#if anyone wants to send a test ask that's cool too

[thebookishwallflower]

hey y'all, i can't figure out what's wrong, but my tumblr inbox is reading that i have three unopened things in there, but, when clicked shows that it's empty?

don't know how that works, or what happened but if anyone has any insight please share, and if you're one of the three, i'm so sorry, i'm not ignoring you, i can't see it!!

[pomefioredove]

having a crush on you

summary: how they would act having a crush on you type of post: headcanons characters: pomefiore (vil, rook, epel) additional info: reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, not proofread, hi I'm insane and I love pining, I NEED to write another fic but with rook. might write this same prompt with other dorms

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

don't take his calm and collected facade as apathy

he's slowly losing his mind about this

"pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, falling asleep thinking about you" kind of losing his mind

it's my personal belief that Vil hasn't been in love before this

hasn't even really thought about it

so when you enter the picture it kinda throws him off balance

and with the exception of Rook, no one can even tell

he is an actor, after all, he can play the part of "totally platonic friends with room for Jesus"

(maybe a little too well)

but Vil isn't entirely emotionally repressed

he keeps things to himself, yes, but he's quite conscious of his own wants and needs

so when he realizes he's been craving your presence more than usual he does acknowledge it

in his head

and then does nothing about it for months

...what? he's busy

things like this can wait for him, and he doesn't want to put a rift between you two in case it might be a passing feeling

well... it doesn't pass

he becomes keenly aware of how much he wants you around him, how much he thinks about you, how much your very presence is enough to make him happier than he's ever... really felt

and you know what?

he is totally cool about it.

just kidding. he drives himself insane trying to think of the perfect way to confess, something that will impress you and meet his standards

he's dropping hints left and right and you don't seem to be picking any of them up

which again, just makes him crazy

(some days he really wants to ask you how oblivious one person can be, but he restrains himself)

I mean, how many times can he send you red tulips before you finally get the hint? he's practically spelling it out for you!

there is... a tiny, little part of him that worries you don't reciprocate

is he not your type? are you interested in someone else? perhaps he'd been too harsh on you, after all...

the fact that one little potato can make him so worried absolutely drives him mad

he is the vision of poise and grace and you are ruining him

and this sort of mood comes and goes in waves

just when he thinks he's pulled himself back together, you'll smile at him or say something cute and suddenly he's back to square one

(you're so adorable it's annoying -_-)

while he's sorting out a good way to express his feelings properly, he'll be spending all his free time with you

you need some new things? he'll be glad to take you shopping

you came over to see Epel? oh, well, he's not here, but you should stay for some tea, anyway!

your afternoon is free? he has some new lip gloss he's been dying to test out...

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

contrary to popular belief, I don't think Rook would be so open about it

he still compliments you, of course, and sings praises of your beauty and elegance, and has little regard for personal space, as always

but he's like that with a lot of people, so it's hard to really tell when he likes someone

the truth of the matter is that Rook Hunt can be just as reserved with his feelings as anyone else

when he really, really likes someone, he keeps it to himself

why?

he's hunting you he's learning more about you before making his true feelings known

he feels it's necessary to have an adequate amount of information on his target before making a move, after all

for reference: you catch his eye at orientation, and do not have a single conversation with him until after winter break

(of course, after that, you start mysteriously running into him everywhere)

is he kinda weird about it? uh. yeah.

this is Rook we're talking about

on the other hand, he's completely lovesick about you and it's almost cute

he's definitely the type to write your initials in a journal with a glitter pen while kicking his feet back and forth and giggling

seeing if you would sound better with his last name or he with yours...

definitely has a very weird photo collection of you somewhere in his room

along with stacks of poems, pressed flowers, and little gifts he intends to give you once he's won you over

(when, not if. Rook is nothing if not patient)

you may find a rose left outside Ramshackle every so often

or a few cans of tuna for Grim

all while acting like the same old eccentric Rook, no discernable difference

except when you can feel his eyes on you at random places in the middle of the day

Ace and Deuce call you paranoid but you can't shake the feeling

though, every once in a while he'll get a little grumpy

Rook is easily jealous, and while that sort of possessiveness never extended to untouchable idols like Vil and Neige, he's already decided that you're his prey

and he'd kindly ask everyone else to find their own, thank you

he hasn't exactly planned the confession yet, but just know it's probably going to be the sweetest and craziest you've ever heard

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

first of all he's going to fight you for making him like you so much

second of all he's going to beg for a chance

maybe not in that exact order

Epel is constantly at war with his own emotions and having romance thrown in the mix is. uh. not optimal

not only does it ruin the stoic, strong male persona he's been trying to build, but it's also making him feel all soft and gushy

suddenly he cares about looking nice

(much to Vil's approval)

and now he wants to do nice things for you?

he's gonna bite you

how dare you make him think about kissing and holding hands!

don't you know he's supposed to be above all this romantic stuff? what is he, Rook?!

then, after his initial temper tantrum, he starts coping. hard.

he might be able to stomach the idea of being an item if he gets to wear the pants in the relationship

...yeah, right? right.

if you let him be the man, if you let him protect you...

he might be okay with it!

obviously he starts trying to show off his manly strength (seriously) every time he sees you

starts making comments about how tough practice was on him

will literally never let anyone else carry anything for you ever again

he even provides for you (in payments of apple juice)

obviously this backfires 'cause the second you do something that gives him butterflies he's back to giggling

(you'll have to ease him into the idea of being soft and romantic together, but he'll get there)

but, to his credit, he'd be the first out of all the above to confess

super suddenly and out of nowhere (and he ends up shouting it cause he didn't want to sound chicken) but it's sweet in its own way

[nickeverdeen]

Not saying “I love you too” to the Fourth Wing characters before they leave

Violet Sorrengail

Violet’s mind would immediately race, wondering if something is wrong but trying to keep her cool

She would try to brush it off, telling herself it’s not a big deal, but the hurt would linger

Throughout the day, she’d find herself distracted, replaying the moment in her head

She might overanalyze every interaction leading up to it, questioning if she said or did something wrong

She’d send a check-in later, casually asking if you’re okay, trying not to sound too worried.

She’d confide in Rhiannon about it, seeking advice on whether she should be concerned

Violet’s insecurities would flare up slightly, making her wonder if you’re distancing yourself

She’d miss you more than usual during the day, longing for reassurance

The next time she leaves, she might hesitate before saying “I love you,” waiting to see if you say it first

Violet would gently ask you about it, trying to get to the root of the issue

She might have trouble sleeping, her mind not letting go of the small interaction

She might subtly distance herself, unsure of where you both stand.

Violet might subtly seek reassurance in other ways, like asking if you’re happy with her

Despite the worry, she’d find herself doodling your name absentmindedly

After you finally talk about it and reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a huge weight lift off her shoulders

Xaden Riorson

Xaden would maintain a stoic expression, not letting on that it bothered him

Internally, he’d feel a mix of confusion and frustration, but he’d suppress it

He might briefly wonder if he’s to blame, questioning if he did something to cause it

Xaden wouldn’t talk about it with anyone, keeping his feelings bottled up

He’d become extra protective, channeling his emotions into making sure you’re safe

In his mind, he’d see this as a test of loyalty, waiting to see if it’s a one-time thing or a pattern

He’d throw himself into work or training, trying to distract himself from the lingering doubt

Xaden might subtly monitor your behavior, looking for other signs of distance

Despite his tough exterior, he’d deeply long for your reassurance

He might start to feel a bit of fear, though he wouldn’t show it

He’d put up a colder exterior, trying to protect himself from potential hurt

Xaden might test your feelings subtly, seeing how you react to his affection

He might indirectly bring it up, making a vague comment about how much he values honesty

He’d show his care through protective gestures, even if he’s feeling unsure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a mix of relief and a renewed sense of connection

Liam Mairi

Liam would be immediately worried, thinking something might be wrong

He’d probably ask you directly if everything’s okay, his concern clear

If you brush it off, he’d try to reassure you softly, even if he’s still a bit uneasy

He’d be extra affectionate the next time he sees you, trying to make up for the missed words

His protective instincts would kick in, making him even more attentive to your needs

He might casually mention it to a close friend, seeking advice on how to handle it

Liam would keep a subtle watch on your mood, making sure you’re truly okay

He’d go out of his way to do something nice for you, wanting to see you smile

He’d worry that you might be pulling away, even if there’s no real reason

Liam would become even more supportive, trying to show you how much he cares

He might plan a small surprise, hoping it will cheer you up and bring you closer

He’d have a heartfelt conversation with you, wanting to clear the air

He might have trouble sleeping, his mind occupied with thoughts of you

After you talk and reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worries melting away

Rhiannon Matthias

Rhiannon would be confused at first, not understanding why you didn’t say it back

She’d start to doubt herself, wondering if she did something to upset you

She’d subtly check on you throughout the day, making sure you’re not upset

She’d be extra kind and gentle with you, hoping to smooth over any potential issues

Rhiannon would definitely overthink the situation, replaying it in her mind

She might seek comfort in small gestures, like holding your hand or cuddling with you

Rhiannon would feel a bit insecure, wondering if you’re losing interest

She might write you a sweet note, hoping to bring a smile to your face

She’d worry that something has changed between you, even if it’s just in her head

Rhiannon would be extra thoughtful, trying to anticipate your needs and make you happy

She might start to subtly distance herself, afraid of getting hurt

She’d have nervous energy, fidgeting more than usual when she’s around you

Once you reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a wave of relief, her usual confidence returning

Dain Aetos

Dain would be immediately concerned, thinking something might be wrong

He’d ask you directly if everything’s okay, his tone serious and caring

Dain would go into overprotective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

He’d plan a special date or outing, hoping to reconnect and make things right

Dain would be extra attentive, making sure you feel loved and appreciated

He’d reassure you with his actions, doing little things to show he cares

Dain would worry internally, even if he doesn’t show it on the outside

He’d subtly seek validation from you, looking for signs that you still care

He might have a sleepless night, his mind racing with thoughts of you

Dain would overanalyze the situation, trying to figure out if he missed any signs

He might ask again later if everything’s okay, just to make sure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worry melting away

Imogen

Imogen would be confused at first, not understanding why you didn’t say it back

She’d play it off casually, but the confusion would linger in her mind

Imogen would subtly keep an eye on you, looking for signs that something’s wrong

She wouldn’t push you to talk about it, respecting your space

Imogen might give you a bit more space, thinking you might need it

She’d worry in silence, not wanting to burden you with her concerns

Imogen would be extra careful with her words and actions, trying not to upset you

She’d subtly seek reassurance from you, hoping to feel closer to you

Imogen would feel conflicted, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but also feeling uneasy

Doesn’t talk to anyone about it as this is her personal business

She might start to subtly distance herself, unsure of what’s going on

Once you reassure her that it’s a prank, she’d feel a wave of relief, her worries melting away

Jack Barlowe

Jack would feel immediate annoyance, wondering why you didn’t say it back

He’d mask his insecurity with a sarcastic comment, trying to play it off

Jack might overcompensate by being overly affectionate the next time he sees you

He’d seek validation from you, wanting to make sure you still care

Jack wouldn’t talk about it directly, keeping his feelings bottled up

He’d feel internal frustration, not understanding why it bothered him so much

Jack might make sarcastic comments, trying to cover up his feelings

He’d go into protective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

Jack would throw himself into work or training, trying to distract himself from his feelings

He might indirectly bring it up, making a vague comment about how much he values honesty

He might start to feel a bit of resentment, though he wouldn’t show it

Jack might test your feelings subtly, seeing how you react to his affection

He’d show his care through protective gestures, even if he’s feeling unsure

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a mix of relief and a renewed sense of connection

Sawyer

Sawyer would play it off with a joke, not wanting to make it awkward

Despite his playful exterior, he’d feel a sting of disappointment

He might bring it up later in a casual way, just to see if you’re okay

Sawyer would keep things light-hearted, not wanting to put pressure on you

Later, when he’s alone, he’d overthink the situation, wondering if he did something wrong

The next time he sees you, he’d be extra affectionate, hoping to make up for whatever he did

He might check in with a Ridoc, casually asking if you’re okay

Despite his calm demeanor, he’d worry that you’re upset with him

Sawyer would be extra attentive, trying to gauge your mood and see if anything’s off

He’d plan a fun outing, hoping to reconnect and make sure you’re okay

Sawyer would avoid having a serious talk about it, preferring to keep things light

He’d subtly look for signs that you’re still interested in him, even if it’s just in your actions

He’d feel a bit of internal conflict, wanting to know what’s wrong but not wanting to push you

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a wave of relief, his playful nature returning full force

Ridoc

Ridoc would immediately joke about you not saying it, trying to lighten the mood

He’d briefly wonder if you were joking or if you meant it seriously

Ridoc would pretend not to care, brushing it off with a laugh

Despite his outward calm, he’d think about it later, wondering if something’s up

He might bring it up in a light-hearted way later, asking if everything’s okay

Ridoc would tease you gently about it, hoping to get a reaction

The next time he sees you, he’d be extra playful, trying to keep things light

Ridoc would worry in silence, not wanting to make a big deal out of it

He’d keep things casual, not wanting to pressure you into explaining

Ridoc might subtly check in with you more often, making sure you’re okay

He’d plan a fun day together, hoping to reconnect and make you laugh

Ridoc would feel a bit of internal conflict, not wanting to push you but also feeling uneasy

He’d avoid having a serious talk about it, preferring to keep things light.

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a wave of relief, his usual playful self returning

Garrick

Garrick would feel immediate concern, thinking something might be wrong

He’d ask you directly if everything’s okay, his tone serious and caring

Garrick would go into overprotective mode, making sure you’re okay in every possible way

He’d plan a special date or outing, hoping to reconnect and make things right

Garrick would be extra attentive, making sure you feel loved and appreciated

He’d reassure you with his actions, doing little things to show he cares

Garrick would worry internally, even if he doesn’t show it on the outside

He’d subtly seek validation from you, looking for signs that you still care

He might have a sleepless night, his mind racing with thoughts of you

Garrick would overanalyze the situation, trying to figure out if he missed any signs

He might ask again later if everything’s okay, just to make sure

Garrick would become even more protective, making sure you’re safe and happy

He’d feel a bit of internal conflict, not wanting to push you but also feeling uneasy

Once you reassure him that it’s a prank, he’d feel a deep sense of relief, his worry melting away.

