#i was actually having a bad day before writing this down

[organic-bloodbath]

Can you write about a shy reader who is involved with Gi-hun's group and she is completely oblivious to Thanos showing interest in her until the Mingle challenge when it came down to 2 people and Thanos saw an opportunity to get close to the reader?

Mingle

Thanos x Reader

Summary: As above.

A/N: Bestie this is EXACTLY what i've wanted to write. Please leave any other requests you have in mind 🫶🏻

☆☆☆

Thanos was surrounded by his fans, all clinging on him and ready to take a picture together.

"Hey, there's room for one more," he said with a smirk and winked an eye to you. You didn't say anything, only quickly turned away and left, walking faster than before and hands in your pockets.

During the Red light Green light game, Thanos noticed that you seemed to be a little clumsy and struggled to stay still. He wasn't far away from you and ran in front of you, pushing others out of his way, not caring if they fell and got killed.

"Stay behind me, pretty flower," he said with a low voice, but loud enough that you heard. You were confused but thankful.

During the run towards the goal you were stumbling a little bit once in a while and if it weren't for Thanos, you would have been shot several times. You had always had a bad coordination.

Every time someone was shot, you had to shut your eyes and just imagine that it wasn't real, people weren't actually getting killed if you didn't see it. You pretended it to be just an act. Your entire body was shaking and you had never struggled this much to stay calm.

You crossed the finish line when there was only 4 seconds left and couldn't believe that you actually made your way into safety.

"Glad to see that a pretty face made it through," Thanos said next to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours.

"Yeah, um, thank you," you said quietly.

When they shot the rest of the players who hadn't managed to cross the line in time, you shut your eyes again and put hands against your ears to muffle out the sound.

You didn't know how long you stayed standing there like that, until you felt a hand touching your arm, making you to open your eyes.

"It's over now, okay?" Thanos said, looking at you with a concerned look.

☆☆☆

"Señorita, excuse me," a voice said right behind you, making you startle and turn around. "Play a game with me."

You struggled to get a word out of your mouth at first, nervous having a few men around him stare at you as well.

"Um, no thank you," you mumbled. "I already got a group, sorry."

"You can still change," Thanos suggested and stepped closer, standing right in front of you. He was a lot taller than you and you had to look up to meet his eyes. "I'll keep you safe, okay?"

"I'll pass, thanks," you said, feeling awkward and your mouth turning into a thin line. You didn't want to abandon your group, now that they had just found the correct amount of players to play the game.

Thanos looked after you as you hurried away from him without another word and narrowed his eyes. You joined a group of a few older men, and by looking at them, Thanos knew you would have a better change of winning with him than them.

☆☆☆

"You were good at Ddakji," Thanos said, appearing next to you out of thin air. "Maybe we could play it together some day. You win - you get to slap me. I win - i get to give you a kiss."

"I don't slap people for fun," you answered, with a tone as if his offer had been offensive.

"Well, then i'll make sure to win every round, hm?"

"I never lose," you said coldly, but a short smile spread on your lips just to mock him.

"I always like a good-" Thanos started but you were already walking away to have a dinner with your friends, ignoring him completely.

☆☆☆

During the Mingle game, Thanos saw you with the same group of men as before - they seemed to protect you well and not leave you alone even once. A younger man, possibly around his age, made sure to always grab your hand and lead you to another room with other players.

When it was time to find a room with a group of 2, Thanos started running towards one of the rooms with Nam-gyu, kicking other people out of his way. But when he was about to enter the room and already held the door frame, he looked behind him and saw something what made his heart drop.

Just a moment ago you had had a partner, but now you had fallen on the floor, none of your group members in sight, not even the man who had protected you previously. You were all alone and holding your ankle, struggling to get up.

"Sorry, brother, you're on your own right now," Thanos said, patting Nam-gyu on his shoulder a few times and sprinting away from him.

"Dude, what the fuck?!" he heard Nam-gyu yelling after him but he didn't turn to look at him. Instead, he looked at the time left and then at you.

20 seconds.

You didn't notice him arriving next to you and when he scooped you in his arms, you let out a startled yelp.

Your eyes widened when you looked at him carrying you to safety as fast as he could, your arms automatically wrapping themselves around his neck to keep you from falling, even though he had a firm grip on you.

Thanos opened one of the rooms and put you down, but two people were already in the room. He didn't hesitate even a second, instantly throwing them out of there, closing the door and hearing it to lock right after.

You stared at him in shock and were panting rapidly, ready to have a panic attack soon. When the shootings started, you winced and were about to put your hands against your ears to muffle out the sound.

But Thanos was immediately next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against him, pressing your head against his chest with his hand against your ear. You closed your eyes and didn't hear barely anything else than his heart beat which was a lot faster than normal.

You melted in his arms and felt yourself to calm down a little bit, feeling the panic leave your body. When the shootings had stopped, he pulled you away from him, but had a grip on your shoulders, making you to look at him

"Why were you there all alone and not with your group?" Thanos asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You weren't sure if he was angry, worried or simply saw you as pathetic, thinking you had given up so easily.

"I was pushed away... I um... I don't really remember," you mumbled and slightly shook your head. "Why did you save me and not your friend?"

"I told you i'd keep you safe."

"But your friend..."

"He can take care of himself," Thanos said and shrugged. "And if he couldn't - well, it was nice knowing another fan i guess."

You kept staring at him directly in his eyes, making his heart skip a beat. This was the first time he got a proper eye contact with you, previously you always avoided his gaze.

"Well, thank you, Thanos." You let yourself give him a little smile, which made Thanos to feel warm inside.

"You know my name, huh?"

"Doesn't everyone?" you asked like it was common knowledge.

"Fair," he shrugged. "I think i deserve to hear your name as well or do i continue calling you 'pretty flower'?"

You felt your cheeks feel hot and turn red and you broke the eye contact for a moment. Thanos found it adorable how two words could make you so flustered.

"Y/N."

"Y/N," Thanos whispered, as if trying to taste what it felt like in his mouth. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

Your cheeks got even warmer now, you weren't used to guys complimenting your looks or barely any attention from guys at all. That line was so cheesy and used too it made you cringe, just a little bit.

"Thanks," you nervously said and put a strand of hair behind your ear. "What's yours? Your real name?"

Thanos looked at you for a moment, comtemplating whether to reveal it or not.

"Su-bong," he soon said.

"Su-bong," you said, wondering where you had heard the name before. "Oh, i knew a Su-bong once. He was my neighbour, died choking in a pancake."

"I hope they won't serve us pancakes here then," Thanos chuckled and quickly crossed his fingers. "That would be an embarrassing way to die. I'd also want to get out of here alive so i can take you on a date after all this. With or without the pancakes."

Your chest felt tighter and you had butterflies in your stomach, but before you could respond, the lock on the door opened and you were allowed to leave. The game was now over.

You were thankful that the door was unlocked right at that moment, because you didn't know what to say. Nobody had asked you out before, partly because you avoided people and had social anxiety.

"Y/N!" a man shouted on the other side of the room. "Y/N, where are you?!"

You walked towards the voice and locked eyes with Dae-ho, huge relief on both of your faces. Seeing that him and the rest of your group was safe, you felt a lot lighter and felt like you could breathe freely again.

Before you were able to return to your group, Thanos grabbed your wrist to make you look at him one more time.

"Join me for dinner tonight?" he suggested. "I'd be happy to share my dry rice and milk with you."

"Um," you quickly glanced towards your group waiting for you, as if trying to get them approval without any words. "Okay."

This time when you left him, you gave him a warm smile, biting your lip to keep it in but failing.

"Were you really going to let me die because you want to get laid?" Nam-gyu spat next to him, Thanos had barely heard him arrive there, he was busy looking after your figure. "I was forced to save some useless old man."

Thanos turned to look at him with a stare so cold and deadly that Nam-gyu was prepared for a fist on his face and getting a broken nose, making him take a step back with his hands in the air as defense.

"You shut the fuck up," Thanos threatened, his demeanor immediately changing from nice to angry when he changed his attention on Nam-gyu.

Thanos spared one last glance at you before you all left the game area, you having Dae-ho's arm around your shoulder and him making you laugh about something.

Thanos couldn't help but feel a little sting of jealousy stab his heart.

[strwberri-milk]

How do you think the lnds boys would react if mc breaks up with them, and later, they find out the motive was that mc thinks she isn't good enough for them?

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Also, girl, how do you get the creativity to write so many requests? You're amazing! 🙃

i dont really have creativity im just good at following guidelines when people send requests and i can see how it plays out in my head lolol ty though <33

He's angry, upset, anything and everything. His mind is spinning as this revelation hits him. Rafayel and Sylus fought like crazy to try and keep you, ending up in even more arguments that just cemented in your desire to leave him because you hated that you were hurting him so much. Zayne and Xavier were stunned when you brought it up and just tried their best to delay the actual breaking up until one day you just up and left them with nothing but the memory of you.

He texts you and calls you immediately - even if you're blocked he has his ways of getting around it. Zayne is fairly calm about reaching out, sending you a message asking you to speak. In reality, he was losing his mind over this, wanting you to reply and desperately wanting to beg but also knowing that if he pushed too hard there was a good chance you wouldn't reply.

Rafayel is a spammer, of course. He keeps messaging you until you finally end up replying to him. Xavier and Sylus are in between - Sylus' messages are firm but he isn't blowing up your phone. Xavier is sending you more messages then Sylus, but they all sound so hurt you can't look at them without feeling like crying.

He will secure a meeting with you and this is going to be one of the few times you see him genuinely angry. He's quiet, watching your every move as his hands keep themselves busy. Thankfully, you don't feel like he's going to hurt you or yell at you but you do feel bad about how mad he is, weakly trying to explain that you were trying to do what would be best for him.

He shuts it down right away, telling you that he doesn't care what you think about yourself. He loves you and he wants you and if you're going to sabotage the one good thing he's been given he's not going to give up that easily this time. You know internally that he didn't really even give up easily the first time so you just kinda stay quiet, trying to figure out what you want to say to him.

Eventually he'd manage to convince you into giving the two of you a second chance. However, he does also tell you that he can't handle you self-sabotaging to such a drastic degree a second time. He's been running himself haggard since the first time you broke up with him and if you're insistent that you're not good enough for him to this degree he's going to start insisting on counseling in some form. He also does his best to show you and tell you how much he loves and appreciates you - even more so than before. You will be drowning in affection and there's literally nothing you can do about it.

[carriesthewind]

I'm coming back to this b/c I've been thinking about it all day. In no particular order:

The witch hunt of it all. Yes, it sucks that so much stuff is getting deluged in ai bs. Yes, I don't want to consume or promote or share anything produced with or by so-called ai. But, for a certain small but loud & impactful section of people, instead of focusing on the actual problem (the huge volume of bs and the companies/powerful actors producing and promoting it), or even just pointing out specific examples of the failures or harm, it has become the new Tool of Entertaining Witchhunts. Let's find the Bad Person producing the Bad Content, and attack them.

Part of the alleged proof is snippets of writing that are similar. This is an inherently flawed test. The plagiarism bot produces chunks of text that are very similar, but slightly different, than writing it has consumed. It is very good at this, especially if producing discreet chunks - *especially* if it is something that is something for which their is an existing large amount of texts that are very similar, but slightly different, like, say, an extremely common topey moment in an extremely common tropey story. (Also the "writing pattern" isn't identical. Just. Learn how to read. Sorry, that's mean, but I have little patience.)

Maybe you think these metaphors are bad - that's fine! The author of that post certainly does! Real authors use bad metaphors all the time! One of my current most-read fandom authors writes metaphors that are so bad they loop back around to charming. I love this author's work and wait for it eagerly. In fact, this accusation cuts against the claim that it is ai - the bot works by putting words next to each other that are likely to be next to each other - it doesn't know that its "generating descriptions". If having the works "embers" and "pool" near each other in its training data is statistically unlikely, that's an argument against your thesis, not for it, you nitwit. (Doesn't mean it means that it's "proof" that the writer of the fic didn't use a llm! Just that the author of post didn't prove it!)

Trust in the reporter. "Aren't all these coincidences odd? It proves AI." "Well, isn't it odd that you never show the prompt in your screenshots, just the alleged result of your alleged prompt? It proves you are faking it!" <- I do not believe that last sentence. I would need actual proof to believe it. (I also don't believe whether or not their screenshots are actually real results from a prompt to a chatbot - I think they very likely are! - has any effect on whether or not I believe they have evidenced their conclusion - see above.) But the point I want to make is that everyone reblogging that post is trusting that the poster is being honest that they used a chatbot to produce the results, with no proof. Doesn't that seem strange? Shouldn't that be strange?

Also the repeated unevidenced assertions that a certain writing characteristic is a "tell" for ai - where are they getting this from? Like, maybe that's true - but it's not something I've seen shown before, so maybe provide me something other than "trust me bro"???

Maybe I'm just a bit oversensitive to this now, but how is a writer - or an artist - supposed to unprove an accusation once it has been made? I scrolled down just a bit on the author of that posts feed to see that the original fic writer had been unpersoned, and the reasons are not more convincing proof, but that by questioning the author of the post, you are siding with a bot which has "stolen from real authors." I've said it before and I'll say it again - I have no idea if the fic in question was produced by ai or not. Maybe it was. But what about the next fic to be accused like this, because of shoddy "proof" like this? What avenues to authors have to argue their personhood? Why should they *have* to prove their personhood - should that not be the default assumption? Yes, "real authors" have had their work stolen - and a fuck ton of "real authors" have been harassed out of fandom too. Accusations of being "ai" are just the latest in a long history. I'm being really careful here about not knowing whether or not the original fic author used an LLM, because it doesn't matter to my points, and hey, baseless accusations sometimes turn out to accidentally match some element of reality all the time, but it really grosses me out that I have to leave that space when this is literally baseless accusations.

There's a post going around about a specific alleged AI fanfic. The author of the post lists a lot of reasons why they believe the fic is AI. Not linking to the post and not commenting on its conclusion, but.

But.

People.

These???? Are all ABSOLUTELY VALID analogies/expressions???

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision"

"his grip firm but tender"

"her gown pooling around her like embers"

But the post says that:

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool? the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean

Come on, man. These are perfectly serviceable! Quiet precision and firm but tender are bog standard fictional expressions. Granted, I've never seen the simile of a dress pooling like embers, but I like it! It evokes!

They are absolutely something that an actual living breathing person would write! (In fact they're so serviceable that if the fic is AI they're probably plagiarised) (although firm but tender is SO common I'm not sure it can be plagiarised? It's like 'toeing off his shoes').

Like, yeah, AI sucks. I agree it sucks.

But analogies or expressions that aren't a one to one match for truth (reality? observable fact? whatever, you get what I mean) are not bad?? They don't mean a fic was written with AI?? They're what makes writing GOOD. Makes it interesting.

Sure, 'her nimble fingers moved like bones and tendons covered by skin because they were bones and tendons covered in skin, but her movements were so expertly precise that no one noticed just how super precise they were' might be entertaining. briefly.

But the whole POINT of metaphor and simile is to evoke a reaction. An emotion.

There's a post by silentwalrus that I cannot find (thanks tumblr search), and it's pissing me off, because they perfectly talked about this! About metaphor and how to write original and effective ones (something they're VERY good at). The example was something like 'he did a thing like a scorpion hidden under a bush' and pointing out that if you looked at it too close it didn't make sense, but it evoked a reaction.*

A clever or strange or evocative analogy or expression does not mean it was written by AI.

____________________________

*I may be misremembering the details, and if so I apologise; it was a long time ago, but I'm positive it involved a scorpion.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi friend!!! 💕💕💕 I have a request for you 😉

Another Taylor themed one for you because your Taylor inspired fics just ✨hit different✨

Smutty “So High School” inspired with maybe Gamer!Eddie?? Messing around with him when people are around and you need to be quiet- ‘touch me while your bros play grand theft auto’

Hi, friend!! That’s so sweet, of you to say! Ugh, I’ve been wanting to write a fic based on this song and that line specifically so this is the perfect excuse!

cw: MDNI (18+) fingering, use of the word whore

It’s late when you come home from work but Eddie and his friends are still very much awake, the five of them in the living room, all of them in the same positions, playing the same game they were when you left in the morning.

Eddie is sitting on the couch while the others in the floor playing the actual game. He’s never been a fan of playing it, but he likes watching. You wave to the boys the excuse yourself to go change into some sweatpants and one of Eddie’s t-shirts. You just need to be comfy.

Once you’re all dressed, you head back into the living room and sit next to Eddie on the couch, the two of you sharing a blanket as you cuddle into him, holding each other as you both watch the game on the screen.

But you’re not paying attention. You love cuddling, but what you really need is for everyone to get out so you can take your boyfriend right there on the couch. The day was long and rough and you just need Eddie. You need him so bad that you’re aching, your cunt so wet that you’re afraid that you’re leaking through your sweatpants.

Eddie’s so focused on the TV that he’s not even paying attention until he’s noticed that you’ve grabbed hold of his hand. He thinks that you just want to hold it and only catches on once his fingers dip into your waistband.

His eyes widen and he leans forward, his lips right by your ear so no one else can hear him.

“What are you doing?” He asks and you bite down on your bottom lip, suddenly afraid to tell him the truth.

“I need you,” you whisper back and he just chuckles as he pulls back to look at me.

“You can have me. We can go upstairs right now.” You think he’s so sweet for offering, but by the time you get upstairs and undressed, the need will most likely wear off.

“And leave your friends? No, your fingers are fine.” You push his hand further down your pants but he stops before they’ve actually gotten to your cunt.

“You’re going to make noise.” You know he’s right, but you’ll risk it. You just need him so badly and you need him right now. What part of that is he not getting?

“No I won’t,” you shake your head and he gives you a pointed look.

“Baby, you’re loud.” He’s got you again, but you don’t know how else to get your fix. You suppose you can just go upstairs and take care of yourself, but it’s not nearly the same and you know he knows that.

“Please,” you beg, jutting your bottom lip out, knowing that look always makes him give in. His hand dips lower into your pants and he adjusts his body so he can access you better.

His fingers graze back and forth across your slit and you’re whining already which causes him to slap his hand to your mouth with a warning look.

He shoves his fingers inside you with no warning and you try your best to stifle your moan. They move back and forth slowly to warm you up, but you don’t need any of that. You need it hard and rough just the way you like it. Eddie knows that but he gets off by being a fucking tease so that’s what he’s going to be tonight.

But just as you’re about to ask, he shoves them both fully inside you, pressing his hand harder to your mouth to muffle your sounds as best as he can.

As his fingers are fucking you, he leaned forward again so that his lips are right by your ear for the second time. His breath is creating goosebumps along your arms and you wait for him to speak, just knowing that it’s going to be filthy.

“Yeah?” He whispers. “You like that you little whore? You think this is rough? Just wait until we’re alone.” You’re looking forward to it, knowing that he’s getting to be as needy as you are, desperate to have his sock inside you as he goes hard, wanting so desperately to fill you into he absolutely can’t anymore.

You moan again, louder this time and Eddie thinks you’re about to blow the whole thing, but the boys are still glued to the screen, not even paying the slightest attention to what’s going on behind him. He’s convinced that the two of you could have full on sex right there and they wouldn’t even notice.

His fingers are moving even faster and harder somehow and you’re now flat on the couch, Eddie lying against you, the blanket still covering your bodies as he’s working his hardest in order to get you to orgasm.

He watches your back arch and he knows you’re close. Your eyes are shut tight and he’s got on a smug smirk as you orgasm, his hand bringing the corner of the blanket to muffle your moans even more. God, he needs you and he needs you now.

As you’re coming down, he removes his fingers from your and licks them clean to get rid of the evidence then stands from the couch, moving to his friends, confiscating the controllers from each of them before ushering them out the door so he can fuck his girlfriend.

As soon as they’re all gone, Eddie puts the controllers back where they go and turns of the console and tv before picking you up from the couch and throwing you over his shoulder then hurrying up to the stairs to your room, slamming the door with every intention of making you scream as loud as you can.

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

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PART 2

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prev

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note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

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Ahaana Patel woke up with a pounding headache and a sinking feeling that something was very, very wrong.

The sunlight streaming through the luxurious hotel suite’s massive windows was far too bright for her current state, and as she groaned, trying to bury her face in the pillows, she became acutely aware of something—or rather, someone—beside her.

Ahaana stiffened.

There was an arm draped over her waist. A very strong, very male arm.

She cracked one eye open and turned her head ever so slightly, only to come face-to-face with Charles Leclerc, who was still blissfully asleep, his tousled hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly parted, looking like he had just waltzed out of an expensive perfume ad.

Ahaana’s brain short-circuited.

Oh.

OH.

She sat up so fast that the sudden movement made her dizzy. The momentum caused Charles to stir, letting out a small groan before blinking up at her, clearly disoriented.

“Morning,” he muttered sleepily, voice rough with sleep.

Ahaana stared at him in horror. “Why are you in my bed?”

Charles blinked. “I think it’s my bed.”

She looked around. The unfamiliar suite screamed ‘Ferrari money.’ Definitely his bed. The realization did not help her growing panic.

“Oh my God.”

Charles finally sat up too, rubbing his eyes. “What’s—” His own brain seemed to catch up with reality as his gaze darted down, noticing that while he was still wearing his pants, his shirt was missing. Ahaana’s black skirt from last night was still on, but the top half of her body? —oh dear lord, was she wearing his shirt?

His eyes widened. “Oh.”

Ahaana threw off the covers, checking herself over. “Did we—did we—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Charles, now slightly more awake, ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room as if it might provide answers. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Ahaana echoed, voice rising in pitch. “How can you not know?”

He winced. “I was very drunk.”

“So was I!” she snapped. “Which is exactly why this is a disaster. What happened last night?”

Before Charles could answer, a loud knock sounded on the door. And then another. And then—

“AHAANA! Are you alive? Did you get kidnapped?”

Oh, for the love of—

It was Lando.

Ahaana scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Charles. “FIX THIS.”

Charles, looking equally panicked, just stared at her. “How?”

Before she could respond, Lando, Max, Kelly, Carlos, and Rebecca burst through the door, because apparently, no one in this friend group had ever heard of knocking and waiting.

Silence fell over the room as the group took in the sight before them—Ahaana, standing beside Charles’s bed, wearing his shirt, hair an absolute mess; Charles, still sitting in bed looking like he’d just woken up from a hurricane.

Then—

“Oh my God,” Lando whispered, eyes going wide. “You two slept together.”

Max let out a scandalized gasp. “NO.”

Kelly, ever composed, just smirked. “Well, this is interesting.”

Rebecca, for her part, elbowed Carlos and whispered something in Spanish that made him snort.

Ahaana held up her hands. “Nothing happened.”

Lando pointed at her. “You’re wearing his shirt!”

Ahaana yanked at the fabric. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Charles, still groggy, muttered, “It definitely looks bad.”

“Oh, so you do have functioning brain cells.” Ahaana glared at him. “USE THEM.”

Lando flopped onto a chair dramatically. “This is the best day of my life.”

Max crossed his arms. “You mean to tell me you and Charles partied together last night, disappeared at some point, and now you’re waking up in his bed—wearing his clothes—and you expect us to believe NOTHING happened?”

“Yes!” Ahaana exclaimed. “I think!”

Charles sighed, looking at her. “We should probably try to remember.”

Kelly leaned in. “You don’t remember?”

Charles scratched the back of his neck. “I remember dancing. And drinking. A lot.” Ahaana groaned. “We need to retrace our steps.”

Carlos, finally speaking up, grinned. “Or… you could just embrace the chaos and let us speculate wildly.”

Max snapped his fingers. “I like that plan.” Ahaana groaned. “I hate this group.”

Over breakfast in the hotel lounge, the group tried to piece together the missing parts of the night. “So,” Lando said, pushing his plate full of toast aside. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Ahaana frowned into her coffee, thinking she was too hungover to be remembering but took a moment to think anyway. “Dancing with Charles.”

Charles nodded. “Same.”

Rebecca grinned. “Oh, we saw that. You two were practically glued to each other.” Ahaana groaned. “Great.”

Kelly scrolled through her phone. “Wait, I have a video.”

She hit play, and everyone crowded around. The video showed a very drunk Ahaana and Charles on the dance floor—laughing, spinning, Charles lifting her at one point, her arms wrapped around his neck. It was… intimate.

“Oh,” Charles murmured.

Ahaana tried to snatch the phone. “DELETE THIS.” Lando was quick with her f1 driver abilities and shoved the phone away from her. “No chance. This is evidence.”

Max smirked. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Charles choked on his coffee. “Not funny.”

Kelly grinned. “Relax, we’re just enjoying your suffering.” Carlos nudged Rebecca. “You think Ferrari and Red Bull can survive this scandal?” Rebecca feigned deep thought. “It might bring world peace.”

Ahaana groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I hate all of you.”

Max patted her back and pushed a plate of croissants and fruits towards her, knowing that she needs to eat. “You love us.”

Charles sighed. “So… are we just ignoring the fact that we don’t know how the night ended?” Kelly smirked. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

Ahaana and Charles exchanged a glance.

Oh, they were never going to live this down.

The laughter at the breakfast table was still in full swing of laughter and food when an unwelcome presence made itself known.

"Ahem," a saccharine voice cut through the conversation, dripping with artificial sweetness.

The table collectively tensed.

Ahaana turned slowly, coffee cup still in hand, and her expression slightly puzzled about who it was.

Alexandra Saint Mleux.

Charles’s problem-in-the-process-of-being-solved. Meanwhile the said man froze mid bite of an omelette.

Alex stood there, perfectly made-up at what was far too early an hour for that level of effort, dressed in a designer ensemble that screamed look at me, her lips curved in a smug little smirk.

"Charles," she purred, completely ignoring the fact that he looked seconds away from faking his own death to escape this situation. "I’ve been trying to reach you. You’ve been avoiding my calls."

Charles, who had been enjoying a croissant in relative peace before she showed up, sighed heavily. "That’s because we broke up, Alexandra"

Alex let out a breathy laugh, the kind that made everyone instinctively brace themselves for incoming drama. "Oh, darling, don’t be ridiculous. We just had a disagreement."

"A disagreement where you cheated on me," Charles deadpanned.

Ahaana coughed to cover up her laugh. Lando, on the other hand, had no such restraint, openly wheezing into his coffee.

"That was a misunderstanding," Alex dismissed, flipping her hair. And then, her gaze flickered to Ahaana, and her face souring. "Though, I see you've moved on rather quickly."

Ahaana merely raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"Tell me," Alex continued, voice syrupy with fake concern. "Did it feel good, throwing yourself at Charles for attention? I mean, I get it, you are desperate to stay relevant after all."

The table went dead silent.

The sentence that THE Ahaana Patel had to be with someone else to be relevant was one of the funniest things the group had heard in a while. Lando was the first one to crack, followed with Max and the rest of the gang giggling. Ahaana had a slight smile on her face, her lips pressed together.

Even Charles, who had been slumping in his chair out of sheer exhaustion from dealing with Alex, straightened at that.

Max, ever ready for chaos, casually leaned back, watching with an entertained smirk. Lando’s mouth was already open, prepared to throw in some sarcastic remark, but Ahaana beat him to it.

She smirked, her tone playful yet sharp. "Babe, if I were chasing someone, they’d be the one doing the running, not the other way around."

Ahaana quietly smirked thanking her first ever role of Shanaya Singhania for giving her this line, because honestly Shanaya was an icon.

Lando choked on his coffee. Max outright howled with laughter.

Charles, for the first time in this entire exchange, grinned.

Alex’s eyes narrowed, but Ahaana wasn’t done.

"You know," Ahaana continued, voice light and conversational, "this attention-seeking thing you’re accusing me of? It’s fascinating, really. You’re the one who publicly cheated, but somehow I’m the desperate one? That’s impressive mental gymnastics. Did you get a gold medal for that, or just participation?"

Rebecca bit her lip to keep from laughing. Kelly was sipping her coffee like this was the most interesting TV drama she’d ever watched.

Carlos muttered under his breath, “Dios mío.”

Alex’s face went red, but before she could get another word in, she switched tactics. "Well," she sniffed, "at least I don’t need a man to stay in the headlines. I have a career on my own. I’m an influencer with millions of followers!"

Max, without missing a beat, snorted. "Yeah? Ahaana has followers that are almost as much as all of f1 driver's combined."

Alex’s jaw snapped shut.

Ahaana, meanwhile, casually picked up her phone, scrolling for effect. "Anyway," she said airily, "as fun as this has been, Alex would you care for a donut now? If not I think we’re done here ."

Ahaana held out a donut in her hand as if offering, that was smugly taken by Lando, who took a lazy bite out of it, to show Alex she was not welcome.

Alex, seething, spun on her heel and stormed off.

The table sat in stunned silence for exactly two seconds before Lando broke it with a slow, dramatic clap.

"Ahaana Patel, ladies and gentlemen," he announced.

Kelly leaned in. "Honestly, I think that’s the most satisfying thing I’ve witnessed in years." Carlos chuckled. "I kind of feel bad for Alex." Max shrugged. "I don’t."

Charles sighed in relief. "That was the best thing to ever happen to me."

Ahaana smirked. "You’re welcome."

Just as the laughter died down, Ahaana’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her heart did a little flip.

Incoming Call: Karan Johar.

Her eyes widened.

Kelly noticed immediately. "Who is it?" Ahaana slowly lifted her phone to show them the screen. Max squinted. "Who’s Karan Johar?"

Kelly gasped. "Are you joking? He’s Bollywood royalty." Rebecca’s jaw dropped. "What does he want?"

Ahaana inhaled deeply before answering.

"Karan!" she greeted, forcing herself to sound normal.

"Ahaana, darling!" Karan’s warm voice came through. "Tell me, how soon can you fly back to Mumbai? We need to finalize Jigra."

Ahaana blinked. "Oh yeah, I was meaning to get back to you on that, can you give me some time?"

Karan continued, "We've already talked to Vedang about it, he's all in, Vasan's script is ready. I know you're a little hesitant about coming back right now, but this movie needs you, you're gonna love this character."

Ahaana’s brain short-circuited, and her breath hitched.

Everyone except Max and Kelly looked at Ahaana with a weird expression, 'Why would she be hesitant to shoot a movie in her own industry?'.

"Are you still there, sweetheart?" Karan chuckled.

Ahaana cleared her throat. "Yes. Yes, I’m here. Send me the script, I'll go over it and get back to you in two days."

Karan laughed. "Whatever you say. Bye bye now."

Charles was puzzled and the first one to break the silence, "Why would you not want to take it?" Ahaana took a second and looked at him with a convincing smile, "It's nothing, he's being weird."

Max looked at Ahaana for a second, analyzing her, and Ahaana avoided his gaze because she knew it would give away that something was wrong. Ahaana grabbed her coffee and bid everyone a goodbye, heading back to her room, but took a double take.

"Ugh you guys, I have to go find my room key now." Ahaana groaned, once again lightening the vibe around her, with everyone laughing at her antics.

"How about you check Charles's—" Lando started.

"Ew" , "Disgusting" , "Lando shut up" A string of protests at him followed.

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ᝰ.ᐟ second part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli

comment to be added to taglist

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© weekendlusting

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[fibromyalgicaf]

What other techniques remedied are in your chronic illness toolbox besides pain medicines?

Great question! Pain medicines aren't actually in my toolbox at all any more. I used to have tramadol prescribed for the bad days but it became less and less effective and the side-effects were not worth the small amount of relief. (And paracetamol, ibuprofen, codeine don't work)

Anyway, other things... Before I jump into the list, though, for context, I have a diagnosis of fibromyalgia and my main issues are chronic pain and fatigue so most of my toolbox focuses on those symptoms...

Things I've found helpful:

Heat packs (I have a couple microwave wheat packs)

A variety of pillows and cushions. Different thicknesses and squishiness so that I can mix and match to prop myself up in bed or make a little nest.

Squishmallows are a vital component of the pillow collection because they're so squishy that you can mold them into exactly what you need. My neck is the major offender so I mold squishmallows to cradle my head and support my neck at the best angle. The cuteness also cheers me up.

Massage tools but be careful not to over-massage

Wet wipes or flannels/wash cloths for days I can't shower (and for all my little spills; I'm a clumsy mfer)

Water bottle (although I'm terrible at drinking water so it's often filled with a cordial drink; I'm more likely to drink a decent amount and actually stay hydrated)

Silicone straws so that I can drink (from cups or cans) without moving if I'm partially laying down

Lip balm and moisturiser lives next to my bed so I can take care of my skin without having to get up if it's a bad day.

I use a lap tray at the moment for writing in bed (photo below on the left; see previous post here) but I'm hoping to get a proper wheelie tray desk thing (photo below on the right).

I have a bunch of easy app games (some of them are just idle clickers) for bed-rot days when I can't really concentrate on anything but I'm not sleeping so it's boring to stare at a wall.

I keep a set of comfy clothes near my bed so I can change without having to go far on a bad day. Changing my clothes after doing a wet wipes wash can make a big difference when I feel like shit.

A bedside hanging pocket tote like this for keeping my journal, books, straws, a simple craft activity, and other little bits and pieces. I spend a lot of time in bed so I need to have a bunch of things stored close-by. You could probably get the same function out of a box or drawer, though.

I've recently started trialling a self-propelled wheelchair so I can get out of the house on high-pain and high-fatigue days. It's not perfect because some days I struggle to self-propel (I'm talking to my doctor soon, though, and hoping I can try a powerchair or at least power-assist) but it's made a massive difference to my mood and how hopeful I'm feeling about the future.

Actions/activities I've found helpful:

I try to make myself get up and move around the house every few hours because I've found my muscles get stiff if I don't. It's also a wee bit of exercise and I don't get enough of that.

If I'm in bed all day, I try to regularly wiggle my feet and do a few leg lifts and stretches to help prevent muscle stiffness. If I can, I do little exercises in bed; I hope I can prevent losing too much muscle mass.

Journalling helps me remember important details and sort out the mess that is my inner thoughts. As well as regular journalling, I write down summaries of my appointments to refer back to later, and little bits of info on whatever I'm currently exploring (e.g. at the moment, it's a lot of notes on mobility aids).

I have a written plan (on paper but also a digital copy) for what to do on bad days. It's basically just a list of little actions I can take to make myself feel a little better or to manage symptoms (e.g. wash my face with a hot flannel, get a wheat pack, change position in bed). It's all fairly obvious stuff but, when I'm in a flare or super fatigued, I somehow completely forget what to do. By having it written down, my partner can remind me too.

I use a notes app (I won't specify which because I don't want to do their advertising for them) to keep digital copies of important info. I don't take my journal everywhere so it means I always have access to things like appointment notes or my bad-day plan. I can also share notes with my partner and family so they have the important info.

I use a digital calendar to keep track of appointments, bills, and tasks I need to do because my memory is not reliable enough these days. I make sure I share deadlines and appointments to my partner's calendar.

And finally, this is probably the most important thing for me: I do something I call Compassionate Aggressive Challenging; I try to challenge rules, standards, and ideals that I'm holding on to but that don't serve my wellbeing. Some are societal expectations like 'you get dressed when you wake up' (why should I? I'm not going anywhere and there's nothing morally wrong with pyjamas). Some are rules I've made up. Things don't need to be put away in certain places. There's no law against being pantsless in your own house. It's ok to eat a combination of "snack foods" instead of a meal you cooked on the stove (as long as you're still getting nutrition, but also some food is better than no food). We put so much pressure on ourselves to live up to standards that often don't serve us, and when we have limited capabilities, it's important to examine them and drop the dumb ones.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ 23

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-Three.

Now that you've fallen into the new lifestyle of a kept woman, Donaka usually rises before you do. He works out or trains or swims, or sometimes he's already gone to the office by the time you stumble out of bed. 

In your defense, he keeps you up late. 

One morning, you wake to find an old photograph on your night stand, resting on the Tai Chi book you've been making your way through.

It looks like it's from the 80s, a young man seated on a tattered couch in a studded leather jacket, a teenage girl beside him. They look similar, pretty, with fine features and dark eyes. The boy has a dusting of a moustache on his upper lip. 

It takes you an embarrassing amount of seconds to realize it’s Donaka. He must be in his early twenties, glowering at the camera, and yet…somehow he’s a little awkward too. His hair is long, past his chin, and so fluffy you would have died to touch it had you been there. Beneath the young man’s unapproachable facade, even through the photo, you sense a melancholy in this boy that squeezes your heart.

It’s creased down the middle between the two subjects, as though it's been folded for years.

You wonder if the younger girl is his sister. 

You'd asked him what he looked like when he was younger, that day in the restaurant. You never actually expected him to deliver. 

You clutch the image to your chest, thinking about the journey that young man had undergone to get to that moment, and what he must have done to get to where he is now. You don't know the details of that in between, but you want to. Someday, you hope he'll trust you enough to tell you. 

Donaka took your old journal, but you have a new one tucked into the drawer. You haven't actually managed to write anything in it yet. Something about absolutely knowing he will read whatever you write has stymied your creativity. But it feels like a safe place to store this new treasure, and you tuck it gingerly between the acid free pages.

You hope he hasn't left yet, and you get out of bed to look for him, pulling on your long robe as you go out the door. You slip out onto the terrace, the sub-tropical morning like magic before the heat of the day sets in. Quietly you pad barefoot on the stone, and you pause at a distance to admire the object of your search. 

To say he swims like a fucking merman is putting it lightly, crossing the infinity pool with powerful strokes, back and forth. You seat yourself silently on one of the deck chairs, watching him make his laps.

He erupts over the edge of the pool, his gaze immediately zeroing in on you. “Spying on me, bunny?”

You smile in answer. “You're not the only one who likes to watch.”

“Is that so?”

“The view from here is a solid ten.”

He smirks, because he knows he's beautiful, damn him. He crooks a finger at you. “Come here.”

“I don't have on my suit.”

“That's a problem why?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Don’t make me come get you.” He says it with a gleeful menace that suggests he would relish the chase.

Knowing you are doomed, you shrug out of your robe, and slowly pull your nightie over your head. You have long since numbed yourself to going about the house naked when Donaka demands it. All the staff have probably gotten an eyeful at some point, for which you are sorry. The heated look he pays you more than makes up for your embarrassment, going straight to your clit, and you narrow your eyes playfully, annoyed by your own desire, but totally resigned by now. You walk to the edge, stopping just out of reach with a hand on your hip.

“Closer.”

“Make me,” you taunt, diving over his head into the water.

You're an ok swimmer. You won't be winning Olympic gold anytime soon, but you can usually manage not to drown. 

All that goes out the window when Donaka Mark is after you. 

You barely make it mid-pool before he's got you in his clutches, his strong arm around your waist, and you almost drown yourself because you are laughing. 

“Breathe, bunny,” he scolds you, hoisting you out of the water and patting your back too hard, punishing you a little for defying him. 

You cling to his solid form like a limpet, coughing and laughing. He presses you back against the infinity edge of the pool, the water sluicing over. All too pleased with yourself, you smile at him, blinking the water out of your eyes. 

“Someone’s up early.”

“Hmm.” You kiss him, running your fingers through his wet hair. You think back on that photograph, remembering those luxuriously dark curls that framed his face. 

“You should grow your hair out,” you tease, spiking the hair at his temples.

He lifts an eyebrow to this, smirking at you. 

“Ah, you liked your little gift?”

You nod, biting your lip. “You were so pretty.”

“Were? Thank you, ingrate.”

“Well. You're devastatingly handsome now. If it's any consolation…” you begrudgingly admit.

An approving grumble emanates from deep in his chest, and he presses you into the side of the pool a little harder with a kiss, his hold on you migrating down to cup your bare ass.

“Who…is the girl?”

“Jealous?”

“I think it's your sister.”

“Clever little rabbit.”

“Where was that taken? Toronto?”

“New York. We moved there for one of my mother’s numerous boyfriends.”

“Oh. Does…she still live there?”

He shakes his head, but offers you no more, pinning you with that dark gaze. 

“What…was your life like, when that photo was taken?” 

“Chaotic.” 

“How so?” 

He growls at your litany of questions, grazing your shoulder with his teeth. “Were you in a motorcycle gang?” you tease him, thinking of that bitchin’ jacket. 

“Not exactly,” he deadpans. You pause, wondering if he means he was in a gang, period. “Would you believe me if I told you I was an angry young man?” 

Nooooo, not at all. 

You bite back your sarcasm, hoping for more. “I might.” You run your nails through the short hair at the back of his head, but he doesn’t elaborate, the silence stretching between you. You think that maybe he wants to tell you about his past. He wouldn’t have given you that photograph otherwise. But maybe, he doesn’t know how. 

So you hold him closer, kissing his neck and enjoying the warmth of his bare skin pressed to yours in the glittering blue water. 

“Don’t pity me,” he grouses, like he can feel what you're thinking.

“I’m not,” you assure him. “I’m fascinated by you.” 

“Hmm. Nosey girl,” he growls into your hair. 

“Like you can throw stones.” 

This earns you a grumble of laughter from deep in his chest. “Most of what I know about you, you put out there for anyone to find, if they knew where to look.” You’re pretty sure he also hacked your email, but you suppose that’s mostly true. 

“Ok. So why did you look?” 

“I was curious about you.” It’s the understatement of the century. He doesn’t admit to you that he uses his knowledge like power. You suppose he doesn’t have to. 

“Well. I’m curious about you.” You try to draw this parallel for him, hoping he’ll return the favor.  

It earns you a grumble and another long silence, this imposing man holding you just this side of too hard in the serenity of the early morning with the water lapping around you. You rest your head on his broad shoulder, savoring the quiet with him, feeling his pulse through the fever-heat of his bare skin pressed to yours. Even if he doesn’t want to talk anymore…this is enough. 

At the moment you come to accept the finality of the silence between you, he begins to speak. “We were dirt poor, and constantly moving from house to apartment to house, depending who my mother was fucking at the time. She had a steady stream of boyfriends, but no one who wanted to be a father to us. I hated being home, if you could call wherever we were crashing at the time that, so I was always out on the street, getting into trouble. Big trouble. I think I left for Macau…a week after that photo was taken.” 

You can’t help but think that it makes sense in a way, that enduring such a childhood with no stability made a man who relishes absolute control over everything.  

“You were so young.” 

“In face only. How old were you, when you left the country on your own for the first time?” 

“Nineteen.” 

“We’re not so different then.” 

You’d left to see the world, and maybe to look for something to fill the hole that we all have inside–not to avoid prosecution for a crime–but maybe it was similar in the end. 

“Why did you have to leave?” you dare ask, insufferably curious.

“One of mom’s boyfriends thought that my little sister came with the package. I had to correct him of that notion.” 

Your eyebrows raise high, a sick feeling in your belly. It’s possible you know more than you’d like about that scenario from your own mother’s selfish choices. You’re not sure if he’s implying he killed this man, or simply beat him, but you find…you don’t care. 

“Your sister’s lucky she had you.” 

“Maybe. My mother disowned me though. She said I was just like my father.” 

“Oh, Donaka. That’s not fair. What did you do then?”

“I went to go find him.” 

“How?” 

“I had my ways.” 

“Oh come on.” You nip at the bulging muscle of his shoulder, winning a growl that curls your toes under the water. 

“Macau is a place where you can gamble on anything in the back room. I found out he’d finally become a wealthy man running an underground, high stakes fighting ring.”

“This is starting to sound like the plot of a JCVD movie.” In your perhaps misguided way, you try to cheer him by cracking jokes.

“JCVD? I don’t even merit your beloved Jackie Chan?” 

You giggle. “Ok. Jet Li, maybe. Do you remember Romeo Must Die? I think it changed my brain chemistry as a teenager.” 

He snorts at that. Afraid that you’ve derailed his story, you prompt, “So…you got into the fighting ring?” You’ve seen him training, and he is scary. You imagine a younger version of him in the octagon could have drawn a hell of a crowd.

He grunts in acknowledgement, distracted by kissing a line down your neck, his long fingers inching towards your center, and you hitch in your speech as you ask, “Did he…know who you were?” 

“Not at first.” There’s no emotion in those three words, but you sense a sea of fury beneath them, deep deep down. 

“What…happened?” 

“I won enough fights to get his attention. He was so impressed he offered me a place in his organization. Then, I destroyed him.”

You go still in his arms as this sinks in. You can’t shake that he means that he killed his father, and maybe many others too. But after what Donaka told you his father did when he was just a child…practically a baby…maybe you don’t blame him. Maybe you understand his need for revenge all too well.  “Are…you worried the 14k might come after you someday for that?”

“They split themselves into smaller factions of operation to limit liability, if someone gets caught. Anyone who ever knew anything about my involvement is gone. Except for you, now.” 

Gooseflesh erupts down your arms as you realize there is a responsibility as well as a threat folded into this information you so badly wanted to possess. Not that you would ever be able to prove anything to anyone, but the power of a stray word can turn into a big wave, in the right circumstances. He is both trusting you–and binding you even further to him. 

“Then what?” you ask, realizing with a new finality just how deeply you’re in now. You can’t say you were still actively thinking about going home lately, but something about this new revelation succeeds in pushing you off center somehow.  

“I came to Hong Kong with the nest egg I’d earned. I had inside experience with how the Triads worked. I used it to offer wealthy businessmen protection from them. And as you can see…that’s gone well for me.” 

You draw back to look at him, studying his handsome features. You’d sensed from the very beginning that he was a man who was quite capable of terrible things. But then, sometimes that’s what it takes in this hard world, and it’s hard to feel sorry for the boyfriend who made a pass at an underage girl, or his father, a man who wanted to hurt his own children, then abandoned them. Are your morals so flexible, or do you just know you’re no one to judge amidst the life you’ve lived in comparison?   

You should be horrified, but you're not. 

You shouldn't want him, but oh, you still do.

“That would make a hell of a Jackie Chan movie,” you tell him with a small smile, lightening the mood just enough to win you that sardonic smirk you’ve come to hold so dear. 

“Finally, the recognition I deserve,” he scoffs, fixing you with that gimlet stare that should scare the piss out of you, but instead…fills you with something effervescent and light. 

You do need your head examined. 

“So you like martial arts movies,” he muses, paying you a contemplative look that makes you nervous somehow. “Have you ever watched a real fight?” 

You know, because he’s told you, that that’s where he goes on the evenings when he doesn’t return until the wee hours of the morning. You realize he must have a particular appreciation for the sport, after having participated in such things himself. 

“I’ve been to a few peewee tae kwon do tournaments in my day,” you tease. “I’ve even got the little gold plastic trophy to prove it.”

This makes him throw back his head with wicked laughter, amused, as ever, by your cheek. No one else in the world would dare, he thinks to himself. He knows that part of your bravery comes from the fact that you still don’t understand, even after his confession to you, what kind of monster has you in his arms. And part of it…part of it is just you, and he is never going to let you go. 

“Pee wee tae kwon do. Aren’t you adorable.” 

“So I hear.” 

“How did I not know that about you?” 

“It was a dark time, before every move we made was immortalized on the internet…”

He huffs with reluctant laughter. “I see. So you’re initiated. Does that mean you’d like to see a real fight with me?” There is a sudden hunger in his gaze, his lips parted with the eagerness of a tiger tasting the wind. You can’t help but notice that he is rock hard between your legs, his cock pressing insistently against you as his gaze bores into yours. 

Perhaps you whetted his appetite, accepting his confession of his past sins so easily, but he finds he wants to share this with you. 

But you, oblivious to the sudden firestorm erupted in his heart, backpedal at the sudden bloodlust in his eyes. “Do people get really hurt?” 

“The fights I attend are a test of true warriors, not a suburban blackbelt league.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling uneasy, partly at the thought of the bloodsport, and partly for the hungry way he’s suddenly looking at you. “Can I think about it?” 

You know you’ve disappointed him, for the way his expression immediately closes off from you. “Nevermind, bunny. I don’t think you’d like it.” Maybe he was tempted by the chance to be accepted completely by you for everything that he is, horns, claws, and all…what a foolish notion. He knows better than to expose that underbelly to anyone who is not blooded. What was he thinking? 

Perhaps it’s not only teenage boys, who forget to reason with their real brains when a beautiful woman is around. 

You find you’re disappointed to have the chance to go with him to these mysterious nocturnal outings snatched completely from the table. You stick out your lip, sensing you’ve let him down. 

“Maybe…let me watch some more tournaments with you first. I do like that.”

“Hmm.” His interest sharpens again; you feel it like the weight of a blade upon your skin. “Do you miss doing martial arts?”

You shrug. “I was very young.”

“Are you liking your book on Tai Chi?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Alright, bunny. We’ll see then.” 

Before you can answer his mouth is slanted over yours, and with a pull at the fabric of his shorts he has buried himself inside you. He fucks you against the side of the pool, your nipples in his mouth as he bends you back over the edge.

You feel like you might fall off the side of the world, with him thrusting inside you, your body tumbling off into the void, right behind your sanity. As he fills you with hot ropes of his seed, your greedy cunt milking his cock through your own ecstasy, you know that you’re utterly lost to this man–you’re just lucid enough to recognize it, but much too far gone to care. 

all chapters

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian reacting to mc telling him he's gonna be a dad in a fun way like a bun in the oven or something stupid

Dad-to-Be | Sebastian Sallow x OC

anon!!! thank you so much for the request, I hope this brings your idea to life ;.;

Words: ~4,300

Tags: Post Canon, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Fluff AGAIN

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Evangeline paced the length of the cottage, the worn wooden floors creaking softly under her slippers. She chewed on her thumbnail, glancing at the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Her nerves felt frayed, the weight of what she needed to say gnawing at her every thought.

It wasn’t like her to avoid work, but this morning, she'd done just that, feigning sickness to get out of her shift at the Ministry. The guilt of lying added to her anxiety, though it paled in comparison to the much bigger secret she’d been carrying. How on earth was she supposed to concentrate on paperwork when this was hanging over her?

She sighed, running a hand through her long, dark hair as she surveyed the chaos of the cottage. The unwashed dishes in the sink, her favorite sweater tossed over the back of the couch, and the burned remnants of what was supposed to be a celebratory cake—“Dad-to-Be” scrawled in blackened frosting—painted a picture of her increasingly desperate brainstorming session.

She’d spent the entire day trying to figure out the perfect way to tell Sebastian she was pregnant. Every idea felt wrong. Too dramatic. Too casual. Too cheesy. Too blunt. She’d tried baking the cake—disaster. Knitting tiny baby booties had only resulted in a lumpy, unidentifiable mess. Writing a letter? Equally hopeless. (“Congratulations, you knocked me up!” had been scribbled out with a groan. “Sebastian, I’m pregnant,” was boring and devoid of charm.)

For a brief, fleeting moment, she’d even tried the old “bun in the oven” trick. She’d shoved a single bread roll into the oven and waited, but the sheer cringe of it had sent her yanking the oven door back open long before Sebastian could come home.

Now, evening was closing in, and the sound of familiar footsteps outside the door sent her heart into overdrive.

“Here we go,” she muttered under her breath.

The door swung open, and there he was—Sebastian Sallow, tall, confident, handsome, and as annoyingly charming as ever. His dark hair was windswept, his brown eyes alight with warmth as he stepped inside and shrugged off his cloak, tossing it carelessly over a chair.

“Evening, love,” he greeted her with a smile, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “How’s my favorite invalid? You don’t look half as bad as I thought you would.”

Evangeline swatted him lightly on the arm, a half-hearted laugh escaping her lips despite her nerves. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice just a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Sebastian’s sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment, but he let it slide, helping himself to a leftover biscuit from the counter.

“You’re sure you’re okay? You’re not sick-sick, are you?” he asked, cramming the biscuit into his mouth and brushing crumbs off his shirt.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, forcing a smile.

Her nerves were palpable, but Sebastian didn’t seem to notice. He kicked off his boots and sank onto the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come sit. Tell me about your day. Did you actually rest, or were you up to something?”

She hesitated, wringing her hands together. “Well… I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he quipped, earning another swat.

“Sebastian, be serious,” she said, crossing her arms as she paced back and forth in front of him. "I... how do you feel about... about big life changes?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the cushions. “Changes? Like what? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about cutting your hair again—I told you, I like it long.”

“Not my hair,” she said, exasperated. “Bigger changes. Like… expanding the family?”

At that, Sebastian perked up, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, you mean adopting another stray? I’ve had my eye on this Kneazle in the village shelter. Poor thing looks—”

“Sebastian!” Evangeline cut him off, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“What?” he asked, bewildered. “I thought you'd like the idea of getting another pet!"

She groaned, her patience thinning. “Forget the Kneazle! Just—just sit there and eat your biscuit.”

Sebastian blinked at her, confused but obedient, as she spun on her heel and marched into the kitchen.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

Evangeline busied herself with dinner, trying to keep her hands steady as she prepared a simple meal. The sizzling of butter in the pan as she browned bread for grilled cheese sandwiches gave her a sense of normalcy, even as her thoughts raced. Surely I don’t have to just blurt it out, she thought. I can ease him into it, drop hints. He’s clever. He’ll figure it out, right?

She placed a slice of cheese between the bread, pressing it down with the spatula, and thought about what she’d say. Maybe she could start with a hypothetical. Or a joke? Would that work? Probably not. Sebastian’s sense of humor was sharp, but subtlety wasn’t always his strongest suit.

By the time she returned to the living room, dinner plated and balanced in her hands, her nerves had only grown. Sebastian looked up from the couch, setting aside the book he’d been skimming. “Dinner already? You’re spoiling me,” he said with a grin, reaching for the plate she handed him.

Evangeline sat beside him, her own plate resting untouched on her lap. “I thought we could eat together and… talk,” she said, her voice deliberately casual.

“Talk?” he asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “Did you set the house on fire whilst I was gone? Wait, don’t tell me—you’ve decided to take up painting again.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am not picking up painting again after what happened last time.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a laugh, gesturing at his sandwich. “This is great, by the way. Keep feeding me like this, and I might never let you out of the kitchen again.”

“Charming,” she deadpanned.

He flashed her a boyish grin, oblivious to the storm brewing in her head. She fiddled with the edge of her plate, searching for a way to steer the conversation. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“Sebastian, have you ever thought about… names? Like, names you’d want to give to someone special?”

He paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Names? For what?”

“Like… if you had to name something important,” she said, forcing herself to stay patient. "Say, for example, a person.”

Sebastian tilted his head, considering her question. “Hmm. I’ve always liked Arthur. Strong name, good history. Eleanor’s nice too. What brought this on?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said quickly, waving him off. “Just curious.”

He shrugged, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and took another bite of his sandwich.

Evangeline stared at her plate, her mind scrambling for another approach. “You know, I’ve been having the strangest cravings lately,” she said, her tone light.

“Cravings?” Sebastian repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Like what?”

“Pickles,” she said, then added, “And chocolate. Together.”

Sebastian wrinkled his nose, looking genuinely appalled. “That’s disgusting.”

She laughed nervously. “Well, cravings are cravings.”

“Maybe you really are coming down with something,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Or you’ve finally lost your mind.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly as her attempt went right over his head. Again. She was running out of ideas. Desperate, she tried again.

“You know,” she said, attempting to sound casual, “we should probably start thinking about baby-proofing the house soon.”

Sebastian frowned, glancing around the room. “Baby-proof it? Why? Are you worried Ominis is going to stumble into the fireplace again?”

Evangeline groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Sebastian, no!”

“Then what are you—” He froze, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. “Wait a minute.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. Finally!

She leaned forward, ready to confirm, but Sebastian’s face lit up with excitement before she could get a word in.

