#i don’t even get into all the politics shit here. i have so many thoughts man im consumed by this stuff

[nonbinarytoast]

I try not to post too much political stuff on this page but I needed to share this.

My mom teaches third grade. Because the school system in America is shit, most of them still don’t know how to add two single digit numbers, something that’s required in first grade but that first grade couldn’t teach them because they were all hyper active maniacs.

One of my mom’s standards in history that she has to teach is all the different countries and immigration from one country to another. Today she asked her class what an immigrant was.

They responded with “well ___ says that immigrants are invading our country” “___ wants to stop the spread of immigrants” “___ said that immigrants eat dogs”

Not a single one knew what an immigrant was, but they all thought it was bad. If so many people were making commercials talking about stopping them then they had to be bad, right?

My mom told them what an immigrant was. “Someone who goes to another country to practice free speech or religious freedoms”

“What’s free speech?” It’s when you can say what your opinion is. Some countries put you in jail for that. “What’s freedom of religion?” So you can practice your own faith. Some countries don’t let you go to the church you want to. “Why are we trying to stop them from coming here?” That’s a question for the politicians. “Wait, so I’m an immigrant?” Yes, since you moved here from Canada, you are an immigrant. “My grandpas an immigrant?!” “My mom is an immigrant?!” “My great grandma is an immigrant?!”

You get the idea.

Not a single one of these children knew what an immigrant was. All they knew, or thought they knew, was that we needed to keep them out because they were bad people.

Politicians making commercials doesn’t just affect voters or people trying to watch football. Kids see it. Little kids who don’t know anything yet. And in seeing it they subconsciously think that even the people they love the most are the people they think they know are bad.

I don’t know what the moral of this story is. But please, please for the love of whatever god or gods you believe in know that this is wrong. That soon you might have to immigrate to escape the US. And know that it’s because of the politicians who lie and cheat their way into office because people don’t know what they’re really voting for.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

Please get into fwhip being malnourished you mentioned it in the gender post and 👀

oh i WOULD LOVE TO. content warnings for discussion of famine and disordered eating below the cut. this is just a very fucking sad ramble for a lot of the time, strap in.

so in my heart of hearts, the grimlands is a very old empire, and it is an empire on the decline. fwhip is the last count of the grimlands because of the rapture, yes, but had the rapture not happened, or had the grimlands survived it, fwhip would’ve probably been one of the last few counts anyways. the last few generations of counts and countesses have been problematic for various reasons- warmongers, incompetent, greedy, etc., and this has resulted in the grimlands greatly decreasing in size by the time gem and fwhip are born, as well as loosing a lot of their allies and trade routes.

they haven’t lost every ally, of course. the wither rose alliance predates canon, with mythland and the grimlands being the original founders of it a long time ago, and gilded helianthia being incorporated in when it became a sovereign nation (as it was originally part of mythland) a few generations prior. they maintain trade with both of these empires, but otherwise don’t have any real allies. mythland also has the warmongering problem that the grimlands has had, but because mythland and gilded helianthia’s exports (iron and wheat/plants, respectively) are much more important to everyday life than the grimlands’ main export, their trade relationships remain, even if they’re rocky. i personally hc almost all of the emperors we see to fall into the categories of “ill prepared/trained to be a ruler”, “became a ruler way too young”, and/or “is the first ruler of their empire and as such has no idea what they’re doing”, which is something that has its pros and cons. one pro, though, is that they are generally much more willing to disregard their past grudges, at least for trade, and maybe to be friends with each other, than their ancestors. so these issues are definitely improving by the time fwhip becomes count, but the tension is still there and he is certainly not helping the problem.

the grimlands is also a very inhospitable empire, in terms of its environment. they live in rocky, mountainous areas, making for soil that can’t support many crops other than root vegetables (carrots and potatoes). its cold, basically all year, but the winters are particularly harsh. it’s generally very hard to farm plants or animals there, though obviously not impossible. it does mean that the grimlands relies very heavily on a quite small variety of food to survive, outside of trading for food with their slim number of allies.

these traits all coalesce into one very, very bad event in fwhip and gem’s childhood- a famine that absolutely ravages the grimlands. it starts because the potatoes are struck with a disease that makes the entire harvest basically inedible, and the carrot harvest is far from enough to feed the entire empire. they still have trading with their allies, of course, but at the same time, a different disease/animal infestation (not quite sure which yet) strikes the grain of gilded helianthia and mythland. this is bad for everyone involved, but gilded helianthia doesn’t only grow wheat to eat, so they’re able to still feed their people, they just don’t have the food to spare for their allies. mythland has more of a problem on that front, but they have allies that the grimlands do not, such as rivendell, who are more than willing to get iron for a new, arguably cheaper, food price while the problem is being dealt with. both of the other WRA empires spare what they can to the grimlands, but it’s not much. they have their own people to feed first and foremost.

so the grimlands, in gem and fwhip’s youth, suffers greatly from this famine. eventually, yes, they are able to recover, but not without significant loss. gem and fwhip, as nobility, get priority picking for the food (which i think personally disgusts them, i’ll get into that a bit), but they’re not unscathed. i think this famine is a contributing factor to the death of their mother, as well. it doesn’t kill her, but it doesn’t help a woman who already had some pretty significant health issues to not be able to access the same diet she had previously. even after recovering, the famine is visible in the grimlands’ people for years afterwards. gem and fwhip struggle to put on weight, and the fact that they’re both as tall as they are is a miracle (and can be at least partially attributed to the draconic in their bloodline, though that’s quite far back at this point). fwhip, i will note, does not help himself in this regard when he gets older.

here’s where we get into the disordered eating discussion. i wanted to bring it up again, since i imagine that’s a trigger more people are familiar with than famine.

one of the last notable interactions fwhip has with xornoth is the nightmare sequence that he, gem, and katherine(? don’t quote me on her being the third person) also experience. after that, he falls out of the xornoth plot a little bit, but in my mind he continues to have those nightmares when gem and katherine do not. gem and katherine continue to get visited by actual xornoth, but fwhip (and a few other emperors who get their own unique bullshit) are not worth xornoth’s time and energy to constantly visit. but of course, can’t let them get too complacent by leaving them alone entirely (unless you’re joel, he’s an outlier though). these nightmares suck and they are consistent, and fwhip starts searching for potential reasons he’s still getting them when xornoth doesn’t otherwise seem to care about him.

his first thought is the fertilizer. y’know. the corruption tentacles that he turned into fertilizer. there’s no way that’s not involved somehow, right? but the fertilizer is good, it’s borderline magic, it means his people are getting more consistent harvests and he knows they need that. and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, so fwhip keeps turning the occasional corruption into fertilizer (against gem’s better judgement) and just doesn’t eat the plants his empire grows.

but that doesn’t work, so he keeps thinking. well, the livestock are eating these plants too, aren’t they? maybe whatever’s getting into the plants is carrying into the animals too. so then he stops eating the livestock as well.

at this point, he’s only eating the stuff he gets from other people, from the wandering salesmen who come by the grimlands or the crystal cliffs, the golden carrots gem gives him, the like. there’s the fish, too, but there’s a bit of a religious aversion to eating them and fwhip isn’t particularly religious anymore but that did stick, so he really tries to avoid it. the problem with relying on other people is something i mentioned in the original post- fwhip is horrified of looking weak, of looking small, and admitting enough about this situation to get food is textbook vulnerability that he’s not gonna do, so he doesn’t. so he’s not eating nearly as much as he needs to from that point until xornoth gets locked away, at which point the nightmares do stop for real. (or the nightmares sent from god do, the mental illness ones remain, but they’re not as much of a constant problem)

that whole situation combined with the famine in his early childhood makes it insanely difficult for fwhip to get proper nutrition for the rest of his life. his stomach so small now, he’s not able to eat that much food without getting sick. he’s getting the right balance of nutrients, but he’s just not getting enough of it. the rapture, which i think gives him a ton of new issues, also compounds on this a bit, and the fact that he survives even a few months after the event are really contingent on the fact that he has gem to help him. because without her (or anyone who could help him get back on his feet after all that, gem was just who was there) things would’ve probably gotten very dire indeed, with his mental health after the fact compounding his new physical issues, compounding the old ones. he’s got. problems.

this is such a sad fucking rant i went on my god. this is what happens when you have autism guys.

[indefiniteavatar]

So basically, in a case about him shoving money at someone so they shut up about him. . .he can’t shut the fuck up himself. I would say something clever and funny here, except the sad part is that this is just so normal in current politics that it’s just. . .not hilariously absurd behavior anymore? Not to say that it’s not absurd - it is beyond such, but it is just. . . predictable, I suppose.

I guess this is how I feel about politics lately? Either I get mad at everything or I try to laugh at everything and normally that works because politicians usually aren’t so tragically stupid so very often, but now I just kinda have to chuckle at the particularly eyeroll worthy things like this, and try to ignore everything else or my brain will explode.

[gothgoblinbabe]

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts

Logan Howlett x afab!reader

Warnings:  ( MDNI 18+) neighbor!reader,afab reader, Logan’s kinda rude for a lil’ bit, neighbors to frenemies to lovers? Idk, alcohol consumption (nothing 18+ happens while anyone is intoxicated), swearing, i can’t write Wade’s witty dialogue for shit pls bear w me, implied age gap, unprotected sex (wrap it up I beg of you), poking fun at the Kardashians a little, swearing and I think that’s it, but pls lmk if I missed any!

Summary: You have a little too much to drink one night in Wade's living room, resulting in an indirect confession that Logan absolutely hears through the thin drywall of his bedroom. Wade then ditches your usual weekend plans in an attempt at playing cupid - and it may just be the best favor he's ever done for you.

Word Count: 8K (get comfy bitch)

divider credit here and here

Being Wade Wilson’s best friend and neighbor included two main components:

Watching trash TV and getting drunk every other weekend - usually at the same time - and Wade wasn’t going to let his new roommate's attitude ruin it in the slightest.

“She’s gonna be here any minute and if you don’t pull the stick out of your ass and be nice, I'm going to lock you in your room like a sad, lonely dog.”

Logan only grunted in response, sipping his drink in the doorway and watching him run around the living room to make the place look livable.

He’d only moved in a couple weeks ago and Wade had been trying to introduce you both - inviting you over when he knew Logan had no plans - but every time, he was out the door before you were even opening yours across the hall. He’d try everything he could to avoid meeting new people, fearful that any type of real connection with someone would be ripped out from under him just like it had been many times before.

Wade huffed in satisfaction when he was done moving a few things around, standing in front of Logan with his hands on his hips.

“I mean it, kitty cat. She’s a sweet girl - keep the claws in.”

“Told you to stop callin’ me that.”

“Too bad, so sad, kitty.”

As Logan was considering puncturing three evenly spaced holes in both sides of Wade’s chest, they were both interrupted by a knock on the front door.

You were on the other side, of course, a twelve pack of beer under your arm. You rocked back and forth on your heels while you patiently waited for Wade to let you in. You did kind of hope you’d maybe get to meet his new roommate this time - it was a little odd that he was never there when you were.

He answered the door after a second, placing a hand over his heart dramatically when he saw the beer in your arms.

“For me? Aw, sugar, you shouldn't have,” he sighed as he took the box from your arms, ushering you inside.

“Did I have a choice?” you joked back, kicking off your shoes.

You followed him into the living room only to stop in your tracks.

Logan stood near the couch in his sweatpants, looking like he’d been dragged into the middle of the room to be put on display. He did reluctantly agree to stay for a second and finally let him introduce you so he could sulk back to his bedroom and nurse a bottle of whiskey till he fell asleep.

“Well, there he is,” Wade said in a lackluster tone, “now, he is house trained, but he does bite occasionally - “

“Fuck off.”

His deep voice surprised you a bit, unintentionally raising your eyebrows with your gaze still on him.

“ I'm Logan.”

You nodded politely and introduced yourself, shoving your hands in your pockets nervously. He was tall, definitely a good couple years older than you and incredibly handsome, all of which made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

And Logan did not like the way you were looking at him.

He’d seen it more times than he could count on the faces of every pretty young thing that tried to take him home from the bar, batting their eyelashes at him and laying hands on him like it would be persuasive in any way. It never worked, as his dismissive attitude sent a clear message. He couldn’t be bothered to take any of them up on their offers and wasn’t interested in fulfilling some fantasy they had about being with an older man. He didn’t think much about stuff like that anyway, avoiding any chance of vulnerability and attachment to someone he was sure he’d eventually lose.

And you still had that look on your face.

“Night.”

With that, Logan disappeared down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

“He’s not much of a talker,” Wade assured you, “probably for the best.”

From then on, you’d occasionally see Logan come out of his room while you were over - getting something from the kitchen, doing his laundry, coming and going - and each time you had to feign complete disinterest. Wade had quickly taken notice of how you tried to keep your head down every time Logan entered the room to hide your pink cheeks and - naturally - there was no way for him to be quiet about it.

When Logan came out of the bathroom one time with a towel around his waist and dripping wet hair as you and Wade sat at the kitchen island, your best friend was more than eager to run his mouth.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t do that to her!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards you, “you’re practically dangling meat in front of a starving dog - poor girl.”

You had your face buried in your hands with your elbows on the counter, wishing more than anything that you could sink into the chair and through the floor.

“God, shut up.”

Your voice was muffled by your hands but he still heard you.

“And put a stop to my job as cupid?”

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning towards his bedroom. He’d seen the way your eyes widened the second he’d opened the door, traveling all the way from his bare shoulders to the trail of hair that dipped under the towel. You’d turned pink almost immediately. It would have been something he’d found cute maybe a couple decades ago, before the very last bit of his naivety had faded away. Now, it was just infuriating to him. He could try to drop every hint on earth that he wasn't interested (which for him, just meant avoiding you completely) and you still looked at him like a lovesick schoolgirl.

This weekend came along like every other, texting Wade back and forth about snack options and finally getting up to shuffle across the hall with a bag of chips.

He answered the door as usual, ushering you in. You plopped yourself down on the couch and kicked your slippers off, clad in sweatpants and a tank top. He sat beside you and you propped your legs up on his lap, snatching the TV remote from the coffee table to flip through channels. You heard what you assumed was Logan’s bedroom door open down the hall, keeping your eyes glued to the TV. 

“Peanut! Care to join?” Wade exclaimed as he watched his roommate enter the open kitchen, digging around in the fridge.

You still didn’t tear your gaze from the screen.

“Hell no.”

That wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Your loss!” Wade reached for the pack of beer on the table, offering one that you gladly accepted, “but don’t bother us, keeping up with the kardashians is incredibly important.”

“Uh - huh.”

Logan disappeared again in seconds and Wade shook his head.

You focused back on the TV screen.

“So, how many minutes into the episode do you think one of them is going to start a fight?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Hours and many beers later, you were on the floor with your knees to your chest between the couch and coffee table as you tried to stifle your giggling. Wade was laid on the couch, no better off than you.

“Hey - hey, I wanna ask you somethin’,” his voice became a little serious, but he still had a shit eating grin on his face, “what are you into Logan for anyway?”

You dreaded the question, groaning and closing your eyes.

“Seriously! I mean, I’ve been here the entire time - “

“Wade.”

He looked at you expectantly, awaiting a response.

You contemplated your answer for a moment, your filter diminishing more and more with every sip of beer, “God, I don’t know, he’s - he’s jus’ big.”

You were snickering behind the beer bottle you drunkenly held in front of your face in an attempt to hide.

“I don’t think he’s that impressive. You know, he’s got small feet - tiny, like a child.”

That had you both doubled over, trying to muffle your laughs with your hands and the throw pillows strewn on the floor.

“Stop, stop - ” you choked out when you finally caught your breath, wacking him on the arm.

“Okay but really, what is it? I know you, you’re not into beefcakes,” he laughed and shook his head.

You sighed, not really thinking for even a second before you started speaking again.

“He’s older and he’s hot -”

“And completely cold and dismissive towards you.”

You rolled your eyes at his interruption but still nodded, “yeah - yes, but that’s not my point.”

Wade took another sip of his beer and motioned for you to continue talking.

“He, uh - ” you tried to bite down a giggle, your face turning pink, “I don’t know, I think he’d be good in bed.”

That made him sit forward on the couch, his mouth open in surprise, “I knew it! I knew you were a horny freak!”

“Am not!” you picked a pillow up from the floor and launched it at his face, “I’m allowed to be, anyway!”

“Whatever,” he caught the pillow in his hands, “I'm on operation ‘Cupid’ and I have never quit a mission, cupcake. So, what about him makes you think that? Is it because he's a hundred and eighty - something years older than you? He’s probably been passed around the block like a wh - “

“Okay,” you cut him off, cringing at the thought, “ I think I got the picture.”

Your mind began to wander again about Logan and you narrowed your eyes in thought, staring at nothing.

“What’cha thinkin’, honey bun?”

Wade's voice cut through your concentration and you shrugged, a smile creeping onto your face.

“Oh no,” he started, stretching the vowel, “you’re having a sex fantasy right now, I can see it on your face - disgusting. Tell me more.”

“What, you want details?” You laughed, giving up on trying to hide it if Wade could already read you like an open book. You were both terribly honest with each other - almost to a fault. 

“Not the full middle-aged-white-women erotica novel version,” he answered, “I can accept cliff notes.”

You thought for a moment, going down the mental list you’d made of all the assumptions you had about the older roommate that you rarely ever saw.

“He’s gotta have a huge dick. Like, massive.”

Wade nearly spit out his beer but nodded for you to continue.

“I’d let him, like - like,” you were giggling between words as you tried to form a sentence, “ fuckin’ rearrange my guts.”

That did make Wade spit his beer, which set off a train of uncontrollable laughter that you both tried to stifle. 

Still, throw pillows and hands over your mouths were not as effective as you believed. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, squinting in the dark. The digital clock on his nightstand read ‘2:24 am’ in red LEDs. He closed his eyes again and tried to drift back to sleep, only to be jolted up by the sound of the two of you laughing obnoxiously from the living room.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbled to himself, getting up to walk towards his door so he could tell you both to keep it quiet. As his hand touched the knob, he halted when he heard your voice.

“He’s probably good at eating pussy. He’d be like an animal - “

Logan was stuck in place, his eyes narrowed. Who the hell were you talking about? 

“Can we go back to the rearranging guts thing? ‘Cause I have to tell you, sister - he’s made of metal and he’ll really do it.”

That couldn’t be about him. He refused to believe you two were actually talking about him like that in the next room.

“I’d let him,” he could hear you snickering.

“Is this a daddy issues thing? The ‘I can fix him’ maneuver?” 

“I didn’t say I wanted to fix him, I said I wanted to fuck him.”

If this was about some guy, Logan should be relieved; thankful that you’d found a new target of infatuation. He should be relieved, but he was gripping the door knob like he was going to break it off.

Wade’s voice broke through his thoughts, “you’re lucky Logan’s not much into relationships, then.”

So you were talking about him. 

Your voice echoed in his head, your words cementing themselves into his brain. 

On the living room floor, you were chucking pieces of popcorn into Wade's direction, trying to land one in his open mouth. 

“Hey,” he started after catching a piece between his teeth and eating it, “if you do end up in Wolvies bed? Pics or it didn’t happen.”

You gasped and nearly chucked your empty bottle at his head, deciding against it when you remembered Logan was asleep in the other room. 

Logan was in the other room.

Just as you were about to panic to Wade about Logan overhearing your foul-mouthed and horny drunk rambling, you both heard the click of his door coming unlocked and the creak of the hinges. He appeared at the doorway in a beater and pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. Truthfully, he looked cute.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you. It’s two in the morning.”

Adorable, even. 

“Oopsie! Sorry, Peanut. We had very important things to discuss,” Wade replied.

Without another word, Logan shut his door again and you and Wade sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“Do you think he heard me?” you whispered, grimacing.

“We’ll find out.”

With that, you both decided to call it a night and you returned to the familiar comfort of your apartment.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next morning, Wade was up far earlier than his roommate, as usual. He sat on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, turning his head when he heard Logan’s door open.

“Sleeping beauty! So kind of you to bless me with your presence. What’s the occasion?”

“Breakfast.”

“Technically it would be lunch, peanut.”

Logan was facing the pantry in the kitchen and Wade could still feel the anger radiating off him. 

Ignoring his seething silence, Wade began to speak again, “you didn’t happen to overhear any conversations last night, did you?”

Logan was facing him again, pouring cereal into a bowl and speaking without looking away from it, “you mean the one where your little friend said she wanted to fuck me? Yeah, I heard enough of it to get the jist.”

Wade had a gleeful look plastered on his face as he turned in his seat, “so you’re gonna take her up on the offer, right?”

“That wasn’t an offer, and besides,” Logan was shoveling cereal into his mouth, “ ‘m not interested.”

“See, you say that, Peanut, and yet you just have to come out here at least once while she’s over.”

Logan was glaring daggers into his skull. 

“I live here.”

The younger of the two clicked his tongue, turning his attention to the TV screen, “All I'm saying is that she’s our neighbor, she's a sweetheart, she is single and has a job and an apartment all to herself, dude. Bone city.”

“Ew.”

“Think about it.” “Don’t need to.”

As Logan scarfed down the rest of his breakfast and put the bowl in the sink, Wade was already typing furiously in his messages to create a plan. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Another week rolled by, meaning it was time to get hammered and make fun of the Kardashians again. You held your breath waiting for Wade to answer the door, anxiously picking at your fingernails. 

He opened the door and ushered you in like any other time, except he was dressed to go out instead of the usual PJ attire.

“What, are you leaving me for a hot date?” you teased, dropping the snacks you brought onto the kitchen island.

“Yes!”

You furrowed your eyebrows and frowned, awaiting his explanation.

“I’ve got a date with Vanessa, but - “

Logan emerged from his room, navigating his way to the kitchen as if neither of you were there.

“Peanut! So glad you decided to join us! Hey - “ Wade tapped the kitchen island, motioning for him to come over so he could talk to you both at the same time.

“Okay - I have a date with Vanessa tonight, so I need you,” he motioned between the two of you, “to get along.”

You were about to interrupt, insist that you can just reschedule, but it was as if he’d read your mind.

“You’re already here, cupcake, just stay and chill out. And you - “ he turned completely towards Logan, “you’re going to be nice like I asked you. Do you think you’ll survive?”

Logan was staring at him, unblinking with a scowl on his face.

“You, uh, you don’t have to sit with me,” you mumbled to him, forcing him to finally acknowledge your presence.

He’d half expected it to be your idea as much as it was Wade’s - some kind of ploy to get him alone - but you weren’t jumping at the chance, trying to be touchy-feely with him, begging him to stay. 

He almost wished you would.

He cleared his throat and looked back to Wade, “I'm not gonna babysit your friend.”

“Who said I needed a babysitter?” you chimed in.

 They both turned to you to watch you slam the top of a beer bottle on the edge of the countertop, sending the metal top flying somewhere into the living room. 

“We have a bottle opener in the drawer,” Wade sighed in defeat, ”anyway - you don’t need to babysit her, I'm just saying she doesn’t bite and It would be uncool to leave her all alone.”

“Aren’t you the one leaving?” you asked, taking a sip of your beer.

“Not the point,” he answered, grabbing his jacket from the coat stand as he walked towards the front door, “play nice, don’t eat anything in the fridge with my name on it and there’s condoms in my nightstand!”

He opened and shut the door, leaving the both of you in awkward silence. Logan’s face was actually red, a mix between rage and mild embarrassment. 

“He’s a dick,” you muttered, trying to make some kind of small talk, only to be met again with silence. You sighed, going to the couch and picking up the remote. You finally made yourself look Logan in the eyes, your cheeks burning uncontrollably when he never broke his stare.

“Listen - it’s fine, I get it, you’re like…the lone wolf,” you laughed a little to yourself, having to divert your eyes to the fabric of the couch, “I’m not gonna burst into tears if you don’t sit with me.”

He was a little taken back by your bluntness, though it was refreshing. He figured you’d be pink in the face - practically begging him to stay - but you weren’t. You pretended you couldn’t give less of a shit with your eyes now glued to the TV. You were as cool as you could act on the outside, but you nearly lost that cool when he spoke again.

“I can sit for a bit,” he shuffled over to the couch, settling himself down next to you. If you weren’t gonna be all over him like he thought you would, he could withstand a couple episodes of whatever the hell you and Wade had been watching. He didn’t dislike you, really - just terrified of the possibility of intimacy. You were pretty, and from what he’d overheard now and then, you were funny too. He liked the way the smell of your body wash and perfume flooded the apartment whenever you’d stop by and how you’d always bring some leftovers to be sure both of them had eaten - leftovers of which the roommates would always get into a spat over - usually because Logan ate it all before Wade could even see what was in the container. 

Unfortunately for Logan, he began to enjoy you being around.

You could feel your stomach tie itself in knots when he sat beside you but nodded in acknowledgment, flipping through TV channels. You settled on the Kardashians again, tossing the remote on the table.

“This is the shit you guys watch, huh?” he teased, grabbing a beer from the pack Wade left behind. 

You smiled a little to yourself, noticing how he was slowly getting more comfortable with you, “mhm, top tier - wait till you see one of them talk, it’s like watching an alien.”

You actually pulled a miniscule of a laugh out of him and your heart nearly skipped a beat at the sound.

As the show went on and you both made snarky commentary at just about everything, you felt more and more like you were just hanging out with Wade - comfortable and casual, except for the way your face burned up every time he stretched and his white beater rode up his stomach.

“So,” you began as the episode ended, “thoughts? Opinions?”

He was looking between you and the screen, thinking hard, “I don’t get it.”

You shrugged, “me neither, to be honest, but god is it funny to watch rich people lose their shit sometimes.”

He chuckled again at your response, placing his empty bottle on the table next to yours.

It was silent for a moment, the air tense with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“What do you usually watch on TV?” you asked, intending to flip the channel to whatever he may be interested in - if he had to sit through Keeping Up with The Kardashians, it was only fair.

“Nothin’, really,” he answered, his eyes moving from the screen to rest on you, like a heavy weight on your chest.

“Do you even watch TV?” you asked, the both of you having abandoned the idea of trying to find something else to watch and just letting it play in the background.

“Nah,” he shrugged, his arms crossed against his chest, “ I don’t do much of anything.’

You could tell his answer was earnest and you frowned a bit, swinging your legs up on the couch and turning to face him completely, “nothing? There has to be something.”

He was unsure about how close you were to him now, your knees to your chest as you looked at him expectantly. He thought he’d be met with that look - the one you kept giving him in passing that he hated so much - but your face was neutral, waiting patiently for him to respond. Truthfully, he didn’t hate the look itself - or you, for that matter - but hated how it made him feel.

As if there were some sliver of hope for a future worth living through.

He cleared his throat, turning his body towards you on the couch, “I work out, sometimes - “

‘’Yeah, clearly’’, you wanted to say.

“Other than that,” he continued, “I don’t know, the bar - sometimes I'll let Wade drag me out somewhere but I usually leave after half an hour.”

“Huh, so you really are by yourself a lot,” you realized aloud.

 Logan never thought it sad until he heard it from your mouth.

“I like it that way, most of the time,” he shrugged.

“I can tell - took you two weeks to finally say hello. I think this is the most I've ever heard your voice, actually.” 

He realized you were right and did feel a little bad, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I just don’t like meeting new people.”

“Me neither.”

It was silent then - save for the TV - either one of you waiting for the other to explain just why that is. You figured it would be easier if you went first.

“I never really had a lot of friends growing up. I had a hard time in school and a lot of the other kids didn’t like me. It was just tough to make friends, especially because - “

You stopped, thinking over what details to include and what to leave out.

“Because?” Logan prompted and you sighed, biting back a giggle.

“Because I was goth. I don’t mean I just dressed in black - I mean I wore white face paint and huge boots and ate lunch in the art room.”

That actually pulled a real fucking laugh out of him and you couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“I’m not laughing ‘cause you were goth, that's not weird” he clarified, “I'm laughing because I just can’t picture it.”

You didn’t embrace the style as much as you used to, trading Siouxsie Sioux makeup for reading glasses and teased hair for your natural texture.

“I’ll bring over my highschool yearbook sometime,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

Realizing it was now his turn to speak, he readjusted himself in his seat and cleared his throat, visibly becoming a little uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, you know,” you reminded him gently, giving a soft smile. 

It only made it harder for Logan that you were so damn nice.

He tentatively explained the timelines, the different versions everyone has of themselves, how he’d gotten there. You hung on his every word, unintentionally giving him a sympathetic look when he had finished explaining. 

“So…you were just alone after all that?” your voice was soft, worry clear in your tone.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “yeah, yeah.. ‘till I met Wade, obviously.”

You gave him a small smile, “you’ll never be alone again, you know.”

For some reason, the unfamiliar comfort made his stomach turn and he simply shook his head, “Yeah, I'm never gonna be able to get rid of him.”

That made you giggle, nodding in agreement.

“You can try, but he will always find you - like a determined cockroach.”

That got the both of you and you’d never seen Logan smile that way - though, to be fair, you never saw much of his face anyway.

The version of you that sat on the couch across from him was far from who he thought you were. He felt guilty now for assuming things just from looking at you, but it was a habit he had yet to shake. It was clear you were beautiful - that was never a question - but talking with you made him realize just how much he may have missed out by keeping himself so closed off. You laughed at almost every joke he had made, comforted him when he was nothing but rude and always checked up on him and Wade. You smelled so nice, your hair looked so soft and he almost found himself wanting to reach over and run his fingers through it. In his eyes, you seemed to be everything he was not; all of the best qualities he believed he didn't possess.

“Oh, hey - do you want some popcorn? I brought the microwave kind, I keep telling Wade to get it himself and he never does,” you snapped him out of his trance and stood from the couch, already walking to the kitchen.

“Uh, sure,” he found himself getting up to follow you, not wanting to pause a moment of conversation.

You tossed the bag in the microwave and hit the button, leaning yourself against the counter. Logan leaned himself besides you, significantly taller. You’d held your composure so far, but having him so close and realizing just how much bigger he was made your heart beat like a rabbit’s. 

“So, you never asked about the mutant thing,” He spoke over the popping, looking down at you and waiting for the twenty questions.

You only shrugged, “I figured If you wanted to tell me, you’d tell me. I wasn’t gonna interrogate you about it. Plus, Wade told me.”

“Of course he did,” Logan scoffed, “I’m afraid to know what exactly it was that he told you.”

“You’ve got adamantium instead of bones,” you replied matter of factly, “and you’ve got claws. I mean, I’ve never seen them, but that's what he told me.”

He thought for a minute, stepping in front of you a little. He was about arm-length away, putting enough distance between you both that he was sure he wouldn’t accidentally knick you.

In a second, the adamantium claws protruded from between his knuckles, glistening in the kitchen light. You flinched for only a second, leaning in to inspect them. 

“Woah,” you muttered, bringing a finger up to the very end of one of them and letting it poke you, “cool.”

He was a bit confused by your calm demeanor, but relieved by it anyway. It was never a good time when someone had a bad reaction to the claws. The microwave beeped and he retracted them, stepping out of your way. You opened it and held the scolding bag with two fingers, realizing you needed a bowl to put it in.

“Logan, can you grab a-”

You felt one hand on your hip and could see his other reach above you, opening a cabinet you couldn't and handing you a bowl. Your back was almost flush to his chest, making you feel warm all over. He reluctantly pulled away from you and you cleared your throat, shaking the popcorn into the bowl.

He watched you from where you stood, taking in the curve of your waist and hips and realizing he was in much more trouble than he’d originally thought. He’d heard your drunken giggling about him - heard you vulgarly talk about how good you think he’d be at giving head - but he was still thinking it over with his bottom lip between his teeth. He finally broke the silence that filled the room.

“You know, the claws aren’t the only thing abnormal about me.”

“Mm, no?” you laughed a little with your back still turned to him. You could feel that your face was hot.

“Heightened senses,” he said simply, “hearing and smell, mostly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Like right now, I can hear your heartbeat.”

Your eyes went wide and you practically froze in place.

“It’s fast.”

His voice was closer.

“Really fast,” his breath was in your ear, his hands coming to rest on your waist, “got even faster when I pointed it out.”

You swallowed hard, knowing very well there was no way to lie to him.

“Jus’ nervous sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything,” you exhaled, attempting to still your shaking hands. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, his deep voice reverberating through your chest because of his proximity, “what about the other night, though?”

You narrowed your eyes and turned to finally face him, nearly chest to chest.

“What are you talking about?” 

You knew exactly what he was talking about - you just hoped it wasn’t what you thought.

His hands were on the counter behind you, boxing you in.

“C’mon,” he looked at you expectantly with a shit eating smirk on his face, “what made you think I’d be good at eating pussy, anyway?”

