#i love how the ask is What Could Mess Me Up and the best i can do is Makes You Uneasy :) sorry

[toastedpotatoes]

"What's all this about?" asked someone behind him during a lull in his routine. Their voice carried the distinct lilt of the Folk (good) and an air of extreme exasperation (slightly less good).

Jal turned to face them, cooking implements still in his hands. "Finally—I mean, it would sure suck if—"

"I heard you the first time," said the newcomer, voice tired and dry as dead bark. "And we do understand sarcasm."

"Oh," he said. There went his plans. "Um. Take me anyway? Please?"

They stood facing him a long while, their expression reading visibly as why do I have to deal with this? even in the moonlight.

He must've got stuck with a dud or something. Weren't the Folk supposed to be... magic? Ethereal? Something greater than what amounted to little more than a sharp-eared person with lichen in their hair?

They sighed. "First of all, if you wanted us to take you, why did you bring iron?"

"Oh," Jal said for the second time. He looked down at the pots and pans. "I wanted to get your attention."

"Well, it worked. It also made an incredible racket. Put them away now."

He hesitated—he wasn't exactly eager to lay down his best defense against things like them—but this was his best chance at getting out of his life. He set them down outside the mushroom ring.

"Second," they continued, "why did you decide that the best time to do this was the middle of the night?"

This he had an answer for. "Well, you lot always dance in circles under the full moon, don't you? Figured now would be a good time."

They sighed again, muttered something about sky folk messing everything up, and said, "Not always."

Jal was getting impatient. The night was too chilly, he honestly should have been in the fey realms by now, and instead here he was getting interrogated by some house brownie. "So can you take me or not?"

"I can," they replied. "Doesn't mean I will. Why're you so eager to get abducted anyway?"

"Why's it matter?"

"It matters because I'm the one deciding if you get to go or not. And I'm being rightfully suspicious of the weirdly-excited-to-get-kidnapped human here."

He looked around for anything else he could do besides spill his life story to one of the Folk. There were still the pots and pans—if he could grab one quick enough—but they noticed him looking and their eyes flashed green in the moonlit dark and suddenly all the knots in the surrounding trees were blinking, watching, watching—

"I want a new life!" he cried, not missing how the trees snapped back to normal as soon as he spoke. "I want a fresh start! There's nothing left for me over there anyways. My home's evicted me, my friends've all left, and I can't face anyone there anymore, and—"

"You do realize that none of this necessitates banging bowls together in a mushroom circle, right?"

"They're not bowls, they're—never mind. Just—I can't stay here anymore."

They thought a moment. "Go back to bed."

"No!" He didn't even have a bed anymore. He didn't have anything left to lose. This was his only chance.

"Give me your name, and I'll take you."

Okay, maybe he had one thing left to lose.

"I'm not that dumb," he said, ignoring the highly doubtful look he received. He rifled through his pockets for—

"Thirty dollars?" he offered.

Their eyes narrowed at the bills he held out. "I don't need your money, and it wouldn't be enough anyhow."

"Thirty dollars and I don't leave all this iron in your precious forest."

They deliberated on this, periodically glaring at the lovely assortment of metal noisemakers he'd brought with him. "Fine. Deal. Pack up your clanking mess."

"Yes!" He gathered up his things and took their proffered hand, giddy enough that it was about five seconds before he realized they were leading him away from the mushroom ring, not into it.

"Wait," he said. "You said you'd take me."

"Never said where," they replied, calmly, and for a moment it felt like the trees had eyes again.

"Wait—but—where are we—"

"Relax," they said. "Just the nearest inn. You really need to go to bed." They picked a twig out of their hair. "And so do I, to be honest."

"OH BOY, IT WOULD SURE SUCK IF THE FAE TOOK ME!" cried the man banging pots and pans together in the middle of a mushroom circle.

[theonottsbxtch]

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[ryebread0605]

Hii! Hope you're doing great.

Can you do dorm leaders of twisted wonderland with a mute or blind reader? ( male reader)

It's okay if not and thanks! (✿❛◡❛)

This is a very fun one to do cuz I love to see disability rep in fanfics (especially as a disabled person!) I hope you don’t mind that I did deaf and blind!

Riddle: 

he just thinks you’re ignoring him at first when he yells at you to go to specific areas you don’t know, which leads to many instances of the collar being put on you 

He gets curious when he sees deuce leading you around everywhere 

Started to get suspicious when he found out you do all your essays and readings through the computer

Yeah he’s not the type to figure out you are blind on his own

Finally comes to a head as you’re painting the roses, he comes behind you and goes “NO THOSE ARE BLUE NOT RED! WHAT, ARE YOU BLIND OR SOMETHING?” 

Awkward silence begins and it finally clicks 

Poor boy is apologetic beyond belief and will do anything in his power to make up for it

Goes out of his way to make sure every single corner in the heartslabyul form has a cushion against it so you won’t hurt yourself 

���I’m so sorry (name) I promise I didn’t know. Please, if there’s any way we can accommodate you more, let myself or Trey know!”

Leona:

at first, he sees you as weak, an easy target

Until he tries to sneak up on you and get an elbow straight to the gut

He can tell right away that you don’t let being blind hold you back and DAMN does he respect it

Jack is given the duty of being your eyes, seeing as you have numeral classes together and are both freshmen

He adds a detail to spelldrive so you can play, making it so the disc beeps when it’s close to you so you can catch it 

He will never admit that his instincts are telling him to take the small weak cub under his wing

“Look, in this dorm it’s survival of the fittest. If you’ve spent this long at NRC without being taken out by a dumbass, you got what it takes to be part of the dorm”

Azul:

because of the Sea Witch stories, it became mandatory for all merfolk to learn some version of sign language

He can easily spot you are deaf and tries to strike up a deal first, only he mixes it up in his mind and signs ‘date’ instead 

Both of you are blushing messes but why not? 

You help to properly teach him and the tweels proper sign language and in return you now have 3 powerful and influential men there to protect you at any time 

“I must ask, do you think it would be a fruitful venture to hold a paid for sign language class? Of course the proceeds would go to a charity! That charity being getting you those hearing aids you’ve been wanting”

Kalim:

Is very confused as you don’t seem to hear him at all, making him practically yell

Jamil has to be the one to tell him that you could just be deaf

This mans is FLUENT in sign and will have the best gossip to tell you that only you two can hear 

Jamil is happy cuz it keeps him out of trouble and keeps the dorm quiet

Until Kalim realizes he can raise the music so you can feel the bass 

“Isn’t this awesome! I knew you’d love this song! Everyone deserves the chance to party in Scarabia!”

Vil:

he has worked with plenty of people so it’s no surprise he knows how to sign 

During the SDC, he makes sure you have a seat closest to the speakers so you can feel the vibrations the best 

Offers several times to make you a hearing potion but accepts that it is a part of you that you wish to keep 

ASL is now mandatory to learn in the Pomefiore dorm (with permission from Crowley who sees this as an opportunity to show how inclusive his school is)

“(Name) how does this seat work for you? Is it close enough to the speaker? Or would you rather have an interpreter? Just let me know potato”

Idia:

it makes him feel so relaxed to know you can’t see him

You enjoy video games AND you can’t clock his looks? Hell yes

He’s ringing up STYX right away to sent a Cerberus unit as a guide dog for you 

If you are up to it, he would love to make cyber eyes for you to give you sight back

Gets super excited hanging out with you and lets himself be himself because in his eyes you can’t see him so you don’t judge him 

“-and yeah! He should be all set up for your fingerprint id! If any problems happen, like normies trying to get in your way, he has an op defense mode”

Malleus:

by FAR the most protective of you

Since you can’t see, he worries others will take advantage of that and he is NOT having that

He is your person guard dragon and will follow you around everywhere  

Has set up his nest in Diasomnia (because I like the idea that he keeps dragon instincts like nesting and hoarding) to include a tactile pathway to both the bathroom and door so you have more sense of freedom

If he can’t guard you, Lilia will. Lilia is a lot more ferocious in his guarding as he had blind soldiers when he was a general

“Child of man, if you need anything, money is no problem. I could get you set up with working eyes if you would like. But if you prefer how you are, that’s alright too”

[goosewriting]

Could I get a scenario for joaquin x reader: where the reader is an avenger (she was like a protege to clint and natasha) but her main job was designing the suits and gear for other superheroes that works better with their fighting styles. Sams nickname for her is Sketch.

Sam introduces her to joaquin at Isaiahs gym (she trains there but looks after him on sams behalf). She starts to study joaquin to better understand how to equip his suit. After one of their cases, joaquin wanted to make a note in their sketch book where their designs are but ends up finding a different notebook that are not suit/gear sketches, but sketches of everyday things and most of the sketches are of him. Reader walks in to see joaquin found their personal sketch book and freaks out and becomes a stuttering mess. They end up confessing to each other and please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or two lol. Sorry if this is long, but I had some inspo and your work has been lovely 😊

Sketch

summary: Joaquín discovers that reader’s sketchbook features a lot of drawings of himself.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: none, fluff! kisses, maybe secondhand embarrassment lol

word count: 4.2k

A/N: i decided to use ‘sewist’ here as a gender neutral term instead of seamster/seamstress. i also changed it a lil bit so that Sam hasn’t seen the green suit yet. and i added a lil bit more at the end to lead up to the kiss, which i hope you’ll like!<3 tysm for requesting, this was such an adorable ask,, it took form in my mind almost immediately and i kept squealing at how tooth-rottingly fluffy this one would be 🙈🙈

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

For years, you’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit, helping out by designing their costumes and fighting at their side. After coming back from the blip and getting the news that many of your friends were gone, you decided to fully go into the designing side of helping out all heroes. You’ve made countless garments and weapons of all shapes, sizes and materials.