[mintyys-blog]

FAST & FLIRTY — pietro maximoff x bimbo! reader

WARNINGS: smut.

Pietro Maximoff never considered himself the type to slow down for anyone—until he met you. You, with your bright pink nails, glossy lips, and wide-eyed innocence, had a way of making him pause. Not because you needed him to, but because you were just so… fascinating.

“Wait, wait, wait—so, like, you can run, but super fast?” you ask, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as you tilt your head at him.

He smirks. “Yes, printsessa, that is kind of my whole thing.”

Your lips purse in thought before a gasp leaves you. “Oh my god! Do you, like, ever run so fast that your shoes catch on fire?”

Pietro blinks. “…No?”

“Ugh, missed opportunity,” you pout, crossing your arms under your chest, which—he’s definitely noticing. “Like, that would be so cool! Imagine, you’re running, and then boom—flaming sneakers! You could call yourself, like, Hot Wheels or something!”

He chuckles, the sound warm and amused. “I think Quicksilver is fine, but I appreciate the branding advice, moya lyubov’.”

You giggle, and the sound is sugary sweet, making his chest feel weirdly light. You’re not like the usual people he’s around. You don’t care about strategy or missions or being the smartest in the room. You’re just you. And somehow, that’s the most refreshing thing he’s ever encountered.

“So, like,” you lean in, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “if you’re so fast, does that mean you can… you know?” You wiggle your brows suggestively.

Pietro grins, leaning in too, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “Printsessa,” he murmurs, “you’re doing this on purpose, yes?”

“Just, like… wondering if you could keep up with me.” You wink.

Pietro groans, tilting his head back with a smirk. “Bozhe, you are going to kill me.”

“Me?” You bat your lashes. “I��m just being curious.”

His fingers twitch on his thigh before he grabs your wrist—gently, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.

“Curiosity is dangerous, printsessa,” he murmurs, voice lower now, tinged with that thick Sokovian accent that always makes you shiver. “But if you really want to know…” His blue eyes darken, scanning your body like he’s already imagining all the ways he could ruin you. “Why don’t we test that theory?”

Your breath catches, heat flooding through you.

“You mean… like, right now?”

Pietro’s smirk turns downright sinful.

“Oh no, dushka,” he purrs, leaning in so his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “I think you underestimate me.”

Then, in a blur, you’re not on the couch anymore. The room spins, wind rushing past your skin, and before you can even squeak, your back hits soft sheets.

You blink up, realizing you’re in the bedroom. His bedroom.

“Fast enough for you?” Pietro grins, bracing himself over you.

Your heart pounds. Holy shit.

“That was—”

“That was nothing,” he cuts you off, voice thick with promise. “I haven’t even started yet, printsessa.”

Your stomach flips as he trails a finger down your thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.

“Now…” He leans down, lips brushing yours, voice nothing but a husky whisper. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

And then, he makes very sure you never doubt his stamina again.

Pietro chuckled and pulled you close, his hands roaming over your curves as he pressed his lips to yours.

As he kissed you deeply, Pietro's fingers began to dance across your skin, tracing patterns of fire wherever he touched. You moaned into his mouth, feeling yourself get wetter by the second.

"Fuck, ," Pietro growled, "you're so responsive. I love it." He pulled back and gazed at you with a wicked glint in his eye. "I'm going to show you just how fast I can make you cum."

With a swift motion, Pietro dropped to his knees and buried his face between your legs. His tongue darted out to lick your clit, sending shivers down your spine as he began to speak in a low, dirty tone.

"You like that, printsessa? You like my tongue on your little pussy? I'm going to eat you out so fast that you'll be screaming my name in seconds."

As he talked, Pietro's fingers slipped inside you, curling upward to rub against your G-spot. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge as he worked his magic.

"Oh God," you panted, "Pietro...I'm going to come..."

"Not yet," he whispered back. "I want it harder than that." With a surge of speed that left you breathless— literally, Pietro increased the tempo of both tongue and finger movements so intensely and quickly— almost an insane blur, leaving no part untouched nor any second unfilled; total blissful overstimulation unlike anything experienced before. It was like you had a vibrator at your clit.

Finally after several minutes which felt both short and eternal simultaneously allowing only gasps for air while consumed completely within pure physical ecstasy— you exploded into an earth-shattering climax; collapsing backward onto soft bed sheets utterly spent yet still convulsing gently beneath lingering aftershocks and still receiving gentle kisses applied all-over.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, Pietro slowly stood up, a triumphant smile on his face. "See, printsessa? I told you I could make you cum fast," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You couldn't help but laugh, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Yeah, you definitely proved that," you replied, your voice husky from disuse.

Pietro chuckled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle this time. "I'm not done yet," he whispered. "I want to make you cum again."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of excitement. "You think you can do that?" you asked, trying to sound skeptical. You were egging him on at this point.

Pietro just grinned. "Oh, draga. I know I can." He reached down and began to stroke your clit again, his fingers moving in slow circles.

As he touched you, Pietro began to talk dirty again, his words sending shivers down your spine. "You're so wet and ready for me," he whispered. "I can feel how much you want it. You're going to cum again."

This time, Pietro added a new element to the mix—he slid two fingers inside your pussy while continuing the external stimulation using his thumb; creating dual sensations against both walls and clitoris simultaneously.

The combination was almost too much to bear. Waves of pleasure rolled over each other and crashed onto shores within. Your entire lower half started trembling once more under onslaughts now doubled in ferocity. Still whispering obscenities into ear: completely swept away by surging tides— giving yourself fully over.

As Pietro continued to tease you with his fingers, you could feel your body building up to another climax. But this time, you wanted more. You wanted to feel him inside you, to feel his cock pounding into your pussy.

"Pietro," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I want you. I want your cock."

Pietro's eyes lit up with excitement as he stood up and pulled off his pants. His cock sprang out, hard and ready, and he quickly positioned himself between your legs.

With a swift motion, Pietro plunged his cock into your pussy, filling you completely. You gasped in shock and pleasure as he began to move, his hips pounding against yours in a rapid rhythm.

"Oh God," you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. "Pietro...fuck me...fuck me harder..."

Pietro obliged, increasing the tempo of his thrusts until you were screaming with pleasure. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending stimulated to the max.

As he fucked you, Pietro's dirty talk reached new heights. "You're so tight," he growled. "You're so wet and ready for me. I'm going to come inside you and fill you up, you want that printsessa?" It didn’t matter if he came inside, you were on birth control anyway.

Still, the thought sent shivers down your spine. Nails digging into his back, leaving angry red marks. “Yes! Please.. pietro!” You threw your head back, eyes rolling back.

And then it happened, Pietro's cock hit just the right spot inside you and triggered an explosion of sensations that left no room for thoughts; no capacity for coherent speech— simply existence reduced solely down pure physical reaction.

You became an incoherent babbling mess; convulsing uncontrollably beneath still pumping hips— louder now than ever before and without pause: nonsensical screams and moans.

Finally after what felt like forever. Stillness arrived; leaving shattered remains where once there existed composed recognizable being. Nothing but twitching wreckage remained now; overwhelmed senses smothered by last crushing wave after hours spent adrift upon stormy sea of unrelenting stimulation.

He proved you wrong after all, you look at his cock— he was hard again. Looks like the fun isn’t over yet.

[kafka-ish]

I want to be Art’s dealer when he needs an eighth after one of his games. I want him to get my number from Patrick because he’s new to this & doesn’t know anyone or anywhere else to get it. Hey, u got any weed? He texts him.

Not on me.

Shit.

I know I’ve been going crazy

Do u know anyone?

The next message is your number. No name. No address. Nothing. But Art’s desperate for a cool down that doesn’t include a tub of ice or a communal sauna. He’s going out on a limb here—hitting send as soon as Patrick relays the message. Nothing too suspicious. You’re at home when you receive a text from an unknown sender.

Maybe Art: Hey, Patrick gave me ur number. This is Art

Come by around 9

You tell him which dorm.

Maybe Art: Okay

He’s at your door at nine sharp, still in his tennis uniform. He’s sweaty from practice, nervously gripping his racket bag and wondering if he should knock or text. Obviously he’s never done this.

He knocks. Doesn’t expect to be met with a girl half his size on the other side. Maybe you’re just the dude’s girlfriend and you happen to be over and end up answering. And in that case he really shouldn’t be looking but he can’t help it. Your hair is wet like you just got done showering. Your shorts ride up, or maybe he’s just imagining things. But he’s not imagining your shirt that’s see-through and barely covers your abdomen. He introduces himself, “Hi, I’m Art.” Maybe that’ll clear up the confusion.

“Yeah you texted me earlier. Come on in.” You leave the door open. You also leave Art dumbfounded.

Art makes sure to shut the door behind him but he doesn’t sit down. Stands awkwardly by the entrance, wondering what he should do with his bag, thumbing the strap.

“So Patrick sent you, huh?” Your voice comes from the kitchen and Art nods even though you can’t see him. He realizes this and dumbly says yes. You look up from the counter, sandwich bag in hand, and you smile at Art who’s fiddling his thumbs by the doorway. “You can sit down. Make yourself at home.”

"Cool." He settles down on your couch, looking around the place, trying not to be obvious even though it is. You smile, wanting to relax him. That's what he's here for, isn't it? His tennis bag is at his feet and he rests his hands on his knees, trying to take up as little space as possible.

"I won't bite, you know," you say, sitting next to him. You place a scale on the coffee table next to a tray of weed that's already been ground. About an ounce, though Art's never seen that much weed at one time. The only time he smokes is with Patrick every once in a while.

"Yeah, I know. I just--"

"What? Is this your first time or something?"

"No! I--I mean. Buying yes." His cheeks are red.

"Okay well don't worry. It's real easy." Art nods. Believes this. "Well."

"Well what?"

"Now I know why Patrick sent you to me."

"Sometimes it's easy." You laugh. Like an inside joke you have but only with yourself. "Sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"No it's fine." And Art gives you this look. Like it is fine. Keep going. Explain everything to me. He wants to know the basics, the hard stuff and everything in between. You just shake your head. Ask how much he needs. "How much do people usually get?"

"Depends on the person." You shrug.

"How much does Patrick get?"

"Like an ounce. Half if he's short on cash." Art raises his eyebrow, shocked he didn't know that about his friend.

"So I should get an ounce," Art says. More of a question than a statement. He's testing the waters. Putting himself out there.

"How much do you smoke?" You push back. You want him to be careful. You also can't risk putting a super hot new customer in danger.

"Honestly? Only with Patrick." He's bashful when he admits this. You probably think he's lame now and totally off your radar. You're never gonna let him step foot into this apartment let alone sell to him again.

"Yeah you don't need an ounce," you say smiling, thinking of how he came in all politely with his tennis racket just like a puppy, tail tucked nervously between its legs, not knowing if he should stand or sit, silently observing your things. He has a good head on his shoulder with a future ahead of him and here you are selling him weed. Who are you to take advantage of such a thing just because Patrick sent him?

"So what do I need?"

"Probably some melatonin and a really good massage. But I'll give you an eighth and pretend like this never happened." This is the first time you've felt bad about selling. You take a jar from a drawer. There's even more weed in it than on the table, but in clumps. Green wads with streaks of purple. You set each on the scale in individuals first before packaging his pile in the bag you grabbed from earlier. "Here."

"How much?"

"On me this time. Think of it as a sample. You got a grinder or you smoking with Patrick?" Art's at a loss for words. He wants to pay you. He has cash too. He'll take you out to dinner. Instead he just says

"No, I, uh. Don't."

"Want me to roll you a joint?"

But before he can say anything you already find yourself folding a zig-zag with the filter, scooping the weed you have out with your fake nail into the paper. Art watches your hands. An expert at work. He thinks how everyone has their own niche and this is yours, just like how he has the tennis court.

When you walk him out you tell him to be safe. You're still smiling. You've never been this happy to not get money. He's about to leave but says, "I can pay, you know. I want this to be an honest transaction and everything."

"Art, I'm a drug dealer."

"Yeah, well--"

"Bye, Artie."

[iatemyboyfriend3]

wc: 1.9k

johnny “soap” mactavish

warnings: mdni 18+, piv smut, oral s*x, johnny is a dog, pwp with a tinge of fluff

You’re lying on the edge of the small, creaky bed, pretending to read, but you can feel Soap’s gaze burning into you. The tiny hostel room offers no escape—just the one bed and the rickety chair he’s claimed across from you. He’s sitting there now, one leg propped up on the chair’s arm, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he finally says, “Ach, if yer gonna ignore me, at least try tae look like yer actually readin’, eh?”

You keep your eyes on the book, letting the silence stretch between you. The way he’s watching you is almost too much, but riling Johnny up never hurt anyone except your poor cunny that’s been drooling since you two came into the room and he had kissed you sloppily and threw you on the bed- ignoring your soaked panties until now.

“You just gonna sit there, lass, or are ye plannin’ on acknowledgin’ yer bonnie lad?” His voice, thick with that heavy Scottish brogue, pulls a smile from you even as you try to play it cool.

You glance up, giving him a look of mock annoyance. “And what if I’m too busy now, Soap?” You reply, challenging his suggestive tone.

“Too busy?” He’s up on his feet in a flash, crossing the room in a few long strides, that familiar glint in his eye. You can almost picture the invisible tail wagging behind him. “Aye, I’ll give ye somethin’ to be busy with, hen,” he says, his voice low and testing, just close enough for you to feel the rumble of his voice.

Before you can react, his hands are on you, fingers digging into your sides with practiced precision, tickling you mercilessly. You burst into laughter, squirming under his touch as he pins your back against the hard mattress.

“Soap!” you manage to gasp out between gasps and dry giggles, your hands weakly trying to push him away.

“Aye, what’s the matter, dove? Can’t handle a wee bit o’ fun?” His grin widens, the sound of your laughter fueling his playful attack.

Finally, you manage to grab hold of his wrists, your fingers brushing against his skin just a little too softly. “Alright, alright! I give!” you say, your voice light, but the way you glance up at him innocently has his eyes darkening, something almost predatory flashing in his gaze.

Soap stops, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours. “That’s what I thought, lass.” His voice is softer now, still teasing, but with that underlying warmth that always makes your heart skip a beat.

"Look at ye, lass,” he murmurs, his voice thick with that familiar Scottish lilt that never fails to send a shiver down your spine. “Ye’re lookin’ at me like a starvin’ dog watches a bone.”

You scoff, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his eyes, makes it impossible to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “Maybe I am,” you agree, your voice not quite as steady as you’d like.

Soap laughs, a low, rumbling sound that’s more of a purr. “Aye, I can see that,” he says, and you can feel the low vibration of his grumble against your lips. His hands are resting on your upper thighs as his thumbs trace so so close to your heat- you have the urge to throw your legs over his waist and beg for more, for him to touch you more

“Tell me, dove,” he drawls, his breath hot on your lips. “What is it ye want, eh? Ye just gonna lie there all pretty, or are ye gonna ask for what ye really need?”

You swallow hard, your heart racing as his words sends a shiver up your neck to your cheeks. He’s drawing it out, and it’s driving you crazy. You reach up, trying to pull him down to you, but Soap catches your wrists, holding them down to the mattress with a grin.

“Ah ah, not so fast, hen,” he chides, his voice dripping with playful menace. “Ye’ve got to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep from squirming under his gaze. He’s enjoying this, watching you struggle to keep your composure, waiting to jump on you as soon as you ask all nicely and pretty for him. Finally, you give in, your voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, “Please, Soap.”

His eyes darken, and he releases your wrists, his warm hands finally slide down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “That’s more like it, lass,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss that leaves you aching for more.

“Ye’re mine, lass,” he whispers against your skin, his voice a low growl as he finally kisses you. His mouth was warm, his tongue heavy, and his scarred, calloused hands had slid around to cradle either side of your spine as he tucks you in closer, your bodies pressed together, your chest empty of breath from the pressure of his heavy body, your mind spinning.

Johnny's fingers tighten into your soft flesh and you press harder into him. His lips tread down to your chin and over to your neck, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses as he lays his body weight into you on the bed, straddling your hips with his thick muscled thighs.

Johnny loved grabbing your soft skin, anywhere and everywhere- he wastes no time ripping your clothes off and playfully spitting on your panty-clad pussy, rubbing the saliva into the already soaked fabric.

"Look at tha', bonnie" he chuckles as he crawls further down the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders, roughly stuffing his face in between your thighs and into your damp panties and shakes his head roughly- his nose nudging your clit hard and over and over again as he sharply inhales you.

Your hands grips anything you can reach, hips bucking up into his face as tears blurs your vision. He moves back from your heat and eyes your now see-through panties, licking his lips thats now covered in stickiness and saliva nastily.

“Can't get 'nough at how wet ye are.” His finger gently touches your engorged clit over the fabric, “Haven’t even licked ye properly, and ye’re soaked tae the fuckin’ sheets.” He plays with your panty clad pussy with just the tip of his thick rough finger, giving sweet kisses to your clit as you whine and try to shimmy away.

“Johnny, please!” He looks up at you, and you could see his eyes darken into obsidian as he falls for your needy state. He finally pulls down your soiled panties and dives in, sucking roughly on your clit sending shivers down your spine. Deft fingers toying with your hole and finally being pushed in, stretching your walls with ease and curling inside you.

The more his fingers curled inside you with precision, the more your velvety walls closed around them, pulsating even due to the dual pleasure you were receiving. He groaned as he sucks harder, your back arching as his tongue laps the spot, all to make you ruin his face just the way he wants you to do. You feel that build up in the pit of your stomach rise faster than you can handle.

“So close,” You whimper, your breath catching in your throat as he curls his fingers once, twice, three times to bring it out of you, your mouth hangs open in reaction to the pull of your orgasm washing over you instantly. He eventually pulls his fingers out and stuffs them into your mouth, watching you suck them dry as he groans. And saliva mixed with cum shines on his lips, a guttural groan erupting from him due to how you swirl your tongue around his fingers to taste yourself.

“Should I just have ye hang o’er this bed and use that bonnie mouth o’ yours?” You frantically nod yes but he kisses your forehead hotly before moving to the side of you, pulling your leg up.

“Maybe a wee bit later. But for now, I just neetae feel ye.” He spits in his other hand and rubs his cock to get it slicked, moving up slightly to press the tip up at your aching core, both of you moaning as he enters you like an intruder.

“That’s it, let everyone know how much ye missed me. Ye can do it.” His endless praise makes you moan louder, and in turn he touches you all over, finding that exploring your body was all that he ever wanted, that you were a work of perfection that he couldn’t get enough of forever.

He tilts your head towards his and kisses you, the intensity making your head spin. He keeps up his pace, making you whine in his mouth a ‘no more’. You pull back and catch your breath, moving your hand down to grip the sheets. He kisses you again, and you moan into his mouth as he doesn’t retreat despite the desperate shallow breaths you both let out.

He quickly threw his hand down to rub at your clit, and you cry out and grab at his wrist, your fingers turning white from the tightness in which you grip him- and it was enough to thrust you into release, your grip on his wrist tightening as you clench all around his length, hips shaking at overstimulation.

Stars blur your vision as you heard your name, maybe his voice thick with pleasure. You wanted to speak, but only a choked moan escaped as you felt yourself being filled. It wasn't until he whispered in your ear, gently patting your cheek, that you came to, his thrusts slowing as your body stopped shaking.

“Hey, stay wi’ me, aye?” He kissed your neck as you opened your eyes again, and he fixed you to turn to face him, looking over your face and kissing it in its wake.

“Love ye more than anythin’ else in the world, yeah?” he whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity as he carefully cradled you in his arms. After a moment, he gently pulled away to grab a rag, cleaning you both off with slow, tender movements. When he returned, he settled beside you, brushing his lips against your skin, placing gentle kisses along your neck, shoulders, and anywhere he could reach. “Such a sweet lass ye are for me,” he murmured between kisses, his voice warm, as he held you close, offering quiet reassurance and comfort as your breaths evened out.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice playful. “Get some rest now, love.” You shoot him a teasing glance, lips curling into a smile. “Sleep? You really think I’m going to sleep after that?” His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Aye, I think ye will. But I’ll keep ye company just in case.”

[skythealmighty]

gang ngl i miss object universe. i should rewatch it again and get way too emotionally attached to Ice Cream and Map

#rocket talk #i made fanart of them with a steven universe song once i'm unwell

(1 note)

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

why does gamey get to be on ii TWICE. who gave him permission

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

thanks for the suggestion @cabtube-truther

📟 knockoff-gameboy Follow

You don't hear PBSB complaining about this...

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

well they're in a show that's super popular

📟 knockoff-gameboy Follow

Yeah, and you're in one that got cancelled

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

shut up you didnt even finish season one

#just one more cameo mephone4 thats all i ask

(316 notes)

anonymous asked: not sure you're gonna want a cameo rn mephone is going Through it

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

hold on im not actually caught up lemme see

🪟 im-not-electric Follow

holy shit

#I TAKE IT BACK

(58 notes)

anonymous asked: omg fan pleaaaase marru me ill do anythinggg ❤❤❤🥵🥵🥵

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

hey @test-tubular just checking was i ever this weird

🧪 test-tubular Follow

Weird? Always. This weird? No.

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

COOL just checking anyway

no please stop sending me these

#fans fantastic asks #this is the least weird anon ask from i think this specific anon #ive blocked them but oh my god #NO!!!

(83 notes)

💥🔃 fans-fantastic-features Follow reblogged 4️⃣ four-therecord

2️⃣ hey-two Follow

Hello everyone!! 👋 Since I've gotten many an ask about my cheesecake recipe from previous TPOT episodes, I've decided to make a longpost and put it here for you all to use!! Feel free to use without credit but credit is still appreciated 😊

Keep reading

4️⃣ four-therecord Follow

i hate you

#so they ARE on here #followed both immediately #how did i not come across them earlier...

(2,613 notes)

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Recovery across different universes, a scientific theory

(Full post below the cut)

((Thank you to @not-tally-hall for the testimony regarding the S*n!))

Keep reading

😎 the-chad-one Follow

boring 👎👎👎👎

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Get off my post

⛳ bossy-bot Follow

This is incredibly fascinating and an enjoyable read! There are some points of debate I've brought up in DMs, but otherwise this is a very solid theory. Good job!

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Thank you, that means a lot!!

#I follow your papers closely so hearing that coming from you is an honor #anyway back to my regularly scheduled nonsense

(13 notes)

🟧 julian-waiting Follow

Bonjour! J'ai découvert ce cite grâce à des vidéos amusantes

Je suis encore en train de m'habiteur à la sociét�� et je pense que c'est une bonne façon de me faire des amis! Enchanté de vous recontrer tous 😃

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

bienvenue sur le site de l'enfer ! la plupart des gens ici ne parlent qu'anglais, vous pouvez donc m'envoyer un message si vous voulez parler à quelqu'un en français. je peux également vous montrer des endroits en ligne pour apprendre l'anglais

🟧 julian-waiting Follow

Cela signifierait beaucoup pour moi, merci

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

bien sûr!

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

Baguette we all know you're not actually French you don't need to keep pretending 😒...

🥖 shut-up-about-boto Follow

K

(172 notes)

anonymous asked: your iconic quote from episode 10 has unfortunately become a vocal stim for me. please help, i'm suffering

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

Hey? This is the funniest ask anyone's ever sent me. Can we make out behind a Denny's

#my condolences though oh my god 😭

(4 notes)

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

Guys, this site is easy! Just watch

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

Based ball? Based on what?

⚾️ take-me-out-to-theballgame Follow

#hey. are you doing okay

No

(42,526 notes)

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

Finally watched II! Good show. I want that twink OJ dead why is he like that

☝ i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 2nd, 2020

🍐 betterthanpearaib Follow

I DIDNT MEAN IT I DIDNT MEAN IT I DIDNT MEAN JT I DIDNT

#😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

(26,942 notes)

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

Thanks everyone for the help so far! I'm not too much of a science nerd, unfortunately, @bossy-bot, so I didn't understand everything in the papers you sent me- but they still helped a ton! Especially the coding help. I was a telemarketer, not an IT person...

Now that I know what I'm doing, I have some free time. With some recommendations from @fans-fantastic-features:

If you have any other recommendations, just leave them in the comments. And please go and send help to @fire-cartoon-schtick while you're at it!

[chappellroansdreamgirl]

officer!els<3

author's note - meow i love this woman.

content warnings - black!coded!reader ig????, fluff, els i love u ellie williams pls handcuff me to ur bed and police-brutalize me! , text msgs from reader that are very me-coded! , mostly just based off every grumpy but cool cop i've seen in media, lots of notes from me i'm going insane I NEED HER!!!!! , there's a white man in a pic i put... you have been warned, smut/suggestive shit at the end!

-------------------------------------------------------

- def wanted to be a cop when she was a kid and then was a total fucking juvenile as a teen. (duh!)

- always loved the police officers who barely ever gave troubled kids a hard time. (this is coming from a troubled kid. acab all the way except for u guys. well, still acab, but y'all r cool!) would refuse to talk to anyone except her favorites. i fully believe that's one of the reasons she would go into this workforce.

- when she got approved to start training to be a cop, u were home with her favorite strand of weed and she gave u a look like, "🤨🤨" , "can't be doing that no more baby, i'm gonna be a cop." , "...stfu and take the first hit before you piss me off..." , she's wearing a SHIT-eating grin before she takes it. (don't ask me how she passes her drug-tests!) (probably gets jesse to do it or someone idk maybe joel if she's lucky!) (def not joel...)

- ADDING ONTO THIS!^^ : every single time you smoke when she can't she'll look so sad or just side-eye tf out of you... "really?" , "what do you want me to do ellie..." u stopped smoking around her when she couldn't...

- this woman is so intimidating but once those cop dogs come on the scene she's so cute<3 . she's so smiley and happy they love her AND SHE LOVES THEM. she definitely sent u a picture of her with the group of the babies and was like, "can we adopt them all pls i love them ):" . you guys adopted a rescue pup shortly after...

- whenever you're doing ANYTHING EVER she flashes her badge at you and says something so loser of her , "don't make me handcuff you..." or makes finger guns with the sounds and GOD I LOVE THIS WOMAN.

- speaking of badges, she always has her badge on her. ALWAYS. it is EMBARRASSING!

- when she got her first arrest she was so happy:3 . i FEEL like she took a picture with the fucker and everything and she looked so proud of herself. "good job baby now pls get to the station before that mf breaks out of those handcuffs he looks like he's gonna murder u..."

- this is a headcannon of mine (and canon so why am i saying hc maybe it's just bcs it's more in-depth in my head.) but she loves kids and whenever she sees a younger person at the station, she makes sure that they're ok and have everything they need.

- with that being said, she HATES the teens who don't have a valid reason to be such delinquents. lovable delinquents are her soft-spot but those... THOSE ONES😧.

- definitely is a kitten-saver-cop. hates getting the call but she responds every time.

- sends u this pic anytime u say something mildly threatening to her in text msgs:

suggestive/NSFW!

-------------------------------------------------------

- the day she got her uniform, you wanted to jump her bones. she came back home, poor girl was so tired and all you could think about is how good she looked in that shit.

- like i said... the badge is with her at all times... maybe this is too feral but i feel like she put IT in ur mouth and took a polaroid of it after u were done eating her out or SSAAAWWWWMMMMTHHHIIIIING. (pls let me wear ur badge baby i'm on my knees BEGGING YOU!)

- definitely joked about role-playing jailer/jailed and then it wasn't a joke anymore. y'all tried it once and couldn't stop laughing.

