putting the newly filled potions in their appointed places. He seemed pleased by this, but also noticed that you were in no rush to leave. “I have a bottle of red elf-made wine I am going to open,” Snape hesitated unsure of how to continue “if you'd like a glass..” he trailed off. “I’d love that.” You said a bit too quickly. He conjured up two long stemmed wine glasses that looked ancient as well as the bottle uncorked. He poured two healthy glasses, handed you yours, and swirled his around in his glass before taking a large sip. You followed in his lead.

You both sat in content silence sipping wine until he put on some quiet classical music. “Most applicants for the Potions position are atrocious. If I must train someone who has promise, I will do so.” He said staring at you, waiting for a response. You had none so instead you took another drink. “You show promise Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, sir. It truly means the most coming from you. You’re truly the master, I’m lucky to be under you.” You spoke without thinking, realizing you finished your glass. You blushed deep red. He refilled his glass and walked around to the front of his desk and refilled yours. Snape sat on the front of his desk, looking directly down at you. His leg just brushing yours.

“However,” he said in a more commanding tone “I notice you are still distracted.”

“Sir, I have only briefly talked to Miles, he is not on my mind anymore, I pro-“

“I am aware.” Snape said looking down at you. He took drink of his wine as did you. “After your detention is complete I’d like to start tutoring you. But I feel certain things are getting in our way.” His gaze once again drifting to your lips, then chest, then thighs which were now exposed more than planned. You shifted in your seat. “Do I make you nervous?”

The alcohol seemed to fuel your words at this point. “Yes, but not in the way you make most students nervous.” He tilted his head as to let you continue. “I think about you in ways a student shouldn’t.” You look down, silently cursing yourself. Snape grabs your chin like before to look up at him. “I am well aware of how I make you feel Miss (y/l/n), I’d like to say I have no intentions of giving in to your desires.” Snape states slowly while his hand traces down your neck to your shoulder, pushing the sweater to the side revealing your bare shoulder. You get goosebumps.

“Alright Miss (y/l/n)” Professor Snape said in his normal tone standing up, turning to walk behind his desk, “tomorrow, as you know is your final for this term of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will need time after to grade, so you will be reporting back to be the following day to resume detention.”

“Yes, Sir.” You said breathlessly.

“Take the rest of the evening to rest, as I have kept you here late. I will send food to your common room. Goodnight Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, goodnight professor Snape.”

You quickly made your way to the common room. Still unsure what happened, goosebumps still present, and a needy aching below your stomach. As you walked in you saw a delicious looking charcuterie plate, along with a folder. As you opened it you found something truly surprising.

Miss (y/l/n), I have taken study time you surely needed, although you found yourself in this predicament, I feel you shall find this useful. Tell no one - S.S

A study guide. After a few hours of studying the personalized guide and your wandering mind you found yourself quite sleepy. You dozed off thinking of the day, no need to fantasize.

[clownmoontoon]

HEYO LOVELIES!! \OUO/ <3<3<3!!! ive been itching to try a new art schedule i came up with so i dont end up drawing one character for two years straight again LMAO not that theres anything wrong w that ofc! its been fun! ;u; theres just SO MUCH on my "to draw" list im excited for and wanna get to work on and i think thisll not only make it easier for me, itll make it more fun for YOU! :D and to add a bit more consistency to my posting so its not 10 posts in a week and then months of nothing LMAO HELP from now on ill be posting on...

i may be working on a long form comic or animatic etc stuff that probably cant be finished to my liking in a week's time so the wednesday posts may be new photosets/edits etc of past art! either way ill be posting on wednesdays and following this schedule for my art from now on til i focus in on one of my specific stories! ((this doesnt impact how i reblog here or post to my patreon btw this is just for my art posting here specifically! ^^))

AND THE SCHEDULE WILL LOOK LIKE THIS! \OUO/

🤡MOON!! - anything off my draw list that stars my mascot, sona and fave oc MOON !! you've prob seen this rainbow, twintailed, fangy nonbinary clown monster around my blog at some point GET READY FOR MORE!! COMICS AND LORE AND ILLUSTRATIONS!! ITS CLOWN TIME BBY!! >:oD

🌈FANART - my fanart list is a MILE LONG LMAO and im so excited to dig into it!! lots of mini comics, long form comics, animatics and one off pieces scripted and planned!!! also if u followed me for a specific fandom chances are theres LOTS more of that coming!! theres so much on my list that, even after the hyperfixation passed, im like YEAH I STILL WANNA DRAW THAT

😈OC (not moon lol) - its about time i show off my other ocs who have been a bit neglected by me artwise ^^; I THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME THO!! HONEST!! AND IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY SHARE THEM AND THEIR STORIES W ALL OF YOU!! \QVQ/

🌈FANART (diff from prev!) - to keep myself from drawing for the same piece of media over n over in a row THIS fanart will be from a different piece of media than the last one i drew!! if i have multiple small ideas i wanna get out fast i may throw them all into one ⭐️Super Post⭐️ with illustrations and comics all contained! this isnt to say i will never do same media fanart again ofc, just not back to back!

AND THEN I !!!

I START BACK AT MOON! :o) im sO SUPER EXCITED TO GET INTO THIS LIST AND IM ALREADY TWO POSTS IN!! WOO!! LETS GOOO!!! RAAAHHH!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

LOVE U GUYS!!! \QUQ/ THANK U ALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT THUS FAR!! I HOPE U LOOK FORWARD TO ALL THE NEW STUFFS!! <3<3<3!!!