So while you still keep up with your training, these days you consider yourself more of a sewist and tinkerer than anything else. You mainly hang out with Sam, who introduced you to Isaiah Bradley, one of the few super soldiers still alive from back in the day. He’s let you claim one of the empty offices of his gym as your workspace. You like working there while there’s background noise, be it music or other people training in the ring or with the equipment.

In exchange for using the gym as your base of operation of sorts, you help Sam take care of Isaiah by taking walks with him and making sure he’s eating properly. He may not be physically frail for his age, given the serum, but he’s as stubborn as he’s strong. Since he’s gotten a bit of a soft spot for you over time, you try your best to keep him busy and content. 

One day, Sam comes in with someone new. From where you sit in your office, which has a window to the main training area, you see your friend approach with someone you don’t know, so you get up and approach them. Immediately you come to the realisation that this new guy is extremely handsome and charming. 

“This is Joaquín,” Sam introduces him. 

“Joaquín Torres, Air Force Captain,” he says, stretching out his hand to you. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“And this is Sketch,” Sam continues, pointing to you. 

“Sketch?” Joaquín asks with a slight tilt of his head. You chuckle and tell him your name, shaking his hand. 

“That’s just what Sam calls me,” you explain with a smile. 

“Yeah, well, you’re sketching in your book all the time,” he says and elbows your side playfully, then turns back to Joaquín to tell him how you’ve helped design most of the outfits everyone has worn over the years, including his new Captain America suit. 

“That’s impressive,” Joaquín says with raised brows and looks at you. A slight heat erupts on your face at the earnest look in his eyes. “Sam was so kind to let me have his old Falcon suit. You think I could run some ideas by you?”

“Of course,” you offer, pointing to your office. “Come by any time.” 

From that day on, Joaquín drops by the gym several times a week, with or without Sam. He mainly uses the time to train with Isaiah, but he also enjoys visiting you and watching you work, chatting about anything and everything while you sew away. 

One morning he comes in to train, and from where you sit at your desk, you can see Joaquín at one of the treadmills. Despite your best efforts, your eyes keep drifting to his figure doing some cardio, with his back to you. At one point he changes to another machine, where he pulls a bar up and down, with the weights lifting and sinking behind him, sitting so that he’s facing your office. Again, you find your gaze drifting to the window instead of focusing on the work on your desk. Risking taking a proper look, you lift your eyes and look to the side. To your surprise and shock, you find him looking at you as well. Both of you are quick to avert your eyes, cheeks prickling with heat. 

That afternoon, you come out of the office to take some measurements. Sam puts on a mock-up of his new suit you’ve made, and you diligently measure everything, taking notes in your sketchbook that you use for designing. Joaquín stands next to you, arms crossed over his chest, following your movements curiously. As you finish measuring Sam’s arm in different positions, you turn back to your book, using some piled up boxes as a table, and jot down the numbers. 

“Do you have all designs in there?” Joaquín asks, pointing to your sketchbook. You pause momentarily, caught off-guard by the question, then you turn to him.

“I mean, not all of them,” you explain. “There’s probably at least forty more books, all with previous iterations and ideas for everyone’s suits and gear.” 

“Wow,” he says, looking at Sam and giving an impressed nod. But then he turns back to you with a mischievous smile, and Sam rolls his eyes, knowing what he’s going to ask. “Do you also have sketches of Ant-Man’s suit?” 

You narrow your eyes at him playfully, then look over to Sam. He merely shakes his head with a chuckle. 

“Unfortunately no. It wasn’t me who designed his suit,” you say, and Joaquín looks a bit disappointed at that. Now it’s your turn to look at him with a glint in your eyes. “That’s oddly specific. Don’t tell me, you’re a fan?”

“Of course I am,” Joaquín retorts, and Sam laughs, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

“I’m still not introducing you,” he says, and Joaquín pouts. 

You laugh as well, then clasp your hands together, giving your sketchbook one last look.

“Okay, Sam, you’re all done, now it’s your turn.” You turn to Joaquín, who’s looking at you expectantly. “Your suit is in my office, there’s a changing room, you can go put it on there.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, starting towards the office, turning to Sam as he walks backwards. “You’re gonna love this.”

Sam looks at you with confusion and suspicion. 

“Just wait and see,” is all you give him. 

A couple minutes later, Joaquín comes out of the office donning his Falcon suit. Sam looks him up and down, recognising the design.

“Is that…”

“Yep,” Joaquín says with outstretched arms to show off his new look, doing a twirl. 

“The new colour was his idea,” you say, walking all around Joaquín to check if the suit sits properly. You come to a short stop when next to him, and lift your eyes to meet his. “And I think green really suits him.” 

As you continue checking him over, you miss the knowing look that Joaquín and Sam exchange. 

“Oh, this doesn’t look quite right,” you say, noticing how there seems to be extra fabric at his waist, instead of sitting flush. You grab your fabric marker, drawing some lines where you’ll need to take in the sides. Only when you’re done do you realise how close to Joaquín you’ve been standing, and how his gaze is cast to the side, a flustered look on his face. You’re quick to take a step back, thinking you might have made him uncomfortable. 

“So, how does it feel? Any pinching? Can you move properly?” you ask him, perhaps a little too quickly in an attempt to change the subject, and he starts moving his limbs in all possible angles, trying out the suit. “If there’s anything at all, please let me know.” 

You pick up your sketchbook to take some notes as he continues trying out the range of motion. 

“Nope,” Joaquín finally says, coming to a halt, and his smile makes your heart hiccup. “It’s perfect, really.” 

You look away, feeling the heat prickling at your cheeks, and the look Sam is giving you is certainly not helping.

“Well if there’s anything at all, or any ideas you might have later, feel free to add them to the sketchbook,” you say, showing him the page where the Falcon suit design is. “Even if I’m not around, there’s post-it notes in my office. Feel free to write down any ideas you might have.” 

“Will do,” Joaquín says.

“Alright, we’re done then. Thanks to you both,” you say, turning to Sam and then to Joaquín. They both nod in acknowledgement, and you walk back to your office with Joaquín to drop off your sketchbook and materials, leaving it all on your already cluttered desk.

You walk out again so that Joaquín can change in peace, and you see Sam get his phone of his pocket. He reads a text and announces he has to go, so you accompany him outside for a moment to see him off. 

When Joaquín comes back out from changing, he finds the two of you gone. Since he’s still holding the suit, he leaves it on the bench in your office, where there’s piles of fabric and other materials. He lets his eyes roam over the space, strangely endeared by how much it contrasts with the rest of the gym. This corner really feels lived in, he concludes. There’s hints of you everywhere. 

He scans the desk next, seeing little figurines, varying from various animals to faceless wooden people, probably used to design the suits. There’s also several bobbins with coloured thread, post-it notes all over, and the sketchbook. 

A thought occurrs to him of a change for his suit that he wanted to ask about earlier, but then promptly forgot when you ended up so close to him. Since you offered earlier for him to write down his ideas, he decides to do that before he forgets again. Without really looking, he grabs the sketchbook and opens it, his other hand going for the post-it notes and a pen. However his movements come to a sudden stop when his eyes land on the open book. He flips to the next page and realises that is is not your sketchbook. Well, it is, but not the one he meant. 

Joaquín quickly shoots another look to the desk below, only now seeing the other sketchbook peeking out from underneath some other materials which you had used earlier when he was trying on the suit. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but when his eyes land back on the drawings in his hands, he can’t look away. 

This seems to be your personal sketchbook, full of ink and pencil sketches of different daily objects, landscapes, the gym. He recognises the ducks in a pond to be the park nearby, there’s a couple of sketches of Isaiah, Sam, and then him. Joaquín’s heart flutters as he flips another page. Him again. His mind is screaming that he’s very much intruding in your privacy right now by looking at all of these, but he just can’t stop himself, as he finds that the more pages he flips through, there’s fewer and fewer landscapes and animals and almost every sketch is of him. From the back, pulling weights, smiling, laughing, focused while reading something. The strokes around his face start out a little unsure, a bit squiggly even, like they were drawn in a rush. But with every new sketch, your hand seems to have grown more and more sure, flowing over the page until you knew the shapes by heart, his eyes, the curve of his nose, where each and every mole and freckle sat on his skin. He swallows thickly as he flips one more page, his eyes landing for merely a split second on an unfinished sketch of him from behind with no shirt on, the contours of his nape and shoulders marked over again repeatedly, the lower half only sketched out softly, like you hadn’t had a chance to–

Joaquín looks up at the sound that leaves your throat, something between a shriek and a horrified gasp. You’ve appeared in your office again, but he didn’t hear you approach at all. Your eyes dart between the book in his hands and his face, your own beyond flustered as you realise what he just saw. With quick steps, you shorten the distance and snatch the book from his hands, snapping it closed with a forceful thud. He opens his mouth to apoligise profusely, but you’re quicker.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Your voice is squeaky, and the embarrassment and shock on your face shift to something closer to anger. “What were you doing?”

“I swear I didn't mean to snoop!” Joaquín says, raising his hands in defence, then points to his suit still on the bench as he rambles. “Sam and you were gone and I wanted to check the notes on the suit again, but I guess I grabbed the wrong sketchbook, and I’m so sorry, I swear it was an accident.”