- has definitely used her handcuffs on u or vice versa. she gets so excited when u pull that shit out.

- ggggg...g-g-gu-....gggggggggguuuunnn ki-

- definitely has fucked u in the uniform. u two probs have had a quickie in the station bathroom on multiple occasions.

bonus round - police!els edit<3 :

[earthlybeam]

May I ask for something platonic? A human child reader with elves? The human child reader who loves causing chaos, often getting into trouble, and is very playful but tries to act innocent. For example, provoking Thranduil's elk. The elves can only pray that the human child reader doesn’t get hurt—or worse. Featuring Elrond, Gil-galad, Thranduil, Celeborn, and anyone else you’d like.

Omg yess, I’ve always wanted to write something like this! The idea of a human child causing chaos among the elves is so fun and full of potential for mischief!

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celeborn version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The kitchens of Lindon were an architectural marvel, with high, vaulted ceilings and intricately carved stone walls. The air was filled with the warmth of the ovens, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread, and the delicate fragrance of Elven pastries—each one crafted with precision and care. The stone counters were spotless, the gleaming surfaces reflecting the sunlight that poured through large windows, and the Elven cooks moved with a grace that seemed to make the kitchen a place of serene order. But today, there was no serenity in sight. There was only chaos. And at the very center of that chaos stood you.

At four or six years old—Gil-galad was never quite sure of your age, but it didn’t matter—you were a tiny whirlwind of mischief and curiosity. You had spent the morning listening to the adults speak of matters far too serious for your tastes, and your mind had wandered toward more pressing matters—like the trays of pastries that were cooling on a long wooden counter in the kitchen. They were golden, glistening in the sunlight, their surfaces dusted with powdered sugar, and you could see the faint glimmer of jam inside each delicate bite.

How could anyone resist such temptation? With a giggle, you snuck past the distracted cooks, eyes wide with delight. The kitchen, usually the domain of skilled hands and quiet, focused energy, was entirely at your mercy. A small stool stood in the corner, its legs slightly worn but perfect for a child your size. Without hesitation, you climbed up, the edge of the counter now just within your reach. Your eyes gleamed as you surveyed the treasure before you—pastry after pastry, sitting so innocently.

You grabbed the first one with both hands, the flaky layers crunching under your tiny fingers. The first bite was like a burst of heaven—sweet, buttery, and warm. You didn’t even pause before biting into another, and then another, each bite sending crumbs flying in all directions. Soon, your hands were sticky with jam, your face dotted with sugar, and the delicate pastries were disappearing at a rapid pace.

But no! One pastry was not enough to be certain of their safety. Oh no, you would need to test every single one—just to be sure. Surely, an innocent one would be poisoned and no one would notice if you didn’t intervene. You took another and then yet another. Crumbs scattered across the countertop, and your tiny hands left sticky marks on the surface.

As you continued your inspection, your elbow knocked into a bowl of flour, sending it tumbling to the ground with a loud crash. A puff of white powder exploded into the air, swirling like smoke and settling over your tiny frame, creating a ghostly aura around you. Not one to be deterred, you giggled and continued your inspection, oblivious to the mess you had already created.

That’s when the syrup bottle came next—its glass body tipped over and rolled with a slow inevitability, toppling and spilling its golden contents across the counter. The syrup pooled around the pastries, dripping slowly down the sides and staining the once-pristine counter. The sticky sweetness clung to your arms and hands, making you laugh with abandon as you swiped your fingers through the mess and licked them clean.

But the best was yet to come. In your absolute dedication to the task at hand, your hand brushed a basket of fruit on the counter, and with a great crash, apples began to roll in every direction, clattering to the ground like clumsy little soldiers retreating from a battlefield. The floor was now a mix of syrup, flour, jam, and fruit, with you at the heart of the storm, smiling and humming as though everything were perfectly in order.

It was at that precise moment, however, that Gil-galad entered. The High King of the Noldor moved with his usual elegance, his robes flowing behind him in a perfect sweep. The circlet atop his brow glinted in the sunlight, and his demeanor was always calm, always composed. His eyes took in the scene before him—the flour drifting through the air like snowflakes, the apples scattered across the floor, and you, standing amidst the wreckage, a sticky mess of crumbs, jam, syrup, and honey.

You froze, pastry halfway to your mouth, the sticky sweetness dripping down your chin. Your wide eyes met his, and the silence was deafening. The kitchen staff, who had begun to murmur and peek from the doorways, fell quiet as they waited for the High King’s reaction. Gil-galad’s sharp gaze shifted from you to the mess around you, and for a moment, his usual regal composure faltered. His eyes twinkled with barely contained amusement. “I see,” he said finally, his voice calm and even. “And what, may I ask, are you doing here, little one?”

You swallowed the half-chewed pastry with a quick gulp, your hands raised as though in defense. “I was just… testing them for poison!” you proclaimed, holding up the mangled remnants of a pastry like it was evidence of your grand sacrifice. You nodded sagely, crumbs falling to the floor. “You can’t be too careful, right?”

Gil-galad tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile. He crossed his arms, standing tall and proud despite the utter destruction surrounding him. “Testing them for poison, you say? Such bravery,” he mused, tapping his chin with a finger as if considering your words seriously. “But tell me, did you need to test all of them?” Your small form nodded earnestly, crumbs falling like snow. “I had to make sure, Your Majesty. What if someone important ate a bad one? What if you ate one? What if you were poisoned by mistake?” You blinked up at him, the gravity of your words hanging in the air.

Gil-galad let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and admiration. “Indeed, we must commend your dedication to your task. But perhaps, next time, you could test these pastries with my permission?” His smile was playful, though there was a glint of affectionate amusement in his eyes. You blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Would you have said yes?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Gil-galad paused, his smirk returning in full force. “Probably not,” he admitted with a dry chuckle. “But perhaps, little one, we could avoid this next time by following the rules.” You sighed dramatically, wiping your sticky hands on your shirt, completely unconcerned about the mess you were continuing to make. “Then I had no choice!” you declared. “Someone had to do it!”

Gil-galad sighed, a warm, fond chuckle escaping his lips. “No choice, indeed,” he agreed. He stepped forward, lifting you from the stool and placing you carefully on another one, away from the mess you had wrought. “Now, little one, I suppose it is time to clean up this ‘necessary’ chaos. The cooks will need some time to recover from this disaster.”

“But—” You pouted, crossing your arms and looking up at him with a mixture of defiance and innocence. “Can I have one more pastry if I help?” Gil-galad raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Only if you promise not to spill more flour or syrup.” You grinned widely, holding up your sticky hands. “No promises!” you chirped, grabbing a towel with your gooey fingers and starting to smear jam across the counter as though you were cleaning.

The High King sighed, shaking his head, but his smile never wavered. “Valar help me,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing another towel. “You’ll be the death of us all.” Though the kitchen would take hours to return to its pristine state, with the cooks gently but firmly guiding you through the cleanup process, Gil-galad found himself unable to truly mind the mess you had made. You had brought a spark of chaos into the otherwise orderly world of the Elves—and he couldn’t help but enjoy it, just a little.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm were quiet, save for the low murmur of Thranduil’s voice as he discussed matters with his guard. The king, regal and commanding, sat upon his throne, the soft light of the torches glinting off the golden accents of his robes. Beside him, on a carved wooden table, sat his goblet of Dorwinion wine, untouched for the moment as his attention remained fixed on the discussion. His back was turned, the sleek braid of his hair falling over one shoulder, giving no indication that he was aware of your antics.

And oh, you were up to something. Peeking out from behind one of the tall wooden columns, you squinted at the goblet. It sparkled under the torchlight, practically begging to be touched. Your small hands twitched with excitement as you stepped out of your hiding place, careful not to make a sound. The king’s voice droned on in the background, and you decided this was your moment.

Your little feet padded silently across the stone floor as you approached the table. You cast one quick glance over your shoulder to make sure Thranduil’s attention was still focused elsewhere. He wasn’t looking. Perfect. Your tiny fingers wrapped around the stem of the goblet, and with a quiet giggle of triumph, you lifted it from the table.

It was heavier than you expected, and the liquid inside sloshed dangerously close to the edge, but you didn’t care. Your heart raced with the thrill of mischief. Still grinning, you turned toward the doorway. But before you took your first step, you paused. You wanted him to know. Tilting your head just enough, you made sure Thranduil could see you out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t even try to hide your grin, and when his sharp gaze flicked toward you, widening slightly in recognition, you ran.

“No you don’t-.” Thranduil’s voice, low and commanding, rang out behind you, but you were already halfway across the hall. The goblet wobbled in your hands as you sprinted, the rich wine spilling over the sides and leaving a trail of red drops on the polished stone floor. Your giggles echoed through the chamber as you weaved past chairs and columns, your little legs carrying you as fast as they could.

Thranduil rose from his throne in a single fluid motion, his long robes sweeping behind him as he turned to face the chaos. His expression was a mixture of disbelief, irritation, and… was that the faintest hint of amusement? He placed a hand to his temple, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before striding after you, his long legs covering ground much faster than yours.

“Put it down before you hurt yourself!” he called, his voice firm but not unkind. You didn’t listen. Why would you? This was too much fun. You were unstoppable, a whirlwind of tiny chaos. But even you had your limits. By the time you reached the far end of the hall, your legs were burning, and you were gasping for breath. Your pace slowed to a halt, and you turned back to see Thranduil advancing, his piercing gaze locked on you like a hawk spotting its prey.

Grinning mischievously, you held the goblet aloft like a prize. “Ha! I win!” you declared, your voice high and triumphant. Before he could close the distance, you made your final move. With a dramatic flourish, you flung the goblet to the ground. It hit the stone with a loud clang, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. The remaining wine spilled out in a dark pool, and you clapped your hands together as if you’d just completed a masterpiece. Thranduil stopped in his tracks, his expression shifting to one of stunned silence.

For a moment, the entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Then his eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He closed the remaining distance between you with slow, deliberate steps, his robes trailing behind him like a stormcloud. “You…” he began, his voice soft and dangerously calm. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

You blinked up at him, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “It was an accident,” you said, though your grin betrayed you. Thranduil sighed deeply, his hand coming to rest on his hip as he gazed down at you. He was torn between annoyance and a grudging sense of admiration for your audacity. “An accident?” he repeated, one elegant brow arching. “You mean to tell me that your accident involved taking my goblet, spilling half its contents across my halls, and throwing it to the floor?”

You nodded earnestly, your wide eyes gleaming with mock sincerity. “Yes.” The corner of Thranduil’s mouth twitched, as if he were fighting the urge to smile. But he shook his head, kneeling down so he was at your eye level. “You are a menace,” he said, his voice softening. “A tiny, chaotic menace.” You beamed at the unintended compliment. “But you’re not mad, right?”

Thranduil let out a quiet chuckle despite himself, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Mad? No. Exasperated? Beyond measure.” He stood again, gesturing toward the mess on the floor. “Come. We shall clean this together, since you are clearly in need of a lesson about responsibility.” Your nose wrinkled at the idea of cleaning, but you followed him nonetheless, your little hands grabbing a nearby cloth as he summoned another elf to assist.

Despite his stern words, there was a gentleness in Thranduil’s actions, a patient understanding that reminded you of why you liked him so much—even when you pushed his limits. For all his grandeur and authority, Thranduil could never truly stay angry at you. You were too small, too full of life, and perhaps just a little too clever for your own good.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond had always cherished his study, the space filled with ancient scrolls, delicate parchment, and shelves upon shelves of knowledge passed down through ages. It was his sanctuary—a place where he could immerse himself in the histories of Middle-earth, unravel the complexities of the world, and find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of life. Today, however, peace was a fleeting concept.

He had just placed a few books back on the shelf, their contents irrelevant for now. He was tidying up, collecting what he no longer needed for his current research. The soft hum of the quiet study was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of paper or the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His back was turned, the momentary silence giving him a false sense of order.

In the corner of his eye, he could see you—a small human child, no more than four or five, playing with one of his old tools. You were harmless enough, for now. His lips curved into a quiet, patient smile. You were always full of energy, full of life, and though you had a tendency to get into mischief, Elrond couldn’t help but find your antics somewhat endearing. After all, it was rare to see such joy in his otherwise serious, quiet home. But when he turned away again, to return the last of the books to the shelf, he failed to notice just how quickly you moved.

But when he turned away again, to return the last of the books to the shelf, he failed to notice just how quickly you moved. As soon as his back was turned, you saw the perfect opportunity. You scampered up into his chair, your small feet barely making a sound on the floor. Your eyes darted to his neatly arranged desk, and with an impish grin, you began your work.

The important scrolls that lay before him were neatly written, the fine elven script elegant and precise. But to you, they looked dull and boring—nothing like the bright, colorful drawings you loved to make. You reached for a quill, dipped it into an ink pot that wasn’t quite the right color, and began to scribble, your tiny fingers moving quickly across the parchment.

You drew spirals, zigzags, and wavy lines, your small hands leaving traces of ink across the pages that should have been untouched. Then, seeing a blank spot, you switched to another ink pot, one filled with water—there was no need for anything as dull as ordinary ink. You poured it onto the parchment, watching as the colors bled across the surface. It wasn’t long before you had spread ink splotches, water rings, and colorful doodles across the scrolls that had once been pristine and orderly.

In your excitement, you knocked one of the ink pots over, spilling the black ink across the desk with a small splash. The liquid spread quickly, seeping into the wood and dripping over the edges, threatening to ruin the beautiful surface. You gasped, quickly reaching for a cloth, but instead of cleaning, you accidentally smeared the ink further, making it worse.

At the same time, your tiny hands rearranged the quills in a haphazard pile, and your little fingers moved the ink pots around like toys, none of them where they should be. You giggled to yourself, pleased with your “improvement,” unaware of the growing chaos around you. When you finally leaned back in the chair, admiring your work, you looked up at the doorway, only to find Elrond turning back toward the desk—his calm face now frozen in surprise at the sight of the mess you’d created.

His study—a room that had once been neat, organized, and calm—was now a scene of chaos. Ink pots had been switched, their contents unfamiliar and in hues he did not recognize. Some had even been filled with water, leaving puddles of liquid to soak into delicate parchment. Several quills had been scattered about, none of them where they should be, and his precious scrolls, once orderly and precise, had been unceremoniously tossed aside. But the worst part? His desk, his very workspace, was covered in doodles.

And there you were, standing on his chair, caught red-handed, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you innocently tried to balance on the seat. Your tiny hands were stained with ink, and your face held an expression of mock seriousness, as if you had just accomplished something grand. Elrond’s eyes closed for a brief moment, his breath steadying. He could feel the usual shift in his heart, that moment of hesitation where he knew he needed to find patience—not just for you, but for himself as well. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm, though there was no hiding the faint amusement behind his words.

“Now, what is all this, little one?” Elrond’s gaze never left you, watching carefully as your fingers flexed, leaving more inky prints on his precious chair. “Did I not tell you that my work is delicate?” He could feel the corner of his mouth twitching, but he kept his composure. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” You tilted your head, clearly pretending to think, though you could not hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “I was just making it… better,” you said, as if the chaos was somehow an improvement to his work.

Elrond sighed, though his voice remained warm, a quiet reprimand. “Better?” He stepped closer to the desk, his eyes scanning the scattered scrolls and smeared parchment. “Do you think your doodles will help me finish my studies, or do you simply enjoy causing trouble?” You giggled, clearly not understanding the weight of your actions. “I thought it would be fun!” Elrond allowed a slight, fond smile to play across his lips. “I can see that,” he said softly, a touch of warmth creeping into his tone despite the mess. His gaze shifted to the spilled ink, his mind already working through ways to salvage the papers. “But fun does not always mean harmless, my little one.”

You were still standing proudly on his chair, looking down at him with wide eyes that spoke of both innocence and the gleam of someone who had just discovered the joy of mischief. You placed your hands on your hips, as if daring him to scold you further. Elrond’s expression softened, and he reached out, gently lifting you off the chair. He sat you down on the floor beside him, though he had to suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth. “I cannot have you destroying everything in sight, can I?” His tone held a touch of playfulness now, despite the chaos around them.

“I didn’t destroy anything!” You protested, crossing your arms over your small chest. “I just… rearranged it.” Elrond let out a soft chuckle, though his voice still held that gentle reprimand. “Yes, well, rearranging things that are meant to stay in one place can cause problems, little one. I’ll have to teach you how to respect the boundaries of others’ work. You wouldn’t want someone coming in and rearranging your things, would you?” You stared up at him, blinking innocently. “But I didn’t mean to make a mess,” you said, your voice soft and slightly apologetic, though the mischievous twinkle never quite left your eyes.

“I know,” Elrond said with a small, understanding smile. He began carefully gathering the scattered scrolls, returning them to their rightful places. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But you must understand that some things are very important. Your curiosity, while admirable, can sometimes be a little… overwhelming.” You nodded, watching as he worked. “I’ll help clean it up,” you said earnestly, though you were still far too young to understand the full consequences of your actions. “I don’t doubt that you will,” Elrond replied, his tone now warmer. “But I think you owe me something first.” You blinked up at him. “What?”

“A promise,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “That next time, you’ll ask before rearranging anything of mine. Even if you think it’s fun.” You nodded solemnly, eyes wide and earnest. “I promise!” Elrond smiled, and this time, it was more than a small quirk of his lips. It was a full smile, though still tempered with that protective patience he always showed.

Elrond couldn’t truly be angry—not with you. You brought a spark to his otherwise serious world. And as much as you caused trouble, he would never change that. “Good,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up, together.” And despite the chaos you’d caused, Elrond knew this moment—this child, so full of life and curiosity—was something he would cherish.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

The forest of Lothlórien was alive with its usual serenity. Sunlight filtered through the golden leaves, and the soft rustling of the wind carried the faint sounds of Elven melodies in the distance. Celeborn sat at his desk, reviewing maps and records, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. His dagger, ornate and razor-sharp, rested beside him on the edge of the desk, its polished silver blade catching the dappled light. You, the small human child who had found your way into the company of the elves, were supposed to be drawing on a piece of parchment near the corner of the room. At least, that’s what Celeborn thought.

Instead, mischief glimmered in your eyes as you glanced at the dagger. With his back turned, deep in thought, you saw your chance. Quick as a squirrel, you darted forward, snatching the weapon in both hands. It was heavier than you expected, but that didn’t deter you. No, this was your moment. You were an Elf-Warrior, just like the ones in the songs!

You raised the blade, holding it awkwardly but with all the dramatic flair you could muster. “Fear me, foul orcs!” you declared, swinging the dagger clumsily through the air. “I am the great warrior of Lothlórien! None shall pass!” The nearby elves froze, their eyes widening in alarm. One dropped the bundle of arrows he was carrying, his hands instinctively reaching for you, but hesitating—who dared to touch Lord Celeborn’s little human charge without permission?

Celeborn turned at the sound of your triumphant shout, his silver hair catching the light as he moved with the grace of centuries. His sharp, discerning gaze landed on you immediately, his calm demeanor not betraying the flicker of worry in his chest. “What have you done now?” he thought as he stepped toward you, his long strides purposeful but unhurried, his face an unreadable mask of calm authority.

You held the dagger out in front of you, both hands gripping the hilt as you waved it wildly. “Look, I’m an Elf-Warrior! I’m fighting the bad guys!” You swung the blade again, and Celeborn’s sharp eyes caught the way it almost grazed a chair. “Put the dagger down, child,” Celeborn said, his voice gentle but firm. “No!” you said, stomping your foot. You tilted your chin defiantly, gripping the weapon tighter. “It’s mine now! I’m winning the battle!”

Celeborn’s lips twitched, threatening to form a smile, but he quickly suppressed it. “That is not a toy,” he said, kneeling slowly to meet your gaze. His tone remained even, though his outstretched hand was ready to intercept any dangerous movement. “But I’m the hero!” you insisted, taking a step back, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. “And heroes need swords! Orcs are coming!”

“The only thing coming is a sharp edge too close to your fingers,” Celeborn said softly, his hand still extended. “Give it to me, now.” You hesitated, eyes darting between the dagger and Celeborn’s calm but unyielding expression. Then, as mischievous as ever, you smirked. “Make me!” The elves watching from the sidelines gasped in unison, one even muttering under his breath, “Valar preserve us.”

Celeborn arched a single elegant brow. “Child,” he said in that measured, steady tone that made even the bravest elves pause, “this is not a contest you wish to win.” Your grip on the dagger tightened, and you took another defiant step back. “I’ll fight you for it!” you challenged, holding the blade in front of you like you’d seen the warriors do.

Celeborn sighed, an exasperated but faintly amused sound, and rose to his full height. “Very well,” he said, stepping forward in a way that felt both like a negotiation and an unspoken warning. “But I should warn you—I have fought wars older than your entire village.” You blinked, momentarily distracted by the thought of how old he must be. That distraction was all he needed. Celeborn moved with the swift precision of a seasoned warrior, gently but firmly grasping the blade by the hilt, twisting it out of your small hands with practiced ease.

“Hey!” you yelped, stomping your foot again. Celeborn turned the dagger over in his hand, inspecting it briefly before tucking it safely into his belt. He crouched down in front of you, his face now softened with quiet understanding. “You are brave,” he said, his voice low and warm, “but bravery is not the same as wisdom. And wisdom means knowing when something is too dangerous for you to handle.”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “But I was winning the battle!” Celeborn leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Even the mightiest warriors must choose their battles carefully. And they must never swing a blade without purpose—or training.” You tilted your head, considering his words, though your lips still formed a small, defiant pout.

“Come,” Celeborn said, offering his hand. “Let us find a safer way for you to learn the ways of an Elf-Warrior. Perhaps we begin with a wooden sword, hmm?” For a moment, you looked at him with suspicion. But the promise of more “training” was too tempting to resist. With a reluctant huff, you took his hand.

As Celeborn led you out of the room, his calm demeanor firmly back in place, the watching elves exchanged glances, some hiding smiles behind their hands. One whispered, “If this is what the child is like now, I fear for us when they grow older.” Celeborn, overhearing, allowed himself a small, private smile. “Indeed,” he murmured under his breath. “The Valar have gifted me with a trial disguised as a child.” But when he glanced down at your eager face, already imagining your next act of chaos, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of affection.

[library-ghoulette]

Headcanons: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x reader who loves to bake

SFW, gender-neutral reader

Some cutesy fluff that I haven't been able to get out of my head all week. Because we've seen him go to town on that whipped cream in RHRN, we know this man has a sweet tooth.

He finds out about your hobby when you bring baked goods to a staff meeting or a Ministry potluck. "Who brought these cookies?" "Er, I did?" "So good... Did you get them at that little bakery in town?" "Oh no, I made them!" "You made them??"

He would never outright ask you to bake for him, but he can't help bringing up those cookies every now and then. Just... wouldn't it be nice if there were something sweet at the budget meeting next week? People would probably like that?

You bring a batch, plus a little box with a few set aside especially for him. You pass it over to him in secret so that no one gets jealous, and he falls for you, hard.

He becomes your go-to person to test new recipes on.

Loves to hang out in the kitchen while you bake, chatting your ear off the whole time and stealing little tastes of batter and handfuls of chocolate chips.

Wants to help, but you always end up banishing him to a stool a safe distance away from whatever you're baking. It's not that he's a fuckup, but he gets nervous when he's outside of his comfort zone, and that's when you get chaos in the form of dropped eggs and tablespoons confused for teaspoons.

Asks questions about what you're doing and seems genuinely interested even if he doesn't really get the technical aspects.

Yes, of course he wants to lick the beaters. And the spatula. And the bowl. Yes, it does send your mind to filthy places every single time.

Prefers brownies and cookies just slightly underbaked and gooey, warm out of the oven. He's impatient and hates having to wait for anything to cool down.

He's definitely one of those people who make nigh-pornographic noises when they eat something delicious. Exclamations and expletives, moans, praise.

He has so much confidence in your abilities that it borders on delusion. This is a man who will see the most heinous challenge on GBBO, one that reduces the contestants to tears, and scoff, "Heh! You could do that, easy!"

He's careful not to take your baking for granted or make you feel unappreciated. He knows what it's like for people to constantly demand more and more, and he's not going to do that to you.

Realizing that sometimes you get a sugar craving when you don't feel up to making anything for yourself, he teaches himself a simple recipe for those occasions. Yes, it's just a chocolate mug cake made in the microwave, but he's so proud when he makes it for you. He always adds a generous dollop of whipped cream and some of whatever sprinkles he finds in your stash, usually Halloween ones.

If you find some expensive piece of equipment or fancy ingredient or novelty cake pan that you want but can't justify buying for yourself, he won't rest until you let him get it for you. Or, if you protest too much, it will just show up on your doorstep one day.

The first time you make a birthday cake for him--pulling out all the stops with luscious fillings, homemade buttercream, fancy piping tips--he tears up. Just stares at it for a moment in shock before blowing out the candles. Barely wants to cut it. Insists that you get good pictures of it before he does. It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for him, and it makes him feel so, so loved.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Love strategy p.2

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy part 2, here's part 1 if you've missed it :)

With your plan set in motion, you and Lando meet up to finalize the details of your fake relationship. The two of you sit in a quiet corner of a café, huddled over your drinks, hashing out the rules. You lean forward, fingers tapping nervously against your cup.

"Okay, if we're really doing this, we can’t tell anyone it’s fake,” you say firmly, setting the first boundary. Lando scoffs, leaning back in his chair, looking offended. “Who would I tell?” he asks indignantly, his face scrunched in mock insult.

You give him a long, pointed look. He blinks. "Okay, okay, fine!" he relents. "Second rule: no getting involved with anyone else. That would just make things messy."

"As if I’d do something so stupid," you shoot back, rolling your eyes. "Alright, third rule: no kissing."

Lando’s expression shifts, a playful glint sparking in his eyes. "No kissing? How are we supposed to make this look real?" he teases, leaning in closer. "Come on, kisses aren’t that big of a deal."

You narrow your eyes. "Not a big deal? You're seriously underestimating—"

Before you can finish, Lando’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly his lips are on yours. It’s soft at first, almost like he’s testing the waters, but then he deepens the kiss, his thumb brushing against your jawline in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

You freeze for a moment, caught completely off guard. This was not in the plan. But the heat of the kiss, the way his touch makes your skin tingle, it’s impossible to resist. Without thinking, you find yourself kissing him back, your hands gripping his shirt to steady yourself.

When he pulls away, there’s a mischievous smirk on his face. "See?" he says, voice low and a little breathless. "Not so bad, is it?"

You stare at Lando for a long moment, still reeling from the kiss, but slowly coming back to the task at hand. "Alright," you say finally, though your voice is softer now. "Kisses… only when necessary. We're trying to sell this, after all."

Lando’s grin widens, clearly pleased with himself. "Necessary, huh? I can work with that."

You roll your eyes, but there's a small smile playing on your lips. "Anyway, we should post a picture together, somewhere casual. That way, when we 'come out' as a couple, it won’t look too sudden. People will have seen us together before."

Lando nods, the wheels clearly turning in his mind. "Smart. It’ll make everything look more natural."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief as the plan starts to take shape. But before you can dwell on it for too long, Lando leans in again, his tone casual but deliberate. "Speaking of tomorrow, you should fly with me instead of Carlos. It’ll help sell the whole thing."

You raise an eyebrow, taken aback. "Fly with you? That would be… weird. People will notice, and I’ve always flown with Carlos."

"Exactly," Lando says, his voice dropping to that mischievous tone again. "That’s the point. It’ll get people talking. That’s what we want, right?"

You hesitate, biting your lip. He’s right. But it feels strange, going from your usual routine with Carlos to something more calculated with Lando. "I don’t know," you murmur, your mind racing. "It just feels like—"

"Weird?" Lando finishes for you, a knowing look in his eyes. "It’s supposed to. But trust me, it’ll work."

