#if people do actually like this i might be tempted to give it another go
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I know this might seem like a bit of a random question, but what are some criticisms of Slightly Damned you can't stand, and what are some you think are at least somewhat valid? I only ask because I do have a few problems with the comic (not really gonna go into here because I don't want to come off as too critical obviously) but I feel like some of the more noteworthy ones have been too long established to just change it altogether, and the best one can do is make something better from its foundation (which I must say, you've done a really good job at ^^)
The complaints that I think are the most unfair are by bigots who think my comic is only getting more inclusive because I'm pandering to wokeness or whatever. These people are also the most likely to misgender me and have no idea what they're talking about. They just can't stand the bare minimum of gay and are often hypocritical, using fallacies as the basis of their arguments. It's tempting to want to argue back, but when has that ever worked on the internet? I think the most valid complaint is that the pacing of the comic is too slow. Sure. Not much I can do about that one. My comic alone doesn't pay all my bills. If I focus exclusively on work, I get depressed, so I have to goof off sometimes. I'm just one person. I don't have a team. I'm doing the best I can already. Another valid complaint is that people don't like my blend of humor and drama. Sometimes readers find it inappropriate or jarring. It's valid because I recognize it as a difference of opinion and understand why they feel that way. But I don't care. I like my weird mix of goofy faces and drama. I sometimes make jokes during periods of great stress in real life. I love all the wacky faces and over-the-top cartoon action among dire circumstances in comics like One Piece and Usagi Yojimbo. Like, it's just my style, man I don't seek out unsolicited advice about my comic. Some people may think that's snobbish of me, but the truth is, very little of what you find that way is actually valuable.
"And as to those critics, she said that sheâs managed to do something that might make us all better off- she doesnât read the comment sections. In perhaps the most roundabout poignant part of the talk, she likened receiving feedback about her work as being like consuming food. She would take a pie from someone she knew and trusted but compared taking unsolicited barbs from strangers as âlicking a handle on the subway.â She used to pay very close attention to that kind of critique because she felt that it somehow would make her a better creator but ultimately decided that it was only toxic." - I HAVE SEEN OLIVIA JAIMES, THE CARTOONIST BEHIND THE NEW NANCY, by Rocko Jerome (2018)
Besides the outright hateful sentiments, a lot of unsolicited criticism can be categorized as "I don't like this story because it didn't do what I wanted it to do." Which is fine. I do the same thing when I try to process stories and talk to my friends about them.
But I don't get in the author's face to tell them I think they did a bad job. At the end of the day, no matter how crap I think someone's story might be, I'm not psychic. I don't really know if they did exactly what they set out to do. For example, people have never stopped giving me crap about the death of certain characters. But their whining has only made my convictions stronger. I don't like when other stories don't take deaths seriously, with a real sense of permanence and grief that is not easily solved. To someone else, seeing that character be alive might have solved all sorts of problems they had-- but that's not my story. I've had someone tell me that the focus on Buwaro and Kieri's mushy romance is too distracting to the main story. I don't think that person knew that a large part of why I started making this comic in the first place was as a vehicle for my OTP. I also want to make said vehicle entertaining and worthwhile. If I didn't succeed for that person, that's fine. But don't tell me that half the reason I made the comic is distracting from it. What do they know about what I want? What do you really know about what the author wanted to achieve? That isn't to say that my comic is immune to scrutiny. Of course it has problems; every story has problems, depending on your perspective and the basis by which it's getting judged. I've solicited and received thoughtful criticism and helpful advice from teachers, my advisor, my friends, and from reading/watching tutorials. Some I agreed with, others I chose to ignore. Sometimes it just took a while for me to come around. I hope I never stop learning and improving. Like you said, I have to keep working with the foundation I already set. But I don't feel trapped by it; my creativity is being challenged in new ways. I have a lot of playing pieces and now I get to see what kinds of connections I can make between them with my older, more experienced (both good and bad) mind. Since Slightly Damned is a story serialized over a long period of time, a certain amount of it is made up as I go along. I do have plans and goals, of course, but I'm also discovering this world alongside my readers.
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Changing Lanes
Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader
Summary: Charles Leclerc always thought he would spend the rest of his career racing in red. But you make him see that he deserves better than false promises and unrequited love
âTook you long enough,â you say, lounging casually on the small leather couch in Charlesâ driverâs room, your fingertips tracing intricate patterns on the cushion beside you.
Charles raises an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as he kicks off his shoes. âEvery single time I see you, Y/N, you always have something to say.â
You linger on him. âIs it my fault you had to chat with the entire paddock before coming here?â
He smirks, crossing the room. âItâs called being polite. Something you could learn from.â
âPolite?â You scoff, feigning innocence. âOh, like how Ferrari celebrated that P3 like it was a win? That kind of polite?â
Charles stiffens but he keeps his cool. âWe take what we can get.â
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. âStarting on pole and settling for P3? Charles, you deserve better.â
âI know,â he sighs, avoiding your gaze. âBut this is racing. Sometimes it just doesnât go your way.â
You lean in closer, your voice dropping an octave. âIt could, though. If you were with a team that actually valued you, that gave you a car worthy of your talent.â
He looks up, meeting your gaze with a challenge. âYou mean Red Bull?â
A coy smile plays on your lips. âItâs not a secret that Dad wants you. And imagine ⌠you, in a competitive car, and me, right by your side as your race engineer.â
Charlesâ eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes. âTempting,â he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer. âBut is this for the team or for you?â
âCanât it be both?â You whisper back.
His breath hitches and he pulls back slightly. âThis isnât just about racing, is it?â
You hesitate. âI see how they treat you. How they let you down time and time again. But with us ... with me ... it would be different.â
He looks conflicted. âItâs not that simple.â
âWhy not?â You press. âWith Red Bull, youâd have support, a competitive car, and ⌠me.â
Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. âItâs not just about what happens on track. Itâs about the politics, the contracts, the media ... itâs all complicated.â
âYou make it sound like an impossible puzzle,â you say, tracing circles on his wrist. You gaze locks with his, trying to convey everything you feel.
âIt might be.â
You lean in, lips just inches from his. âThen letâs solve it together.â
He hesitates, searching your eyes. âYouâre playing a dangerous game, Y/N.â
You smirk, confidence oozing from every pore. âIsnât that what racingâs all about?â
Charles chuckles softly, the tension in the room slowly melting away. âYou always have an answer for everything.â
âItâs the Horner in me,â you retort with a smug smile. âBesides, arenât you tired of being just another pawn in Ferrariâs game?â
âItâs not easy. To just switch teams, to give up on something youâve worked for your entire life.â
You reach up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. âWho says youâre giving up? Youâd be making a choice. A choice to be somewhere youâre valued. Somewhere you have a real shot at the championship. With people who truly care about you and actions that reflect that.â
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. âItâs not just about the racing. There are so many other factors.â
âLike what?â
He opens his eyes, meeting yours. âLike us.â
You blink, taken aback. âWhat do you mean?â
âIf I come to Red Bull ⌠if I work with you ⌠it changes everything. Our relationship. Our dynamic. Everything.â
You take a moment, absorbing his words. âWe can handle it. Weâre strong enough.â
He gives you a sad smile. âI wish I had your confidence.â
You cup his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. âYou have me. Together, we can face anything.â
Charles looks at you for a long moment, his emotions raw and exposed. Finally, he speaks. âIâll think about it. But whatever I decide ⌠know that itâs not just about racing. I refuse to give you up.â
âJust promise me one thing.â
He raises an eyebrow. âWhat?â
You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. âNever settle for less than you deserve.â
He smiles, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. âSame goes for you, Y/N Horner.â
***
âI still canât believe they forgot to remove the radiator blank,â you murmur, your fingers softly tracing patterns on Charlesâ bare chest as he lies next to you in his SĂŁo Paulo hotel. The dim light from the bedside lamp paints soft shadows on his face, emphasizing the frustration in his eyes.
Charles sighs heavily, turning his head to look at you. âNeither can I. Another race, another issue. I donât even know why Iâm surprised anymore.â
You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. âYou donât deserve this, Charles. Youâre better than this. Better than them.â
He chuckles humorlessly, eyes closing. âIt seems like itâs one thing after another.â
âCome to Red Bull,â you whisper, fingertips dancing down his arm. âYou know itâs the right move.â
He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours. âY/N, we talked about this.â
You press a gentle kiss on his jaw, speaking against his skin. âHear me out. If McLaren overtakes Ferrari in the Constructorsâ standings, you can activate your exit clause. You could leave them, Charles.â
Charles swallows hard, feeling the warmth of your breath on his neck. âAnd if they donât?â
âThen weâll buy you out,â you say confidently, trailing kisses down his collarbone. âDadâs already spoken about it. We want you. I want you.â
Charlesâ breath catches as your hands explore his torso but he tries to focus. âEqual status with Max?â
âOf course,â you assure him, pressing your body flush against his. âYou and Max, racing side by side. Just think of the possibilities.â
He groans, both from your touch and the tempting offer. âA car designed by Adrian Newey ...â
You nod, âWith plenty of oversteer, just how you like it. No more one-sided compromises.â
He laughs softly. âYouâve thought of everything, havenât you?â
You smirk, lips hovering over his. âAlways. And instead of Xavi, youâd hear my voice on the other end of the radio, guiding you, supporting you.â
Charles captures your lips with his, deepening the kiss before pulling back. âYouâre making it very hard to think.â
âThatâs the point,â you whisper with a playful grin, your hands tugging at his waistband.
He bites his lip, trying to resist your charms. âBut Y/N ... itâs not just about the racing. Itâs ... itâs us. What happens to us?â
You cup his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. âWe fight together, we win together. Every podium, every championship, we celebrate together.â
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. âYou make it sound so perfect.â
âIt can be,â you promise, pressing soft kisses on his eyelids. âWith Red Bull, youâd have everything youâve ever dreamed of. And me.â
Charles smiles, caressing your cheek. âYouâre very persuasive, you know?â
You grin. âItâs one of my many talents.â
He chuckles, capturing your lips once more. âIâll think about it.â
âWhatever you decide, Iâll still be by your side.â
He smiles, pulling you closer. âI know. And thatâs what makes this decision so hard.â
***
âAbsolutely unbelievable,â your father mutters, watching the replay of Ferrariâs disastrous double stack. âYou would think theyâve never done a pit stop before.â
You nod, equally shocked. But your attention shifts as the familiar figure of your favorite Monegasque storms into the Red Bull garage, his helmet still on and visor obscuring his face. You can feel the fury emanating from him.
âCharles?â You question hesitantly.
He doesnât respond to you but instead turns to your father, âChristian, can we talk? Now. Somewhere private.â
Christian looks taken aback by the intensity in Charlesâ voice but nods. âOf course.â
Charles glances at you. âYou too, Y/N. Please.â
You follow, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. Once inside the small office, Charles finally removes his helmet, revealing eyes red from restrained tears. He takes a moment, collecting himself before he speaks.
âI canât do this anymore,â Charles exhales. âEvery single time I think theyâve hit rock bottom, they find a new low. Today was the last straw.â
You approach him, gently placing a hand on his arm. âCharles, Iâm so sorry.â
Your father is equally sympathetic. âThat was hard to watch. I canât even imagine what it felt like.â
Charles closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. âItâs not just today. Itâs everything. I gave them everything. I wanted to win with them. For my father. For Jules.â
You swallow hard, emotions swirling. âThey would be so incredibly proud of you. No matter what.â
He blinks back tears, voice strained. âI wanted to drive that red car to the top for them. But I canât keep sacrificing myself for a team that clearly does not value me in return.â
Your father speaks up, âCharles, if youâre thinking of a change ... Red Bull is ready to welcome you with open arms.â
Charles looks up, locking eyes with him. âI know. And as much as Ferrari has been my dream, my home, I canât do this anymore. I want to be with a team that values me. I want to join Red Bull.â
Youâre taken aback by his sudden declaration but the look in his eyes tells you that heâs made up his mind. âCharles,â you whisper, stepping closer. âAre you absolutely sure?â
âItâs hard,â he admits. âBut this is where my heart is telling me to go.â
Your father gives the two of you a moment, leaving the office to give you privacy.
Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you close. âI never imagined leaving Ferrari. But after everything, I know itâs the right decision.â
You wrap your arms around him, resting your forehead against his. âThey will be so proud of you, Charles. No matter what colors you wear or what car you drive.â
He smiles weakly. âThank you. I really needed to hear that.â
You pull back slightly, searching his eyes. âThis is a big step. I donât want you to regret anything. Are you still sure?â
He nods, determination in his gaze. âMore than Iâve ever been.â
You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. âThen welcome to Red Bull.â
***
âI have to tell Ferrari,â Charles straightens, determination evident in his eyes. âI just need to get it over with. Will you come with me?â
âOf course.â
Charles grabs your hand, pulling you towards his driverâs room. âWait here,â he says, going in and returning moments later with his Ferrari jacket. He places it over your Red Bull team polo, attempting to keep your allegiance concealed for now. You both then proceed to the debrief room where the Ferrari team is waiting.
Fred Vasseur begins his speech the moment you both enter, âThis wasnât how we wanted to end the year but looking ahead to next seasonââ
Charles cuts him off, âActually, there wonât be a next season. Not for me.â
The room falls into a tense silence, all eyes on the driver who has given them his heart and soul.
âWhat do you mean?â
Charles takes a deep breath, âIâve decided to leave Ferrari.â
Gasps fill the room. Fredâs eyes land on you, finally noticing the Red Bull logo peeking out from under the jacket youâre borrowing. âAnd you bring her, of all people, here to tell us this?â
Charles squares his shoulders. âY/N is here because I asked her to be. This decision is mine and mine alone.â
Xavi stands up, âAfter everything weâve done for you! This is how you repay us?â
You canât hold back any longer. âEverything youâve done? You mean the countless strategy mistakes, the endless car issues, the complete lack of support?â
Another team member cuts in, âThis is not your place, Y/N!â
âIt is today,â you retort. âIâm here to support my new driver.â
Charlesâ voice shakes but he speaks with conviction, âI gave everything for this team. I bled Ferrari red. But I canât keep doing this. Not when itâs clear that my effort and commitment is not matched in return.â
Fredâs voice softens. âCharles, weâve had our challenges but we can overcome them together.â
Charles shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. âIâve made up my mind. Iâm joining Red Bull. My manager will send over the necessary legal paperwork as soon as possible.â
The room is filled with murmurs, disbelief evident on every face. Charles takes one last look around, his eyes filled with pain, and turns to leave.
You follow closely, feeling the weight of every step as you exit the debrief room.
The second youâre around the corner, Charles breaks down. He rests his forehead against the wall, tears rolling down his face silently. âI didnât ... I didnât think it would hurt this much.â
You pull him close and try to find the right words. âIt was never going to be easy. But you did what you had to. For yourself. For your future.â
He turns to look at you, eyes red-rimmed but determined. âI just wanted to make them proud.â
You cup his cheek, wiping away a tear with your thumb. âThey would be proud of you. Not for the badge you wear or the car you drive but for the man youâve become.â
Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each otherâs presence.
When he finally pulls away, he manages a weak smile. âThank you. For standing by me.â
You squeeze his hand. âAlways.â
***
***
***
Charles stands in front of the massive two-story trophy wall at the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes, eyes wide with wonder. âFerrari would never do something so ... gaudy.â
You smirk, sidling up next to him. âAnd yet, you love it.â
âI do,â he laughs. âItâs ⌠different.â
You lean in, whispering conspiratorially, âWell, Ferrari hasnât had all that much to exhibit in the last two decades. Not for lack of trying from the drivers, of course.â
He playfully nudges you with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. âCheeky.â
The two of you walk further into the factory. âSo,â Charles draws out, âI was wondering if you could recommend a good real estate agent in the area.â
You raise an eyebrow in confusion. âWhy would you need an agent when I have a perfectly good apartment we can share?â
âReally? Are you sure? I just ⌠I wasnât sure if you would want that and I donât want to pressure you.â
You roll your eyes affectionately. âOf course I do, Charles. Itâs not even a question.â
He smiles, the weight of the decision to move seeming a little lighter now. âThank you.â
You wink, taking his hand. âCome on, let me show you around.â
As you guide him through the factory, heâs like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. âThis place is incredible,â he murmurs, running a hand along a piece of machinery.
You grin, pulling him towards the simulator room. âWait until you see this.â
He steps inside, eyes immediately drawn to the impressive simulator setup. âWow.â
You gesture for him to sit down, watching as he takes a seat, adjusting the settings. âReady for your first sim run in the RB20?â
He nods eagerly, âLetâs do it.â
As he starts the simulation, you watch closely, monitoring the data and providing feedback. The two of you work seamlessly together, the connection between race engineer and driver already forming and growing.