You groan, your anger dissipating and making room for the earlier emotions again, and you lift your closed sketchbook to cover your face, shoulders tense as you hide behind it.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a creep or something” you say in a small voice, and he chuckles. That’s not the reaction you expected, so you open your eyes and peek over the book to look at him. An adorable blush starts dusting his cheeks.

“Of course not,” he says softly, fidgeting with some clutter on your desk before bringing his eyes to meet yours. You hide behind the book again. “I’m flattered, truly. I get why Sam calls you Sketch, there’s a lot of them. They’re really good.”

There’s a pause, and your hands tighten around the book. Surely he’s just teasing you.

“You really think so?” you risk the question.

“I do,” he says. You’re still not looking at him, and you think you hear Joaquín take somewhat of a sharp breath. “You know, I’ve been stealing my own fair share of glances at you too, I just lack any artistic skill, otherwise I would–” He stops himself abruptly. You dare peek over the book again, and he looks just as flustered as you do, which you find reassuring, but doesn’t really help you calm down. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you hold his gaze this time.

“What I’m trying to say is that some of the sketches seemed a bit rushed. I wouldn't mind it if you… took your time.”

“Are you offering to model for me?” you say after a moment. His blush darkens a bit, and he nods sheepishly. You need to force yourself to breathe normally. “I’d like that,” you add in a small voice.

In that moment, Isaiah enters the gym and calls Joaquín over. He excuses himself and joins the older man while you sit down at your desk, finally letting go of your book, and find your hands trembling. Did that just happen?

After a moment of just sitting there and looking down at the book, now slightly bent from your grip, Joaquín comes back to your office, and you look up.

“Isaiah is going home, and Sam already left,” he announces, then seems to think something over. “Would you like to grab some dinner? Right now. With me, I mean. Or in a bit. Whenever you have time.”

“Let me just finish up quickly here and I’ll be right outside.” The words leave your mouth before you can even process his request. 

“Okay,” he shoots you a smile so radiant that it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and you hold onto the edge of your chair out of his sight, fearing you might collapse to the floor right then and there.

Without wasting a second once he’s gone, you’re quick to put everything away and place Joaquin’s suit on your desk so that it would be the first thing you work on tomorrow. You put the sketchbook with the design notes in the top drawer, and the one with your personal sketches you pack into your bag. Another wave of heat prickles at your cheeks when you hold it, thinking back to how Joaquín had seen your many drawings of him. 

After you join him outside, Joaquín and you walk to a nearby restaurant, it’s small and there aren’t many people there yet as it’s still pretty early in the evening. Sam and you come here all the time, the atmosphere is cosy and the menu is really good. You guide Joaquín to one of the booths at the end and order some food, a pleasant conversation taking place while you eat.

Once you’re done eating, you wipe your hands on the napkin and take out your sketchbook and mechanical pencil, clicking it a couple of times to get the lead out.

“Oh, right now? Okay,” he says, and leans back into his seat. “What should I do?”

You flip the pages as quickly and nonchalantly as you can magange until you land on the last sketch, and you clear your throat.

“M-maybe we’ll leave this one for another time,” you say in a small voice, flipping to the next blank page. Joaquín unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile at the proposition. You scan the room around you. “Just, uhm, lean your head onto your hand and look to the side for now, at that picture with the flowers for example.” You point to the frame on the wall. 

“Okay,” he breathes, leaning his head on a propped up elbow and lifting his gaze to it, but it flickers back to you. “Should I like, smile, or something?” 

“Whichever you prefer,” you say, and start sketching on the paper. Your eyes dart up to him and then back to the page repeatedly. 

After a moment, when you look up, you find him with his face still tilted like you indicated, but his eyes are on you. Your movements stop and you feel a shudder climb up your spine, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, it makes your skin tingle. You hold your pencil to the page, unable to look away from him.

“You’re supposed to look that way,” you say, gesturing to the side with your chin.

“I like this view better than the flowers, though,” he says, seemingly completely unfazed, while your face is set ablaze. You can’t think of any good comeback, so as you look back down to your sketchbook, you mumble, “Suit yourself.”

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, save for the music and background chatter, where your flustered face shifts into focus, and you work diligently to translate his handsome features onto the page. All the while, he watches you work, enjoying the different expressions you make when you get something wrong and erase it, or when you finally figure it out and confidently place stroke after stroke onto the paper. As he comes to the conclusion that he could watch you forever and never get bored of the sight, another blush spreads on his cheeks, and he has to look away for a moment. 

Once you’re done, you add final details here and there, then place down your pencil and hold up your book, checking the drawing over. He drops his hand onto the table, expectantly waiting to see the finished product.

“It’s done,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious, and for a moment you consider not showing him. But after he sat so still for you, how could you not? So, gathering some more courage, you quickly turn the sketchbook around, placing it into his waiting hands, and you bring your gaze down to the table while he inspects it.

“Wow,” Joaquín breathes, and warmth spreads in your chest. “This is… This is incredible.”

“You like it?” you ask, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Of course!” He looks it over once more, pink still sprinkled on his cheeks, then gives you back the book. “You’re a fantastic artist. Thank you for drawing me.” 

He looks like he wants to add something else, but then decides against it. Your brows furrow slightly.

“What? What is it?” Your mind immediately goes to negative comments, like he was about to follow up with a ‘but’, saying that it didn’t even look like him, or that you brought out all his worst features and insecurities. 

“How do I put this,” he says more to himself than you, propping up his elbows on the edge of the table and bringing his closed hands to his chin. It takes him a second to find the right words, and when he looks up to meet your gaze, your heart skips a beat. A warm smile starts spreading on his lips as he talks. “Compared to the ducks in the pond, I feel like you put more care and attention to detail into drawing me. Seeing myself through the eyes of someone who… You know. Someone like you. I kinda feel invincible right now.”

You can’t help but laugh heartily, not in a mocking manner, but more so in relief, as you feel exactly the same. 

“Well, I’m glad I could give you a glimpse, then,” you say, and for a moment, you’re so lost in each others’ eyes, you don’t see the waiter approach. 

“I hope everything was to your taste,” the guy says in a practiced customer service voice, and you both jump slightly. He starts taking your empty plates that you pushed aside. “Would you like to ordersome  dessert?”

Joaquín and you decide to share some ice cream, and once you’re done, he pays for the meal despite your protests, insisting that it was him who invited you to dinner after all, and you walk back to his car. 

“I’ll make sure to have your suit done first thing tomorrow,” you promise when you arrive, and your hand reaches out to open the door, but he takes it in his instead, interlocking your fingers, and you turn toward him with big eyes.

“I may not be an artist,” he says seemingly out of nowhere, stepping closer while still giving you enough space to back off if you wanted to. “But I can give you a glimpse of how I see you in other ways.”

Your brain short circuits for a second, taken completely off-guard by his comment. His other hand comes up to your face, softly brushing his knuckles over your cheek, which surely feels much too hot to the touch. You’re now somewhat trapped between Joaquín and the car, while he’s still making sure you can step aside, but you have no intention of doing that. So your own hands come up, trembling a bit, and you place them on this chest. He takes that as a sign to get even closer, and you can feel his racing heart through his shirt, matching your own erratic heartbeat. 

“For example?” you demand, but your voice is so weak, you're not entirely sure if he heard you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and his hand fully cups your cheek. “I’ll admit I've been wanting to for a while now.”

Unable to produce a single word, you merely nod, your eyes fluttering closed as he leans in. It’s still pretty early and there could be people walking by and see you, but you don’t care. Once his lips are on yours, the whole world around you disappears. You’re glad the car holds part of your weight and you can partially lean onto it, since your legs seem close to give out underneath you. The hand on your face cradles the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist. Joaquín kisses you slowly, tenderly. He gingerly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a slight tug, and he swallows the shaky breath that escapes you, his mouth on yours again. 

The kiss lasts forever and not nearly long enough at the same time, and when he pulls back, you blink a couple of times, looking up him.

“Wow,” is all you manage to say, and he chuckles, backing off you so you can stand properly again. He opens the door for you and you take a seat, still unable to form a single coherent thought.

Joaquín walks around the front of the car and climbs in as well, turning on the navigation system.

“Where to?” he asks, and when he turns to look at you, waiting for you to tell him you address, you grab the collar of his bomber jacket, pulling him close to you once more to give him another kiss. But before he can fully melt into it, you let him go, and quickly sit back.

“Sorry, oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, and he chuckles again. He gently pries your fingers away so you look at him, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Don’t be,” he says, bringing your hand to his face and placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

The way his eyes glisten in the dark, only illuminated by the street light outside the car, sends an explosion of butterflies straight through your gut and you have to look away. To distract yourself from the erratic pace your heart is beating at, you bring your attention to the console and enter your address, starting the navigator. Joaquín starts the car and you take off. 

“Will you come back by the gym again tomorrow?” you ask after a while.

“If it were up to me, I’d be there every day,” he says, and you feel even more heat spread on your face, if that’s even possible. “I’ll try my best to come by, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay…” 

“Maybe you can finish that one sketch of yours,” he says with a smug grin, and you playfully hit his shoulder with an embarrassed groan as you remember the drawing of his bare back you had started on a whim but couldn't bring yourself to finish. 

As Joaquín drives you home and you sneak another looks at his side profile, you realise that at this rate you'll need a new sketchbook, dedicated entirely to him.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

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[enzosbabyangel]

৻ꪆ Thinking about stepdad!Fred Weasley…

cw: smut, age gap(readers 20, Freds 41), cheating, MINORS DNI, 18+

a/n: originally posted on my old blog as a response to an ask asking for stepdad!Fred. Not proofread just copied and pasted

Your mom. God you loved her, but she really wasn’t the best lady. Every night you heard her with a random hookup. It was a never ending cycle for as long as you could remember.