You were red with embarrassment, pulling your hands up to cover your face, but Logan caught your wrists gently and clicked his tongue.

“Pretty girl, it’s alright - “

His gruff voice calling you such a sweet nickname nearly made your knees buckle.

“I can smell how wet you get, you know that?”

One of his hands moved to hold you by your throat, barely using any pressure.

“F-Fuck off,” you managed to mutter, stuttering when he pushed one of his thighs inbetween yours. This was nowhere near what you pictured happening when Wade dumped you in his living room with a guy who would barely even look at you.

He chuckled, his other hand pushing on the small of your back to pull you closer into him.

“Yeah? I don’t think you really want me to, sweetheart. Besides, you didn’t answer my question.”

You could barely think, nevermind answer whatever it was he had asked. You were almost nose to nose, Logan craning his neck down a bit to level his face with yours.

“I, um,” your breathing was shaky, “fuck, I don’t know - I jus’ think about it a lot.”

“Me too,” he admitted before crashing his lips to yours, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of your head. It was truthful - he’d probably thought of you every day since the night he heard you talk about him like that. 

You couldn’t help moaning into his mouth when he kissed you, letting him slip his tongue past your lips. His hands roamed down your back and to your ass, using his grip to rock your hips over his thigh.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he moved down your jaw and neck, kissing and biting at the soft skin, “drove me crazy, hearing you say those things.”

“How much - how much did you hear?” you tried to ask, overwhelmed by his teeth grazing your neck. Your hands rested against his chest - as if you were going to push him away - but you never did.

You felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin, “heard enough.”

“And what exactly was that?”

If he was going to tease, you might as well bite back.

He pulled away momentarily to look in your eyes, knowing damn well he already had you where he wanted you.

“You don’t want to fix me, you want to fuck me, right?”

Your own words sounded so much hotter coming out of his mouth.

“Mhm,” was all you could manage to get out, too focused on the feeling of him pushing and pulling your hips over his thigh.

“Huh? Use your words, sweetheart.”

There was something about the affectionate nicknames he was using in contrast to the filthy way he was trying to push you down even harder on his thigh that made you lightheaded.

“Yeah - yes, I want to,” you practically whined.

That was all the confirmation he needed to hoist you up onto the counter with his hands on your ass. He was kissing you hungrily, his fingers hooking around the straps of your tank top to let them fall down your shoulders. You didn’t waste any time in breaking the kiss momentarily to strip yourself of the garment, tossing it to the kitchen floor.

“Fuck, jesus christ,” He groaned at the sight of your bare chest and immediately brought his large hands up to massage your breasts. A chill went down your spine when he leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue. Your hands were threaded through his hair, tugging every so slightly when he would pull his mouth off you with a popping sound. The majority of your chest was glistening with his spit when he finally brought his mouth to yours again, leaving a clear coating over the developing hickies that he left. You tugged at the hem of Logan's white beater to signal that you wanted it off. He did as you pleased, leaving plenty of skin for you to run your hands over. 

“Been thinking of you, all spread out of me,” he murmured in between kisses. He used his grip on your ass to grind you against him, his hard cock pressing against you. The pressure from it was enough for your pussy to start aching.

“I wanna know what you taste like,” he continued, holding your chin to tilt your head up, “can I find out?”

You nodded frantically and nearly choked on your own spit. You lifted your hips to let him strip you of your pants and underwear, leaving you completely bare on the counter in front of him.

You felt vulnerable, pressing your knees together only to have Logan use his hands to spread them apart.

“Uh-uh,” he clicked his tongue, “let me see your pretty pussy.”

He got on his knees on the kitchen floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and settling his face between them. He nipped at the hot skin of your inner thighs and you inadvertently tugged his hair every time he did so. He finally laid his tongue flat against you and you whined, the sound echoing through the kitchen. He was sloppy, practically drooling into your cunt and using it to lubricate his fingers so he could slip them into you. Your theory from before was proven right; he was kind of animalistic when he ate you out.

He was curling his fingers as he thrusted them in and out, sucking on your clit at the same time. You gasped when he spoke with his mouth still buried in your cunt.

“Tastes so fucking good.”

Your ankles were locked to keep his head between your thighs, leaning yourself back against the wall.

“Jesus christ, Logan - “ you whined, cut off when he growled into you.

“Mhm, ‘feels good, baby?”

You only nodded, unable to communicate with how deep he was curling his fingers into you. He continued to mumble praises against your cunt, amused by how much it clearly spurred you on.

“This is all mine, huh? Know you wanted it, could smell how bad you needed me every time you were over.”

You could feel the pressure in your lower stomach start to build.

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl - makin’ such a fucking mess.”

It wasn’t long before you were pulling him back by his hair.

He reluctantly detached himself, looking up at you with concern. His mouth and chin were wet, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips.

“What’s wrong? You okay?”

“ ‘m fine, just - I was close -”

He groaned in a way that almost sounded annoyed, diving his tongue back into you, “C’mon, do it, then - come for me, pretty girl.”

His praise was enough to trigger your orgasm and you couldn’t help rocking your hips against his face as you rode it out. You were cursing, tears starting to form in your eyes when he didn’t let up. 

“L-Logan, fuck,” you cried. You could’ve pulled him off, told him it was too much, but he was so determined and skilled in the way he flicked his tongue that the discomfort of overstimulation dissipated into pleasure within seconds.

“One more for me, baby, one more. Think you can?”

You were moaning so loud at that point that you tried to bring a hand to your mouth to muffle the sound but Logan caught your wrist and brought it back to his hair, encouraging you to keep tugging and pulling.

Your second orgasms approached hard and fast, tears rolling down your cheek. Your legs shook uncontrollably as he finally sat back on his heels. 

When you caught your breath, he pulled himself up to slide his arms around your lower back and plant a kiss on your forehead, wiping your wet cheeks.

“Can I take you to the bed?”

You nodded and smiled wide, leaning up to kiss him.

He effortlessly carried you through the hallway and into his bedroom, your bare chest pressed against his. The second your back hit his mattress, his cellphone started to ring from his bedside table.

You watched Logan furrow his eyebrows and reach for the phone. He read the caller ID and bore an amused smile, switching it to silent.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, wrapping your arms around him when he came to hover above you.

“It’s Wade,” he chuckled to himself, “probably calling to see if everythings alright.”

That made you giggle, “yeah, we can tell him we’re doing just fine.”

“I’ll call him later.”

His lips were on yours again, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you as he pinned you to the bed with his hips. You slid your hands from his neck, down his back and around the front of his waist to rest on his belt buckle. Your fingers made quick work of the metal fastener and you tugged the leather from his jeans. He stood up off the bed for a moment to strip himself of the rest of his clothing. When his cock sprung up from his boxers and hit his stomach, you almost had to choke back a gasp. Again, you were proven right - he was huge. He crawled back between your legs and positioned himself on top of you. 

“You’re okay with this?”

If anyone told you maybe two hours earlier that you’d end up under Wade’s grumpy roommate, your chest heaving from the anticipation of finally having him slot into you, you would’ve called them crazy. Now, however, it was a reality - one you would’ve gladly spent the rest of your life in.

You realized he was holding back, gripping the sheets next to your head and waiting for a definite answer.

You nodded and scratched at the back of his neck affectionately. He guided himself into you and you groaned at the feeling of his tip alone.

“ ‘s okay?”

Logan was practically slurring his words with how hard he had to hold himself back. Your warm chest to his, your thighs locked around his waist, the way you smelled; it was all overwhelming in the best way possible.

“So good,” you whined, trying to push your hips up to encourage him to go even deeper, “want all of it, please, please.”

He was chewing on his lip when he finally let himself fill you completely in one thrust. You dug your fingernails into his back, leaving scratches that healed themselves within seconds. He let out a guttural moan with his face buried in your neck, concentrating on trying to build a steady rhythm without finishing things too fast. He propped himself up on his elbows on either side of you as he tentatively rocked in and out.

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, a hand coming up to wipe the sweat dampened hair from your flushed face. It was so sweet, so intimate; nothing you’d ever really expected with or from him.

“You're handsome,” you managed to reply, amused by how taken back he seemed by the compliment, “perfect.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him that - handsome, definitely never perfect - while actually looking at him like they meant it. Your eyes were trained on the features of his face, attempting to memorize every line and wrinkle; every bit of him that made him Logan. Your eyes felt to him like they could burn right through the wall he’d managed to construct.

Still, he instinctively scoffed as he hovered over you. He was never good at accepting compliments.

“I’m not the lying type, you know,” you assured him, whispering in his ear as he continued at a steady pace, “besides, do you think I'd be under you right now if that wasn’t true?”

“Mm - shut up”, he fought a smile and increased his pace in the hopes that it would render you speechless.

It did, of course.

You were a moaning mess atop his sheets with your back arched to accommodate Logan’s arm sneaking around you. His pace was enough to rock his headboard into the wall and he was thankful it was your apartment on the other side instead of a stranger’s. You were chest to chest as he whispered filthy things into your ear.

“Takin’ it well like I knew you would, baby doll - knew you’d like it when I fucked you like this.”

You were still at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the pressure in your lower stomach.

“You think you’ve got another one in you? C’mon, sweet girl, let me see it.”

His coaxing had your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as he pounded into you. Besides the grunts and moans between you two, the only sound echoing in the room was the slap of skin against skin and the squelching of your pussy as he dragged himself out and back in again.

You were almost drooling from how deep he was able to fuck you. The familiar fire in your stomach had you feeling warm all over, building and building itself up. As if he could read your mind, Logan’s hand reached down between the both of you and he started to trace tight circles around your swollen clit.

“F-Fuck, my god, Logan - “

He hummed affirmatively, almost as if to acknowledge that was indeed his name that you were chanting.

You squeezed your eyes shut so hard that you almost saw stars when your third orgasm hit hard and fast. You were probably loud enough for the entire building to hear as he worked you through it.

“Good girl, good girl - c’mere,” he praised, flipping you over so that you were on your hands and knees. You laid your chest as flat as you could against the mattress and arched your back. He didn’t hesitate in fitting himself snuggly inside of you again, his hands kneading at and smacking your ass as he used his grip to push and pull you. It wasn’t long before his thrusts started to become sloppy. He leaned down and hooked an arm around you, lifting you up a little so that his chest was pressed to your back. He moved his hand to your throat to tilt back your head. The way you looked back at him, your beautiful eyes boring into his soul - that was all he needed to finally let go. You felt him flood you with his come, a mixture of yours and his soaking the sheets underneath you. He gently pulled out and almost immediately pulled you against him to cuddle, his eyes already fluttering close. You didn’t take him for the cuddly type but it was just another wholesome thing you’d learned about him.

“You should call Wade back,” you mumbled, already drifting to sleep with your head on Logan’s chest.

“ ‘m busy, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckled to yourself, letting exhaustion overtake you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Wade practically sprinted up the steps to his apartment the next morning, keys already in hand. If Logan hadn’t answered - even if it was just to tell him to fuck off - something really bad must’ve happened. You hadn't answered any of his fifteen texts, either.

He unlocked his door and prepared himself to be met with a gorey scene, only to be surprised that there was no sign of a scuffle. There was untouched popcorn in the kitchen, clearly abandoned at some point right after making it. Did Logan upset you enough last night to make you leave early? 

Of course, he’d completely missed your clothing that had been tossed just out of sight from where he was standing.

Wade sighed in frustration, striding through the hallway and stopping outside Logan’s bedroom. He banged his fist on the door and rested his hands on his hips as he spoke through the wood.

“Hey! Peanut! Did you make our guest leave early last night? How’d it go? You didn’t answer your phone and neither did she.”

On the other side of the door, your heads both popped up at the sound of wade’s banging. You stifled a laugh, looking to Logan for him to say something.

“Uh, yeah…she had somethin’ to take care of.”

Now you had to bury your face in his comforter, uncontrollably snickering. 

Without warning, Wade groaned and swung the door open - one neither of you thought to lock because no one had been home.

“You better get your ass across the hall and apologize for whatever it is that -“

He was met with the sight of the both of you in Logan’s bed, covered by the bedding. It was obvious you were both undressed, Logan’s boxers somewhere near Wade’s feet.

He gasped, looking between the two of you in confusion before a giddy smile appeared on his face.

“Oh, I see, I see. Right, mhm - “

Logan was already trying to shoo him out but Wade wasn’t going to let him before he got the last word in.

“You're welcome, by the way!”

He shut the door and you laughed.

Logan laid back again, resting his arm around your shoulders so he could pull you back into his chest again.

In the comfortable silence, doubt settled itself in the form of a pit in your stomach. What if this was a one time thing? 

Almost instantly, you felt his hand comb through your hair.

“Hey, uh,” he started, looking down into your eyes, “listen, I know I was supposed to ask this before I got you in here, but - um..”

You could feel your stomach turn, borderline terrified of what he was going to say next.

“Would you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

A wide grin spread across your face and you nodded eagerly, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’d love that.”

A/N: this ones long as hell but so is just about everything else I write! if you've made it to the end I loooove u and pls interact if you enjoyed; hearing feedback is what motivates me to keep writing! as always, my inbox is open as well <3

[uplatterme]

aether and kaveh look like disney princesses i wanna fuck the shit out of

there is no need for elaboration

-🪸

—okay. you’ve got me hooked. rapunzel!aether in part 2! (tba)

—cinderella!kaveh/royalty!reader, sub!bottom!kaveh/top!dom!reader, amab!reader (referred with they/them pronouns) | cinderella au, semi-public sex, quickie, clothed sex, cum as lube, porn with actual plot (don’t let the tags fool u, this is so fucking soft)

You completely regret hosting this party.

It was something that your advisor had tasked you to do. Host a party, find a suitable partner, get an heir so the kingdom has someone to depend on, blah blah blah.

It’s not like you were even that old. 

You sigh, a cigarette on your lips as you lay your back on the wall of the balcony. So many folks festering you, for that chance that you’ll somehow hand them their crown. 

Your head aches at the number of conversations you have had to endure just to be polite, the amount of times you’ve had to shake off someone from hugging your arm without your consent.

“Oh, fuck!” You hear someone yelp.

And while the owner of this voice sounds overly anxious, you can’t help but want to hear it again, especially with the polite wording that the attendees have used to butter you up. someone swearing right in front of you catches your interest.

Hands reach the bottom of the balcony, and someone lifts their body up to get on the platform.

“Oh god, why is the entrance so crowded?” The person says.

Your ears perk up at that.

“Well, their highness did host it. it’s been a while since such an event has happened.” You answer.

The figure flinches, turning their attention to you. 

Your mouth gapes as you finally see who that voice belonged to. Everything about him is enticing that you can’t help but to drown in his gaze. 

He’s properly dressed as well, although not anything overwhelming to the eyes.

Now, which family had been hiding such a prince from you?

“Ah sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here.” He quickly apologizes. His cheeks flush, not expecting someone to catch him climbing up a balcony.

“You’re more than welcome to stay.” You offer, craving more of him.

He shakes his head, much to your disappointment.

“I’m actually here for something else.” he says.

You hum. “Also aiming for the heart of their highness, then?”

Take it, unknown prince.

“What?! N-No, not at all!” He screams in reply. “I mean, I'd be flattered if their highness even finds me a bit intriguing.”

“Have you met them?” You ask.

“Oh. I haven’t really got the time for that.” He answers, although he seems to be in a melancholy thought when he does.

Still, you breathe at his beauty. You think you can stare at him for your whole life.

You quickly try to change the topic.

“So, what are you here for?”

He points behind you.

You turn your head back but what faces you is nothing but the empty hallway.

“Sorry?” You question.

“The castle.”

His answers just keep surprising you.

He blushes, rubbing his arm as he paces around the small space of the balcony.

“You’re interested in the architecture?”

As soon as you mention that, he brightens up. “Yes! From what I've seen, it’s alright.”

You feel offended. It is your castle, one for which you’ve decided most of the structure. He seems to notice his mistake as he panics.

“But don’t tell anyone that! Especially not their highness…”

You grin.

“Perhaps, the inside can change your mind?” 

“Inside? I don’t think we’re allowed—”

“If we don’t get caught, it’s fine, right?” 

“Yes, but—”

You grab the stranger’s hand and lead him inside, he stumbles in after you, the warmth in your hand startling him.

You bring him into different rooms, hoping that one of them will at least suit his taste.

“This?”

“It’s a bit cramped, the furniture set is going against the wallpaper.”