You sigh, knowing he’s right, but still feeling conflicted. "Fine. I’ll text Carlos about it."

With a slight sense of unease, you pull out your phone and shoot Carlos a quick message:

Hey, I won’t be flying with you tomorrow. Going with someone else.

It doesn’t take long for him to respond:

Alright. Cool, no worries.

The shortness of the reply catches you off guard, leaving a strange feeling in your chest. You had expected at least a hint of curiosity, maybe a question, but instead, Carlos doesn’t seem to care at all. You stare at the screen, feeling a twinge of sadness that you hadn’t anticipated.

You blink back the unexpected disappointment, trying to shake it off, but the feeling lingers. Lando notices the shift in your expression and raises an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "Just… Carlos doesn’t really care."

Lando frowns slightly, his gaze softening. "You sure you’re okay with all of this?"

You force a smile, pushing down the sadness. "Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just weird, that’s all."

Lando watches you for a moment longer, but then nods, his tone gentle. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I care."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Thanks, Norris. That helps… a little."

He grins. "Good. Now, let’s figure out what else we're doing because we’ve got to look convincing."

Here's part 3

Tag list: @abq654 , @spaceflowergal, @mads94sworld, @anewpersonthatexists, @qlovalova, @itsskavya

[mischievoushiddleston]

I Miss You (Chenford)

Warnings: Smut, Rough Sex, Oral Sex (Male& Female)

Masterlist here!

'I miss you...' Lucy typed slowly into the text field of her smartphone. Her fingers lingered hesitantly over the keyboard as she stared at the words. A heavy lump formed in her throat and her thumb hovered over the send button.

But then she shook her head vigorously and deleted the message with an angry sigh. The screen went blank, and with it her short-lived hope. It was a habit she simply couldn't break. Every evening, when the silence of her apartment caught up with her, she felt this urgent desire to write to Tim. And every evening it became harder to resist the temptation.

Frustrated, Lucy dropped her cell phone on the sofa next to her and stroked her hair. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling as memories of him flooded her like a tide. His laugh, his deep, soothing timbre, the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice... She missed him. More than she wanted to admit to herself.

At the station, she had firmly resolved to remain professional. But there was an unspoken tension in his gaze, his closeness, that tested her self-control time and again. Lucy couldn't stop her thoughts from returning again and again to the nights when she had been so close to him - so close that she had forgotten everything else around her.

A soft knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Surprised, she turned her head. It was late and she wasn't expecting anyone. With an uneasy feeling in her chest, she got up and opened the door.

"Tim?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He stood in front of her, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, the familiar, determined expression on his face - and yet somehow he seemed more vulnerable than usual. "I didn't mean to... I didn't want to disturb you," he began, hesitant as he rarely was. "But... I couldn't take any more."

Lucy's heartbeat quickened as she stared at him. His eyes revealed more than words ever could. She knew he had missed her as much as she had missed him.

"Why now?" she asked softly, even though she already knew the answer.

He took a step closer, the distance between them disappearing. "Because I've finally stopped telling myself I can manage without you."

The tension between them was palpable, the air literally crackling with unspoken feelings. Before Lucy could think any further, she felt his hand on her cheek, warm and firm, and then there was just the pressure of his lips on hers.

It was a kiss that said everything they hadn't dared to say in the last few months. His hands slid into her hair, pulling her closer as she clung to him as if she might otherwise lose him again.

"Tim..." she murmured against his lips, but he interrupted her with a harsh whisper, "Don't say anything. Please."

He gently pushed her back into the apartment, closed the door behind him and looked at her with an intensity that took her breath away. His hands found the hem of her shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up as his lips traveled along her neck. Each kiss burned into her skin like a promise, each breath between them grew heavier.

His hands slid slowly over her body, exploring every curve with a tenderness that left Lucy breathless. His fingers stroked the soft fabric beneath her breasts before he gently but firmly gripped her hips and pushed her against the cool wall beside the front door. The movement was demanding, but never too rough - as if he wanted to possess her completely while making sure she wanted it just as much.

Lucy's hands wandered over the fabric of his shirt, which clung to his muscular chest. She could feel the warmth of his body underneath, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat that seemed to merge with her own. Her touch was hungry, almost desperate, as if she wanted to erase all the months without him with it.

Tim's lips found her neck, traveling slowly along the sensitive skin. With a light nibble on a spot she knew all too well, he elicited a soft gasp from her. Her breathing became erratic, her knees almost gave way and she would have lost her balance if his hands hadn't continued to support her body.

"We shouldn't," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. But the quiet protest in her words lost all credibility as her fingers buried themselves in his neck and she only pulled him closer.

"I know..." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough with desire. But his hands spoke a different language as he slipped her shirt over her head with a single, deft tug. The fabric fell silently to the floor, and the next second his lips were on her cleavage, exploring the delicate skin with kisses so hot and intense that Lucy felt a shiver run down her spine.

His hands followed his lips, running over her sides, down her waist, before pausing, as if he wanted to hold on for any moment. "Tell me when to stop," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. But Lucy only shook her head slightly, her eyes dark with desire.

"Don't stop," she finally managed to get out before she reunited his lips with hers. In that moment, there was no more doubt, no more restraint. Just the heat between them, the sizzle in the air and the inescapable truth that they had never really let go of each other.

The kiss was passionate, almost hungry, as if they wanted to make up for the time they had spent apart with every touch. Tim's hands stroked gently over her waist, up to the curves below her breasts. His fingers hovered there for a moment, as if to capture the warmth of her skin, before he deftly reached back. With a routine movement, he undid her bra, pulled the straps off her shoulders and let the garment slide to the floor.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy and uneven as he looked at her. His gaze slid over her exposed torso, admiring and suffused with a desire that made his blue eyes appear darker. There was an unmistakable intensity in his expression, a quiet promise that took Lucy's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured hoarsely before leaning forward and letting his lips trail over her delicate skin. He left hot, demanding kisses along her collarbone, her chest, until he finally paused. His tongue brushed lightly over her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking, teasing, while his hand gently grasped the other breast and kneaded it tenderly.

Lucy couldn't help but drop her head against the cool wall behind her. A soft moan escaped her lips, her fingers found purchase in his hair, pulling him closer as a warm shiver ran through her body. It was as if every touch drew her deeper into a sea of pleasure and oblivion, and she wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment.

"Tim..." she whispered breathlessly, his name a confession on her lips.

He lifted his head, looking at her as a mischievous smile played around his lips. "I'm not stopping, Lucy. Not tonight."

The words seemed to break the last of her restraint. With a soft gasp, she pulled him to her again, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting the heat of his body press her against the wall. Her lips found his again, the kiss even more passionate this time, even more demanding - an unmistakable sign that she wanted the same thing as him.

Lucy's desire became more and more urgent. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and, without hesitation, she pushed it up. Tim understood immediately and pulled it over his head in one swift movement, the fabric falling carelessly to the floor. As soon as he was free, he pulled her towards him again, their bodies pressed against each other, skin on skin, the heat between them almost palpable.

But this time it was Lucy who took control. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards with a gentle push until his back touched the wall behind him. With a demanding look, she leaned forward and let her lips roam over his bare chest. Her kisses were gentle but purposeful, her tongue leaving a hot trail on his skin.

When she reached a sensitive spot on his collarbone, she playfully ran her teeth over it, eliciting a soft, raspy gasp from Tim. Her hands continued to explore his upper body, sliding over the firm muscles of his chest down to his stomach, where they paused briefly. She felt his breathing quicken as she moved lower and a soft, satisfied smile stole onto her lips.

Her fingers finally reached his crotch, where his erection was clearly pressing against the fabric of his pants. With a mixture of curiosity and intent, she stroked it gently, her movements slow and provocative, eliciting a deep moan from Tim. His head fell back slightly against the wall, his hands finding her hips as if he wanted to hold on to her while she pushed him further to the edge of self-control with every touch.

"Are you going to go again?" she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, but the challenge in it was unmistakable.

Tim opened his eyes, now dark with desire, and looked at her urgently. "Not if I can help it," he murmured, his voice rough and broken with lust.

But Lucy didn't let up. Her fingers continued their gentle, teasing movements as her lips landed on his neck again. "That's not enough," she whispered, pressing her teeth lightly against his skin before running her tongue over it again.

Tim gasped, his hands gripping her hips tighter. "I swear, Lucy," he began hoarsely, pulling her back up to him with a sudden jerk so that their faces were only inches apart, "I'll never leave."

His words sounded like a vow, and Lucy could read the sincerity in his eyes. Her lips found his again, the kiss intense and full of passion as she gave herself completely to him.

Lucy's hands slowly moved to his waistband, her movements deliberately slow to further build the tension between them. She maintained eye contact as she undid the button on his trousers and slowly pulled the zipper down. The soft sound seemed to make the already charged atmosphere even more intense.

Tim's eyes were dark with desire and he watched her closely as she took control. His chest rose and fell heavily, but he held back and let her. With a gentle tug, Lucy slid his pants down over his hips, revealing more of him bit by bit before she finally sank to her knees.

Her breath brushed his body, making him shiver slightly as she began to place gentle kisses along his firm thighs. Her hands slid over the skin on his hips as her lips slowly worked their way higher. As she kissed the growing hardness of his cock through the fabric of his boxers, she could hear the soft, raspy gasp that left his throat.

"Lucy," he breathed, her touch seemingly both agony and release for him. His voice was hoarse, full of passion and unspoken pleading.

She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she placed her fingers on the waistband of his boxer shorts. Slowly, she pulled the fabric down, freeing him completely. The tension in the air between them was almost palpable as Lucy reached out and gently grasped his hand, touching the top with a kiss.

A low, guttural sound escaped Tim, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched her plan her next move. Her lips brushed against him again, soft and playful, before she circled the tip with her tongue, tasting the salty tingle of his desire.

Lucy's movements were calm, almost agonizingly slow, her intention clear: she wanted to drive him completely insane. His head fell back slightly, but his eyes kept wandering back to her, as if he couldn't stop looking at her.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmured, his voice little more than a growl, eliciting a satisfied smile from Lucy.

Lucy's lips slowly encircled him, her movements deliberate as she took more of him into her mouth. She took her time, feeling the gentle pulsing of his cock against her tongue as she let him penetrate deeper, bit by bit, until he filled her mouth completely. Her hand grasped the part of him she couldn't reach and began to tease him further with gentle, rhythmic movements.

The taste of him, the heat of his body and the soft, rough sounds he made made her focus on him even more devotedly. With half-closed eyes, she looked up at him, seeking his gaze as she slowly began to move her head.

Tim looked at her, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths. His hand slid gently into her hair, his fingers burying themselves in the soft strands, but he exerted no pressure. He let her take control, let her set the pace - and enjoyed every single movement, every moment she touched him in this way.

"Lucy..." he murmured, his voice rough and full of unspoken emotion. The sound of his name on her lips, the way her tongue teased him and the uninterrupted eye contact almost robbed him of his composure.

Lucy paused briefly, letting her tongue glide playfully over his most sensitive spot, before taking him deep into her mouth again. Her head began to move faster, a steady rhythm that drew him deeper into pleasure. The soft moans coming from his throat only made her more devoted.

His grip in her hair tightened, not to take control, but to anchor himself to her as he let the wave of sensations roll over him. "You're incredible," he whispered breathlessly, his words almost lost in another deep moan.

Lucy's tongue slid slowly, almost pleasurably, over his cock, her movements so sensual that Tim could barely hold a clear thought. But then she paused, let it slip out of her mouth briefly and looked up at him with dark, demanding eyes.

"Take control," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper, but the words were laced with a demanding intensity that took away the last of his restraint.

Without hesitation, she let him slide back into her mouth, willingly and with abandon. Tim sensed the invitation in her posture, saw the trust in her gaze, and it was as if he was given the final push to give in to his own needs. His hand buried itself more firmly in her hair as he began to slowly move his hips forward.

Each thrust was controlled, but increasingly intense, as if he was studying her reactions carefully so as not to overwhelm her. But Lucy made no pretense of restraint - quite the opposite. She matched his rhythm, letting him slide deeper, her tongue continued to play with him, and the low, contented hum emanating from her vibrated through him, driving him even closer to the edge of madness.

"Lucy..." he gasped, his voice husky and full of desire. His fingers stroked through her hair, holding her tight as he increased the rhythm. The heat in his body built up, becoming more and more unbearable until he finally felt he couldn't hold out much longer.

"I'm coming," he warned quietly, almost pleadingly, as if he wanted to prepare her. But Lucy didn't answer, she just pressed herself tighter against him, her fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs as she took him as deeply as she could. Her abandonment broke every restraint in him, and a deep, guttural moan escaped him as he climaxed.

He felt every tension in him release as waves of relief and ecstasy ran through his body. Lucy continued to hold him in her mouth, taking it all in without letting go of him for even a moment. Her tongue brushed gently over him, as if to comfort him, while he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from losing control of his body.

Slowly, she let it slip out of her mouth, looked up at him and wiped her mouth with a playful gesture. "I think that was just what we both needed," she said softly with a slight smile, her voice full of satisfaction.

"It might have been... but I haven't had enough," Tim murmured in a raspy voice that vibrated with desire. With a firm but gentle grip, he pulled Lucy up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. The taste of her devotion, mixed with a hint of himself, sent an intoxicating warmth coursing through him.

As he led her towards her bedroom, his hands did not remain idle. He deftly undid the buttons of her trousers, pulled the zipper down and let the garment slide to the floor along with her panties. Now she stood completely exposed before him, her body flawless and tempting in the soft light of the room.

"What now?" Lucy asked, her voice teasing as her fingers tenderly stroked his chest, which was still rising and falling under his deep breaths.

Tim paused for a moment, his eyes traveling over her body, before he instructed her in a soft but firm tone, "Lie down on the bed... And spread your legs."

A mischievous smile played around Lucy's lips, but she obeyed without hesitation. She lowered herself onto the soft sheets, moved to the middle of the bed and slowly opened her legs so that she was fully exposed to him. Her hands lightly stroked her own body, her fingers played with her breasts and wandered down over her waist before sliding to her center.