‘Was’ being the keyword here. When she started her new job at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, she met one of the owners, Fred Weasley. A surprisingly successful man for someone running a joke shop. and a bloody hot man at that. She quickly fell for him and he managed to help her get her life back together, falling for each other during so. Eventually they got together then married about a year later. You were seventeen at the time, so that was three years ago. Fred was older than your mom by a few years, being forty-one now in current times.

And god, you loved your mom. But you couldn’t manage to think enough to stop your actions or deny how disgustingly good it felt when the same man rearranges your guts while she slept in the next room,

“Fuck…. s’your tight lil cunt hugging me like a vice,” The older man said through a breathy chuckle. Large hands holding the back of your thighs as your legs were pushed up, your knees practically next to your head.

You bit your lip as you looked at the man holding your legs. No, not just ‘the man’, your step dad, your mother’s husband. The entire situation was taboo for multiple different reasons, but fuck you loved it.

You let out a pathetic, soft moan as you glanced down to where the two of you connected, feeling him slowly drag through your walls. tears falling from your eyes at the delicious stretch of your walls and the soft touch that’s going in the shape of ‘o’s on your clit.

“C’mon you gotta loosen up a bit sweetheart.” He said, his sweet tone not matching the taboo situation. Free hand moving up to your face, wiping away your tears as he continued to slowly move. “I don’t fuck you for a month and you get all tight on me again… Maybe you should visit more?” He said with a smirk, tone slightly teasing, eyes darting down to your lips as his hand moved to where he was looking. His thumb pushing your bite swollen and wet bottom lip down slightly as he admired how easily he made you look like a mess.

You moaned at his words, getting tighter around him for a second before attempting to relax. You looked up at him with doe eyes, making eye contact with him. Silently pleading with your eyes for a kiss and preferably an increase in pace.

He groaned at your watery, wide eyes staring up at him. “You know what you do to me when you look up at me like that?” He asked rhetorically. Knowing that you knew damn well the effect you had on the older man. He moved your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he moved down, his arms resting on both sides of your head as his lips connected with yours, resting his bodyweight on his knees and forearms. His hips gradually starting to thrust faster.

You could feel every twitch of his cock as it dragged along your walls. his pace slowish as he pulled out though thrusts almost punishing as he quickly slammed himself back into you, the tip of his cock hitting that spongy part in you. Making you let out loud moans through the kiss, hands moving from his hair to his clothed back, pulling and scratching at the white shirt as his pace continuously sped up. The bed creaking with his actions.

You tried having a hookup with some guy since you’ve left for college, but none of them felt as good as Fred. Guys your age didn’t have the same skill and experience as him. You were unapologetically whipped for him and his cock, and he knew that and took pride in it. “Bet no other guys can fuck you like i can? hm?” Fred asked, pulling away from the kiss as he looked down at you. his hands planting themselves on your hips, making you meet his thrusts. His typical, confident smirk on his face. “Got you addicted to ya step dad’s cock don’t i?”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[l-starsz]

Billie convincing reader to let her eat her pussy on her period

I'm inlove with your fics, you're such a damn good writer 🫶🏽🫶🏽

a/n: this probably isn’t great because i’m SOOO tired and my head is pounding rn but i hope it’s good at least🥲 and thank you so much ml!! i’m so sorry this took ages for me to write🫶

billie and i were laying in bed together, watching a movie. her back was resting against the comfy pillows on our bed, whilst my back was resting against her front. i was sat between her legs, and her hands were lightly resting against my thighs. we were both intrigued in the movie, or so i thought. whilst i was watching, and keeping up with the storyline, billies hands began to wander. they roamed up my stomach, cupping my boobs gently, before moving down again to this time, rest against my inner thighs.

i really tried to focus on the movie, but i just couldn't with her hands all over me. i knew nothing could happen, i was on my period, which meant that i had to wait a few more days until she could touch me. i'd been so horny. i was desperate for her, but we both knew that nothing could be done about it. well, she could fix my horniness, but i felt bad for asking her to do that when i was on my period. so i waited, and somehow put up with the feeling of being unbearably horny almost all day, every day.

soon enough, i felt her pressing light kisses behind my ear, down my neck, before lightly whispering in my ear.

"can i try something, baby?"

i slightly turned in her arms so that i could see her face, before answering her in a hushed tone.

"and what would that be, hm bil?"

"please can i taste you?"

my eyebrows furrowed and i looked away as i wondered why she was even asking. she knew i was on my period. she'd practically been taking care of me for the last few days. grabbing me a hot water bottle, or holding me in her arms whenever my cramps worsened. getting me whatever food i wanted when i was craving something. making sure i was drinking plenty of water. she really was the best. i just didn't understand why she was asking this now.

"i.. baby, you know i'm still on my period."

"i know.. i just can't wait!! i want to taste you please, love. i'll do anything."

i hesitated slightly. what if i made a mess, and then she got mad? what if i didn't taste good? she must have noticed the look on my face because she began speaking again.

"if you're not comfortable with this, then we don't have to do it. but i promise you that you don't need to overthink it, there should be no what if's filling your mind. you know i love you no matter what. i think you're the most perfect girl in the world."

how did she know?

it was like she could read my mind.

"pleaseeee? pinky promise i'll take great care of you, angel. just like always. pretty please?"

if i hadn't been so horny for the last few days, i probably would've said no, but that side of my brain just took over. i needed her so so bad. i reminded myself that she would always love me. this wasn't going to change that. she wanted this just as much as i did.

"if i say yes, can you put a towel down? you know.. just in case?" i mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

"of course, angel. whatever makes you feel the most comfortable." she answered me, placing soft kisses on my forehead.

once i'd spent a short amount of time thinking about it, i looked back into her eyes and nodded.

"i need you billie."

she just smirked at my words, before sitting me up slightly so that she could move from behind me, and settle in between my legs instead.

it didn't take her long to leave the room and grab a towel, folding it slightly and placing it underneath me. she sat on her knees at first, slowly pulling my pyjamas and underwear down so that she had the perfect view of me. once our clothes had been discarded in a messy pile on the floor, she leaned down to lay on her stomach, getting even closer to my core. i let out a needy whine when all she did was lightly blow against my pussy.

she could already see how wet i was. i hadn't told her about how needy id been for the past few days, but i think that as soon as she caught a glance of how wet i was, she immediately realised. she didn't bother to waste any more time, diving straight in. her tongue ran a long stripe up my pussy, before focusing on my clit. she was trying to get me wetter, it wasn't like she needed me to be wetter, she just wanted to tease. i reached my hands down to grab her hair, pulling her impossibly closer to my core in an attempt to get her to move faster.

we both knew that i was already pretty sensitive because of how long i'd needed this, so it wouldn't take her long to get me close, which was why she was trying to drag it out as much as possible. she wanted me to last as long as i could.

her tongue flicked my clit, before licking and slurping, just doing as much as she could to bring me pleasure. after what felt like an eternity, she finally moved to push her tongue inside of me. she worked her tongue against my tight walls as they squeezed against her. my orgasm was approaching fast, and my arousal must have been dripping all over the lower half of her face. at that point, i'd completely forgot that i was on my period, and i think billie had forgotten too. we were both too focused on me finishing.

i was so close, and to add to the pleasure, she pressed her fingers on my clit, quickly rubbing circles against it, making my moans as loud as they could get. i couldn't hold it any longer. no matter how hard i tried, i was too desperate.

"billie! baby, can i cum for you? please?" i moaned out.

"that's ittt." she praised, "cum for me, my love."

as soon as i heard those words, my orgasm hit me. my moans and cries were broken whilst i let the feeling consume me. my back was arching off the bed, and my hands were still tangled in billies hair, gripping onto it tight to ground myself slightly.

as i started to come down from my high, my grip loosened on her hair, and i felt one of her hands gently rubbing my stomach to help me calm down. when i finally flopped against the bed, trying to catch my breath, billie pulled her face away from me, looking into my eyes with a proud smile. all i could see was a mixture of my arousal, and blood dripping down her chin and coating her lips.

my cheeks turned red and i covered my face, embarrassed even though i knew billie was just happy that she'd made me feel good.

i didn't even notice her come closer to my face until i felt her carefully grabbing my wrists to pry my hands away from my face, and i heard her pretty voice.

"don't be embarrassed, angel. can i go clean you up now?"

"please." i nodded and thanked her, allowing myself to be lifted up in her arms, my head resting on my shoulder out of exhaustion.

once we took a long shower, and pampered each other, it was time for us to get back in bed and watch movies for the rest of the day, enjoying each others company just like usual.

[astrxsee]

y’all i need help after this.. part 1 part 2 bowler!price x bartender!reader

the loud clinking of ice and bowling pins being toppled over filled your ears. it was another wednesday night at your part time job at the alley. your feet were sore from restocking coolers, filling buckets, and greeting customers. usually, you dreaded working here but the past couple of weeks have been… interesting.

your shift was now filled with flirty comments and tense glances. john’s eyes never left you when you were near him, no matter what he was doing. his bright blues followed your body, a small smirk on his face when you meet his gaze.

it was as if he was watching you, making sure none of the old, nasty bowlers touched you. like you were his.

john loved to mess with you, loved to see your face flush around him. he’d try to trip you, get in your way, or make teasing comments about your clothes. his actions always met with a disapproving eye roll from you. on the inside, though, the rush of even just talking to him almost made you pass out.

“hey, y/n, are you good with computers?” john’s deep voice calls from behind you, breaking you out of your haze. you turn around, easily letting a sweet smile onto your face.