You roll your eyes, he’s so damn picky. That, or you’re just really bad at interior decorating.

Still, you smile at every single word he says. Being royalty, you have no damn clue what he’s saying. But with that pretty voice of his, you could listen to it for hours.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh? What if their highness were merely shown bad choices by their architects?” You say, hoping that wouldn’t risk the random attendee persona that you’re playing at the moment.

“If that’s true, they should’ve fired those architects.” He states confidently.

You laugh. “And what, hire you instead?”

He purses his lips, he didn’t expect you to get that so easily.

He stays silent.

“Do you want to?” You ask.

“Get hired?” The look on his face is so innocent like he can’t even believe that you’re asking such a thing. As if the answer is painfully obvious.

You shake your head. 

“To build a castle.”

He stares at you dumbfounded. His eyes glimmer as he grabs your hands and does so aggressively. You don’t mind even a second of it.

“Are you fucking crazy? T-That’s like my dream!” He admits. He’s smiling widely, his face nothing but only a few centimeters away from you.

He starts babbling about the materials he’ll make it with, the different types of rooms and decorations he’ll add. He’s so damn fascinating, you don’t even care about the speech that you’re supposed to give by midnight.

It’s like he has planned this for a long time. Everything he says is so intricate. His hands move as if he’s drawing it, he’s a bit shaky but it’s obvious that it’s from excitement. To your amazement, the way he describes everything makes it seem as if you’re actually in that castle in your head.

Once he realizes how much he’s talking, he stutters an apology.

“Sorry! It’s just that no one has ever asked me about this, I mean at home I—”

“Okay. I’ll give that to you.” You reply genuinely, your eyes are focused on his soft lips.

His chest heaves and his golden eyelashes flutter with grace…just looking at you.

“You know that’s impossible. I’m not even a professionally licensed architect.” 

“It’s not.”

You’ll make it happen, even if your advisor goes against it. It doesn’t matter if you have to demolish the entire castle you’re in right now.

“It is! You’re just flattering me, I get it. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, but you don’t have to promise and lie to about such things.”

“I mean it.” You say it so sternly that he almost starts believing it.

He sighs deeply. “Going to this party is already a dream come true. There was this little green fairy with white hair, I—”

The words slip out of your mouth, cutting off whatever stupid things he has to say.

“Meeting you is a dream come true.” 

The next few moments are a blur. Your hands are all over the unknown stranger. Fuck, it’s as if you’ve been hit with a love spell. You want to keep kissing his mouth, tell him that he has nothing to worry about when you’re with him. That you’ll do anything he asks.

Your prince whines and the sound has you going insane. 

You want more. 

You’ve gotten so addicted easily that your mind is insatiable. 

It doesn’t matter that the room is left unlocked, no one is going to keep your hands off him. 

“Hah—God!” He breathes enticingly. His mind is so hazy, so weak at how his heart is pounding each second.

You take off his coat, the clothing echoes as it falls down on the floor. His blouse is silk and you swear you can see the way his chest is lined underneath the white cloth.

Your fingers rubbed his hardened nipples and his entire body shivers. He holds onto your shoulders for support, the aroused moan that escapes his throat is just enough for you to keep doing it, and so you do.

“W-Wait! I-I’ll—” He pushes you for a moment, to take a breath as he slowly composes himself.

You watch him impatiently. You can see how his cock twitches from his tight pants, the wet spot in the center, and his dick dripping from precum as the white liquid seeps through it.

You keep your hands inside your pocket. Despite how your pants are perfectly fitted for you, your cock is begging for warmth, specifically from the blonde stranger in front of you.

He then nods.

“I’m okay…we can continue.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any—”

“I can take it. It’s fine.” He says as if he’s in a hurry. You’re not sure if it's just because he’s needy or if it’s something else.

You still indulge in his wants, however.

You’ll have to make do with his own fluids although you really don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt him.

Your fingers steadily prepare his walls and you’re trying your best to not be greedy. His needs first, more than anything.

He’s so damn tight, not that you need to worry much as the sounds he’s making are signaling everything but pain.

He’s so soft and so perfect that you’re starting to get jealous of even your own fingers.

“Are you..?”

He nods, and desire fills his eyes. It looks like you’re not the only one getting impatient.

When you finally feel his insides with your cock, the expectations you had were completely blown out of the water. Your hands find their way to his waist and it’s perfect.

The first thrust is enough to send you to heaven. 

“Keep going.” He pleads.

You continue to pound into him, enjoying how each one brings out a soft mewl from the blonde.

His cock is dripping white on the floor, and the carpet gets soaked. You know you need to get that replaced but instead, you want to keep the stain there, as if some kind of trophy.

And while you stir up his insides, a familiar noise bothers your ears.

You don’t let it even phase you, enjoying the pleasure that’s eating you up.

However, your prince decides otherwise.

“H-Hold on! What was that—”

“Just the clock. You don’t need to bother yourself with it.”

A groan escapes your throat, feeling how he tenses up all of the sudden.

“Is it twelve?” He asks.

“N-No, but it’s close. Five more minutes.”

“I need to go.” He says.

No way was he leaving you like this.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, but I—” His words are cut off by his moaning.

The way you fill him up has him salivating. You didn’t even move but god, his walls clenching on you are betraying his choices right now.

“T-Three minutes.” He whimpers out.

“Thank you, love.”

Your fingers feel up his cock, stroking it up and down while still continuing to pound ruthlessly. He continues to scream out, his mind too overwhelmed from getting his ass and cock ravaged at the same time.

His legs quiver and you have to hold him still. You’re both close and you’ll make sure to have him finish in time at least.

“F-Fuck!” He sobs.

And the worries in your head disappear, cumming inside his walls as he splatters more onto the carpet.

You sigh, your chest thumping as you stand there with your clothes a mess.

He quickly slides off you, trembling but still hastily moving as if the adrenaline has gotten into his head.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’ll try to get in contact with you again. I swear!” He stammers out before fixing his clothes, nearing the doorway.

“Don’t go through the balcony! There’s an exit to the right of this room!” You say, helping him out despite your wishes to keep him here.

“Thanks!” He shouts back.

You swipe the sweat on your forehead, zipping your pants back on.

The clock chimes as it signals it’s midnight. What a fucking way to end the night.

You hear rushed steps from the hallway.

Your attention turns to the door. Did he come back?

Your disappointment is immeasurable when you find out it’s just your advisor.

“Your highness! I’ve been looking everywhere, you’re late for your speech—Oh my god, what did you—No, who did you?!” She looks disappointed.

You look down. Ah, right.

Who?

Oh fuck, you never got his name. 

“I didn’t ask. Oh no.” The realization slowly sets in.

“Excuse me?!” Your advisor answers offended by your words. You can tell how stressed she’s been, her teal hair in a mess.

“I’ll be right there. Let me clean up first, Ma’am”

“I’ll get everyone distracted. Jeez, young ones these days!” She says before rushing away.

The urge to punch the wall in front of you right now is high.

You look at the floor and notice the coat on the floor.

It smells just like him.

You lay your head on the cold table, mind filled with everything but your duties. The only thing that’s engraved in there is nothing but the sweet prince you met a while ago.

But no matter how many times you’ve gone through portraits of different royal families, even going through the nobles, you’re not met with a match.

“Your Highness. I see you’ve been distracted again.”

“Madame Faruzan, I cannot do this anymore.” You tell her wholeheartedly.

Your advisor rolls her eyes.

“Right after I caught you and that whole mess, you should be working.”

“He’s a great guy! He’s skilled with his hands.” You argue with her.

“I do not need to hear what he did with you.”

“That’s not what I meant! He’s an architect, he’s good! I’ve heard how he works, I’ll vouch for him.”

“You’re biased. Something that a ruler should not have. I told you this when you were younger.” She warns you.

It seems that she won’t hear you out no matter how hard you try. 

“I really cannot focus.” You say. 

It’s the truth. You’ve been sleeping with that coat for weeks, along with other things. As if it’s actually him to begin with.

“If he’s such a great architect, then why don’t you work with that?”

An idea enters your head.

“Ma’am, you’re a genius.”

“Of course.” She says confidently with a smile.

She shakes the compliment off, lord knows she's the smartest person you’ve ever met.

“So? What’s your verdict?” She asks.

A day after, a letter was sent out to the people of your kingdom.

Needless to say, everyone was freaking out.

“Goodness, that’s a big deal. Isn’t it?”

“Right! That’s a big opportunity.” 

The entire market was in an uproar as Kaveh shops for his family. He couldn’t care any, especially not with the consequences he faced from being caught out late in the night. They never knew that he went to the party, but he’s sure his snarky scholar of a step-sibling knows.

“Oh, Kaveh.” A friendly face greets him.

“Miss Nilou.”

She smiles at him, 

“Are you participating?”

The confused face of Kaveh is enough for Nilou to shake the soul out of him.

“You have to! Their highness is currently looking for an architect to turn the whole castle into something new!” 

Kaveh’s eyes widen. “…Actually?”

“Yes! Oh, you have to hurry! It’s only up till today!” She brings it up, and Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can.

It’s almost like a dream come true.

First, that little green fairy that gave him the opportunity to attend the party in the first place. Then, that person he met at the said party who he flushes at every time he thinks of them. And now, this?

He almost tears the whole place down from searching for his plates. 

Kaveh compiles it in an envelope. He feels rewarded as if everything that he’s gone through has finally led up to something.

“Fuck! Where is it?” He’s missing a folder. 

Technically, what he’s giving is already more of what was asked for. Still, the perfectionist in him cannot stand to not have everything in its place, especially not with the opportunity that he was presented with.

A knock comes from his door and he flinches, his family cannot know about this. They’ll get rid of it again.

“It’s just me.” He relaxes, rolling his eyes before turning back.

“Asshole,” Kaveh says.

“After I saw your folder in the living room and kept it? Alright, I’ll guess I’ll throw it out.” Al-Haitham replies sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I kept it for a reason. I wouldn’t throw it out now.” Kaveh forcefully takes out the folder and shoves it into his envelope.

He wants to say thanks, but his pride is too high for that.

“Be home before your curfew, I won’t cover for you.” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh knows that he will despite the annoying tone that he’s using.

He runs to the front of the castle as fast as he can, his legs were not made out for this kind of journey. Still, he won’t give up.

He reaches the gates luckily, just an hour before the deadline.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“We got a lot of submissions…and most of them are barely even considered actual pieces. I mean, look at this. Who would turn a castle into a teapot?” Faruzan complains, searching through the different envelopes.

You take a look at the amount and you couldn’t help but agree more. It’s absurd.

“Everyone who’s a licensed architect can be thrown away.” You ordered.

“Did I hear that correctly?” She eyes you as if you’re crazy.

You are.

“It’s fine, I have faith in him.”

After that, the submissions are lessened quite easily. While there were some that had fit up to the standards, they weren’t simply what you were looking for.

You remember every single thing he said, if you could just match that up with an envelope then you’ll be fine.

“We have two left.” Your advisor states.

Two names in front of you. One was named ‘Albedo’ and the other one was named ‘Kaveh’. You hesitate to open, the anxiety that he never heard of this competition or that you have sorted away his piece is eating you.

Your advisor notices this and gives one of her very rare encouragement.

“You said you have faith.”

You sigh, trying to calm down.

“I do.” You say it just loud enough to believe it.

You and Faruzan both take one, opening them at the same time.

Your hands shake as you do. 

This ‘Albedo’ is good. God, it’s gorgeous. Though what he’s sent out are more artistic than they are architectural, you can see the vision that he’s presenting, it’s something you think your mystery man would find great fun studying.

You literally cannot do this.

You only had one chance left.

It’s this or nothing.

Faruzan holds your hand while you go through his envelope. It’s breathtaking, it’s almost as what you imagined that time Kaveh was talking to you were right here, laid out perfectly.

“Kaveh.” The name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

Finally.

You dress up in a nice outfit, sitting on the carriage’s seat, trying your best not to scream. You could have gotten the wrong person, but you’re sure that this Kaveh is him.

You’re not accompanied by anyone except your coachman. You’ve asked him “if you’re there yet” about five times.

You bury your face in your hands. This is fine, you’ll be fine.

You almost smack your head face-first on the seat when the carriage comes to a stop without any warning.

The door opens for you.

You hear the gossiping of the people around you and you give them that perfect smile you’ve been taught to do even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

There’s a person by the door. One who’s certainly not the one you met at the party.

“Hello.” You greet.

“Your highness.” He replies, bowing his head.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. It is clear that neither of you likes talking.

“I’m looking for—”

“Kaveh, I presume?”

You nod nervously.

He opens the door and shouts, an annoyed response can be heard from the outside.

Everything’s fine, you rule this kingdom. If it’s another person, you can just bomb the whole place away!

The joking in your head does not make it any better.

“I swear this better be important, I was busy—” He stops talking as soon as he meets with your eyes.

There’s a flushed look on his face that matches yours.

“Oh. It’s you…”

There come the gasps from around you.

“He did not just call them that.”

“How disrespectful!”

“Right?!”

You cough, unsure how to state why you’re here. You just hand him the contract.

He shakes as he reads it. 

“What…?”

“I told you that I’ll build you a castle.” You remind him.

Kaveh remembers and you can see everything click right in his face. He’s very expressive, not that you were a stranger to that.

“Y-Your Highness.” He stutters.

You wonder if it’s appropriate to go down on your knee.

Fuck it. You can have Madame Faruzan reprimand you later.

The people watching scream in shock as you go down on one knee.

“Now that we have that out of the way…Will you do me the honor of ruling by your side?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say—

“What?!” Kaveh yells at you. 

“G-Get up! Oh my god, your highness!” He tells you.

“I’m not standing up unless you say yes.”

The man you talked to previously whistles before heading inside the house. Kaveh glares at him, he did just not leave him in a situation like this.

“I’m serious, Kaveh.”

“You’re crazy.” He says.

“I know.” You look up to him hopefully.

He’s so red, it’s almost painful to look at. Not that you were any different from his case.

“I—Alright! Yes! So stand up already, your cape is getting dirty and everyone’s looking so—”

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

[addsalwayssick]

@rosekillermicrofic || prompt: secret || word count: 778

Something was wrong with Barty Crouch Jr. He liked a boy. All his life he’s liked girls. Now, in 6th year, as a 15 year old boy, he likes a boy. Evan Rosier.

He and Evan were two peas in a pod, as many would say. They were two in a group of five. As Barty lay in his bed at night, crying about liking him, he had a realization. Through deep breaths and barely clarifying thoughts, he figured that maybe he liked Pandora.

Pandora Rosier. Evan’s twin sister. Gorgeous, smart, and fun. Why wouldn’t he like her? Better yet, she looks like Evan.

So Barty asked her out. “Hey Panda?” He asked, catching up with her in the hallway. “What class have you got?”

“Oh hello Barty,” Pandora smiled. “I have transfigurations next. Walk with me?”

“Yeah sure,” Barty said, walking by her. “I wanted to ask you something.” He started.

Pandora looked at him. “Yes?”

“Would you want to go out with me?” Barty asked, looking intensely into her blue eyes.

Pandora flung her long blonde hair out of her face as she thought. “Sure, why not?” She said.

And so they dated. But Barty couldn’t get past the aching feeling of emptiness in him. There was a pit in his stomach every time he looked at Evan, every time he thought of Evan, every time he breathed near Evan. It was miserable.

And if that wasn’t enough, Evan was growing distant with him. Anything Barty asked to hang out, Evan would blow him off, saying he’s got something to do.

Barty would sit in his dorm room at night, knees to his chest, tears in his eyes. What was wrong with him? Boys weren’t supposed to like boys. Something was wrong with him.

Pandora knocked on Barty’s door one evening as he was studying. The rest of his roommates gone at the Ravenclaw party he had blown off to study.

“Barty?” Pandora called through the door.

Barty didn’t look up. “Come in,” He yelled absentmindedly.

“Barty can I speak with you?” She said softly, sitting politely on his bed.

Barty turned and nodded. “Yeah, everything okay?”

Pandora sighed. “Barty you know I love you,” She started. Barty tried to speak, but Pandora cut him off. “But not like that. And you don’t love me like that either.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Barty grumbled.

Pandora smiled slightly. “You like Evan, don’t you?”

Barty’s face hardened. “Don’t say shit like that.”

Pandora cocked her head to the side. “Barty, you’re defensive because you know it’s true.”

“Men can’t date men, Pandora.” Barty hissed.

“Sure they can.”

“No the fuck they can’t. I’m not- i’m not like that,” Barty hastily spit out.