"I'm so wet for you," she whispered, her voice heavy with lust. Her fingers found her entrance and she let out a soft, pleasurable sound as she slid a finger inside her. Her back arched slightly, her eyes searching his as she offered him this intimate display.

Tim watched her, his breathing became heavier and a deep, throaty growl escaped his throat. The sight drove him to the edge of his self-control. Without another word, he lowered himself towards her, the bed giving way slightly under his weight as he positioned himself between her legs.

Lucy held her breath, her hand pulling back as she felt his lips approach her most sensitive spot. Then she felt it - his tongue, warm and demanding, sliding slowly over her wet heat. She moaned loudly, her hands seeking purchase in the sheets as he pleasured her with a devotion that almost overwhelmed her.

"T-Tim..." she gasped out, her voice trembling as he continued to work her with his mouth. His hands held her hips as if he wanted her right there, while his tongue traced deeper, more seductive circles.

Lucy's head fell back on the pillow, her body quivering beneath him, and she knew she didn't want to - or couldn't - resist the control he had over her.

Tim showed no sign of hurrying as he continued to pleasure Lucy with his tongue. His every move was deliberate, as if he was studying her reactions carefully to find out what she enjoyed most. His tongue slid slowly and sensually over her sensitive skin before sliding deeper and pressing into her wet entrance. He felt her twitch beneath him, a soft, demanding moan escaping her lips as her fingers buried themselves firmly in his hair as if to pull him even closer.

Her hips moved slightly, seeking more contact, more pressure, and Tim gave her exactly what she needed. His tongue pushed deeper into her, twisting playfully before she pulled back again to make room for his fingers. With a gentle but firm touch, his fingers slid over her sensitive heat, teasing her further as he returned his attention to her clitoris.

When he finally closed his lips around the sensitive spot and began to suck lightly on it, Lucy gasped out loud. Her back arched under the intense sensation coursing through her body, her hands pulled harder on his hair and her legs trembled slightly as she opened herself even wider to him.

One finger slid slowly inside her, penetrating deep before curving slightly, finding the exact spot inside her that was almost driving her insane. "Oh God, Tim..." she moaned, her voice full of lust and devotion.

He moved his finger in a rhythmic beat, pulling it back only to thrust it deep inside her again as his tongue continued to tease her clitoris. The interplay of pressure and movement made Lucy's breathing quicken, her hands released from his hair and reached for the sheets beneath her, which she clenched tightly in her fists.

"You're so perfect," Tim murmured hoarsely between movements, his voice full of awe and desire as he continued to drive her towards her climax.

Tim didn't let up, his movements becoming even more purposeful as he felt Lucy's body becoming more and more restless. Her breathing was rapid and uneven, her legs began to tremble slightly and her fingers dug deeper and deeper into the sheets. His tongue continued to play over her most sensitive spot as his finger moved inside her, keeping the perfect rhythm to bring her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

"Tim... I..." she gasped, her voice trembling as her head fell back and she lost control of her movements. "I'm coming..." 

With a final, deep thrust of his finger and a gentle, forceful suck on her clit, Lucy was overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure. Her back arched violently, a loud, guttural sound escaping her as she surrendered to her climax. Her body shook beneath him and Tim held her tight, his fingers and tongue keeping her climax going for as long as possible before he finally stopped. 

He gently withdrew, letting his tongue glide over her once more before slowly pushing himself up. His gaze wandered over her body, which was still trembling from the after-effects of her orgasm. Lucy's eyes were half closed, her face flushed and she looked like the most beautiful mess he had ever seen. 

He moved closer, bent over her, propped his arms next to her head and gently slid his body against hers. His cock pressed hard and demanding against her warm, wet pussy, but he held back, savoring the moment of her closeness. 

"You're breathtaking," he whispered hoarsely, his lips found hers and he kissed her deeply, passionately, with a devotion that no words could describe. She tasted herself on his lips, which only heightened her own arousal. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him closer, their bodies pressed tightly together. 

Lucy's hips thrust impatiently against him, a slight tremor running through her body as her fingers stroked his bare skin. Her breathing quickened as she breathed against his lips in a trembling voice: "Tim... I want you."

A low, raspy growl vibrated in his chest as he moved closer to her, increasing the pressure between them. His hands slid over her sides, exploring her with a slowness that nearly drove her insane. "You'll have me, Lucy," he murmured, his lips brushing her throat, his breath hot on her skin. "But not until I'm sure you're ready to take whatever I want to give you."

"I'm ready," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as she pressed herself against him. Her legs opened a little wider, silently begging for more. He didn't take long to comply-his tip found its way, slowly sliding inside her and making them both moan.

A throaty moan escaped her lips as he slid deep inside her until he filled her completely. Her body tensed briefly, only to relax again the next moment under his familiar pressure. Lucy had missed this feeling-the sweet stretch, the burning heat and the deep closeness that only he could give her.

Tim paused for a moment, letting her feel every millimeter of him before he withdrew agonizingly slowly. Her fingernails dug lightly into his shoulders as she jerked against him, lifting her hips demandingly as he thrust into her again. A soft gasp escaped her as he went deeper, tighter, their bodies fitting together perfectly.

Lucy clung to him tighter, her fingernails digging deep into his shoulders, a silent plea for more. The slight pain made him inhale sharply before a dark growl escaped his throat. His movements became harder, more demanding, as if her touch had unleashed something inside him.

"Don't hold back," she gasped, her voice full of desire and devotion. Her words finally shattered his last restraint. Tim looked at her with a burning gaze, his breathing rough and uneven as he pushed himself deeper into her. A hoarse moan escaped him as he increased his pace-hard, rhythmic and relentless.

Lucy's body shook beneath him, her moans growing louder as he drove her higher with every movement. Her nails left marks on his skin, but he paid them no mind-all that mattered was the rush that engulfed them both.

Tim rolled his pelvis in deep, powerful movements, hitting the exact spot that made her tremble each time, while his pelvic bone rubbed over her sensitive clitoris with every thrust. Lucy's breathing was intermittent, her hips lifted towards him, demanding and in time with his movements. Heat built up inside her, running through her body in waves as her moans grew louder and louder.

Tim was panting harshly, his own rhythm becoming increasingly uncontrolled. He lowered himself onto her, supporting himself with his forearms next to her head so that she could feel the full weight of his body. His hot breath brushed her skin as he thrust deeper and harder into her.

Lucy's fingernails dug into his back, her body quivering beneath him, caught between pleasure and the inevitable climax. She knew that tomorrow her body would feel him with every movement-every touch a burning echo of this moment.

Tim felt Lucy quiver beneath him, her fingernails sinking deeper into his skin as her hips arched desperately towards him. But he gave her no respite-no escape. With a dark growl, he grabbed her wrists, pushed her over her head against the mattress and held her there.

"Stay right there," he murmured in her ear, his voice rough and full of possessiveness. "I'll decide when you cum."

Lucy's eyes widened briefly and a soft whimper escaped her as his words passed through her. But she obeyed. Her legs opened wider for him as he pushed himself deeper into her, his thrusts now harder and faster.

He watched her every reaction-the way her lips quivered, the way her back arched as he drove her body to the edge again. She could barely hold it back, her whole body tensing beneath him.

"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded as he ground his hips against her, each movement a thrust that brought them closer.

"You, Tim... only you!" she moaned, her voice torn between lust and devotion.

He rewarded her with an even harder thrust and she broke beneath him. Her body jerked violently as the climax gripped her, waves of ecstasy made her scream, but he didn't let up.

Tim held her tight, riding out her tremors, forcing her to endure the sensations with each successive thrust until her body shuddered again. "One more time," he commanded, his voice a hoarse rumble. "You can do it."

She did. Her body obeyed him, even as the overstimulation brought her to the brink of despair. She came again, with a loud gasp that finally drove him to the edge.

Tim felt her muscles tighten around him, holding him tighter, and his own moans erupted from him. He gripped her hips and thrust deep into her one last time before finally releasing. His body jerked as he came inside her, hot and powerful as he gasped her name.

He lowered himself heavily onto her, his breath hot on her neck as their bodies still quivered. Lucy clung to him, feeling his warmth and the throbbing of their joined bodies as she slowly caught her breath.

"I love you," he breathed, his voice softer now, though the dominant fire still blazed in his eyes. His touch became gentler as his fingers stroked lovingly over her heated skin.

As he looked into her eyes, Lucy raised a hand and gently stroked his cheek, her gaze as tender as it was demanding. "This is the only chance you'll get. Do you understand?" Her voice was soft but firm-a sweet contrast to the devotion still on her features.

A brief smile twitched across his lips before he leaned down and kissed her gently, as if to remove any lingering uncertainty. "Understood," he murmured against her lips as his hand slid over her waist, promising that it was far from over.

 

A/N Did you see the teaser for the seventh season yesterday? I did at least a few thousand times🔥😅

[kneelingshadowsalome]

this has been on my mind for a while, how would König react to a reader who was around when he was being bullied, not one of the bullies since I doubt he would forgive that even tho the sex would be nasty but like a girl who was on the side lines doing nothing and just hanging out with the bullies coming to him apologetically and wanting to make amends??

Oh what a delicious idea!

I meant to answer this with a quick reply but alas 🙄 this turned into a short drabble almost

She wasn’t one of the bullies, which means she’s not someone who König would want to actively terminate (I hc him in some of my darker fics as someone who may or may not have killed his childhood bullies... and/or his father, which means König can’t go back to Austria bc MEMORIES and also bc he has like a raging criminal record there). But she’s an onlooker, practically an enabler, and used to hang out with his bullies, oh dear. König wouldn’t be all too welcoming with her.

Chances are she was someone who König crushed on during school. Unattainable, he daydreamed about having her as his first girlfriend, but naturally that never happened... Now he’s suspicious to the point of being a little paranoid: he built a tough shell because of his past, so doe eyes and apologies won’t get you very far, even if König is intrigued. To be honest, his interest is piqued, but he won't let you see that in a million years.

Perhaps you reach out after a class meeting, some get together he never attended. You always wondered what happened to the cute, awkward nerd who sat behind you in class, the clumsy boy who talked of Rome, chivalry and knights while other boys wanted to be F1 drivers... Maybe you fantasized about asking him to help you with your history or math test, maybe you even blew him a kiss one time on dare to see if he'd walk straight into a wall (he did).

Maybe you dolled yourself up, just for him, excited to see König after over 10 years. To see if the awkward boy would still blush, to see what kind of man he has become... Chirp your regrets after a few blunts and some booze and see if he still fancied you.

But König never came. And of course he didn’t, that’s hardly a surprise. The regret within you builds until you bite the bullet and send a message to his old number, and after a few months, a reply finally arrives, but it’s not the most genial one.

König wants to meet you though… And the man, the thing he has become, makes it clear that he's not the shy awkward boy anymore.

You spend the whole evening trying to get over the sheer size of him, the lack of shaking hands, the distant cold stare with which he looks down at you. The fact that he works as a mercenary, that the boy who never hit anyone now kills people for money... The fact that he looks like someone who could wipe the floor with the young men you used to think were kinda cool.

König, however, is trying to decide what you want from him. Do you still think he’s a loser who never hit back because he wanted to be the better person? Do you think he’s a good for nothing man, even now, upon seeing that he finally succumbed to his hate?

Why do you even want to apologize after all these years?

Do you want an official pardon so that you can sleep your nights better? Or do you want to gawk at him because he chose to skip that stupid get together, perhaps gossip about him to the others and see if you could still find something to laugh at?

He’s the perfect gentleman during your “date”, offers to pay for the food and wishes you all the best. You can see the hurt in his eyes, of course – he wants to make you feel even worse about yourself by being such a good joe, so you break before him when he tries to leave, apologizing again, even crying in front of him.

“I just wanted to know if you’re happy,” you say. “I just hope that everything’s alright now…”

You lay your whole heart out in front of this man, but he's not the boy you used to know, not anymore.

He doesn’t tell you that he’s not happy; he never was. Neither does he heed the wishes of his darker self, wanting to tell you that he’d be happy for a while if you blew him in the restroom. He’s fucking better than that.

“We were just kids,” he says instead.

And that’s it: that’s the apology. But you can’t let him go, and neither can he, not when you humbly decided to come and rip all his wounds open.

Cue to a few months from the first date, you’re neck deep in love with him while König tells himself he’s only having fun. You could say he’s using you for sex; yes, he’s just dating this chick from high school... You’re just someone he comes to fuck and cuddle during leaves. It's nothing serious, no. He can do without serious for a while.

And he’s not going to fall for your charms, no matter how sweet, authentic and loving you are... You make yourself so fucking easy to love, but he's not going to fall for that. Any other woman he'd worship, but not you.

Not you.

Not you…

[fanfics4all]

Leather and Loyalty

Request: Yes / No Hii I hope all things are going well with you,I was wondering is i could request a fic on how jughead Jones would react if his girlfriend wanted to become a serpent (specifically female due to the serpent dance they have to preform). Thank you and I'm sending all my best to you for the new year @pollymastaa

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Jughead Jones x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1069

Warnings: Nothing I think

Y/N: Your Name 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The Whyte Wyrm pulsed with life, the dim neon glow casting shadows over the Southside Serpents. The scent of cigarettes and cheap beer clung to the air, but I hardly noticed anymore. My heart pounded against my ribs, anticipation curling in my stomach like fire. Tonight was my chance to fully join Jughead’s world. Jughead, however, was anything but excited. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He said, his voice low but firm. He stood close, his leather jacket with the iconic Serpent logo hung loose over his frame. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for me. I exhaled sharply. 

“You did the trials.” His jaw tightened. 

“Yeah, but it’s different.” 

“How?” He didn’t answer right away. His stormy blue-green eyes flickered across the bar, then back to me. 

“You know how.” My throat tightened. The Serpent dance. The humiliating, degrading test women had to go through to prove themselves. It was outdated and sexist, but still a requirement. And Jughead hated the thought of me being put in that position. 