“yeah actually, what can I help you with?” you say, with a slight giggle. deciding to be bold, you slide smoothly into the chair next to him. he tries to hide the smile on his face at your closeness.

“think you could go put us in as the winners for today?” his words make you laugh, totally catching you off guard. league wasn’t even halfway over.

“mmm… i’m sorry sir, I don’t think I can do that for you.” you giggle out, giving his bicep a teasing slap. you shake your head as he rolls his eyes at you.

“what, are you doing that bad i have to fix it for you?” his eyes go wide in feigned hurt, gasping slightly. you glance up at the scoreboard, seeing his first two frames were not the best. a stern swat to your thigh quickly has your attention back on john, his blue eyes finding yours.

“watch, now that you finally came and talked to me, princess,” he murmurs lowly, leaning in close to your lips, “I’ll be the best one on the team.”

and when you look back at the scoreboard five minutes later, he’s got four strikes in a row.

———

it’s a lazy sunday morning when your phone buzzes, a text message from april, your coworker lighting up your screen.

april<3

girl, your man is here with his WIFE??

HES MARRIED

GIRL WHAT she literally looks exactly like you i’m dead

lmao they act like they hate each other 😭

the sudden flurry of texts had your mind racing… he was married but he still looked at you like you were his. you dragged a hand down your face, groaning.

of course he was married, how could someone as handsome and capable as john not be married. all that happened between you two was nothing more than flirting, and that was all that it would ever be.

though, you couldn’t help but to think about him when touching yourself that night.

———

your eyes are trained on the muscles of his back as he leans over to untie his bowling shoes. deciding that it was now or never, once again, you softly sit down into the seat beside him. his lazy, hypnotic smile greedily draws your gaze immediately.

facing him, you finally notice how close you two are. with your thighs and shoulders touching, you can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“um, we’re about to close, do you want anything else?” you say softly, making sure he knew he was the only one that could hear.

his eyes drop to your hands in your lap as he leans back slightly. you sit there, restless, as his gaze hungrily rakes up your body.

“yeah, i definitely want something else.” john says lowly, his eyes finally meeting yours. looking up at him through your eyelashes, you feel the flush on your face crawl down your neck.

“what would you like, sir?” you ask, voice soft and innocent. you try to play it cool but it feels like you might spontaneously combust on the spot.

he shakes his head slightly, his gaze practically ripping away from your lips.

“a beer. i’ll be over there in a minute.” he remedies, turning his attention back to his shoes. you mumble out a quick ‘see you soon’ before rushing back over to the bar.

you busy yourself with all the tasks you had to do before close, trying to take your mind off john. you try not to think about his pretty blue eyes or his big, strong biceps.

a few minutes later, you’re up at the front helping your boss check out guests. you look up at the bar, noticing john looking up at you already. nervously, you drop what you’re doing and head to help him.

he stands there toying with cleaning rags you had left on the counter, his face giving you a teasing glance. you roll your eyes at him as you come to stand across from him at the register.

“hey, i have something i want to talk to you about.” he says quickly before you can even say anything. your face falls taking on a look of confusion. he’s never talked to you like this before.

“yeah, of course,” you replied, voice filed with nerves, “what is it, john?”

“this is either a really good thing or a really bad thing,” he prefaces, his soft gaze meeting yours with a nervous smile, “you know I’m married, right?”

your eyes go wide as you quickly nod, your mind running a mile a minute. why would he need to tell you this now? your fingers nervously fidget with the ends of your hair as you reply slowly,

“yes, but all this is is just flirting, nothing is going to happen. so don’t worry.” stumbling over your words, you miss the way his hands subconsciously tense at your words.

“fuck, darlin, you don’t know how much i love flirting and talking with you.” his voice low, gaze flitting around your face for any sign that he may have hurt or upset you.

“if i wasn’t married, i would’ve already taken you out somewhere nice. would’ve asked for your number the first day i saw you.” you let out a small gasp at his words, did he want you like you wanted him? did he think about you even though he is twice your age? maybe he thought about you laying next to his wife.

“i think you’re beautiful, princess.”

you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips as you look up at him. the flush on your face growing ever more obvious at his attention.

“i think you’re very handsome, too, john.” you murmur shyly, twirling your hair around your fingers nervously. his gaze on your body was downright hungry, he looked like he’d take you right there if you let him.

“although, john,” your voice becoming teasing, letting your eyes fall obviously into his left hand, “i don’t see you wearing a ring.”

his empty hand resting on the counter becoming painfully obvious as his gaze drops to it. the supposed permanent band around his finger seemed to be… missing. the look that he gave you was all that you needed to know.

“never have and never will, ma’am.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Chaos // Revelry - Ch. 2

Elucien | Ch. 2 | Ao3

After a series of heated dreams and strange visions send Elain to The Human Lands, the bond she's been pointedly ignoring for years suddenly becomes too overwhelming to push aside. The close proximity and the mission at hand bring her and Lucien closer, even with new enemies and danger behind every corner. Despite Elain's stubborn will, fate seems to keep finding ways to turn her best laid plans to chaos.

NSFW

[One Year Later]

The sigh was on her lips when she awoke, perched there like a bird ready to take flight as she whispered his name. 

She’d felt him in her dreams, lips working against her as she rose from the dregs of sleep, already so hot, so wet for him as he dragged his tongue steadily, solidly against her. 

“Lucien.” The name left Elain’s mouth on an exhale. It danced across the room with the motes of dust that sparkled in the early Velaris sun streaming through her windows. 

He grinned against her sex but didn’t relent, that wicked tongue roaming the full length of her as she sighed and stretched with her arms above her head. What a lovely way to wake, the fire already consuming her fully.

His fingers pressed lightly in as they grazed up the expanse of her thighs, sliding around her hips and grabbing full handfuls of her ass. He pressed her impossibly closer to his mouth, his tongue alternating between tight circles on her clit and spearing into her, tasting her. Lucien ate her like a man starved, like she was the only thing that mattered to him, that had ever mattered to him. Like if he released his hold on her, let his tongue leave her, that she may disappear entirely, lost to the wind. 

One of his elegant fingers slipped inside her and her back arched like a bowstring, naked breasts heaving towards the ceiling as she clutched the sheets. She was so wet there was no resistance, nothing but the welcoming noises her body made and his hum of pleasure against her.

“Is that what you wanted, my love?” He punctuated every other word with a languid, open-mouthed kiss to her, each sending bolts of pleasure like lightning to her already tightening spine.

“Please. Please .”

“I do love when you beg me.”

Before she could respond in kind, he’d added another finger, the two working her so precisely she lost all thoughts in her head. 

How could he know her so intimately? Know what she liked so vividly, as though he felt her every want and need?

“I do know your every want and need, mate. Better than anyone else ever could, ” he spoke the words with a possessive growl that sent Elain spiraling, the heat riding her so hard she worried the bed itself would explode into flames. He nipped at her, sharp teeth grazing her most sensitive skin as she bucked into him, the feelings coalescing into a deafening roar of blood in her veins as she barreled towards her orgasm. He pursed his lips around her clit just as he curled the fingers inside her, and Elain came so hard her vision whited out. 

Lucien.

But the word was in her mind this time. 

“Lucien.” She tried speaking it aloud, but her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat.  “Lucien?” she asked again, but Elain was already aware of what had happened as she opened her eyes to the grey light of morning, her bed empty, sheets tousled and tangled around her legs. 

Hands rubbed tired eyes, the dreary winter rain tapping against the window panes beside her. She was alone, as she had been every morning for the past year. 

It had felt so real. 

It always did.

Elain sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and cringing at the slick mess between her thighs. This was nothing new. In fact, the dreams happened more often than not anymore. She wasn't sure if it was the ignored bond, winding itself tighter and tighter as more time passed, or if it was somehow tied to the visions. She could feel him every time, as though he was there with her. As though he was inside her in more ways than one.

She brushed a swath of messy curls over her shoulder as she yawned. Between the dreams and visions, she didn’t sleep much anymore regardless. 

She padded quietly to her bathroom, thankful that she had one of her own. The fae in this house were all about exchanging scents, smelling each other and commenting on it for every single indiscretion. She found it jarring and crass– not the fact that they were so sexually active, but that they all wanted to share about it with each other. It had taken her the better part of the last two years to control the embarrassing blushing that she was prone to when the conversations and teasing inevitably started up with her in the room. 

She had nothing against a healthy sex life, clearly , even if she didn’t have one of her own. She just didn’t want to hear about everyone else’s. Or have them be aware of her own… urges in such great detail. 

When she awoke from dreams like this, she made a point to bathe before going downstairs, washing the smell of arousal from her entirely and dousing her body in the fragrant floral oils she purchased in the Palaces in the city. If anyone scented it on her past all that, they’d at least had the decency to not mention it to her face. 

She sunk into the warm water, letting tense muscles relax as the heat crept up to her chin. No matter how she washed, she couldn’t get the scent of him out of her nose. Pine needles in the sun as she ran her fingers through his copper hair. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d sent his dreams to her across the bond– it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Elain hadn’t set eyes on him in months. He’d been back around the start of fall, reporting to Rhys about some business, and their eyes had met in the hall. He’d afforded her a small smirk and sketched a bow before stepping from the dark hall into Rhys’s office, and that had been it. She hated how even the briefest of moments ignited the fire she dutifully ignored like a field of dried wheat meeting a spark. He’d been back in The Human Lands since, not even deigning to appear for Solstice this year. He’d sent her a gift, all the same, despite his absence. 