[ladysarai]

happy writing! :D

....I cannot believe this fic happened. Sorry not sorry.

~*~

“What’s wrong with him?” Ariadne asks, irritation and hurt in her voice, watching Arthur stalk out of the hotel room they’re using as a base.

“It’s not us, pet,” Eames tells her, calm and patient and utterly unperturbed by the explosion of temper they’d just witnessed.

She huffs, returning to her drafts with vicious intent, feeling like her emotions are boiling under her skin. “Well, something crawled up his ass today,” she finally snaps, unable to keep herself in check. “And if it’s not us, then it’s not okay for him to take it out on us.”

Eames doesn’t say anything at first, and when she finally can’t take his silence anymore, she looks at him and finds him watching her contemplatively. He holds up a hand before she can snap at him, and she swallows it back, scowling instead. Finally, he says, “Today is Mal’s birthday. Was.”

Ariadne blinks at that, and she remembers Arthur’s face, during the Fischer job, the surprise and hurt when he said “she’s dead,” and the look in his eyes, the deep sadness of “she was lovely.” She thinks of the only other time she’s ever seen Arthur lose his temper like he had today, and realizes it was with Cobb, during the Fischer job–”what, with Mal? ‘Cause that worked so good?”

“Oh,” she says finally. Eames is still watching her, reading her reaction, watching her assemble the puzzle pieces. “I didn’t–I know he knew her. I didn’t know they were close.”

There’s a strange, unreadable expression that crosses Eames’s face at that, and a long moment before he speaks. When he does, Ariadne feels a little like the world has tilted on its axis.

“She was his sister.”

~*~

It doesn’t make sense. The puzzle pieces don’t slide together neatly, and Ariadne can’t find a way to manipulate them in a way that works.

Once she gets past the initial hurt feelings and indignation over the fact that no one said one thing during the entirety of the Fischer job (or after), she has to acknowledge that she actually doesn’t know all that much about Arthur’s personal life.

She knows even less about Mallorie Cobb (nee Miles; she only knows that because she went to see Dr. Miles after she returned from LA and saw a picture of her in his office along with children’s drawings for “Grampa” on the bulletin board). She knows what happened to her. She knows about Cobb’s guilt, and what his mind twisted her into, and she knows that what she knows is all filtered through him and his memories, and it isn’t enough.

Ariadne remembers insisting, over and over, that Cobb needed to tell Arthur about Mal, about what he was burying, and now she thinks–of course. Of course Cobb wouldn’t want to tell Arthur what he’d done to Mal, what he was then doing to his memories of her. She thought she was seeing more than anyone else, but maybe she was looking right into the sun and not seeing it.

She promised Eames that she wouldn’t bother Arthur about this–not now, not yet. But she never promised not to try to find out what she can. Google is only so helpful; Arthur is a lost cause. She tried looking him up after they first met, but the name she knows for him is clearly an alias, and no matter how hard she’s tried, she hasn’t been able to find any records or trace of him. (She knows now that he, along with Eames, were involved in those early military experiments he once told her about. She can only imagine that being part of a top secret military experiment must contribute to having an ungoogleable past, and she really isn’t keen on getting herself on some Homeland Security watch list.) She tries googling “Arthur Miles” now, but it’s useless.

She looks up Dr. Miles instead; Stephen Miles, professor of architecture at a long list of prestigious universities. She finds lists of his books and published articles, and reads about how he lives in Paris with his wife Marie, where they raised their daughter, Mallorie.

So Ariadne looks up Mal, using both names, Miles and Cobb. She discovers that Mal had a doctorate–a Ph.D. in neuropsychology, which is not something she ever would have been able to guess based on Cobb’s memories of her. There are lists of her own published articles, most of them related to dreams and dreaming. This was Mal; this was the kind of woman who would marry Dominic Cobb, who would experiment on dream levels with him and follow him to Limbo, who would stay there with him for over fifty years.

Ariadne reads several of her articles, and wishes she could have met the real woman, the one who wrote them.

No matter how much she researches, how much she reads, Ariadne still can’t find the missing piece to her puzzle. She can’t figure out how Arthur fits into the puzzle of Mal, of Mal and Cobb. She can’t fit “ah, so you’ve met Mrs.Cobb” and “she was lovely” with sister and brother.

~*~

Ariadne sets the mystery aside, but she doesn’t forget. She thinks about calling Cobb and asking him, but something stops her. She would rather ask Arthur, but for some reason, she doesn’t. They finish that job (Arthur apologizes the next day for his outburst, and no one says anything about why–and she doesn’t ask), and they keep in touch via email and texts until they work on another job together. She doesn’t ask about it at that job, either.

It’s a good seven months and two jobs later that Ariadne finds herself alone in a rented office space with Arthur and Eames. She’s building a 3-D model of the dream layout, carving into cardboard with an x-acto knife, when Eames announces that he’s going to go pick up lunch. He asks if she wants to come with, but she declines and gives him her sandwich order.

It isn’t until he’s closing the door behind him that she realizes two things. First, he never asks Arthur what he wants; he just always seems to know what to bring him. And second–that Arthur is still sleeping, hooked up to the PASIV, testing out their chemist's newest batch of somnacin. She looks over at him, sprawled out bonelessly on the couch, his face relaxed like she never sees it when he’s awake, and a tiny voice in the back of her mind wonders if she’s ever going to learn her lesson.