"You are thinking about getting a Kneazle, aren’t you? I knew you’d come around! You need to see the one at the shelter—scrappy little thing, missing half an ear, but I think—”

“Sebastian!” she snapped, cutting him off.

“What?” he asked, blinking at her in confusion.

Evangeline took a deep breath, her nerves finally snapping under the weight of his obliviousness. “I’m not talking about a Kneazle, or Ominis, or anything else. I’m talking about us. About you. You’re going to be a dad!"

He stared at her, his expression blank as the words sank in.

“A… dad?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, a dad—like, an actual human baby dad!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “As in, I’m pregnant, Sebastian!"

Sebastian blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He looked utterly stunned, as if the world had just tilted on its axis.

There was a long moment of silence where Sebastian just stared at her, his expression completely unreadable. Evangeline’s stomach churned, panic creeping in as the seconds ticked by. Was he upset? Overwhelmed? Regretting everything? She opened her mouth to say something—anything—to fill the void, but before she could, his expression softened.

“I’m going to be a dad?” he repeated, his voice quiet, a mix of disbelief and awe.

Evangeline nodded.

Slowly, a grin began to spread across his face—small at first, then growing wider and wider until it practically split his face in two. A loud, boyish laugh burst out of him as scooped her into his arms, spinning her around.

“You’re serious? We’re having a baby?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes sparkling with joy.

“Yes, we're having a baby!” she said, her voice exasperated but tinged with laughter.

Sebastian laughed again, his joy infectious as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. Then, as if the enormity of it hit him all over again, he stepped back and started pacing the room, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he murmured to himself, his voice tinged with awe. Then he laughed, a little hysterically, tears brimming in his eyes. “We’re having a baby. Merlin’s beard, Evie, a baby!”

Evangeline couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling at his reaction.

“How—how is that even—?” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

Evangeline stared at him, amused and exasperated. “How? Sebastian, you do know how babies are made, don’t you?”

“I—I mean, obviously I do!” he sputtered, his ears flushing a deep red as he straightened, waving his hands frantically. “But—how? Like, when?”

She arched an eyebrow, folding her arms as she leveled him with a look. “You know. That activity we like to do together? At night? In bed?”

Sebastian turned an even deeper shade of red, running a hand through his hair as he began pacing back and forth. “I know that! I just—well—Merlin’s beard, Evie, I didn’t think—”

“What? That it might actually work one day?” she cut in, smirking despite herself.

Sebastian stopped mid-pace, spinning to face her, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and delighted. “You could’ve given me a bit of a warning, you know!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Should I have sent you an owl ahead of time? Maybe drafted a memo?”

He let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head as he ran a hand down his face. “Merlin’s pants. I’m going to be a dad,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Like, an actual dad.”

“Yes, an actual dad.” Evangeline confirmed again with a grin.

Sebastian looked over at her, his wide eyes locking onto hers. "Evie, this is—this is incredible!”

Her laugh was soft and filled with relief. “So you’re happy about it, then?”

“Happy?” he said, spinning to face her with wide eyes. “Evie, I’m over the moon! This is the best news you’ve ever given me—well, aside from the time you told me you loved me, and then the time you married me. But this—this is next level!”

She smiled, her earlier nerves finally dissolving as she watched him. “I was so worried you’d be overwhelmed,” she admitted quietly.

Sebastian was in front of her in an instant, taking her hands in his. “Overwhelmed? Maybe a little,” he said with a laugh. “But Evangeline, this is amazing. You’re amazing. And if you think for one second I’m not ready to do this with you, you’re mad.”

Evangeline felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she gazed up at him, his excitement radiating like the summer sun. She didn’t know what she’d been so worried about. This was Sebastian—of course he’d be thrilled.

Before she could say anything, he dropped to his knees in front of her, placing his hands gently on her stomach. His wide, boyish grin softened into something more tender as he looked up at her. “There’s really a little Sallow in there?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian tilted his head, pressing his forehead gently to her stomach. “Hello in there, little one,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with emotion. “It’s your dad. I love you so much already."

Evangeline rolled her eyes, though her smile remained wide. “You’re already embarrassing them, and they haven’t even been born yet.”

“I’m just getting a head start,” he teased, sitting back on his heels but keeping his hands on her stomach. “So, how long have you known? And why didn’t you tell me sooner? Or were you just planning on letting me figure it out in five months when you couldn’t hide it anymore?”

“I’ve only known for a few days,” she admitted, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “I was trying to figure out the best way to tell you, but nothing seemed right. I mean, I even tried baking a cake—”

He laughed, rising to his feet and pulling her into his arms. “You could’ve just told me, you know. No cakes or clever hints required.”

She rested her head against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him as his arms tightened around her. “I know. But I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Evie,” he murmured, tipping her chin up so their eyes met. “This is perfect. You’re perfect."

Evangeline laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “I hope they inherit your smile,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

Sebastian looked down at her, his grin returning. “And I hope they get your brains. And your laugh. And maybe your stubborn streak, too, but not too much, or we’re doomed.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes. “I hope they don’t get your reckless streak, or I’ll be gray before I’m thirty.”

Sebastian laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “If they do, we’ll manage. You’ll keep us both in line, just like you always do.”

She laughed and rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. For the first time all day, the knot of nerves in her chest unraveled completely.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, before Sebastian pulled back just enough to look at her again. His expression was serious now, though no less full of joy.

“Evie,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I swear to you, I’m going to do everything I can to be the best dad.”

Evangeline laughed, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You’re already going to be the best dad, Sebastian.”

He grinned, brushing her tears away with his thumb. “And you’re going to be the best mum. Merlin help this kid, though, because they’re going to be spoiled rotten.”

“Only if you teach them bad habits,” she teased.

“Bad habits? Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, smirking. “Like sneaking out after curfew, breaking into the Restricted Section, lying to teachers—”

Sebastian winced, though his grin didn’t falter. “Alright, alright. No need to drag me through the mud, love. I’ll set a good example. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” she repeated, shaking her head with a laugh.

As they settled back onto the couch, Sebastian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his other hand resting protectively on her stomach. “I suppose we’ll need to start planning now,” he said, his tone half-serious. “Crib, clothes, books. Oh, and I’ll need to owl Ominis and Anne. They're going to lose her mind over this.”

Evangeline chuckled nervously, avoiding Sebastian’s gaze as she fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Well, about Anne…” she began, her voice trailing off.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her, his brow furrowing. “What about Anne?”

“Well…” She gave him a sheepish look, her voice barely above a whisper. “She already knows.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and he stared at her, completely incredulous. “Anne already knows? Evangeline, how does my sister know before I do?!”

Evangeline chuckled nervously, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well… yes. Who else was I supposed to go to for confirmation? Ominis? She’s a healer, Sebastian!”

His mouth fell open, a mix of disbelief and amusement flashing across his face. “You told Anne before you told me?”

“Well, I had to be sure first!” she defended, holding her hands up. “I wasn’t going to tell you anything until I was absolutely certain. And who else was I supposed to go to? Madame Russell in the village? She’d have spread it through the whole of Feldcroft before I even got back home!”

At that, Sebastian let out a strangled laugh, running a hand down his face. “Merlin’s sake, Evie, I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Anne only gloated a little bit," Evangeline assured him, though her tone carried a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” he said, shaking his head with a groan. “I can already imagine the look she’ll give me the next time I see her. Let me guess, she said something about how she always knew I’d be the last to figure things out?”

Evangeline couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Actually, yes. She said, and I quote, ‘Typical Sebastian, always a bit slow on the uptake.’”

Sebastian groaned again, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Brilliant. Just brilliant. My own sister conspiring with my wife to keep me in the dark.”

“She wasn’t conspiring,” Evangeline said with a laugh, nudging his shoulder playfully. “She was just doing her job. And, for the record, she’s thrilled about the baby. She wouldn’t stop talking about how she can’t wait to be Auntie Anne.”

“Well, at least one of us got to enjoy her reaction,” he muttered, though his grin had widened.

“You’ll survive,” Evangeline teased, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Besides, you should be flattered. Anne said you’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

Sebastian’s expression softened, and he looked down at her, his eyes full of warmth. “Did she really say that?”

“She did,” Evangeline said, her voice gentle. “And she’s right.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his gaze fixed on her stomach as his hand rested protectively over it. Then he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I can forgive her."

Evangeline chuckled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your magnanimity.”

"Only after I name the baby something she'll hate, though."

Evangeline gasped, pulling back to stare at him, her eyes wide with mock horror. “Sebastian Sallow, you wouldn’t dare!”

He smirked, that signature mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “Oh, I would. How does something like… Marmaduke sound? Or Ethelreda? Really lean into the old-fashioned wizarding names, you know?”

She smacked his arm, groaning. "You're incorrigible, truly."

"And yet," he said, his grin turning far too smug, his tone dipping into something almost predatory. "Here you are, married to me and having my baby."

“Sebastian…” she started, raising an eyebrow at his tone, but before she could continue, he tightened his grip on her, fingers pressing into her stomach.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, his voice reverent. “For you to start showing. So everyone can see what I’ve done to you.”

Her mouth fell open, heat rushing to her face as she stared at him in disbelief. “Sebastian!”

“What?” he asked, completely unrepentant, his grin widening. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re mine, Evie. And now… now everyone will know it.”

She gaped at him, utterly flustered.

“I mean, really,” he went on, his tone casual but with that glint in his eyes that made her heart race. “Every time we walk through the village, or go to work, or visit friends, they’ll all see it. You, glowing, beautiful, and carrying our child. Mine. It’ll be written all over you.”

Evangeline buried her face in her hands, groaning. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? No,” Sebastian countered, tugging her hands away from her face so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Proud? Absolutely.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “I can’t wait for people to ask, and for me to say, ‘Yes, that’s my wife. Yes, I did that. Isn’t she perfect?’”

Evangeline let out a strangled laugh, half-mortified, half-amused. “Sebastian, stop.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She sighed, though her lips curved into a smile as she relaxed into him. “I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he said, his tone completely serious. “Evie, I’ve always been proud to be your husband. But now? Now I get to be the husband and the father of your child. It’s like I’ve won the bloody lottery.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she leaned up to kiss him softly. “I love you. Even when you’re being a possessive prat.”

“And I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “Even when you’re pretending you don’t secretly love it when I’m a possessive prat.”

She pulled back, narrowing her eyes at him, but her smile gave her away. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Evie, I’m devastatingly handsome. Rugged. Charming. Definitely not just cute.”

She laughed, leaning back into his chest. “Alright, devastatingly handsome. Now hush.”

“Never,” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “Embarrassing you is half the fun.”

Evangeline huffed a laugh and closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh as she nestled against Sebastian’s chest, his heartbeat steady and comforting beneath her ear. For a moment, she let herself sink into the quiet joy of the moment—Sebastian’s arms around her, his hands resting protectively on her stomach, the crackle of the fireplace filling the cozy silence of their little cottage.

This was bliss. Perfect, warm, and utterly calm.

But, of course, it didn’t last.

“Well,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet as he straightened up beneath her. “We’ve got to start making a list.”

Evangeline’s eyes snapped open, and she leaned back to look up at him, confusion and amusement dancing in her hazel eyes. “A list?”

“Yes, a list!” he said, already on a roll, his eyes lighting up with excitement as if the gears in his head had gone into overdrive. “We’ve got so much to do, Evie. So much to get ready. Merlin, we’ll need a crib, of course. And clothes—tiny ones. Do we even know where to buy baby clothes? I don’t think they sell those at the apothecary…”

Evangeline bit back a laugh, watching him as he began to ramble. “Sebastian…”

“And books! We’ll need books. Parenting books. Baby books. Do they make spell books for babies? They should, don’t you think? Something simple, like, First Spells for Tiny Wizards.” He paused, suddenly serious. “Wait, do you think the baby will be magical from the start, or does that develop later? Should I ask Anne? No, wait, I can owl Professor Weasley. She’d know—”

“Sebastian,” Evangeline tried again, her lips twitching as she fought to keep a straight face.

“Right, furniture!” he continued, completely ignoring her. “We’ll have to rearrange the second bedroom—it’s perfect for a nursery. Do you think we should paint it? What color? Yellow, maybe? Or green? Or should we wait to find out if it’s a boy or a girl? Oh, Merlin, we’ll need names! We should start thinking about that now, too. I already said Arthur... Eleanor? Or maybe something more—”

“Sebastian!” Evangeline finally exclaimed, cutting him off with a laugh.

He blinked, his train of thought momentarily derailed as he looked down at her. “What?”

“Breathe,” she said, reaching up to cup his face. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke if you keep this up.”

“But, Evie,” he said, his voice tinged with equal parts excitement and panic, “there’s so much to do. We can’t just sit here—”

“Yes, we can,” she said firmly, pulling him back down onto the couch. “We have months to figure all of this out. Months, Sebastian.

“Right. No need to rush,” he agreed, though his excitement was still palpable. He paused for a moment, then added with a sly grin, “But I do think we should start talking about dueling lessons. When do you think they’ll be ready? Five? Six?”

“Oh my god!” she groaned, laughing as she smacked his arm.

“What?” he said innocently. “It’s an important skill! I’ll start them off slow—basic stances, nothing dangerous.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, though her laughter betrayed her amusement. “Let’s just get through the first year before we start planning for dueling championships, alright?”

“Alright,” he said, grinning as he kissed her temple. “But I’m serious. Our kid’s going to be brilliant. Just like their mum.”

Evangeline’s heart swelled as she looked up at him, her smile soft and full of love. “And just like their dad.”

The future felt uncertain and exciting all at once, but as they sat together in their little cottage, Evangeline knew one thing for certain: everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.

It was going to be perfect.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Calling them pretty girl 1/3

Excluding toodles of course

If I forget any of the other lady toons let me know!! Yay!! Not much to say here!

Characters: brightney, Connie, flutter, gigi

Notes: reader is gn, toon reader, can be read as pre or post game, mostly focuses on canon character, short post

CWs: none

BRIGHTNEY

ooooooh if you say this to her after a long day its going to take her a minute to process what you said to her- shes got a habit of over extending herself to give others a hand... but when it clicks she lights up (pun intended)

no really she does light up, her bulb nearly flashbangs you for a second before she tones it down! its just the way you worded it that got her! pretty girl? it simply knocks her off guard for a second!

definitely appreciates it but tries to downplay it... "oh.... quiet you" said lightheartedly of course. she gives off sweet older lady vibes/pos

CONNIE

she... kind of makes a face. not a bad one! just a bit of... hmm... its not that she doesnt like being called pretty- she knows shes pretty and its nice that you think so too... but pretty girl sits a certain way on her thats hard to explain

and trust me she does try to explain when you bring up her reaction, but the words fail her. i like to think connie is particular about what names you call her, so this might be a product of that

"uh huh and what does that make you?" shes teasing i promise shes teasing!! she likes seeing you get a little worked up before she gives you affection!!!

FLUTTER

absolute sweetheart, her antennae twitch and her wings flutter (hah) a little faster for a second before she calms down- you think shes pretty...! why wouldnt she be happy about that?

will be writing about this in her diary tonight, and yes you will get a knowing look from gigi within the next day or two- she knows what you are/j/ref

does her very best to communicate that she thinks youre pretty too... nuzzles and nudges, chittering (bug noises bug noises!!), things like that! her not speaking will not stop her!

GIGI

her eyes kind of widen for a second before his face relaxes again. heh. she'd rather call herself pretty or hot but pretty works too... oh lighten up shes only teasing! she... actually does like it

hoarder of objects and trinkets, hoarder of names. pretty girl WILL be added to the long list of names you call her- you might actually have to write them down to keep up with them all...! you... do realize shes joking about wanting to be called honey bunches... right...?

while pretty girl isnt her first choice its definitely one thats going to stick! you get a gold star for the effort and creativity...! just... give her a second to find it...

[moonshine-nightlight]

Bad Case of Loving You! (I love a werebear hehe)

@snowkissedmonsters thanks! lol i think the story was partially inspired by ur comic about the new neighbors being a werebear and a cheerful witch. not fully the dynamic i ended up with but still a fun one. i enjoyed writing the dialogue for this way too much. chapter 1 is complete but i need to finish more of it before i can think of starting to post it (and finish the incomplete stories i have out there) but its a high contender for one of the next stories i might put out.

“You know what, please don’t—” You run your fingers through your hair and then down your face. “Look, now’s a very bad time.”

There’s a pause where Dion just takes in your defeated expression as you brace yourself for magic lies and cursed flattery like all the—“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He holds something up to the window. “Here’s the book I said I’d get from my sister.” Dion sets it down on the tall planter next to the door when you stare at him blankly, making no move to open the door. He’s not quite scowling, but his brow is furrowed in the way it always gets when he thinks you’re being ridiculous and overdramatic. “Good luck with,” he gestures vaguely in your direction, “whatever’s going on.”

You finally pull yourself together enough to breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.” A close call, if he had started saying anything to close to what he does in your dreams, you’re not sure you’d have been able to stop yourself from pluging your ears and screaming in frustration. “Great.” Then, instead of weirdly milling around near the door, trying to think of some other reason to get to you, Dion turns around and starts walking away. “Wait.” You put your hand on the door, edging it open just enough to stick your head out. Dion turns to look at over his shoulder, frowning. “You’re actually leaving?

“Yes?” Dion turns half way and looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes! But, no, I mean,” You decide to risk opening the door further. Dion makes no move to accost you. Hope starts to rise up within you. “How do you feel today?”

“How do I feel today?” That bored, dry, even tone is finally gone. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Dion’s landed at exasperated with an edge of angry frustration—a common state of being when you were around. He leans to the side and looks behind you to say, “Hane, what’s their problem?” His eyes move back to you. “Did y'all get high on some wizard shit last night? Because if so, I am definitely gonna leave now.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder for emphasis.

“Oh no, you’re not. Get in here.” You can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders in a half hug. “Thank god you’re immune!”

Dion tries to brush you off with an annoyed growl. “Immune to what, you weirdo.”

You hold onto him as you pull him inside, so relieved by this proof that you hadn’t ruined the whole town. “Thank you!”

Dion looks around bewildered while you cling to him but you don’t even care. At least he’s being normal and you don’t have to hear him come on to you only to have him take it all back once you fix this. You think you’d die. Or at least not be able to face him for a several days. “Someone,” Hane says, looking pointedly at you, “love potion-ed the town.”

“By accident!” you reflexively protest before beaming at Dion, “But you’re good! You’re so perfectly normal.”

[xmads-omensx]

Not sure if I can request things but if you would be willing. Could you write Noah in an established relationship and maybe his girl is a part of the crew and like mid tour he starts to notice that she starts sleeping a lot when she never sleeps during the day and then her standing by the barricades snapping pics of her and fainting. Thank you so much!

Word Count: 1,531

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X reader

Content Warnings: fainting, mentions of exhaustion, established relationship, swearing, fluff, mentions of burn out, mentions of hospitals

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @heyyoplayer @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @kait16xo @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm

I had been touring with Noah for as long as I could remember.

It was how we met.

Matt had hired me originally as his assistant tour manager, before shifting me to be Bryan’s assistant as well as remaining as Matts assistant when he discovered my passion for photography.

Whilst touring with Bad Omens, I developed feelings for Noah very rapidly, as he did the same towards me.

It was a lot of awkward skirting around eachother as we flirted like high school children, both too afraid to actually admit how we felt towards eachother out of the pure fear that the other didn’t feel the same way.

In fact, it was Matt who had forced us together in the end.

He had sent Noah and I to get some cables from the bus individually, forcing us to be alone, when Bryan pushed the two of us into the back of the van, refusing to free us until we admitted how we felt.

We have been happily together ever since.

After that, touring became a lot more bearable considering the fact that I was doing it with the person I loved more than anything else in the world.

The Australia tour was something that I had been really looking forward to, mainly since I had never been there before. I was sick the last time that Bad Omens played there, so I had to sit it out, which had not been enjoyable for anybody since the guys had to put up with Noah’s whining and Bryan and Matt had to do double the work.

Matt and I had met up about three months prior to the tour beginning in order to make the adequate preparations and make sure that everything was in order before we all made the insanely long journey down under.

It was a long and arduous process, making sure the appropriate flights and hotel rooms had been booked, then organising fun things for the guys to do on their off days all while editing photos that I had taken for another band that I had just toured with as their photographer.

My workload was most definitely a lot more than I was used to, but it was a challenge that I embraced with wide open arms since I felt insanely lucky to be in the position that I was in.

Noah had been a massive help as Matt and I prepared for the tour.

He took on my chores on top of his own to balance out my workload, he ran errands for me that I didn’t quite have time to run and was an overall incredible help whilst I prepped.

When the time came to actually go on said tour, Noah was a stressed wreck, which was expected when going on any tour that Bad Omens did, especially when it was the first tour back from their break due to Noah’s burn-out.

I had made sure everybody was all packed and ready to go, making extra sure that Noah knew that I had triple checked both of our luggage.

The flight had gone smoothly, with me napping for most of it, which had admittedly shocked Noah since I notoriously could not get to sleep on planes, but it was a great sleep so I wasn’t going to complain.

“Baby, we’re here.” Noah had whispered with a kiss on my forehead as we landed in Melbourne for the first few shows of the tour.

I awoke groggy, but happy to see my boyfriend’s face smiling down at me.

Strangely, I still felt tired despite having slept for most of the flight. Assuming it was just jetlag getting to me, I went about starting to prepare the first show of the short tour.

Matt and I met up at a nearby café to discuss last minute arrangements for the first show. We went over the visuals, the timings, the pyro and pretty much anything and everything in-between.

I could barely hide the exhaustion on my face as we worked.

“Hey, are you okay?” Matt asked with a concerned expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ve never flown that far before.” I replied with a weak laugh.

“Oh dude tell me about it.” He sighed, taking his cap off and running his hand through his hair before replacing the cap back on his head. “I mean, I’m pretty much done with you here, so why don’t you go and find Bryan and talk about what his plan is?”

“Sounds good.” I said with a laugh, standing up and patting his shoulder before leaving the café and returning to the hotel.

Bryan was hanging out with Noah and Nicholas in the hotel room that Noah and I were sharing. I could hear their laughter from the hallway as I got closer and closer.

“Hey idiot.” Nicholas sighed when I walked through the door.

“Hey!” Noah scolded, throwing the pillow that he held over his lap at his best friend’s head.

I laughed at their behaviour before sitting on the small sofa next to Bryan.

We began to go over our plan for the tour as Noah and Nicholas continued hitting eachother with pillows and laughing at eachother.

“So I will go behind the guys, and you go just in front of the barricade, that way we cover all bases.” Bryan said, but his voice had begun to grow quieter in my ears.

A hand brushed my shoulder. It was Bryan.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“Yeah, just tired.” I replied, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, everybody out.” Noah demanded, standing up and hitting Bryan on the back of the head with the pillow he had been hitting Nicholas with.

The two other men stood up and shuffled out of the room, leaving Noah and I alone.

“Wanna sleep?” He asked, gently cupping the side of my face and stroking it with his thumb.

“I think a little nap will help me out.” I sighed, kissing his palm, making him smile.

Noah pulled away from me and pulled the duvet back on the bed, getting it ready for me to crawl in and finally get some sleep.

The first few dates of the tour had been like that.

We would arrive at the city, I would take a nap, then we would do the show.

It was a cycle that had been concerning Noah more and more since I never usually napped during the day.

Noah had been urging me to go see a doctor whilst we were on tour, but obviously I didn’t want to listen to him.

He had a tendency to be overprotective and overbearing at times when it came to both touring and my health.

It all came to a head one night on the tour when I was by the barricade taking photos like I did every night, when suddenly my head began to spin and my eyes became blurry.

I could no longer hear the music as the venue faded to black around me, enveloping me in a pitch black void.

When I awoke, bright LED lights practically blinded me.

I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t let me.

No, scratch that.

A heavy body lay over half of my torso.

A dark-haired head lay on my chest, rising and falling slightly along with my breaths.

Noah.

I reached my hand up and stroked his hair away from his face gently.

He stirred and looked up at me with worried eyes, before lunging up and engulfing me in a crushing bear hug.

“I was so worried about you!” He exclaimed into my hair.

I didn’t know what to say, so I settled for pulling him in closer.

“The doctors think that you’re burned out and exhausted. You’ve been working yourself too hard with doing assistant tour manager, assistant photographer as well as working for other bands on top of Bad Omens. You need to lighten your workload.” Noah explained.

“But-“ I went to argue but he cut me off.

“I understand you love what you do. Trust me I understand how much this sucks. But you seriously need to slow down. I have been so worried about you all tour, and now you’re in fucking hospital. Let me help you.” Noah pleaded.

“I-“ I tried to argue, but he was right.

I was pushing myself far too much, therefore I was exhausted.

Being burned out explained why I had been sleeping so much on this tour. it explained why I felt so awful constantly.

And worst of all, I had been worrying Noah.

“Fine. I’ll slow down.” I sighed. “But promise me that no one will get mad at me.”

“Baby, nobody is mad at you.” Noah comforted, rubbing my arm with his large hand.

“Really.” I asked quietly.

He simply nodded his head and pulled me into his chest.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re safe with me.” He whispered, kissing the top of my head. “You need to take breaks sometimes, you told me that yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” I laughed.

Noah always knew exactly what to do or say no matter what the situation was.

He just understood.

[irondad-defensesquad]

EDIT: Also posted on AO3!

--

Peter wakes up late.

Arguably, it’s the weekend. Even then, he’s not someone who sleeps until afternoon. Mainly because someone wakes him for breakfast and to get through the day. And on some weekends, he even has breakfast in bed.

It’s 12 PM when he opens his eyes, hearing no noises out of his room.

Indeed, when he gets out of bed, Peter doesn’t find any signs of life in the Compound. Breakfast is not set. And as far as he’s concerned, no one is in the workshop, for he cannot hear any loud rock music coming from it.

“Um… F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Peter looks at the ceiling. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

“Boss is currently in a series of meetings. He’ll be back by the evening. He said there’s coffee ready, and food in the fridge to heat up.”

“Oh.”

The boy realizes he’s still wrapped by his blanket, as Peter hugs it close.

“Would you like me to call Boss?” F.R.I.D.A.Y asks.

“No, no, I just wanted to know. Thanks.”

“You can let me know if you need him.”

“It’s okay, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

She doesn’t insist. The house goes silent again.

He wants her to come back.

But he doesn’t say that.

So, Peter goes on with his day. He eats his cereal and he doesn’t mix the coffee with milk like he usually does. He doesn’t like black coffee like Tony does… but it doesn’t feel wrong this time. Peter tries sending messages to Ned and MJ, but they both have plans for today so they won’t be able to talk much today. Aunt May is out of town, hence why Peter is staying over. She does ask if everything is okay, and Peter reassures her he’s fine. May tells him to count on Tony with anything he needs.

Peter just sends her a smiling emoji.

He decides not to talk to Karen. One, putting his suit in the Compound for no reason other than to chat with someone is weird. Second, she would certainly let Tony know, and his mentor would immediately tell something is wrong.

Peter goes to the workshop. He greets DUM-E. As much as he loves the little bot, DUM-E only beeps and Peter has not yet figured out his language. The arachnid doesn’t have anything to fix on his suit. He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y if Tony needs any help with his projects (his mentor has given him permission to help him out if he wants). But apparently, there isn’t anything to be fixed.

Right. Nothing in the workshop, then.

Peter tries watching TV. He doesn’t really focus. He checks his phone but there aren’t any new messages. His friends are too busy for him. Time is passing very slowly. It’s not even mid afternoon and Tony will take forever to come back.

Finally, he goes back to his room. He needs to get his math homework done, anyway. Peter gets his earphones ready and he starts reading the book, his notebook page blank, waiting for his train of thought.

Except the music is too distracting. Even if he lowers the volume, it doesn’t help. But if he pauses it entirely, Peter’s thoughts are going to scream louder.

His notebook judges him. The words and instructions in his book don’t make sense. Even though Peter re-reads over and over again, they only get more confusing, and he loses more patience, as his head pounds.

Ask for help, a little voice says inside him.

Help for what? Homework?

It’s not just homework.

But it’s not important.

Everyone has better things to do.

Peter growls, breaking his pencil in half with a lot of ease, then dropping the meaningless pieces on the floor. He can’t bring himself to fix it or simply throw in the garbage. It’s just a stupid pencil anyway.

His book is slowly consumed by teardrops.

Countless.

Like it’s raining right in it.

Only Peter is the big storm cloud that can’t make it stop. That can’t do the most basic of things.

He can’t take it anymore.

He sobs. A lot. Loud.

It probably echoes in the penthouse.

People won’t hear it, though.

Peter covers his eyes, now wetting his hands instead of the book. The music is still playing and it’s mocking him. You’re stupid. You’re useless. You can’t do anything right.

He cries for a good couple of minutes. It only grows louder and more painful. Peter doesn’t know why he’s like this. He can handle things alone. He has always handled everything on his own and he never broke down like this. Why is he like this now?

The emptiness around him is engulfing him. It’s empty like his apartment when Uncle Ben died. Peter couldn’t sleep for days when it happened. Mostly because he was distracted trying to save other people’s lives, to prevent another tragedy from happening.

But there’s no one to save.

Peter is trapped.

He can’t do this.

He can’t do this.

He can’t…

…

Someone is knocking on the door.

“Peter?”

Suddenly, he’s back in the bedroom, the book and notebook are just… school objects. They aren’t saying anything.

Peter is too shocked to even open his mouth.

“Peter, I’m coming in.”

Shit. Fuck.

The boy hides himself, turning away from the door, also using his arm to try and pretend the tears aren’t there.

“M-Mr. Stark! I thought- Why”– the teen gulps, unsure what to say that won’t blow his cover. He fears he’s failed anyway –“What’re you doing here?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y called me, she said you needed me.”

Even though Tony doesn’t sound annoyed in the slightest, Peter only feels pathetic and ashamed of the last three words.

“Y-You didn’t have to come here, Mr. Stark.”

He senses Tony approaching.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” the man patiently requests.

“I don’t know! Something is wrong with- with my brain!” Peter lashes out. He hates himself for that. Despite that, Tony doesn’t get angry. “I tried to distract myself but there was nothing to fix in the lab, TV didn’t help, and not even my stupid homework helps because I’m stupid-!”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Tony is kneeling down next to him. “You’re not stupid. It’s okay.”

Peter cries again with the other’s soft voice. “I can’t do anything, Mr. Stark.”

“That’s okay. You just need a break, kiddo.”

“Yeah, but…”

It’s not just a break that he needs.

“... what’s the point if I’m just gonna be alone?”

Tony gently places a hand on Peter’s arm. The boy finally looks back at him.

“I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“But what about your meetings? They must be more important.”

“You’re more important to me, Pete.”

He knows that, doesn’t he?

Why does it make Peter emotional anyway?

Regardless, Tony throws away the broken pencil for him.

“Come on, buddy,” he calls him, standing on his feet but waiting for Peter to follow him. Actually, he wants Peter to lead the way.

That way, the two end up at the couch. The TV is on and Peter couldn’t care less about what’s airing. Tony grabbed his blanket and wrapped him up in a burrito. Even though he’s wearing an expensive suit, he hugs Peter close and he starts telling him about the meetings today and how boring they were. He also talked shit about some of the people he had to debate with.

For the first time today, Peter smiles, at peace.

Everything is alright now.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

[veryaren]

Hello! I'm quite new to the idv fandom, and I was wondering why luchinini is so popular among many? No hate or anything like that towards it, I'm just curious!

welcome. it is batshit in here be prepared. AS FOR YOUR QUESTION.... I actually don't know. for me it's the character dynamic. I think they fit together well as far as complimenting eachother. antonio is a romantic hedonist who lives to love and be loved. and luchino is. WELL. other than being a freak for reptiles. a logistical sort with a great curiosity and an even GREATER penchant for sating that curiosity. other people might have different reasons!!!!!!!!!! I just think personality wise they compliment each other well. It's popularity (i say that lightly) could honestly potentially be attributed to the fact they're both Italian. WHICH IS KIND OF FUNNY. a lot of ships are very random here anyway so I wouldn't be surprised lol

[mcalhenwrites]

Still alive, writing and editing a lot and even drawing (mostly dragon sketches at work). Seasons has some new chapters now... I saw something earlier about writing being something you can hone by doing lots of reading and writing. I wonder when that will apply to me. I've read a lot of books this year. I have almost hit my goal of 90 books, and while a couple are nonfiction and half are comics, the rest are novels. I expect that to increase again, now that I'm going back to the library. (I stopped with the bed bug scare.) Then I'm setting aside time each week to write. I work on stories at work, even if it's mostly just planning. (My laptop is falling apart so I just gave up taking it to work.) Yet here I am, still the same idiot who doesn't have anything appealing enough for most people to read. I can't get 99% of my followers interested. Sales of Geckos have dropped to next-to-nothing. Nothing else I put out there matters either. The fault lies with me. I'm not good enough. After having this stupid blog for 12 years, I want to delete it. I want to delete my twitter account. I want to delete every single account and shut up for good. There is nothing I can offer. My writing is a good hobby for me. I can get pats on the head for doing a little thing for myself. Aww, look at the cute little dumbass adult doing wittle storwies!!! Isn't that silly!!! They're not good, but he's having fun during the process. Too bad he hasn't figured out that not even 39 more years of practice can save what he's handing out.

[medicinemane]

Should make a pain killer that actually kills (or even touches) pain