#but it's because i want to keep these under a day of writing

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

taglist:

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@fern-reads @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @z-wantstowrite @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie

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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[honeyhae-svt]

I luv the headcanons and would love my tiger kwon soonyoung PLEASE :))))

hoshi's headcanon when he falls for someone (you)

kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x gn!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tags / genre: hoshi x reader, seventeen fanfiction, lighthearted romance, playful banter, mutual pining, holiday vibes, cozy fluff, heartwarming moments, reader insert, wholesome love story, gentle humor, soft romance ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: n/a (just lots of giggles, flirty hoshi energy, warm hugs, and soft moments that make your heart flutter. mwahaha) ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 3443 ੈ♡ a/n: 3/13 ! (reqsts are open for the next member !). ILYSM ANON FOR REQUESTING A HOSHI ONEE ! i loved writing this one a little too much, i might've reached a word count of 10,000 + if my friend didn't stop me. ㅠㅅㅠ (p.s. im sorry. i forgot to post this.) ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Falling For U (Seventeen) ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

ੈ♡˚ ༘ hoshi's headcanon when he falls for someone

when hoshi falls for someone, it's impossible for him to hide it. his feelings shine through in every interaction, whether it's the way he lights up when you walk into a room or the endless excuses he finds to spend time with you. his love is loud and vibrant, like him, but it's also layered with an unexpected softness that makes it all the more special.

he's the type to shower you with compliments, sometimes silly and sometimes sincere, just to see you smile. he'll call you "the most amazing person in the world" one minute and then jokingly ask if you're honored to have his attention the next. his playful nature is his way of keeping things light, but underneath, there's a deep sincerity. every teasing, every exaggerated gesture is hoshi's way of showing he cares.

you'll notice he goes out of his way to include you in his world—whether it's dragging you to try out something he's excited about or sharing random tiger facts (because, obviously, you need to know). he's full of energy, and he loves the idea of making you laugh or helping you forget a bad day. but when you're down, hoshi knows how to tone it down, offering you quiet support and reminding you he's there for you in the most heartfelt ways.

if he's jealous, it's not subtle. he'll pout and dramatically insist he's the best option for your attention, though he'd never make you feel uncomfortable. it's all in good fun—his way of showing that he cares deeply. when you reassure him, the grin that spreads across his face makes it clear he just wanted a little extra love from you.

hoshi's love language is loud, affectionate, and completely unfiltered. but when it's time for him to confess, you'll see a more vulnerable side of him. he'll still try to keep things light, stumbling over his words and making jokes to cover up his nerves, but the way his voice softens and his eyes meet yours will leave no doubt about how much he means every word.

with hoshi, falling in love isn't just a feeling—it's an experience. his love is like a sunrise, warm and full of energy, and once you're at the center of his world, you'll never doubt just how much you mean to him.

it was late, the soft hum of the night wrapping the room in a quiet stillness. hoshi sat on the couch, one leg tucked under him, a half-empty bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. the tv was on, playing some rom-com neither of you had really been paying attention to. his eyes kept drifting to you, though you were too engrossed in your phone to notice.

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling and laughing at something every now and then. hoshi couldn't help but smile, the kind of smile that stretched across his face before he even realized it.

"kwon soonyoung," you teased, breaking his trance. you twisted around to look up at him, eyebrows raised. "what's that look for? are you laughing at me?"

he blinked, caught off guard, before shaking his head with an exaggerated pout. "me? never! why would i laugh at you?"

"then what?" you pressed, squinting at him. "you've been weirdly quiet. it's suspicious."

hoshi leaned back into the couch, suddenly aware of how warm his ears felt. he reached for another handful of popcorn, buying time to figure out what to say. how was he supposed to tell you that he wasn't laughing at you, but that just looking at you made him feel all sorts of things he couldn't explain?

"i was just... thinking," he said vaguely, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

you gave him a look, clearly unimpressed. "thinking about what? and don't say 'stuff.' i'm not letting you get away with that."

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face in mock defeat, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "fine, fine," he said dramatically, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "i was thinking about you."

your teasing expression faltered, replaced by a mix of surprise and curiosity. "me?"

hoshi nodded, suddenly feeling shy under your gaze. "yeah, you. don't make it weird." he tried to laugh it off, but his voice was softer than usual, giving him away.

you turned fully to face him, sitting up straighter. "what about me?"

he hesitated, his fingers playing with the edge of the popcorn bowl. "just... you. the way you're always making me laugh. the way you light up when you talk about things you love. the way you're you, i guess." his voice trailed off, and for once, he wasn't cracking a joke to deflect.

the room was quiet for a moment, the tv's background noise fading into the distance. when you didn't say anything, hoshi looked down, feeling like he'd just thrown his heart out into the open.

"soonyoung," you said softly, and he dared to glance up. the way you were looking at him—like he was the only thing in the room—made his breath catch.

"yeah?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, that soft, genuine smile that always made his chest ache in the best way. "you know, you're not the only one who's been thinking about someone."

his eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. instead, he just stared at you, waiting for you to say what he was too scared to believe.

"i like you too," you said, your voice shy but steady.

the grin that broke across hoshi's face was immediate, bright and full of relief. "really?" he blurted, leaning forward like he hadn't heard you properly.

you laughed, nodding. "yes, really. why do you look so surprised?"

"because i've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks!" he exclaimed, setting the popcorn aside and sliding down to sit on the floor beside you. "do you know how many times i almost said it and chickened out?"

"that sounds like you," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

he pouted, but the way his hand brushed against yours betrayed his excitement. "hey, i'm being vulnerable here. don't make fun of me."

you laughed again, your fingers intertwining with his. "alright, alright. no teasing. but for the record, i think you're pretty cute when you're nervous."

hoshi's cheeks turned pink, but he couldn't stop smiling. "you're gonna regret telling me that. i'll never let you live it down."

"i'm counting on it," you said, squeezing his hand.

and just like that, the tension melted away, replaced by the kind of warmth that made everything else feel insignificant. sitting there beside you, hoshi realized that for all the times he'd doubted himself, this—you—was worth it. every single second.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ kisses and cuddles with hoshi

soonyoung is naturally affectionate and playful, his love for physical closeness showing in every little touch. he's the type to make you laugh first before pulling you into a hug, his bright energy making the simplest moments feel full of life. but beneath all the teasing, he's incredibly thoughtful—his gestures always carrying a deeper, quieter kind of love.

it's in the way he bumps his shoulder against yours when you're sitting close, or the way his pinky hooks onto yours absentmindedly.he thrives on moments when your laugh echoes in the space between you two, his eyes crinkling with that signature grin as he watches you.

one night, you're both sprawled out on the living room floor, the remnants of a late-night snack scattered around you. you're trying to win an argument about who gets the last slice of pizza, and soonyoung is putting up a good fight, complete with dramatic gestures and exaggerated reasoning.

"fine," you finally concede, laughing as you push the plate toward him. "you win. but only because i'm too tired to argue."

he smirks, victorious, but instead of taking the pizza, he sets it aside and leans over, resting his chin on your shoulder. "you're too cute when you're pretending to be mad," he teases, his voice soft and warm.

you roll your eyes, but the way your cheeks flush doesn't go unnoticed. "you're lucky i like you," you mutter, and he grins wider, his hand brushing against yours as he settles beside you.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ the first kiss soonyoung's first kiss with you is every bit as spontaneous as he is, yet it feels perfect in the moment.

it happens during one of your usual late-night hangouts, walking aimlessly through quiet streets with the glow of streetlights guiding your way. you're both bundled up against the chilly air, sharing random stories and laughing at each other's terrible jokes.

at some point, he stops walking, grabbing your arm lightly to make you pause too. "wait," he says, his tone suddenly more serious. "i just thought of something."

you tilt your head, curious. "what is it?"

he looks at you for a moment, his expression softening. "if i don't do this now, i might chicken out later."

before you can ask what he means, he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours before cupping your cheek gently. there's a flicker of nervousness in his eyes, but it's overshadowed by the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

then he kisses you, his lips warm and soft against yours, the kind of kiss that feels like a question and an answer all at once. it's sweet, unhurried, and undeniably soonyoung—playful yet full of feeling.

when he pulls back, he's grinning, his cheeks tinged pink. "so... was that okay?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

you laugh, still a little breathless. "yeah, it was okay," you tease, though the smile on your face says much more.

"good," he replies, his grin widening as he takes your hand in his, swinging it slightly as you both continue walking.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ cuddles with hoshi cuddling with soonyoung feels like being wrapped up in sunshine. he's the kind of person who makes every hug feel like a celebration, his energy and warmth impossible to resist.

it starts with him flopping onto the couch beside you, his head landing in your lap as he dramatically sighs about how tired he is. "you've been ignoring me all day," he whines, even if you've only been apart for an hour.

"have not," you counter, laughing as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair.

he hums in contentment, his arms wrapping around your waist. "this is all i needed," he murmurs, his voice muffled as he buries his face against your stomach.

on lazy mornings, he's the one to pull you back into bed, his arms tightening around you when you try to get up. "five more minutes," he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep. when you give in, he smiles triumphantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before settling back against you.

his favorite way to cuddle is when you're both lying on the couch, tangled together under a blanket. he loves resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm. every now and then, he'll look up at you with a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to your chin or your cheek before snuggling closer.

sometimes, when he's feeling especially playful, he'll tickle you just to hear you laugh, only to pull you into a tighter hug afterward, his own laughter mixing with yours. "sorry, i couldn't help it," he says, though his grin tells you he's anything but.

with soonyoung, cuddling is more than just physical closeness—it's an extension of the way he loves. it's in the way he holds you like he's afraid to let go, in the way his presence makes every space feel a little brighter, and in the way he makes sure you always know just how much you mean to him.

┊ ➶ ｡✩‧₊˚ bonus

soonyoung has always been a bundle of energy, his personality larger than life and his affection boundless. but when it comes to the more intimate moments—the ones where the world seems to fall away and it's just the two of you—there's a quiet intensity to him that takes you by surprise every time.

it's late one evening when the two of you find yourselves curled up on the floor of his dance studio. the mirrors around you reflect the faint golden glow of the fairy lights he's strung up, the only illumination in the quiet space. he's lying on his side, his head propped up by his arm as he watches you flip through a playlist on his phone.

"that one," he murmurs, pointing lazily at a random song. but his attention isn't really on the music—it's on you. the way your face softens when you focus, the slight furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth away with his thumb.

you click on the song, the soft melody filling the studio, and set the phone aside. turning to him, you catch the way he's staring and feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. "what?" you ask, a small laugh escaping.

"you're just... really pretty," he says simply, his tone free of the usual teasing lilt. his honesty makes your heart skip, the sincerity in his eyes leaving you speechless.

you roll your eyes to hide the flutter in your chest. "don't start, hoshi."

"i'm serious," he replies, his voice quieter now. before you can deflect again, he leans in just a little, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingertips linger for a second too long, the warmth of his touch spreading like fire under your skin.

the air between you shifts, and it's then you realize how close he's gotten. your breath catches as his thumb brushes against your cheek, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

"can i kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he's afraid the moment will shatter if he speaks too loudly.

your heart is pounding, and you manage a small nod before he closes the space between you. the first press of his lips is soft, tentative—almost shy. it's a side of soonyoung you don't see often, and it makes the kiss all the more meaningful.

but he doesn't stay tentative for long. as soon as he feels you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. the kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a quiet urgency, like he's trying to convey everything he feels in this one moment.

his other hand finds your waist, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you as the world spins around you. he kisses you like he's trying to memorize every detail—the way your lips move against his, the soft hum you make in the back of your throat, the way your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed as he takes a moment to steady himself. "wow," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, almost dazed smile. "you're really good at that."

you laugh, the sound light and a little giddy. "you're not so bad yourself."

but he's not done. before you can say anything else, he's pulling you in for another kiss, this one less careful and more confident. his hand slides up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. there's a hunger to it now, a raw intensity that makes your knees weak, even though you're already sitting.

and soonyoung? he's completely lost in you. every kiss feels like a dance, his rhythm perfect as he draws you in and leaves you wanting more. his lips trail down to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs your name like it's the only thing that matters.

when he finally pulls away for the second time, he's grinning—his signature, boyish smile that makes your heart melt. "okay," he says, his voice playful but still tinged with that lingering softness. "now i'm definitely never letting you go."

and you believe him. because in moments like this—with the world quiet and his arms around you—it feels like you've found something worth holding onto forever.

⊹˚. what exactly are you to hoshi?

to hoshi, you're the spark in his world—the excitement he didn't know he needed and the calm he secretly craves. you're his muse, his confidant, and the one person who can match his energy without even trying. you're his sunshine on chaotic days, the person who laughs at his jokes (even the terrible ones), and the one he trusts with the parts of himself he doesn't show to everyone.

to him, you're not just special—you're irreplaceable.

⊹˚. how hoshi falls for you

hoshi falls for you like a whirlwind—fast, fun, and a little overwhelming. he doesn't realize it at first because he's too busy enjoying the moments he shares with you, whether it's your teasing banter, your shared adventures, or the way you somehow always manage to make his day better.

he falls for the way you light up a room, your unfiltered honesty, and the way you cheer him on—even when he's being extra.

for hoshi, it's not just one moment; it's a series of moments that stack up until he can't ignore how much you mean to him anymore. maybe it's the way you dance with him without hesitation, how you match his energy during the most ridiculous moments, or the way you just listen when he opens up about his dreams and fears.

example: it's late one night, and you're both sitting on a rooftop, eating convenience store snacks and laughing over nothing in particular. the city lights stretch out below you, and for a moment, hoshi glances at you as you talk about something random. your eyes shine, your laugh carries through the night, and his heart just stops. that's when it hits him: this is my person.

when hoshi confesses, it's going to be bold, a little chaotic, but so him. he might try to plan something elaborate—like a dance routine or a surprise party—but it'll probably go hilariously wrong, and he'll end up blurting it out in the middle of a laugh.

"okay, wait, i can't keep this in anymore!" he'll say, running a hand through his hair as his cheeks turn pink. "i really like you. like, a lot. and i know this might sound crazy, but... will you be my tiger?"

(ㅅ' ˘ )♡ when hoshi loves, it's big, bold, and unrelenting. he loves with his whole heart, making you feel like you're the most important person in his universe. he's the type to hype you up constantly—whether it's about how amazing you look, how talented you are, or how lucky he is to have you.

he's always planning little surprises to make you smile, whether it's showing up at your door with your favorite snacks or dragging you out for a spontaneous adventure just because he wants to see you laugh.

he leaves sticky notes in random places for you to find, each one with something sweet or funny: "did you know you're amazing? because you are!" or "you're cuter than a tiger cub. don't fight me on this."

hoshi's love is physical and affectionate—he's always pulling you into hugs, holding your hand, or squishing your cheeks. he thrives on closeness, always looking for excuses to be near you, whether it's leaning against you during movie night or intertwining his fingers with yours during a quiet moment.

when he kisses you, it's playful at first—soft pecks that turn into giggles—but when he really leans in, it's deep and meaningful, like he's trying to convey just how much you mean to him without saying a word.

and when you're upset, hoshi is your biggest cheerleader. he'll do everything in his power to make you smile again, even if it means acting like a complete dork just to hear you laugh. but he also knows when to be serious, offering quiet comfort and unwavering support when you need it most.

his love is an endless burst of energy, but it's also steady and grounding, reminding you every day that you're his favorite person in the whole world.

with hoshi, love feels like the perfect mix of adventure and home—wild, fun, and exactly where you belong.

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed because i definitely did, myself. i love hoshi so much i think i love him a little too much and he's so cute i will die for him. idk what to say because writing this, i was 3 bottles drunk and i immediately sobered up thinking what hoshi might be. (i proofread this over and over again and honestly, im so proud of finally finishing this). i might make another hoshi fanfic soon. please, mom, i want himmmmm

[hrrtshape]

i want the tea emmaaa 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

✶ the latest report on my shift to my better cr (aka kind of a socialite dr)

◞ when i shifted : for way longer. way, way longer. i blinked and suddenly i had months’ worth of memories. time is fake, time is a performance, time is a dinner party where i am the guest of honour and also the mysterious figure slipping out the back door. the ratio? unknown. inconceivable. i went to sleep and woke up and lived. isn’t that enough? but the present in my better cr is currently the present in here !

◞ where i shifted : still new york, still my mom’s penthouse, still living in a pinterest board except this time i fully leaned into it. every single aesthetic touch, every candle, every casually draped cashmere throw. curated to perfection. we are talking "architectural digest home tour where the interviewer is quietly weeping over how good my taste is" levels of perfection. the google maps situation remains the same: in this reality, my house is a hotel. fate? simulation glitch? the universe keeping me humble? who knows.

◞ family dynamics : my older brother remains a tech bro of the most devastating calibre. the type who makes a billion-dollar deal on his phone in between espresso shots, then immediately gets distracted by an art heist conspiracy theory and disappears for a week. my younger brother (he's weirdly obsessed with filming cars for instagram) continues to reside with my dad in the west village, and their place is basically a salon for the emotionally sophisticated. like, picture cigars (unlit, for aesthetic), first edition books, and a record player that only plays vinyls of people arguing in french. my dad..... still at sotheby’s, still slightly overwhelmed, still one misplaced signature away from an auction-house disaster. my mom is still an empire-builder, still the queen of sugar-free decadence, still able to make a CEO cry in under five minutes. i am so obsessed with her.

◞ my friends : lily-rose remains my ride-or-die. our friendship has transcended words and become something closer to an art form. we communicate through glances, through impeccably timed laughter, through the shared knowledge that we are always, always the main characters. also, blair waldorf is STILL in my life, and i am STILL not over it. she tolerates me, which is the highest form of affection. the gossip girl universe continues to imprint itself onto my reality, and honestly? i welcome it. @chaaistained you're still the light of my life xxxx

◞ loml, coryo : mhm. mhm. mhm. (pause for applause). not writing how just yet, but let’s just say the universe finally got the memo. cutest cutie ever.

◞ food : the cafes remain exquisite. the hazelnut croissants remain life-altering. i have officially become one with my iced matcha. my bloodstream is no longer soy milk; it is pure, concentrated vibes. best meal.... one night my mum and i booked out an entire restaurant just to have a private dinner and discuss our enemies. just mother-daughter bonding things. le bernardin continues to serve food so good i nearly cried. and, of course, because i went to paris, we gorged on croissants.

◞ outfits : i wake up. my closet, endless. my options, infinite. every single piece of clothing i have ever wanted? there. there were DAYS i changed outfits purely because i could. there were NIGHTS i sat in front of my floor-length mirror, trying on silk dresses and whispering, "what’s the move tonight?" even if there was no move. just the illusion of one.

◞ school : st. lazarus remains the most iconic institution to ever exist. the uniforms are still perfect. the hierarchy is still thrilling. my classes are as follows !!! :

philosophy : my professor has officially lost his grip on reality. i am his nemesis and also his favourite student. i say things just to watch him spiral. it’s a sport. history : the battlefield. coryo is writing my history IA. i am having the time of my life. literature : divine. ethereal. my professor respects me too much. maths : a struggle but at least my notes look nice. but i did script that i atleast understand what's happening.

◞ social scene : parties, parties, PARTIES. penthouses, rooftops, spontaneous trips. people draped over velvet sofas, half-drunk champagne glasses abandoned on marble countertops. whispered secrets. dramatic exits. nights that felt like music videos.

◞ unforgettable moments : celebrated my younger brother’s 15th birthday. f1-themed, obviously, because he’s still in his karting prodigy era. the cake was a racetrack. the vibe was grand prix meets family sitcom. the whole paris trip. somewhere in the mix: a snowstorm, a museum date, a night spent on the roof because the city looked too beautiful to go inside. got recognised at least once in public. tried a new restaurant where the shakshuka made me question my entire existence. there were art gallery openings where the champagne was free-flowing and the conversations were like a linguistic fencing match. sunday brunches that spiraled into entire days out. afternoons spent trying on impractical dresses just to twirl in fitting rooms. soft launches of new perfumes (because every era needs a signature scent).

◞ books i read : ulysses (continued). the secret history ( i read it in my cr...but...c'mon. it was time ). a collection of sapphic poetry that made me feel like i was floating.

◞ the details that made it real : the way my pen scratched against my notebook in class. the exact weight of my chloé tote in my hand. the way my breath fogged up the glass of my balcony doors when i pressed my forehead against them in the early morning. the quiet click of my mum’s marc jacobs' boots on marble floors.

◞ oh !!! and christmas !!! : christmas in my better cr was in lithuania, obviously. flew out on the 23rd, spent it with the extended family. my grandma made dubai chocolate (not that kind of dubai chocolate...she lives in karoliniškės, ok). my makeup artist aunt got me a lip tint, very on brand. my one-year-old cousin nora is in her cherubic era. we were besties for the week. played with her nonstop. got my younger brother every f1 lego car in existence. my mum got me archival miu miu. my great-grandma saw me, got sentimental, cried a little, made me eat an ungodly amount of cepelinai. very lithuanian of her. left early, landed at jfk at a stupid hour. 1 am. coryo was there in sweatpants, threw his car at the curb like he was in some noir film, very dramatic, very romantic. nearly tackled me. i was gone for less than a week but he missed me like it had been years. got me presents too. he is so lovesick it’s almost embarrassing.

that’s it for now, lovies. i have MORE, obviously, but let’s pace ourselves. mwah xxxxxxx

[omamervt]

oh my god every one of these replies is so stupid. I was content when it was just one to block and move on but y'all kept going, Jesus.

From top to bottom:

"Review embargoes are good, though!"

If you wanna miss the point, I can help you understand. If you're just wrong, I can try and help you see why. But if you're gonna be wrong WHILE missing the point, nothing you have to say is worth saying.

Ignore for a moment that none of the perks of an embargo in your eyes benefit READERS, only the reviewers, their publishers, and the game's publisher. Because even if I agreed with THAT point, do you think review embargoes had a bad reputation back in the day because of the NON-toxic patterns? No! The point is that reviews aren't allowed to come out now until the game's release is so close that it's too late to inform everyone who pre-ordered that they might want to cancel! And that this went from a predictable indicator that a game was gonna suck on launch to a near-universal practice! And AGAIN, that the editors and reviewers would rather maintain a positive relationship with AAA game publishers than with their own readers!

"influencers can play and stream the game before reviews are out, as long as they stick to certain talking points and avoid others"

In other words, you can only review the game if you don't leave a bad review? do you not think that JUST MAYBE that would fall under the category of "problematic embargo pattern?"

"why are you going to a video game magazine for ttrpg news instead of like, Dicebreaker?"

oh, I don't know? Maybe BECAUSE POLYGON HAS A FUCKING TABLETOP SECTION? Maybe because as great as Rascal and Dicebreaker and the like are and need support when they do good work, it doesn't change the fact that if Polygon wants to have a Tabletop beat, they should at least try and do a good job with it? And the head of that section writing an open letter to people his department has straight-up ignored, despite them doing everything right, and saying, "be more marketable!" You can't pretend it's not a bad look. Ignoring the work of members of his own team, who are doing the thing he's saying needs to be done? You can't pretend it's not a bad look. ESPECIALLY when you acknowledge that WoTC has a LITERAL MONOPOLY on the TTRPG scene!

and shieldfoss, I know you won't see this because I blocked you because you're an idiot arguing in bad faith, but everything you said is exactly what I meant by "debating the role of a games journalist in a way that lets them off the hook for not doing their job." Because actually, it IS a journalist's job to inform their readers, not just spoon-feed them what they want to hear, with info they could just as easily get directly from WoTC.

As it stands, the likes of Polygon ARE serving as part of the marketing for major products and services. And that's a BAD thing!

Oh, and about your analogy: If I were going to an e-bike repair man, then no, I wouldn't expect him to try and sell me a new e-bike. BECAUSE HE'S NOT THE PUBLISHER OF AN E-BIKE MAGAZINE! However, I WOULD expect an e-bike magazine to keep me as up-to-date as is reasonably possible on e-bike product launches, even if it's only via reviews. I would expect them to have a handful of guys whose job was to keep their ear to the ground to research up-and-coming e-bike makers. And if one E-bike brand had a monopoly on e-bikes, I'd hope that e-bike magazine would do everything in its power to at least not COME OFF as a shill for the company that holds the monopoly.

And it's all fascinating that two out of three of these replies are, again, still largely in the context of "this is an issue with Charlie Hall, specifically, writing an article about not wanting to have to do any investigation or research to populate his TTRPG section with TTRPG articles" when, as I've been saying from the beginning, this is bigger than him. It's bigger than Polygon. Every major publication has these issues, and they have them in regards to ALL types of games, not just TTRPGs.

So no, none of these people had good points.

I've often heard people debate the role of Games Journalists and their duties relating to coverage of Games, but its usually in the context of letting them off the hook for just taking the easy route and shilling for the AAA industry.

After This Article from Polygon today, whose TTRPG beat is almost entirely covering WoTC press releases, written by the editor for the TTRPG beat, talking about how indie TTRPGs need to do better about getting press coverage themselves (hmm wonder how that would happen, Charlie!), while neglecting to highlight his own team members' work to do so, but finding plenty of time to bemoan the lack of any upcoming Curse of Strahd-tier adventure modules from WoTC?

Yeah we're done with that. No more. Don't even think about it.

[marksbear2]

Hiiii, bear!!! If you're still taking requests, could a request a homelander x male!reader fic where homelander is sort of a little desperate for readers approval because hw hasn't gotten a lot of positive attention in his life? And if it's still open, could I be '🪼 anon', please?

Homelander x male reader

Hiii and yes you may my friend. This has to be like a world record for me to be writing and posting a request in the same day.

Beneath the Cape

The first time you met Homelander, you hadn’t expected much.

Not because he wasn’t impressive—he was. Towering, broad-shouldered, the very image of America’s strongest hero. But you knew his reputation, the whispers beneath the carefully crafted PR. Dangerous. Unstable. Capable of wiping out a city if the mood struck him.

And yet, when you spoke to him, you saw something else. Something beneath the mask.

It had been a brief encounter. A charity event, one of those nauseatingly polished affairs where Vought paraded their golden boy around like a prize horse. You’d been there as part of your company’s sponsorship, nothing special. Just another name on a list.

But then he walked by, and you—unlike everyone else—didn’t grovel. Didn’t flinch. You just… smiled. A simple thing, a polite acknowledgment, nothing more.

And for a second, just a second, Homelander froze.

Then his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. He gave you a nod, an almost hesitant one, before moving on.

You thought nothing of it.

He, however, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Homelander started noticing you more after that.

It wasn’t immediate, but it was persistent. Every time he passed through a room, his gaze would linger on you a little longer. At first, it was just curiosity. Why hadn’t you looked at him the way everyone else did? With fear. With worship.

Instead, you were… normal. You treated him like a person, not a god.

And for the first time in his life, that felt more intoxicating than any amount of adoration. So he sought you out. First, by coincidence. Then, with more intention. He made excuses to be near you, dropping by your office under the pretense of business, stopping to chat when he saw you at events. He wanted—needed—to know why you were different.

And every time you spoke to him, it was like a breath of fresh air. No false praise. No trembling admiration. Just simple, casual conversation. You didn’t hesitate to crack a joke, to roll your eyes at corporate nonsense, to treat him like—well, like a regular guy.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

Of you.

At first, you chalked up his frequent appearances to coincidence. But then it became too frequent. Too deliberate.

Homelander always seemed to be around. Finding excuses to talk. Standing just a little too close. And then there were the looks. The way he watched you—not with the cold, calculated gaze he gave most people, but something softer. Almost needy.

It was subtle at first, the way his eyes followed you, the way his expression shifted when you laughed at something he said. But then there were the moments when he lingered after conversations, as if reluctant to leave.

And one night, after another one of those tedious events, you finally called him out on it.

“Alright,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the balcony railing. “What’s your deal?”

Homelander blinked, tilting his head. “My deal?”

“You keep showing up around me. Hanging around like a lost puppy.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

There it was again—that flicker of something behind his eyes.

“Would you rather I leave?” His voice was casual, but you caught the undercurrent beneath it. The uncertainty. The smallest, quietest thread of insecurity, woven into the carefully controlled mask.

You exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”

His expression shifted, something relieved, something satisfied. “Good,” he murmured, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something crisp and clean beneath the fabric of his suit.

And then he smiled, not the perfect, PR-ready grin he always wore for the cameras, but something real.

Something just for you.

From then on, it was impossible to ignore.

Homelander wanted your attention. Craved it. And he wasn’t subtle about it.

He’d show up at your office unannounced, making himself comfortable in your chair like he belonged there. He’d hover during conversations, subtly guiding them back to himself, clearly wanting to hear what you thought of him.

And, God help you, he was charming when he wanted to be. Infuriatingly so.

“You like me, don’t you?” he mused one evening, seated across from you in your apartment—because, yes, he had started showing up there too, somehow always knowing when you were home.

You scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re nice to me.”

You frowned. “And?”

“No one’s ever nice to me.”

Something in his voice made you pause.

It was an admission, plain and simple, but there was something raw beneath it. Something vulnerable.

He covered it quickly, pasting on a smirk. “Well, not without wanting something in return.”

You sighed. “Maybe I’m just nice.”

He studied you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Maybe that’s why I like you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Not out of fear. Not out of discomfort. But something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Because the way he looked at you—the way he wanted you—wasn’t just some passing fascination.

It was need.

And you weren’t sure you could ignore it much longer.

---

It escalated from there.

Not in the way you expected. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

He just… stayed.

In your life. In your space. Always there, always watching, always waiting for whatever little scraps of attention you’d give him. And God, when you did?

It was like he came alive.

A simple touch—your hand brushing his arm—made his breath hitch. A kind word had him lingering on it for days.

You realized, then, just how little warmth he’d ever been given.

And how much he wanted it from you.

One night, after a long conversation over drinks, he sighed, tilting his head toward you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“How much I need this.” His voice was softer than usual. “How much I need you.”

Your chest tightened.

And when he leaned in, when his lips hovered just a breath away from yours, you realized something.

You needed him too.

THE END

[lily-sofii]

Caleb taking your things Headcanon's 🍎

Tw (?): Caleb smelling used panties, stealing your things without you knowing, masturbating with an article of clothing (the more unhinged part is under the hearts), and Caleb being pervy and delusional. Also, first time writing for him, so don't kill me pls (I didn't even finish his story yet)

• Lately you have noticed more and more of your things going missing. At the start you simply wrote it off as having misplaced them, who hasn't misplaced a pair of panties or a shirt? As more and more things go missing, the more suspicious get, but of course, you grew suspicious of everything and everyone, except the perpetrator.

• Upon his first visit at your place, after such a long time that he hasn't seen you, he immediately knew where everything was from memory. He knew where every room and every detail was. The first time, he didn't take anything, he simply soaked in every little detail to make sure next time he was around, he'd be able to take what he wanted without being noticed.

• Every time he came to your house, more and more items went missing. You have never managed to connect the dots.

• He kept coming to your place with the intention of taking more of your things, progressively taking more and more, yet you didn't even think to blame him for the things going missing. You have mentioned it to him on many occasions, and have been whining to him about needing to buy the things that have gone missing.

• It may have been out of guilt, but when you complained once again, he suggested going shopping together, buying you anything and everything you wanted. (Wether it's a thing that went missing, that you needed replaced or simply something that caught your eye)

• The first thing he stole was an old sleeping shirt of yours, that you haven't used in a long time. He didn't exactly know what he was going to do with it, since he knew it wasn't going to fit him, but he knew he needed it all for himself.

• The more stuff he took, the bolder he bacame with his pickings of what to steal from you. Sure, the first thing he took might have been an unused shirt, but lately, he has been taking your panties that you just used out of the hamper along with some shirts you wear often.

• Why? Because it still had your scent on it. Wether it be sweat or your perfume, he will enjoy it.

• No matter how many times you whine about your things going missing, he won't return them. In his mind, he tried convincing himself that he took your things to feel closer to you, to feel as if you were with him at all times. Lately, it has been a struggle to make himself believe it.

• Maybe if the only thing he did was keep your shirt as a pillowcase, he'd be able to convince himself it was because if he smelled you, he'd feel calmer to slumber. He'd feel closer to you. If the only thing he did with a pillow he stole from you was to hug it to sleep, he could say, it was because it felt like, if you were with him, hugging you closer to him, your scent enveloping him.

• But that was simply not the case. At least, not anymore.

• One day he went into your bathroom with the excuse of needing to use the toilet, but as always, he simply wanted to take another article of clothing that you threw in the hamper. Picking up a shirt, he put it in his backpack without you noticing.

• Upon coming home with his new prized possession he threw the shirt on his bed, putting on his payjams before crawling into bed. Just then does he lay out the shirt, noticing the used panties that were tangled in it.

• He looks down at the panties in surprise, reaching for them, considering just tossing them aside. But... when else would he get the chance to touch your used panties? To smell them? It's not like he was bold enough to simply take them.

• He grabs the used pair of your underwear and presses it to his nose, inhaling deeply. He knows it's disgusting, but it's as if his body was operating on it's own.

• Caleb grunts as he sniffs the underwear, his tongue licking it. He bucks his hips subconsciously up against his pants, his cock growing hard by the second.

• Pushing the shirt aside he reached for his pants, yaking them off, putting the panties in his hand, moving to touch his aching cock with them. And oh god, did it feel heavenly.

• There were many occasions where he was jerking off with the thought of you, maybe keeping a shirt of yours near to sniff it, but this time was diffrent. This time, he was using your things to jerk off.

• His groans get louder at just the thought of you knowing what he's doing, the thought that you'd be disgusted by him. He squeezes his cock with the hand holding your underwear, the cotton becoming drenched in his precum.

• With each stroke a wet squelch is echoing across his room, a loud groan following soon after. Caleb moves his thighs back against his hand, throwing his head back in pleasure, your name lingering on his lips

• Every so often he calls out your name, his cock twitching as he comes closer and closer to his climax, the panties sticking to his cock with how much precum is on it by now.

• With a few more fast strokes Caleb bites into his hand to muffle his loud groans, cumming on the panties and his toned stomach, his breathing quick and uneven.

• He tries his best to calm his breathing as he lays down In his bed, making a mental note to take more of your used panties, along with cleaning his cum drenched ones. (Even though he enjoys the thought of you wearing panties filled with his cum)

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, your PA series is amazing! Can you write a fic about the team celebrating a big win and some people try to flirt with both PA and Jamie but they are so absorbed by each other they dont even notice other people? And the team notices and starts a bet when they'll stop being idiots amd get together, so Richard decides he wants to win and a couple days later he starts flirting with PA (because I imagine Richard flirting with women is his only way of comunicating with them) so PA is not bothered and thinks 'oh just Richard being Richard', Jamie is so confused he's speechless and the team has a laugh. And afterwhards Jamie shyly tries to find out from PA or Richard what the hell is going on.

Thanks :)

Bet On It

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, flirting, suggestive language

A/N: Thank you for this awesome request. The bet part is going to be very important to Jamie and PA's story, so thank you for that! Also it is a very long chapter and I've been writing it for ages, I don't wanna spam so I'll schedule it for some day...

The pub is buzzing with energy. AFC Richmond had just secured a massive win, and the entire team, staff, and their closest friends had taken over their usual spot at the Crown & Anchor. Pints were flowing, chants were being sung off-key, and spirits were soaring.

Y/N is there, obviously. Jamie had made a whole thing about how she had to come—something about “ya can’t celebrate a win if ya don’t have the best PA in the league with ya”—so she hadn’t stood a chance.

In the middle of of the bustling chaos celebration, Jamie and Y/N were exactly where they always were—next to each other.

They had claimed a small corner booth, sitting so close their knees brushed under the table. Their drinks sat untouched as they laughed over something ridiculous, because, of course, Jamie had ordered the most absurd drink on the menu: the 'Red Card', which came with a tiny plastic whistle attached to the straw.

Y/N was still giggling as Jamie twirled the whistle between his fingers. “Oi, don't laugh, this is class,” he said, grinning as he took a sip.

“It’s literally just a vodka cranberry with a fancy name,” Y/N teased, shaking her head.

Jamie gasped dramatically. “No, it’s got passionfruit syrup. Proper exotic.”

“Oh wow, passionfruit? That totally justifies the fact that it came with a side of gummy footballs,” Y/N deadpanned, picking up one of the tiny candies.

Jamie smirked, leaning in slightly. Too close, too warm. “Bet ya won’t eat it.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“‘Cause they’ve been sittin’ in that jar at the bar since the 2014 World Cup,” he said, nodding towards the counter.

Y/N immediately dropped the gummy. “Jamie!” she shrieked, laughing.

Jamie cackled. “See? You need me to keep ya safe.”

“Oh yeah, protecting me from stale candy is really heroic,” she quipped, rolling her eyes.

They were wrapped up in each other, completely oblivious to everything else happening around them. They barely even noticed when Sam and Dani slid into the booth across from them, smirking.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam declared, taking a sip of his beer.

Jamie frowned. “Nah, this drink’s actually well nice. And we didn't even eat the gummies, so.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam muttered under his breath, exchanging a knowing look with Dani.

But before Y/N could question it, Keeley and Rebecca waved her over from across the room.

She nudged Jamie’s knee with hers as she stood. “I’m gonna go talk to them for a bit.”

Jamie pouted dramatically. “Oi, don’t be gone too long, yeah?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of pink on her cheeks. “Try not to get another ridiculous drink while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Jamie called after her, grinning.

And that’s where everything started to spiral a little bit.

The evening kept going on and on. Spirits were high. The music’s loud, drinks are flowing, and Richmond is riding the high of a victory that had the entire stadium on its feet.

Jamie, of course, is loving it.

He’s alone now, perched at a booth near the bar, lounging back like he owns the place, sipping his ridiculous drink. A girl—tall, blonde, very much into footballers—leans against the table, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“So,” she says, all sultry. “You were incredible tonight. Saw the game on the telly.”

Jamie flashes her a quick, polite smile. “Yeah, I know.”

She laughs, clearly thinking he’s flirting back. "You must be exhausted. You should let someone… take care of you."

Jamie blinks. "What, like a physio?"

She pouts. "Like me."

But Jamie isn’t paying attention anymore, because across the room, Y/N is also getting hit on.

Some guy—tall, good-looking in a finance-bro kind of way—is leaning way too close, grinning down at her like he’s won the lottery.

"So, what do you do at Richmond?" the guy asks, flashing a cocky smile.

"I'm Jamie Tartt's personal assistant," Y/N replies easily, taking a sip of her drink.

The guy raises a brow. "Oh? That must be… exhausting. Bet he has you running around all day."

Y/N smirks. "Yeah, well, he's a handful. But I keep him in check."

Finance-Bro laughs, taking this as an invitation to keep going. "Bet a girl like you deserves a little break. How about I buy you a drink?"

Jamie physically flinches.

The almost-forgotten blonde girl notices. "You alright?"

Jamie waves her off. "Yeah, yeah—hold up, sorry, what'd you say?"

But she’s already gone, rolling her eyes as she walks away.

Jamie doesn’t care.

Because now? He’s glaring at that guy again.

Across the pub, the Richmond boys watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Y/N had returned to the booth after her chat with Keeley and Rebecca, sliding right back into her spot next to Jamie as if drawn by some unspoken gravitational pull. The two were locked in their own little world again—laughing, teasing, Jamie leaning in way too close just to whisper something in her ear that made her swat at his arm with a smile.

It was painfully obvious to everyone watching. Except, of course, to them.

Sam, beer in hand, shook his head in disbelief. “Are they serious?”

Dani sighed dramatically. “So in love and yet, so blind!”

“Unbelievable,” Colin scoffed, arms crossed. “They’re literally flirtin’ with each other every day, but the second a random person tries, they’re suddenly deaf to it?”

The team had just witnessed it firsthand.

Not five minutes ago, some bloke in an expensive-looking jacket had been chatting Y/N up by the bar. She had been polite—maybe even a little amused—but completely unaffected. Meanwhile, across the room, a girl had been twirling her hair and giggling at everything Jamie said, and he hadn’t even noticed. Jamie Tartt hadn't even noticed!

Jamie had barely glanced at her, too busy craning his neck to see if Y/N was coming back.

They were ridiculous.

Jan Maas huffed. “Five quid says they’ll keep doing this for at least another month.”

Isaac perked up. “Oh, we bettin’ now, bruv?”

He immediately stood, cracking his knuckles like this was serious business.

“Alright,” Isaac declared, pointing at Jan Maas. “One month. Jan Maas. Noted.”

Dani grinned. “Two months.”

Colin tapped his chin. “One month. No, wait—three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Sam echoed. “That’s bold.”

“I’m an optimist,” Colin said, shrugging.

Jan Maas scoffed. “You are a fool. They will never confess because they are cowards.”

Isaac let out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“I am only honest,” Jan Maas replied.

“Two weeks,” Isaac announced, crossing his arms. “Tops.”

The boys all turned expectantly to Richard.

But Richard just smirked and swirled his wine. “Oh, no. I will simply… speed things along.”

Thierry nudged him. “You’re not betting?”

Richard shrugged, ever the picture of confidence. “Why would I bet when I can guarantee a win?”

The team exchanged wary glances.

They all knew exactly what that meant.

“...Richard,” Sam said cautiously. “What are you planning?”

Richard simply took a leisurely sip of his drink. “You will see. Put me down for one day.”

The rest of the team watched him suspiciously as he glanced over at Y/N and Jamie.

Jamie was currently leaning in close, again whispering something in Y/N’s ear that made her laugh.

Richard smirked. Time to make things interesting.

As expected a day later, Richard makes his move.

It starts at lunch.

Y/N is mid-bite when Richard slides into the seat beside her, all effortless charm and intentional mischief.

"Ah, ma chérie," he croons, reaching for her hand dramatically. “How is it that every time I see you, you grow even more beautiful?”

Y/N barely looks up from her sandwich. "Mmhm. Thanks, Richard."

Undeterred, he tilts his head, smirking. “You know, I have written poetry about women like you.”

Y/N finally looks at him, lips twitching. “Yeah? Lemme guess. ‘There once was a girl from London town…’”

Richard chuckles. “Non, non. More elegant. More… French.”

Jamie, sitting across the table, furrows his brows. His fork is frozen halfway to his mouth as he watches this unfold.

What. The. Fuck.

Richard keeps going. “Ah, you do not believe me? Perhaps I shall recite it for you, oui?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jamie blinks.

Wait. That’s it? That’s all she’s gonna say?

Richard is laying it on thick, calling her ‘ma chérie’ and acting like some French Casanova, and she’s just laughing? Richard can't believe it.

Jamie however shoves a bite of food into his mouth, chewing aggressively.

But it only gets worse.

Later that day, it happens again.

This time, in the locker room.

Y/N is talking to Will when Richard casually drapes an arm around her shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah, la plus belle femme du monde,” Richard sighs dreamily. “You must tell me, how is it possible that you are here every day, yet I still lose my breath when I see you?”

Y/N snorts. "Alright, Romeo. How many times have you used that line?"

Richard gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Y/N.”

She pats his cheek. “Aw, you’re such a cutie, Rich.”

Jamie short-circuits. His entire body goes rigid. Because—what the actual fuck?

Did she just call him cute?

Colin, sitting nearby, is already cackling.

Jamie snaps his head toward Sam. “Oi.”

Sam looks up innocently. “Yes?”

Jamie gestures wildly at Y/N and Richard. “The fuck is goin’ on?”

Sam blinks. “What do you mean?”

Jamie waves a hand. "He’s bein’ all… French at her! He don’t usually do that, right?"

Sam shrugs. “Oh, you know Richard. He flirts with everyone.”

“Yeah, but—not her,” Jamie argues. “Like—not this much.”

Sam tilts his head. "Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

Jamie freezes. “What? No. Just weird, innit?”

Sam hums, suppressing a grin. “Interesting.”

Jamie glares. “It’s not.”

Sam just smirks. Because it very much is. And Jamie Tartt?

Jamie Tartt is about to lose his goddamn mind.

Later, in the locker room, Jamie corners Sam, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

"Oi," he says, voice low and serious. "Don't fuck around with me right now. Be honest, Sam. What the fuck is goin’ on with Richard?"

Sam looks up from tying his laces, blinking innocently. "I literally have no idea what you are talking about, Jamie."

Jamie gestures wildly. "He’s obviously flirtin’ with Y/N! Am I fuckin' goin' insane right now or are you lot just blind?"

Sam tilts his head. "And what if he was flirting?"

Jamie lets out a sharp scoff. “What d’you mean ‘what if he was’? That's not okay, right? Like—she's mine—my assistant I mean. And mans is callin' her ‘ma chérie’ and shit.”

Sam barely holds in a laugh.

"It's not fuckin' funneh!" Jamie insists, voice rising slightly.

Sam studies him, amused. "It bothers you. Do something about it."

Jamie opens his mouth—then immediately closes it.

Because the statement was very obvious.

But he can’t just say that.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Sam. "It don’t. She can do whatever she wants, so yeah."

Sam hums, way too entertained by this. "Right."

Jamie glares. “Fuck you, mate.”

Sam smirks, but says nothing.

Because at this point, Jamie is digging his own grave.

The locker room is nearly empty when Jamie spots Y/N grabbing her bag from the bench. He hesitates, heart racing for reasons he can't fully explain, but he has to do this.

Jamie walks up to her, trying to act casual, but his voice comes out a little more strained than he planned.

"So," he begins, shifting on his feet. "You and Richard, yeah?"

Y/N raises an eyebrow, not quite sure what he’s getting at. "What about me and Richard?" she asks, her tone curious but not overly suspicious.

Jamie scratches the back of his neck. "Y’know… he’s, uh… been flirtin’ with ya."

Y/N lets out a short, surprised laugh, not a bit phased by the whole situation. "Oh, please. That’s just Richard."

Jamie blinks.

"What?"

Y/N shrugs, clearly dismissing the concern as nothing. "Jamie, he’s Richard." Her voice softens, almost like she’s explaining something obvious. "He flirts with everyone, especially me. He’s a flirt. It’s what he does. You’ve known him long enough."

Jamie stares at her, a mix of confusion and relief battling inside him.

So… she doesn’t like him? Richard’s flirtation is just… a thing Richard does?

It’s almost like a weight lifts off his chest, but that weight is immediately replaced by an even heavier, more uncomfortable feeling—one that Jamie can’t quite put a finger on yet. His mind starts to spiral.

“Right.” He rubs his face, trying to come off like it’s no big deal, but Y/N can see through it. She can always see through him.

"Jamie, you okay?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. She knows he’s not acting like himself.

Jamie glances away quickly, his heart thumping harder than it should. He’s so relieved that he doesn’t have to worry about Richard and Y/N becoming a thing. Still, he’s struggling to make sense of why it felt so wrong when Richard was all over her.

But then his eyes flicker up, and he notices something he hadn't before.

The team.

Standing at the entrance to the locker room. Watching.

Watching him.

These idiots were fucking with him.

He turned back to Y/N. "Yeah, I'm all good. Just Jamie bein' Jamie, yeah?"

Y/N looked at him, now equally confused. "I guess."

"You want to grab a pint?" Jamie said, not letting her answer the question and quickly grabbing her by her wrist. "Alright, c'mon then,"

They walked past the whole team, Y/N wasn't even wondering why they all stood there. Jamie just mouthed a 'Fuck You' towards all of them and pulled Y/N along.

Richard is officially the first to lose the bet.

[simpingforbots]

hiiii i hope you're fine,I'm really intrigued to know what the tfone transformers think about their silly human being in the sun for a few hours and getting burned, like.

The human is on his robot's shoulder, but from one moment to the next he turns his head to see the little friend and they see that his color has changed a little.

personally because I burned a lot this summer.

(I'm sorry if something is written wrong, English is my second language, I love how you write)

Hello! I am doing alright, hope you are doing fine your self. I knwo the feeling as i burn quickly as well and i know how it is to deal with it.

Sun or no sun?

Leaving underground is not much of a trouble to creatures that made out of metal as they do not require sunlight to function, but something that is organic - it was one of a few necessities just to be able to function properly. First time Orion found out about it, he panicked and kept thinking that he was hurting you by keeping here, with him. It was already dangerous for you to be in mines, let alone surrounded by someone who’s bigger and harder then you. Hell, he even considered to give you up to some reach snob so that you be safer, but the idea of you being in hands of someone like them made his spark churn with disgust and D-16 quickly shut it down, not wanting to even hear Orion’s worries. So to “subsidise” the lost light you needed, he did a little research and got you a small fake sun light lamp, that sort of provided necessary “D” vitamin. On top of that he made sure to get other supplements and that you took them daily. You such a weird little thing, needing so much just to be able to function, and yet they still cared about you very much, no matter how hard taking care of you can be.

When they managed to get up on the surface and survive the train crash with only few scrapes and bruises, you were finally on the surface. D-16 and Orion wath you run around for a bit, enjoying the life of the surface no longer confound to you small den and the limited places they could take you, able to move freely and breath without trouble before Orion picked you up and steeled on your shoulder before continuing on their journey for the Matrix of Leadership, pondering out loud about what will happen afterward. You seamed to also enjoy your natural sunlight, leaning back a bit, not worrying about anything and letting warm sun light land on your skin. At first they did not notise anything, but after some time B-126 was first to see the change in your skin colour.

“Hey, is your little organic pet thing always able to change colour?! This is so COOL? How are they doing it? Can they be yellow? I thingk yellow will look good on them! Can they change their eyes to? What bout the strange thing on their head?” Bee waltz in front of Orion, his eyes glowing with curiosity as he pointed at you. Scared, D-16 quickly grabbed you and held in fron of him self, staring at you and trying not to panic. Your skin was a bit darker, lightly, but noticeable when your little fabric on your body shifted, showing a lighter tone line.

“Is this normal?” Orion asked, looking at you as well, moving your hair away from your shoulders to able to see a strange condition that you seamed to be indifferent to.

“Do I look like I know?” D-16 grumbled a bit, lifting your little hand to see anything else. “Maybe it’s normal for them. But I think we should hurry up”

And back on the shoulder you go, this time under carful surveillance of your “caretaker” bots, who seemed to be warry and did their best to shield you from to much light, but they can only do this much. Sending entire day in direct sun, with no protection, caused your skin to became red and by the night fall you seamed to be going in and out of conciseness. The trouble did not end here as the very next day you were letting chirps of distress and any touch, even light one, caused you a lot of pain and a strange bubbles that appeared on your body to pop, leaking some kind of coolant. D-16 got very concerned with this, trying to carry you while shielding from the light, refusing to let you rest on his shoulder now, grimacing every time you shifted, making your self hurt even more. Orion tried to brain storm what could be causing this yet he can only guess as he did not had access to any research and only hope is that you can push through, with only breaks coming at nights and cold air cooling you a bit. When they reached the green area of the planet, hiding beneath the shade of huge trees, you seemed to relax even more and it was decided to have a little break. B-126 tried to play with you, yet you were in to much pain to even move on your won, just wanting nothing but rest and try get better. D-16 could see it and had to shoo B away so that you can rest all while Orion disappeared off to somewhere, babbling about trying to find somrhitng he read in archives, promising and praying to Primes that he is correct. Another whimpered escaped your little body as you shifted, wrapping your self in the fabric you had on your body, shivering and letting another pained moan. Grumbling to him self, D-16 tried not to move you to much. You are so small and fragile, it’s a miracle that you were able to survive on your own planet. The thunder on the gorund signalled that Orion found what ever he was looking for, quickly kneeling down showing his findings – some water and a leaf that leaked a lot.

“It will help them. I remember reading that organics need liquids to be able to function. Back at Iacon we had enough of it, but not here. I hope this helps” he mumbled on, breaking the leaf even more and lifting your covers to smother the sticky substance al over the red areas. D-16 shuddered at the feeling of it on his servo alone, yet seeing you relax a bit and no longer in much pain, decided to suck it up. Orion quckly finished up, tossing the leaf aside and brought another leaf with water in it to you, slowly making you drink it, with two bots making sure that you will make it and you will be alright, finally letting two bots pet you.

[tophat-69]

Vander and Silco - First Meeting

When I started writing for Arcane I wasn't sure if I wanted to write Jayce/Viktor or Vander/Silco first. I landed on Jayce/Viktor because the idea for "it's the good, defining itself" pretty much took over my life to the point that I was putting out a chapter a day for 22 days. But I backburnered a prequel fanfiction of Vander and Silco, to get back to later. I'm not quite ready to commit to it, but wanted to put out there what would be my first chapter. I'm hoping you enjoy it, because I'd like to revisit the idea and keep going someday. So, for now--enjoy Vander and Silco meeting for the first time in the mines, and the start of a partnership.

To be honest, on first impression Vander’s not actually all that impressed. 

“Hey-hey, slim! How was lockup this time?”

It’s midday at the mine, not that anyone would be able to tell if it weren’t for the whistles that echo down into the depths. The only lights in the drift tunnels come from their headlamps, and there’s a sort of liminality to that—it could be dawn or it could be midnight, and in the tunnels they would never know. All they can see is directly ahead of them, and everything else is shadow and rock, like blinders for the beasts of burden that they are. 

As the forward line, their crew is down deep enough now that stopping for meals is almost as miserable an affair as chipping their way through rocks, the kind of heat that makes the heavy protective gear suffocating, the kind of humidity that has Vander’s hair plastered to his neck and forehead beneath the hard hat, and his shirt melting into his skin under the leathers. 

“Still dank, dark, with terrible food and worse company. So, roughly the same as being down here with you lot.” There are a handful of hearty laughs at the dry sarcasm coming from within the echoing cavern, the kind of shared bleak humor that comes with working in the shittiest conditions known to man and, apparently, spending time in prison too. The voice continues with a sly undertone that lends itself well to the affected accent of the Promenade. “Still, food on the table and a roof over my head and topside footing the bill. I’m considering the merits of making it my summer home. ‘Stillwater Manor’ sounds very refined, don’t you think?”

As they stump into the echoing depleted cavern, tobacco smoke curls through the air, though smoking down in the mines is a dangerous game to the point that bringing a match or lighter down is highly regulated. Yet the thirty hewers of their shift fan out to sprawl onto the rough stone floors on either side of the cart rails, and all of the more experienced members of the crew seem to be taking this as expected and normal, throwing out greetings as they haul out their lunch pails and settle in.

Taking off their protective gear is more than just against regulations, it’s a stupid idea: yet there’s a helmet hanging from a rivet in one of the support ribs of the walls, head lamp pointed down to illuminate a book in the lap of a shadowed figure comfortably sprawled out lounging while the rest of them busted their asses. In the dark and with the light focused on the book in front of him, all Vander really gets is a glimpse of stick-thin legs resting on top of the thick leather uniform jacket as if it’s a cushion. 

Vander’s not even really a tight-ass about the regulations. Just someone who understands why these particular rules exist, and how dangerously stupid it is to ignore them.

So, overall--not the greatest of first impressions. 

“You ever consider not getting arrested, Silco? It’s getting to be a pain in the ass for the foreman to pull you out of there.” Cray may be their shift supervisor but down this far he’s just another one of them, putting his back into it to lead by example. Until Vander came along he was the biggest of the crew and did that just in productivity alone, and he’s a well-respected and liked man overall. But leading by example extends beyond hauling rocks and apparently means plunking himself down next to this ‘Silco’ and hooking his helmet off of the bolt, dropping it down onto his head and then thumping his loose fist on top of it. As Vander settles nearby, feet braced against the rail, he can hear Cray’s voice lower, his tone a warmly affectionate warning. “Keep your helmet on, kid. We had a rib pop about a month after you were pinched. Sully didn’t make it out.”

“When they’re given the choice between having me break rocks up there and break rocks down here, I always end up back in the mines. Congratulations, even Stillwater thinks this is a worse punishment than prison.” There are a few of the men who have clearly done time as well who raise their canteens in a toast to that, and the echoing clamor of ribald and lively conversations pick up, letting the newcomer drop his charismatic performance to respond to Cray. He sounds different without a crowd to perform to, and Vander has to strain to listen as he sits nearby and opens up his thermos of leftover stew. “I heard the news when I came in. He was a good man, it’s going to be hard to replace him. …Though I assume that’s why we have the eavesdropping newcomer.”

When the headlamp swings his way, Vander turns and squints against the glare of it being directly aimed at him until his eyes adjust to the light.

Vander’s second impression is an entirely different matter. 

For Vander’s first job, he had been a dockhand where the River Pilt met the Conqueror’s Sea, saltwater and freshwater slow to mingle in the estuary. The brackish waters were a pretty shade of blue-green under the too-bright sunlight, beautiful and troubled, river eternally forced to cede to the overpowering force of the ocean. 

Staring into brilliant, challenging eyes, Vander’s second impression is just ‘pretty.’ Which is probably stupid to think about a dirty little thing so grayed in coal dust that it looks like he’d rolled in it, no matter how striking his eyes are under direct lamplight. 

“Vander, Silco. Silco, Vander. He’s a cousin of mine, so maybe try to be nice to him?”

“Half of you up in the sumps are cousins and all the rest of you call each other siblings. I’m not going to ‘be nice’ to any of them until they prove they’ve earned it.”

It’s an interesting way to phrase things, almost like a slip of the tongue. There are damn few people in the world who would consider the Sumps to be ‘up’ from anywhere at all, even in the undercity. You’d have to be looking up from the bottom of the fissures or the mines themselves to see the world that way. That combined with the Proms accent doesn’t make sense, but Vander just files it away for now as he offers an amiable smile and an extended hand.

“Well, let’s just hope I can earn it, then. Pleasure to meet you, Silco.”

It’s hard not to feel like he’s being dissected when under the glaring bright light of Silco’s headlamp, sharp eyes assessing him. It certainly makes it easier for Vander to do the same without it being awkward, despite being the only thing the other can see clearly for that moment. 

‘Slim’ isn’t a surprising nickname—he’s built small and wiry, all limbs and no bulk to him. There’s a shrewd, wary intelligence in his eyes but one of them is bloodshot; beneath the coal dust Vander suspects he has a black eye and a gash on his cheekbone that he’s trying to conceal. Stillwater wasn’t the picnic that he wants to pretend it was, and the second he’s in direct light it’s obvious. Vander’s nineteen and he’d estimate Silco’s seventeen or eighteen, but he talks as if he’s been a part of this crew for years, he’s gone to Stillwater more than once in that time, and he is perhaps overly comfortable in the mines. 

And he’s a snarky shit who doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to shake Vander’s hand. 

Instead bandaged fingers bring his cigarette back up to his lips as he drags in one last deep pull before stubbing it out on the toe of his boot and pushing himself to his feet, Vander’s outstretched hand completely ignored.  

“Charmed.” His voice is dry, sarcastic, and then he’s back to the show of it all again so others can hear. Illuminated from below by Vander and Cray, they watch as he tucks the book into the small of his back to be held in place by a cinched in belt, then tugs on a uniform jacket. “New rule number one of these mines, Vander. If you see your blaster run, you get the hell out and if I tell you to stand clear you stay the hell out. Cray, I’ll be at the third inbye. You haven’t done anything with it since I’ve been gone.”

“We hit solid on that one about three weeks after you were picked up, slim. I could have asked for another blaster since mine decided to spit in an Enforcer’s face, but then I’d have a harder time convincing them we needed you bailed out.”

Standoffish towards newcomers or not, it’s clear that Silco’s deeply embedded in the crew and they’re looking out for their own. Mining communities are tight-knit like that, and they may squabble among themselves but they’re viciously protective of each other among outsiders. It’s one of their best qualities, and has carried over into the culture of the Sumps. The Enforcers picked up the youngest member of the forward line, and they raised enough hell to get him back out a little early by grinding their operations to a crawl. 

“I’d thank you, but now they’re making me work off that bail so I’m doing this for half my take for about as long as I’d have been behind bars. Which as far as I’m concerned means I’m not being paid to be nice to any of you.” Cray grimaces, but Silco’s wry, slanted smirk doesn’t slip as he shoves his tied-back hair up into his helmet and grabs up a leather toolbag. Wedging a rod through the strap, lighting a safety lamp, and tucking a stub of chalk behind his ear, he then waves a hand lazily as he lopes into the dark. “Tell Myra not to wait the cart on me at shift’s end. I need a chance to get some prospecting done while you’re all out of my way. Draw straws for who’s going to butty me, because I’m blowing something up tomorrow one way or another. ”

“Try not to make it one of us!” One of the miners pipes in, and Silco huffs his amusement as others laugh, but he’s disappeared into the dark, just a narrow silhouette and an uneven bob of a light as he heads to the tunnels, voice echoing back to them.

“Half pay, so I only half promise.”

Vander frowns after him, and based on tone he’s fairly sure Cray is doing the same. “Don’t mind Silco. He takes a while to warm up to people…”

“Your blaster is limping and beat to hell from being in prison. He’s going to get himself killed.”

“The limp isn’t from Stillwater, it’s why he got himself picked up in the first place.” Cray passes over a hunk of bread for Vander in exchange for a portion of the stew, and together they eat side by side. Vander doesn’t have to ask him to explain, his silence says enough. “We had a shitty roof bolter, it’s why the rib popped on Sully too. Too much strain on a pillar ended up with a rockburst. Snapped Silco’s leg like a twig, and it’s only because he’s a fast little bastard that his leg wasn’t just crushed and him along with it. He went from the medical tent straight up to the first Enforcer he saw, picked a fight and let them think they fucked up his leg. So, Stillwater foots the medical bills and gives him three hots and a cot while he can’t work to feed himself or keep a roof over his head anyway. He’s done it before, and him being a kid usually lands him a short stint, too. We’d have left him in for another couple of months to finish healing up...”

But they were threatening to replace him. So Silco is back with a half-healed leg in a job that requires him to be fast on his feet or be caught in his own blasts, doing overnight deadwork that isn’t even going to get him paid, and still dryly quipping with the people who screwed up his plans to let himself heal. 

He’s also not really a kid anymore, so the trick with the Enforcers isn’t going to get him leniency in sentencing for much longer if he goes and gets himself injured again. And it’s clear he’s not exactly making himself friends in prison, either.

“Don’t draw straws.” 

Silco needs a partner, but whoever is stuck with him loses the chance for production bonuses while they’re paired up, and risks being blown up alongside him. Vander has a roof over his head, can get by on the daily wage. Plus he’s pretty sure he could throw the cantankerous little shit over his shoulder and book it faster than Silco can run right now. 

Cray’s scrutinizing him, light bright on Vander’s face again, but he just dunks stale bread into three day old stew and continues eating. 

“…Well, guess we’d better get you the gauntlets, then.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

I read about Johnny with shy!reader (it’s so adorable) and it gave me an idea. Idk to write down HOW they met but Johnny has a huge crush on her pre-relationship and he keeps asking shy!reader out on a date but shy!reader keeps rejecting him. Until she finally accepts going on a date with him. Johnny family are curious why Johnny is acting strange in a good way. Shy!Reader superhero friends are being protective of her. Please feel free to pick any superhero friends of shy!reader

I couldn’t think of anyone other than like Remy (gambit) so he’s here bc I wanted him to be. This was too long.

‘Come on, just one date!’ Johnny exclaims as he looks at you with his brown eyes, the very eyes they made you suddenly unable to maintain eye contact as your gaze suddenly found your hands more interesting.

‘I don’t think so Johnny, it’s not right.’ You try telling him, wanting nothing more than to be his next conquest to be bragged about inappropriately behind your back for points with other disgusting men. You had to admit that Johnny was attractive but his cocky, arrogant personality kind of spoilt any possibility of ever wanting to date him in the first place, that and your friend Remy Lebeau didn’t necessarily take kindly to him nor his careless view on relationships.

‘You deserve someone who’s going to treasure you, respect you and believe in you, not whatever that Johnny boy does to his poor partners.’ He told you one day when you informed him of Johnny’s insistent need to take you out on a date. Remy didn’t like this one bit and would even keep a close eye on him whenever they were on missions together, not wanting you to be in pain when getting involved with a man as vain as the one and only Johnny Storm.

‘This reminds me of a story I’ve read somewhere about a prideful and vain man called Narcissus.’ You said.

Remy rose a brow. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He was so vain and so full of himself that after rejecting a nymph called Echo, he ended up falling in love with his own reflection and ended up dying as a result.’ You replied and Remy couldn’t help but laugh and clap a hand on your shoulder.

‘If only it could be that simple mon cherie, if only.’ Remy says through laughter and you couldn’t help but smile in response before remembering your current situation with Johnny, fiddling with your fingers out of habit. ‘If only.’ You whispered to yourself, hoping that Johnny would grow bored of you and move on.

However Johnny didn’t get bored of you and move on like you had hoped, if anything he only became persistent in asking you out, so much to the point where you were openly rejecting him at least three times a week because of it. You honestly didn’t see what was so special about you to warrant his attention, you were the complete opposite of Johnny in every possible way, you two just wouldn’t work out but for some reason Johnny was heavily insistent that you would.

Johnny frowns at your words. ‘You’ve been saying that for months.’

‘And yet that hasn’t stopped you from pestering me for a date.’ You muttered under your breath as your magic flickered in response to your conflicting emotions. Sure Johnny was handsome, that was a given, but his reputation as a playboy unfortunately proceeds him as you attempted to put distance between the two of you; you weren’t giving your heart to someone who wasn’t going to treasure it. ‘Besides I find it hard that you can’t get a date from anyone else.’ You continued and you swore you saw a flicker of hurt within his eyes after saying this.

‘But I don’t want to date anyone else,’ Johnny cried as he grabbed your hands, causing your magic to spark as his warmth enveloped them, ‘I want to date you, just tell me how I can make my dream a reality my little magician.’ He adds softly as his deep brown eyes searched your own for the answers he wanted more then anything.

‘Quit it with the playboy stuff, it drive good people and draws in the bad.’ You advised him before leaving Johnny standing there as your words echoed within his head, he was determined to get that date with you and if it meant quitting his old ways then he’ll gladly do it, for he had harboured a crush on you the moment you had saved him by using your magic the first day you met. Johnny didn’t care that you weren’t confident or loud, he loved you for who you were and didn’t want you to change in the slightest, however he thought that nothing would ever come to pass between the two of you and he had looked to get his mind off of you by hooking up with other people.

Which in retrospect wasn’t exactly going to earn him any favours in asking his crush out. It also didn’t help that your friend Remy was protective over you but he couldn’t blame the Cajun man, what he could hold against him though was all the threats the mutant had given him in how he wasn’t the man you needed in your life, given the fact that he played love like it was a toy and you weren’t a toy to be played with. Johnny didn’t like it when Remy Lebeau could read him like a book because he knew he was right, and he knew that Remy was only an older brother figure to you and nothing more but that didn’t stop him from getting jealous from how much time you spent with him regardless; another thing that he knew you weren’t at all attracted to.

So if Johnny needed to prove he could change to win your heart, then he’ll gladly change to prove that he could.

After a long gruelling month passes by before you shared a mission with Johnny and news that he had left the playboy lifestyle behind him felt like a dream, something too good to be reality as you didn’t expect him to actually listen to you. So when the mission was over you could already see Johnny making his way towards you but instead of a shit eating grin, he was smiling softly at you and you couldn’t help but find him beautiful in the moment, pretty even as his eyes never once left you at all.

‘Hey little magician, long time no see.’ He greets you and for once you didn’t feel as though you had to force the smile as you look at him.

‘You’ve changed, I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me.’ You replied, cutting to the chase as it was the only thing that was at the forefront of your mind, dying to be let out the moment you saw Johnny act unlike himself or at least the Johnny you were more well acquainted with. Johnny shrugged. ‘You were right, I was only drawing the wrong kind of people with how I was doing things and now I hope I can draw the person I’ve been wanting to for along while.’ He responded with a soft smile that made you feel as though he was alighting a fire within you.

‘And who would they be?’ You asked, although you were more than aware of the answer but you just wanted to hear it come from his mouth and actually believe him.

‘Preferably you and only you if you’re available on this Sunday at 7pm.’ Johnny says as he watches your reaction closely, uncaring of the unamused Remy in the background who was watching like a hawk, you were the only one that mattered and he wasn’t about to let the Cajun ruin all his hard work becuase he didn’t like him being near you. Now normally you would’ve shut him down and walked away but this time was different and you knew it in the way he looked at you, you knew it in the way that you were actually tempting the idea and that you were finding yourself answer before your brain could catch up.

‘Yeah I would love to.’ Was what left your mouth as the way Johnny’s eyes shone like beautiful jewels and Remy’s looks of disbelief was all you could remember from that day. Meanwhile Johnny was back wt the Baxter building, rushing to get himself cleaned up before frustrating himself over what he should wear for your date in hopes of winning you over even more.

Sue, Reed and Ben could only watch as Johnny was smiling like some lovesick fool, constantly looking at his phone every so often as though he was waiting for something before going back to trashing his room for the perfect outfit.

‘Is he okay? He didn’t hit his head did he?’ Ben asked.

‘Looks like Johnny got himself a date.’ Reed replies before squinting his eyes as he watched the aforementioned male once again look at his phone just as it let him know that he had gotten a text. ‘He’s never looked this genuinely happy to go on a date in a long, long time.’ He then adds.

‘Whatever it is, I hope it stays like this because it’s clear to see that he obviously likes whoever this mysterious person is.’ Sue shrugs as she watched her brother knowingly, she knew about you from how often Johnny came to her about the one who kept getting away, you really must’ve set him straight enough for Johnny to actually be serious and change for the better and she couldn’t help but want to meet you even more because of it.

‘I can hear you all you know.’ Johnny said as he adjusted the black tie that completed his suited attire, he looked smart and handsome, something he never did at family dinners at all but for you he’d pull out all the stops even if it meant being in a expensive suit that he’ll never wear again. ‘And they’re here so don’t be embarrassing me okay?’ He adds sarcastically as he pats Reed on the shoulder, nudges Ben and hugs Sue before rushing to meet you by the entrance, his smile never once faltering at all as it only seemed to grow bigger upon his face to the point it hurt him.

Johnny didn’t care as he was quick to usher you in, he didn’t care that Reed, Ben and Sue were just behind him watching you both because they were bound to find out about you sooner or later, especially his sister whom he went to the moment you told him to drop his playboy act for advice almost immediately. Johnny didn’t care about anything because you were standing before him looking as beautiful as ever.

‘Hey.’ He says.

‘Hi.’ You replied.

You both smiled widely at each other for a good minute or two, much to Sue’s delight, secretly happy to see her brother happy and in the presence of the person who made him that genuinely happy. ‘You going to invite your date in or stare at them a little while longer.’ Ben interiors the cute moment, causing Johnny to look at him unamused while you fiddled with your hands that sparked with magic.

‘Dude.’ Johnny said but Ben only shrugged his shoulders.

‘What Ben wanted to say,’ Reed stepped in as he offered you a welcoming smile as did Sue as she stood next to him, allowing Reed to put his hand on her waist to pull her into his side as her hand easily fell to his chest, ‘welcome to the family y/n.’

[sitp-recs]

I adore your blog. Any good new(ish) 8th yr drarry fics to recommend?

Thank you, anon! I didn’t read much in 2024 (or 2025 for that matter 😅) but here are are some new 8th year recs for you. Enjoy :)

Special treatment by @fastbrother (T, 3k)

Draco Malfoy has a tough eighth year.

Glory by @mintawasalreadytaken (E, 3k)

Every boy at Hogwarts knew about the hole.

When You Unfold Me by @hephaestiions (E, 7k)

Harry’s high. He knows this because Draco Malfoy has stars in his eyes.

So You Sprouted Wings! By @hoko-onchi-writes (E, 8k)

Draco’s 1983 Veela Puberty guide didn’t say anything about what to do if you accidentally seduced your roommate. Oops.

soft by @garagepaperback (E, 10k)

The first time Potter had said: harder, more, meaner—meaner, Malfoy, fuck, I thought you’d be— until Draco was, exactly, whatever he wanted him to be. Draco could fit any shape it took to keep two hands devout between Potter’s shivering, spread legs.

Equally Cursed and Blessed by @moonflower-rose (E, 18k)

Harry's back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he's sure there'll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there'll be a few.

Heartbeat by @saxamophone (E, 23k)

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit.

All These Winding Threads by @starquestingfordrarry (E, 35k)

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat.

A Wizard’s Guide to Co-Parenting with Your Ex-Arch Nemesis by @thecouchsofa (T, 38k)

Harry had expected a few things when returning for his Eighth Year. Rooming with Ron, a cheeky Firewhisky down at the pub, leaving his assignments to the last minute – those were all but certain to occur.

Pillar of Salt by @epitomereally (E, 62k)

From the lake in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knows three things:

before a fall by @eleadore (E, 64k)

A stubborn lock of hair gets tucked behind Malfoy's ear twenty-six times. Harry only counts because what else has he got to do.

Beholden by Faith Wood (E, 123k)

Draco Malfoy might not be a killer, but it turns out he's an effective painkiller. If stopping pain was all Draco's touch did, things might not be so complicated, but either way Harry can't afford to be choosy.

[ppushable]

the race. im dropping out of it because i think i found something. if i ever lose it, i’ll start seeing blue again. but right now the colours are blinding! red green purple yellow five pin bowling and secret incarcerated monuments. if you put another colour in me its burning magnesium. im somewhere near in the sin(pi/2) right now. abrupt? no. i saw it coming and you saw it coming. you saw it from leagues away because this was always going to happen and you knew. sun’s exploded and forcing the rocks deeper into my chest so that i might be crushed under the weight of my own adamance. dont bother saying anything, you can if you want, but you don’t have to; im wrapping things up in a tin foil and writing the date on it and shoving it in the fridge for an indefinite amount of time. it makes me feel a lot better despite losing my schtick. bummer. i could keep pushing myself to do this, every day, but it would be half-assed. would you want to be remembered like that? i wish i could say im not sorry but i like you guys a lot, so i am a little bit. sorry i couldnt fulfill the goal, sorry for betraying myself, sorry for the false advertisement, sorry i couldnt be better! but only a little bit. it was nice. you’ll hear from me again because love of creation because sin(3pi/2) because whatever. same antics wrapped in a colourful demeanour. just foil me up and put me in the fridge until then because i am a little bit radioactive. it was a short run but so much to me anyways. thanks everyone. <3

[httpsserene]

CANGRATS ON 3K!!! it alright if you can't but, i was wondering if I could request the car wash kink rating for danny, max, oscar, yuki, and franco with the diy porn prompt

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i always get stuck on writing one of these for some reason lol. have a bunch more requests from the celly that are going to be dropping every night this week morst likely! remember, the last day to submit a celly request is on valentine's day !!!happy 3k 🤍 and thank you for requesting, babe xxx

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 (𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞) 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv.1 | dr. 3 | yt. 22 | fc. 43 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

oral and vaginal sex. light humiliation kink in max's drabble?

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Daniel’s eyes are starting to burn under the harsh light of the computer monitor. He’s been half-hard from the moment he started reviewing the raw footage, and he’s tempted to rub one out so he can edit without the constant throbbing of his arousal. Nobody can blame him for getting distracted while he tries to decide which of the three angles he recorded of you riding him in reverse cowgirl is the best. He knew convincing you that buying three separate camera setups was necessary because it allowed him this dilemma. Should he use the angle that shows your chest bouncing from the front? Or, the one from behind, where it shows his muscled abdomen and the plush, brown, skin of your ass marred by bruises of his handprints? Or, the close-up angle that shows where your cunt greedily swallows his cock? It’s an impossible choice, so he decides to alternate between all three. He clicks open File Explorer to save the video, wincing when he sees that the dedicated external hard drive containing all of your sex tapes is 98% full.  

Franco’s struggling to keep his phone steady as your tongue dances around him, moaning loudly when the head of his dick is caught in the warm squeeze of your throat. He looks away from the phone screen to watch the tears spill over your waterline, his groan of pleasure wobbling at the sight. When he looks back, the camera angle has fallen away, only catching the view of his hand lightly resting around your neck. His arm holding the phone is weak, and he has to move his hand from your throat to help focus the lens back on where he’s fucking into your mouth. Capturing the perfect angle becomes unimportant when he drops his phone on the floor to carefully guide you off of his cock, the video’s focus now is the ceiling. The audio paints a much more in-depth picture; sounds of the two of you kissing, the rustling of the bedsheets, skin clapping, the creaking of the bed, and the debauched noises of satisfaction from both of you echoing around the room. It gives him another reason to convince you to let him film another sex tape, and he’ll be sure the sight of him fucking you is front and center.

It’s one of Yuki’s fantasies. He didn’t think he’d ever have the courage to ask if you’d be willing to film a sex tape with him, considering that if it somehow leaked, it would have the potential to ruin your livelihood. One night, during a drunken game of truth or dare, you shyly admitted to wanting to make a sex tape and Yuki took the chance to make his fantasy come true. He’s practically filming in total darkness, the flash of his phone camera solely illuminating where he’s thrusting into you. Even though there are no identifying factors being shown (besides the contrast of your skin tones), he’s incredibly careful about making sure there are no easy tells— keeping your faces out of frame, having you muffle your whimpers into a pillow, and catching his breathy groans behind his hand. He swears the absence of noise coming from your mouths amplifies how wet you sound around him; he can’t wait to see if that’s the case when he watches the video afterward. There’s a feeling dancing at the base of his skull; it’s screaming that he’s some sort of freak for enjoying this, and it has him rushing toward his climax ridiculously quicker than he’d like, but the fluttering of your walls around him lets him know that you’re in the same boat. He wonders if there are any spare face masks hidden somewhere in the apartment; he’d show more than where your bodies meet if your faces are hidden.

Max is camera-shy. He knows it’s kind of ironic, given the amount of cameras that are focused on him on any given race weekend, but he can’t handle the attention during sex. When you both watched your first sex tape, Max was mortified. He can’t believe he looks and sounds like that during sex, the recording showing him just how desperate he is for you. Obviously, he feels the way his body responds to you, but he didn’t expect it to look so debauched on camera. It’s not like he’s ashamed by how good you make him feel, it’s just that he finds it humiliating to see it—regardless of the way you adamantly insisted that you find it hot as fuck. Now that he’s aware of how he looks, whenever the camera is on he isn’t able to devote all of his attention to you because he’s fixated on stifling his reactions—which ruins the point of filming a sex tape, and the fun of sex for both you and him. Max knows the video highlights the furious blush running from his cheeks down to his chest as he distractedly eats you out. He exhales heavily in relief, his scalp stinging deliciously when you tug him away from your cunt with a hand fisted in the mess of his blond hair, and he eagerly rushes to stop and delete the recording before you can even finish saying the words.

Oscar isn’t one to kink shame, but sex tapes are a no-go for him. He thinks it’s irresponsible to record his sex life, especially when you consider the effect it could have on his reputation and career if a video of him were to leak. It’s an irrational fear of his: he thinks that no matter how securely stored the sex tape could be, it would end up on the internet where millions of people would see it and then his reputation would be ruined forever. He’s a little terrified when you send him risqué photos, let alone nudes for that exact reason. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate it—he thinks you’re mouthwateringly attractive when you’re fully clothed, of course, he appreciates the pictures of you in lingerie or less—but he’s going to scold you for sending it after he gets off to it…because what if that was the exact moment someone hacked into his phone and got their grubby hands on your nudes and posted them? Oscar hears how irrational he sounds when he’s telling you that, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking it. You lovingly call him paranoid, but you do respect his boundaries—he’s much more amenable to seeing you tease yourself with a vibrator live on Facetime rather than watching a recording of the last time you guys had sex. 

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[the7thhorcrux]

severus snape, ❝ a date night. ❞

reader is implied to work at hogwarts, but their role at school is not specified. implied upcoming return of lord voldemort since it’s set during the fourth movie. it’s not too long, only around 500 words this time. might write a part two later idk yet

edit: part two

༺☆༻

"What are you doing?" Severus mumbled bitterly under his nose, his focus shifting momentarily from his potion to you as he felt the cold of your fingers touch his cheeks briefly as you scooped his black hair from his face, tying it on the back.

“You’re always complaining about them but you never do anything about it.” you replied softly. He groaned at your comment although he knew you were right. He closed his eyes, briefly enjoying the feeling of a soft tug of his hair and your fingers working through the messy, tangled hair on the back to put it into a neat, small ponytail. Severus looked back down at the desk in front of him and got back to work as if nothing happened, adding ingredients into the potion he was brewing. He looked up at you discreetly as he noticed you shifting to sit down next to him.

“…Thank you.” he muttered, his tone much softer than before. Severus felt the tension leaving his shoulders as he caught a glimpse of your smile.

“Someone has to take care of you, Severus, if you won’t do it yourself.” you said in a gentle tone, leaning against his shoulder carefully. And after a few moments you could feel him lean right back against yours as well, leaving the potion to brew for now, shifting all of his attention to you.

“I was wondering…” Severus spoke, making you look up at him. “with the Yule Ball coming up soon…” he said quietly, as if not even sure himself if he wants to finish the sentence.

“Yes? What is it?” you encouraged him.

“…I know it’s not ideal, but given the fact that i really neglected you, us, recently-“ he continued.

“nonsense, i don’t feel this way.” you protested.

“No, please… Let me finish.” she said a bit more firmly, placing his hand on top of yours. “It’s… Not ideal. I wish i could give you more than this and spend a lovely weekend together, maybe finally a date outside of this classroom or our rooms again like we did before.”

Severus confessed, reassured to keep going as he felt you squeeze his hand gently.

“I know patrolling and looking after the students during the ball is not an ideal date night concept… but maybe, if you’d like, you could save me one dance this week during that night?” he looked down at you, his heart melting at the sight of you leaning against his side.

“I’d love that.” you smiled at him lovingly. “As long as it’s with you, Severus, everything could be a great date night.” you felt him squeezing your hand back, relaxing against you even more as he heard your next words. “I know it’s a hard time for you now… there’s a lot going on and i don’t blame you for being busy. Especially because you still find time to give me some of your attention every single day, no matter how tired you are.”

you closed your eyes as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“what would i do without you….” he whispered softly. “thank you, love.”

[nikoniclove]

Hey so today’s my birthday, and birthdays kinda always suck for me (I’ve never known why and I’m fairly sure I’m not alone on this). But anyway, I was wondering if you could write something about Ace’s first concrete birthday with Jemily and maybe it kinda feels weird for her too?

Happy birthday! Sending you virtual love 💜

The First True Birthday

(Available on Ao3 here)

Even though you promised you’d tell her about your birthday, you don’t. Mostly it’s because you’ve spent decades ignoring your birthday, so it’s just another day on the calendar like any other. Also the makeshift celebration JJ planned last year when your work anniversary rolled around and she realized she never celebrated your first birthday with the team… well that was so over-the-top. Fun, sure, and very overwhelming and unnecessary. You don’t really want a repeat of that, and you don’t have anything you do want, so you keep your mouth shut. You don’t mention it, figuring it’s better for her to be mad at you for a bit than suffer through the discomfort of celebrating your birthday.

When the day rolls around, you wake up to JJ singing merrily. You groan and bury your head under the pillow. If even part of your brain thought you’d get away without a birthday celebration, you should have known better. “Happy birthday, baby,” JJ congratulates, ducking her head under your pillow too to give you a sweet kiss. “I know we have work, which is less than ideal from a celebration standpoint, but don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m worried because you have a plan,” you counter. “We don’t need to do this. If you insist on it, maybe just something lowkey that doesn’t make me crawl out of my skin please.”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated. I know you. It’s nothing crazy,” she swears.

“You do realize that even knowing my birthday and singing to me is more than I’ve done any other year, so that in and of itself is fine. We don’t need more than that. How did you even know anyway? I didn’t say anything.”

The pillow’s weight lightens as Emily removes your hiding place. “How many times have you been hospitalized, even briefly, in the last six months? I can recite your medical file verbatim.” You forgot about that factor. “Birth date is right up there, my love. Now we know, and you won’t be forgotten again.” Your forehead creases into an expressive frown. Emily kisses the furrowed spot. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” you groan.

You briefly consider calling in sick to avoid whatever plans JJ might have concocted throughout the day. The idea of decomposing in the bed under a mountain of blankets and ignoring everything birthday related sounds more and more appealing. Emily grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the bed. “You’ll be okay. You can stomach us loving on you a bit.”

“Can I? Are you sure about that?” She lifts your pajama shirt off, tossing at the headboard to be dealt with later. “I do so well with surprises and things that are different from the norm,” you snark self deprecatingly. “And I just love to be the center of attention.”

“Trust us,” Emily implores. “If you need a break, give me a sign and I’ll get you to a quiet spot where you can take the time you need. You matter, my love, and it’s important that we get to show you that today of all days.” She helps you into clean underwear and jeans, though it’s mostly manipulating your uncooperative self because you hate the thought of this day more and more. “Up you go.” Your hands trapped in hers, Emily levers you up and nudges you toward the bathroom. You grab a black, long sleeve T shirt and deem it good enough. Deodorant. Face sunscreen. Eyeliner. Chapstick. Your morning routine takes all of six minutes. JJ stops you at your braid, taking the brush out of your hand. She takes the time to do a French braid, adding to the plait sections little by little as she moves down the back of your head.

You’re in the backseat with your work bag before you even realize you’re thirty minutes earlier than normal. The additional time makes sense when Emily parks outside of a little Parisian bakery that makes delicious croissants and lattes. When she pops in, JJ turns around in the passenger seat to look at you. “Let me celebrate you, baby, please. It’s important to me.” You clench your jaw and give her the smallest nod. You don’t really have a choice. When Jennifer Jareau sets her sights on something, nothing short of an apocalypse could stop her, and even then, you’d still bet on JJ.

When you walk through the bullpen’s double glass doors, you freeze, absolutely rooted to the spot. Your desk is a mess of color. “I did not do this,” JJ insists quickly. “I know you would hate something like this. I didn’t do this.” You hum some monosyllabic sound and force your feet forward. There are balloons and literal confetti that you already despise. There are cupcakes and little plastic characters everywhere.

The characters tell you all you need to know about who set this up, and it’s confirmed when Garcia squeals through the bullpen, shouting about your birthday with an exuberance that rivals a small child hopped up on cocaine-laced skittles. Your eyes widen at the volume. Your body instinctively braces for the inevitable hug. “Happy birthday, peaches! Oh you look stunning. A year older looks so good on you.” She bustles past you to your desk. “Okay, we have all of my favorite chachkies to keep you company throughout the day. Obviously balloons and cupcakes because it’s your birthday. I didn’t know your favorite flavor combination, so I got a bunch! I have candles and matches at my desk when you’re ready to make a wish! Oh! I love you so much,” she shrieks, pinching your cheeks dramatically.

You don’t know how to make this stop. You’re desperate to make it stop, for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But it keeps going. You can’t tell Penelope how insane it all is because she’d be gutted that she made you uncomfortable. You manage a thank you and return the second hug she gives you. Emily squeezes your hand, a silent encouragement to keep it together.

When Garcia thankfully skedaddles back to her lair, you look at your desk in horror. It feels like everyone is looking at you, and your skin crawls with the weight of the presumed attention. You miss the silent conversation Emily and JJ share behind your back. You’re overwhelmed and uncomfortable in a very visible way in an environment that those adjectives are not… “Come with me, baby,” JJ whispers in your ear. “C’mon,” she soothes, her calm words interrupting your train of thought. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you manage. You know Garcia meant well, and this is too much. It’s too much attention.

JJ takes matters into her own hands, dragging you up the short staircase to her old liaison office. The door thuds behind you, the deadbolt clicking into place. “Breathe, baby.” Clinging to her, you bury your face in her neck, letting her long blonde hair act as a curtain to hide you away from the attention on the other side of the door. Her own breathing follows the four count you know from decades in therapy. In two three four. Hold two three four. Out two three four. Hold two three four. JJ continues the pattern until your body mimics hers. “That’s my girl. I know that was a lot. Emily will take care of it, okay? I’ve got you. Emily’s got all of that,” she repeats. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you mumble. “I can’t… I can’t call attention to myself like that. I can’t stand out like that. I need to just… blend in. I need to survive.” You don’t have to see JJ’s face to know her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. You can feel her sadness for you.

“Stop making yourself small. You deserve to take up space,” JJ states, holding you tightly. “I understand why. I do, but, baby, you’re not that kid anymore. You have made a life for yourself out of all that hurt. You found people who love you, who want to celebrate you. You did that. Let us love you loudly, baby. There’s no scenario that you end up alone. Not anymore.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you repeat, feeling pitiful in the face of her kind words that make you feel seen while also making you want to burrow away.

The knock on the office door startles you until Emily’s voice filters through. “Just me,” she announces. JJ reaches around you to flip the lock open. Emily locks it behind herself. “Just like old times, huh, Jen?” It’s meant to give you a second to settle again. “Everything’s shifted away from your desk. Just your coffee and pastry is there.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s sweet. It’s just a lot.”

“I know. I’ll explain it to her,” Emily promises. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Emily kisses the side of your head tenderly in response.

You’re relieved to see your desk mostly back to normal when you escape the reassuring confines of JJ’s arms (and her old office). There’s a large stack of case files for you to lose yourself in, and murdering serial killers distract you from the birthday nonsense from the morning.

Around noon, JJ appears at your desk. “C’mon.” You can’t help the grimace that stretches your lips. “Letting me love you loudly, remember? Trust that I know you.” You gather up your stuff and follow your partners out of the federal building.

The second you’re clear of the doors, Emily takes your hand, fingers interlacing together. They let you follow along in quiet companionship. They have a clear direction in mind, and you’ll go along with, trying to trust that JJ’s intention isn’t to make you uncomfortable.

JJ pops into a cafe, coming back out quickly with a stapled take out bag. She winks at you as Emily takes off walking again. It’s another few blocks before you’re in a small, grassy community park nestled between buildings. It’s adorable in its isolation. A pop of green serenity amongst the concrete. Emily leads you to a picnic table where JJ sets out different containers. “See? Nothing outrageous. Just lunch with your favorite people.”

“Who said you’re my favorite,” you retort playfully, the fresh air doing you worlds of good. JJ smacks you lightly. “I mean Emily’s definitely on my list of favorites.”

“You bitch,” JJ teases. “Eat your lunch.”

There’s something about being outside that helps you reset. The banter, the easy conversation, the company - it all feels almost celebratory. A happiness you never expected to feel on your birthday of all days. “You’re smiling,” JJ accuses, bumping your hip as you walk back to the office. You don’t bother denying it, laughing as she slings her arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.

When you blindly reach for the next file in the stack around 4 PM after you’ve refilled your coffee and snacked on one of Penelope’s cupcakes, your to-do pile is empty, your fingers grazing the metal wire of the intake basket. You stare at it, unsure if you’ve ever actually caught up on all the cases and the paperwork. Your phone buzzes with a text from Emily, wishing you a happy birthday. You know there’s no way she took all of your remaining case files, so you’re betting she divvied them up amongst the team. It’s sweet and loving in a quiet way.

You’re even more surprised when JJ and Emily pack up at an appropriate time, nearly shoving you toward the elevator at 5:30 PM on the dot.

“This… umm… it was nice. Thank you,” you mumble self-consciously on the drive home.

“There’s a little bit more.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay?”

“Trying to let you love me loudly. I trust you.”

At home, there’s a wrapped package in shiny purple paper on the coffee table. You trace its precise edges carefully. For a moment, tears burn in your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you got a real birthday present, so this feels monumental. “You can open it, you know,” Emily encourages, tugging your hips back onto the couch. JJ puts the box in your lap. “Hey, you okay, my love?” You nod, not trusting your voice. “You sure?”

“I’m okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“It’s your birthday, baby. Of course, we’d give you a present.” You’re gentle peeling the tape, almost like a diffusing a bomb. You don’t want to rip the paper. “Hold on for a second. Talk to us. What’s going on?”

“I… just… I… uhh… I don’t remember getting a present on my birthday before,” you mumble, somehow hoping they heard you so you don’t have to repeat yourself and hoping they didn’t hear you at all. The hitch in JJ’s breath says she heard you loud and clear; she pulls you into a tight hug, professing her hatred for the world that made that a reality for you. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just new to me, so it feels intense. Good, but intense.”

To avoid driving the conversation further into volatile territory, Emily nudges you with her knee. “Go ahead, love. Open it.” The box shakes and rattles as you unfurl the tape pieces and gingerly peel apart the shimmery wrapping paper. Inside is a Lego set of the Milky Way from the art collection. Over three thousand colorful pieces to give depth and texture to the finished product, which can hang on the wall when it’s done.

“Will you build it with me?”

“Of course, baby. Do you like it?” You nod exuberantly, your fingers once again reverently tracing over the details on the box. “Good. Happy birthday, baby. We love you so very much.”

“Thank you… I… thank you for all of it.”

[iamthemaestro]

so. after a lot of Internal Deliberation I figure it is about time that I introduce to tumblr the Guys who take up approximately 40% of my brain space at any given moment of the day now that I have really made the jump into Tumblr OCposting as of late. this will be a bit of a long post so…. buckle in!

Percy and Sydney are part of a project @neon-sunsets and I started back in 2022 and essentially have not stopped thinking about since. there are over 500 pages of writing for these guys and most of it will not stand up to serious editing but in the future it’s a story we hope to put out into the world, and Percy and Sydney are only half of it, with Nebula’s characters Esther and Atarah constituting the other two members of the Protagonist Party, but I will let them do their own talking about the Disaster Lesbians (though I love them dearly). I don't intend to talk much about the story itself since that is perpetually being worked on but I do feel it's appropriate to give some background to these very dear characters of mine.

(I will be sticking the rest of this under a readmore for everyone’s sanity)

the story takes place in a world a lot like ours but slightly to the left, during their universe's golden age of piracy. Captain Percival Arlington Winchester II is a highly respected, notoriously strict, and unbearably professional officer for the in-universe equivalent of the british navy, with a bad sleep schedule, an inflexible moral code understood only by him, and a first lieutenant who inexplicably hates him. he’s descended from a long line of naval war heroes, only he's been biding his time for a long while waiting for his chance to prove himself in war... which may present itself soon. in the meantime, he settles for being the navy’s number one pirate hunter, which at least earns him a good name among the public.

there are a lot of things I could say about percy. he’s autistic. he’s a redhead. he has daddy issues. he’s been married for 12 years and is still somehow a virgin. not that he has any particular desire to change that at the moment, really, because it’s not like he’s ever been particularly attracted to the fairer sex. but still, apart from that, he seems to have everything a successful 18th century military man could want: a good name, a decent marriage, and a commission with all the respect and wealth that comes with it—all that’s missing is an honorable death, preferably in naval combat, and he’s made it. at least, that’s what his late father would have said.

and yet his story only truly begins when he receives a mysterious letter from the Rogue Marauder—one of the sea’s most notorious pirates, who inexplicably vanished from the scene several years ago after a sudden separation from his speculated-sibling and partner-in-crime, the Eel Queen. the letter is innocuous enough, if ambiguous: there’s no way to know what, precisely, the Rogue Marauder wants from him, only that he has valuable information, and thus by necessity must be desiring something in return. everything points to this correspondence being against protocol… but still, it’s a way to keep the Marauder close, Percy thinks—perhaps close enough to catch him, at last. so he writes back.

the Rogue Marauder is a man called Sydney Law, a fact Percy will only find out much later. Sydney, too, is a lot of things: incessantly charming, unabashedly flirtatious, and absolutely unafraid of consequences. the Marauder is a combination of robin-hood-turned-pirate-turned-femme-fatale, with a past reputation for seducing high-ranking naval officers seemingly just for his own enjoyment, and keeping almost nothing for himself of the vast amounts of gold he manages to weasel out of them in the process. on top of this, he’s in a weird perpetual state of gender flux, regards his adopted sister with a near god-like reverence, and is strangely obsessed with the idea of his own death. needless to say, the idea that he would ever willingly throw himself at the navy’s most prestigious captain does not bode well for either of them. indeed, at the beginning of the story it happens to be that he is already well past the point of no return in an extremely convoluted and precarious plan that, in all likelihood, will get him killed and very possibly start an all-out war. but of course, no one but him knows this yet. or at least so he thinks.

but they keep writing. despite all this, it turns out they’re far more alike than they seem. and what starts as a tentative mind-game with ambiguously sinister intentions turns into a conversation—the longest and most genuine one either of them have had in years. perhaps, though Percy will not admit it, they’ve even grown rather fond of each other.

the Marauder, however, understands this far before the Captain does. which is unfortunate, considering, at this rate—a fact which he regards as unfortunately necessary, for reasons understood only by him—he is almost definitely hurtling toward his death, at the hand of the man whom he has come to adore.

what he cannot know, however, is that he will not die. he cannot know yet that at some point, he will save Captain Winchester’s life. and then an entirely new story will begin—one that neither of them could have ever imagined. but I won’t spoil that part.

what I will spoil, however, is that Percy is absolutely not the person he thinks he is, and it is only through Sydney that he is able to discover that. underneath all the naval decorum and neurotic obsession with his own presentation, he’s a huge sweetheart with a passion for cartography and a case of ocd. he likes dressing well and exploring uncharted islands and going aloft like he hasn’t in years… and Sydney, very much.

and of course, like I mentioned, their story is only half of what the full story is about… but this post is long enough, and Nebula deserves to be the one to talk about their own characters and their Lesbian Situationship Of All Time, which you should definitely tune in to. however that’s the gist for Percy and Sydney lol. there is Far more I could say but for everyone’s sanity I am simply going to stop here for now. these guys have been so important to me over the past couple years and they have already been met with so much positivity from people and it makes me so happy. I love and appreciate you dearly if you read this far <3