Pandora patted his knee. “Barty, you know what i’m saying is true. Please just think about it,” And she left.

Barty did think about it. He thought about it hard. He raced out of his dorm room, down to the dungeons, and into Evan’s dorms.

“Barty? What the fuck?” Evan sat up from where he was resting on his bed.

“Ev,” He huffed, out of breath.

“Mate, what are you doing here?” Evan sighed. “It’s late,”

Barty was shaking as he said, “Can we talk?”

Evan furrowed his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I like you.”

“What the ever loving fuck are you talking about?” Evan scoffed. “Don’t fuck around like that Barty. My sister loves you. You love her.”

Barty shook his head, “Not like that. Not like I love you, Ev.”

Evan laughed without humor. “I’d hope not. Considering you’re dating her and not me.”

“Jesus fuck,” Barty hissed before storming over to Evan. Barty grabbed his face and smashed his lips onto Evans.

Evan pushed him off. “What the hell, Barty. You’re dating my sister,”

“No i’m not!” Barty exclaimed. “We broke it off because i’m in love with you! Please don’t make this harder for me,”

“Harder for you? How is this hard for you?” Evan hissed.

“God just- just fucking kiss me!” Barty huffed.

Evan hesitated before taking his shirt and bringing Barty closer. “If I found out you’re lying, I will fucking have your head on a platter,” Evan said through his teeth before kissing him.

Evan hadn’t believed this was happening. The man he has been in love with since second year is dating his twin sister. His life sucks, man.

He would watch their dates, and watch Barty grin at him, wanting to throw up.

He would watch Barty bring Pandora flowers, wishing it was him. It was no secret that he was in love with Barty.

And now Barty was in his arms, and he couldn’t be happier.

[ienjoywritingfilth]

Love me More

Wow you guys really liked the M.A. story and it made me feel so good that I finished this filthy little tale in record time. thanks for reblogging and commenting i'm still trying to get the hang of everything here. - IEWF

pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!reader

trope: Mom's Boyfriend! Javier Pena

summary: After some great news you're in the best mood when your Mom's boyfriend Javier comes over. What's the harm in a little fun with him while she's not there?

warnings: age gap (not specified), sexual tension, forbidden rel, absolutely filthy talk, daddy mentioned, other shit but I've probs forgotten.

word count: 2.5k

rating 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

The email comes through while you’re in the living room, watching television. A bleep on your phone as you swipe up, opening gmail.

Congratulations, we’d like to offer you the position of-

You don’t read further, you just jump off the couch and pump your fist in the air.

“FUCK YEA!”

The promotion came through on your job which means starting next month you'll officially have enough to move out of your alcoholic mom's shitty apartment. She's one of those talented ones that still has a job, is still likeable, but can't get through her evening without a tallboy or seven. 

A knock sounds at the door while you compose the text to your friends quickly, nearly vibrating with excitement. You’re so close to what you’ve always wanted. A knock sounds at the door as

you rack your mind trying to think of all the people that could be stopping by.

You creep towards the door, peering into the peephole to see a tired looking Javier Peña smoking and standing there. 

Javier is your mom's new boyfriend and drinking buddy. He just moved into the apartment next door and your mother wasted no time getting to know him. She's always had a thing for inscrutable men. 

You're perfectly cordial to the parade of men that come through the front door of you home, and have since your father left for Punta Cana with his secretary five years ago. 

Javier is perfectly nice; he's just one of many in a long line of your mother's bed partners. You don't get too attached. 

"Hi Javier," you offer, opening the door a little wider. "What's up?" 

"Came by to see your mama," Javier says glancing at his watch. "She said she'd be home by now."

Normally you'd tell him he was mistaken so he'll fuck off. But after the great day you had you're in an impossibly good mood. You step back to open the door with a polite smile. 

"Sometimes she works overtime," you explain. "She should be home soon though. You wanna come in and wait?"

Javier debates this and then finally nods, flicking his cigarette off into the night before moving inside. He follows after you. You swan through the room, picking up your pizza plate and glancing at him over your shoulder. 

"Want a beer?"

"Sure."

You're giddy with everything that happened today. Excited with the thought of moving somewhere new, somewhere bright and fresh. This puts you in high spirits as you grab you both a bottle of Corona and head back. 

Javier takes a place on the couch, watching what you'd been enjoying in the background. 

"You watch black and white movies?"

"Sometimes," you shrug when you come back with two sweating beer bottles. You hand him his and take a seat next to him on the couch. 

The couch isn't huge so your thighs are touching his as you take a sip from your beer bottle. He doesn't move away, doesn't move closer, just sits there politely staring ahead. 

"Never seen this movie," Javier comments, clearing his throat. "S'that Joan Crawford?"

"Yep. It's called Mildred Pierce. It's an old classic film noir," you offer, fingers itching to grab the remote.

You watch Javier's lean throat bobs as he drinks his beer. You take a slow sip of yours, never crazy about the taste, only the buzz it brings. Unlike your mom you’re done after two beers.

"I think I saw the Kate Winslet one," he offers. "Remake I guess."

"Mhm." 

You see his dark gaze flicks to you out the corner of his eyes, sliding over your bare legs before jerking back to the television. When you shift and he does it a second time you realize he's checking you out. 

You should be repulsed or even horrified. But instead you're amused, even tingly at the prospect that this man finds you attractive. He's certainly easy on the eyes in his short sleeve button down and pouty mouth. Is he mewing? A quick glance tells you his jeans are tight and that even flaccid his cock is big. 

You have no desire to seduce your mother's boyfriend. The thought is reprehensible, but the flattery of being found desirable by an older, attractive man is a heady drug. 

You stretch yourself out, raising your arms above your head and giving a dramatic groan. A sliver of your belly shows and you see through your hair as Javier takes another peek at your body before shuffling slightly. 

"You, uh, like old movies?" 

"I've always had a love of older things," you purr. 

Javier is silent at that, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. You can sense that he's uncomfortable and it amuses you greatly. 

Are he and your mom an established couple? Is this serious? You have noticed him around lately but that's your mother's way of things. Burn through them fast. Besides you're not going to be here in a month. 

What's the harm in a little fun? 

You hide a smirk and rise up. With a measured agility you lean towards the coffee table, gripping his knee to help propel you forward. You reach with your other hand to grab the remote. You feel when your shorts ride up, exposing most of your ass. You sense Javier's eyes on you and you make sure to arch, letting him get a good long view, squeezing his knee when you lean back against the cushion. You notice his cheeks are pink. 

This is too fun. 

"I always thought it was so sexy," you explain patiently, raising the remote to turn up the volume. 

"If I recall it doesn't end very sexy for them," Javier swallows. He's refusing to look in your direction. 

"Yeah but the buildup is the best part," you murmur. "All that sexual tension, knowing you wanna fuck but knowing it's so wrong?"

You see the moment the words hit him because Javier goes as still as a statue. He's barely breathing, not moving a fraction and you wonder if he's trying to focus on not getting hard. 

You hold back a giggle at the thought and lean towards him, your mouth drawing near to his ear. 

"You ever wanted to fuck someone knowing its wrong, Javi?"

Javier says nothing, but you don't miss the dart of his eyes to your chest and then back to the television. Your hand goes to his thigh, fingertips inching upwards. Javier's eyes immediately fly to your fingers and their lazy ascent up his thigh. You bite your lower lip to keep the grin from bleeding over your face. You're not going any further than this; you've had your fun. 

You pull your hand from his leg, placing it in your lap. Javier lifts his eyes up the length of your body before locking his gaze with yours. He raises a hand to the back of the couch, nostrils flaring.

Shit.

Can he smell your arousal? Can he hear the sudden tick of your pulse? Can he sense the shift that just occurred?

He licks his lower lip slowly, his large eyes glued to your mouth. Your lips part as your breathing deepens.

Fuck has he always been this sexy?

Javier’s eyes are black with arousal, shining with lust and you feel your core tighten at how he’s staring at you; like he’s an animal waiting to devour prey. You shouldn’t be turned on by that. You shouldn’t want him to close the distance between your bodies.

Tension crackles in the air and the scent of his aftershave wafts in the air around you. It’s spicy and sweet and mingles with the scent of cigarette smoke. You can physically feel your arousal soaking your panties.

“Javier---“

He doesn’t look like he heard you; he’s too intent on staring at your mouth, deaf to everything else. If he’s anything like you, the blood is rushing in his ears.  You squirm. Javier begins to slide towards you on the couch, his body moving with a feline grace.

The both of you hear the key hit the apartment lock at the same time. Javier jerks back from you just in time for the door to swing open and your mother to come blowing in. 

"I'm home!" 

Your mother's voice breaks into the room and you see Javier's face break into a guilty looking smile. 

"Hey gorgeous." 

"I'm so sorry I'm late Javi!" Your mother pouts, coming to throw herself into his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss as you hold in a gag. 

"I hope my daughter was hospitable to you while I was gone." 

She gives a wink in your direction that you return with a polite smile. Javier grips your mom around the middle, holding her there in his lap and refusing to look in your direction. 

"Yep," he nods. "Very. Got me a beer and everything." 

"That's my girl," your mom says with a proud smile. 

You're about to reply when you think of the text you haven't sent. Of your promotion. Your game with Javier is done. You press a kiss to your mom's temple and bid them both a goodnight before heading to your bedroom with your Corona.

You pull on your pyjamas, tired from the day. It's warm tonight, so a light tank and sleep shorts will have to do. You pull out your phone, sending off a few texts to your friends to tell them about the good news.

We gotta go out to celebrate sluuuuutttt

You smile at the message from your oldest friend Harper. The one who loves to party more than anyone you know.

There's a knock on your bedroom door an hour or so later and you open it, surprised to see Javier standing there looking nervous. He scans your body clocking the short shorts and the way your nipples peek through your shirt. 

"Your mom's just in the shower," Javier tells you quietly, taking a step back. "Then we're going out to dinner." 

You can hear the shower running down at the end of the hall.

"Mhm," you nod, distracted by your phone on the bed that just beeped. 

"You eat yet?"

"Nah, didn't feel hungry," you offer. "Where you guys going?"

"Dunno. Maybe that Mexican place down the street." 

The two of you lapse into uncomfortable silence, you balancing on one foot as you watch him avoid your eyes. You bite back amusement when his dark eyes dart to your chest and then back to the floor.  

"You want us to bring you anything back?"

There's a sweetness in him asking if you want anything. Something that almost feels paternal. But the way he keeps sneaking looks at your tits is anything but. 

The shower is still going and emboldened by the buzz from your beer you take a step towards Javier in the hallway. He stands watching you, chest rising shallowly as you press your front to his, standing on your tiptoes. 

"You don't have to take care of me," you purr at his ear. "'I don't need you to be my daddy." 

You feel rather than hear the shudder that goes through him at the term and you hold in a laugh. You hand finds his bicep, squeezing there and you ensure your voice is a seductive whisper when you speak next. 

"Unless, you wanna be my daddy, Javi. Is that it? Or do you just want me to call you daddy?" 

He swallows and you step back, biting your lower lip. Javier looks like he's run a marathon. Pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted, neck growing damp with sweat. The shower squeaks off and like a whistle he seems to come back to himself.  Javier steps back as you move backwards into your bedroom. 

"Have a good dinner," you tell him with a wink. 

And before he can say anything you've stepped back, closing the door gently in his face. 

You muffle your laughter with your pillow, listening to hear Javier standing outside your room a moment longer before his footsteps recede into the other bedroom.

You hear he and your mother chatting, mumbles through the thin walls and you bring up your phone to see what the alert was.

There’s this guy here at the club u neeed to fuck. He’s so criminally fine.

Attached is a photo of the most aggressively mid man you’ve ever seen. Just Harper being Harper.

It’s Tuesday Harper.

So what? Fucking doesn’t happen during the week?

Not for me. My job just got harder remember!?

You can almost see your friend rolling her eyes.

Have fun being a boring ass nun. c u on the weekend. Imma get you shitfaced n help you celebrate your promotion properly.

You write back something sarcastic before you give a yawn and crawl under your covers. You set the alarm on your phone before you start the classic evening tradition of wasting good sleeping time on tiktok. You scroll on your feed for a bit, feeling your eyelids grow heavy when a noise draws your attention. 

It takes you a moment before you realize it's the clack of your mother's metal bed frame hitting the wall across the hall.  

"Fuck yes, Javi!"

Classic Mom shit. Whenever she drinks she's loud and hyper sexual. But you thought they were going for dinner? You hear your mother cooing his name again, her begging in a pathetic whine that grates your nerves. You reach for your headphones when something stops you. 

"Fucking tease." 

You think you've misheard because instead of your mother's theatrical moans you hear his rasping baritone. Punched out groans at first, slowly building with every thrust. 

"Fucking tease acting like that."

You think you're imagining it at first. He's never been vocal before - only grunting and moaning. He's never spoken like this in the bedroom and that alone has you fascinated. 

"Take it, yeah, take it you fucking slut."

And in between these rasped epithets you hear your mother's groans, her encouragement and then her gentle begs for him to go harder.

"You're messing with the wrong man you little whore," he huffs, his hips slapping against her ass. "Think you can fuck with me and get away with it?"

Your mother's moans are muffled, likely because her face is smooshed in her pillow. He's undoubtedly fucking her from behind, facing the wall, facing your bedroom. 

"You're gonna pay for it."

And then as the groan of the mattress and the creak of the bed frame hit a fever pitch you hear Javier, his voice a tight hiss. 

"Daddy's gonna wreck that tight little cunt. Gonna fuck you so full of my cum you cry for me to stop. Gonna show you w-"

The thought remains forever unfinished because you hear the telltale groan of completion, your mother's high pitched whinnies, the noisy concert of smacks and wet plunging and then finally silence. 

You know that wasn't for your mother's benefit. He wasn't saying it about her. He was saying it about you. 

The thought has your pussy pounding. You thrust your hand down you panties only to find you're so wet you can barely believe it. 

It's only seconds before you bring yourself off to the filth Javier just spewed before trembling violently under the covers. Images of his mouth on your cunt and his cock fucking into you have you shuddering as another orgasm overtakes the first, leaving you wrung out and panting as you realize: you are so fucked.

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

I want you, I love you (SimonxF!reader)

Here’s one for @glitterypirateduck’s challenge for our big boy Simon! I used 7.”Accidental confession” and 25.”Ghost and reader have to dress up for an event”.

Warning: Language.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t want to go. He hated going to Galas or really any event where money and politics were being discussed, the big spenders and supporters of the military with their almost carbon copy wives. He hated having to pretend that he cared about what the old men were talking to him about, asking always how many men he’s killed for “the greater good”. Ignoring their salacious wives’ advances to simply walk off to the bar or track down Johnny.

That was before you though. You, who somehow wormed your way into his head and his heart, long since thought cold and dead.

You’d been with the team for 2 years now, seamlessly integrating yourself into their everyday. Formed a fast friendship with Gaz and Johnny, looked to Price for guidance, and never shied away from talking to Ghost himself like you’d known him for ages.

He approved of your snarky attitude and the way you operated on the field, watching his back (and saving his ass a couple times), being able to hold your own in a fight. He still goes back to the day he watched you take down Price, a man twice your size and weight, he’d never been hotter under the collar.

Now as he gazes blankly into the abyss thinking of you, ignoring the droning of the old man and his idiotically annoying wife, he catches sight of deep, sparkling blue fabric. His eyes trailed the fabric up to strings of black pearls clinging to curvy, plush hips. Up higher to more pearls hanging and clinging to a soft stomach and ample breasts, shoulders bare save for a black fur coat.

A low whistle came from his left, Johnny showing up from the corner of his eye. ”Well, never thought I’d see the day we got to see Bonnie all dressed up.” “Don’t even think about it Mactavish.” Johnny chuckled, “Aye not looking to die tonight L.T. Would nae make a move on your woman.”

”Oh are we giving Simon shit about his crush?” “Fuck off Garrick.” Gaz chuckled and patted Simon’s shoulder, “Aw Simon, give it a rest. You’ve been drooling over the bloody woman for the whole 2 years she’s been with us.” Simon looked down before following your figure again, glaring at any man that even dared to approach you, let alone try to flirt with you. You were popular among the male recruits unfortunately.