Not today, apparently.

She’s across the room and hooking herself up to the PASIV before she fully allows herself to think of the potential consequences.

Arthur’s dreams are usually her favorites. He’s the most stable dreamer she knows of–according to Eames, he’s the most stable dreamer there is–and no one is better at mazes and paradoxes than Arthur.

What she falls into this time is different. There’s no crisp architecture or modern designs, no mazes, no fancy hotels or office buildings. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of a quiet city side street. There’s snow on the ground and the sky is a gunmetal gray that promises more snow in the near future. Ariadne shivers and dreams herself up a warmer coat and some gloves, looking around to try to place herself and figure out where Arthur might be.

She begins slowly walking down the block, keeping an eye out for projections. The ones she passes aren’t bothered by her, and don’t even seem to register her presence. She spots Massachusetts license plates on the cars, and the occasional Red Sox or Bruins flags on the houses she passes. Boston, maybe, or somewhere just outside–this certainly isn’t the downtown touristy part of the city she’s used to seeing on television or in movies, but there’s a realness to it that tells her this is something more than just some random dreamscape.

She sees some figures in the street and hears voices up ahead, and recognizes Arthur’s. She ducks into the alley between two houses, sneaking through a back yard or two until she can creep along the side of a house and kneel down next to a porch, keeping herself mostly hidden behind a bush.

They’re there, standing in the street, looking up at the house behind her. Arthur, hands in his coat pockets, standing next to Mal. Looking at them standing there, both in their dark clothing, matching frowns on their faces… Ariadne sees it, now. The missing piece of the puzzle slides into place neatly. She was his sister.

“Why are we here, Mal?” Arthur asks, eyes still on the house.

Mal glances over at him and gives him an enigmatic little smile. This Mal is subtly different from the Mal Ariadne remembers from Cobb’s dreams; warmer, less threatening, but her accent is the same. “You tell me, mon cher. This is your dream, remember?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in something almost a smile. “You know I hate when you get all self-aware on me.”

She puts a hand on his arm. “Ah, but you never have been good at lying to yourself, now have you, Arthur?” She begins walking toward the house, and Ariadne shrinks back against the building, huddling further behind the bush. She hears Mal walk up the porch steps and stop and after a moment, Arthur follows.

For a moment Ariadne isn’t sure what to do; she thinks that if they went inside the house, she would have heard the door, but if they’re on the porch, she doesn’t dare move in case Arthur sees her. Then she hears Arthur’s voice, and thinks maybe they’ve sat on the porch steps. “I miss you.”

“I know,” Mal says. “But this isn’t about me.”

“Sure, it is.” There’s a teasing note to Arthur’s voice that Ariadne recognizes. “You know, for a memory, you’re really not playing along very well.”

“This is not one of our happier memories. You could have picked something nicer. Certainly something warmer than Dorchester in March.”

He snorts. “I’m testing a compound. I didn’t exactly plan on a trip down this end of Memory Lane.”

“What did you plan on?”

Arthur doesn’t answer for a long time, and when he does, it doesn’t make sense to Ariadne. “I’m glad you grew up in France.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t. We should have been together.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda.” Ariadne has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way Arthur says it.

“I could have protected you.”

Arthur laughs at that, not unkindly. “Mal, I was fine. You were there when I really needed you. Besides, you and Dad would have been like oil and water. I’m pretty sure none of us would have survived.”

“Dom and I will have beautiful children,” Mal announces, and there’s something about her cadence that tells Ariadne that this is Memory!Mal. “And if we ever divorce, I will make sure the children stay together and have the chance to know both of their parents. Even if Dominic does not deserve my benevolence.”

“Fuck, I forgot you said that,” Arthur sighs.

Mal laughs, bright and cheerful, and Ariadne’s heart aches for reasons she can’t name. She thinks she’s heard enough, so she creeps carefully back the way she came and waits until she’s far from Arthur’s childhood home before she kicks herself out of his dream.

Ariadne never tells anyone what she saw, and decides she would rather wait for Arthur to confide in her than go poking about in any more dream memories.

[dancingtotuyo]

“come here often?”

Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: fucking men in bathrooms of dirty bars isn’t your usual cup of tea, but sometimes you make exceptions.

Warnings/Tags: strangers, alcohol consumption, sex (p in v), unprotected sex (wrap it up), mirror sex, dirty bathroom, rough sex, mentions of bruising, hair pulling (reader has hair long enough to pull), degradation, 1 slap on the ass, Javi is a menace, Javi touches reader in flirtatious ways without consent, hints of exhibitionism, use of “good girl”, dirty talk, aftercare, soft! Javi at the end. Let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: I’m hardly the first to write Javier fucking you over the bathroom sink of a bar, and I hope I am not the last. If I had a list of all the wonderful fics I’ve read with this scenario, I would supply one, but alas, my capacity to keep track of fics does not exist (believe me, I’ve tried).

This little fic came from a silly little writing game I’ve been playing with some friends. Thanks @wannab-urs for giving me the spark of inspo that started this. I also took inspiration from @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and her fic, hand in unlovable hand, on this one! Shoutout @fhatbhabie for giving this baby a once over! @janaispunk for helping me sort out tags. @saradika for the dividers. And all my other amazing encouragers! You know who you are 🫶 ILYSM.