After several runs, Charles steps out of the simulator, a huge grin on his face. âThat was incredible! The car feels amazing.â
You smile. âIâm glad you think so. The team has put a lot of work into it.â
He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. âI canât wait to get on track with you on the other side of the radio.â
You pull back, looking into his eyes. âMe too. Weâre going to do great things together. I know it.â
He nods. âI know we will too.â
***
âI have to admit,â Charles says, eyes scanning the paddock, âIâm thankful that Mercedes and McLaren are between our motorhome and Ferrariâs. Makes things less ... awkward.â
You glance towards the distant red of the mobile Ferrari building, understanding the sentiment. âMust be weird being so close and yet so far.â
He nods, a hint of melancholy in his gaze as he looks at the place he called home for so long. âItâs bittersweet.â
Pulling him from his thoughts, you nudge him playfully. âCome on, Mr. Pole-Sitter. We have a race to prep for.â
Charles smirks, playfully rolling his eyes. âAlways so professional, Miss Horner.â
You grin. âOnly when it counts.â
The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage is electric. Mechanics and engineers hustle around, getting everything ready. The RB20 sits gleaming, waiting for its moment to shine.
Charles adjusts his gloves, taking a deep breath. âFeels different,â he admits, looking at you. âBeing here, in this car, with this team. But a good kind of different.â
You lean in, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. âYouâve got this. Itâs just another race.â
He smiles. âEasy for you to say. Youâre not the one in the hot seat.â
âTrue, but Iâll be with you every step of the way. Just listen to my voice and trust me.â
âI always do.â
As he gets into the car, you lean in closer to his helmet, your lips touching itâs hard shell. âAnd Charles? Stay safe out there.â
He looks at you and winks. âIâll come back to you.â
The race begins with a burst of energy. Charles takes off from pole, holding his position as the field jockeys for placement behind him.
âGood start,â you say through the radio, your voice calm and composed. âKeep it steady.â
âCopy.â
The race is intense, with Charles and Max battling for the lead, their cars dancing on the edge of perfection. The radio chatter between the two of you flows naturally, filled with technical details, strategy adjustments, and the occasional personal quip.
âFeeling the heat from Max?â You tease after a particularly close call between the two Red Bulls.
Charles laughs breathlessly. âJust keeping things interesting for the fans.â
The race continues at a blistering pace, with Charles and Max pushing each other to the limit. But through it all, Charles remains in the lead, with you guiding him from the pit wall.
âFinal lap,â you inform. âBring it home.â
He nods, pushing the car to its limit. The cheers of the crowd grow louder as he crosses the finish line, securing his first victory with Red Bull.
âAmazing job, Charles! I knew you could do it!â
He lets out a whoop of joy. âYes! Thank you, team. Thank you, Y/N. I couldnât have done it without you all.â
The two of you celebrate the victory, and as the rose water sprays and the cheers of the crowd fill the air, you know that this is just the beginning of an incredible journey together.
***
âYouâre sure about the medium tyres, Y/N?â Charles asks nervously as he looks at the other cars lining up. âEveryone else is starting on softs.â
You nod confidently, tapping the race strategy on your clipboard. âYes. The upside of using the mediums is it gives us flexibility. We can extend our first stint if needed, especially with possible rain on the forecast. While everyone else has to pit early for hards and then again for inters when the rain starts, weâll only have to pit once. Trust me.â
He inhales deeply, trying to quell the unease bubbling inside. âI do trust you. Itâs just ... Ferrari ... the strategies there ...â
âI know,â you interrupt softly, understanding the trauma and distrust years with Ferrari had instilled in him. âBut this isnât Ferrari. Itâs Red Bull and we work differently. Iâve got your back.â
âAlright,â he looks into your eyes, finding assurance and conviction there, âletâs do this.â
The race begins, and Charles holds his ground well on the medium tyres, though the drivers running softs initially show quicker pace. But as predicted, the clouds soon darken and the threat of rain becomes increasingly evident.
âStay focused,â you guide through the radio. âRemember the plan.â
He pushes on, expertly handling the streets of Monaco. The cars around him begin to lose grip and one by one they dive into the pits for hard tyres.
Charles keeps lapping. He moves up the order.
âYouâre doing great,â you encourage. âStick to the plan. Weâre right on schedule.â
However, as the first raindrops begin to fall, panic sets in among the other teams on the grid. Those who just pitted for hard tyres are forced to pit again for intermediate tyres, losing precious time.
âNow,â you command, âBox this lap.â
He follows your instruction, driving into the pits, and with a flawless stop by his Red Bull crew, re-emerges in the lead.
The rain continues but Charles navigates the treacherous streets of Monaco expertly, maintaining his lead. When the chequered flag waves, itâs Charles who crosses the line first and finally claims victory at his home Grand Prix.
Tears of joy and relief pour from Charlesâ eyes as he takes in the moment. âThank you,â he says over the radio, voice choked with emotion. âI canât believe it. We did it in Monaco!â
You smile, tears in your own eyes. âWe did. I told you to trust me, didnât I?â
He laughs, the sound full of pure joy. âYou did. And Iâm so glad I did. Thank you for everything.â
As he steps out of the car and jumps on its nose, arms spread wide, the crowd roars in approval, their prince finally crowned in his home race.
Then he rushes to the barriers and jumps into the cheering crowd of dark blue waiting for him. When his sweaty lips find yours surrounded by the celebrating Red Bull team, you take a moment to whisper a promise, âThis is just the beginning. It will only get better from here.â
***
The season flies by in a blur of champagne showers. Heading into the Italian Grand Prix, Charles find himself leading the Driversâ Championship with Max nipping at his heels.
âIâm not sure I can do this,â Charles confesses, staring out at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. âThis was home. I donât know how they will react now that Iâm no longer wearing red.â
You rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. âMany fans support the driver, not just the color he wears.â
He takes a deep breath and looks over the crowd. âThe Tifosi are different. They bleed Ferrari red. Iâm afraid they will see me only as a traitor.â
âYou gave them your all,â you counter. âTheyâve seen the struggles. They know why you left. They understand. Trust in them and in yourself.â
As the two of you make your way towards the paddock, the familiar chorus of cheers fills the air. But instead of the jeers and boos he feared, a chant begins to rise among the crowd of red: âCharles! Charles! Charles!â
Charles stops in his tracks. âTheyâre ... theyâre cheering for me.â
You nod, a smile playing on your lips. âTold you.â
Heâs soon swarmed by a group of fans, all clamoring for autographs, photos, and just a moment of his time. Itâs clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi remains unbroken.
An older fan steps forward, his Ferrari cap worn with age. âYou are still Il Predestinato. We wish it ended differently but we have eyes. We watched the races. We know why you left. No matter what team you drive for, you always have our hearts.â
Charles blinks back tears, deeply touched. âGrazie,â he whispers and claps the fanâs weathered hands in thanks.
Another fan, a young girl with a homemade sign that reads Once a Tifosi, Always a Tifosi, shyly approaches. âWe still love you, Charles,â she says.
He kneels down to give her a gentle hug. âThank you,â he murmurs, taking off his Red Bull cap and placing it on her head.
As the day goes on, the support from the Tifosi only grows. They cheer for him during practice, during qualifying, and every time he appears in front of the stands.
Itâs clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi is as strong as ever.
That evening, as the two of you sit in the garage looking over data, Charles reflects on his day. âI was so afraid,â he admits. âAfraid of being rejected, of losing their love. But today ... today was incredible.â
You close the analytics. âThe Tifosi love you. Not because of the car you drive or the colors you wear but because of who you are. Just like I do.â
He nods slowly. âItâs overwhelming. Monza has always been special to me. To feel this level of love and support ... itâs more than I ever expected.â
You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. âThey see your passion. They see how much you give on and off the track. Anyone who does not love and respect you for that needs to reconsider.â
He exhales slowly, âI just ... I wanted to make them proud, to win for them in red and bring glory back to Maranello. But knowing they still support me no matter what ... it means everything.â
You look up into his eyes. âAnd they always will. Because they know you always gave and will continue to give your best. They love you because they are loved in return.â
He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. âThank you,â he murmurs into your hair. âFor always being my rock, especially in moments like these.â
âNow letâs go out there tomorrow and win.â
***
âVegas, baby!â Charles shouts, swinging an arm around your shoulders, both of you holding champagne glasses that have been refilled one too many times.
You giggle, distinctly feeling all of the alcohol youâve consumed. âWe won! We did it!â
Charles laughs, pulling you closer. âWe did! And do you know what people do when theyâre in love and win in Vegas?â
You think about it for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes. âGet ... married?â
Charles nods enthusiastically. âExactly! Y/N Horner, will you marry me tonight?â
You donât hesitate, âHell yes!â
The two of you, in your drunken stupor, begin your mission to find a wedding chapel. However, before you can get very far, Max spots you and quickly catches on to what youâre planning.
âWhoa, whoa, whoa!â Max exclaims, grabbing Charles by the shoulder. âWhere do you think youâre going with Y/N?â
Charles replies with a sloppy grin, âTo make her Mrs. Leclerc!â
Max bursts into laughter, trying to play the voice of reason. âMate, as much fun as that sounds, I think you might want to sleep on that idea.â
But youâre not having it. âNo, Max! Weâre in love and itâs Vegas. Weâre doing it!â
Before the conversation can escalate further, your father joins the fray, looking both amused and concerned. âWhat on earth is going on here?â
Max chuckles, âYour daughter and Charles here have some ... ambitious plans for the evening.â
You pout and stumble slightly, âDaddy, we want to get married! Right now!â
Your fatherâs eyebrows shoot up. âMarried? Tonight? Seriously?â
Charles nods with absolute seriousness, though his precarious swaying contradicts his tone. âChristian, I love your daughter. And we won. In Vegas. So ... wedding?â
Your father places a firm hand on his driverâs shoulder. âListen, Charles, I have no doubt about your feelings for Y/N. But my baby girl deserves the world. When and if you ever decide to propose, I expect you to get down on one knee, stone-cold sober, and ask her properly.â
Charles blinks, processing the words. âBut ... Vegas?â
You laugh and go to hug your father, almost falling over in the process. âHeâs right. Letâs just enjoy tonight. And if we still feel like getting married in the morning, we can discuss it then.â
Max smirks, âTrust me, youâll thank us in the morning. If you can even remember this conversation, that is.â
***
âCharles,â you begin, your voice echoing in his helmet, âThe team has made the call. You and Max are free to race. No team orders.â
Thereâs a pause on the other end. âUnderstood. May the best man win.â
The tension in the garage skyrockets as soon as the lights go out. Itâs evident that this is going to be an epic battle from the very first turn. Max and Charles swap places multiple times, pushing their cars to the very edge of their limits.
âBreathe,â you remind him calmly as the laps go by, âDonât loose sight of the race as a whole. Thereâs a championship at stake.â
The entire race is a blur of overtakes, pit strategies, and nail-biting moments. The two Red Bull cars battle wheel-to-wheel lap after lap. One side of the garage against the other.
Coming into the final laps, Charles is right on Maxâs tail â the championship hanging in the balance between them.
You know thereâs not much you can do to guide him anymore ⌠itâs all up to Charles.
âLast lap,â you try to sound composed despite the pounding of your heart. âYou can do this.â
The cheers and gasps of the crowd are deafening as Charles makes his move, taking the inside line and overtaking Max on the penultimate turn.
âPush now! Just a few more corners.â
As Charles crosses the finish line, the enormity of the moment crashes over both of you.
âCharles Leclerc,â you scream over the radio as tears stream down your face, âyou are the World Champion!â
âYeeeesssss! Yes! Yes! I ... I canât believe it. This is ... thank you, everyone. To the entire Red Bull team, youâve given me the chance to chase and achieve my dreams. To my friends, my family, to every single person whoâs been by my side, believed in me, and supported me ⌠thank you. And Y/N, youâve been my rock and my oxygen. Without you, this wouldnât have been possible. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you so much!â
***
âWhew! That was a lot of rose water!â Charles laughs, wiping the bubbly liquid from his eyes.
You chuckle and try to wring out your hair. âYou didnât have to drench me, you know!â
Charles grins cheekily. âItâs a special occasion, after all. Both of us on this podium? Itâs a dream!â
Then suddenly, he turns serious and signals to his brother in the crowd below, who throws him a small leather box. Charles catches it and promptly lowers himself down on one knee in front of you, making the crowd fall into a stunned silence.
âI tried this in Vegas,â he starts with a laugh, âBut I might have been too drunk and missed a few pretty important steps.â
Charles takes a deep breath and his eyes lock onto yours, saying everything that words would never be sufficient to. âY/N, being on this podium with you, winning the World Championship, itâs the pinnacle of my career. But what we have ... itâs the pinnacle of my life. I canât imagine going on this journey with anyone else, facing the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. Will you marry me?â
Tears flow steadily down your cheeks and you nod with a fervor that would make bobbleheads jealous, âYes! Thereâs no one else Iâd want to spend forever with.â
The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the deafening roar echoing around the Yas Marina Circuit. Max gives a loud whistle, his face lit up with a big grin next to you on the podium stage.
Charles rises to his feet and pulls you close, attacking your lips as the crowd goes wild.
âPromise me we wonât head to a chapel right after this race?â You joke, sniffling and giggling at the same time.
Charles laughs, looking slightly sheepish. âI promise, mainly because Iâm too young to die and your father would definitely kill me if I even thought about pulling the stunt we tried in Vegas again. You deserve a fairytale wedding.â
You press your face against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as fireworks explode overhead. âAll I need for my fairytale is you.â
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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hiiii please could i request plus size shy reader being asked out on a date and getting anxious itâs a joke (itâs not). i would LOVE this with steve or james but i love everyone you write for so i donât mind if youâd rather choose another character! have a lovely day/night! đŤśđť
Thanks for requesting my love!
cw: implied insecurity around size
Steve Harrington x shy!plus size!reader ⥠1.3k words
You can feel sweat on the insides of your thighs. Every step you take chafes. Between the heat and your nerves you think you probably look about as shiny as a glazed donut, and you worry that if you lift a hand in front of your face youâll find it shaking.Â
You donât actually know what youâre doing here.Â
When Steve asked you to meet him at the fair, your yes was automatic. He was all brown eyes and gentle features, the apple of his throat bobbing at the tail end of the question, and you hadnât known any quicker way to get away from all that than simply agreeing and ducking into the kitchen to grab an imaginary order. Whether you actually wanted to go out with him was irrelevant, though of course you did. You still do, you think.Â
But later, youâd remembered who he was. Not just Steve, who comes into your work and downs chocolate milkshakes like heâs in some sort of competition while tossing you sugary smiles that make it impossible for you to remember anyoneâs orders, but Steve Harringon. King of the gum-popping populars when youâd all been in high school, who publicly degraded Nancy Wheeler just for breaking up with him and who has since been rumored to date a rotation of Hawkinâs most model-esque girls. He would know how to flirt with a girl like you. Might do it just for a laugh. Might even ask you on a phony date simply to humiliate you when you thought it was real.Â
And now youâre here, looking sweat-glazed and lost in the middle of the crowd, feeling like a complete fucking loser. Well done, King Steve.Â
âHey!âÂ
Youâre not sure if itâs worse to stay, and slowly reconcile with the fact that youâve been duped, or leave and have to face him at work the next time he comes in. Quitting your job is starting to sound like a tempting option.Â
âHey!âÂ
You nearly jump out of your skin when a sure hand lands on your shoulder, and a second later Steve is rounding you with that half-quirked smile of his. His face is cast pink by the neon light of the sign youâre standing in front of.Â
âSorry,â he says, âI was gonna wait at the front, but the line for tickets was getting long so I figured Iâd better get in there and grab ours.â He holds up a hand, fanning the two tickets out.Â
âOh.â The word comes out of you on a breath. Steve leans in to hear you better, not a flicker of pique in his expression for your soft voice in this loud atmosphere. âThatâs smart.âÂ
His eyes crinkle as though youâve said something funny, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he gives a one armed shrug. Youâd forgotten it was there and yet you miss it instantly. âWell, thanks. Some people say I can be that, every now and then.âÂ
You feel your eyes go wide. âOh, no, sorry, of course youâre smart,â you say in a rush. âI didnât mean to sound surprised, I was justâŚâÂ
âI get it.â The pink light softens the teasing in Steveâs look into something even sweeter. You feel your face warm. âDo you wanna grab a funnel cake or something?âÂ
âWhyâŚâ Youâre suddenly conscious again of your sweaty thighs, the way your sundress cuts into your middle and leaves the skin of your wide shoulders on display. âWhy would I want that?âÂ
Steve looks confused, his smile lingering but faint. âI dunno, do you? Iâm starving, I havenât eaten since lunch. We could have whatever, though, if youâve got something against funnel cake.âÂ
You blink, the flame of apprehension that had flared in your chest sputtering back down to an ember. âNo, sorry,â you say, befuddled once again. What does he want with you? When and where will the other shoe drop? âI like funnel cake.âÂ
Steve pays for the both of you and youâre too dazed to stop him, still reeling from the hand he placed on your back to guide you through the crowd and seems in no hurry to remove. It rests just above the waistline of your dress, gentle but definitively there, radiating warmth through the fabric. When he does remove it, itâs to sit down beside you at the picnic table so you can eat, one form of contact replaced by another as his jeans press into your bare leg and you try not to spiral out.Â
âThese things are a disaster for me,â he says, breaking off another piece of funnel cake with his fingers. His chin and the front of his shirt are already covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, which is somehow more endearing than offputting. Youâre currently suppressing the mortifying urge to wipe it off and lick your finger. âI love fried food, and I go even crazier for sugar, so the combination is justâGod.â He shakes his head, looking blissed out in the same way you recognize from when heâs half done with a milkshake. âIf you donât want to see me again after this, Iâm gonna have a really hard time staying away from your work. Iâll be screwed.âÂ
You stare at him. Why would he be affected by how you feel about tonight? If anything, the need to avoid Steve Harrington should drive you out of town. Guys like him can do whatever they want. If he told everyone that heâd never even spoken to you and you were making this date nonsense up for attention, that would probably be more readily believed than what seems to be happening here.Â
âJesus Christ.â Steve has discovered the powdered sugar spillage down his front. He dusts off his shirt and does exactly what youâve been wanting to, using his fingers to wipe his face and then sucking the sugar off them one by one. He looks almost sheepish when he meets your eyes, in a boyish, humorous way. âSorry, Robin always says I eat like a fucking animal.â
âYouâre good,â you assure him. âItâs kind of impossible to avoid with powdered sugar, right?â You actually had managed to avoid it, by leaning over the little paper tray as you ate, but thatâs beside the point. âYou think you might want to go out again?âÂ
Itâs blunt, not like you, and if youâd taken more than two milliseconds to think it through you know you wouldnât have asked. Your cheeks burn.Â
Steveâs brows furrow with his thumb still in his mouth, and he tilts his head like a puppy. âThatâs kind of the point of dates, right?â he asks, sounding halfway between confusion and amusement. âI mean, ideally, you usually want to go out more than once.âÂ
âRight.â Now youâve managed to make yourself sound like an idiot. On top of being several sizes bigger and decibels quieter than most of the other girls Steve goes out with, now youâre an airhead as well. âThat makes sense, sorry.âÂ
âYou donât need to keep saying youâre sorry.â Steve smiles lopsided and sweet, and you canât find even a trace of the infamous King Steve in it. Maybe in the round apple of his cheek, or the easy way he leans on the table, but not in the warmth of the look heâs giving you. The ones heâs been giving you, unreciprocated and largely mistrusted, for weeks now. âLook, we donât have to worry about that stuff tonight. You can figure out if you think Iâm worth another shot after weâre done here, and if you decide to give me a lifetime ban from your work, Iâll get it. Letâs just have fun for now, right?âÂ
You bite the inside of your lip, considering the soft brown of his eyes, the tiny bit of powdered sugar heâs missed just by the corner of his lips. Letâs just have fun.