”Are ye gonna tell ‘er?” “No. Best not to.” The three men shook their heads and rolled their eyes, “Simon, I’m gonna give it to you straight.” “I expect nothing less.” “Stop being a bloody fucking muppet and go talk to that poor woman before you actually lose her to a worse muppet.” He turned to stare at Price in disbelief.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Migraine?” He looked up to find you holding out a glass of bourbon to him as you take a sip of your own and sit. He gladly takes the glass, moving his mask to take a sip. “Always luv. Never stops when you’re around idiots all day.” You laughed and shook your head, “Aw Johnny’s not that bad L.T.” “Not talkin ‘bout Johnny sweetheart.” “Mmm, the recruits giving you a hard time?” “Bloody infants. Every single one of ‘em.”

His heart sang with joy at the sound of your full laugh,  he tried his hardest not to stare but he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful. “Hahaha tell me about it. They complain so much about literally everything. Gets annoying havin to hear it day in and day out.” He nods in agreement. The silence stretched on for a bit as you both took sips of your drinks. “Care to dance? You’re the only one I haven’t danced with yet.”

”Don’t dance luv.” “Can’t be any worse than Johnny. He tried to dip me and I almost fell.” Simon chuckled at the image of Johnny doing just that, the image making him grin under the mask. “We don’t have to. Just wanted to dance with someone that didn’t wanna stare at my chest or comment on my body.” “Shameless pigs. You deserve a proper dance then.” He watches you excitedly put your drink down and link your arm with him.

It was then he got a whiff of your perfume, light and delicious with a touch of cinnamon and vanilla. Your arm and hands were warm wrapped around his arm and he puffed up when you subconsciously groped his bicep and laid your head on it.

The two of you danced for a few songs, you leading him slowly. As the last song ended he found your face flushed and hair a bit disheveled. Eyes bright and lovely, smile radiant against your glowing skin. “You’re so beautiful luv. I want you.” ‘Fuck’. Your eyes widened as you looked up into his. “W-what?” Simon sighs, he’s done it now.

”I want you, lovie. I want your body, your smiles, your laughter. Want all your love for myself everyday. I love you.” He watched your face, anxiously waiting for your answer. A smile spread across your features and you giggled, “Took you long enough Simon.” “That mean I can kiss you now?” You nodded, smile wide as he lifted his mask slightly, arm sliding around your waist, a hand at the back of your head.

The kiss was passionate, all consuming, and delicious. Ghost never wanted to part from your lips, but the look of love shining in your eyes made him happy he did. “Wanna get out of here?” “Fuck yes. Tired of these pompous assholes.” Somewhere close by Gaz, Price, and Johnny look on, happy for Simon.

[ellecdc]

hear me out - a remus fic but set in come back be here, like maybe a muggle and remus is instantly smitten but has no idea how to navigate but everyone is pushing for him to actually go for it and it’s just chaos but in the best way possible… regardless come back be here was AMAZING

CBBH Remus x muggle!barista gn!reader

(Pretend they have phones for this okay? Thank you lol)

CW: just fluff, swearing, self deprecation, making a fool of oneself - you know, the remus lupin special

Remus would describe himself as many things.

He was a wizard. He was a werewolf. He was a business owner. He was an uncle. He was a friend. He was a war hero.

He was also, apparently, a coward.

He knows this to be true because he’s sat in the same spot that he’s been haunting all week – a chair in the far back corner of the café – pretending to look over ledgers in his notebook while he actually watches you work.

It’s fucking pathetic, is what it was.

He watched as you smiled politely at every customer in line – even the ones who weren’t as polite to you as Remus thought they ought to be.

He felt silly, really, watching you like a creep. He shouldn’t be here to begin with. He had stumbled upon this café completely by accident two weeks ago whilst in the city to pick up more muggle literature to add to his bookstore on Diagon Alley.

It was here he saw you, as if you were a siren calling him to this sodding caffeinated inlet to damn him to hell.

What a willing victim he was. 

But he shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t get caught up with you. It was unthinkable. Most witches and wizards would have a hard time coming to terms with someone like, well, someone like him. 

He was a burden. A risk.

It was selfish to think he could entertain the thought of you.

Suddenly, as if she’d known he was talking poorly of himself, his phone buzzed.

Remus tried to steal himself as he took a deep breath. 

Right Lupin, you’ve done scarier things before. He thought to himself. You’ve run with wolves, you’ve gone undercover into enemy bases, you’ve deceived the dark lord right in front of his slimy fucking face, and you’ve even told Sirius once you thought his hair looked weird. By all means, you can talk to a barista.

Except...well...he really kind of couldn’t talk to a barista. He had made it all the way to the counter, even smiled politely at you as he stepped up to the cash register and...

And then words left him. Failed him. Completely abandoned him. He even thinks there may be a little stickie note in his brain that says ‘resignation effective immediately’ where words should be because he’s staring right at you with your gorgeous eyes and lovely hair and perfect features and for fuck sakes why isn’t he saying anything!?!?!

“Is there something I can get for you?” You asked so sweetly like this bloke wasn’t standing with his mouth agape at your cash register making a sure and utter fool of himself; like you had all the time in the world for the poor bastard.

“Uhm, uh...” He tried finally as if only now realizing he had functioning vocal chords. 

“Uhm, fuck, I’m so sorry uhm...”

You chuckled at him. Holy shit you chuckled at him. It was the most beautiful sound Remus thinks he may have ever heard. He hoped you’d do it again, though, at the rate he’s going it was really very likely. 

“I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not usually like this. Uh,” He apologized awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but I think you’re lovely and would, uh, like to get to know you. You don’t have to say anything now!” He interrupted as you began to interject. “In fact, for my pride's sake, I’d prefer if you didn’t. But I’d like to leave my number here for you, in case you’d like to text me some time.” 

He offered you the kindest smile he could muster as you took the now crumpled and sort-of-damp-from-his-sweaty-palms note in your hand with a smile of your own.

Now, Remus wouldn’t say he ran out of the café, per se. He would describe it as more of a jaunt, or perhaps a brisk walk. But he did nearly take out a woman with a pram as he all but flung the door open in his haste to get away. 

You stupid ridiculous bastard. He scolded himself as he made his way to the closest apparition point. If Sirius could see you know, you’d never hear the end of it.

His phone buzzed and Remus nearly dropped it in his haste thinking it might be Sirius having somehow actually seen what just took place.

Then he nearly dropped it again as he saw a new text from an unknown number.

Perhaps Remus wasn’t such a coward after all.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need. 

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-” 

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers. 

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

[ghost-proofbaby]

EDDIE MUNSON - OURS

😭😭😭

ours (eddie’s version)

warnings: none. just tooth-rotting fluff &lt;3

wc: 1.4k+

a/n: i got a little carried away. but i wish i had an eddie munson to go home to each night and just kiss and cuddle goddamn it

“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”

“He’s… interesting.”

“I guess when you said you had a boyfriend, I never envisioned someone like him.”

“You two are such… opposites! I mean- no! No, not a… bad thing, I suppose. Just… interesting.”

You were growing tired of it. You know people didn’t mean for their incessant questions or comments to get under your skin so badly, but they did. Any time someone at your new job caught sight of your phone’s lock screen – a joyous selfie of you and a sunburnt Eddie at the lake – or your work computer’s screen saver – a photo taken at dusk of Eddie on your couch, strumming on his guitar completely unaware – they had something to say. Something to point out. Whether it be the way you two didn’t seem to fit in their minds, or how rough around the edges he seemed to be. Some coworkers even pressed on how long you two had been together, pulling out the marriage card at a completely inappropriate time. One coworker had even made a snide remark on his long hair, saying “oh, I thought that was a girl! What a relief!”. It just…. It dug beneath your skin every time without fail, making you uncomfortable and irritated all in the same breath. 

You don’t understand why they cared so much. It wasn’t their relationship – they didn’t know you. You’d only started the job a few months prior. They could eat shit, for all you care.

Today had been a bad day. Maurice, one of the elderly women who worked at the front reception desk, had just been awful. She was always talking of you going on a date with her grandson, each time conveniently forgetting that you were already happily in a relationship, but today she’d crossed a line. She’d had her grandson physically come into the office at lunch time, and caught you just as you were on your way out the door to try and pick up something to hold you over until five o’clock would finally arrive. 

The one day you didn’t pack your own lunch. Go figure. 

“Oh! Dear! Over here!” she called  to you as you tried to scurry past her desk. You had held out the hope that the young man standing beside her would have occupied her, but no. No such luck for you on this wicked Thursday.

You took a deep breath before you turned slowly, forcing a polite smile as you faced the elderly woman, “What can I do for you, Maurice?”

“This is my grandson!” she animatedly motioned to the blonde boy at her side, and as he looked up, your stomach dropped, “Jason! The one I was telling you about!” 

Jason fucking Carver.

“Oh,” you tried to keep kind in your tone, but you were already feeling hatred prickle at the back of your neck. You knew all about Jason — he’d made Eddie’s life living Hell too many times to count. He was nothing like the angel Maurice had tried to paint, “I… It’s nice to meet you, Jason, but I really should get going. I’m on my lunch.” 

Jason didn’t take the social cue, stepping forward and stretching out his hand towards you, “Pleasure to finally meet the beautiful coworker my grandmother has been going on and on about. Words really didn’t do you justice.”

Gag. “You’re too kind. I do hope she also mentioned I’m already spoken for.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, glancing at Maurice for a second. “You’re taken?” 

You opened your mouth to say, yes, I am happily taken, but Maurice was already waving her hands about as if that fact of the matter was nothing more than trivial smoke. “Technicalities. She has a fling with that Munson boy-“

“It’s not a fling,” you stressed, your patience meeting its end, “We’ve been together for years. We live together. I’m really sorry, Jacob,” you purposefully say the wrong name as you turn to Jason, exasperated and not sorry in the slightest, “But I’m not interested. I’ll see you after lunch, Maurice.” 

You think you heard Jason call out a correction of his name from behind you, but you paid him no mind. Fuck him.

You ended up taking a longer lunch, not even caring for the consequences just so you could sit in your car and call Eddie. You described each person who walked into the building that you caught sight of, completely forgetting to scavenge a snack, too wrapped up in giggling at every ridiculous joke or story he makes up for the strangers.

He made it feel better. Maurice and Jason and everyone’s incessant comments forgotten. Their judgments never took this into consideration — this tranquility and Eddie’s ability to make you laugh until your ribs ached. They never considered the love that carried you home each night.

Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

You practically speed the entire way home, forgetting to watch for any police cars half the time. Your poor front door cries out on its hinges as you barrel through it with only one thing on your mind: Eddie.

“Hey baby-“ Eddie tries to greet you, but he hardly has the time to set his guitar to the side before you’re falling into his lap where he sits on the couch. “Oof, bad day?” 

Your thighs bracket his hips and your nose is already nuzzling into his neck, his soft laughter shaking his shoulders slightly as your arms wind themselves around him to the best of your abilities. He returns the favor without hesitation; arms hold you close to his chest and you can feel his nose dip to graze along your temple.

“The absolute worst,” your voice is muffled by his neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind, so you continue, “I swear to God, if I had know this office was full of such judgmental assholes I would have never-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he pulls you back slightly, bringing his hands up to hold both cheeks between his palms as his thumb trails softly against your cheek bone, “Are they being mean to you? Because if they are, just say the word – I’m not afraid to kick a couple of grandmas’ asses.” 

You laugh, sniffling a bit, still on the verge of tears out of relief of being home with him finally, “No, no. You don’t need to go and kick any elderly ass – today.” 

“What about tomorrow?” 

You pretend to think about it as you finally slide off his lap, sitting to his side as your legs remain draped on his lap. He’s quick to reach down and let his calloused fingertips graze a trail down your thigh, ending at your ankle before he wraps them around it and squeezes softly, “Hmm, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Yeah?” he questions, leaning his face down to your shoulder, peppering kisses there, eyes still attempting to glance up at you in adoration through thick lashes, “So not a no. Got it. I’ll have my boxing gloves at the ready.” 

You both laugh as Eddie continues his short assault of kisses. 

Your coworkers can say whatever they want. They can judge the two of you based on short snapshots all they please – they can’t take this from you. Not as his lips brush your collarbones, not as his palms massage your calves, and certainly not as he murmurs soft declarations of how much he missed you all day against your skin. 

“Say, you wanna play a song for me on that guitar, rockstar?” you say as you thread your fingers through his curls, noting the way they’re extra soft, as if he’d done a hair mask like you always pestered him to. 

He lifts his head and leans back casually against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded as he smiles at you like you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand, “Maybe later. Right now, I just wanna spend some time with my baby.” 

“Oh, I see,” you snort, “You’re gonna break out sweetheart instead? No more dragon-slaying for today?” you joke, referencing his nicknames for his two guitars. 

He only shakes his head and rolls his eyes at you, surging forward and capturing your lips against his, teeth clashing a bit due to both of your wild grins. He has you falling backwards into the couch cushions in an instant and lets his weight settle between your thighs, enveloping you in smells of home. Just him, just you, just the love that you two have gardened here. No opinions of others ever needed.

“Shut up. I love you.” 

“and it’s not theirs to speculate if it’s wrong. and your hand’s a tough but they are where mine belong.”

[queenofallimagines]

Satan if you were a satanist before you arrived in the devildom

A/n: listennnn in between getting dragged by the Lucifer chat bots, writing two really long fics and having brain worms about this Au I’ve had so many thoughts and Satan has landed in my radar☺️ asmo and Simon are NEXT bc guardian angels are a whole DIFFERENT can of worms

I’m gunna use like ACTUAL satanic lore mixed in w the game lore

Satan:

- okay so boom

- Right off the bat he can tell you are different

- Sitting back waiting to see how you react to everyone

- Takes note you’re much more respectful to him than the rest

- Thought you were walking on eggshells because you were terrified of him but you ain’t scared at all

- You see through all his pranks

- “He’ll probably see that coming a mile away. Try moving it over here Lucifer don’t check there.”

- Color him impressed

- Does see you don’t really freak out like his brothers when he goes into one of his little rage fits

- When he offered to make the pact with you to piss Lucifer off you were really caught at a pass

- Like for one you technically already have a soft pact with him being a devotee

- But also you don’t want to disrespect him by saying no

- Choosing to not get on Lucifer’s bad side because you still do have a mission to do in that attic, soyou politely decline

- “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to make a pact with you that isn’t built on a mutual trust and understanding”

- He’s always told you to sniff out a trap and you were NOT falling for it

- Blinded by rage for not getting his way, that’s when he lashes out

- He feels something weird in his chest when he looks at you in that moment but he can’t quite understand it. Like a tugging feeling at the back of his head trying to tell him something

- When you get caught I. The middle of the whole “they’re the same person thing” you just roll your eyes

- “No shit they’re not the same person🙄😒 Satan and Lucifer couldn’t be more different, Lucifer is the morning star and Satan is more tricker than anything :/ crazy how yall don’t do research”

- Ngl he almost fell for you right then and there

- He cannot STAND that especially when humans call anything and everything Satan and refer to him and Lucifer like they’re the same person.

- Looks at you with star eyes for a second before sticking to you like glue. He’s very fascinated with you and wants to study you under a microscope

- Ask you if you’re like Solomon and have been studying for years

- Did you manage to get your hands on some devildom textbook somehow?

- Maybe even some texts form the celestial realm

- “Not really but that would be super cool to read.”

- He himself hates misinformation so you be correcting all the demon brothers with the quickness

- Lucifer is very annoyed and Satan is elated

- Notices you looking at him a lot, like you’re analyzing him

- Ofc he’s blunt and isn’t gunna beat around the bush he asks you what you’re doing starring at him like that

- “It’s really nice to see what you actually look like… if you’re shape shifting all the time and this is the form you stay in full time it’s… nice to see you face to face”

- Confused for a second because he doesn’t often make trips directly to the human world even for a summoning

- “Well I mean, in the human world we don’t actually know what you look like. The only book that has a description of what you looked like and are has the pages mysteriously ripped out and have never been found. I assume that was your doing?”

- Shocked pikachu bc he fr forgot he did that in his younger years

- His mischievous tendencies have been delegated directly to Lucifer, he understands the value of books now

- “Ah,,, I do recall doing that. It would make sense why you’re starring at me so hard.”

- Blushes when you call him a pretty boy

- Like he’s in his room kicking his feet giggling

- You bring him his offerings directly

- He won’t even realize you’re doing deity work with him and is just excited to spend time with you

- Whenever you come back home from class or whatever you give him little things you got in your way back or snacks he likes

- Nobody has ever seen satan smile this much

- Lucifer peeps when it’s your turn to cook dinner you just so happen to favor foods Satan likes and uses ingredients he does to cook too

- Will be very suspicious of you mirroring his behavior

- Satan is none the wiser truly he’s assure at familiar feeling is like some star crossed lovers stuff and you were meant to meet by fates hands

- Has so many cute cat themed things in his room from you

- Lucifer is not liking how you seem to be trying to gain his trust for your own reasons but he can’t sense anything malicious.