Words: 1171

You sit at the bar, swirling the whisky in front of you. You’re bored and in need of something to do on the hot summer night. Sweat collects in little beads across your skin, and you finish off the glass.

In the heat of the night, you don’t think you’d notice the presence of another behind you, but you do. It’s heavy and brooding. You feel it across your entire back as the person leans in beside you. His broad shoulders cover your frame.

“Ever heard of personal space?” You cock an eyebrow

He chuckles at you. A dark, thick mustache sits above his upper lip, highlighting his perfect teeth.

“A whiskey for me, and another for the lady,” he says to the bartender.

It is the least he could do.

He doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on you, letting his eyes roam across your body. He’s less than subtle about it. He catches a bead of sweat as it falls from your neck, tracking it down between your breasts, exposed in the sundress you wear. Finally, it slips out of his sight

He licks his lips, letting his forearm rest against the bar. “Come here often?”

You want to roll your eyes at the cliche words, but his lips are right at your ear, breath fanning over your bare skin. It sends a jolt straight to your core

You meet his gaze with stubbornness shining in your eyes. “No, I don’t tend to enjoy being eyed up by sleaze balls”

He chuckles deeply again, fingertips tracing your shoulder gently. “Good thing I’m here to keep them away.”

The bartender sets the drinks in front of you, giving you a look that asks if you want him to chase the man off. You shake your head. You can take care of him

“What are you? God’s gift to humanity?”

He smirks. “Some say that, yeah.”

You roll your eyes.

“C'mon, Hermosa. I think you’ll like it.” You brush him off, yet, he draws closer “I think you like sleaze balls like me making you feel good in seedy bars.”

“What makes you think you can make me feel good?”

“I like a good challenge” he winks

And god, if that doesn’t work. Your core clenches. Your stomach drops. You want to melt. Throwing down the whiskey, your eyes dart around until you find the sign for the bathroom. You don’t say a word. Adding a sway to your hips, you saunter off, heart pounding a million miles a minute.

You enter the bathroom. The door doesn’t even have a chance to close before his hands are on your hips. He kicks the door closed, making sure it’s locked. He pushes you forward, and your hands find purchase on the basin sink

The bathroom is small. It’s dingy and disgusting, but you don’t care.

“You are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe

You let out a soft moan, tossing your head back. He cups your breast through the thin material of your sundress, and your nipples harden.

“Please” you stutter

“Please what, Darlin?”

“Fuck me” you moan.

He downright growls, shoving your hips into the sink. It hurts, but you can’t help but love it.

He flips your dress up to find your aching cunt dripping for him. “Just what I thought.” He clicks his tongue. “Such a good little slut. All this for me.” He runs his fingers through your dripping folds and then brings his finger to his nose smelling your juices before sucking his fingers clean. “Taste and smell so good for me, Hermosa.”

You whine.

“Just for me, right?” He says, running a hand over your ass, giving it a nice squeeze. You whine, core clenching around air.

You’re a pathetic, dripping mess

And you love it

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging you up roughly. “I said, just for me- right?” He smacks your ass and you moan.

“Yes, yes, just for you.”

“Good girl.” He lets go of your hair. You drop over the sink, panting heavily. You hear the buckle of his jeans.

Looking up just enough to see your reflection in the mirror, your hair is a mess. Mascara smudges under your eyes. Then, your eyes drift to him. His thick cock springs out of his jeans. The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, but you’re not complaining. It’s one less obstacle, and the sooner he’s in you, the better

He catches you eying him and smirks. “You like what you see, Hermosa?”

You nod, letting out a soft whimper

He smirks, hands moving back to your ass, squeezing and massaging it “You’re gonna take it so good for me.”

He lines himself up at your entrance. You only get a half second until he’s splitting you in two, forcing himself into you fully and completely. Your hips run into the sink again, the porcelain cool against your raging flesh. Your legs spread further of their own accord. You cry out, not caring if the whole goddamn bar hears you.

He withdraws and you feel empty until he’s ramming back into you. It goes on like that over and over and over. Tears drip down your face. Your moans of pleasure echo off the walls until you’re sure you’ve drawn spectators outside the door. With each thrust, your hips run into the sink. The balance between pain and pleasure quickly sends you to the edge, tension curling in your stomach.

Your legs shake. “Please, I’m so close.”

“You’re such a good girl, and a tight fucking cunt too.” He grits out, skin slapping against yours. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, please.” His cock hits deep within you. Your breath catches. “Javier! I wanna cum for you.”

His fingers find your clit, his pace keeping steady and you’re coming in seconds, drenching his cock. He’s not far behind you, emptying himself inside you with a loud moan.

He pulls out of you, taking a second to collect himself. You’re draped over the sink, unable to move.

He pulls his pants up, tucking himself into his pants like it’s just another Tuesday.

He comes over to you, pulling you up gently, letting your skirt fall back into place. You struggle still to catch your breath. He cups your cheeks, wiping away the tears and smudged mascara, smoothing out your hair. You feel him leaking out of you.

“Too much?” He asks

You smile breathlessly “Just right”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, hands finding your waist. “Good girl.”

Once you’re home, he cleans you up, kissing your hips where bruises have already started to form.

He snuggles in close to you, both naked and without the comforter due to the heat, pressing soft kisses to your head.

His fingertips trail across your body aimlessly.

You let your eyes fall shut to his beating heart. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

He laughs, brushing your hair back as your breathing evens out. “I’ll keep that in mind, Darlin.”

[l0ve-bug-m1les]

Spider-Band With a S/o Who Hyperfixates on Things Hard

Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, and Pavitr Prabhakar (separate) x Gn!Reader

Warnings: None! (Except my attempt at British talking—)

Summary: Really what the title says—

A/n: This is actually an idea i had when i first fell into the spider verse fandom but didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Glad ya’ll picked this one! Enjoy!! Also lmk if any of ya’ll wanna be on a tag list!! I know i don’t write all that much but still—

Miles Morales 🌻🎧🌻

Bby is here for it

Always listening to what you have to say and never complaining

I have a feeling he’d be just as excited as you even if he’s got no clue what you’re talking about

He’d try to get into your interests with you no matter how outlandish they may seem

(I mean he’s basically a spider what’s so weird about fnaf lore—)

Definitely draws you things based off of the subject

“You said they were your favorite, right?”

Is always sending you memes and funny videos about your interest

Asks you for updates on your interest if it’s a series

Holds you when something bad happens and you’re sad

“Shh, shh…Hey, at least they existed, right?—Oh, no that made it worse—“

Going back to rambles, he’s always listening but maybe not always looking at you

But trust me

That boy could recite what you say perfectly

He just likes to listen while he works or draws

Has definitely made a mural of you and him in the world together (used it as a date spot. It’s true, he told me)

Overall

20/10 boyfriend

(I mean they all are but like—)

Hobie Brown 🎸⚡️🎸

Will spend hours learning songs related to your interest

But then he’s like

“What? Oh, i been knowin’ this song, luv. What’re ya on about?”

Say for instance, you dive deep into an artist or band

Obviously, Hobie’s gonna ask you about them

But would never ask you for your favorite songs because he’s “Too busy writing his own”

So he just pays really close attention to the songs you talk the most about

(As i previously stated, he learns them all and plays it off)

When you figure it out he’s just like:

“Took ya long enough, luv”

He also listens to your rants about whatever it is (much like Miles and everyone else here but shhh)

But here’s why he stands out

This man can keep up

He can and will remember all about it, and basically know about much as you do

Steals things from stores that are from the series or whatever it is

“Hobie, how’d you get this?” “It was on display and i knew you’d love it.” “Wow! I thought you didn’t buy things from brands..” “…” “You stole it…”

You’re too busy loving whatever it is to stay mad

(But we all knew you weren’t mad)

If you think your interest is cringey then you’re WRONG

“But it’s for kids—“ “And? So what?” “Well…uhm….hm.” “Yeah. Thought so. Now keep goin’, I’m invested.”

(But also in general, bby. Love what you love and come to me if anyone says it “weird” or “cringey”. I’ll beat them up bestie<33)

All in all, a king<33

Gwen Stacy 🩰🥁🩰

I’m gonna be honest

She is lost

Even if you go over things twenty times she still won’t get it

And that’s okay!

She takes notes and tries to keep up

Definitely proud of herself when she gets a detail right

“And then—“ “Wait, wait. Let me guess…He…he burned the pizzeria down, right” “Uhm—yeah, actually!” “*insert proud face*”

(Woah look at the trans flag colors^^^)

Definitely binge watches or reads your interest and learns as much as she can

She keeps a notebook full of her notes that she refers back to whenever you two are on call

She played it off as writing down some notes for school

But one day, she asked you to grab her suit from inside her drum set, and you found the notebook

It caught your eye because it had the name of your interest on it and you were like:

“Hey, Gwen? What’s this?” You showed her the notebook

I wish you could see my vision

When i tell you Gwen stood there for a good minute

I mean she stood there for several

Anywho

She just admitted to it and was all red and fidgety

Since this is her world, she was cast in mostly pink and red hues and the space around her fluttered yellow

You end up going through it with her, and talk about your favorite bits

Overall? She deserves several gold stars and cookies

Pavitr Prabhakar 🍵☀️🍵

Bby is here for it

Whenever you get excited he’s excited

When you’re on the verge of tears he’s already crying

He is your favorite character’s number one supporter

He’s always going on and on with you about your interests

Because unlike the others, he manages to actually get into whatever it is you’re talking about and not just keep up

It’s honestly a skill of his

I feel like Pav also has special interests that he dives deep into

Like

Deep deep

Same as you so you two get along well :D

He’s always looking for the newest content and sending it to you always

“Hey! They said the next episode would be released next Tuesday!! :DDD” “There’s a new theory for the last volume!”

It’d be cute if that’s how you met and became friends

You spend sleepovers diving into your shared and separate interests with eachother

You know what’d be funny?

If he also info dumps onto the villains he fights

Like

Hear me out

Pav tying up a villain who tried to rob a place and just going

“Yeah, so me and my partner have a theory for why—“

And the villain is just like

Stfu??????

But they’d never say that because it’s Spider-Man

All in all, your number one hype man and best friend :]

———————————-

YA’LL I DID IT :DD

[ahedderick]

End of the Week

I spent a good part of the morning trying to frame art, attach wire or hangers to the back of various pieces, and making a list of what I want to take to the Studio Tour next weekend. Doesn't seem like too bad a list, but - it was an anything-that-can-go-wrong kinda day. A drawing that was already framed - I noticed that the frame is chipped in two places. Try to get the round painting to hang at a certain angle . . but attach the wire in the back just a l-i-t-t-l-e off kilter. That sort of thing. I'll have to go back and look at my list tomorrow to double check it. I do not trust my work.

In the afternoon I met my daughter at a state park. She has been interested in a dog, Rose, that was in her school's kennel for quite a while. Two weeks ago I told her to bring Rose home for a weekend visit to see how our dogs would accept her. She, instead, filled out adoption paperwork, and called me to let me know that Rose Was Ours!!!

"W-aht?"

Hmm. We met at the park to try introducing the dogs on neutral territory. Chance loves everybody, no trouble there, but Lady is dog-aggressive and needs to be introduced carefully. We walked for about a mile, then headed home. This is going to be a Project.

Headline: Ball of dusty lint lands a cushy new home

Ball of dusty lint sees outdoors water for, possibly, the first time. She is terribly unsure of everything. Hello, Rose.

If we truly can't make it work, there is no fee or penalty for returning her. I'm hoping that, while K is home for a long weekend, we can make substantial progress on getting Lady acclimated and Rose 'farm trained.' She is small and timid. Hopefully Nutmeg won't bully her.

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Over Christmas break, Miles’ mom learns how to knit.

It stems from the fact that she doesn’t like having a lot of free time on her hands. But since school is out and his dad won’t let her spend more than forty-eight hours — or what she considers a break — at the hospital a week, there’s an abundance of it for all of them. Snow falls endlessly beyond the walls of their apartment, making for more than a couple long, lazy days spent inside, hands and weighted blankets curled around mugs and their shoulders. Old Christmas movies are the only thing on TV.

So. She digs around in their spare closet and emerges with two knitting needles. They’re from her grandma, she says, and Miles secretly reveres them — the blunt tips, the lengthy shafts, and the tapers with chips in the wood from before both of their times.

She lets him choose from the bundles of yarn three colors: orchid, yellow, and white.

The next morning, he wakes to a pair of finger-less gloves on his bedside table. The stitches are not entirely consistent, yet they’re warm and colorful.

He loves them, almost as much as he loves winter, and nowhere close to as much as he loves her.

“Any idea what this is about?”

Miles shrugs and shifts to make room for Gwen to sit on the carpet beside him. “No. Miguel didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.”

The topic settled for now, his eyes drift and land on two figures across the announcement hall, steadily coming forward. They’re somehow easy to pick out in the crowd.

Hobie shakes Pavitr by the shoulders, giggling, and something in Miles aches, just below the space between his ribs.

There’s a tapping, feedback, then a throat clearing. He turns back to look at the stage.

“Hello, everybody, and thank you for coming on such short notice. Rest assured, nothing is wrong,” Miguel starts. The room lets out a collective sigh of relief. “But the holiday season is coming up. Lyla and I — mostly her — thought it would be nice to do something special. All of the Society is welcome to participate, but it’s not mandatory.”

“He is a surprisingly level man when he’s not trying to body slam me into the nearest train,” Miles mutters. Someone huffs hotly in his ear.

“Good one,” Hobie says, dropping down on Miles’ other side.

Miguel continues. “For the first time ever, we will be doing Secret Santa. Shortly, you will fill out a wish list of gift ideas. Then, you will draw a random name from a box — their dimension and wish list will also be included. Presents will be delivered by me or Lyla. Afterwards, you can guess who your Secret Santa was. The ultimate deadline is Christmas day.”

A week away.

I bet you can guess who Miles got :] I also remember writing a section that I really loved where he asked his mom what his dad got her for Christmas when they were dating, and later, Gwen came over. She was having trouble getting Pavitr a gift. Miles suggested a plant to take care of, meanwhile, he was making a custom bright red leather jacket for Hobie

I cannot for the life of me find these sections

[eridanidreams]

Snippet Sunday

tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour, @artemis-crimson, @genesisarclite and @constellation2330

More from the upcoming chapter of stars through my fingers...

They wandered the gaming area for a while—it wasn't just the Mile people bet on here. No-holds-barred fistfights in zero-G, whether a smuggler would get through security, how long a LIST colony would last against the Fleet (Cait's eyes went pink at that one, and it took a good several minutes for her to calm down). All the while keeping up a smile, trolling for Mei Devine.

Eventually—as they'd known she would—she took the bait.

Cait's hand tightened on his arm a half-second before a voice spoke up behind them. "Sam Coe."

Sam pulled Cait close against him, arm around her waist, as they turned. "Ms. Devine," he replied amiably.

Mei Devine gave him a flirtatious little smile. "I'm told you spent a great deal of time here before I took it over." She gestured to the room about them. "Do you think it's an improvement?"

He hid his disgust under a sunny smile of his own. "I must confess to havin' a bit of nostalgia for the old days, but," he let his eyes wander across the people getting rich on other people's blood, "this is probably better for business. Fewer gunfights, for certain," he added as one of the Ecliptic guards crossed into his view.

"Oh, it is!" Devine tossed her hair back. "We get all kinds of business in and out. In fact," she gave him a speculative look, "I have to wonder if you're looking to get back in the game. A man of your talents could find it very… lucrative."

"Could be that's true," he replied. "Would have to be worth my while, though."

Devine laughed. "Well, then I wouldn't waste any time on young Jade over there." She gave Sam a sly look. "Her sister's a Freestar Ranger. But of course, you know that."

He smirked. "Well, this ain't Freestar space, is it? We got reasons not to spend time at the old homestead." He glanced at Cait, giving her a squeeze. "Ain't that right, darlin'?"

Cait took the cue admirably. "Except for Neon," she said softly, giving him a wide-eyed look. "Neon can be fun."

"Ain't no place like it," he agreed. In so many ways. "Just chock full of… opportunities."

Devine's eyes narrowed, giving her face a particularly vulpine look. "Well, if it's opportunities you're after, I might be able to arrange something. A meeting, say? With someone whose operation is… significant."

Cait's body was taut with nerves; Sam ran his hand up and down her side in a soothing gesture that an outside watcher would take for salacious. Playing the part—the Coe brat, all grown up and still getting into trouble. "I might be interested," he said. "Favor for a favor, I take it?" He offered Devine an engaging smile. "You're far too savvy a businesswoman to offer something that valuable for free."

"You do know the way to a woman's heart," Devine purred. "But it's simple enough: it's been too long since we had proper entertainment. If you could provide that… the famous Sam Coe, a runner on the Red Mile. Why, you might be a bigger draw than Donovan Rhys!" She put her finger to her lips coquettishly. "Especially since he keeps coming back alive. I'm afraid he's just gotten too… reliable."

Sam chuckled. "Well, now. That's an interesting offer. In my younger days I probably wouldn't have thought twice about it, but…" He trailed off, the very picture of a man caught by a dilemma.

"I can assure you, the prize is worth the price," Devine said. "Run the Mile for me, and I'll give you Marco Graziani."

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 2

Your classes are hard enough when you are able to concentrate. Too bad right now you can’t.

Grim swiped your pencil after he saw you gnawing on the end of it, though once he realized it was not even tasty, let alone edible, he abandoned it in favor of a dried salmon skin you never told him was from a bag of dog treats.

You sigh and pack up your notebook and two of your textbooks. “I’ll be back later,” you call through the empty halls of the dorm to wherever he went. He doesn’t reply, but you can hear him chewing, so all you can do is hope it’s not the leg of the couch again and leave.

Unlike literally everyone else at school, you have to walk (five miles uphill both ways in the snow) to get to the mirror chamber. By the time you get there, you already regret it, but you’ve come this far so it seems stupid to turn back now. You sigh and head for the Octavinelle mirror. It’s been long enough that you only flinch a little whenever you go through a mirror for fear of smacking into it face-first. But you still flinch.

The long, gently sloping corridor dips below the surface of the water quickly. It’s dark now, so you can’t see much outside the glass walls, apart from the lights lining the other enclosed bridges and the dorm. Once in a while, you think you spot a flicker of light - maybe a fish, or some glowing algae - but overall it seems to be just a passing reflection on the window. There’s something undeniably creepy about Octavinelle. You don’t see any security cameras, but you feel like you’re being watched.

You shake the thought out of your head. As weird as the so-called fish mafia might be, you’re confident they have better things to do than follow you around. They seem to have an endless list of students due for a shakedown.

You hang a right at the first intersection and pull open one of the double doors to the Lounge. An altogether different atmosphere washes gently over you - lively conversation, clinking glasses and plates, subdued piano music. The aroma of grilled meat wafts over from the kitchen and reminds you of the long-ignored hunger gnawing at your elbows.

The student at the host stand leads you to a table and hands you a menu. Out of habit, you look at the prices first and mentally search for the lowest ones. You have the Twisted Wonderland equivalent of, like, $10.

“I would recommend any of the tea lattes, myself.”

Startled, you look up from the menu to see Jade seated neatly across from you, having arrived without a sound. He rests his chin in one hand with a lazy smile as his other hand draws little circles on the table. “The rose blend in particular is especially good for relieving the stress of studying.”

“That sounds good.” It’s true - you hate the bitterness of coffee, and although you like sugary drinks, they make it impossible for you to sleep as your blood tries to vibrate in harmony with the universe. You take a second look at him. “I think you have…something in your hair.” You gesture on your own head to show him where.

“Hm?” He mirrors your movements and walks his fingers toward the top of his head. He locates the object and slides it out of the wet strands. “Oh, goodness. How embarrassing.” He doesn’t look embarrassed about the tiny orange starfish clinging to his finger. He looks…

…hungry.

Jade seems to remember where he is and excuses himself for a moment, hopefully to return the creature to a safe location. He must have been out swimming, then, and recently if his hair is still wet. You try not to put much thought into it and look back at the menu.

“Hiiiiiieeeeee.”

The voice next to your ear makes you jump so badly that you drop the menu again and send your silverware all over the table. You twist around and see the unmistakable teeth of Floyd Leech about three inches away from your head.

You give him a very small wave. “Erm. Hi. Floyd.”

“Thanks for the snaaa~aaack!” he says in a singsong voice, beaming down at you. Before you can ask what he means by that, there’s a crash from somewhere in the kitchen. He perks up like a dog and darts away to investigate.

Jade’s laugh tiptoes into your range of hearing. “I hope he did not pester you too much.”

You want to tell him that he and his brother are doing nothing to dispel the creepy vibes of the place, but you don’t. “No, it’s fine. Must be an interesting one to live with, though.”

“Indeed, never a dull moment, as they say.” He tilts his head a bit. “Do you have any siblings?”

You collapse inward a little bit and hope it’s not showing on your face. “Could we talk about something else?” You ask it so quietly you’re afraid you’ll have to say it again, and you really don’t want to explain.

Jade takes the misstep in stride and pretends it never happened. He motions for a server and orders several things: the tea latte he suggested for you, a separate beverage for himself, a wild mushroom salad, a charcuterie plate, a selection of macarons, and a charred lemon pudding.

“That’s a lot,” you say with a noticeable quiver in your voice. “I can’t, um…I mean-”

“There is no need to be concerned.” Jade rests his folded hands on the table and looks at you placidly. “I will take care of everything.”

You wonder just how many times he’s said those words. And you’re half tempted to ask why he’s doing all this, but you aren’t wealthy enough to go around looking gift horses in their mouths. You remember that much.

You haven’t told a soul, and you don’t even want to admit it to yourself, but you have had a massive crush on Jade since day one.

You were fine with it being just a crush. At the time, you had no idea you would be sticking around for so long, and you definitely had much more important things to worry about. But you couldn’t help it. He was so different from most of the other students. He was polite. He wasn’t a showoff. He didn’t fly into a rage about trivial things. Okay, so you found yourself listing the absolute bare minimum for a boyfriend, but it was true.

Except now you’ve been here for months, and it’s starting to look like a rather permanent arrangement.

The tea arrives first. You wrap both hands around the ceramic cup and lift it to your nose, then close your eyes and draw in a deep breath to let the aroma fill your head. Three breaths, then one sip. Ace pitched a fit about it since Riddle made him write it fifty times in a row for skipping out on a dorm meeting, but it was genuinely good advice. The blend has a lovely balance of white tea, rosebuds, and mint, with just a slight aftertaste of caramelized sugar that lingers on your tongue.

(Maybe you know more about tea than you thought.)

You open your eyes to find Jade watching you, as patient and pleasant as ever.

“Do I have something in my hair this time?” you ask shyly.

His mouth pulls into a smile. “It is not so often that I encounter a fellow tea enthusiast,” he explains.

“What did you get?” You try to peer into the mug he’s holding, leaning toward him subconsciously.

His smile makes you want to smile back. “Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, um-” But he’s already gently sliding the cup toward you. It smells deeper and stronger than what you ordered. At first you think it’s a chai, but the cinnamon turns out to be misleading. It’s lighter than it appears. You forget your manners for a hot minute and drink almost a third of it in repeated attempts to figure out what the hell it is. Complex, rich, delightful…and a complete mystery.

You nudge the cup back toward the center of the table. “You got me,” you admit. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that one before.”

Jade looks delighted.

“Y’knoooow…” An arm languidly drapes itself around your shoulders. “You prooobably shouldn’t put anything from Jade in your mouth.” Floyd’s giggling is completely unhinged. “Don’t know what it is or where it’s beennn~”

For once, Jade drops his smile. “There is no need to be crass, Floyd.”

“Floyd!”

Floyd rolls his eyes hard enough that his skull collides with yours. “What?”

Azul looks furious. “Get back to work.”

“Ughhh,” he groans loud enough for half the room to hear. But it’s enough to send him on his way.

Azul lets out a withering sigh. “I do apologize for his behavior.”

“It’s fine,” you manage, because you would rather die than set even one boundary. “Thanks.”

Azul leaves at a brisk tempo to catch up to the other twin.

“It is reishi.”

You give Jade the blankest expression you have. “Huh?”

“The tea,” he says calmly. “Reishi mushrooms.”

“Ohhh.” The flavors make more sense now. “That’s cool. I didn’t know they made tea with mushrooms.” Although, in hindsight, you don’t know why that’s a surprise.

“Foraging is quite a hobby of mine.” Jade’s mood has improved dramatically with the chance to discuss his interests coupled with the absence of his incorrigible shadow.

It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that.”

You’re not trying to invite yourself along. What you are trying to do is what you’ve been trying to do since you first got here, which is Remember Important Shit. You’re pretty sure nobody knows just how much of your memory got bonked out of your head on your way to this world. You wanted to keep it that way. It’s safer.

So, oops.

“You would be welcome to join me.” Jade subtly rotates the cup so that when he picks it up, it’s on the same side you drank from.

There goes your heart again, clattering to the floor and catapulting itself up into your throat. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “That would be cool.”

Jade escorts you back to the hall of mirrors when you’re done. You find yourself yawning out of nowhere, and you try to hide it, but he just laughs.

“Reishi mushrooms are often used as a sleep aid,” he explains. “I admit I did not intend for you to drink so much of it at once.”

“That’s what I get for being uncultured or something.” You clench your jaw through another yawn.

“Will you be able to make it back to your dorm safely?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. “Thanks. For the tea and everything.”

Jade bows gently to you. “It is my pleasure, miss.”

You and Jade both freeze in stunned silence at what he said. The world stops turning.

“…you…you know?”

Now he does look well and truly embarrassed, and you sense he was told not to say anything. “I do, yes.” It’s all he really can say.

Panic rips through your chest. “Who else?”

Jade directs his gaze away from you in a silent refusal to answer.

“Jade. Who else knows.” Your ears hurt from the throbbing of your own pulse. This is a disaster. This is catastrophe. This is nuclear.

“Myself, Floyd, and Azul, for certain,” he says evenly. “And I suspect at least one-quarter of the beastman population have guessed. It has to do with…”

You’ve stopped listening, because you’re about to start crying. “Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No one’s supposed to know.” Air. You need air. You turn and run. It’s not safe here anymore. You won’t be safe now.

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