It was her favorite so far. She might have even told him so had he shown his face. Not unlike the small necklace Elain had ripped from her own neck the year before, this one sat on a delicate chain of silver. Instead of stained glass, the charm was a smooth pendant of clear resin, the most beautiful blue petals suspended eternally in bloom inside. Rather than put it with her gloves and pearls in the back of the closet, she wore it. Truthfully, she never took it off. She’d taken to rubbing a thumb over it in concentration or worry, the smooth material of it a balm when she needed one. 

What did it matter?

No one had seen him gift it to her because he hadn’t been present. He certainly wouldn’t see it, considering he never came around anymore. 

If she pretended hard enough, even she might believe it didn’t bother her.

She fastened the buttons on her dress, a pleasant emerald that mirrored the evergreens surrounding the city she’d finally come to refer to as home. She lifted the fine chain and dipped it back, allowing the charm to settle beneath it and between her breasts before she turned to leave the room. 

Nyx’s giggle filtered up to her as she descended the massive staircase into the house proper, her heart flitting at the sound. Her nephew and his parents sat at the table in the family dining room, and Elain didn’t hesitate to offer to take over the feeding of the most demanding and messy member of the household. At least, as long as Cassian wasn’t visiting. 

“Hello, my sweet boy. How’s my favorite nephew doing this morning?” Elain cooed as she walked around the long table to sit beside him. In response, Nyx slammed his hands into a plate of eggs as he squealed excitedly. Feyre just pinched the bridge of her nose as Rhys looked on with a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“I’ve got him, eat your breakfast.” Elain scooped some eggs onto a spoon, twirling it through the air until Nyx was entranced enough to open widely and politely. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Elain, truly. Are you certain we can’t simply put you on the salary to train his manners?” Feyre sighed, finally taking a bite of her own breakfast. 

“He gets his manners from his mother,” Rhys quipped, then dodged a croissant as he filled his own plate. 

Elain helped Nyx eat with one hand as she brewed a strong tea with the other, letting the bold scent wash over her senses. She’d need a cup or two with the sleep she’d gotten. The thoughts were shoved abruptly away before she let them stray too far in the presence of the two daemati she lived with. 

Once he was done, she hoisted him into her lap, knocking the errant pieces of runaway egg off him and onto the table. His onyx curls were soft as down, and she absently ran her fingers through them while he relaxed against her chest, carefully sipping her tea with the other hand. 

“–and I’m not certain we could get a location on it narrowed that specifically without being close when it happened.” 

“What’s that?” Elain questioned, finally coming into the conversation. 

“The power flares. Another happened yesterday. Near the border of Spring and Summer this time.”

She furrowed her brows. These strange flares had begun a few months ago, rising in regularity since. They hadn’t been able to find any identifiable patterns, nor predict with any sort of accuracy where the next might strike. Nyx sighed against her neck, little cheeks puffing as he started to fade into sleep. 

“And no new information?” Elain asked. Rhys shook his head. Though they still hesitated to allow Elain too much involvement, her visions had proven to be helpful enough that, at the very least, she was no longer discounted entirely from the conversations on these matters. She liked to know what was going on. Whether she could help or not was another matter entirely.

“Has the vision returned?” Feyre asked, clearing her plate and pouring more tea. 

“You know I’d tell you if it had.” The last had been a week prior, and she’d gotten out of bed to inform them immediately, allowing them to delve into the memory of it and see for themselves. 

A bloodied hand on the cracked, stone ground, a small cauldron that sent familiar shivers down her spine and gave her nightmares for days, a flare of light, and Lucien’s bright shock of red hair, whipping through the wind against dark thunderheads.

The vision had felt rocky, coarse, cold. Unwelcoming. Though she couldn’t make out any more details of it, and it hadn’t come back, it had felt ominous. A warning of something just out of her grasp. 

“Any more dreams?” Rhys asked, snagging more fruit and spearing a piece onto his fork. Elain nearly choked on her tea as an image flashed of dark golden shoulders and a broad expanse of scarred back settling between her thighs. 

“What?”

“Visions. Any more dreams or visions?”

“No. No more. Since last time.” She pushed down the image of copper hair laced through her fingers with near-violent force, checking her mental shields were holding tight. 

Rhys nodded, looking to Feyre. “We’ll need to send out missives. I imagine it’s time we have some sort of a meeting so we can, at minimum, put a reporting system into place. Try and see if any predictive theories can be found. If any magic can be tracked.” 

Elain reached beside her to grab the nearby pen, ready to roll it to Feyre when her body abruptly froze. She recognized the sensation for what it was, the rigid rippling from her toes to her scalp as the cold seized her.

“Elain?”

But she was already fading from awareness, sight going milky as the vision pulled her under, Rhys gently taking Nyx from her arms. 

Pink fabric beneath her cheek, a soothing touch on her back. 

Twice the vision

Yet not the right 

A deep laugh in her ear. Low and close and warm.

Heal the rift 

And stay the course 

A firebird across the sky. 

The darkness within us

Corrupt and descend

That soft, feminine voice she’d come to know so well, that she’d finally stopped approaching with fear. 

It's time to return to the manor, Elain. It’s time. 

Elain came back to herself abruptly, her hand clenched in the table cloth and a gasp of air filling her lungs harshly. Feyre and Rhys watched from beside her, Nyx still asleep peacefully in his father’s arms. 

Feyre was beside her in an instant, pouring cold water into a glass, the visions so commonplace now that they all knew what helped in the immediate aftermath. “What was it?”

Elain swallowed, the lump in her throat hard and solid. 

Undoubtedly, the firebird meant Vassa. The rest could have been anything. But Elain’s visions weren’t always easily understood–more often than not, they were these swimming images, words that meant nothing to her until the events passed, if they ever did. 

But that laugh, the low rumbling in her ear. She knew who it belonged to, even if her heart clenched to hear it. Still, there was no denying where the vision was trying to move her, the tug on her intuition something she’d learned to not ignore. 

“I need to go to The Human Lands. Back to the manor.” 

The shock on both their faces was almost comical. 

“What did you see?” She pushed the memory out to them, face burning as she realized the resounding laugh and her reaction to it would be sent, too. No one questioned her anymore about Lucien, or her bond, or her love life at all, really. Despite a lingering awkwardness between her and Azriel that a blind man himself could see, it was clear to everyone around that Elain had chosen to remain alone for the time being. 

They didn’t know how many times she’d awoken in Lucien’s empty apartment.

“Does the rhyme mean anything to you?” Rhys asked, but Elain shook her head. It seemed fragmented, just pieces of something larger. A poem or a song, perhaps. 

“Are you certain you want to go to The Human Lands, Elain? Won’t it be strange seeing Lucien there?”

It would be. As it always was. Her neutral indifference to him was a mask she’d perfected, despite her wants raging immediately beneath the surface. But when she considered not going to follow this vision, the very blood in her body seemed to rebel. 

“Perhaps, but something is pushing me there, and it isn’t going to help anyone if I don’t listen.” Elain had learned to heed the warnings her Sight gave her, even if she hadn’t exactly verbalized that it was occasionally the voice she’d heard in the depths of The Cauldron leading her to where she needed to be. 

Still, Elain was inclined to listen, even if being near Lucien might be difficult. She held firm in her resolve to restrain herself from giving in to the bond long ago, being close to him hadn’t changed that before. And maybe, with the two so close, the bond would settle a bit. Allow her to get some damned sleep.

“Will you feel safe there?” Rhys asked, concern settling in his eyes. 

At that, at least, Elain raised a brow. “Do you think I won’t be at my absolute safest with him there?” 

Rhys chuckled, but acquiesced with raised palms. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Elain continued. “I’ll be okay. It seems I need to go. If I'm gone, maybe you’ll have more time to look into the flares.”

She should have told them that this wasn’t the first vision she’d had urging her towards The Human Lands. Should have told them that this was actually just the most recent of many, and it was time she stopped ignoring them. 

Elain had gotten much better about keeping secrets.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not like I can’t get in touch.”

Feyre and Rhys exchanged a look, and Elain knew they were speaking mind to mind. “We do need someone to alert the remaining human kingdoms and Vassa about the power flares. We could consider you an emissary to Night, give you the courtly protections.” 

Elain fought rolling her eyes. Would her little sister ever stop treating her like a child? Like something breakable? “It’ll be fine, Feyre. Truly. We’re on good terms with Vassa and Jurian, are we not?”

Feyre chewed at her lip momentarily, finally seeming to make peace with it. “Alright. I’ll reach out. Only if you’re certain.”

She could do this. She could go, figure out what the purpose of her presence was, and still hold strong as she had been. He’d been to Night plenty, been in her house plenty. Another setting wasn’t going to suddenly bring her resolve to its knees. Plus, a change of scenery would do her well.

“I’m certain.”

Feyre put a hand on her shoulder as she passed. “It’ll be nice to visit. See if it feels any different now.” At that, Elain’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t something she’d yet considered, but she wasn’t changing her mind now. 

Feyre found her in the garden hours later, the sun having rallied valiantly from behind the heavy clouds and rain of morning. A response had come back almost immediately from Vassa formally inviting Elain to stay for as long as she’d like. Though Elain’s memories of Vassa were foggy at best, she remembered her being fine, fiery and bold, but raised in society as she and her sisters had been. There hadn’t been much time to catch up post-war, but she wondered what she’d be like in these different times. People were different after the wake of tragedy had distanced itself, gods knew she was.  

“I’m certain the promptness had nothing to do with a certain Vanserra,” Feyre said with the subtlety of a brick through a window. 