“You don’t think I can handle it?” I challenged, crossing my arms. His expression softened, but that only made it worse. 

“It’s not about that.” I knew he meant well, he always did, but I spent too long on the outskirts of this world, waiting- no, needing to be a part of it. The Serpents were more than a gang, they were a family. 

“I want this, Juggie.” I said, voice steady. 

“I want to be one of you… I want to stand beside you, not behind you.” Something flashed in his eyes, something vulnerable. 

“You already belong with me.” My breath hitched. He always knew what to say to make my walls crumble. But I wouldn’t let him talk me out of it this time. Before I could respond, Toni sauntered over, a knowing smirk on her lips. 

“You ready?” I glanced at Jughead one last time. His hands curled into fists, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders. But I turned away, following Toni towards the stage. The murmurs in the bar grew louder. 

“Wait!” Jughead’s voice cut through the noise. I stopped. He stepped forward, the weight of his stare pressing into me. Then in a move that shocked everyone, including me, he shrugged off his Serpent jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The room went silent. 

“This means you’re already one of us.” He said, his voice rough, his eyes burning into mine. 

“No dance. No priving yourself to anyone. You’re a Serpent.” My fingers clutched the worn leather, my vision blurring slightly. He was breaking the rules for me. Toni arched a brow but nodded in approval. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it.” Some people cheered, but all I could focus on was Jughead. He stepped closer, his hands brushing over my arms before he leaned in, his lips ghosting over my temple. 

“Never doubt that you belong, okay?” I nodded, swallowing back the lump in my throat. 

“You can’t just…” 

“She didn’t do the dance!” 

“That’s not how this shit works, man.” SweetPea was the first to step forward, his brows drawn together in anger. 

“Jones, what the hell? You can’t just hand Y/N a jacket and make her a Serpent!” Jughead squared his shoulders, jaw clenched. 

“I just did.” Pea scoffed. 

“We all had to earn it. You don’t get to rewrite the roles just because-” His eyes flickered to me, and I stiffened. 

“Because what?” Jughead’s voice was sharp now, edged with something dangerous. 

“Because she’s my girlfriend?” The room went silent again. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks at the way he said it- possessive, protective. But I wasn’t about to let this turn into a debate about me needing his protection. I straightened. 

“I can earn it. I would have earned it, just like the rest of you.” Pea looked conflicted, but another guy- some older Serpent I didn’t know that well- shook his head. 

“That’s not the point, girl. There are rules and traditions. We don’t just-” 

“Oh, so now you wanna question our leader?” Toni’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. 

All eyes snapped to her. She stood with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, exuding the kind of authority that could make anyone think twice before running their mouth. The guy hesitated. 

“That’s not-” 

“No, go ahead.” She pressed, stepping closer. 

“You wanna challenge FP’s kid? Our Serpent King? ‘Cause last I checked, he’s the one that stepped up. And if he says she’s one of us, then she’s one of us.” Silence. 

I could practically feel the weight of Jughead’s gaze on me, but I didn’t look away from the group of Serpents still on the fence. My hands curled into fists, but I kept my chip up, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny. 

Finally, Fangs, who had been watching the whole thing from the sidelines, sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“You guys are exhausting.” He muttered, before nudging Sweet Pea. 

“It’s done. Let it go.” Sweet Pea hesitated, then exhaled sharply and nodded. 

“Fine.” The tension in the room eased just a little, and Toni smirked. 

“Thought so.” She clapped a hand on my shoulder. 

“Welcome to the family, babe.” Relief flooded through me, but before I could respond, Jughead’s hand found mine, tugging me gently toward him. 

“We’re done here.” He muttered, before leading me away from the crowd, the weight of his Serpent jacket still heavy on my shoulders. Once we were out of earshot, I finally pulled him to look at me. 

“Jug, I-” 

“I know.” He said, his voice softer now, the fight gone from his eyes. 

“I know you would have done it, and I know you’re strong enough.” His fingers traced the edges of the jacket. 

“But I wasn’t about to let them put you through that.” My heart clenched. 

“You didn’t have to-” 

“Yes, I did.” He exhaled, his forehead resting against yours for just a second. 

“You’re mine and I protect what’s mine.” A small smile tugged at my lips. 

“So, you’re officially calling me yours now?” He huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Guess I am.” I smirked. 

“About time, Serpent King.” He rolled his eyes but pulled me closer. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to your head.” I grinned wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“No promises.”

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @emo-godess-loves-you @hiya-imthatgirl @mindsetjupiter @averysinclaire @mittelerde1999 @sweetest-peas @rousewriter @camiconfessions-blog @thecaptainsgingersnap @cenyddtheunicorn @jacksxsouthsideserpents @lover2448 @mamacobie13 @rainbow-noodles @lovelywordsblog @darkestbeforethedawn16 @fandom-princess-forevermore @liz-owen

[bidisasterevankinard]

fuck it friday

I was tageg by lovely @quintessenceofdust88 thank ylu love <3333

here's yeat another one shot I think I will post tomorrow (for me)(i'm sorry triplets. I'm trully sorry):

“Sal, Gina, I’m serious, it's our second six month anniversary. And it’s Evan’s birthday. Last time all I did was take Evan to a romantic dinner on his birthday to the restaurant that I thought he might enjoy. Yet, the food was not just that he didn’t like, but it sent him into anaphylactic shock,” Tommy sends angry eyes to the laughing married duo. 

“Stop laughing! And that's not all! For our anniversary I got him the tickets to the game he doesn’t enjoy at all!,” Gina falls on the floor laughing over his misery. “Guys, please. I came here for help. I fucked up with the presents twice already. And I have no idea what Evan might need or like. I looked for football tickets, but they all sold out for the rest of the season.”

Tommy turns to his best friend who looks at him laughing on the floor wide with the softest face Tommy’s ever seen Sal have.

“What did you give Gina on your six month anniversary?”

“New photo camera, good orgasm and a kid,” Sal shrugs with a self-satisfied smirk. “She threw her tests in my head a month after that night.”

Gine gets up and sits on Sal’s lap, facing Tommy.

“That’s true. One of the best presents,” she kisses Sal.

“It’s not really helpful,” Tommy pouts, crossing his hand over his chest. “It’s not like I can knock up Evan.”

The idea sounds too appealing to try though. Maybe later he will think more about it. In his own bed. Maybe even with Evan with him in it

“Why not,” Gina looks at him with a smirk and Tommy wants to remind her about the biology, but the woman is quicker to continue, “men’s womb is just deeper into them. You need to try harder. You think I was the one to carry twins? Nuh. It was Sal.”

The couple is smirking and giggling together and Tommy asks himself why he is still friends with them. 

The door opens and two hurricanes are attacking him with hugs, sticking to him as if he has super glue all over him.

“Uncle Tommy, uncle Tommy, uncle Tommy,” two twin girls smiling at him, hugging closer to his neck from two sides and Tommy nods to himself, remembering now why he is still friends with the couple. 

They make the best god-daughters. 

“Hi, uncle T,” his oldest god-daughter, Sofia, hugs his neck from behind and he’s so happy she still in her sixteen years thinks he's cool enough to hang up with him sometimes.

“Finally my favorite girls are home,” he kisses all their cheeks, giggling with Alessia and Arrianna. “Sof, I need your help because your old people are the worst at relationship advice.”

Tommy and Sofia ignore Gina’s “I’m three years younger than you, Kinard!”, they just smirk at each other.

Np tagging @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @mmso-notlikethat @diazsdimples @powersuitup @evansbuck-ley @epiphainie @lavenderleahy @leashybebes @laundryandtaxesworld @loucifersbitch @midsummersmorn @monsterrae1 @aringofsalt @agentpeggycartering @actuallyitsellie @devirnis @desert--moonchild @hyperfocusthusly @queerbuck @wikiangela @weewookinard @beanarie @bewilderedbuckley @pirrusstuff

@racerchix21 @ravipanikking and anyone who wants to

[aisiedaisie]

Heyo!

I noticed you take asks, but after lurking for a bit, I saw you haven’t done any yet. No worries if you’re not ready! But do you write _ x reader? Because I was thinking it’d be a super cute idea if the reader has a crush on their TA, who happens to be one of the Marauders, in the most boring class ever.

Oh, and if you haven’t had any designated anons yet, can I be ☁️?

Hello hello~ !

I do take asks!!! This is actually the first ask I’ve received and I am so happy. Thank you for sending it in and of course you can be my ☁️ anon! As for _ x reader fics… I’ve actually never written a reader fic before but I’ve tried my best! I think it leaned more gender neutral more than female reader, but I hope its okay.

Also, as someone who normally writes in third person, second person is difficult!!!

TA! Sirius Black x GN! Reader WC: 1.1k

You can’t remember why you signed up for this class. Maybe you thought it would be easy? Or even interesting…

But no.

The only thing remotely worth your time is the observation lab every Friday. The rest? Well, that’s just a blur of uncomfortable lectures, ticking clocks, and the distant hum of other students’ barely contained frustration.

No one would expect you to have perfect attendance. Most of the class doesn't even bother showing up, since attendance isn’t mandatory. They only show for tests, and even then, some skip those. You can’t help but wonder if they dropped the class, or if they just don’t care anymore.

Unfortunately— or, depending on your perspective, fortunately— something other than the lecture has caught your attention. You can’t help but quietly admire the TA at the front of the room, his presence oddly magnetic amidst the dull hum of the class.

Sirius Black is as punctual as you—if not more. He’s always there before anyone else, scanning IDs with a detached efficiency as students shuffle past. Then he settles into the front row, laptop open, his fingers dancing over the keys. He posts notes on Canvas for the absentees, though you suspect it’s more out of routine than necessity, since the lectures are always recorded and uploaded that evening.

He doesn’t seem like the type who’d voluntarily spend his free time sitting through intro-level astronomy lectures. With his shoulder-length, wavy dark hair—often loosely pulled into a half-bun—and his signature worn black leather jacket, he looks more like someone who should be out of a 50s film than a lecture hall. His casual blue jeans and plain white T-shirt complete the look, giving him a James Dean vibe that seems a little too effortless, a little too cool for this room.

You try to refocus, your eyes drifting back to the lecture. Professor Fancourt’s voice drones on in a monotonous lull, and he scribbles another formula on the whiteboard. “With this equation, please find the orbital velocity of Neptune,” he instructs, his back turned as he walks toward the desk by the door where Sirius is absorbed in his typing.

You glance back at the formula, but it might as well be a foreign language.

You’ve never been good at math, and when you signed up for Basic Astronomy, you didn’t think it would be an all-out battle of numbers. You thought you’d be learning about planets, maybe some stars, a little science history. But math? Why did they have to throw that in?

A knot tightens in your stomach as Professor Fancourt starts pacing. You know what’s coming. It’s only a matter of time before he picks someone—randomly, of course—to come up to the whiteboard and answer the question. You have no idea what’s going on with that equation, but you’re pretty sure it’s going to be you.

You don’t want to be called on. Not today.

With a resigned sigh, you gather your things, leaving your notebook open on the desk. A quick break—just enough to clear your head.

You make your way to the TA’s desk. Sirius looks up as you approach, his brow quirking in mild surprise.

“Look at that—someone’s actually moving from their desk,” he teases, and you manage a tired, half-hearted smile, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Just need a break,” you mutter, pulling your ID from your pocket and handing it to him.

He scans it without a word, his fingers drumming absentmindedly on the scanner. “If you’re grabbing something, make it quick,” he says, his voice laced with a playful chuckle. “And don’t forget—bring me something back, yeah?” He adds a wink for good measure, making the suggestion feel almost like a dare.

You step out into the hallway, the noise of the lecture hall fading behind you. For a moment, the weight of the class lifts from your shoulders, and you allow yourself to relax. You focus on the vending machine in front of you, half-stalling, half-actually needing something to take your mind off the dull lecture and the growing pressure of the equation you still can’t wrap your head around.

You scan the rows of snacks—chips, candy bars, granola. You grab the chocolate bar you always go for when you need something quick. You buy it, but as you clutch the candy and step away from the machine, you remember Sirius’ words, his playful tone still echoing in your mind. “And don’t forget—bring me something back, yeah?”

You pause, eyeing your snack. An impulse hits you, and you decide to grab a pack of sour gummies from the row below. It’s different from what you’d normally get, but you figure it’s a safe bet. Plus, you’d hate to go back empty-handed after he asked, even if he was joking.

With both snacks in hand, you head back into the lecture hall. The familiar hum of the room greets you, but this time it feels different. The pressure in your chest has lifted, replaced with an unexpected calm. You’re grateful to find the professor already discussing the next topic when you return.

You make your way to your seat, but before you sit down, you glance toward the front of the room. Sirius is still hunched over his laptop, typing with the same detached concentration as always. His attention is on the screen, but when he hears you approach, he looks up just in time to catch your eye.

You raise the pack of sour gummies slightly, as if to confirm you heard him. “Brought you something.”

His eyebrow quirks in surprise, but the smirk that follows is unmistakable. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a quiet chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned. You actually came through.” His gaze flickers between the gummies and your face, and you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious under his attention.

“They’re for you,” you say, offering him the pack. “Hope you like them.”

Sirius grins, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment as he takes the gummies. “Thanks. This’ll make the rest of this lecture bearable,” he says with a wink. “Thanks, love.”

You smile, a little shy, your cheeks flushing at the nickname. You return to your seat as he rips open the pack, popping a gummy in his mouth. The subtle exchange is enough to keep your mind from wandering back to the looming equation on the board.

The rest of the class goes by in a blur.

Professor Fancourt drones on as usual, but you don’t mind so much now. For once, you actually feel... lighter. Sirius hasn’t left his post at the front of the room, but every so often, you catch him glancing back at you with a quiet grin, as if he knows exactly how much of an effect he’s having on you. It turns your cheeks even darker, and your eyes quickly dart away when you make eye contact.

By the time the class ends, you’re no longer dreading the idea of coming back next week. In fact, you might even look forward to it a little, and not just because of the observation lab on Friday.