- He can’t pinpoint any alternate motive for this behavior

- Satan will not notice until someone points it out to him

- Lucy straight up asks you why you’re getting so friendly with him

- Mammon also chimes in that you seem like you’re sucking up to him, and Satan feels conflicted be he doesn’t like how they’re accusing you but also the fact that you might be just being nice to him because you want something is setting his nerves on fire

- Rolling your eyes you shoot back at Lucifer that you’re just worshiping Satan like you usually do

- The old man is takes aback and Satan is like…. I beg your pardon?😀

- “Satan has been my patron for years now, the only thing that’s different is that I can give him my offerings and ask him for help directly”

- Mammon is chewing the carpet he’s supposed to be your first man!

- Satan is flabbergasted and is searching his memory for this information

- Before he remembers

- “How did I not notice??”

- “I thought you knew??”

- “NO???”

- Dinner is wild bc now asmo asking for embarrassing memories of you

- Rip bc Satan gon tell it ALL😭

- I feel like he’d be the type to keep a log so he might not remember every single face and name because he does fuck with some people who summon him

- Grabs your notebook from his room and starts reciting shit BAR FOR BAR

- “Oh yeah i remember this! You were quite a rowdy child picking fights with everyone. Your temper was awful”

- “YOU DO NOT GET TO FUCKING SAY THAY TO ME!!”

- laughing because he’s taking a stroll down memory lane and he’s dragging you along

- Can feel your anger a mile away, he’s in your ear now more than EVER going “don’t you want to go apeshit?”

- Constantly encouraging you to loose your temper on Lucifer

- He feeds off your rage and it feels almost euphoric to him, because he’s an instigator if anything😭

- “Where the fuck is your rage?? Lucifer was definitely disrespecting you👀👀”

- Exhausting

- Lucifer will get on him about having you up for hours on end reading and studying when you need to sleep

- You will NOT fail any class not on his fucking watch! He’s gunna make sure you excel in this exchange program academically

- Even if he’s not who you ask for things he’s helping you

- “Do NOT as belphie for help with dream interpretation I’ll help you!!”

- Very proud to show you off

- “Y’all see MY human?”

- Mammon is trying not to start problems on purpose

- He will probably bend you over Lucifer’s desk bestie it’s inevitable

- If you’re intimate before he knows he’s really gentle and makes sure to take his time with you

- If it’s after he will be rough and mean

- He definitely cares about you and loves you but he will pretend he’s using you as a toy

- As if he’s your god and you’re nothing but a lowly mortal designed to be used and filled up by him

- Choking you out and breeding you for hours on end

- Will be so incredibly gentle with aftercare it’s almost like he’s a different person

- “Look at you drooling and can’t even keep your eyes focused. Pathetic. You’re too stupid to think of anything other than how I’m ruining you”

- Makes you struggle to walk every time

- Gets carried away and marks you everywhere like diavolo asking you why there’s a hickey on your ankle😭

- Almost buys you a collar if Lucifer didn’t stop him

- Wants you to know you belong to him and you’re his little follower

- Tells you how good you are for him and gives you a nice reward

- “You’re so good for me, so eager to please and make me happy. My human deserves a reward hm?”

- Cocky asf for no reason PLEASE humble his ass!!

- Gets off on it when you pin him down and call him pathetic

- “The great avatar of wrath Satan himself bouncing on my lap like a whore desperate to get off.”

- He’s literally turning to mush for you

- Whimpering and looking at you with teary eyes

- “P-please I need to cum I’ll do anything”

- Bites back a moan when you coo at him that he’s so pathetic needing a mortal to get off

- He can feel how mean you are and your anger through your pact and it’s making his body buzz with excitement

- Panting and wiggling his hips he’s begging you to fill him up

- Call him a good kitty and he probably won’t be able to last

- Likes when you punish him like best his ass fr leave bruises make his ass bright red!!

- He’s really just attached to you and will cause a big issue when you have to leave the devildom at the end of the year😅

[icallhimjoey]

AAHH my favorite bitch back at it again! This will be a 5 chapter fic, correct? Because we best make him the FILTHIEST of martinis that makes him drop to his knees and kiss the floor we spill drinks on walk on. He better recognize we are more than just cute 😤😤😤

well, best we can do is TRY, isn't it? And that is, if Martin will let us... Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Surprise, surprise. Look who's back again. For the, what, fifth time this week, is it?”

“That’s... that’s no way to speak to a customer.”

You let your mouth smile so hard, it made your sarcastic eyes disappear entirely.

“What can I get you?”

“Oh, that’s all right, I think...” Joe started, and Martin reached to place a drink down on the bar where Joe would usually sit. Joe pointed at it for you to see, like you were dumb to even suggest you had to take his order. “I’ve already got one waiting. But thank you. Next time.”

Disrespectful idiot.

You didn’t like Joe.

You did. You liked Joe a lot. But you didn't like him, you know?

It had been a few weeks of this now, and the comments had become more and more biting. Always said with smiles – ones that didn’t reach your eyes, nor his. Never mean or actually bitter, but there was definitely a “you suck at this job you stupid cow” vibe coming from him, and a “you come here too often you sad sack of shit” vibe coming from you.

It made Martin bite away sly smirks and swallow his obvious laughter when he witnessed you interact with each other.

You just didn’t like how Joe seemed to act like he was above you in this bar, even though he didn’t even work there. Only vaguely knew the manager. Came in a couple nights a week, mostly by himself because he didn’t have any friends.

You didn’t know if that was true, but who the fuck spends hours in a bar by himself if they have actual friends to hang out with, you know? Man was a loner. A real loser.

Shame he looked so good. And shame that it always made your heart beat faster when you saw him walk in every couple of days. You’d tell it, fucking knock it off with the palpitations, I don’t have time for this shit, he called us inadequate, you stupid bitch.

Cute too, sure. He had called you cute as well. It was why he made you blush just by looking at you.

But he’d wished Martin good luck with that one and he obviously had meant you. So you didn’t like Joe. Even though you did. And even though he’d been right.

Because Martin really did need good luck with this one, you thought, mentally pointing a fat thumb at yourself. Martin hadn’t called you inadequate to your face, yet, but… the message was clear.

No one else got told to just go sit and to closely watch what he did. See how he made drinks. Learn from what you could observe. 

Martin had said it all politely, but had grabbed onto you by the shoulders and steered you around the bar without any hesitation. Gestured at the barstools there and… you were a little dumbfounded at first. 

“Just... so I just sit…? And watch?”  

“It’s a little too busy to have so many bodies behind the bar.” 

You were in everyone’s way a lot, is what he meant.

James had shoved you aside more than once and had dropped a bottle of sticky syrup when he bumped into you. Somehow that was your fault. You’d been standing in a spot you weren’t meant to be standing, because apparently you had to by now be able to anticipate his every next step all night long.  

You sat down closest to Martin’s station.  

Decided if you were going to be tasked to watch and learn, you might as well watch and learn from the best.  

It had been three days since you’d been called cute by a stranger and three days of trying to mix the perfect dirty martini.  

And it really shouldn’t be so difficult. You knew the steps. You knew what went into the glass. You could do everything exactly the same as Martin would do it, but somehow, you thought it always didn’t come out right.  

Martin said yours was good. Had tasted the dirty martini you’d mixed before opening just to show him you knew exactly how now, and he’d said, “Yea. Good. So that’s one drink down.”  

Only thirteen more to master from the current menu.  

And then whatever other random off menu drinks people would ask for. Like frozen cocktails that weren’t on the menu. But there was blender behind the bar, and people would go, “I see you have a blender, can I have this drink, but have it frozen, please?” and Chloé would tell them, of course! And then would have you try your hand at it. 

You weren’t sure if she was giving you the orders she knew you were going to fuck up just to mess with you.  

But you were kind of fucking everything up, off menu or not, so, probably not. It was likely more an issue of incapability on your end than a malicious thing on hers.  

Martin made you sit and watch him, and after a little while, he passed you a little notepad and a pen. It was weird to have someone rest their head on two stacked fists on the bar all night. Taking notes made it look like you were actually doing something. So Martin started giving instructions on what he was doing whenever he could, whenever he felt he had the time to do so, to give you things to write down.  

He didn’t have a lot of time to do so, though, so you just started writing down what you saw. Wrote down ingredients. Step by step instructions. Utensils and glassware used. 

You had to be quick though. 

Martin was fast.  

You had to keep eyes on his hands and hope that what you were writing down was still readable after.  

In your focus, you hadn’t noticed that someone sat down next to you. 

Someone who now had to sit at the long end of the bar, cringe, eyeroll, so very annoying, because you so happened to have taken the seat he’d usually occupy.  

Joe sat down and sort of watched you for a little bit. Looked at what you were doing. Puzzled together why you weren’t behind the bar doing your job, or trying to do so at least, and instead hogged his favourite seat.

He saw how you didn’t break eye-contact with Martin’s hands and chuckled to himself when he saw your handwriting.

There was no way you’d be able to decipher that. Didn’t even look like you were writing down words.

He looked on as your pen slipped off the paper and left a mark on the bar. 

“Careful, that’s the end of the note right there,” Joe said, condescending, too late to actually be helpful.  

You rubbed at it with a finger and quickly got your eyes back on Martin. 

You’d missed a step. 

Shit.  

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to pay attention because,” you paused, wrote down what Martin did with some lemon zest.  

“Because…” Joe egged you on. 

“Because apparently, I can’t mix my cocktails right.”  

“Oh,” you heard next to you as you watched Martin finish the drink, followed by, “So, you’re aware?” 

Hm?

What the fuck? 

You frowned as you looked down at your note and tried to process if what you just heard had been right. Then you slowly looked up, eyes first, then your head followed, and, oh no, this was the guy.

There wasn’t even time to think of a smart comeback quick enough, because the realization immediately made you move onto different things.

“Dirty martini!” you exclaimed, eyes wide, and you immediately got up. Well. You tried to immediately get up. The barstool scraped against the floor loudly, but it didn’t move back far enough, and you got caught between the chair and the bar and it made your tits land on the edge awkwardly before you turned and let your feet find the floor properly.

The whole scuffle of it made the little smile on his face break into an actual laugh.

“Careful,” Joe laughed as he hovered a hand near you that did nothing, all pretend helpful.

But the second you were off the seat, you got instructions to get back on.

“Sit back down.” Martin said, eyes not even on you, and it was stupid how quick you climbed back onto the seat again. It was also stupid how you were legitimately proud of yourself for succeeding at something Martin asked of you.

“This one’s for Joe,” Martin said as he placed the drink he’d just finished right in front of this guy. Joe, you’d just learnt. “But you can get him a dirty martini next if he’ll have one.”

Martin looked at you like you were a child, eyebrows raised up high on his forehead, and then when he turned to Joe, he broke into a grin. It felt like it was a smile that made fun of you a little, but then he said, “Let me know what you think, I need to sort the Christmas menu.” and you hadn’t even considered the menu changing soon.

Fuck.

That meant there were more drinks you were going to have to learn how to make. Things with seasonal ingredients. Things that were more festive. Things that included fire maybe, and you weren’t ready to light yourself on fire. You weren’t ready to see the horrified reflection of your hairdresser in the mirror as you explained that it was just an accident, and could she please fix it because you had a big New Year’s Eve party to attend soon?

 You didn’t get to make Joe his dirty martini that night.

Or the next time he came in.

Or the time after that.

Instead, you got to listen to him wince, hiss and then laugh when you dropped a full tray of drinks over yourself before you could even step around the bar to bring them over to the right table.

Instead, you got to see him hide a giggle when you held a bit of orange peel the wrong way when you squeezed it over a drink, spraying the juice right into your eyes.

Instead, you got to see how he seemed playfully impressed when you bit back at a comment Chloé made about you needing to get out of the way after she bumped her hip into you, and you’d said that it wasn’t your fault she had a fat arse.

When you looked at him though, he’d pretended to be absolutely scandalized. Like he was on her side for it. Like he was about to go, "Are you just going to take that, Chlo?" and egg this on.

When he didn't see you look, you'd seen him smile softly to himself and, you know what, he could actually piss off for real, who did he think he even was in the first place?

You’d apologized to Chloé immediately after, terrified Chloé would be offended, mortified you’d started an actual fight, but you’d seen a flicker of joy across her face, and you had felt comfortable enough to show a little of a smile in return. Felt like the first little bit of acceptance, of you speaking her language, and all it took was a little gas to the fire.

Instead of getting to make Joe a dirty martini, Martin made you do a million other things. He had you take peoples orders, had you learn how to close the bar to make opening easy and efficient the next day, had you prep ingredients the correct way, and had you do mundane shit like cleaning floors, tables, toilets, et cetera, et cetera.

You basically got to do anything but make drinks.

And Joe was the type of person to give you tips from where he was sat. Unwelcome shit. Things like, “Missed a spot here,” when you would wipe down the bar, or, “That table has been waiting for ages,” when you were just about to go over to take their order.

But Joe was a guest, and you were meant to be friendly and polite.

So you’d smile your most inauthentic smile and would tell him thanks in your flattest voice.

It always made him laugh.

Which, in turn, always made Martin smile.

Weird how that worked.

“Good evening,” you’d tell Joe when you’d see him walk in, all exaggerated faux politeness which he easily accepted from you. Before he’d even be able to go and sit down, before the coat was even off, you’d raise your pen to your pad and would ask, “What can I get you?”

And Joe’d just smile, like he couldn’t help the grin, and then he’d nod his head down, scrunch up his nose and point towards the bar before walking over to where he always sat. Where he’d take his coat off and reveal he was wearing a shirt with the first three buttons undone, sometimes even four, showing off literal cleavage. You didn’t need to get him anything. He’d get whatever Martin was already loudly shaking in his shaker.

It felt a little like you were put on the bench. By Martin. By Joe. Like you got to be a part of the football team, but didn’t actually get to play at all.

Didn’t get to take Joe’s order.

Didn’t get to make any drinks.

After a few shifts like that, James took pity on you, and when Martin left him in charge for the rest of the night, he’d given you an order to make.

Fuck yes.

Excellent.

And Joe was there, too!

Maybe if you did this right, James wouldn’t bat an eye if you just started on a dirty martini after, to slide over to Joe and to do what Martin always did. Ask him what he thought of it. Ask him to give a lengthy review which you knew was going to be nice words only, topped off by the satisfaction you’d get from him expecting the worst and then tasting the best.

You wanted to see that face. Feel it in your bones.

The Simon-Cowell-watching-Susan-Boyle-for-the-first-time face.

But then you didn’t do it right, did you?

You poured all liquids into the cocktail shaker and closed it properly, like you’d been shown how, but, you weren’t meant to put all liquids into the shaker, were you?

You were meant to keep the carbonated drink to the side and add that directly to the glass after you’d mixed the rest of it.

You only shook it twice.

Maybe three good, violent times, to really get the ice to rattle.

The cocktail shaker exploded in your hands.

You gasped as the cold drink hit your front, and stood there, frozen as the drink dripped down your face.

You saw Joe very slowly reach and wipe underneath his eye with his middle finger as he rapidly blinked, like a little drop had made it onto his face.

There was no way any of that had gotten onto him, but the fact that he pretended that it did was just as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

James and Chloé stood there frozen also, until James reached for a dishtowel and hit you in the face with it.

“I think maybe Frank needs help,” he had then said after you’d finished cleaning, and were sent upstairs to join Frank by the door.

Not the worst job.

Frank was nice, didn’t mind a break from playing solitaire on his phone for a chat, but... joining Frank by the entrance was the bar equivalent of being put on time out, and Frank knew it too.

When he saw you come into view as you dragged your feet up the stairs to where he was sat, he smiled and said, “What’d you do this time?”

You plonked onto the barstool next to him in the small little hallway and sighed as you leant back against the wall.

“Put fizzy drink into a shaker.”

You bonked your head against the wall behind you, once, twice, three times.

“Shook it.”

Frank huffed a laugh, said, “Nice.” and got back to his game on his phone.

“When do you think I'll get fired?” you asked jokingly.

“Hmm, a week, give or take.” Frank answered, eyes on his phone, and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Nice.”

As the night came to a close, you saw people out along with Frank. Opened the door for them. Wished them a lovely rest of their night.

Just when you thought you might as well go down to help James and Chloé with closing, the both of them came up the stairs, talking, laughing, both in their coats already.

“Hey, what’s...” you faltered, confused. There was no way they’d actually finished already.

“We’ve done most, you’ll be fine finishing up, yea?” Chloé asked. It wasn’t a question for you to answer though. She was already standing outside when James tried to give you some last instructions.

“Use the key in the cash register, leave it in the letterbox after locking up.”

You just looked at him. Blinked a few times, because, were you allowed to do this on your own? Would Martin be okay with you closing the place by yourself?

“You got this!” James smiled, and you knew it was just that he was happy to be fucking off early for once.

When the heavy door fell shut behind them, you stared at it a second before you huffed a humourless laugh.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I still got half an hour on my clock,” Frank said after checking. “Do you need any help?”

You considered it for a moment.

“That's kind of you, but... I actually don’t, thanks.”

You didn’t.

Martin had practically let you close on your own before. He’d just been sat at the bar whilst you worked around him, big grey folder opened and pen in hand, doing whatever admin needed doing.

“Join them. Have a... somewhat early night.”

It was late.

“You sure? Can’t place blame with me for anything if I’m not around.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

You said goodbye to Frank, closed the door behind him and sighed.

Fine.

This was fine. You could close by yourself. Lock up by yourself. You’d be there for opening the next day anyway, so if you were to leave anything undone, you’d be able to pick up where you left off, stepping on your own toes, no one else’s.

You made your way back down the stairs.

Around the corner. 

Past the toilets.

Down the dark hallway. 

Into the bar, where... there was loud music playing. Loud music.

When you stepped inside, you were fully expecting to be alone but then realised: you'd not said goodbye to Joe yet.

And there he was.

Behind the bar.

Hands near the sound system, like he was trying to figure out how to use it. The song skipped to the next one, and Joe clapped his hands together once before he held both arms out wide as he spun around.

Teeth bitten into his lip, he made eye-contact with you near the entrance and... danced. Did a stupid hip and shoulder shake to the beat before he clapped in his hands again.

You frowned, loudly shouted, “Guests aren’t allowed behind the bar!” as you made you way over.

Joe completely ignored you. Got really into his old-man-at-wedding dance as he lipsynced along, all playful, all goofy.

When you were close enough, he grabbed a wet dishcloth and was about to throw it over. He waited for you to hold you hands up, to get ready to catch it, but you just said, “Yea, great, the tables probably still need doing, thanks.” as you slapped him on the shoulder, passing behind him to get to work behind the bar.

Not before you changed the song to something you liked, asserting power over Joe, because you worked here. Not Joe.

He could treat this place like a second home all he wanted.

You were closing the bar, so you got to choose the music.

And you expected to turn back around and see Joe get into his coat, dishcloth abandoned on the side.

You expected an overdone smile, a snarky comment, a mocking smile with narrowed eyes as he’d insincerely wish you good luck.

You expected to have to go and look to see if Joe paid for this drinks.

You expected he probably hadn’t, because by now you’d clocked in on this weird agreement Martin and Joe had, but you were going to make him pay regardless.

What you weren’t expecting was to turn back around and to see Joe bent over a table, hips wiggling as he wiped it down, focussing on a seemingly extra sticky bit, mouth pouted and brow furrowed.

Oh shit.

You didn’t like how that worked something in the pit of your stomach.

You also didn’t like how you watched Joe clean a few tables and then saw him catch you staring.

You snapped out of it and pretended you dropped something, just so you could duck down behind the bar for a second.

When you got back up, Joe had moved on to do more tables, and you were glad that he ignored the staring. He could’ve absolutely made a sassy comment to embarrass you, but he’d chosen peace over violence tonight, so it seemed.

Dirty martini.

Yes.

A filthy one.

You could make him a dirty martini as a silent thank you, because there was not a chance you were going to say those words aloud.

Just make one and then leave it out on the bar for him to find as you cleaned up behind the bar so you could pretend you didn’t even care if he liked it or not. Be all casual about it.

But then Joe looked up at you again, and a small smile grew into a wider one and there was no way he wasn’t going to slag you off for something, so you abandoned all plans and just... went for it. Asked him in an almost challenging way, no smile to be detected, with eyebrows slightly raised,

“Dirty martini?”

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[writebackatya]

McDuck Family Members Most Likely to Start Sh*t at Thanksgiving Dinner

Ah Thanksgiving. The holiday celebrated on the 4th Thursday of November (in America that is), one with food, family, and celebrating what we’re thankful for! (Wanna feel bad? Learn about the holiday’s origins!)

And no family is quite as big as the found family from DuckTales; so arguments are bound to happen at a dinner table filled with so many zany characters with interesting pasts and quirks. Let’s honor those who would throw the first punch at a family dinner, shall we?

Bentina Beakley

I wanna cut Beakley some slack. She most likely had a long day before dinner even started what with all the preparations she did for dinner. Not just cooking for 20+ family members plus other side/recurring characters but also the cleaning and presentation

But let’s face it. This woman can be so condescending at times. And judgmental. You just know if someone is showing up to dinner wearing jeans and sweater she’d have something to say about it. And she strikes me as someone who would slam the dishes while cleaning them only for someone to say, “Hey Beakley do you need help with the dishes?” and then she’d be like “No. It’s fine. I got them”

But it’s not fine. Go help her with the dishes. She deserves a break

Dewey Duck

When I was first thinking about this list I originally thought “No way any of the triplets would start anything on Thanksgiving” Huey is a good boy and Louie would definitely take it easy on a day where you’re legally allowed to sit around, be lazy, and eat food. But then I remembered Dewey and how much of a diva he can be

We know Dewey is an entertainer and with everyone coming to dinner, he has a huge “captive” audience that he can perform for. Whether it be an original Thanksgiving song, a one man Dewey show about the first Thanksgiving, a sonnet about a bonnet, or a very special Thanksgiving episode of Dewey Dew-Night; that kid will want all the attention in him. And the very second the spotlight is taken off, oh boy…

Gladstone Gander

Look at this prick. Don’t you wanna slap his face!?!Anyway I love Gladstone Gander, but he’s the kind of family member that just would go on and on about himself and bring every conversation back to him again and how great his life is

That’s great Gladstone. Happy for you, the rest of us have to pay for our sushi but cool. Glad your good luck is really paying off, jerk

But honestly. It’s his tone. It’s the kind of tone that gives off that he knows he’s starting shit but won’t admit it

Goldie O’Gilt

I mean, it’s Goldie. What else can I say?

Gandra Dee

Oh man. There’s so many different ways controversy would start with this morally gray ex-FOWL agent and I’m here for it. Let’s face it, out of all the characters present, Gandra Dee would most likely be the one to bring up the holiday’s horrible origins. If anyone is making it their duty to make a rich white family uncomfortable on Thanksgiving, it’s Gandra Dee

She’d get political and even directly ask Scrooge who exactly he voted for in the past two Presidential elections (he claims to be progressive, but he’s still the richest duck in the world. Just how many tax cuts is this man getting to keep that status?)

Oh and what about the treatment of her overwork and underpaid boyfriend? Why is he still working in the bathroom?

Oddly enough, I can see her and Scrooge bonding over a mutual disdain for Gladstone Gander. What a prick

Kit Cloudkicker

It’s not that exactly what Kit does that’ll start a fight, but what he doesn’t do.

Kit is the kinda guy that was supposed to bring a dessert but totally forgot to pick something up from the bakery so instead he’s stopping at the gas station on the way to dinner to pick up some Twinkies

Kit is the kinda guy that would “take a walk” before dinner and not do anything to hide the scent and now all the kids are wondering how a skunk got inside

Gyro Gearloose

It’s Gyro. Something is bound to piss him off at some point

Doofus Drake

I am so tired of the fandom not including Doofus in this found family (Louie and him made up and are friends now and BOYD is his brother, sorry it’s canon) so he’s here on the list

But he’s still a new addition to this family. And a weirdo and a rich brat with a lot of issues that someone should seriously help him with. He’s gonna make everyone uncomfortable. Is it intentional? Or is he just being Doofus? Who knows

What I do know is this, don’t eat the dish he brought.

Della, Donald, and Scrooge!

The original three!

These three are responsible for splitting up the family in the first place so it’s no surprise that they’re number one on this list!!

Yes they’ve squashed their beef with one another and moved past the Spear of Selene, but they are still themselves

The ones most likely to start shit over the dumbest things

These three are going to be bickering over who should carve the turkey. And the argument will be so loud and hectic that no one will question why a bunch of birds are eating a turkey

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this list. It wasn’t meant to slander any characters, just did it for fun. Happy Thursday everyone.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Six

Paul and Linda: walk in. Me: Panics in bisexual

He’s so weird. He’s been carrying her purse, gives it back, then tries to change his mind again and the look she gives him. ‘You’re very cute, but I can carry my shit.’ 

But the “Linda’s a cameraman.” Rare Paul feminism moment. Slow clap.

And then instantly, “I’d better go and put in some piano practice.” You fucking addict. Linda, what are you getting yourself into, girly?

“Actually, we’re going on a farm in Scotland.” “I’d love to find a . . . a farm.” I wonder at what point he showed it to her. So far, they’ve done the dirty weekend in LA, Christmas in Liverpool and Portugal, a stay in New York, and now London. Have they done the Mull of Kintyre at this point? Oh, boy. Today might be the Paul and Linda show for me, folks :/

Why does she look like a loving mom watching her daughter’s dance audition? 

Paul taking Mal’s advice on “Standing” VS “Waiting” 

“I feel the most relaxed around Ring.” Linda/Paul/Ringo threesome fic when?

Ringo again with the EXCELLENT taste in jackets. That blue is So pretty. With the black velvet collar. Immaculate. 

“There’s enough obstacles without putting them in the song” is the most Paul quote ever. It’s like his artistic mission statement. The surface read of Paul’s songs is that they’re just these weightless, meaningless, pretty nothings. But the real read (part of) is that they’re meant as comforters, bolsterers, flashlights, and silver linings. 

He does love a good pair of hands, doesn’t he?

He really is showing off for her, though, here. When Linda hasn’t been here, has Paul ever just sat down at the piano and run through all his new songs? Not even close. And it’s so immature and so lovely.

“It was like a comedy, when I heard it.” Proceeds to sing some of the most heavy, blue lyrics. The above comment on Paul’s music notwithstanding, I must admit there are also extreme levels of emotional repression going on. 

“Castle of the King of the Birds”!!!!!!! First of all, who is the "king of the birds" if not Paul McCartney? It’s so extremely beautiful. Achingly so. When I fist heard it, I was like “where have I heard that before?” and when Peter Jackson pointed out that it’s the Top Gun theme? How many songs out there are actually Paul McCartney’s illegitimate children? Like, be Lennon/McCartney with me, for a minute here, and translate this sexual metaphor into musical terms. Paul just jerks it a bit, and before he can even finish, about ten people are pregnant from a drop of his precum and ten magical star children are born who he has no idea of. Does that make any kind of sense at all to anyone?

Honestly love the political version of get back. And clearly so does Yoko. That’s the most I’ve seen her get into a song they’ve written, like, ever. Hey, guys. I have an idea. Maybe you should ask the actual immigrant for ideas on your pro-immigration song. Just a thought. 

 When you’re trying to flirt with your new GF but your ex keeps making you giggle

A vignette of Lennon/McCartney’s writing process. Paul: trying to make up some lyrics. John: makes a joke lyric. Paul: puts it in and it works better than what he had. John: 

John: I’ll be taking me shirt off. Paul: definitely not picturing it at all

Okay but my hot take is that the first two verses at least of “Came in through the bathroom window” are a diss track at Jane. Seriously though, it’s got to be one of my many underrated favs to come out of these sessions. Also, they’re so in love doing this one, my heart can’t take it. 

“This isn’t daddy’s tea, is it?” And Yoko just, without skipping a beat, says, “No.” Girl, I know he’s the one calling you mommy in bed, don’t lie. 

It’s the mutual caring of it all, you know? How he’s sitting in her lap while playing with her hair. How he makes her laugh and she buries her face in his tummy. Gosh, she’s gonna love that tummy for almost thirty years. And while the breakup is heartbreaking, isn’t that lovely to think about? 

George, you should’ve made a Bob Dylan cover album. He sounds sooo pretty. 

Ah, yes. The “Just Let it Be, love. He’s not going to leave you.” Dream Song. Which John does not look enthusiastic about. And then it becomes “Well, you said he wouldn’t leave me, mama. But, you know, he went and did it.”

Peter Jackson, WHERE is that Linda/Yoko dish session audio, you absolute monster! Those are Not small-talk faces. Would I rather listen to what they’ve got to say than hear one of the twentieth century’s greatest masterpieces come to be? Yes. Yes, I would.

[alcestas-sloboda]

I see so many reflections today from different people: someone woke up from the explosions, some from a phone call, some woke up and saw hundreds of notifications from different telegram channels. It is still so unimaginably bizarre. I have no ability to put into words the feeling of your world falling apart and we didn’t even understand half of the danger that was surrounding us. We were so damn close to disaster with half of Europe believing that nothing good will come out of it.

Ukrainians didn’t care what Europeans thought though, I personally saw news pieces about "Russia will take control of Kyiv" a lot later, somewhere in May, when Ukrainian military took control over the north of the country. And I’m so eternally grateful to every Ukrainian who made sure that all this "experts" sat in those flashy studios red from guilt. I’m grateful for my life, I’m grateful for our Ukraine. She persist. She is still the love of our lives. She’s hurt and devastated but she lives despite all the attempts to destroy her. Same as us. Somehow still here.

Yet I feel more detached from the western world than ever and I’m so fucking jealous of you all. It’s not even about the rockets or shakheds - somewhere along the lines you accept the fact that you may die in any moment - it’s about normal things like your Twitter feed that doesn’t look like a necrology, military terms that don’t make any sense to you, your city that doesn’t stop everyday to mourn the dead, you don’t feel guilty for trying to live a normal life while your classmate, who wanted to be a director, posts stories from the trenches. All of that and more. I’m not even entitled to my emotions because there always will be someone who says that my country is not suffering enough. I no longer react to comments like this as emotionally as I’ve done before but it is still so bizarre to see stuff like that from people whose countries have always been the one to inflict suffering on others.

I may sound mean or sarcastic or whatever but there is so much negativity inside of us that was put there by people like I’ve mentioned above that it is going to be released from time to time. "Your country shouldn’t exist", "Only 9 thousand killed", "You all are nazis/racist/zionists/any of the -ist terms" - yet you should always react in a constructive way because the moment you let your emotions go, you are the worst person on the planet. But who am I kidding, some people here do believe that we are. There is a thousand bad people with sketchy patches in a 40-million country and suddenly "That’s why I no longer support Ukraine". Well, honey, that means you never did. Because Syrian flags were quickly replaced with Ukrainian ones and just as quickly with Palestinian. It’s not about the "Support the oppressed", it’s "Anything to not feel guilty" because then you’ll find the reason to hate Palestinians, just as you did with us. If only you cared about the problematic shit happening in you country as much as you care about our political and social life.

But there are people who still are there for us. Countries that are still here. We may not say it as often but we are thankful. So very thankful for everything you’ve done and are doing for us. Thank you for hearing us and uplifting our voices.

Recently one of the most beautiful people here have lost her life defending me and you. She was always in my notes, always making sure that we didn’t feel uncomfortable even if she of all the people had all the right to be upfront about her thoughts and feelings. I don’t think I will ever get rid of the feeling of guilt. She was there while I wasn’t. She said to mourn her through anger. Anger towards the oppressor. Anger that should be directed into something useful: donations, sharing info, contacting your MPs and so on.

The soldier‘s death is not something out of ordinary during the war, it’s not considered a war crime but what if half of the army are civilians? Volunteers who left their homes to protect them. What if the soldier was a teacher, a poet, an actor, an IT-specialist, a scientist, what then? Isn’t it a tragedy? My country is loosing yet another generation of beautiful talented people and it makes my view of the future even darker.

But what can I say? I’m still here. My country still stands. Ukrainian air defence is doing everything possible and impossible to protect the lives of the civilians. Ukrainian military is still the only thing keeping us all alive. Heroes, titans, gods. Glory to them. Eternal glory to those who lost their lives defending Ukraine.

To Ukrainians: якось буде, прорвемся.