Elain’s stomach flipped.

She cleared her throat, returning her attention to the flowers. “Nothing at all.”

[makiruz]

Edit: Part 2 now available

Okay, I have read two fics fitting Liir into the Musical Verse, I don't really like either, but both have really interesting elements that really fascinate me (I just can't get into the sum of their parts)

So I am kinda making up with my own version, with the things I like, like Fiyero being a scarecrow and not out of his son's life, you know like that.

Keep in mind I haven't read any of the Wicked books and I most I know comes from the Wicked Wiki

Okay, so Liir, Elphaba and Fiyero's son grows up in Oz, raised by Glinda (I think this is from the book???); and I really like the idea from this fic that Glinda is passing him as her son with Fiyero, I mean is the books Liir is a known orphan, and Glinda is a known lesbian, but in the musical Glinda was Fiyero's fiance. Also I like the idea of Glinda finding out Elphaba is pregnant while they both think Fiyero is dead (loosely here)

Alright so it's like this, Elphaba gets pregnant from As Long As Your Mine, and we're past Fiyero getting crucified and something happens and Elphaba tells Glinda she's pregnant; Glinda is kind of excited, but we're all in agreement this is a terrible situation, Elphaba is Public Enemy Number One and Fiyero is dead, and also Elphaba's mother died in childbirth and what if the baby is green? The reality is that Elphaba doesn't want to terminate the pregnancy, she'd rather die instead but Glinda knows she doesn't mean either, and notes that Fiyero died so she could live, do you really want to throw away his sacrifice? So that's when they decide to fake Elphaba's dead; the Wizard already sent the girl Dorothy and her posse after Elphie so they're gonna use that, then Elphaba will go into hiding until the baby is born and then she'll leave Oz forever, and Glinda will keep the baby, and if the baby is green, Glinda will think of something; it's for the best, whatever life Elphaba is gonna have is not a good for a baby

So meanwhile Fiyero is not actually dead, he's a scarecrow and for whatever reason he wasn't able to get a message to Elphaba that he's alive, so he's not in it when the gang confronts the Witch; and so when she "melts" the Scarecrow is fucking distressed and no one understands why. Like the dead of the Wicked Witch is horrific, even Boq who was all gung-ho on killing her looks sick and horrified (yeah, turns out killing your college friend does not make you feel better about being made of tin); but the Scarecrow is a mess, when she finishes melting he practically jumps to the puddle and looks around, as if looking for something he can't find, "it's only water!" he says sounding distraught, eventually he takes the Witch's hat and holds him to his chest and it's clear that if he could cry he'd be wailing (side note, if Boq suspected who Scarecrow was, this confirmed it)

Anyway, after they have returned to Emerald City and Glinda has sent Dorothy back home following Elphaba's advice, the Scarecrow talks to her, he is still holding the Witch's hat for dear life and looks like the world is ending; "how is it possible? It was just water" he asks Glinda in despair, "pure water could destroy her wickedness, as marked for her green skin" someone says (not Boq, he has just realized he loved Elphaba as a friend and he's mourning), but Scarecrow insists, "but she was always green, but she wasn't always wicked!". Glinda had anticipated this kind of questioning (but not anticipate who would ask) and has an answer "the Vinkun soldiers heard the Witch chanting on her tower, she must have cast some sort of spell on herself" "ah! to make herself more powerful!" "sure, let's go with that" but Glinda notices the Scarecrow gets her real meaning Elphaba cursed herself to die, which only makes him more depressed, what is up with that?

Okay, so eventually the baby is born, and not only is he a normal human color, he looks just like Fiyero so Glinda can easily claim he's her son with her late fiance Fiyero Tigelaar killed protecting Glinda from the Wicked Witch of the West, she hid the pregnancy due to the unfortunate events of the past few months and everyone understand. Now the actual Fiyero, has spent the past few months in the Emerald City moping and helping with The Reconciliation and he knows something's up with Glinda's baby because he knows for a fact that Glinda wasn't pregnant and even if she was, it wouldn't be his because they hadn't slept together for months before his scarecrowification; but he gets it when he sees the baby, little Liir does indeed look just like him but he has Elphaba's eyes. Fiyero gently strokes his newborn son's face with a gloved hand, he is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen; and it means Elphaba is still alive, probably close by because Liir is only a couple of days old, she can't have gone far so soon after delivery, and he has an idea where Glinda might have stashed her: the Lake House, no one goes there since her father got injured and stopped fishing.

Once Fiyero goes to the Lake House he finds evidence Elphaba was indeed there, but she's gone now; dammit, she could be anywhere in Oz right now, she could be anywhere outside of Oz right now, finding her could take months, even years! But then he thinks of a little boy in the Emerald City who is gonna grow up without a father, and his son is his first priority, he'll find Elphaba later (and she won't just abandon her son either). So in the following years the Scarecrow who help killed the Wicked Witch of the West, becomes a constant presence in the life of Liir Tigelaar; Glinda doesn't know why the Scarecrow cares so much about Liir, but being a single parents is hard and she needs all the help she can get so she won't question it; meanwhile Liir comes to see the Scarecrow as a father figure, as ridiculous as it is (don't worry, he'll realize the irony eventually)

At this point, I realize this has gotten too long already so I'll continue with part 2 later

[shanklin]

"What if Stan gives Shanklin a Mini Mr. Mystery outfit? The two be twinning!"

Dear 500-word-ask!anon from my inbox. Have my answer for the first 14 words.

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

Shanklin found him. Somehow, hundreds of miles away from home, Shanklin found him.

Soos almost ran him over on accident but Stan took the steering wheel at the very last second and turned it around.

The sudden drift and following emergency brake had them almost break right through the windshield, but Stan didn’t care about his bruised shoulder and bleeding head. He recognized that screeching grin anywhere.

He threw himself out of the car and stumbled onto the street, frantically looking around for his friend.

“Shanklin! SHANKLIN!”

It wasn’t just his imagination, right? Stan was certain he saw his little possum. Stan turned around and ran back to the car. Did they hit him? Did he kill another member of his family? 

Stan sank to the ground. Please please don’t let it be true. Not Shanklin. Stan closed his eyes tightly and tried to block out the world around him until he felt little pricks on his thigh, little claws scratching his pants and the skin underneath.

A tiny furry body squeezed itselfs into a gap in between his curled up body and nestled comfortably on his lap.

Stan cradled the possum into his arms, hid his face in the scruffy fur and wept silently. Shanklin came back to him. For him. 

Soos suggested Shanklin might be magical, some sort of animal wizard or something, and Stan couldn’t help but agree.

“You really are magic, aren’t you? The smartest, most mysterious possum the world has ever seen!”

In response, the banana piece Shanklin was messily chewing on fell out of his mouth and he bit on the fabric in Stan's hands instead.

“Hey, that’s for the show, stop that! HEY!”

It took much more effort than expected to get Shanklin into the Mini Mr. Mystery outfit. For a super smart magical wizard pet he sure acted like a wild animal sometimes.No matter, Stan had succeeded and Shankling looked, quite honestly, really damn cute. Stan had been hoping for a more cool aesthetic, but the little hat, tie and suit combo was just adorable and matched his own perfectly.

Stan tried not to think about how much Grauntie Mabel would love it. How proud she would be, if things were different. She had taught him all about making comfortable clothes for animals, when Ford had kicked him out of their shared room in the attic that one time.

He, Fidds and Grunkle Dipper needed more space for an all night DD&mD extravaganza, so Stan had to go.

Back then Stan had tried to ask if he could join but chickened out at the last minute. 

“Stan, don't touch that. Those are some highly advanced calculations for later game play. I don’t want them all messed up. You wouldn’t understand”

Stan took a look at the sheets and it was true. Nothing on them made a lick of sense, but he had hoped they could just do the math for him and he could still be there for the fun bits.

The fun bits being the times when Stan heard them laughing and screaming in delight. The ones that became inside jokes that no one explained to Stan. And if he would asked them to, they’d just laugh harder.

But they were right, Stan wouldn’t understand. He’d just mess everything up.  

So he went downstairs, where Grauntie Mabel made him a warm chocolatey Mabel Juice variant and taught him all about how to sew in an emergency, in case you see a cute animal that would be even cuter in a little blazer. 

Sewing and creating miniature outfits was surprisingly fun and when he heard laughter from above and Grauntie Mabel put her arms around him in sympathy, he felt not as alone as usual.

“I know it’s hard,” she told him looking pained, “but we need to let those nerds do their own thing. If we go and force them to do stuff they don’t want to, it will just end badly for all of us. I’ve been through it before and trust me. This is for the best.”

Stan leaned into her and let himself be comforted by her warmth.

Stan did not tell her that he just wanted to play with them and not force them to do something else.

And he did not ask her why she constantly agreed with Dipper's plans then, even though she clearly didn’t want to. 

“Okay, I trust you.” he said instead and got rewarded with a kiss on his head and a cuddle. 

Mini Mr. Mystery was a blazing success! 

Everyone loved Shanklin, even if he almost ate his hat halfway through the show. 

If his luck streak continued, Stan would soon make enough money to pay Soos back for all that he had wasted on him.

Stan took a bow and held Shanklin out to the crowd who squeaked in protest.

The “awws” in response were justified. His Shanklin was adorable!

“Look at you and your twin!”

Shanklin started to squirm. Stan held him tighter and forced a grin.