âOkay,â you say. Something new and light flickers in your chest at his answering grin. âWhere do you wanna start?â
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#shy!reader#plus size!reader#steve harrington x shy!reader#steve harrington x plus size!reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x self insert#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fandom#stranger things x reader
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"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) đĽ
So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!
As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
Youâd had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldnât mind if he woke you upâyou never didâbut odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then⌠he didnât have to wake you up, did he?Â
Wordcount: 3.3k words
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!
Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.
Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door.Â
The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring.Â
Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.
Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enoughâthe fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people heâd ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your bodyâs call to him wasnât exactly intentional.Â
He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you werenât moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless.Â
Asleep.Â
You were dreaming, then.
Maybe even dreaming of him.Â
He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.
Youâd had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldnât mind if he woke you upâyou never didâbut odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.
But then⌠he didnât have to wake you up, did he?Â
Just like that, he settled on a course of action.
He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where youâd grown flushed and aroused.Â
The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way youâd curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearingâ
Oh.Â
You were wearing his shirt.Â
It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned.Â
He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didnât want to wake you. It wasnât that youâd be angry, of courseâyouâd both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though heâd had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest.Â
Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied.Â
The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down.Â
Gentle.Â
Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didnât so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But heâd been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you.Â
The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasnât stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep.Â
âRoll over for me, sweetheart,â he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. âYou smell so good. I need a taste.â
He wasnât sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldnât resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasnât so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him.Â
God, your scent.Â
He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousalâall pheromones and slick warmthâleft him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you.Â
It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. Heâd told himself heâd just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt.Â
Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once heâd thoroughly tasted what youâd made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didnât wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal. Â
âM⌠Matt.â
His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal youâd woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids.Â
If you hadnât been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe.Â
He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit.Â
Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That heâd spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?
The very idea that you might not know, that youâd left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips.Â
He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, heâd slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, youâd know tomorrow what heâd done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what heâd planned on from the start, before heâd become distracted by the taste of you.
He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too.Â
He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. âDo you want my cock, sweetheart?â he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. âI think you do. Even when youâre asleep, you need me inside you, donât you?âÂ
There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldnât take it off youâeven he wouldnât be able to mange something like thatâbut he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy heâd used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him.Â
Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. âPoor thing,â he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. âListen to you, so needy.â
And it would only be right to help with that, wouldnât it?Â
Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva heâd left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You werenât much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter.Â
âFuck,â he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. âFuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.â Â
God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, heâd caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours, ages before heâd finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat.Â
He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again.Â
Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan.Â
The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadnât woken.Â
Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets.Â
It wouldnât take much more for him to come, he knew that muchâthe taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasnât a selfish lover, even when you werenât awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, heâd make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep.Â
He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldnât resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadnât been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more.Â
It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you neededâeach retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep.Â
He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what youâd asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both.Â
All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldnât notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasnât quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring heâd coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep.Â
Satisfied with what heâd given you.Â
He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist.Â
âLove you,â he murmured. âMy good girl.â âMm.â
#tuna-tober 2024#matt murdock x reader#daredevil x reader#matt murdock x f!reader#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil#matt murdock#fic#fanfic#reader#f!reader#x reader#ns/fw#somno k!nk#consensual somno#dirty talk#oral f-receiving#smutty smut smut#trying to teach myself to A. write every day again and B. remind myself i can do shorter things sometimes too#which hey 3k is short for me so#tuna-tober prompt challenge#tunatober
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Motivation For Writing
Getting Off Your Butt:
1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way
2. Picture that one scene. Thereâs almost always a moment youâre super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing
3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and thatâs all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely canât stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that youâre only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that canât dedicate forever to the craft
Maintaining Motivation:
1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmonsâ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. Itâs easier for me to say âOkay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a breakâ then it is to say âJust keep going, weâre not stopping until I say soâ which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept
2. Give yourself a choice. If youâre struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you donât have to do any more work once youâve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once youâve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, youâll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe youâll want to take a quick break but youâll come back later on. And maybe youâll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, donât force yourself to keep going. You canât strike deals with yourself if you know you wonât keep your word and all youâll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done
3. Try a new angle. If you canât be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on
Afterwards:
1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so itâs nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you donât need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe
2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you wonât want to go back to it
3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didnât get as much done as you wouldâve liked or it isnât up to a standard of quality youâre aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and youâre infinitely better off than you wouldâve been if you didnât do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself youâre proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that youâve gotten this far - not many people do - and that youâve got all this tangible work to prove youâve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isnât fun overall, thereâs no point
#writing#writers#bookblr#writeblr#book#writing tips#writing ideas#writing inspiration#writing advice#on writing#writersnetwork#write#writers of tumblr#how to write#writer#writers on tumblr#writers block#writers and poets#writerscommunity#writer things#writer problems#writersociety#writerblr#writerslife
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Ask compilation: I'm Starting To Think That This Drow Guy Is Kind Of An Asshole Edition.
Probably a Ranger in the hunter subclass. I actually intended to multi-class him as fighter/ranger at some point and make that his official class, but I haven't had time/quite figured out the best build that would still suit him - Ranger makes a LOT of sense with his backstory, arguably more than fighter, but he's still supposed to be a magic-less brick-house with 19 strength who hasn't handled a bow and arrow in 10 years, so I'm not sure where that leaves us LOL
A lot of people have suggested that Berserk Barbarian would fit him well, but I think that implies a lot of other characteristics that do NOT suit him at all so đ¤ˇ
HE DIDN'T EVEN GO TO THE CRECHE, and honestly it made the game feel much more immersive to pick one path and stick to it like Halsin suggested, even if I did have to endure the shadow cursed lands without the shiny mace đ
Probably for the best, it'd be a real shame if the story ended there just because he didn't like Vlaakith's attitude.
But yeah Lae'zel (who, for the record, I adore) never stood a chance in his playthrough. Sorry baby girl.
I'm either uninformed or we have different definitions of what constitutes a crush, but sure I'll play in this space LOL
He's both jealous but also kind of aloof when it comes to things like that. It's yet another symptom of his arrogance, where it seems unfathomable that anyone who has him would be genuinely tempted by someone else. He doesn't mind a normal amount of glance-stealing and flattery, even playful flirting to a degree, but if there's persistence or if his partner seems to seek another person out for things he thinks he should be providing, he feels threatened.
Also, he has a difficult time discerning that "deep emotional connection" does not equal "romantic interest". So, at least immediately after the events of the game, he's more likely to be made insecure by his partners forming deep bonds with others than any throwaway expression of physical desire or fleeting infatuation.
[MORE UNDER THE CUT]
Let me preface this with the (hopefully unnecessary) disclaimer that this murderous dark-elf's opinions are not my own, and that I very much purposefully made a bit of an asshole character because I find that entertaining.
And now that you're hopefully primed for what's coming - DU drow is pretty damn judgemental of people's looks save for the rare times when they give him a good impression right off the bat. He notes people's appearances and makes preemptive assumptions about them without even realizing it. He definitely does not equal beauty to value or prowess (in fact he will very much still mock of you if you seem too concerned with your appearance) but he does prescribe things based on looks.
I don't think he'd take issue with what you're describing, It sounds like a pretty average body, but he would assume that person is weaker and less fit to "keep up with him", basically. Which kind of diminishes interest.
As far as to what he finds immediately attractive, he definitely prefers people who seem physically fit (not more than himself though - gods forbid). But, the caveat to this whole tangent is that once you get past initial impressions, he could definitely come to be sexually attracted to pretty much any type of body attached to the person he's in love with.
Thank you! There was no main event, just the building up of resentment over time and the opportunity she saw opening up when the Chosen's plan came into motion. She definitely didn't always hate him though, they had a fairly close relationship until his obsessive behavior and arrogance became an issue.
Thank you!!!
They call him the/that drow, dark elf, or "big drow" if there's more than one present. In private they might facetiously call him Bhaalspawn if they get tired of referring to him by race.
I'll be honest, I forgot whether or not I found it in his playthrough LOL but if he did stumble across that would be VERY funny. He'd be like "look at these idiots and their fake murder god. What kind of dimwit would worship carnage as a religion. Hey Shadowheart get a load of this-"
HAPPY YOU ENJOY HIM! I think his unique situation overall with having been such a overwhelmingly horrid person and forgetting all about it is my favorite bit. That's kind of vague, I know, but I often think of dreams I've had where I committed a crime or did something horrible, and that immediate feeling of relief and disconnect that follows immediately after waking up. That's kind of what I imagine it's like for him - he knows of the things he did, but he doesn't really. In theory it's all true but that's a truth far too fantastical for anyone to conceptualize even if it's put right in front of your face.
That, tackling the guilt (or lack thereof) of something you genuinely don't feel like you've done and the intricacies of it, that's a fascinating state of mind to explore. I love how many directions you can take that.
For me, having a character who is not good, but is not necessarily pure unadulterated evil, makes for a lot of complex thought experiments and contradictory values. DU drow has a lot of those - things he believes and abides by absolutely except for this specific instance, being contradictory is a pillar of his character and it can be a little challenging to keep up with it - but I'd be lying if I said I don't deeply enjoy that aspect as well all the same.
THANK YOUUUU It took me so long to figure out how to draw Astarion in a way I liked, I'm so relieved that others enjoy it too đ
Shockingly he did succeed it and was immediately put-off by it, lmao. They wouldn't really develop much of a relationship for a while after that, so at that point DU drow just figured he was trying to get something from him and wrote him off, much as he did with everyone else with the exception of Shadowheart.
He didn't meet her at the Tiefling grove! I didn't even know you could meet her before-hand for the longest time. But he did super, duper kill her at camp of course.
He managed to hide the body and everyone else was none the wiser, huge blood bhaal-sigil on the ground aside lmao. He was a little shocked but didn't feel all that bad about it, kind of resigning to that primal feeling of satisfaction at a job-well-done that overwhelmed him instead. He decided she was too weak to survive out there and he had just spared her the trouble.
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hi i have some disorganized thoughts/hcs abt the found family human doctor au
(one of the thoughts being i should really give it a better name. another being YES this is only the nuwho doctors atm bc that's the only series i've watched so far apologies. if i ever get around to watching classic who i will add them trust)
BEHOLD my random, not at all in-depth headcanons
nine is the only one with a car out of all of them. they all keep bugging him to drive/pick them up from places -- he has mixed feelings about being the assigned taxi driver
both twelve and eleven are teachers -- college professor and preschool teacher respectively. twelve's students love them because he will say the most stupid, hilarious shit with a straight face without even knowing and eleven's students love him because he is the only teacher at the school that will dance with them during musical chairs (he doesn't even play the game. he just dances)
i want to make one of them an actual doctor but i don't think any of them could handle it unfortunately
they all share an an apartment flat on the same level -- nine, twelve and fifteen live in one room, ten, eleven and thirteen live in the one across from them. of course there are other people in the building too but they're all used to the strange loud hyperactivity of that particular flat. i think i'm using the right terminology here. yall know what im talking about
(i'm so tempted to make some companions be their neighbors)
nine and ten are the most insomniac of all of them, so they're used to bumping each other in the dead of night on their way to raid each other's respective fridges or something. very rarely thirteen will join them and they're like "WELL FANCY SEEING YOU HERE"
twelve does sleep, but like. he's nocturnal
eleven and ten hate each other in a sibling kind of way (see: day of the doctor). they are constantly sending each other death threats or tripping each other over. everyone is sick of it
sometimes when they're out shopping you'll hear ten yell "GET OUT OF THE FROZEN FOOD YOU NUMPTY WE ARE NOT BUYING FISH FINGERS" over the aisles and you'll hear eleven whine "WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH" back
(if you're lucky you'll be able to catch fifteen mumble "why did we put them in the same apartment. are we asking for an eviction notice")
eventually eleven will pick a random stray cat off the side of the road, take her home, and name her bowtie, which is a stupid name, so everyone just defaults to calling her kitty
kitty's favourite person is twelve, to eleven's absolute despair
(my original idea for this was to initially have ten hate the idea of living with a cat, since he's stated full on in the show that he doesn't like cats, but apparently there is some very obscure doctor who comic run in which he falls into a depressive spiral and adopts a cat whom he names rose-the-cat, so he might actually like cats idk?)
anyway ten hates her until he doesn't lmao. he vents to her when there's no one else home and she will Stare at him back and it is a very nice friendship
kitty and nine watch shitty romcom together
they have a joint groupchat together -- half of it is just thirteen and fifteen assigning everyone outfits they find on pinterest and the other half is eleven asking where everyone went (he keeps getting lost when they go out)
nine doesn't know how to download pictures off the internet and so resorts to manually editing memes together to send to the groupchat and everyone's like "girl that's so much more effort........."
(yes he doesn't know how to press save image to camera roll but he knows how to use a photo editor flawlessly. such is the logic of the idiocy of the doctors)
eleven and thirteen get along very well i think. they're the only two of the group to play video games and so they bond over that. they also have ridiculously similar clothing taste
sometimes they'll succeed in getting fifteen to play pokemon with them and then they'll proceed to not see him until the next day when he comes out of his room and goes "you didn't tell me plusle couldn't evolve i've been levelling it up all fucking night"
friday is assigned movie night (it's always big hero 6)
eleven is the only one to actively seek out physical affection, usually really abruptly like clinging to thirteen's back as she passes him in the hall or bapping ten with the palm of his hand until he sighs and gives him a hug. he does expect a platonic kiss on the forehead from anyone before he goes to bed and will complain if he doesn't get one
anyway thats it i'm sick in the head and really sad. if this keeps up i may be forced to actually write a fic
#doctor who#spoop speaks#if anyone has a name for this au i'm OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS#if anyone wants to write fic/draw art for this au YOU DONT EVEN HAVE TO ASK. IM ACTIVELY BEGGING. PLEASE#might delete this post if i get too self conscious it is. just. words. ew
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The Beast Wants to Tempt the Little Rabbit (Matias vs Clavis)
Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.
Part 2
Clavis: "This is rather unsatisfactory."
(!?)
Matias: "Is it? This is the first time I've been welcomed this warmly."
Clavis: "Haha, you should aim higher. After all, you should be welcomed by all the citizens."
Clavis: "But unfortunately, I've noticed some of them not paying attention. Therefore..."
Emma: "It's almost lunchtime!"
I grabbed Clavis' hand as he was about to put it inside his coat.
(I'm pretty sure he's going to come up with some kind of outrageous trap.)
Emma: "Prince Matias, are you hungry?"
Matias: "Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit hungry."
Emma: "In that case, let's have lunch!"
Emma: "Prince Clavis, your guest has a request. As your tour guide, I suggest we eat."
Clavis: "Hmm, you really know how to handle me."
(That's because I've made every mistake imaginable back when I was Belle.)
Clavis grasped my hand lightly with a pleased expression, his golden eyes gleaming seductively.
Clavis: "I've already made arrangements for lunch. Let's head there."
Emma: "Thank you, but what's with this hand?"
Clavis: "I'm just responding to your passion. You want to hold my hand, right?"
Emma: "I never said anything like that!"
Clavis: "Come on, don't be shy. Let's hold hands."
Emma: "I don't want to. Hey, your grip is too strong!"
Matias: "Are you two...?"
Emma: "No, absolutely not!"
Clavis: "Matias, stop asking such a bold question. You're making Emma embarrassed."
(This guy is trying to get back at me.)
Clavis gently held my hand and started walking, leaving me feeling embarrassed under the sympathetic gazes of the people around us.
(I tried to regain my composure and think about lunch, and yet...)
Clavis: "Now then, I will treat you to my homemade cooking."
Emma: "Why? Just why?"
I almost collapsed to my knees.
The place Clavis chose was one of the most famous restaurants in Rhodolite.
I thought that for entertaining a distinguished guest like Matias, he would have prepared dishes made by top-notch chefs, but for some reason, he declared that we were going to the kitchen.
Matias: "Miss Emma, you look pale. Are you alright?"
Emma: "Yes, I apologize for causing concern."
Emma: "I just remembered a lot of intense memories from the past."
(I've had Clavis' homemade cooking a few times before that's why I can say this with confidence: his homemade dishes are too unconventional to be served to a distinguished guest.)
(If by any chance someone got food poisoning and it turned into an international incident, then...)
For the royals, poison was the most important thing to take into consideration when it came to food.
(If I were to give up now, there would be no one to protect Matias.)
Clavis: "You should rest. When you're able to eat..."
Emma: "Prince Clavis, there's a dish that I really want Prince Matias to try."
Emma: "It's a classic Rhodolite home-cooked dish, but I thought there might not be another chance like this, so please, let me cook this time!"
When I said this in one breath, the two men widened their eyes, perhaps taken aback by the momentum of my words.
(My cooking isn't something that should be served to state guests, either, but I think it's better than risking an international incident with Clavis' unconventional cooking. Or at least, I want to believe so.)
Matias: "Home-cooked dish..."
(Hmm?)
Matias: "Clavis, I'm also interested in her cooking."
Again, I thought I heard him mutter something, but Matias' serious expression didn't change.
(I can't believe he's so interested.)Â
Clavis: "I see. Come to think of it, you've always had a fascination with home cooking."
Clavis: "Very well. Emma, I appoint you as our tour guide and personal chef."
Emma: "Thank you! I'm honored!"
(Thank goodness, I managed to avert the worst-case scenario.)
Clavis: "I thought something like this might happen, so I actually had an apron prepared for you."
Clavis pulled out a white apron from the cupboard.
When he unfolded it, I noticed it had a bunch of frills.
Matias: "A frilly white apron, huh?"
(What's with the occasional sigh-like voice I've been hearing?)
Even when I glanced at Matias, his expression remained unchanged.
(Well, whatever. I have a feeling I shouldn't pry.)
Gathering my courage, I put on the apron I received.
I pushed aside the suspicious ingredients on the counter and picked up only the safe ones.
Matias & Clavis: ".........."
Matias & Clavis: ".........."
Emma: "Since this will take some time, would you two like to chat elsewhere?"
Matias: "No, if there's something I can help with, I'd like to assist. I'll stay here."
Clavis: "It'll be lonely here by yourself, so we'll stay and keep you company."
(It's awkward and nerve-wracking!)
Still, I couldn't exactly chase them out, so I worked while receiving their intense gaze.
Clavis: "By the way, was your queen also good at cooking?"
Matias: "Yeah, it all begins with watching my queen in the kitchen every morning."
Matias: "Cooking together, tasting each other's dishes to understand the flavors, and laughing together after waking up."
(So Matias is already married. He looks so in love, it makes me smile.)
Matias: "But you know, even if she's bad at cooking, it's still fine."
Matias: "It makes it more worthwhile to cook together, and it'd be nice for me to cook for her and serve her as well."
Clavis: "Isn't there a royal chef at Acroite?"
Matias: "Of course there is, but the idea of homemade cooking is just romantic."
Clavis: "Haha, you're really saying that?"
Clavis: "I'm relieved to see that you still have the same perverted qualities you had as a student, even more so than me and Jin."
Matias: âI'm not a pervert. I'm just a regular guy who is devoted to his ideals."
(What's that supposed to mean?)
Their conversation was so outlandish that I couldn't help but stop.
Emma: "Prince Matias, you're married, right?"
Matias: "No, not yet."
Emma: "But a queen?"
Matias: "I'm talking about my future queen."
Emma: "Ah..."
(I see.)
(I've always wondered why such a kind-hearted person would be friends with Clavis, but maybe it's because they both walk their own paths and understand each other.)
Realizing this, I resumed cooking as if nothing had happened.
Matias: "Miss Emma, you're an undeniable genius."
Clavis: "Right? She really is a genius."
(Though it's not much of a dish, being praised like this makes me feel a little embarrassed.)
The main course was a simple beef and vegetable stew cooked in cream, accompanied by mashed potatoes with butter.Â
I also prepared a soup and salad consisting of tomatoes, and edible roses.
For dessert, I made simple madeleines.
It might seem lacking compared to the dishes the princes usually eat, but both Matias and Clavis were eating so happily that it made me feel happy.
Matias: "Rhodolite is a wonderful country. To be able to enjoy such gourmet food as home cooking is amazing."
Clavis: "Right? We should praise Emma even more."
Emma: "You've already praised me more than enough!"
Emma: "Anyway, Prince Matias, why did you come to Rhodolite?"
Feeling embarrassed, I quickly changed the subject, and Matias placed his cutlery on the table.
Matias: "I was invited as a legal advisor."
Emma: "Legal advisor?"
Matias: "Acroite is known as the country of snow and law, and I'm called the guardian of law."
Matias: "I'm well-versed in the laws of not only my own country but also those of the major nations, including Rhodolite."
(That's amazing.)
Matias: "I've heard that several new laws are being considered in Rhodolite this time."
Matias: "However, these new laws have few precedents. Setting them up requires the establishment of various systems."
Matias: "That's why they invited me. They seek the expertise of a legal specialist."
Clavis: "Originally, Jin and I were already good friends with Matias, so when I sent him a letter, he responded warmly."
(Ah, so that's why Clavis is personally putting so much effort into welcoming him.)
This was not a story that is irrelevant to me, either.
The law is a set of rules that everyone living in Rhodolite must follow.
Emma: "If you've come for the sake of Rhodolite, then we must put even more effort into welcoming you."
(We have to do our best this afternoon.)
Matias: "No, quite the opposite."
Emma: "The opposite?"
Matias: "I should be thanking you."
Matias: "This falls under the Asbrink family's 23rd precept, which states that one must always repay kindness received."
Matias: "So, could I have some of your time this afternoon? I want to repay your cooking."
Emma: "Please don't worry about it. Your sentiment alone makes me happy."
Clavis: "The Lelouch family also has a similar motto."
Emma: "Yours is just nonsense."
Clavis: "Haha! What are you saying? It's not nonsense. I just decided on it now."
(See? Nonsense.)
Clavis: "So, I also want to repay you for your cooking."
Emma: "Your gratitude is more than enough!"
Matias: "Clavis, I brought it up first."
Clavis: "Unfortunately, Rhodolite doesn't have a 'first come, first served' law."
Clavis: "We can't let a guest like you repay your gratitude."
Clavis: "So, let me express my gratitude to Emma on your behalf."
Matias: "Fair enough. But then it loses its meaning. Shouldn't you respect the will of your guest?"
Clavis: "Hmm."
Clavis: "Emma, what do you think?"
Emma: "What do I think?"
Clavis: "Between me and Matias, whose gratitude would you like to accept?"
(Huh? Is this what this is about!?)
Part 1 â Part 2 â Matias End â Epilogue
#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikepri jp#ikepri translations#clavis lelouch#ikepri clavis#matias asbrink#ikepri matias
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extra points
day 2 â collar w/ jungsu ââ kinktober â
đâ đ rich boy!jungsu x fem!reader
genre: smut â mdni! wc: 1.9k
contains: college au, soft dom!jungsu, sub!reader, oral sex (m!rec), deepthroating, dirty talk, lots of pet names, praise kink, light bdsm play (usage of collar with a leash)
a/n: this may be a part of something bigger one day
[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]
âSo unfortunate, youâre missing just one more point.â
You take the exam paper from Jungsuâs hand and quickly skim through it - your name written at the top and your course work right below it, with Jungsuâs notes written at the bottom in the same red color he used to grade it.
At the moment youâre too frustrated with the condescending smile heâs staring at you with to ask any questions about your mistakes. His presence alone is annoying so youâre going to read everything once youâre home, and youâre going to text him if needed, so you donât have to deal with his attitude in person.
âThanks,â you sigh, reaching for his course work. âHereâs yours.â
You canât wait for the semester to be over so you can get rid of this class and the professor who thinks making his students grade each otherâs work is a good tool for improving skills. (Maybe it is, but it would have worked better for you if you werenât paired up with Kim Jungsu.)
âThanks, Y/N.â Another smile creeps up on his lips once he sees his excellent points. âYouâre an angel.â
He smiles too much, you notice, and every time he does, for a second you wonder if there's a possibility that you might be wrong about him. Perhaps heâs so popular because of his perfect smile radiating joy, innocence and politeness, not because heâs a secret jerk.
âIâm not giving you extra points if thatâs what youâre assuming.â
It seems your expression changes drastically, because Jungsu looks at you with surprise.
âOf course not,â he replies as he unzips his backpack. âCanât I compliment a pretty girl when I see one?â
Your heart flutters for a short moment before you take a breath and answer.
âYou can do whatever you want.â
Jungsu nods and his lips turn up - of course. But this time the effects of his smile remain with you throughout the whole day.
His idea is bad.
Really bad. Most of all - wrong. Illegal.
Cheating in any way is never the right thing to do. However, after hearing Jungsu out the idea gets stuck in your head and you canât stop thinking about it; considering it. It sounds so easy and tempting.
You really donât want to do poor on this class, any class. If you have the opportunity to fix this one small stupid mistake thatâs keeping you from getting the good grade you deserve, why not take it? Although, the real question is another one. If you agree to this, are you really going to do it for your grade? Do your bottled up feelings for Jungsu have anything to do with this? The secret desire to be one of his toys like youâve heard many people call the girls around him.
Without this extra point your grade is not that bad - it's not excellent, but it's still good. In the same vein - it's just a kiss.
âSoâŚâ your mouth is completely dry when you speak up. âWe kiss and in return you change my grade.â
âDamn, angel,â Jungsu chuckles, leaning back into the sofa, âyou sound so strict and professional.â
âIâll rewrite everything tonight and when I send it to you, youâll have it done by tomorrow?â
âYes.â
Jungsu tilts his head meanwhile his one arm leans on the back of the sofa as if heâs signaling you to join him already.
You donât want to show how much you actually want to kiss him so you stand up slowly. You sit next to him on your knees, feeling your body temperature rising.
Youâve never been so close before. You can feel his expensive cologne in the air and youâre ready to welcome it on your clothes⌠on your skin.
âYou can come closer.â
And with these words of his all your hidden cravings open inside you. Youâve tried to bury them for so long, ignoring them by not paying Jungsu any attention. The idea of him, the son of one of the most powerful families in the city, showing interest in you sounded ridiculous anyway.
And yet here you are - not able to contain your moaning just from his thumbs circling your nipples. Maybe itâs embarrassing, maybe he thinks youâre overreacting, you donât care.
You keep following his lead, kissing him hard and letting out little whines and groans when you feel the need to which is often. His hands are underneath your shirt; he tugged down your bra to feel your plush breasts, but he still hasnât seen them bare. He continues to toy with your perked up nipples beneath the clothing as his tongue explores your mouth.
âHow long can I kiss you for, angel?â He asks, and his voice after all this long kissing sounds still soft, but with a discreet raspiness that adds to your arousal.
At first youâre not sure what to respond, but thenâŚ
âI already told you⌠you can do whatever you want.â
Jungsu observes your face for a moment, trying to really figure you out. It was your beauty and your unbothered attitude towards him that sparked his idea to ask the professor to pair you up with him for the entire class, but now more and more things about you interest him.
Good thing he always gets what he wants.
âLooks like you really need that grade,â he jokes, and you only answer with a coy smile.
The intense eye contact breaks once his right hand withdraws from your chest to unbutton your pants and you feel the tip of his middle finger rubbing your clit.
âYouâre sensitive everywhere,â he comments satisfied at the sounds heâs hearing; your pretty moans are like a hypnotising tune. Another thing that he likes is how youâre not ashamed to express your neediness; how youâre ready to give him all despite him asking only for a kiss. âAnd so needy to be touched.â His tongue traces your neck and in result your hips attempt to press you into his crotch harder.
Jungsu chuckles again and leans back to check you out, looking already dazed and so horny.
He walks you through his big living area, then to his huge minimalistic bedroom where there's a beautiful painting above the bed with navy blue sheets. With each step you remove more of your clothes and leave them on the floor until you're both naked with goosebumps across your skin.
There's only one thing we need, he says before opening his wardrobe.
His tall naked figure hovers over you and you can feel the discreet dominance radiating from his toned body. He doesnât even need to say anything - one look and one touch is enough for you to obey and satisfy his wishes.
As he puts the black collar around your neck you gulp once or twice with your eyes roaming all over his chest. His arm muscles flex the more he moves around you, turning you on even with his scent.
âIt suits you, angel.â He steps back while holding the leash from black leather in his hand. âMakes you even prettier.â
You switch positions and now heâs the one sat down on the edge of the bed, not letting you out of sight, and youâre the one standing in front of him, waiting to see where this will lead.
âDown, baby.â
You kneel silently between his legs as heâs manspreading without letting go of you.
It already feels like this is where you belong.
Jungsu stares down and catches your hands flinching a bit; so impatient to touch him, but not brave enough to do it. Heâs enjoying the little show, and especially the seductive view of your parted lips and your pupils blown wide open, anticipating his next move while glowing with lust.
âThe collar is already teaching you to behave, isnât it? You need to learn to be more patient, angel.â
You lick over your lips when you notice him roll the leash around his hand and pull it down. You gasp as he directs your face lower; the warm breaths leaving your mouth envelop his erection.
Jungsuâs spare hand grips on the roots of your hair and you pout at the pain in your scalp as he yanks your head back. This forces you to look up from his cock just when your mouth began to water at the sight of his big tip, flushed and glistening with arousal.
âPleaseââ you whisper as your hands glide over his thighs. âLet me.â
âSo cute.â
You smile at the way his thumb caresses the corner of your mouth before leaning down into his crotch once you feel the pressure of the collar giving you permission.
His big size fills your mouth bit by bit after you lick it up and down. A surprised humm slips from your tongue as its heaviness settles on it; your puffy lips strech painfully to take as much as possible of him, and both of you hold your breaths, curious to see how much youâll be able to handle. Youâre already disappointed that you wonât be able to fit it all in.
âFuckââ Jungsuâs captivating voice moans above you from the pleasure entering his body.
Youâre not able to see him anymore from the leash guiding you in the steady pace he likes.
You put all your attention and effort into breathing properly through your nose and bobbing your head up and down in the speed that makes him groan the most, but itâs becoming harder to keep it up as the seconds pass by. Your jaw starts to hurt too much making it difficult to swallow even half of his length now.
Jungsu retrieves you from his cock by tugging your hair back and you gasp for air, keeping your hands still behind your back the way he wants them to be.
âGood job, pretty angel.â He praises you and after giving you few seconds to breathe he guides you down again. âYouâre talented.â
Your neck veins are emphasised beneath the leather as he keeps you between his thighs; your skin heats up as your chin drips with spit while his thick length glides towards your throat, causing lewd sounds to erupt from each move.
Heâs so big and the pain is bittersweet. Every time you manage to invite him deeper while keeping your cheeks hollow, his voice turns shakier.
The wet sounds of your throat mix with his blissful groaning when he stops you from lifting your head up. The gag causes his toned figure to squirm, his hips to jump up and feel more. The way you struggle, slobbering at his throbbing erection has his hand pressing down harder against your skull.
âHoly shitââ The grip around the leash tightens the moment his abs clench; the muscles of his legs tense as he bucks his hips up again. âFuck, I knew you can take it.â
The next poking of his tip makes you choke which almost throws Jungsu over the edge.
He finally glances down when you start coughing, making an even bigger mess in his lap.
âEasy, baby,â he cups your face with comforting hands, âcome here.â
Following the leash, you end up in the centre of the bed. As you sink down, amazed at how the feeling of him inside you already makes you melt, Jungsu still keeps an eye on the accessory around your neck.
The leash continues to occasionally move you in different angles and directions; to mark your skin with possessive red hues; to drag you closer for a kiss and pull you back to arch your spine like a cat when you switch positions.
Jungsu has had this collar for so long, and many girls have spent the night in this same bed, but youâre the first one to interest him enough to make him want to use it.
Maybe this wasnât a bad idea after all.
! please do not repost, copy or translate my works
! please keep in mind english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes iâve might missed
#kinktober#kinktober 2024#â writing: xdinary heroes#xdinary heroes smut#xdh smut#jungsu smut#jungsu hard thoughts#jungsu x reader#xdinary heroes x reader#xdh x reader
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adopted baby Guard Din idea that I am never going to write
because it would involve logistics and quiet moments and idle life which I am very down for reading but cannot for the LIFE of me actually sit down and write
So the war ends, Palps is outed as a Sith and an asshole and dies somehow, and the Senate eventually decides that the clones do count as people and thus are allowed to leave the GAR if they want. Give the bureaucrats another few years and they might even give out backpay and citizenship, so long as you stay in the service--wait what do you mean the entire Guard is resigning. What do you mean they've already left orbit?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NOW MILLIONS OF FILES ON THE HOLONET ABOUT THE SENATE'S SHADY DEALINGS???
Guard, collectively: lol cya suckers
Fox is of course one of the last ones out, and since this was all planned on the down low, everyone's been split into groups so they can take commercial flights, since they're not about to be accused of stealing ships. (They also leave their weapons and their armor behind, in a giant macabre pile in the middle of Corrie HQ. Even their helmets, their faces, they discard: it's time for a rebirth.)
He and Thorn and a few other Corries have a stopover on some tiny station, waiting a week for a delayed transport to arrive, and in the meantime they're approached by some locals who just fled the planet below. Separatist remnants attacked their homes, forcing them to leave everything and everyone behind; can the big strong clones do anything about it?
The Big Strong Clones: Oh shit we finally get to kick some Seppie ass? Sign us the FUCK up.
The eager group does not include Fox, who could not care less about the Separatists and would very much like to finally catch up on his sleep. Unfortunately that means that the group that goes down to the planet is Unsupervised.
(Thorn does not count as supervision. Thorn, bereft of Senate oversight, has finally allowed his Inner Chaos Gremlin to fully emerge. Thorn needs more supervision than the shinies.)
Thorn, three days later, waking Fox from half-hearted sleep by dropping an entire natborn child on him: Hey boss, look what we found! None of the refugees claimed him, so we called dibs. Can we keep him? Fox, staring at the child: ...
Din, staring back: ...
Fox: ...no..?
Din: *sad but understanding big brown eyes*
Fox: Nevermind this is my child now.
Din has gone from two parents to one parent and hundreds of overprotective brothers.
Eventually his group makes it to their destination, Din in tow. I am uncertain of what the destination is but it is a planet that is as far away from Coruscant that the Corries could find. I am tempted for Tatooine not because I like Tatooine (I share Anakin's loathing of sand and deserts) but because Luke's description of Tatooine in ANH was 'if there's a bright center to the universe, this is the planet the furthest from'.Â
Corries, hearing that: Fuck it sounds perfect.Â
Anyway they make it to Tatooine, there is probably purchasing of some shitty land/buildings that nobody wants out in the wastes bc crime, scum, villainy, etc, but it's not like they have problems taking care of anything that tries to mess with them.Â
Where did they get the funds?
Shh don't ask about it.
Stone takes up moisture farming. Thire takes up farming-farming. Thorn shoots gleefully at anything that shows up unannounced within a ten-mile radius. Literally everybody dotes on Din. There are a surprising amount of peaceful days.
Eventually some dumb shiny goes: Hey don't kids need friends? Shouldn't we set up some playdates for him or something?
The shiny is not called dumb for asking the question, but they are called dumb for thinking that the question would only ever be taken rhetorically. Fox disappears for two weeks and then comes back with a black eye and a yowling hissing Boba tucked under one arm, looking stupidly pleased with himself.
(Boba is also pleased to be back with people he knows will keep him safe. Boba will not admit to this under threat of death or dismemberment. Boba is a SERIOUS SCARY ADULT BOUNTY HUNTER.)
Boba also decides he will be Mortal Enemies with Din, which after about ten minutes of meeting him morphs into If Anyone Hurts Din I Will Kill Everyone In This Room And Then Myself because all clones be the same, really.
Din has gained another brother/bestie. (Or potential future boyfriend, whichever floats your boat.)
Somehow they still end up overthrowing the Hutts.
Officially the GAR knew and knows nothing about the Guard leaving Coruscant as soon as the metaphorical paint was dry on their sentient status.
Unofficially Fox's batch harangues him every single day for photos of his new kid(s). They eventually show up unannounced, demanding time with their nephew. (They are shot at by Thorn.)
Din gains five new uncles.
The batch proudly show pics and holos to their battalions. Din gains millions of new uncles.
Fox finally gets a full night's sleep.
#tcw#tcw fanfiction#commander fox#din djarin#coruscant guard#someone else should write that#tho tbh it's mostly written here just in rambling infodump form#btw this is half-inspired bc red is both baby din and fox's color#din is nonverbal for a little while because Trauma#and gets nicknamed 'Kit'#Fox refuses to be pleased about this#Fox is extremely smugly pleased about this
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too many thoughts on the new hbomberguy video not to put them anywhere so:
with every app trying to turn into the clock app these days by feeding you endless short form content, *how many* pieces of misinformation does the average person consume day to day?? thinking a lot about how tons of people on social media go largely unquestioned about the information they provide just because they speak confidently into the camera. if you're scrolling through hundreds of pieces of content a day, how many are you realistically going to have the time and will to check? i think there's an unfortunate subconscious bias in liberal and leftist spaces that misinformation is something that is done only by the right, but it's a bipartisan issue babey. everybody's got their own agendas, even if they're on "your side". *insert you are not immune to propaganda garfield meme*
and speaking of fact checking, can't help but think about how much the current state of search engines Sucks So Bad right now. not that this excuses ANY of the misinformation at all, but i think it provides further context as to why these things become so prevalent in creators who become quick-turnaround-content-farms and cut corners when it comes to researching. when i was in high school and learning how to research and cite sources, google was a whole different landscape that was relatively easy to navigate. nowadays a search might give you an ad, a fake news article, somebody's random blog, a quora question, and another ad before actually giving you a relevant verifiable source. i was googling a question about 1920s technology the other day (for a fanfiction im writing lmao) and the VERY FIRST RESULT google gave me was some random fifth grader's school assignment on the topic???? like?????? WHAT????? it just makes it even harder for people to fact-check misinformation too.
going off the point of cutting corners when it comes to creating content, i can't help but think about capitalism's looming influence over all of this too. again, not as an excuse at all but just as further environmental context (because i really believe the takeaway shouldn't be "wow look how bad this one individual guy is" but rather "wow this is one specific example of a much larger systemic issue that is more pervasive than we realize"). a natural consequence of the inhumanity of capitalism is that people feel as if they have to step on or over eachother to get to 'the top'. if everybody is on this individualistic american dream race to success, everyone else around you just looks like collateral. of course then you're going to take shortcuts, and you're going to swindle labor and intellectual property from others, because your primary motivation is accruing capital (financial or social) over ethics or actual labor.
i've been thinking about this in relation to AI as well, and the notion that some people want to Be Artists without Doing Art. they want to Have Done Art but not labor through the process. to present something shiny to the world and benefit off of it. they don't want to go through the actual process of creating, they just want a product. Easy money. Winning the game of capitalism.
i can't even fully fault this mentality- as someone who has been struggling making barely minimum wage from art in one of the most expensive cities in america for the past two years, i can't say that i haven't been tempted on really difficult occasions to act in ways that would be morally bad but would give me a reprieve from the constant stress cycle of "how am i going to pay for my own survival for another month". the difference is i don't give in to those impulses.
tl;dr i hope that people realize that instead of this just being a time to dogpile on one guy (or a few people), that it's actually about a larger systemic problem, and the perfect breeding grounds society has created for this kind of behavior to largely go unchecked!!!
#hbomberguy#james somerton#idk if any of this is coherent it just needed to get out of me#misinformation#capitalism is hell!
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Trying to overanalyze Lucifer's design
The Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale was fucking insane. I loved everything and especially Lucifer, whom I am dedicating this post to.
Let's begin with his "normal" form
Lucifer wears a ringleader costume bc Hell is one giant circus and he's the ringleader, but did you know that there's actually more to it?
A ringmaster, -mistress or -leader is like the opening act of a circus. They show you around, introduce the other acts and keep you hooked. They are essentially the glue that keeps the circus together. Another definition of a ringmaster, -mistress or -leader talks about an actual leader who leads a group of people, mostly through the act of doing illicit or unlawful activities. A role that would suit Lilith better than Lucifer. Sins could be seen as unlawful activities in Heaven's eyes and Lucifer is the cause of how evil found its way to earth, one could say that he was the one to lead the sinners in their sinful behavior in life. Yet, in death - if we go by Charlie's storybook - Lilith was the one leading the sinners to rise up against Heaven, another illicit activity that has led to their eventual doom.
Luci also wears a top hat with his crown on top of it. The hat gives him some extra height so I doubt that he wears it for any other reason. His crown is mostly covered with a snake and a red apple on the side. The snake can have 2 meanings: 1) how the word 'seraphim' in Hebrew can be translated to 'fiery serpent', due to his six wings, Lucifer is likely a seraph. 2) he was the serpent that tempted Eve, although never confirmed in any religious text, this idea of him being that snake is really popular in every reiteration of that story. This would also be why there's an apple motive following the Morningstars. Now let's move on to...
Angelic/demonic form
I don't think what we are seeing here is his full angelic/demonic form, but considering that the other Princes' forms aren't as scary either it is likely the case. The first thing that caught my attention were the horns and overall resemblance this form has to Charlie's, but let's focus on the differences.
In the first image, the snake and apple have turned into some sort of halo, a nod that his actual halo has disappeared when he fell and unlike Vaggie his wings probably didn't get ripped off, but I do believe they were different to how they were when he was behind the Pearly Gates. He has a tail and horns, classic demon imagery, there are 6 eyes at the end of his coat and there's one more on his bowtie, which makes a total of 8 eyes on Lucifer's design. The eyes are a common returning motive in Heaven and with angels.Luci also has a flame in-between his horns. This honestly reminded me of Baphomet, but they would likely be a Candle head from the Sloth ring. In the Bible, fire is often depicted as the presence of God, but I'm a firm believer that Hazbin has a deistic God view (see my other post), so I doubt that's the case here. The fire was likely chosen because Hell is associated with fire and he's the king of Hell so they thought it would make sense.
Like father, like daughter
As stated before, Lucifer and Charlie share a lot of similar elements. She's essentially him without wings and with longer hair. They both have a red sclera with a yellow iris. Their tail is pitch black with a heart cut out at the end and despite having white skin, Lucifer's arms are greyish. I always thought they were gloves, but no, man's face doesn't match his hands. I really like this shot of them right here, they look so badass!
Charlie also seems to be getting a new ability which has to do with her arm getting bigger and blocking Adam. This might be a callback to whatever was going on with her arm in her first design.
That was it thanks for reading <3
#hazbin hotel#a24#vivziepop#lucifer#lucifer magne#lucifer morningstar#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel lucifer#prime video#hazbin hotel season 1#hazbin headcanons#hazbin hotel theory#hazbin theory
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Hello! I was wondering if you would want to write for Beerus? I was thinking what a courtship would be like between him and a goddess of creation? :) hopefully you're doing well during the midst of everything that's going on in the real world! Best of wishes! -A
Beerus x Goddess of Creation. Reader
I like the alternative idea. Despite this, I plan to make the personality different! Edit: I'm doing okay, just busy with schoolwork. Best wishes to you, too! I hope everyone who reads this is doing well too, or if not, this can cheer you up a little!
Want more from me? Masterlist
â*: .・. .・.:*ââ*: .・. .・.:*â
đĽ˘CrĂŠation et Destruction𼢠(DBS or Dragon ball Super)
Warning(s): Fluff
Although destruction and creation contradict each other in meaning, one can not exist without the other...They must coexist to truly make the universe hold the beauty it possesses.
â¨â¨â¨â¨â¨
You and Beerus are total opposites.
He destroys.
You create.
He is much more relaxed.
While your shoulders are stiff with responsibility and proper etiquette.
When you met, you hadn't expected him to flirt with you on the spot.
"Huh. My first time meeting the Goddess of Creation, can't believe I've been missing out on such a cute Goddess."
"IâThat-that's very unprofessional..."
You didn't understand him. You were taught to always be polite and respectful, to always hold your tongue, to always be professional, and to hold your temper.
He hardly did any of those things.
And he could really test your temper.
He easily broke that elegant, put-together wall you had up.
And he enjoyed every minute of it.
"Why are you taking a nap when you have responsibilities?! That's so improper!...Ahem-"
And with time, he broke you down completely.
Noticing you were always tired and stiff and showing you what's it like to relax.
"Just because we have responsibilities doesn't mean we can't relax once in a while. We have to do this for millenniums, might as well catch a few Z's in between."
He is very protective over you when you do relent and catch a nap, he'd be very tempted to destroy the planet of whoever interrupts you.
And he learned you hadn't really explored planets and introduced you to Earth and its cuisine.
Which really excited you.
"Cute..."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
He liked that your presence wasn't rough as his, the feeling of powerful serenity you gave off was attractive to him. You were polite and fluid in movement, yet your power and knowledge were undeniable.
He wanted you.
So he courted you.
And you saw another side of him.
"Flowers?"
"Bulma gave me an earful and said something about them..."
"Let me guess, you weren't really listening?"
"Well...I want to get this right, so, I tried to remember everything I could. She mentioned something called a 'date' that I'm supposed to take you on..."
He was soft and wasn't afraid to show it...to you...
He noticed your hair was always getting in your face, so he got you fancy hair clips to hold the stray hairs away.
When your shoulders got stiff from playing your role, he learned how you give you massages to make you feel better, but not without cracking jokes the whole time.
He attempted to learn how to cook for you...
Well, actually, he wasn't terrible at that. The dishes he could make were just limited.
You liked watching the process, his frustration was adorable.
Cooking for you? Telling you 'good morning' and 'good night'?
He was whipped.
Undoubtedly.
He even lets you pet him, which you'll do if he gets a little riled up.
You save his dignity and refrain from doing it in public (if it's not necessary) since he purrs a deep rumble.
You do things together, like cooking and of course your roles as Gods.
But Beerus's favorite activity to do with you is definitely napping...or maybe eating...both? That's a hard choice for him to make.
You were really good for each other.
He destroyed your walls and the false personality you upheld.
You created a warmth in his heart that he cherished.
People wondered how you worked out so well, you were opposites.
But being opposites brought you together.
So what if he destroys and you create?
Destruction and creation coexisting can make something truly beautiful
And you two love every minute of it
#beerus x reader#beerus x fem. reder#dbs beerus#beerus#beerus fluff#anime#dbz#dbs x reader#dbz x reader#dbs x fem.reader#dbz x fem.reader#fluff#dbs fluff#dbz fluff
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(kind of a continuation of this post but this is the most notes one of my pjo posts has gotten without garnering some kind of discourse and i dont really wanna touch it but i need to say this)
thinking about annabeth, the toddler daughter of a phd student whose dad already barely has time for her to the point that she is pretty much responsible for herself
annabeth, five years old, watching from the sidelines as her dad married someone she sees as a monster, moving onto things bigger and better than her, replacing her with people and kids who get more attention from him individually than she ever got in their five years alone
annabeth, seven, deciding it's time for her to move on because she's not getting any more love out of that relationship than she's already squeezed out
annabeth sometime around here learning that it's not that her mother doesn't care about her, she just has more important things to do
annabeth, barely any older, contending with thalia's death, a girl who was both a friend and a caretaker for a brief but incredibly formative time
annabeth, again, barely older, watching luke get a quest and leave her behind, hoping and praying he makes it back home to her, and then when he does, realizing he didn't come back quite right and that now even he's moving on from her, once again leaving her for bigger and better things that he keeps saying she's too young to undestand
annabeth, ten, learning about the prophecy and being told she's gonna be a part of it and starting to form an idea of how one day she's gonna find her More Important Thing if she just works hard enough, because isn't that what happens to everyone?
annabeth, 12, meeting percy and actually demanding to be a part of his quest because even though he'll probably be dead by 16, she'll be damned if she lets her chance at the More Important Thing slip away and be left behind again, so she fights like hell for her dreams and her place in the world
12, and knowing she wasn't enough to keep luke from leaving
annabeth, 13, and having to rescue grover from his More Important Thing and then watching him continue on his More Important Thing
13 still and being tempted by the hunters because if it hasn't happened, maybe the mortal world won't give her her More Important Thing
(then getting kidnapped and forced to hold the sky, no idea if anyone is coming for her, scared that everyone is too busy with their More Important Things, and finding out percy never once thought of not going after her, and beginning to realize he doesn't have his More Important Thing yet either)
14, still raw from thalia joining the hunters, and watching percy with rachel, seeing him blast himself to ogygia, and being terrified he's going to realize his More Important Thing is another girl or saving the world or something equally as more important than annabeth
15, and still scared, except now his birthday is coming up, and he might just die before she can ever get her feelings out, and then why bother?
16 and watching him reject immortality for her to help the demigods, and knowing deep in her bones that there is no More Important Thing because that's just not who he is
16, and knowing for the first time in her life that she can trust another person with her heart
16, and being somebody else's More Important Thing, and maybe letting percy be hers too
that is all
#and then having him ripped away from her again until he falls into tartarus for her and they live a long happy life#percabeth#annabeth chase#percy jackson#pjo#percy jackon and the olympians#annabeth pjo#percy and annabeth#annabeth and percy#percy x vex#annabeth x percy#annabeth percy jackson#thalia grace#luke castellan#grover underwood#pjo hoo toa
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Forget-Me-Not 5
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters:Â Loki
Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iâm happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You walk out of the bank, tempted to have your lunch at The Horn. You're certain they'd serve it up nice and foamy in a pint. Never the matter, you were never a drinker. Sins of the mother and all that.
You get into the front seat and sit for a minute, contemplating what to do. If you leave the land as it is, burn that shitheap down, drive off into the sunset, well, who will care about what some dead crone owed the bank? That's not how it works. You might think little of shared blood but a name is a name to the powers that be.
You shove your key in the ignition and turn. Your engine cranks and sputters but doesn't roll over. You frown. You just had it serviced before you drove out here. Oils filled, everything was tiptop, so the mechanic said. No lights, no dinging. You try again, twisting harder, but it doesn't catch. You let go as the car quiets.
A slap on the roof makes you jump and you look out the window at the figure right outside. Thor Odinson bends, grinning at you through the glass as he gives a wink. You don't believe in coincidences, especially not in Hammer Ford. You ignore him and give it another go; third time is the charm.
Nothing. Just a puff of exhaust and rattle. Fuck!
"Ah, don't worry, sweetheart," Thor raises his voice so you can hear him through the glass, "I'll take you 'round Vol's--"
"Fuck off," you hit the switch, ensuring the locks are down.
He laughs, "you know, I don't think I ever heard you speak before."
You shake your head and scowl, peering around. Several people watch but quickly put their heads down and continue on their way. Just like it always was. Fucking cowards.
"I see why he likes you--"
"Piss off!" You flip two fingers up in his direction, "now!"
"What? I'm tryna help you out. Sounds like your transmission," he taunts, "or maybe... you got some gravel in the gas tank. Shit, you know, that'll ruin your lines--"
"God! Would you just leave me alone?" You roar as you hit the steering wheel, "you and your fucking family."
"My mother gave me this cheque..." he reaches in his pocket and unfolds a slip, "has your name on it... and would you look at that? She left the amount blank."
You ignore him and grit your teeth. They think you're that girl who could be sold for a sixer and a couple bills. They don't know anything. They don't know you.
You reach over to the glove box and pop it open. You reach inside and take out the bottle of glass cleaner you keep there. You flip the lock up and he steps back, a victorious hum as you open the door just a hair. You aim the nozzle up and spritz him in the eyes.
"Is that clear enough for you!?" You snap the door shut again and thump the lock down with your fist.
He cries out and wipes his eyes furiously. You sneer as you watch him growl and his. He pulls his shirt up to mop at his face and finally stands, blinking furiously. He sends his fist into the glass, shattering it as you yipe. You shield yourself, reading for the next one, but he merely stumbles away.
"You've done it now," he snarls, "just you fucking wait."
"I will be," you holler, "just you come around and see."
He staggers away, groaning as he continues to fuss with his eyes. You watch him in the rearview before you lean back and stare at the lifeless meters in the dashboard. Rest in peace, mom, you left me a whole lot of shit, didn't you?
đ
You grab the tire iron and leave your car behind. You have no other choice but to make the long trek back to your mother's shack. You get a few looks from passerbys on the main strip, their eyes lingering on the heavy tool in your hand. You're not stupid or weak like them. You're ready to fight back.
You keep your eyes set ahead of you as you crest the first hill. You always hated how this village only ever seemed to be up. You weave around the country roads and turn off into the trees as the sun dips below the treelines. You're tired and sore but not done. You still have a ways to go.
As you come through the canopy that opens to your mother's house, you feel the coolness in the air tingling in your fingers. The chill in your spine is from more than the late cast of a spring afternoon. You grip the iron tight as you stare up at the open door.
You swing around at the kick of a pebble. The iron meets only air as you twirl all the way around. No one's there. You back up, searching the trees. No, someone is there.
A snicker rolls up through the forest. It's him. He's watching you. You won't back down, not this time. You squint into the shadows. Where is that snake?
"Oh my, are we scared?" Loki's hiss crawls up your spine.
You spin again to find another void.
"Don't you remember our game..." he taunts. "Perhaps this time, you might win..."
"Go away!"
"Ten..." He calls out, "nine..."
Your heart races as your eyes tinge. You remember that girl, lost in the trees, listening to him count down, to his pursuit rustling through the leaves behind her. You feel the crash of the ground against your chest and the river water flooding into your mouth. You can't breath as you're trapped beneath another, rutting and ramming, snarling as he snickers in your ear.
"three..." you come back to the present, "two..." you whip around, "one!" You spin the iron and jab it backwards around your side.
He grunts and staggers back as you stumble forward away from his grasp. Loki falters as he grasps his stomach, a clot of red blooming on the inside.
"Shit..." he spreads the fabric, showing the gash. Not deep enough. You hold the iron tighter and raise it again. He chuckles and shakes his head as he looks up at you, "oh darling, you should know by now..." he smirks, "I don't play fair."
Suddenly, you're taken off your feet from behind, a thick arm around your neck and another around your middle. You thrash with tire iron only to be thrown away from the body behind you, hitting a tree so hard you're left breathless. You drop the iron as Loki moves to sweep your feet from under you and Thor brings his foot down onto your chest. You cough as you stare up at the brothers.
Everything stays the same in Hammer Ford.
#au#series#marvel#mcu#backwoods au#forget-me-not#loki#dark loki#loki x reader#dark!loki#avengers#thor
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*launches Mr. Puzzles into the air then choke slams him into the ground*
One shot below, if you just want to read it here. Be advised, itâs near 10k now:
Summary:
A tattered, beaten-up Mr. Puzzles plush comes into your possession; it makes you wonder when youâll get to see the real one again.
Tags from ao3:
- The day started off normally enough.Â
There was the usual struggle upon waking to blink the bleariness out of your eyes.Â
Finding clothing in the dark made extra difficult because you forgot that thereâs a light switch in your room. Or, you know, actual sunlight, if youâd thought to open up the curtains.Â
Rummaging around the kitchen for breakfast while continuing to struggle to wake and see through continued blurry eyes.
Taking so long with breakfast and finding clothing beforehand making you end up jogging to work with said breakfast down the sidewalk. The later unfortunate recollection that youâd left your lunch at home.Â
A typical day, really.
But what wasnât typical was being stopped by a coworker at the end of your shift to be given the saddest, most beaten-up pathetic excuse of a plush.
-
A coworker called out your name, causing you to turn back to see what was up.
âHere you go.â Your coworker said without preamble, thrusting a plushie out for you to presumably take.Â
It was one of those long-limbed Mr. Puzzles plush.
âI found this in the dumpster behind the cafe while taking out the trash.â Your coworker was staring somewhere near your shoulder as she continued to speak in a hushed tone. âI felt like I was being watched, but no one was there. Still, I didnât want to tempt fate, so I took the plush out, left the garbage bag, and decided Iâd give the plush to you.â With a quick moment of eye contact, then away, she added. âMr. Puzzles liked you, right? So he  probably wouldnât take it as badly if he saw a plush of himself in such a terrible state if you had it. Instead of someone he thought might have vandalized the plush on purpose.â
Mr. Puzzles sure did seem to take offense to his likeness being destroyed or otherwise ridiculed.
âHe hasnât been to the cafe in years.â Your coworker said bluntly. She then paused, blinked, then awkwardly looked down when she caught a glimpse of the saddened expression on your face. âSorry. I forgot he hasnât visited and you...â Another pause. âI mean, Iâm sure heâll turn up again; everyone on the cafe and your podcast friends miss him too.â Another awkward pause as her own expression twisted into discomfort. âSorry. We know you took him being gone out of the blue the hardest.â Off to the side. âDammit, Iâm shit at this.â
You accept the plush from your coworker as she abruptly thrusts it closer. Then, you watch your coworker randomly walk back into the cafe, but you donât take it personally.
She tended to have trouble looking people in the eyes and spoke bluntly what she felt in the moment, but you always appreciated the honesty.Â
Turning your attention to the plush in your hands with its ridiculous long limbs, you find that you do actually feel bad for this plush version of Mr. Puzzles.Â
Your coworker had been correct; the real Mr. Puzzles hadnât been around for some time. Years, in fact, since you havenât even gotten to speak to him.
It wasnât his fault or yours that the portal between your worlds had been destroyed.Â
You hoped the smgâs would be willing to make another one, but there was no way for you to communicate with them, so all you could do was wait, and hope.Â
âŚyou missed Mr. Puzzles a lot.Â
Smg4 and his friends too, but not as much as the tv headed man whoâd begun to mean so much to you.
Stubbornly swiping a sleeve over your face, you head back home with the poor plush, planning to clean it free of any dirt. But you did have an aversion to putting it in the washing machine, or even in a laundry tub to do by hand, unless you didnât submerge the plushâs head.Â
This was because you remembered Mr. Puzzles couldnât have his metal tv head submerged underwater.Â
You knew this was a plush that you held, and that getting it wet wouldnât do anything, but you couldnât help but fall back into memories the longer you stared at the tattered Puzzles plush. You think you may even have another plush like this (one of many the man sneakily smuggled over to your world, and into this town, some of the people delighted by the silliness of his long-limbed plush).
As you got to cleaning, you take in more details of the incredibly poor condition of the plush.Â
Its left arm was missing from the elbow down, some wires poking out of the cotton inside. Incredible attention to detail, you thought, compared to the other plushies of the same type. You turned the plush over and back to scrutinize the chest area.Â
Why did the tarted fabric show material beneath that looked like the color of the grayish skin Mr. Puzzles had?
It was kind of in poor taste, considering whoever had this plush decided to slash the plushâs chest and torso with what appeared to be a knife.Â
It unnerved you to see what looked like traces of dried blood on the areas of the âwoundsâ with cotton poking out of the cuts too.Â
You hoped it was just ketchup.Â
âŚthere was a lot of cotton poking out of the poor plushie.Â
The color came off with some extra scrubbing, and once you deemed the Mr. Puzzles plush clean, you decided that you couldnât leave the body torn open like that.
It just so happened that you had thread that matched the plushâs oddly Puzzlesâ skin tone colored body, and set about sewing. You were careful to not leave much of the stitching visible, using the ladder stitch youâd learned to use some time ago.Â
Once that was complete, you finally allowed yourself to focus on the worst of the damage apart from half a missing arm.Â
The face of the plush.Â
Usually, it had a mad grin on it along with the eyes that Mr. Puzzles tended to get when he was visibly agitated or feeling a particularly strong emotion. Aka when he was trying to tamp those emotions down instead of flying into a rage.Â
This plushies âscreenâ?
Completely gone.
The plastic was missing.Â
The face itself was cut beneath the eyes, and it looked like someone had peeled the top half of the screen face up and off to the side, cotton practically bursting out from the seams no longer there. Beneath, the was a long cut that tore deeply across the technicolor smile.Â
You used some spare fabric to wrap around the upper half of the plushâs head to prevent the stuffing from coming out further (why you did that, you werenât sure, but it felt right to do in the moment.Â
Tomorrow, youâd sew up the mouth, so it didnât tug at with side of the plushâs head.Â
It was going to take a lot to fix the poor thing, but you decided to do just that.Â
As you set the Puzzles plush up on the fireplace mantle and propped it up against a box you put behind it, you kind of justâŚstared at it for a moment.Â
Just seeing its condition made you sad.Â
You inwardly agreed with your coworker from earlier.Â
The real Mr. Puzzles wouldnât appreciate the sight of a plush in his image so shabby and beaten to.Â
âŚyou missed him.
So, so much.
It had been so long since youâd last seen Mr. Puzzles.Â
Giving your head a little shake, to not fall down those spiraling thoughts, you decided to let the plush dry overnight. Then, you could see what you could do to piece the rest of it back together.Â
Seeing the poor state the plush was still on, you wanted to do your best. It was unnerving that it looked like someone had been torturing Mr. Puzzles via the plush.
~
I was unable to move.Â
It was dark.Â
A darkness stretching out before me with no light in sight.Â
I couldnât see; there was only a darkness that stretched out before me.Â
A murkiness, with any speck of light denied to me.
I was alone, suspended in this dark isolation that seemed unending.Â
Not even my own mind was like this, even if I was alone, because I at least had the light of the numerous televisions all around me.Â
Here?
I had nothing.
It had been a long time since Iâd seen anyone.
Heard anyone.
So long since Iâd last held you in my arms that I almost feel as if Iâd forgotten the sensation, with how trapped I currently was.Â
The fear and terror paralyzed me as surely as my currently useless body outside of this darkness was.
There was no way for me to even know how long Iâd been in this state.Â
It was a shame that whenever I was released from this terrifying prison that I wouldnât even be able to put it to use in a show.Â
I couldnât even say why I thought that, but I presumed it had to do with how I ended up in this predicament in the first place.Â
Now, would this be considered horror, or a thriller, I wondered.Â
It wasnât like I was being haunted by some ghost or being hunted by a creature.Â
Something had caused me to become like this.
Suspense, I guess.
Fear of the unknown when there was a sense of something not quite right, only to be unaware until it was too late.
It certainly felt more horror-esque, considering I was aware and yet unaware to do anything about my current situation.Â
Hm.
I might be able to make something after all.
A freezing chill flowed over me.
Or not.
This was quite unpleasant, and if I could have screamed, I would have done so, regardless of the possible ridicule that may have come from Smg4 or the others, should they happen to be anywhere nearby.Â
The cold slowly dissipated.
I felt a little better, for some reason I couldnât place.Â
Warmer.Â
Almost safer.
Then it was gone.
As I settled into a listless state of unfeeling immobility. there was only one thing on my mind, apart from escaping this place.
I hoped you would forgive me for being away from you for what seemed like such a very long time.
~
Today was your day off, which had now become âfix the Mr. Puzzles plushâ day.Â
You gathered the materials that you thought you might need, including another Puzzles plush to replace what the damaged one was missing.
It seemed a shame to ruin a perfectly good plushie, but for whatever reason, you wanted to fix the Puzzles plush youâd placed to dry overnight on the fireplace mantle.Â
Maybe it was because your coworker had found it in the dumpster, indicating that someone had decided the plushie wasnât worth keeping and had thrown it away? The thought didnât sit well with you, perhaps considering how isolated youâd leaned Mr. Puzzles had been once youâd gotten to know him better. The way the man worried for the longest time heâd be rejected by you, even though you, too, were concerned about the same in return.Â
The whole âthis other person couldnât possibly want me, could they?â
How wrong the both of you had been in that regard.
A pant of sadness, as you went about getting the supplies spread out while reaching for the plush to lie in on the kitchen table, musing where to begin with the poor plush.
The fabric wrapped around the head was hiding the worst of the damage, so you decided to start there.
First, you carefully used as similar colored thread you could find to sew the damage across the technicolor smile.Â
Next, you unwrapped the fabric around the upper half of the plushâs head to begin to push the cotton back inside, and, using gray thread, began to sew the edges of the television screen between the fabric peeled away that held the eyes and the teeth. Then, folding the fabric with the eyes on it back down, you slowly began to sew that back together, until the face of the plush was restored.Â
It wasnât perfect, but no one would be able to tell that the face had all but been torn open with cotton spilling out.
Carefully, you took the plastic screen part off of the other Puzzles plush, and arduously began to attach it to the initially damaged Mr. Puzzles long limbed plushie.Â
With the face of the plush restored, the screen youâd just put over it a near perfect way, you realized that the previous damage to the face was more difficult to see through the somewhat reflective surface.Â
âThere, thatâs better, isnât it?â Smiling at the plush, you look over its âclothesâ and the half missing arm. âItâll be even better when I finish fixing you up a bit more.â Your smile fell as you stared a the plush youâd picked up, holding it under its arms. âI hope Iâll be able to see the real Mr. Puzzles in person sooner rather than later.â Your voice became a hushed whisper as you hugged the plush to you. âI miss him so much. Thereâs so much Iâd like to say to him.âÂ
You prop the plushie up on the table against a box of sewing supplies, and grasped its right hand.
The plush hand was oddly limp.
âBut maybe I can just talk to you, silly as that is.â You flopped the small plush hand in your hand in a wave. âThat way, when I do see him again, it will be easier for me to say some things to him. What do you say?â
Naturally, the plush Mr. Puzzles said nothing.
~
There was a jarring of this cold, lifeless place.Â
It felt like I was on fire, but wherever I was couldnât possibly be a real fire. I felt I would have somehow been able to know, but then again, how could I know that?
I knew nothing but the darkness and the silence, wherever I was.Â
All at once, I regained my sense of feeling in my body, but with that came a variety of horrors that hit me one by one.Â
I couldnât rightly parse through all of these sensations and the creeping fear while I continued to immobile and therefore, completely helpless. This was only slightly made better by the fact that the darkness was slowly leaving my vision, allowing me my sight once more. But what I saw, I could almost not comprehend, and while my sight may have been restored, I found myself unable to speak, no matter what I did.
My body hurt with a deep, painful ache, but that was something I could handle because a massive relief washed over me upon seeing you.
I wasnât alone anymore.Â
Somehow, someway, youâd found me, but there was no chance that you had any idea what youâd found.
As you spoke to me, I yearned to reach out to you. I wanted to wipe away your tears while you talked to me. I so desperately wanted to hold you in my arms, but I wasnât able to as was now.
Trapped.Â
I was trapped and unable to do anything about it.Â
Only watch, as you spoke your hopes and sorrows to me about us reuniting, while you continued to sew up the tears within this body.
When I was back to normal, I was not going to trouble you with just how painful each stitch was, nor how much I wanted to scream and writhe in agony as you sewed the forearm and hand youâd taken from the other plush and attached it to mine.
I had no idea how that would translate when I was restored back to my usual handsome self with my beautiful metal head.
I wouldnât hold it against you, however, since you had no idea what it was um you held in your hands as anything other than a plushie.
That was a worry for when there was a plan to help me change back, and for that, I needed to get you to realize it was me.
To figure out how to have you understand what you held in your hands; that it wasnât just any old Mr. Puzzles plush.
It was me.
The real Mr. Puzzles.
And the longer you spoke to me while putting the finishing touches to the plushâs (my) body, I realized that you had no idea that I wasnât in my home world.
I was here with you, in yourâs.
But for how long?
Was I in danger, or did being in my current state mean that I would be fine?
While you made little fixes to my (stupid) plush bodyâs clothing, I was rather flattered that youâd decided to put together a little ensemble different than the usual long-limbed plushâs of the meâs Iâd brought here to your world.Â
In fact.âŚthe outfit was beginning to look like my suit tailcoat Iâd worn to a party with you, complete with little puzzle-pieces and stars adorning it that youâd likely found at a local craft store.
I loved the care you put into it, even if you thought I was merely a lifeless plushie.
In a way, I was, unable to speak or move.
As the day progressed, you eventually were satisfied with my restoration, and set me back up on the mantle of the fireplace.
I desperately attempted to get your attention, and the only way to do this was to play with the trick of light on the âscreenâ of the plush. I figured out that I could subtly change the expressions beneath the plasticÂ
So many times, I almost caught your attention, but whenever you turned to look at me, you obviously saw nothing out of the ordinary.
I wanted to screen in both frustration and despair.
This wasnât fair.
We were together again, yet I couldnât speak, was unable to move.Â
Useless.Â
This plush body was useless!
Please.
Just let me get your attention, for one moment.
Please see me.
Even if you yourself couldnât fix this situation I found myself in, at least you would have been able to know it was me.
I couldnât stand this; the watching and the waiting.Â
The only time your hands were on me was when my stupid body ended up sliding one way or another on the mantle of the fireplace.
When it happened for the third time, not of my own volition, I was certain youâd have grown weary of it, and put me somewhere out not sight.Â
Instead, you picked me up, and brought me to your bedroom for the night to hug me.
I dearly wanted to embrace you in return, but all I could do in this state was just lie there, useless, as you used my plush body to comfort yourself by holding it close to your chest. At the very least, it was nice to be good for something, despite being unable to speak to you. I couldnât even to let you know that I was there with you.Â
It was infuriating, if enlightening, to be motionless, hearing both your heartbeat and your voice as you spoke to me.Â
Had I been able, my screen would have been lit up bright with a heartbeat covered blush and averted eyes.Â
It took longer than I would have liked for there to finally be an opportunity to get you to see that I was right there next to you until finally, I had one.Â
It was just unfortunate that the way I was able to let you know who I was ended up being distressing for both of us.
To think that my plush body could take actual damage that caused it to bleed made me wonder if Iâd taken more damage right before and after Iâd heâd been in that darkness from before.Â
I couldnât recall how I even ended up this way, and now all I could think of was the very real deep aching pain from my neck.
~
You could not believe that there was just a random dog who just so happened to be near your homeâs front porch that snuck the Puzzles plush away from you to use as a chew toy.
And just a week after youâd finished restoring it!
There were so many branches in the yard, so why couldnât the pooch have gone after those?
You chased the dog around to your backyard, the silly thing thinking it was a great game while it shook its head now and again, which furiously shook the Puzzles plush as well. The play bows the dog gave you when you got close were cute, as wee the snorts of breath from past the dogâs muzzle closed over the plushie. And when you got too close, the dog danced out of range to solidify its actions with the âplayâ part.
It took some time trying to catch the dog before it could dart away, and when you finally got a hold of the plush, you got the weird sensation again that you needed to be careful. You almost immediately let go, however, when the dog thought you were changing the game to tug of war.
But this got the dog to follow you around, and even waited outside on your front porch as you dashed in and back out with a treat in a last ditch attempt to get the animal to galley go.
You werenât so sure why you were so frantic to get the Puzzles plush away from the dog, but here you were.
âHere boy.â You paused, tilting your head at the dog. âOr girl. Câmere good doggy. Look what I got for you.â You held up a dog bone and waved it; youâd grabbed from inside the house to bribe the dog to let go. One of your roommatesâ friends had given some dog bones to all three of you, as a joke, since that friend knew none of you had a pet dog. But hey, it was working out to have those on hand now.
The dogâs ears perked up upon seeing the treat. With a big, wagging tail, the dog dropped the Mr. Puzzles plushie near your feet and sat, intent on the dog bone.
âGood job.â You praises the dog, waving the treat, then tossing it off the porch. With a furiously wagging tail and happy barks, the dog picked up the treat and darted off.
Distantly, there was someone yelling for the dog over the pet having the gall had to somehow jump the fence to run away.
Sighing and shaking your head, you stoop and pick the plush up. You look the plush over after feeling it damp in some places from the dogâs mouth. Your grip shifted and became more firm on the plush when you noted, in alarm, that it was not only saliva making the plushie wet. There was something trickling down the plushâs neck.
It looked like blood.
Unnervingly enough, it was warm and tacky like blood while it sluggishly slid down along the plushâs neck to its upper body.
That was not normal.
Your mind wasnât exactly sure what to make of this, but there was something telling you to help.
Sooner rather than later.
You head back into the house and wrapped the long-limber Puzzles plush up in a blanket, as if this would somehow help whatever was going on. Washing your hands free of dog saliva and blood (?) you picked up the blanket with the Mr. Puzzles plush tucked within. After locking up the house, you hurried down the sidewalk.
It wasnât a very busy time a day, so no one saw you booking it down the sidewalk with a panicked look on your face.
You didnât exactly have a plan, apart from maybe finding something useful in the house Mr. Puzzles used at the edge of town when he visited your world.
Why?
You werenât sure.
It wasnât like you were exactly thinking very clearly right now.
In no time at all, you reached the house.
Standing in the front entryway, you fret about what to do.
Really, what were you thinking? This was a plush you were carrying.
Why would it be bleeding?
Was it from the dog instead?
You were about to leave the house, feeling self-conscious about the overreaction, when you recalled youâd not checked on the portal for months. The house you were in just so happened to be where the portal between worlds was located, safely in the basement, behind a password locked door.
Might as well take a look before you leave. It really was a shame it wasnât working.
Sighing, you walk over to the door to the basement, and, entering an passcode, entered then closed the door behind you.
One safety check passed.
You closed the door behind, and walked down the stairs after flicking on the light. Holding the blanket close, you made your way down the staircase, mind drifting with each step.
What was it you were expecting to find, other than to confirm whether or not the portal was back up and running.
Hope to see other friends again?Â
Sadness that the portal may not be there after all?
You paused at the base of the staircase, blowing out a slow, slow breath as you steeled yourself for disappointment.
Just look.
Might as well get it over, and who knows?
Maybe things will be different this time-
You sucked in a sharp breath, looking first with confusion, then with slowly dawning hope.
There was a telltale light beneath the door on the other side of the spacious basement.Â
It couldnât beâŚcould it?
Holding the blanket with the Puzzles plush tighter to your chest, you cautiously stepped forward and reached out to carefully enter the code to the door. Taking another breath, then  letting it out slowly, you shove the door open and step through it, before leaning back into the heavier door in order to it shut behind you to be resealed.
As soon as you heard the sound indicating the door was secure, you turned.
And stared.
Uncomprehendingly at first until slowly, a smile made its way onto your face as excitement grew.
The portal was back.
It was working again!
It looked stable, the glowing swirl that looked like a galaxy of blue and white.
The portal looked exactly like it was the first time it had been created. And to prove that it was working, the computer on the desk was on.
When you appraised, you were able to see that there was a note that was left open a document.
âSorry that it took so long to fix and stabilize the portal. I hope youâve been doing okay. Itâs hard to tell how much time passes between the two worlds, but since theyâre parallel to one another, the time ought to be similar.Â
Is Mr. Puzzles there with you? No one has seen him for about three years over here.
Is he all right? Tari was wondering, since she mentioned something about seeing him enter the portal, but said she doesnât remember seeing Puzzles coming back through before the connection went down. Even if he did go through, he does have tools over there to keep up on maintenance. Tell him that he still has to fix one of the sheds here in the showgrounds that he put together and then left everything in limbo.
Everything should be good to go with the portal though, so feel free to visit!â
You figured the message was from Smg4, even if he (and 3) merely tolerated Mr. Puzzlesâ presence for your sake. As did many of their friends and acquaintances. Smg3 and 4 were both well well aware that it made you happy to be with Mr. Puzzles, and the tv headed man just so happened to behave himself, for the most part, while around you.
Wait.
You reread the document note, and frowned worriedly.
Mr. Puzzles wasnât in his home world?
For years?
That seemed rather specific, considering youâd not seen Mr. Puzzles for three years as well.
You gaze drops to the blanket and the plush there.Â
There was no way.
You turned the blanket bundle to get a better look at the Puzzles plush.
ButâŚcould it beâŚ?
âMr. Puzzles?â You asked incredulously, as you tentatively checked the plushâs neck again. When you pulled your hand back, you came  away with what was undoubtedly blood, tacky between your fingers. You gripped the blanket near the plushâs head as you leaned over it. âIs thatâŚis that really you? How in the world did you end up like this? Have you been like this for three years? HowâŚwhen didâŚ?â
Questions later.
Right now, you didnât think about the craziness that was the possibility of Mr. Puzzles being turned into a plushie. All you thought was to get him somewhere he could get some help. This also meant that you didnât care about whether or not the portal would remain stable when you use it.Â
âIf this is really you, weâll figure out how to get you back to normal, donât you worry.â You told the plush. Holding the blanket to your chest, you start up the portal, and barely wait for it to form before you step into it.
Once on the other side of the portal, youâre actually met not only by Smg4, but 1, 2, and 3 as well.
Convenient, that.
You hoped that one of them knew what the hell happened to Mr. Puzzles because you sure as heck didnât.Â
None of the Smgâs were able to speak or even greet you as you practically thrust the blanket wrapped around the long limbed Mr. Puzzles plush (possibly the real one too?) and spoke hastily.Â
âI thought this was just some random plush thet my coworker found in the dumpster, but a dog just recently had it in its mouth, shaking it around. And now it looks like the plush is bleeding around its neck like what happens to Mr. Puzzles when he spends too long in my world for too long. Can you help him?â
At least, you believe this is what was going on, as you couldnât think of any other explanation as to why there was honest to goodness blood on the neck of a plush toy filled with cotton.
Thankfully, no one asked questions, because the moment all of them saw the fresh blood sluggishly trailing down from the plushâs neck, all four of them took you seriously that you were serious, that this was actually urgent and you very much were not a joke.
~
There was a wave of relief when I was finally back in my home world, but I wasnât especially keen on being around Smg4 and the others like this.Â
Helpless, and unable to move in this stupid long limbed plush body.Â
There was still the fear that someone would want to take further revenge against me for what I did in the past. Â Â Even if things were better than before, even if Iâd made some amends with a few of Smg4âs friends, I knew there was a long way for me to go.Â
And that not everyone would forgive me.
I could live with that, when I had others I was able to rely on, including you.
It didnât mean that fear didnât rise when I saw not only Smg4 and 3 approach me, but also the ones I leaned were called Smg1 and Smg2.Â
And when my vision was lost again, I was scared.
What were they doing to me?
IâŚ
I couldnât do anything to stop them, but you were there too, and I trusted you. Trusted you to make what you believed to be the right decision to figure out how to get him out of this predicament.
But it didnât change how scared I was that something might go wrong.
I was nervous, in that darkness I was suspended within, while I waited for whatever it was the Smgâs were going to do to me.Â
The longer the darkness continued, the worse what could happen began to filter through my mind.
Would they trap me in this plush, so I would never be able to escape or do anything ever again, to never be able to speak to you or anytime else? Were they actually going to be able to help me return to normal?
Time seemed to stretch out in an agonizingly slow manner.Â
My hearing went next, leaving only silence within that darkness.Â
I held onto the knowledge that you were in the room with the others, and that you would yank my pathetic plush body away should anything happen to go wrong.
The pain soon began, interrupting the usual numbness I had been within. The aches and burning agony began to trickle in, then a fire of sensation rippled across me like lightning.
The sensations like he was being stretched out soon followed.Â
It was uncomfortable.
After being unable to move for so long, I couldnât even begin to fight back against such a sensation. As much as I wanted to, I felt too weak to resist the feeling that was returning to my body.  Despite how unbearable it was becoming, I would withstand whatever was currently happening to me.
I trusted you.
There wasnât any way you would let them hurt me. Not after everything weâd gone through to get to where we were now.
All at once, my hearing suddenly snapped back into existence. The voices around me slowly become clearer, until I heard someone saying my name.
Sensation came back to me, as I realized I could suddenly feel my own body. My own non-plush body, feeling utterly exhausted and in pure agony like I had stayed for too long in your world.Â
âŚI likely had, if my neck was bleeding as a plush.
Someone said my name again, a hand patting my metal head incessantly.
MyâŚmy head.
My television head!
At another thump that rattled my handsome metal head, then my screen flickered on when someone turned the dial on the side of my face.Â
I let out a simulated gasp while convulsing on what appeared to be a flat cot or gurney. My left arm felt significantly lighter than my right. In fact, my entire body felt very heavy, especially what was left of his human body. I felt like Iâd run a marathon, or had been beaten up and tossed down a tall staircase.Â
Unfortunately, you sewing part of the plush arm onto mine did not save my left arm now that I was no longer in that plush form.
It was missing from the elbow down.
But my metal arms and legs could be fixed now that I was home. I was certain that I had extra pieces in the house at the edge of the showgrounds to make the necessary repairs.Â
Once I was more lucid and less like I was just staring off into space, I was able to see just how I was able to return back to normal, and they I had, in fact, been taken somewhere else than the place the portal was.
E. Gadd had been a part of the help, along with the Smgâs.
I must have been out of it longer than Iâd realized, because as I lie there on what was, in fact, a gurney, I found slowly growing dread within my chest.
Three years, I heard someone say.
Had I really been trapped in that plush for so long?
Struggling to make sense of my rather unnerving experience, I had trouble listening in to all of the voices speaking around me.
Iâd been away from you for three years.
And yet, youâd still held out the hope of seeing me again, when youâd believed that I was just on the other sides of the portal.
So much lost timeâŚ
I absently tuned back into the voices speaking around me to avoid the unnerving way that my time as a plush had ruined my sense of time for so long. And as I listened to the explanation provided to me, the whole situation was made worse in my mind.
From the gist of it, I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A simple mistake, that had caused so much grief and uncertainty for you, and suffering as well as mental torture for me.
From the sound of it, someone had been aiming for Luigi, whoâd been working in his flower shop.
I just so happened to be browsing the selection that was being offered. Iâd likely been considering getting you something for one reason or another before everything had gone dark.
King Boo was a name brought up as a likely culprit, or someone working for him, and that Luigi was more than likely the target and Iâd just unfortunately gotten got caught in the crossfire.
But it was neither here nor there, since I was back to normal. It wasnât like I could tell anyone how Iâd ended up in your world, anyway; unless someone had thought it a particularly funny idea to send more of my marketable plushies to your world, and Iâd just so happened to be tossed in with a box of them.
Iâd likely never know.
I would just have to be more aware of my surroundings, out and about, until I could confirm it was an isolated incident.
For right now?
I was just relieved to be in my own body once again, and not trapped within that of a plushâs.
I hummed noncommittally when I heard Smg4 say that he and the others were going to give me some space to get myself back under my own control. I suppose I was rather stiff and felt far more weighty than I ought to have been.
Oh, I was not looking forward to performing maintenance in myself when my motor control properly returned to me. But it was nice to be able to have some privacy to relax and adjust to being able to move again under my own power when before, I was helpless and unable to move at all unless someone moved me.
But the quiet was a double edged sword, as the situation slowly sunk in and the silence reminded too much of what Iâd just escaped from.
It was just as well that I was left alone for a time, as emotions began to overflow, right before I broke down, overwhelmed as well as immensely grateful that I was myself again.
~
You waited (impatiently, really, really impatiently) outside of the laboratory room like professor E. Gadd, Smg4 and the others had asked you to. It took quite some time before you saw anyone, which made you a little nervous for Mr. Puzzles wellbeing.
Would something go wrong?
Would the tv headed man be all right?
Would there be any lasting impacts for Mr. Puzzles by being trapped in the form of a plushie (or was the plush itself)?
Either option had its own horrors that came with it, but with both, you were very concerned about just how aware Mr. Puzzles had been in that state.
Did he remember the whole time, only bits and pieces of it, or would Puzzles just think heâd taken a very long nap?
You werenât sure if he would tell you, considering heâd likely not want to think about it long-term. Heâd kept silent on his past actions with the Smg4 crew for a long time, so this could be something that he either touched on at a much later time, or not at all.
Again, it likely depended on how much Mr. Puzzles remembered his stint as an immobile plush.
The time couldnât pass quickly enough.
It seemed like hours had gone by before you were finally allowed into the room where Mr. Puzzles was.
You do think a lot of time had passed, but for you, in this world, it was much harder to tell the time without seeing the sun or the moon. And not to mention the physics and such were distorted here for you. One benefit seemed to be not needing to eat as often, while on the other hand you needed a very long, good nightsâs sleep to feel refreshed.Â
The moment you were offered an open doorway into the lab room, you went immediately with quick murmurs of thanks that youâd be sure to voice better later on. Right now, you were just happy to be able to see Mr. Puzzles. You sure hoped that being shaken around like a dog toy didnât cause him any lasting harm, but since no one told you anything to be concerned for, you hoped he really was fine.
The man was ridiculously durable for someone with a television for a head.
There was always lingering concern that Mr. Puzzles might eventually take too much damage for him to easily recover from.Â
As you entered the lab, and slowly closed the door behind you, the telltale sound of Mr. Puzzles having a breakdown could be clearly heard. You located Puzzles quickly due to this, and found that he was on a small gurney in the corner of the room. You could see that the man was on his side, partially scrunched up in order to make his tall, lanky frame smaller. Mr. Puzzlesâ hand, the only one he currently had, was pressed to his screen, the tear-stained expression of misery visible beneath it.
He hadnât noticed that you were in the room yet.
Slowly, you approached the gurney, thinking it had to have been uncomfortable for him to lie on it all scrunched up like that.
In the same moment, Puzzles almost immediately curled in on himself further.
âMr. Puzzles?â You softly called out, coming to a halt alongside the gurney so he could see you.Â
The manâs left arm twitched at the elbow joint, metal showing with wires sticking out. There were also small cables twisted around one another that allowed for motion, which twitched in your direction. The gloved hand over Puzzlesâ screen parted fingers to peek at you between them with a sorrowful digital eye. It was quick to switch to a softer expression, the âtearsâ remaining as the screen was slowly revealed. A tremulous technicolor smile with digital eyes gave off the impression of immense relief.
Seeing the way his hand dropped self-consciously to his neck with an averted off to the side look, you locate some fabric nearby and offer it to him. You waited for Mr. Puzzles to wrap the fabric one-handed around his wire neck. Seeing him struggle, then pause with a slow tilt of his head, you held out your hands in quiet offer. You allowed Puzzles to gratefully guide your hands to help him secure the fabric around his neck, to help support what remained of his cervical spine.Â
No words were spoken.
Not even when Mr. Puzzles curled his right hand over yours once you tied the fabric off. His hand slid to twine fingers with yours to give your hand a light squeeze, as if in silent thanks. Once Puzzles let go of you, he didnât even have to ask you to join him, when the manâs body language was all but screaming for you to come closer. So you carefully crawled onto the gurney, surprised that it held your weight as well as Mr. Puzzles.
It was a different world than yours with its own set of rules, so maybe it held because it was just assumed it would if someone was on it?
That didnât really matter right now.
You sank into Mr. Puzzlesâ side and wrapped an arm just beneath what was left of his left arm. Your grasp tightened as you realized that Puzzles was really back; that he was really here with you.
Mr. Puzzles slid his right arm out from under you to wrap you in a snug embrace in return. Heâd uncurled himself enough to let you join him, but had almost instantly curved his tall frame around you. He also held you to his chest in a tight, desperate squeeze of someone who feared the one they held might vanish from right in from of them.
You understood the feeling well as you cling back just as tightly.
Another long silence passed, as the two of you just clung to one another.Â
âThank you, for taking such good care of me.â Mr. Puzzles was the first to speak, murmuring softly. His hand pet down along your spine a few times before settling between your shoulder blades. âIâm sorry that you were alone for so long, without me being able to visit you or to speak to you.â There was a short pause, then.  âYour roommates and your âpodcast buddiesâ. Thwy kept you company?â
It was a big thing for Mr. Puzzles to ask that, and without any of the usual derision or scorn. The man had been initially jealous of the time you spent out of his company, up until the two of you had had a serious heart to heart talk about that behavior when it had begun to go too out of control.
âYou were all alone too. Iâm sorry that you werenât found sooner.â You pressed your face into Mr. Puzzlesâ chest, listening to the heartbeat beneath.  âBeing stuck as a plushie had to have been terrifying for you. Iâm so glad my coworker found you and passed you on to me. I donât know what would have happened if youâd remained in that dumpster.â
ââŚI donât care to know. The very idea I ended up in one is worrying enough.â Mr. Puzzles murmured overhead, as he absently nuzzled the top of your head with the bottom of his casing.Â
âCould you hear me talking?â You asked after a moment of enjoying the careful nuzzles.
âIâŚyes, I could, once youâd restored the plush I was trapped as.â Mr. Puzzles said quietly, after a pointed pause. âIt was nice to be able to hear your voice again, even if I couldnât move or speak in return.â
âI hope you know that IÂ meant everything I said to you.â You told him. âAnd I very much donât want to let go of you anytime soon.â
âOh, my dear, youâll find that wonât be a problem at all.â Mr. Puzzlesâ voice, while exhausted, was quick to take on a low, sultry tone while he leaned closer, and drew you closer, in order to whisper alongside your head. âYou see, I do not plan on letting go of you anytime either.âÂ
Your breath nearly left you as the tv headed man clung determinedly to you, even going so far as to hook a leg over yours at the ankles.
âI missed holding you in my arms.â Mr. Puzzles murmured, pressing his metal head in a nuzzle lightly alongside your head. He paused, then, chuckling. âWell, one of my arms, anyway.â A happy static sigh as his fingers pressed down along your back. âI donât want to let go of you.â
âThen donât.â You grip the fabric beneath your fingers. âKeep holding me.â
âI wonât let go then.â Mr. Puzzles let out a slightly hysterical laugh. âI am holding you.â He stated, as if in disbelief. The tv headed man curled around you as much as he was able, in order to hold you as closely as possible to him. âI most certainly am holding you.â  The nuzzling resumed. âI wonât be letting go. Youâre trapped here with me.â Mr. Puzzles lightly teased as he traced fingers along your spine.
âEven if 3 and 4 try to kick us out?â You asked dryly, comfortably sagging into Puzzles while you hugged him around the waist just as fiercely, lest he somehow vanish from your sight. âEven Professor E. Gadd, since itâs his lab?â
âEven then.â Mr. Puzzles agreed, languidly stretching the leg over your ankles before settling it back. Then, Puzzles tucked the lower edge of his metal headâs casing over yours. After placing a quick spark of a kiss from his screen to the top of your head he spoke a low growl of a promise. âI wonât be parted from you so easily.â
The two of you didnât anticipate Mario barging into the lab, though it ought to have been a possibility, considering where Mr. Puzzles and you now were.
Mario came to a halt while watching the close snuggling that was currently occurring on the gurney.
You froze.
Mr. Puzzles let out a static crackling noise.
âThatâs-a so nice.â Mario raised a phone, a hint of a smile visible under that mustache even from a distance. âHow about Mario help you out?â
A snap of the phoneâs camera had Mr. Puzzles lunge up off the gurney, while holding you, and made right for the Italian like he was holding terrible blackmail. Mario no-clipped out of the lab without preamble, leaving Mr. Puzzles to let out a growl of frustration as he got to his feet, and immediately gave chase.
The tv man was unsteady on his feet, but he didnât let that prevent him from stalking after Mario, or from letting go of you.
Yup.
That was right.
Mr. Puzzles was still holding on to you, and was currently actually carrying you in the crook of one arm. This would make it difficult to catch Mario while Puzzlesâ left arm was partially missing, but it seemed that the tv headed man was taking the ânot letting go of you any time soonâ very seriously.
Mario âhelpingâ turned out to be leading Mr. Puzzles on a merry chase until all three of you reached the showgrounds, and the irateness the Mr. Puzzles held began to dissipate conveniently right near the house you and Puzzles used while spending time with one another in this world. Mario winked at you, and, with a glance at Mr. Puzzles, the plumber continued on his way, whistling his theme song as he went.
You didnât comprehend for a moment about not having to run to keep pace with Puzzles.
But then it clicked.
Not only did Mr. Puzzles carry you this entire way, but from his screenâs expression, he was considering whether or not to continue to his pursuit of Mario. You were allowed to slide out of the crook of Mr. Puzzles right arm, where heâd held you propped in the crook of his arm and against his chest (with your arm loosely around his neck to hang on).
âPuzzles?â Turning, you witness the way Mr. Puzzles had straightened up, his screen reflecting his annoyed right now. But you gave him a quick once over, and you were now paying more attention to the way the manâs chest rose and fell with false breaths, the tv headed manâs mechanical supported heart working overtime with false lungs.
Oh.
And Mr. Puzzlesâ dress shirt had three buttons undone and the whole vest was unbuttoned, which gave you a very nice view of grayed skin around the collarbones.
Youâd not noticed the bow tie missing until now, which allowed the sight in the first place.
Ah.
Now you knew what Mario was insinuating.
Giving Mr. Puzzles more one on one time with you, so that he could recover in a quieter location he was more familiar with.
Thoughtful.
But you believed you could get Puzzles to calm down and relax a little more if you happened to tease him.
Just a little.Â
Reaching out before Mr. Puzzles could make a decision on what to do, you grasped him by the open top of the dress shirt. This did quite a lot in securing a rather intense look from Mr. Puzzles. You gave a tug while taking a step in the direction of the house.Â
Mr. Puzzles was startlingly quick to follow you, and even kicked the door in, as if unlocking it was going to take much too long. The man did put the door back, sort of, by propping it in place when youâd let go of him.
By the time you reached the bedroom, Mr. Puzzles was already in the doorway.
You ended up with Mr. Puzzles practically plastered agaisnt you, his arm wrapped around you the moment youâd torn the top blanket off the bed in case of dust.
Puzzles chuckled low in his chest over your head, then he fell backward onto the bed with you, catching his metal head on some pillows.Â
Only to make hacking noises as dust entered one of his vents.
Oops.
Youâd not thought about those.
But the coughing gave you enough time to discover another, non-dusty, big blanket in the closet. By the time you got back onto the bed, Mr. Puzzles had recovered, despite his screen showing a sniffling expression. But it quickly flashed to an eager, soft smile when you cuddled into him again, this time on your right side so that Mr. Puzzles could lie on his left to wrap his right arm snugly around you. The blanket was swiftly settled over the two of you before Puzzles placed several lingering, tingly electrical sparks of kisses along your throat and neck. He ended the perusal with a lighter static against your lips before Mr. Puzzles leaned his screen to press to your forehead to for a time.
âI love you, my dear.â Hushed, nearly inaudible, as a heartbeat line with a flush over it appeared on Mr. Puzzlesâ screen, digital eyes with hearts in them, and technicolor smile lovey-dovey. âI missed you so much.â
A comfortable silenced then a shy stuttering when Mr. Puzzles realized what heâd just said.Â
âLove you too.â You cling to the man to prevent him from scrambling out of bed and he defeatedly sagged into you. âIs that a bad thing?â
âOf course not!â Mr. Puzzlesâ screen was awash with a deep red heart rate, eyes and a self-conscious smile. âEveryone loves me!â
âI think Smg4 would prove you wrong with a few of his friends.â You playfully swat one of his shoulders.  âCâmere.â
Mr. Puzzles indulgently shifted beneath the blanket to allow you to pet either side of his metal head. The uncertainty was still there, but he pressed into your touch regardless.
âWhat I said before? About meaning everything I said to you when I thought I was just talking to a plushie?â You trailed your fingers down along the sides of the television set, before going to rest near the antenna with one hand, fingers gently rubbing the metal there, which drew out a shiver.
âYâŚyes?â Mr. Puzzles groaned softly in response as his metal head leaned to one side to encourage you to keep petting his antenna.
âThat also means that even if you donât say âI love youâ out loud, I can still see it in your actions when youâre around me.â You scoot closer across the sheets to reach for the other antenna and Mr. Puzzles all but dropped his head to your shoulder as his right arm tightened around your waist. âYou gift me things, you spend time with me, you listen to me when I get going on an idea for my podcast. You stay with me if Iâm feeling under the weather, and youâve gotten so much better at giving me the space to hang out with my other friends.â You pet the antenna lightly, before slowly tracing back down over the vents to rest at the back of Puzzlesâ neck. âYou trust me to help you when you need it.â
Mr. Puzzles lazily leaned his body into yours to carefully topple you over onto your back as he pressed his tall lanky body around you again. He didnât say anything but he didnât need to.
The joyful noises beneath the static and the manâs renewed interest in bestowing you gentle zaps of kisses was enough to have gotten him into a loving, affectionate mood again.
But Mr. Puzzles was clearly overwhelmed from both turning back to normal from a plushie, his own words, and yours, uncharacteristically quiet but for the wordless vocalizations as he gripped you in a firm embrace under the blanket.
The two of you would stay like that for hours, enjoying one anotherâs company, until it would become your turn to be given kind words of all you did for Mr. Puzzles once heâd gathered himself together. Sadly, being wooed by your boyfriendâs suddenly low, playful voice as he detailed your actions and gestures toward him would have to wait.
Screaming had begun outside, and from the sound of it, Mario and possibly Smg3 had done something to the carnival rides in the showgrounds that made them run loose all over the place. And one such thing was a bumper car that miraculously (somehow) managed to get into the bedroom of the house.
That was one quick, sure fire way to end the mood.
You did, however, prop yourself up on your elbows and held your head up with your palms to watch as Mr. Puzzles failed miserably in his attempt to shoo the bumper car out of the house.
Not only that, the tv headed man was somehow kidnapped by said bumper car.
Mr. Puzzles pitched forward, head first, into it with a high pitched scream, his legs sticking up annd out. Speechless you watched the bumper car zoom out of the hole in the wall.Â
When Smg4 checked on you to be sure youâd not gotten hurt, you were laughing while peering out the window of the living room.Â
Your poor boyfriend was taken for an impromptu, unpleasant joyride around the showgrounds in a runaway bumper car.
Once Mr. Puzzles finally escaped (with help from Tari and Saiko) the tv headed man hobbled back to the house to sulk. Heâd even half draped himself dramatically over your lap on the sofa (youâd remained in the living room) while you pat his back consolingly.Â
This was more like it.
You had missed the crazy antics of Smg4 and his crew, but youâd also missed just spending time with Mr. Puzzles like this.
And now, with the portal back in place, and Mr. Puzzles no longer trapped as a long-limbed plush, the two of you would be able to make up for lost time.
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