“Almost identical. You can barely tell them apart.” 

oh don’t be silly. it’s easy. the freak with the glasses is the smart one and the one who looks like he can’t count to three is the spare

The crowd laughed.

mocking laughter, red cheeks, six fingered hands hiding away

“So if you’re the creative one then that must make this little guy the smart one right?”

don’t you ever call him that again

Stan's grip loosened and Shanklin attacked, jumping right onto the worst offender, scratching and biting. 

or i’ll make sure you won’t live long enough to regret it

The crowd jumped and screamed as the possum ran through, attacking everyone that looked like a threat. In midst the panic a path formed and Stan ran until his legs gave out.

Shanklin was still by his side when he finally collapsed and cuddled up next to him. Stan pet his head, now free of the fez.

Maybe Stan just wasn’t cut out for this twinning thing.

Later Soos would find them both fast asleep under a park tree. He swore up and down that Shanklin showed him the way and Stan swore that he never left his side.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I love love love ALL of your fics, you have no idea the intensity of my joy when I clicked on your profile and knew all of your fandoms.

If you're still doing the fic ask game, could you do Pez Dispenser Debris? It's my favorite mha fic ever bc you nailed the characterizations but it's also objectively like the funniest thing ever? and I feel like the background world is so rich even if it's not the primary focus of the fic.

Mirio is meant to be to Izuku what Izuku is to everyone else.

Everyone who talks about Izuku is like “he is unrealistically perfect. You can’t even be mad at him for it. He is all that is noble and pure and good. I’ve spent the last three years consoling myself with the fact that my classmate is the greatest person to ever live so it’s okay that he’s totally lapping me” and then you get to Izuku’s perspective and he’s just like a horrible mess of anxiety and crisis.

Izuku is ON THE RECORD that he thinks Mirio is the greatest man to ever live. He is #blessed to breathe the same air. God actually made him as a model for rest of humanity to follow and Izuku’s just here to be thankful.

And then you get to Mirio’s perspective. And he’s also kind of a mess.

I think Mirio excels at keeping the appearance of cheer up. Maybe a little too well. He defaults to it as a mask. So you end up with him wanting to cry at the idea of all might trying to fill in for nighteye and never telling anyone.

I also really liked the idea of him being slightly possessive over Izuku.

It’s not in a toxic way. He’s not trying to isolate Izuku or anything. But like. Mirio Does Not want to admit that he deserves anything resembling a second billing in Izuku’s life. They got incredibly close while he was prepping for his final licensure exam. He’s the one that’s starting an agency with Izuku. So every time Aizawa tries to get information out of him or send him away he’s like No I’m Sorry As Izuku’s Best Friend And Older Brother I Have Primacy Here.

He hides it from Izuku, because he doesn’t want Izuku to be pressured to stay by his side. There was this sort of golden moment before Mirio graduated where they were both completely unknown to the public and happy that way. They made a lot of plans about being heroes together before anyone had so much as made Izuku an offer.

A lot’s happened since then, and Mirio doesn’t want to lose what they are together. He doesn’t want Izuku to go where he can’t follow. But he also doesn’t want to hold him back. He’s been secretly very bothered by the idea that Izuku’s just staying by his side out of obligation and that he’s ruining Izuku’s hero career the way everyone says he was.

The text messages he sent were a rare moment of letting the mask slip, because he realized that he needed to tell Izuku how badly he wanted to still be heroes together before it was too late. He’s been trying to give Izuku an easy out, but he doesn’t actually want Izuku to take it.

He wants to be heroes with his brother, the way they promised they would.

[let-the-stars-guide]

Answering prayers( Platonic! Venti x reader)

Parental Venti

More Venti comfort everyone!

Sorta Venti pov to the previous drabble "Lullabies and serenity)

A little enamored by Venti that loves his children dearly. It's canon that he still answers their prayers and look out for them.

Note:Expect drabbles time to time. It's easier to write a drabble than make a longer chapter.

This is the wrong account sos XD

I meant to post this on my writing account my bad lol. I'll fix it later.

@cosmosdisappear is my writong btw

"Dear Barbatos.."

"Dear, Anemo Archon.."

The interally monolouges of various people doing prayer, echoed in the woods he sat on. His eyes glowed as he went through each prayer one by one.

Some of his daily tasks other than observing his children, was answering prayers.

As an archon he was used to prayers that people sent his way to deal with. Things his beloved children asked for he would do his best to guide them. They had to learn to stand on their own after all.

"Dear Barbatos please give me some peace." This particular one was a bit familiar. This was that persom he spoke to a few days ago about that book of theirs right?

One of his beloved children in distress from their now new responsibilites as an adult. Most of his children eve tually found their calling in life and what they wanted to be or to do, this child seemed a hit lost like most.

This wasn't a suprise to him as this would not be the first or the last time that a child would ask him for guidance.

He did what he always did, give them little hints how to get through their problems. At first it seemed to be working, until they burned out.

Their thoughts that would carry from the wind became a bit worriesome. They saw themselves as a burden. They weren't a burden just a bit lost and stuck along the path.

They went this way? He could hear their feet guiding them towards, the beach? He sped up trying to catch up to them. He heard their directio change towards her tree.

His heart felt more light, as his steps slowed down. Step by step he made his way over.

Sure enough here you are.

He could see the dark circles under your eyes as you sat with a tired smile reading that book.

He hasn't heard that tale in awhile. It's one of the few barely spoken of to newer generations nowadays.

He came a bit closer to take a seat next to you. Maybe you would prefer to be alone?

"It's you again." You respond putting the book in your lap. Instead of the glare you gave him last time, a smile appeared on your face. Your tension eased speaking to him as if he was a friend of yours.

"I didn't know what to bring you, so I figured apples was the best price."

A basket of apples for him? Is he the one being blesssed now?

He picks up one before digging in. His mood improved as well, as he sat with you having a picnic.

"I wanted to thank you for that song from last time. I really needed it." You mess with your hair avoding his eyes.

Aw, were you embrassed~

"I'm happy that you seem to feel better." He gives a smile of his own. At least he was able to help even if it wasn't much.

[manofthepipis]

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if another Addison somehow went down the spamton route and become a puppet. Like Clicks or something. The pink one witnesses the horrors.

you know i think about that too however i'm cautious about "role swaps" in fandom cuz i'm so used to like the personalities of characters being swapped rather than the roles that were intended

cuz like spamton is the best target for what happened to him. He's beyond desperate, he's the black sheep, he's smaller and isn't successful, whereas the rest of the addisons are the opposite of those things. If the roles were swapped and another addison got picked, I think they wouldn't fall for what they'd think is a "too good to be true" scam, seeing as they're cons themselves. They may doubt it when they see what happened to spamton, but truly they wouldn't be swayed.

OR in the event of one of the addisons ACTUALLY getting to "big shot"dom, top of the mansion, untold riches, etc, they'd fall back when the irons get too hot (like they wouldn't pursue more knowledge, spiraling into religious insanity, but would just focus on sales and their profit/reputation). That, and if their benefactor left, they'd be able to hold their ground (or at least somewhat) while spamton is destined to crash and burn because he just is a really obvious con and his businesses fail regardless.

like, spamton lost the idea of the value of money, instead favoring the things that can make him [[Big]] like the Soul. As soon as he had everything in the world, he wanted more, and I believe this hubris is unique to him because of how much he stands out. He's never satisfied, and will continue to be unsatisfied until everything that was meaningful to him has lost meaning in the pursuit of something grander.

What would be REALLY messed up is that, if that happens and one of the other addisons is chosen, I still believe spamton would end up failing big time, since he was found at the end of his rope presumably (but this time he doesn't have Heaven as a motivator). Thinking of him being the little white addison in the streets nobody associates with, and he's still doing his whole "garbage living" thing except while relatively sane and still his ol addison self. He's bitter and down on his luck, going to shadier means of making a name for himself, and it's not great to see

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[ambreiiigns]

Youve talked about some extreme movies youve watched and you say youre unaffected a lot but whats something that really messed with you up? Is there anything? What would you suggest to me as I have high tollerance too but would like to watch something heavy as a challenge :]

for what concerns suggestions i feel like it depends on what gets to you ? like it might be more psychological or it might be more body horror etc idk yk but. i really don't mean to be pretentious but. i can't think of anything that REALLY fucked w me ? like. i bring up melancholia 2011 dir lars von trier often it Did kinda get to me a bit it did give me a bit of depression for a sec it's very underrated in the sea of lars von trier movies that get the Disturbing reputation i find it more effective than ANYTHING else tbh the only other thing that maybe kinda comes close is antichrist but not as much.

martyrs 2008 is also Really something and it's def one of the better movies out of all the big deal Disturbing Movies you hear abt

if gore gets to you Do try the guinea pig series they slap

terrifier 2 has a scene that made me Flinch ! i've never flinched since. it's a good fun movie that i'd rec regardless but like. That scene. i think it's gotten pretty famous. it's not like fucks you up type BUT it's hard for me to flinch and i flinched so i thot i'd mention it xx

in the same vein. since tis the season. black christmas 1974 GOOD movie NOT traumatizing but the phone calls are a bit fucky and it Did give me can't-sleep anxiety Once really weird

ummm possession 1981 And audition 1999 same vibes they know how to make you uneasy and uncomfy

hhhghhgyggh i don't fuckinnnnn knowwww my man i don't get Affected i'll just be fine abt whatever i don't KNOWWWW like i guess just watch salò i don't KNOW!!!!

[uglygirltrying]

insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.

fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.

princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.

the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.

the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!

then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.

the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.

a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.

"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.

the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.

"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.

"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.

"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.

"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.

"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.

"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.

her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.

"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.

"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."

her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.

"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.

what?

she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”

her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.

she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?

he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.

the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?

it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------

inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend