#jr soft packs

[entitled-fangirl]

His betrothed. (P2)

Barty Crouch Jr. x reader

Summary: the end of the fall semester means the beginning of Y/N's journey as a death eater.

Warnings: death eaters, pain, angst, Voldemort is creepy.

Part 1! and Part 3!

Masterlist

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The fall semester had passed and winter was soon approaching. The students were finally packing their things and anxiously awaiting the train to go home. Except the Black family.

The two betrothed had become close in the last few months, spending all of their time together. She found that she liked him quite a lot and that he was very much the gentleman she always thought she'd marry. But she knew things wouldn't always be this way- calm and safe with him. The second the winter break hit, things would be changing.

They stood near the tracks, the students all slowly finding their way into the train. Barty held her hand against his heart, his tone soft and caring, "I'll write to you. Everyday."

She nodded, "But we shall see each other during break."

His eyebrows furrowed, "What?… When?"

She could feel her stomach dropping. Did he not know about the meeting? "The… well…. the meeting…."

The hand holding hers tightened, his jaw clenching, "You'll be there?"

"Mum's making me."

The train whistle blew, a signal for the last call to board.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto the train. His face held an angry look to it. He pulled her into an empty compartment. 

He sat her down, sitting him across from her angrily. His breathing was erratic and his hands were periodically running through his hair. They sat in silence until he broke it. "W….why?"

She shrugs, her arms holding herself in a hug, "Mum says it's time for Reg to start taking me."

"And there's no negotiation with her?"

She shakes her head, "Reggie and I tried. Maybe you could but… I don't know."

…

A few weeks into break and the doorbell to Grimmauld place rings. Y/N was in her room, writing her daily letter to Barty as they had promised each other.

She hears words being exchanged but doesn't care to pay attention until Kreature enters her room, "Mistress Y/N."

She turns immediately, noting the cockiness in the house elf's tone. "What, Kreature?"

"Mistress is leaving soon," he noted in an almost singing voice.

She stood, her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to hear the voices from across the house. She quickly walked passed the house elf, her legs taking her as fast as they could.

She rounded the corner, entering the living room.

Barty Crouch Jr. sat on their sofa, one of his ankles resting over his other knee of his other leg, talking to her mother and father. 

Walburga broke the conversation, "Oh. There you are, child. We've received wonderful news."

When Barty turned his head to look at her, he stood up, his smile fading. He bowed his head lightly, "Ms. Black."

She smiled, bowing her head as well, "Mr. Crouch."

Orion stood as well, walking over to the girl. He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Mr. Crouch here has requested to move the wedding to an earlier date. Before your seventh year."

She continued to stare at him, her eyes now slightly wider in shock. He wanted to push the wedding closer? Why? "And you've accepted, sir?"

Orion nods, "Yes. We suppose the summer will do. But he's very adamant about making it as soon as possible."

Barty finally looked away from her, his eyes wandering to the floor.

But she continued to stare on, "He has?"

Walburga nodded, "Oh yes. We would accept but… you two must be accepted by the Dark Lord before we make such commitments. Tonight is your first meeting and he shall decide then."

Barty's eyes finally shift up to the girl, full of what she assumed to be regret.

Regulus walked down the stairs, entering the living room with a confused expression.

Barty finally snapped out of his thoughts, "I… sorry. I need to get going. Thank you for your consideration, sir," he turned to Orion then Walburga, "Ma'am."

And he left without another word.

"Oh, Regulus," Walburga said, "We have wonderful news. Y/N, go upstairs and get ready for the meeting."

"Mum, it's not for another four hours…"

The woman stood, her eyebrows raised, "Are you correcting me? Go. Get. Ready. Merlin knows you'll need that much time."

The girl froze, turning to her brother that looked just as hurt as she was. She nodded, walking up to her room.

…

Regulus walked into the meeting room, pulling Y/N behind him.

The Malfoy Manor was beautiful. The long meeting table of dark oak contrasted with the dark clothing of each death eater that sat at it.

Barty was already there. He had been anxiously bouncing his leg, waiting for the girl to enter the room. Every time the door had opened, he would look up, expecting her.

So, when they finally did enter, his eyes never left her frame. 

Regulus sat her next to Barty as he took the seat on her other side.

She carefully watched everyone at the table, her eyes flitting to each person. Lucius sat next to his parents towards the head of the table. Severus sat further down the table, across from Regulus. The Fletcher's were not much further down, the family nervously checking the rest of the table.

The girl felt a hand on her leg, calming her. Barty's hand. 

The Dark Lord himself walked through the door, sitting at the head of the table as his snake coiled around his chair.

To say she was intimidated was an understatement.

Voldemort was now mid 30s. He had curly black locks and a dark look in his brown eyes. His body was lean and tall. He looked like trouble.

She simply stared at the table, not wishing to make eye contact with him as he scanned each member.

When his eyes found her frame, he stood. He took his time, taking her in. His voice was soft but always held a tone of authority, "Regulus. This is your young sister, is it not?"

Regulus gulped, wishing he could've avoided bringing her here at all. "Yes, milord. My twin."

Tom swept by each seat until he stopped behind her chair. She was nervous. Beyond nervous. 

And he could sense it.

Barty didn't like it at all. He hated the tension that was radiating off her body. The uneasiness he knew she felt.

The Dark Lord's bony finger reached out, toying with her hair. 

She flinched slightly at the feeling of his hands at the back of her neck. 

Nagini hissed, slithering across the table. 

The man chuckled, "yes, Nagini. Such a pretty thing…"

Barty's jaw clenched as he watched, unable to do a thing.

Tom's hand snaked slowly from the back of her head towards the front of her neck, grabbing her jaw lightly and pushing her head up.

His eyes met hers as he towered over her. "…so pretty."

When his wandered over to Regulus, who stared at the two with a look of uncertainty. "Aw. How could I forget."

His hand left her jaw, now walking behind Regulus. "She's to be married, isn't she?"

Regulus nods, "yes, milord."

The Dark Lord chuckles, "It's going to be a big day for you, isn't it, darling?"

The girl gulped slightly, moving her head to look at Barty.

"Stand, girl."

She hesitantly does so, her legs shaking.

He holds his hand out, and she has no choice but to accept.

He leads her from her spot at the table, pulling her towards his seat. 

Everyone watches nervously. But they know what's to happen.

Barty and Regulus know what will happen. And they hate themselves for letting it.

He pulls her arm out, twisting her wrist to expose her forearm. 

She watches with a scared look in her eyes. And he enjoys every second of it.

His other hand reaches out, hovering over her forearm. He starts muttering under his breath, to which her arm stars to burn.

She gasps loudly at the feeling, her mind unable to concentrate on anything else.

The burning continues, staring to increase. A smirk rises to his face as he watches her struggle.

She lets out whimpers that slowly turn to cries. She watches as black starts to appear on her skin.

Her knees give out and she falls to the floor, her cries and begging continuing until it's finished. "Please….stop….I…ugh…"

Barty's eyes closed at the sight, wishing he could do anything to stop it.

Tom twisted her arm, watching the new mark shine in the dim light. He dropped her wrist, to which she pulled it to herself, her cries hushing.

He bent down, grabbing her jaw once more and pulling her up to stand. He watched the tears fall silently down her face, "pretty thing. Our newest death eater." He leaned close, their faces inches apart, "Will you be loyal to me, Ms. Black?"

She stared forward, avoiding his eyes. Her voice almost unheard, "…yes."

He smiled, letting his eyes wander to Barty, whose jaw was clenched harshly. His eyes were watching carefully. "Crouch."

He stood, "Yes, milord?"

When she tried to look at Barty, the bony fingers of Tom pulled her back to look at him, "You wish to marry her, boy?"

"Yes. Yes, sir."

The Dark Lord placed his hand at the back of the girl's neck. She shivered under his touch, his fingers cold and lacking comfort. "Shall I let you go, pretty girl?"

It's not often that Barty feels his stomach drop. But in this situation, it seemed to have found its way to the floor.

Tom lets go of her jaw, moving back to sit in his chair. "Very well. It's accepted."

He waves her off, her body moving back towards her chair, holding her still burning arm to her chest. 

When she sat, the meeting continued as if the interaction had never happened.

She sat in her chair and cried silently, the tears never stopping as they rolled down her pretty face.

Barty's hand slowly ran under the table to her thigh.

Her arm was placed on her leg, her eyes staring at the fresh dark mark that was embedded into her skin.

His hand wandered up to it, his fingers lightly ghosting over it. 

She relaxed at the feelings of his hand, the warmth contrasting with the coldness of her skin.

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[saturnville]

one way | kelvin harrison, jr.

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc (nia) summary: nia has kelvin wrapped around his finger. so much so that when he misses her, he goes above and beyond to do something about it. warnings: none wc: 5,341 an: listen to one way by 6lack & tpain. also, I decided to make this a mini series. so, this is some time (an unspecified time) later. remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged! tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax

Work trips usually thrilled Kelvin. The allure to explore the world on his company’s dollar sparked child-like glee. First-class seats with heated eye masks and champagne, king-sized beds with duvets white as freshly fallen snow, and cuisines so rich in flavor they inspired his dinner menu for his evolving dinner menu back home.

But this work trip was different. 

The clatter of silverware in the hotel restaurant felt deafening. The nightlife of the city below grated his nerves like nails on a chalkboard, mocking him. His eyes found a couple, smiling and twirling on the sidewalk. He was green with envy as visuals of their love blinded him. Even cheesy romantic comedies on free streaming felt empty without someone to giggle over the awkward scenes. 

For the first time, Kelvin didn’t bask in the thrill of the escape from his life back home. He was drowning in the stillness of loneliness. And he hated it. 

-

Once a month, Nia took a Friday off. She dedicated it to deep cleaning her home, doing laundry that may have gotten caught in the crossfire of work and other responsibilities, self-care, and anything else that fit on the long list stamped on the front of her refrigerator. The reset day was often intense and busy. It took a toll on her body, but having everything done by early afternoon was an accomplishment—an accomplishment she celebrated with Chinese food and peach-infused wine. 

Nia sat in the corner of her L-shaped couch, laundry scattered to her left and folded piles on her right. The Lion King played softly in the background as she worked through the last of her baskets, humming along to "Be Prepared." Well, humming might be generous. Kelvin would call it her "tone-deaf symphony," but she didn’t care. 

Folding clothes was tedious—her least favorite chore. Four baskets of proof surrounded her. Her mom loved laundry, but Nia avoided it like the plague, only tackling it when she had no choice.

Mid-hum, her ringtone blared, ear-blitzing and obnoxious. 

She stretched over a pile of clothes, her eyes still glued to the screen, and patted around until her hand found her phone. She swiped and accepted the call without looking at the caller's identification. “Hello?” Her voice was soft but curious, still folding.

“What are you doing?” Kelvin. His voice was low and easy, like a Sunday morning. She shifted in her seat at the sound of his tone scratching a part of her brain she didn’t know could feel an itch. She heard the life of the city bustling in the background. She smiled softly as if he could see her. "Laundry," she replied, still focused on the task. 

“Why? She asked cautiously, wondering why a response didn’t come from him for multiple minutes.  Kelvin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she was met with the pitter-patter of his thumbs against the screen that sounded a lot like her mother’s keyboard when she angrily typed emails to her teachers for not letting her use the bathroom. 

Then, calmly as if it wouldn't change her evening: “Smooth. Pack a bag.” Kelvin had a certain way with words, she noted. Sometimes, he spoke in a way that expected a response to keep a conversation going. But an assertiveness in his voice left no room for response; it was like a four-word monologue that made her stomach clench with equal parts curiosity and the kind of flutter only Kelvin could.

In her shock, she paused. A silence so complete that it hummed through the hair. Then: “What?”

The breath he huffed out told her he didn’t like repeating himself. But, he would have to. He went from sending her cute messages with strings of emojis, declaring he missed her and couldn’t wait to see her, to firmly telling her to pack a bag.

“Pack a bag,” he repeated, his voice unwavering. Her eyebrows raised, and her head jerked back. “Your flight leaves in four hours.”

Nia startled out a laugh, the kind that started in her throat but didn’t quite reach her chest. He had to be kidding. He was quite the jokester, always finding a way to pull her leg. But this was a joke she didn’t want to partake in. “Kelvin, are you—dude, what? Are you serious?”

“I told you I don’t like to lie, Nia,” was his response. She swallowed. “I already booked the ticket. I sent it to your email.”

Silence on the other end stretched again, but he could hear her faint exhale, the sound of a laugh she fought to suppress. “You didn’t even ask me.” How did he know she didn’t have any last-minute plans? Not that she did, but the question would’ve been nice. Her eyes darted to the laundry, trying to determine how many outfits she could make if she decided to go. 

She could hear the smug smile stretching across his lips like a Cheshire cat. Wide and arrogant. “I didn’t have to. But feel free to say no. I can always get a credit. Take a solo trip to Europe, or whatever the hell y'all be doing.” Bastard. 

Nia swallowed thickly. “You’re very sure of yourself,” she managed, but her voice betrayed her without a second thought. 

Kelvin hummed like a preacher in the church.“Yeah,” he replied, the lazy confidence in his voice matched only by the image she conjured of him leaning back, probably smirking like he’d won something big. "I don’t leave room for guessing when it comes to you.” Had God answered her prayers? To have a man be serious about her to where he’d pulled out that heavy-ass credit card and made accommodations for her to be beside him for the weekend. 

Her breath caught. The kind of confidence left her toes curling and her heart sprinting like FloJo. She shifted in her seat again, the sudden heat between her thighs growing warmer by the second. She tried to find her footing and gain a sense of self-control to push back against the storm of him. Nah, he wasn't a storm. He was a hurricane--intense and uncontrollable, with the power to consume her whole. She'd let him. 

"Anyway," he sighed, a soft grunt following as his chair creaked. "The Uber will be there in an hour." 

Nia chuckled breathlessly. Her eyes fell on the half-folded shirt in her lap. He was serious. "You, Kelvin, are impossible." 

Kelvin’s laugh rang through the phone like he knew exactly how she was fighting the urge to drop everything and get to it. "You should probably get to it, Nia. Time's ticking." 

"Yeah, yeah," she said as nonchalantly as she could. She carefully slid off the couch, praying he wouldn't hear her moving at his command. "Now, get off my phone so I can finish what I was doing. Bye, Kelvin." 

"You know, I like how you say my name." Her gasp pulled a chuckle from him. Before he could reply, she pulled her phone away from her ear and pressed the end, her eyes staring blankly at the wall. He played too damn much. 

She dropped her phone on the couch, ignoring its soft click when it collided with the remote, and paced in the living room. Glancing at the clock, she saw forty-five minutes. She could do this. She wasn't a last-minute packer, but Kelvin's urgency made her second-guess every outfit she pulled from her closet. 

"Pack for a weekend getaway," she muttered, grabbing a handful of clothes from the pile. "It's not that hard." Panties, bra, satin pajamas. Would a dress be needed? Of course; what if they went to dinner? Short, long, slit, or no slit? 

Nia dropped her phone, pacing in the living room, pretending this wasn’t the most nerve-wracking thing she’d done all week.

She tossed another shirt onto the bed and squinted at it. Was this cute enough? She didn’t even know what they’d be doing—he could’ve been sending her to the middle of nowhere for all she knew. Still, she folded it carefully, like she wasn’t imagining how his arms would feel around her when she landed.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about how much you want to be with him already.

With one last glance at the time, she grabbed her bag, mentally telling herself that she could pull this off. She didn’t need to panic. But as the seconds ticked away, she realized one thing was for sure—she wasn’t packing fast enough.

-

Kelvin leaned against the sleek, black SUV, arms crossed and a smile tugging on his lips as he waited. He couldn't remember the last time he was this eager to pick someone up--probably never if he was being honest with himself. 

It wasn't just that she was flying in to see him, though that part made his heart leap. It was the fact that she'd be his in a way she had never been before. No distractions, no hiccups, nothing pulling them away from one another. The thought had been driving him mad since he booked her flight. He imagined every detail his brain could come up with--hearing her call his name from the bathroom as she got ready, watching her nose scrunch as she giggled at awkward scenes in corny romantic comedies, feeling her body against his as she slept, tasting the mint on her lips as his tongue caressed hers. He closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't lose his composure in public, but he was teetering on the edge. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of these thoughts. He grabbed it, a text from her awaiting his attention.

  Almost there. Don't make me wait.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. Nia wouldn't let him get away with anything, mainly not a tease. But he had no plan to keep her waiting. No, there was no time to waste. It wasn't a casual meetup between two old flings because he couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to wait to get home. This was the physical manifestation of his heart's desire coming to fruition. 

It was the culmination of restless nights replaying her laugh in his head, wondering if she fell asleep thinking about him, too. It resulted from careful, meticulous planning, cautious restraint, and self-control that worked together to write a story unfolding better than he could have imagined. 

He typed a quick reply. 

Never. I'll be waiting. 

Everything seemed to slow down when he saw her stepping out through the terminal doors. All he saw was her. She in all her angelic glory. The sun shone brightly, and her nose crinkled as she squinted. Her hair, let loose to do its thing, blew across her face. He could hear her giggle as she swiped the unruly strands from her face. Her eyes darted left and right, looking for him in the sea of bodies. But when her eyes met him, the slight smile on her face grew so big that he could hardly see her eyes. 

"Hey, pretty girl," the words slipped out before he could stop them. His voice was lower than usual, a little raspier, the affection undeniable. 

Nia took a final step toward him, almost chest-to-chest with the man who'd turned her life upside down. She visibly softened beneath his gaze, like an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her shoulders rounded, her complete lips parted, and her eyelashes brushed against the high points of her cheek with every blink she made. God, she was so damn pretty.

"How was the flight?" Kelvin’s words came muffled as he grabbed her carry-on and put it in the backseat, the body of the large truck decreasing the volume of his words. He moved to open the passenger door, which brought 24 white roses, and her favorite candy stopped her in her tracks. Her bottom lip poked out in a slight pout, and she looked at him with gleaming eyes that sparkled like stars.

“Kelvin…” Her voice broke slightly, soft and full of something that tightened his chest. E

“I figured you’d need a proper welcome,” he replied, feigning nonchalance, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him. Her reaction was priceless. If only he could’ve snapped a photo to have it with him forever. “Come on, get in.” Kelvin moved the flowers from her seat, waited for her to adjust, and placed them in her lap. Nia tried to say something, but the words didn’t come. She laughed softly and looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars. Her fingers caressed the delicate petals in awe. 

Kelvin closed the door behind her and slid into the driver’s seat, quickly drifting out of the airport parking lot. A comfortable silence settled between them, wrapped around them like a hug. Nia unwrapped the gummy nag, popping one into her mouth. He glanced at her, the dim streetlights playing across her features like a spotlight. She was a one-woman show, and he, her audience, was captured and enticed by everything she did. 

Her soft voice broke through the silence. “Can I hold your hand?” He saw her looking at him through his peripheral vision. She was curious to hear his response but already knew the answer.

Kelvin blinked one, two, three times. His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Huh?”

She turned her head toward him, her expression steady but expectant. “Your hand. Can I hold it?”

His breath hitched like he’d been snatched back, and he fought the smirk tugging at his lips. He reached across the center console without a word, letting his hand fall into hers. Her fingers laced with his, petite and warm. It was simple, but how she looked at their joined hands had him swallowing hard. What could be going on in that pretty little head of hers? His thumb brushed her knuckles, a small act that felt wildly intimate. 

“You’re dangerous, girl,” he murmured, his voice low enough to blend with the hum of the car. Nia tilted her head, brows lifted. “Me? Dangerous?”

He momentarily tore his eyes from the road to look into her eyes as his lips brushed against her knuckles. “Yeah. Got me acting all kinds of soft.” 

It was Nia’s turn to smirk. She hummed, off-key, might he add, and said, “Good. You should be.” 

-

“Not bad,” Nia teased as she circled the hotel room, tossing a small smile over her shoulder. She’d been in her fair share of hotels, but this one took the cake. “It’s beautiful.” Her boots kissed the carpet, which looked new, as none of the fibers were out of place and smelled fresh like daisies. Her purse slid off her shoulder with a thump as she let it fall against the couch. Her fingers ran across the top of the pillows, her nails catching slightly in their loose threads. 

Kelvin leaned against the doorframe, his eyes following her every move. He couldn’t help but feel like the smile she tossed over her shoulder was meant for him, and he couldn’t help but smile back, even if she weren’t looking.

Nia turned left and took two steps, her stride slow and deliberate as she approached the window. Her eyes widened like she’d seen Christmas lights for the first time as she drank in the wonder of New York City. With her forehead pressed against the cool glass, she craned her neck back and forth to embrace the beauty of the fast-paced life. The muffled sound of car engines and honking horns hummed harmoniously, with the air conditioning system blending into the background. She was in awe of New York. He was in awe of her.

“This is my first time in New York,” Nia said once she sensed his presence behind her. She sighed softly, her breath creating a small circle of fog on the glass. She drew a smiley face in its wake, then wrapped her arms around herself, massaging her elbows in a twisting motion as if she needed comfort. “I dreamt about it, but it always seemed out of reach.” Kelvin acknowledged her with a nod that she couldn’t see. She felt the warmth radiating from his body and leaned back to experience just a spark of the flame. His chin on her shoulder made her knees buckle, to which she leaned back, letting his firm body carry her weight. 

He knew she’d never been. Though he selfishly wanted to see her, he knew she’d never been to New York. In his mind, killing two birds with one stone seemed feasible. It made sense. He got what he wanted, and she got to experience an environment that seemed a universe away. But she didn’t need to know all of that. So instead, he let his hand trail down her arm and settle hand as he whispered against the shell of her ear, “I know.”

-

The sound of the water shutting off echoed through the hotel suite, and Kevin was there, adjusting his suit jacket in the mirror. Nimble fingers stumbled over each button, trying to force it between each loop. He didn’t hear her step out, but he knew the moment she did—there was no mistaking it. The soft rustle of the towel and the scent of vanilla and cedarwood filled the room like a gentle caress. His pulse quickened. 

Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of her reflection. She stepped out of the bathroom, her towel barely hanging, just low enough to tease. His eyes traced the curve of her silhouette, the way her skin glowed, damp and soft as she had just walked out of his dreams. There was something about the way she didn’t rush to cover herself. She moved confidently as she knew exactly what effect she had on him—and she wasn’t shy about it.

He couldn’t help but watch as she glanced at him through the mirror, her brown eyes locking with his. Her lips twitched into that playful smile he adored, and for a split second, he wondered if she could see how badly he wanted her. He cleared his throat, running a hand over his jacket again, though the tension in the room wasn’t about fabric anymore. It was about the two of them, the space between them shrinking by the second.

She shifted, pulling her towel just a little tighter, though she didn’t seem to be in a rush to move away from him. She knew exactly what she was doing. "You're still here?" she asked, her voice teasing but soft like she was giving him the green light to stay. The soft pitter-patter of her feet against the tile floor made his eyes drop. Her nails were painted red, a rich shade that complimented her skin beautifully. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as he inhaled deeply.

“Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes, his voice low, full of intention. “I’m admiring the view.”

Her gaze flickered over him, and for the first time, he saw her let her guard slip. She didn’t avert her eyes or try to hide how she was taking him in. No, she leaned into it—allowing him to see the hunger in her gaze, the way her lips parted slightly. Any other day, if he caught her gaze lingering longer than usual, she’d stall like a deer in headlights, like a criminal caught for petty theft. She was letting him watch her.

A beat passed, and she caught his eye again in the mirror without warning. And just like that, something shifted. The way Nia held his gaze told him she was just as comfortable with him in the room. The quiet, simmering tension between them cracked, and she said it—soft and unexpectedly as if it had slipped out without thinking. “Help me with my zipper?” 

Kelvin didn’t have the chance to answer. The casual nature of her movements let him know it wasn’t a question but an expectation to be fulfilled. And yet, even with her confidence boiling over like a kettle too whole, he had not expected her to release her towel like she was the only one in the room. Kelvin’s lips parted to release a shuddered breath he prayed only he could hear. 

She was brilliant; she’d already shimmied her way into her panties, presumably in the shower, but everything else was exposed, well, almost. He’d seen more skin than he’d ever had throughout their relationship, which was deliciously overwhelming. Her hips bit the waistband of the thin panties and hardly held everything she had.

Nia held the towel over her breasts and looked around for her moisturizer. She mumbled incoherent words to herself, lost in her world as though the man she shared a space with wasn’t losing his inhibitions with every passing second. “Kel.” He was pulled out of Lalaland. “My dress is on top of my suitcase. Can you grab it for me?” 

Gladly. He needed a moment to collect himself before he went ballistic. Turning on the balls of his feet, Kelvin did as she instructed. The dress was nothing he’d ever expect her to wear, but he was more than ready to see how the sleek, green dress would accentuate her curves and glisten against her skin. 

“This is nice,” he mumbled, carrying it back into the bathroom. Nia turned over her shoulder and smiled. That Colgate-white smile. His right released the hanger from the confines of the dress, tugging softly at the zipper. She took it from his grasp gently, whispering her gratitude, and shimmied into it. Dear God. 

“I think you have a staring problem,” Nia teased, locking eyes with him in the mirror as she adjusted the dress to cover her breasts. Kelvin’s head tilted to the side and his tongue ran over his top row of teeth. He shook his head. “Like I said, admiring the view.” 

“Zip me, please?” She asked to his reflection in the mirror, shamelessly dragging her eyes down his frame. How much tighter could his clothes get in one night? Kelvin’s steps were slow and calculated as he inched closer to her. As the distance between them closed, the tension amplified further than it had thus far. 

Nia shuddered in anticipation as she felt his warm hands against the small of her back. His hands were large, palms covering a quarter of her lower back. His thumb caressed the skin there, pausing over the faded tattoo. “Cute,” he murmured. Lover, written in a cursive script. His left hand found her waist, holding and cupping in an almost possessive manner, while his right slowly, almost agonizingly slow, pulled her zipper up. His fingertips lingered at the back of her neck, enjoying how the skin raised and how her pulse quickened beneath them. 

His lips parted, but the words were lost. Here she was, back pressed against him, chest heaving, eyes fluttering as she anticipated what would happen next. Hell, he didn’t know either, but what he was sure of was the way she tasted had to be glorious. “You look beautiful.” His sentiment came out in a hushed whisper against the shell of her ear, to which she whimpered. “So beautiful.” 

Kelvin’s lips hovered over her neck, just hardly grazing her hot skin. Once by her side, her hands gripped the countertop to steady her weak knees. Kelvin saw them in the mirror, and a devil-may-care smile threatened to curl on his lips. He could take her right here. Take off her dress—better yet, have it bunched around her hips as he took her from behind, forcing her to watch how pretty she looked when she was begging for more. But it was too early for that. He’d turn her every way but loose, but the time wasn’t right, no matter how badly he wanted to yank the clock off the wall and force its hands forward. 

“I thought you had manners, Nia, what happened?” He teased, nibbling on the shell of her ear. His hand slithered around her back and toward her stomach until it settled at her pubic bone, dangerously close to where the slit of her dress was. One deliberate move, and she’d be his for the taking. “I said, you look beautiful. So pretty.” 

Nia inhaled deeply, and her voice broke slightly. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and her tongue darted out to dampen her dry lips. “Thank you, baby.” Baby? That was new.  He smirked against her skin. He had her where he wanted her, yearning for him, but not to where a line would be crossed. A happy (temporary) medium. Before he got too deep and said screw the reservation, Kelvin announced: “Reservation’s in 30. I’ll let you finish.” With one last peck on her neck, he peeled his body away from hers and walked out of the bathroom, but not before digesting the low moan she released once she thought he was far enough. Ravishing. 

She determined Kelvin would be the death of her. He was too much for her to handle, too hot for her to handle. She’d done well thus far, but as the night progressed and the fiery tension between them loomed like precipitous clouds, ready to rain down upon them, she didn’t know how long she could hold out. 

She had a rule, and he knew it. But goodness gracious, she was ready to renege on everything she said when she stepped out of the bathroom and saw him posted against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, neck dropped, to better access what was on his phone. 

Blue was his color. And it happened to be her favorite. Part of her assumed his sneaky ass wore the rich shade of blue to get her bent out of shape…or bent over. But this was Kelvin—cool, calm, and way too aware of the effect he had on her. The tailored suit he wore accentuated broad shoulders and a trim waist. 

Her throat went dry as she traced his slim form. The low light from the chandelier shone on him like a spotlight, his waves catching the rays. He had an alluring presence that she was desperate to be wrapped in. 

Kelvin glanced up, sensing her presence before she could speak. He smiled small, acknowledging her presence. His eyes swept over her frame, nodding in appreciation of the art before him. Somehow, she managed to look even more stunning than she did before. Her dress pooled at her ankles, but the slit on her left thigh allowed the gold accents on her shoes to shine. Her curly hair was in a slick bun, showing her neck and gorgeous collarbones. “You good?”

Good? Was she good? Hell no, she wasn’t good. Her body was buzzing like an electric wire. She was losing self-control and hardly wanted to go to dinner. She’d much instead release everything she’d been attempting to suppress. But he’d already seen her crumble. She couldn’t fully unravel yet. His head was already big; Lord forbid she gas it further. 

“I’m good,” Nia lied, tucking her clutch under her arm. “You clean up nice. I like the blue.” Kelvin’s head dropped to examine his suit. It was as if he had dressed in the dark and hoped all the pieces matched. “This old thing? Thank you. But you, Niani…look like trouble.”

Her eyes closed briefly. No one said her full name. She didn’t like how anyone else said it—too much emphasis on the second A or insufficient focus on the first I. She liked how Kelvin said it, like a subtle praise she desired to hear on repeat. 

Kelvin tilted his head, pushing off the wall to invade her space. She opened her eyes when his cologne wafted her nose. He noticed it. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and her chest rose slightly higher on her next breath. One by one, the walls began to fall. Her reaction wasn’t lost on him. The first time she admitted Nia wasn’t her first name but rather a nickname derived from Niani, he tested it like an unusual food, rolling it around, tasting it until he felt right. He remembered how her pupils dilated, and her eyes darkened when it rolled off his lips. 

She liked it when he said her name. And only he could say her name. 

His hand grazed hers, intertwining their fingers. She flinched. He smiled knowingly, but her request took him aback: “Say it again.” Her breath was caught in her throat, and her voice trembled. 

Kelvin leaned in just a little, his breath warm against her ear. The way he said it, low and possessive, made her shiver. Nia swallowed. Her knees were weak, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there, teetering on the edge, waiting for the right time to fall into him entirely. 

He smiled again, pulling back just enough to give her a glimpse of what was coming. "Dinner’s wait—“

“—take me to bed.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a request. It was a demand as if she knew exactly what would happen next, and yet... part of her still wanted to hold on just a little longer.

Her words were not hesitant, but he could hear how her voice trembled. She’d permitted him to take things further. He wouldn’t go too far but far enough to leave her satisfied. 

-

Nia hummed lowly as her heavy eyelids opened and closed slowly, and she struggled to regain her vision. The chandelier grew tired, leaving the room dimly lit with the city lights. The low buzz of the air conditioning system regulated her overwhelmed body. 

She sat up with a soft grunt, bracing her body with one arm while her other kept the angelic white duvet over her bare chest. Her head craned to the right, seeing the bed bare, and frowned. Her eyes followed their clothes trail, leading to him standing in the corner of the room, back to her, and the hotel phone up to his ear. Like her, his evening attire was long gone, and sweatpants became his uniform. Nia bit her lip as she watched his back flex with each subtle movement. 

She swung her legs over the bed, bending down to fish for an article of clothing to put on. He may have had a show, but with the windows wide open, the last thing she needed was her bare body on display for everyone to see. What she had was for his eyes only. 

Nimble fingers curled around his white dress shirt, sliding it over her long arms. She buttoned it enough to keep her chest covered, then tip-toed to where he stood, eager to feel him against her again. 

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his bare waist, taking note of how he shuddered when the tips of her nails glided across his abdomen. Nia’s lips brushed against his shoulder, and then she pressed her cheek against his back, appreciating how the low rumble of his voice lulled her back to sleep. “That’s fine. Appreciate it, thank you.” 

Kelvin dropped the phone back on the receiver and peered over his shoulder. “Hello to you, too.” Kelvin turned one foot over the other in her arms, taking in how relaxed she looked. Her makeup was smudged, and her lipstick stained the pillow, leaving her lips bare and waiting to be kissed. “Food’s on its way up.” 

Nia nodded and made a noise, something between a content sigh and a low moan. He couldn’t decipher, but she sounded pleased, and that’s what mattered. “Come back to bed in the meantime?” She looked at him with those pretty brown eyes that had gotten him into trouble lately. 

Kelvin nodded, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. “Lead the way.”

-

kelvharrjr, nikkidawn, angierose, and 319 others liked this post

nianijanice wine, broadway, and tailored suits. nyc, I love you

view 22 comments

angierose girl who tf is that man?

- nianijanice my secret admirer

kelvharrjr nyc looks good on you, shawty

- nianijanice thank you, handsome

kelvharrjr liked your comment!

nikkidawn girl…is it who I think it is?

- nianijanice 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

- nikkidawn CALL ME NOW! 🌝

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[delicatebarness]

So I was thinking earlier for the Avengers Bunch

What if…while on a mission and in the middle of the fight reader is listening to music and just starts humming which leads to singing quietly till other young avenger hears and joins and another one and so on

the young avengers just start singing cause someone is anxious or just because they’re bored and when they run into the enemy they are like what is happening

And the song would be “We Didn’t Start The Fire” Fallout boy rendition or you can chose

The Avengers Bunch | Who's Robert Downey Jr Anyway?! #004

Summary: ^^ Requested.

Warning: Violence. Mentions of real-life events from 1989 - 2023 that could be triggering.

Word Count: 567

Series Masterlist | Tips

Tags: @somnorvos |

On the outskirts of an abandoned nuclear power plant, bursts of energy and lights flashing illuminated the night sky. The recruits were in the thick of their mission, each one of them locked in their conflict. Amidst the chaos, you crouched behind a pile of rubble, trying to catch your breath and reload your guns. After a moment, you remembered you packed your AirPods…

“Why do you need them?” you remember Bucky asking you from your doorway.

Slipping them into your ears, you pressed shuffle on your playlist, and the familiar strains of “We Didn’t Start The Fire” by Fall Out Boy filled your senses. As you re-entered the battle, you found yourself humming along to the beat.

Softly, the hums turned into singing, barely audible over the fights. “Captain Planet, Arab Spring, LA riots, Rodney King…”

Nearby, Kate crouched with her bow at the ready, glancing over at you. “Are you singing?” 

You gave her a sheepish grin, still humming. “It’s to help me focus.”

Nodding, Kate smiled at you before she took a deep breath and joined on the next line. “Deepfakes, earthquakes, Iceland volcano…”

Spider-Man swung in from above you, delivering a kick to a robotic enemy. He landed next to you, eyebrows raised beneath his mask. “Cool! Karaoke time!” Without hesitation, he joined in, surprisingly in tune. “Oklahoma City bomb…” 

Suddenly, an amplified voice added a deep resonance as a shadow loomed over you. “I am Groot, I am Groot, I am Groot, I am Groot…” Groot has caught on to what was happening. 

Soon enough, the four of you were all belting out the song, your voices melding together in a harmonious chorus. Your enemies, a group of heavily armed mercenaries even paused in their attacks. Staring in confusion at you all. 

“What the hell?” one of them muttered, lowering their weapon slightly. 

Even the most seasoned in their ranks, looked bewildered. “What is happening?” he growled, becoming distracted for a moment. 

You and your friends never missed a beat. You used the mercenaries’ confusion to your advantage. “Cambridge Analytica!” you sang together, your voices rang out across the battlefield. 

As the last of the mercenaries were knocked out, you regrouped, still singing the lines of the song.

Kate paused and looked confused when you all sang, “Robert Downey Jr, Iron Man.” Picking up her arrows she asked, “Wait, who’s Robert Downey Jr anyway?” 

“No idea,” Peter shrugged, sending one more punch toward a waking mercenary. “Must be some old actor.” 

Groot nodded, “I am Groot.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Tony will know.” 

~

Once your enemies were tied up and the area was secure, you made your way back to the Quin Jet. As you and the rest of your team boarded, still humming together, you found the ‘older’ Avengers sitting inside, their heads in their hands.

Bucky looked up first, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Do you realize we have comms? We heard… everything.” 

Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. “Every. Single. Note.”

With a raised eyebrow, Natasha made her way over to you. “Not the most conventional tactic, but it worked.” 

You blushed slightly. “Sorry, we just got carried away.” Sharing a look with your friends, you all tried to stifle your laughter. Leaning back in your seat, you began to hum softly again as the Quin Jet lifted off.

“For the love of Odin, shut up!”

[melancholicstation]

I DON'T NEED YOU BUT I MISS YOU, COME HERE! - a john f. kennedy jr. one-shot

day 2 of melancholicstation! summary: After exchanging gifts with your boyfriend you both reach a haunting revelation. After a serious of miscommunications between the two of you in which the both of you thought the other had bought the round of gifts this year, you and John are forced to venture into the city on christmas eve in the search of a christmas present for your boyfriends mother. What could be more hellish than that? though your handsome boyfriend makes it more than tolerable...

taglist: @carly-rae-jean @h-l-vlovesvintage @inocennture @monturi @hisamericanmuse @passhun4w-blog @vile-harlot @bluelancergirl @jackiesgirl @fortheloveofjos @itgirlvirgo @starsprangledgirl @malkavared @remotewatch @salvatoresablondie @kimcrystal123 @vampyiricris @scaredlamb @dulcegal @strryhaze

warnings: nothing, just good all clean christmas eve fun...

words: 1,210

Light pitter-pattering of rain falls softly against wrought iron fire escape, a soft aroma of powder and flushed-skin spices laid a slight film upon the furnishings of your New York apartment which was a mix of strewn silk stockings, rugs and tapestries, and because it was Christmas: two delicately placed patchwork stockings made from dead stock fabric across an elegant carved walnut chimneypiece and an antique Christmas collage you'd scored in an auction down in the Cape.

But none of it, in all its curated charm, could compare to the beautiful boy who laid his head in the space of your lap. John's eyes closed resembled those in renaissance paintings when scrutinised too close, and was accompanied by a set of an annoyingly long lashes mirroring the color of ink that's been spilt from a fountain pen.

In all his dreary-faced glory: all tuckered out after a tranquil evening of dining on a mismatched array of foods completely incongruent with the present season such as 2 packs of lemon club sodas, a squash & burrata pizza, and a half picked at banana coconut muffin to share: foods that may or may not have been stolen from your head chef's storage pantry. In your defence the food would've had to go in the trash anyway... If you really thought about it you did them a favour in taking the food!

In service of both you and John's shared distain for the Christmas craze and chaoticness you'd both decided to give each other your presents on Christmas Eve instead of on the big day.

The very presents in question were as follows: John got you a beautiful perfume along with a first edition, signed 'Journals of Anaïs Nin hardcover.

In your case, you got John a limited edition cologne with the tagline "Wear En Plein Air if you want to smell like an unassuming art critic on his way to an orgy." Classy. To go along with the scent you got him this years Art Press magazine issue, lately he'd been talking a lot about possibly creating a magazine: you thought it was a terrific idea but he wasn't so sure it would land.

The gift-giving hour had long passed and before you knew it the both of you had ended up splayed out on top of each other on your bed: an early twentieth century opium bed with a pierced lattice panels. A statement piece in your bedroom that you were very proud of winning in an especially hard auction at Christie's Rockefeller plaza location.

The snacking continued from the floor of the kitchen to the bed, where John began shovelling crumbs of a coconut muffin with reckless abandon: defiling your freshly put-on winter goose-down duvet.

"C'mon John you know I just got this cleaned. You watched me buy it like last week!" you say jokingly, yet your movements betray otherwise: frantically moving the palm of your hands over the duvet trying to brush away the crumbs onto the hardwood floors—an almost unbelievable score for an apartment in the city.

"Baby you're way too tense, let the holiday cheer wash over you!" he says sarcastically with that kind of eat-shit grin he nearly always dons.

"Well i've decided to reject that holiday cheer, I'm too stressed out having to figure out your families fucked up dynamics on top of trying not to piss of your sister—making her hate me more than she already does"

Wiping away the coconut flakes from your chin with his fingers, to which he proceeds to place those same fingers in his mouth, making an almost comically suggestive motion: to which you giggle alongside him.

It's interesting how you can almost see the cogs turn in his mind—it's funny how the longer you get to know him you can almost predicate the exact moment a thought enters his head "Speaking of, I forgot to ask you what you got for my mother for when we go down to the cape tomorrow?"

"Wait I thought you were handling the presents for your family this year. I-I mean she is your mom after all John"

It's at this moment that you immediately understand that he did not have the Christmas presents handled in the slightest.

Oh, fuck.

So that is what transpired to have the two of you traipsing around New York City at a blistering 7 pm on Christmas Eve like total and utter idiots.

After the utter shock of not having organised a Christmas present the night before Christmas set in you both scrambled into action changing out of clothes you called "house clothes" into respectable "outdoor clothes".

You chose a practical uniform for the blistering cold raging outside: a slim-fit pair of indigo blue jeans, a silk porcelain turtleneck for layering purposes, and a camel cashmere belted overcoat.

The reason why you'd regard John as a man touched by a certain oddness, said with love of course, is no better exemplified than his chosen outfit for the blistering cold: a patterned cashmere and silk crewneck paired with some old gym shorts and a pair of uggs atop long cotton socks reaching his mid calf. Now, you wouldn't position yourself as a fashion icon but you won't pretend you didn't second guess his choice of fashion, though you did relent when you saw the bashful smile fixing its attention upon your being.

Initially you were mad at one another for dropping the ball on finding gifts but fighting never lasted all that long with you two now did it?

Now, with that being said: Bergdorf's at 7:31 pm on Christmas Eve was certainly the undiscovered 8th circle of hell that Dante's Inferno conveniently left out. You and John had been circling the aisles for about thirty minutes and still: Nothing. As you traipsed the aisles for what seemed to be no short of a few miles all you found were picked over shelves with cheesy Christmas sweaters made out of polyester and acrylic, and small cheese platters in tiny wicker trays.

And if you gathered anything from the few times you've met your boyfriend's mother: Jacqueline Kennedy, is that she has immaculate taste. And known for having a severe emotional intolerance for synthetic fibres and cheap butter.

So safe to say both products left would absolutely not suffice or bode well with her.

By 7:51 pm you're both defeated but as if an angel sent from the gods themselves decided to take pity on you John spots and item: beckoning you over holding his hand out. The item comes into your view: a 18" silver amphora vase detailed with dragon head handles—a little ornate for your taste but from the look on John's face the vase is a winner.

Delighted to be able to get out of this place you both move to the register, slightly surprised that there's not an outrageously long line before you. You're both quiet for a few minutes while waiting, you're broken out of that silence when you feel John's hand pick up yours and bring it to his lips: kissing each of your fingers wrapped in his hand individually.

Okay, maybe Bergdorf's at 7pm wasn't exactly as bad as Dante's inferno but safe to say you will be getting everyone gifts in November next year to avoid this very situation in the future.

i feel like this is my worst one-shot to date (and it hasn't been edited) but I hope u enjoy regardless p.s all the furniture written about was just an excuse to basically show you my christie's wish list items bisous!!!!!!

[itslusii]

hello!, good afternoon/evening 😸🫶, I would like to make a request for Carlos Sainz, a headcanons about a relationship with him, something like Pedri's, yes! I am the one who made the request for Pedri, thank you very much, I really love what you write, while I read it a silly smile appears on my face 😿💗

Dating Carlos Sainz ❤️

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader

Warnings: nope

Author’s Note: Hi love 💕 Thank you so so much for this! I enjoyed writing this one and i tried adding a few other things to make it longer! Hope you enjoy this one as well 💗Also the amount of times i tried putting the stupid photos together, it’s embarrassing but i just couldn’t do it so no photo this time :(((

-Carlos Sainz is a family guy. That is very clear and i think we all know it, he will love that you and his family get along really well. You and his sisters, his mum, his father. Everyone.

-You have to know that Carlos won’t always be there due to his job so communication is something big in the relationship. Such as Good Morning texts, asking you if slept well, also loves to facetime you at night and ask you about your day. If you guys fight it’s probably because of lack of communication and distance.

-He is not someone that will go and be affectionate in public. He will not, he just doesn’t feel comfortable with it and it’s totally fine! But in private homeboy is all over you. Like literally, he will not even let you go to the bathroom or if you are cooking he is sitting there just looking at your face. He is in love.

-Carlos has godly lips so he must know what he’s doing with them ;) Such as forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hands, shoulders, nose, ears. Everywhere. He is OBSESSED with kissing you and every chance he gets to do it he’ll take it.

-Carlos is someone that adores animals, Piñon (his dog) is the most precious thing he has so it is a requirement to love Piñon. He is included in the Carlos Sainz Pack. And if you have any dogs or cats or whatever he will gladly introduce them to Piñon.

-This man loves gossip, he lives for it. Anything you know about the people that surround both of you he’ll soak it up like a sponge. And if he has the tea he’ll sit you down and tell you everything.

-Carlos is someone really involved in working, like i already said he will be away a majority of time so if you have any hobby or you play any sport or anything you are like dedicated to, he will do everything in his will to at-least watch it on his phone. If he is there in the moment he’ll look like a proud mom taking photos and videos all the time. (i love this man please)

-Lazy mornings are his thing, if he went to bed late due to work he will expect for you to sleep in a little later so that both of you can enjoy the morning together.

-Is open for anything new, like if you cook something that is from your country he will try it and if he likes it, will most likely to learn how to cook it for future night dates :)

-Carlos is a happy person and is happy that you are in his life. And if you are happy, he is happy but if you are not he’ll try to comfort you by talking to you, cuddling, listening to you ramble, etc. He grew up around women so he probably is good at listening and giving advice.

-Loves music, any song that he reminds him of you he’ll add it to shared playlist that you both listen while being in the car.

-Which takes me to the driving part. As a Formula 1 driver you must think he is tired of driving, well not. He loves going to his family country side house and spending his free time there with you. Drinking wine, playing soft music, cooking, movies, board games.

-Overall Carlos is a really sweet man and will probably want to be in your life for a long time💘

[pablitogavii]

Could you write for Gavi taking care of reader after a surgery and like it really hurts

Care

Ofc! I love this idea very much <3

"I can get it!" you tried reaching for the remote on the table feeling immediate pain in the area of your stomach where you still had your fresh post surgery stitches.

"What are you doing!? I got it amor!" Pablo was quick to stop you grabbing the remote and placing it into your lap before sitting besides you hating to see that beautiful face of your scrunched up in pain. Pablo badly wished he could take all that pain away and feel it instead of you...

"It hurts so bad Pablito.." you whined with tears that collected in your eyes slowly falling down your cheeks and he quickly scooped you in his arms carrying you to the bedroom.

You rested comfortably against him while his hands went underneath your pajama shirt to rest of your wound gently while his lips left soft kisses on top of your head.

"Do you want me to put some of that cream on that helped last time bonita? Hm?" he said but you were in too much pain that was causing a numbing headache in that moment to answer.

"Tell your Pablito what you need, mi vida" he said again and you smiled weakly nodding your head to his request but when he tried to get up to grab the cream from the bathroom you wouldn't let go.

"I will be right back, I promise..and then we can lay here as long as you want okay?" he said packing your lips and you finally let him go and he rushed to return quickly with the cream in his hands.

"Alright, raise your shirt mi amor" he said and you did as he asked reveling the stitched up wound that he observed for a few seconds before smiling and moving his head slowly towards your stomach to leave a few soft kisses against it.

Your hands went into his hair while he was softly kissing around your wound and a smile found its way back to your face again. Pablo was so sweet and gentle with you making you feel that much better.

He looked up smiling while you still played with his hair returning a smile. He then sat up opening the cream and getting some on his fingers before softly applying over your wound.

You hissed as it always first made the pain worse by freezing the wound but over a few minutes it completely numbed the area and you would feel relief. Pablo knew that so he was telling you words of reassurance while applying the cream carefully.

"Shh it's okay mi preciosa..I know it hurts..just breathe okay..slow breaths" he was sitting next to you letting you get comfortable and when you laid your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat he held you there whispering sweet nothing into your ear.

"Ow..h..urts me!" you were sobbing from the pain and Pablo knew he had to distract you while medication too its time to start working.

"Mi amor..do you know what I want to have in the future?" he said and you looked up with your eyes still filled with tears but now curiosity overcame your thoughts. What did he want?

"I want a Jr...a little boy I can teach how to play fútbol or a little girl I would let braid my hair because she would be mi princesa pequeña..or both? If you agree of course?" he said and your heart was beating fast that Pablo was talking about having a family with you in the future..it was very special to hear him say that.

"Ah..um..which one..f..first?" your voice was still shaken up from the pain but he smiled that you wanted the same thing he did knowing that one day these dreams will come true.

"That can be your choice preciosa but our little Gavi will be right here in your tummy a few years…” Pablo said kissing the top of your head touching your stomach and you smiled nuzzling your nose further into his neck taking in his familiar musk that made you feel safe.

"I always wanted to give you a son..one that would be a mini version of you Pablito..have your kind eyes..fluffy hair and those adorable bushy eyebrows" you said and he smiled blushing a little at the thought of having a son with you..it was such a dream and he couldn't wait for it to become reality when you both get older.

"He would surely go to La Masia if he likes fútbol like his papi" Pablo said and you smiled nodding your head and kissing his neck lovingly while he ran his hand up and down your back soothingly.

"They gave me a second family..something I will forever cherish" Pablo said and you could tell he was nostalgic looking up as his eyes met yours for a moment of silence.

"And they raised a good man..one that is so kind hearted and giving..I'm proud of you amor" you say and he smiled leaning down to kiss you noticing that most of your tension was gone which meant medication started to work.

"Does it hurt a little less preciosa?" Pablo checked and you smiled nodding your head while resting your hand on your stomach sighing in relief.

"Thank you for distracting me while the pain passed amor..although I kinda hope you meant what you said?" you said and he smiled pulling you closer and placing his lips on yours gently.

"Of course I did! We are going to have a beautiful family one day, mi vida and I promise to take care of you and our little ones" he said and you kissed him against snaking your arms around his neck before holding his face and kissing his nose.

"You will be an amazing dad one day Pablito.." you said making him smile and pull you closer so you can boy lay down and fall asleep dreaming about your shared future.

Hope you like it <3

[icy-book]

hi!! i wrote you that propaganda drabble so can i pleeease get a fluffy terrick ?? or a first kiss terrick?? please??

Omg, I'm getting asked to write terrick content??? Gladly!!! (Also sorry I didn't answer this earlier! I started writing it and then my laptop broke and I had to get a new one)

Nicky had been in many sticky situations. The Redbrands and Watermice, fights as Nick with certain classmates, prison. At this point he was basically an expert in getting himself in and out of trouble. And yet, he was faced with his toughest challenge yet, underneath the stage of San Dimas High - being alone with Terry Jr.

It's not that he didn't like being alone with TJ; he was his best friend, after all, in both timelines. They'd been alone together plenty of times before. It's just that, well, they hadn't been alone since Nicky had realised a certain... something.

That something being his giant raging crush on his best friend. Because he just had to be cliche.

He'd sort of known he'd had feelings for Terry for a while. Nicholas had lowkey hero-worshiped him, and that hadn't exactly gone away with the additional set of memories. In fact the exact opposite had happened - seeing the more vulnerable, grieving side of Terry that had been Nick's impulse control had only made his heart beat faster around him.

God, he was a nerdy sap.

But lately, it felt like all his semi-repressed feelings had come crashing around him, hard. The vague urge to hold his hand had morphed into the desire to make out with him against a wall (while still holding his hand), and to hang out romantically and honestly he just really really wanted to be TJ's boyfriend. It was hardly his fault.

So that led him here - pressed together in the space for couples to make out without getting caught, alone with Terry Jr. Who was wearing lipstick. And eyeliner. And looked extremely kissable.

It really wasn't his fault.

Grant and the twins honestly should've known better. But no, Grant just had to go to therapy early because of scheduling conflicts, and the twins just had to pack for a trip to go see their Uncle Ricky for the weekend, so instead of the usual five of them hanging out after school, it was just Nicky and Terry.

And Terry had been showing him something in his spellbook, and ranting in that delightfully nerdy way, and they'd had to be practically in each other's laps to see the book in the dimly lit room, and he'd just had to look so pretty and-

It really, really wasn't his fault.

It had just been a quick, impulsive kiss, before he realised what he'd done. And it was hardly his fault that Terry had stared at him for a second, before smilling softly, and cut of his stammered apologies with a soft "Do it again." And kissed him again, and again, and again, the soft, possesive hand tangled in his hair, the book carefully placed aside (because TJ was far too careful to ever drop his spellbook on the floor), the dusky smell of the stage, and the faint taste of vanilla lip balm.

Now he just needed to wash all this black lipstick off before his dad saw

[ghostofthemost141]

Pretty Pt. 2

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt.3

Art goes credit to @ave661 !! Check out their blog they do amazing work!!

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader, First POV, no use of (Y/N)

Word Count: 1,523

Themes: Angst, Self Loathing, Little Fluff

About: Finding a far away refugee that has a cure for the zombie virus, you and Task Force 141 pack up your zombified boyfriend and head up North.

Notes: Some folks were asking for a part two of this so here it is! Will be making a part three as well. Hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @20rianwe @httpjiikook

“You know where I wanna go?” 

“Where, love?” 

“Up North.” I answer, craning my neck to look up at Simon. 

“Well where up North?” Simon asked, feeling his fingers run through my hair. 

“I don’t know. Maybe somewhere with mountains, I just want to see some snow. Play with it, make a snowman, hit you with a snowball.” I half joked, making Simon laugh. 

“A snowball fight, aye?” 

“Yes sir. I can take ya.” I taunted, leaning in close to him. 

Simon’s blue pearly eyes were my favorite thing to get lost in. It was as if there was a whole galaxy in there. 

“Can you though?” 

“We will just have to see when we go up there.” I say, laying my head down on his soft, plushy chest. 

“I’ll take ya up there, love. I promise. Once we go home from this mission, we will start planning for it.” Simon promised. 

“I’ll hold you to that promise then.” I said. 

Simon leaned down, his soft lips landing on my forehead and he wrapped his arm, the one with the tattoo sleeve, around me and squeezed me tight. 

“I love ya, Dolly.” 

“I love you too, Si.” 

…

…

…

“Doolllyyyyyy..” 

“I’m right here, Simon.” I called  him through the incubator. 

I pressed my hand up against the glass and he attempted to do the same. 

“We are nearly there, Dolly.” Price called from up front. 

“‘Kay.” I said. 

We were about two hours into our trip and had about two more hours left. I didn’t even have to ask but Price would update me every once in a while on how much longer we had left and even though we were making progress, it felt like time was going slow. I just wanted my Simon back and I know they can’t go any faster that they are right now due to the falling snow, but I just wish we could get there sooner. Price and Gaz were in the front seats while Johnny and I were in the big trunk storage area of this military vehicle with Simon in the incubator. 

“I wonder if you being in the room those many times helped him recognize ya.” Johnny commented. 

“Maybe.” I reply, not taking my eyes off of Simon. 

Even though he freaked out yesterday when Johnny and them busted into my room, he is now settled into doing low growls and moans anytime they speak. I can tell that the guys secretly wish Simon recognized them, but they wouldn’t say it outloud. I get it though, they have known and worked with Simon longer than I have so I understand. Especially Johnny. Even though Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, he and Johnny were the closest with each other ever since their mission to stop Hassan. That was before my time but you can tell they are good friends, even though making friends is something you want to avoid in this line of work due to anything happening at any given moment. 

“Ghost is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever worked with.” Gaz commented from up front. 

“Heh, you’re not wrong about that.” I said. 

Simon once got shot in six different places and yet kept fighting until all of the enemies were down. I don’t know how he managed to do that but he did. I know that deep inside his mind it is him, I mean why else would he be saying my non-legal name that is said more than my real one? It makes sense, right? Simon then turned his head towards Johnny, his clouded eyes staring into his soul. 

 “And I thought his normal death glare was scary.” Johnny commented, half joking. 

I humored him by laughing, even though I wasn’t in too much of a giggly mood. 

“Jrrrrr…” 

“That’s new.” Price said. 

It sounded like he was making a ‘Jr’ kind of noise, which is odd. It immediately made me think he was trying to say Johnny’s name. Ghost then held his hand up weakly and pressed it up against the glass, staring directly into Johnny’s direction. 

“Joohhnnnnyyyyyy..” 

“Simon?” Johnny called to Simon, getting close to the incubator glass. 

He really is still there. Oh God, Simon. Simon. It’s all coming back to me. 

~

“Get that back area!!” Price shouted as more zombies flooded in from the back. 

“Shit.” I mumbled, shooting them down. 

It was nonstop flooding of zombies, as if they were infinitely spawning in. This was a bad spot to even be trying to scavenge supplies. I’m the one who suggested it in the first place. 

“Dolly, stay close to me.” Simon told me. 

I huddled close to him as we continued to take out more zombies. The five of us were all huddled close by as we slowly tried to make our way to the exit of the building but it was so hard with all of the zombies coming from every direction. 

*Click* *Click* *Click*

“I’m out!” I heard my empty gun clicking. 

“Take this.” Simon tried handing me an extra pistol. 

“What about your shotgun? It will be more powerful.” I suggested. 

“Dolly just please do as I damn say.” 

I could tell he was getting irritated, so I just sucked it up. As I began shooting at the different zombies, it was taking more than five or six rounds at a time to take down a zombie and they were coming at us faster and faster. I needed something more powerful. Like Simon’s shotgun that was strapped on his back. I don’t want to disobey him, but we are nearly to the exit and we need this last bit of strong power in order to reach it. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck it. 

FUCK IT!! 

“Dolly, what are you-” 

*BAM*

…

…

…

..Dolly!!!

…

…

GET UP!!!

What? What? What’s happening? I can’t hear, I can’t see, what is happening? 

“DOLLY!!”

Simon? Simon..SIMON!!

“Simon!” I called for him, despite not being able to see. 

I felt two big arms grab me, lift me up to my feet, throw my arm on their shoulder, and drag me out. 

“The place is going down!” I heard Gaz shout. 

I couldn’t really hear anymore zombies growling but I could hear the place crumbling all around and then get very distant the more we ran. 

“Stay with me, love, stay with me.” Simon’s gravelly voice told me. 

“Simon..Simon..I’m sorry.” I croaked out. 

“No, no Dolly. It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault. “ Simon reassured me, despite still feeling the immense guilt in my gut. 

“Step up, Dolly.” Simon told me. 

I lifted my leg up, and felt my foot land on the step of our transport truck, and take off. As we all settled down, and caught our breaths, I felt a cold fabric get placed on my forehead. 

“It’s me, sweetie.” 

Simon. I immediately held his hand that was holding the wet cloth, seeing my vision become clearer, slowly. 

“Si, I’m sorry I just-” 

“Dolly, please. You were doing only what you thought was right.” Simon reassured me, his bright blue eyes staring into mine. 

His eyes were so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Just a month ago we were laying in bed together, waking up to us holding each other and those bright blue eyes being my first greeting of the day. And now here we are, comforting me in wake of my stupid mistake. I hated myself for this. Even though I wanted to keep staring into his eyes, something else caught my eye. Something that made my heart stop. It was a piercing red, sticking out like a sore thumb on his shoulder. No. No, it can’t be. There’s no way that’s..

“Simon.” 

“What, love?” 

“Your-” 

“We’re here.” 

The sudden screeching halt of the truck knocked me out of my flashback. I swear just a minute ago Price said we had two hours left of the trip and here we are, parked in front of a big huge metal automatic gate. There were guards on top of the pillars with guns. They weren’t aiming their guns at us, but they were most definitely on guard. 

“He said he would be here.” Price mumbled. 

“Who?” I asked. 

“Outta my way, outta my way! I’m coming, I’m coming!!” 

There was a man shouting from the other side of the gate, and the voice sounded so familiar. It can’t be..

“Let them in!!” 

Without hesitation, the guards pulled a lever and the two big metal gates started slowly ascending open. Once it was opened enough, Price let go of the brakes and we slowly started pulling into the sanctuary. Once in, Price stopped and a man walked up to the driver’s side. 

“Thanks for letting us come ‘ere.” Price thanked him. 

I turned my head to get a better look as to who it was, the kind samaritan that allowed us to come here and get a cure for Simon. 

“Friends help each other.” 

He turned to look at me and gave me a beaming smile, a smile that reassured me that everything would be okay. 

Alejandro? 

TO BE CONTINUED…

[dreamweaversfavsandthoughs]

Rick and Morty S7 Ep. 2: The Jerrick Trap

(Not Rick, not Jerry, but some secret third thing)

Spoiler alert ahead!

My Favs

The new voice actors:

I wanted to bring this up again because I think that Ian Cardoni has really evolved into his role as the new voice actor for Rick. It’s really hard to believe that Cardoni has only had this job for about month or two but is already playing this character like he’s been there since the beginning. It didn’t once cross my mind during this episode that I was not listening to Justin Roiland anymore. Harry Belden’s Morty sounds like a nice blend of Roiland’s Season 1 and Season 6 performance of that character.

Freaky Friday:

I appreciate that they didn’t do a clean body-swap but gave RickBody and JerryBody an amalgamation of the two minds in conflict with each other, but then evolving over the course of the episode into someones (or something) with its own identity.

Chuxly:

I kinda have a soft spot for Chuxly. He’s just a mid-tier criminal who’s trying not to cause any unnecessary trouble. He doesn’t need any incompetent goons kidnapping the precious grandson of the most dangerous man in the universe and he’ll kiss as much ass as he can until his lips are ass-colored.

Your dad’s a gay assassin?:

It’s a spectrum

Conehead missle:

So gross but RickBody looked so happy! Also I get why RickBody and JerryBody would like that movie because it is so dumb and so weird in a good way.

Burger and Fries!

God I love their cute name for each other! Also, am I the only person who found them snorting crystals together as they remember their love for Morty weirdly endearing.

Rick and Jerry’s half-assed note to the family:

But they wrote a novel for Gene

Do you hear the symphony of atoms dying in space?:

I don’t blame Summer for wanting to listen to a podcast. I would want to distract myself from whatever that is driving the car.

The Stupid Rake Gag:

This joke is older than God herself and in hindsight I should have seen this coming. The inciting incident was due to Gene stealing a rake. It was all laid out for this to happen but it was so cleverly concealed until it happened that I was absolutely taken off-guard. God I love that Jerry and Rick were rescued from their monstrous Jerricky form by a corny rake gag.

Rick and Jerry care about each other. They really do!

Though they’ll never admit it.

Memory Rick!

He’s alive and well and kept Rick and Jerry from completely losing their minds to Jerricky. Sadly, he might be stuck in Jerry’s mind for awhile unless he can make use of springs and gears and only springs and gears. I imagine there’s going be an episode in the future about his escape.

My Not Favs:

Jerricky:

He will haunt my dreams until my dying breath in which he will then greet me at the gates of Hell where he will orchestrate my torture for all eternity and a day. Personally, I wasn’t a huge fan of Jerricky and the final fight with him and why did they give it a six-pack? Neither Jerry or Rick have a six-pack. Who do they think they’re fooling?

Rick’s mind was a bit overpowering:

Maybe this is because Rick is a character with such a big personality but I felt like the aspects that could be Jerry was a bit drowned out. RickBody and JerryBody acted mostly like Rick with sprinkles of Jerry rather than an even mix of the two.

A criminal lack of Morty:

Morty (or should I say, Rick Jr.) maybe turning into a little criminal but I would like to have some more screen time with him. There’re eight more episodes left so I’m not too worried about this but I think Morty is a little underutilized for a character who has some great story potential (and his name is in the title of the show). However, I’m glad we got to see more of him compared to the last episode. He is getting so confident and not waiting around for his grandpa/dad and dad/grandpa to get himself out of trouble.

My Thoughts:

I love myself a Rick and Jerry team-up episode and this episode was no different. Rick and Jerry may never admit it, but they are more alike than different and their minds meld well together ( as long as they don’t make a Jerricky). The Rick/Jerry dynamic has always been rife with conflict since the first episode when Jerry tried to convince Beth to put Rick in a nursing home because Rick pulled Morty out of school, repeatedly, behind their backs. In a sweet moment in the middle of the episode we hear them admit that Rick doesn’t believe Jerry is useless and that Jerry sees Rick as a friend. By the end of the episode, they are back to bickering at each other again but we know as an audience that it comes from a place of love for each other and their love for Summer, Morty and Daughterwife. This episode, in my mind, was much stronger than last week’s and oh so weird in the best possible way, except for maybe Jerricky. Jerricky was the weakest part of the episode with the fight scene being a bit lackluster for an otherwise bonkers episode. Though that rake gag killed me. They really did just sneak that in and thought I wouldn’t notice, which I didn’t so good job on their part. It absolutely felt like a classic Rick and Morty episode and I hope each episode continues getting better and better. Also, it was nice seeing Memory Rick again and,

“Yeah, Memory Rick, Rick totally got rid of you on purpose.”

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Backseat and booze. (18+!!!)

Rufus Jr "RJ" Firefly x Transmasc! Reader. (Pronouns used: he/him/they/them. I'm going to alternate.)

Warnings: the reader hasn't had bottom surgery so there will be the use of the words "cunt, pussy, clit, etc." I apologize in advance if it's a trigger..., cursing, alcohol use, SMUT, dirty talk, drinking while driving (even if it's just Rufus driving on the farm land.)

Summary: you're riding with in the cop car with Rufus on Halloween night, drinking and having fun. Things get a little spicy so he shuts the car off and you two move to the back for some fun before the second half of the ritual starts 😉

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N watched as Rufus replaced the lid on the coffin, sealing the fate of the two bunny suit clad people who were laid inside. Lowering the coffin back down into the hole, Otis watching with a deranged smile on his face.

The trap doors were closed, the lantern and tape player were lowered through the hole in the door, calling the ghouls that dwelled down below.

Once that job was done all they had to do was wait for baby to come back with Mary. Otis and Mama didn't notice when Rufus slipped away, or when Y/N decided to head back to the house in search of more booze, wanting to get even more fucked up before the night was over.

They managed to locate the 6 pack of beer they had drunkenly stashed away a few days prior, hoping to hide it away from Hugo (who drinks like a fish). Pleased with themselves, Y/N made their way outside to see Rufus uncovering the stolen police car. "Taking the pig mobile out for a spin, sugar?" He called to his boyfriend, a playful tone in his voice. RJ looked up and nodded, flashing them a smile as he tossed the camouflage to the side. "You wanna come?" He asked, hoping they would say yes.

Of course they said yes.

Now Y/N was in the passenger seat, beer bottle in hand, laughing and urging Rufus on, enjoying the recklessness. Rufus loved it when Y/N encouraged him like this, both horrible influences on eachother.

The alcohol and the adrenaline were a wonderful combination, driving both of them out of their minds. Rufus continued the reckless driving, jerking the wheel slightly in surprise when he felt Y/N's hand slowly snake across his stomach, sliding up underneath the bloody uniform of the former Sheriff Wydell. "You know I love it when you wear your shirts open like this~" they purr, grazing their fingers up his chest before slowly lowering their hand to remove the handgun from the waistband of the already tight uniform pants. They were gentle, being sure to keep their fingers away from the trigger, though the danger was enough to drive Rufus up the wall. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, now feeling Y/N start to palm him through his pants, earning them a nice, deep, frustrated groan from the man. "Y/N..." he warned, trying to focus on his driving, but their hands made it very difficult. They didn't let up, in fact, they pressed on, this time slowly undoing his belt, stopping every few seconds just to tease him. RJ's frustration grew with every second Y/N's hands were on him, the sensation of their touch almost enough to push him over the edge.

He brought the police car to a full stop, turning off the engine.

He turned to Y/N, pulling them into a passionate kiss which quickly turned heated. Rufu's hands found their way to Y/N's thighs, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, eliciting a muffled moan from his partner.

The next thing Y/N knew they were on their back in the back seat of the cruiser, the door standing open, Rufus standing there, looking down at them with his deep brown eyes full of lust. His hands were quick to undo the button and zipper on their pants, pulling them off along with their underwear in one swift movement.

Rufus dropped to his knees in front of them, the wet grass soaking his pants legs (not that he cared, his mind was on other things anyways.) He allowed his hands to trail up their legs, enjoying the sight of his partner squirming beneath his touch.

"Spread 'em, darlin'." His voice came out like the purr of a lion, making Y/N's heart skip a beat and the butterflies in their stomach to start fluttering around. Y/N and RJ had been together for a while (and this was definitely not their first play time) but the nervous excitement Y/N felt whenever the two got down to doing the dirty was still strong.

Y/N obediently spread their legs, allowing RJ access to their sensitive areas. Without hesitation, Rufus licked a long stripe up Y/N's pussy, earning a moan from his boyfriend.

That moan caused all of RJ's self control to disappear.

He buried his face into Y/N's crotch, beginning to eat him out like a starving animal, the taste of his partner's juices driving him wild. Y/N's hands tangled themselves into Rufus's hair, their legs over his shoulders, both pulling him closer, urging him to keep going.

"Rufus! Fuuuck! Keep going baby!" They moan breathlessly, their legs tightening around him, body starting to shake with pleasure. RJ happily obliged, his tongue now targeting Y/N's clit, not one to deny his boyfriend what they want. Y/N arched their back, their moans becoming so loud they were almost screams as they felt the knot in their stomach beginning to tighten. "Fuck! Please don't stop, baby! I'm so fuckin' close!" Y/N begged, almost pleading for release.

Again, RJ obliged, continuing to attack Y/N's clit with his tongue, eating him out desperately, wanting to bring his partner to their orgasm. He kept it up for a minute or two more until he pushed Y/N over the edge, a blissful moan coming from deep within them, their body shaking and spasming from the sheer pleasure. He happily lapped up all he could before Y/N moved away, leaving him wanting more.

Now Rufus was sat in the back seat of the cruiser, the door now closed, keeping the two inside. He undid his own pants, pulling them down, allowing his dick to spring free. Y/N was going to return the favor but RJ stopped them, shaking his head slightly. "Not this time, sweetpea." He didn't want oral, not this time atleast, right now he wanted to sink his cock into their pussy.

It would be uncomfortable for Rufus to be on top since he was so tall (6'10"), so he sat back while Y/N climbed ontop of him, lowering themselves onto his dick. They had only managed to get a few inches in, but Rufus's size (6 inches but very thick) made it hard for Y/N to take. Tired of waiting, Rufus placed his hands on their hips, roughly bucking his hips up, ramming his cock deep into Y/N's pussy, letting out a deep growl when he did. Y/N tilted his head back, letting out a loud moan, digging their nails into RJ's shoulders to brace themselves. Y/N began to move, starting to bounce on his dick, slowly picking up the pace with a bit of urging from Rufus, his hands guiding their hips.

Rufus started getting pretty rough, much to the excitement and pleasure of Y/N, who loved it when their usually sweet and gentle boyfriend got more primal and rough. His fingers dug into Y/N's hips, pulling them down onto his dick while bucking his hips up to meet his boyfriend, getting more and more desperate for his own release. Y/N grabbed the back of Rufus's head, taking a handful of his hair, using it to pull him into a rough and passionate kiss which pushed him closer to his end.

His movements got harder and sloppier, his breathing sped up, his soft grunts and growls got louder and more desperate as he got closer to his edge. He broke the kiss for air, tightening his grip on their hips, he roughly pushed them down to the base of his cock as he came. Throwing his head back, letting out the loudest, euphoric moan that dissolved into higher pitched whimpers and moans, repeatedly thanking his boyfriend. Y/N panted softly, gently caressing Rufus's face, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

Rufus quickly wrapped his arms around their waist, pulling them into a tight hug, burying his face into their neck. "God I love you, Y/N.... I don't fuckin' deserve you.." RJ whimpered, causing them to chuckle softly. "Yes you do, Darlin'.... you deserve to be happy and loved." They kiss his shoulder. "And I love you so fuckin' much."

They managed to get cleaned up and back to the ritual without any issue, though, they were sure the whole family knew what they'd done.

End.

~~~~~~~~

Hope this was okay! I want to write some more smut so there might be another one later tonight. Also I hope everyone liked RJ's post nut clarity at the end lol.

[clemblog]

Chapter 2: Thinking

After spending a long few months in Jericho, working their asses off to get android rights to a good place The Jericrew decide to visit the countryside and stay in the first fully fledged android town, fondly called Pacis. How will their relations develop now that they can finally take a break from it all?

featuring: RK1K, Josh x Simon, North x OC

Part 1

“Connor, I don’t understand why you’re so freaked out about this. I assumed, ever since we agreed on this whole f*cking father-son dynamic, you trusted me.” Hummed Hank, amused, as he watched Connor pace around the kitchen. “The fact you will be filling in for me at Jericho is not the issue Lieutenant-” Huffed Connor. Hank rolled his eyes at this fondly. That guy would never ever stop calling him Lieutenant, no matter how much he insisted that Hank was fine. “What is the issue then?” “You didn’t tell me!” “I’m afraid Mr Markus Manfred swore me to secrecy.” “Markus didn’t tell me!” “I believe this whole thing is meant to be a surprise, so it’d make sense.” “He knew I wouldn’t like it-” “Cause you’re a workaholic.” “Lieutenant-” “Connor.” “...” “Listen kid, when you have people who care about you, they want you to take care of yourself. Especially since you have mental health to worry about now, and the fact you can’t snap back to life over night anymore. Whether you like it or not, you need to go on this break.” Explained Hank, firmly but sincerely. Connor sighed at this, tapping his foot. “...I don’t have a suitcase-” “Come on bitchy mcgee, I got one in the closet you can use.” Mused Hank.

Connor would reluctantly trail after Hank to start packing for the trip. It was kinda fun to see some of his most important possessions all in one place. His coin, his favourite shirt, some jeans, a coat, his stun gun(Hank thought he should leave it at home but Connor wanted to be safe), a sun cap, his fish patterned blanket and many other essentials! Though, it was a little disappointing when Hank explained he could in fact not put Sumo into the suitcase and bring him along. “Connor, Sumo is my dog-” “Our dog!” “Connor-” “He loves me more!” Hank rolled his eyes. “Yes, because you sneak him my dinner scraps when you think I’m not looking.” Connor pouted at this. “I can only eat thyrium! He doesn’t have to eat just kibble, so why not! One of us deserves variety-” “How about I pick up a Sumo Jr from the toy shop?” Suggested Hank, attempting to compromise. “That way Dewey has a buddy.” Sat on Connor’s bed was a soft toy of a dwarf gourami, which he’d affectionately called Dewey. Connor faulted at this, a light flush appearing on his face. “I dunno if I should bring Dewey…” “Why not?” “...I don’t want Markus, North, Josh or Simon to think I’m a baby cause I have stuffed toys…” “Kid, listen, they won’t as they’re your friends.” Assured Hank. “Besides, adults can have stuffed animals too. You know Tina from the DPD?” “Yeah?” “Her Wife gets her a stuffed animal every Valentines because that’s how much she loves them.” “...Really?” “Would I have any reason to lie to you about that?” “No-” “Right, so you get on your fancypants tablet and find yourself a Sumo Jr and I’m gonna go make myself a burger.” Connor nodded slowly at this, a shy smile on his face. “I will do that… Thank you Lieutenant.” “Anytime kid.”

Connor sat and watched as Hank left his room, flopping back on his bed to do as he suggested. Maybe Sumo could snuggle with Sumo Jr before he went on his trip, that way he’d smell just like him! Though… Now that he thought it over, he’d probably need some more things in his suitcase before he could fit Dewey and Sumo Jr in. What else did he need? He wasn’t sure… Maybe he could ask Markus! So, before Connor could think logically and remember search engines exist, he sent a brief message to Markus.

[Connor Anderson] Hi Markus.

[Markus Manfred] Hello Connor, what do I owe the pleasure of your message? [Connor Anderson] I am unsure what I need to bring for the trip.

[Markus Manfred] You’re attending? Willingly? [Connor Anderson] Hank thinks it’ll be good for me.

[Markus Manfred] Of course~

[Connor Anderson] What? [Markus Manfred] Nothing, you’re just a suck up for your dad. [Connor Anderson] Hey! [Markus Manfred] That’s not a bad thing! It’s cute. [Markus Manfred] I’m the exact way with my own dad. [Connor Anderson] I don’t believe you’ve told me much about your father.

[Markus Manfred] Unfortunately, I am a busy man Connor. And you are my busy bodyguard.

[Connor Anderson] I know. :( 

[Markus Manfred] I suppose I could tell you about him, if you wish. :) [Connor Anderson] Only if you’re not busy with other things, I don’t want to impose. [Markus Manfred] You’re my friend Connor, you’ll never impose! [Markus Manfred] Also before I forget here’s a list of stuff you should add to your suitcase:

Boots

Slippers

Towel

Dressing Gown

A Book (or just some kind of entertainment that isn’t digital based, internet is iffy out where we’re going.)

[Connor Anderson] Thank you Markus, I really appreciate this. [Markus Manfred] It’s my pleasure Connor, now you want to hear about the stubborn loving ass that is Carl Manfred~?

The pair would spend the next few hours, messaging as they went about their evenings. Connor was packing his suitcase, then doing the dishes, then watching a movie with Hank. Markus was painting, then filling out some papers for Jericho business, then he was settling down for the night with a movie of his own. (A Dog���s Purpose per Connor’s suggestion.) The two had dissolved into many topics, unable to pull away from the conversations purely just from the amount of enjoyment they had within each other's company.

[Markus] Goodnight Conny! [Connor] Goodnight Markus, thanks for the fun talks! [Markus] Anytime, have a good recharge. [Connor] You too. [Markus was last online: 11:47pm] [Connor was last online: 11:49pm]

Hank would glance into Connor’s room to find him laid with his tablet still in his hand. He rolled his eyes fondly at the sight, and gently took the tablet and put it on the bedside cabinet for him.

[xpocketeer]

I. Tea Machines and Parties in the Lab

X adjusts his grip on the small gears under the microscope, his fingers steady as he works with Mesmer Jr. on the final tweaks of the day. They have been at this for hours, and the exhaustion is settling over like a soft, heavy blanket.

“Almost done, Mesmer,” he murmurs, leaning back to inspect their work. Mesmer’s eyes, half-lidded with fatigue, flick to the gears one last time before she lets out a long, sighing exhale.

“Finally,” she mutters. She runs a hand through her short, unruly curls, making them spring up even more. “I can actually go home now. Thank the heavens,” she adds, voice laced with her signature mix of lassitude and sarcasm.

X stifles a laugh as she gathers her things, grumbling all the way. She slings her bag over her shoulder and gives him a quick nod.

“Well, I’m off,” she bids, her eyes barely managing to stay open. “Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.”

“I make no promises,” X replies, grinning. Mesmer only scoffs, muttering something that might be ‘Goodnight’ before she shuffles out the door. A faint echo of her footsteps remains in the hall, and then it’s just him, alone in the lab.

He takes his time packing up, feeling the quiet wash over him like a palsy-walsy cloak. It’s become a ritual for him—the end-of-day cleanup, just him and his inventions, each piece returning to its precise order. He tucks his notebook, clipboard, and sketchbook into his satchel with a satisfied sigh, running his hand over the worn leather cover of the sketchbook as if sealing his work inside.

His gaze falls on his favorite little invention: the Goldberg machine he’d put together a few weeks ago. It sits on his desk, a tiny, intricate device that’s utterly useless, and yet entirely delightful. A flick of a lever here, a chain reaction there, and in a few gratifying seconds, it flips the lab’s light switch off for him. It’s become his personal goodnight to the lab, and he watches with a small, amused grin as the engine purrs and clicks, its metal arms capsizing and gears spinning. Finally, with a small metallic click, the lights dim. Perfect.

He slings his satchel over his shoulder and steps out of the lab, easing into the familiar rhythm of his walk down the hallway. The hum of conversations and occasional laughter seep out from behind closed doors, the end of a long day slowly winding down. He greets the few passing St. Pavlov staff members with brief nods and murmured farewells, each exchange habits and undisturbing. It’s the usual combination of faces—scientists, security staff, lab assistants, each caught up in their own quiet drills.

As he reaches the elevator, he exchanges a quick goodnight with the receptionist in the lobby, who’s leaning back in her chair, tapping away at a book in her lap. She barely glances up as he passes, just waves him on.

The elevator buzzes as he descends, his mind already drifting to the dinner he’ll have once he’s back at his place, and maybe a long bath to soak away the day. But as soon as he steps out of the building and sees it—the relentless downpour outside—his heart sinks.

“Damn it.” The words slip out before he can stop himself, and he frowns, eyeing the sheets of rain pounding the pavement. His shoulders slump as he realizes he’s left his umbrella—and his raincoat—in the other lab he used earlier that day.

Of course. He’d been so caught up in Mesmer’s project that he’d completely forgotten. And this wasn’t just any lab—it was currently occupied by Medicine Pocket and their partner-in-crime, Enigma, if he remembered right. He suppresses a sigh. He barely knows them; just members of Laplace, yes, but they’re… distinct. Memorable, in the ways people spoke of them, in the little whispers and sidelong glances their presence seemed to evoke.

As he steps back into the elevator and watches the button for the lab’s floor light up, he finds himself wondering. How come he’s never really spoken to Medicine Pocket? Not once. Not even a passing “hello.” And for someone like X, who tends to take note of everyone in his vicinity, Medicine Pocket stands out even among Laplace’s sea of eccentricities. He’s heard things—stories about their strange, almost aloof attitude, the air of indifference and intensity they carry around.

One thing he’s heard more than once is that Medicine Pocket has no real preference for pronouns. She, he, they—it doesn’t matter to them. For X, that curiosity rectified into a quiet decision: they just looked like a ‘they.’ A neutral ubiquity. He’s not sure why, exactly, but it just… fits. So they/them it is.

The elevator dings softly as he reaches his destination, and he steps out into the obtusely lit hall. The usual drone of the lab floor has faded now, leaving a hushed, almost abandoned stillness in its place. He navigates through the hallway, his footsteps faint against the tile. Most of the staff have either gone home or appointed themselves in the building’s sleeping quarters, tucked away for the night.

“Good for them,” he mumbles, feeling a twinge of envy at the thought of others already resting. He quickens his pace, mentally mapping the route back to his things. He hopes, with growing urgency, that Medicine Pocket and Enigma are still there. If not, he’s faced with a long, inconvenient trek to the sleeping quarters—and he really doesn’t want that to be the case. A warm dinner and a proper bath sound too good to sacrifice tonight.

Finally, he rounds the corner and spots the lab door up ahead. Its lights are still on, casting a faint luster into the hallway. He breathes a sigh of repose.

“Thank goodness,” he whispers, steadying himself as he approaches. Hopefully, whoever’s still inside will understand if he’s quick about it. He’ll just grab his things and be on his way, no need for a conversation.

The lab is eerily quiet as he slips inside. The hiss of machinery is barely noticeable, and the usual clatter of papers and equipment has faded into a heavy, muted silence. He offers a glance around the room, his gaze sweeping the countertops and corners for any sign of life. For a moment, it feels almost wrong to break the peace, like he’s intruding on something private.

He spots his coat and umbrella near the edge of the counter, just within reach. He’s about to make a quick yank for them when—

“Pst.”

X freezes, the sound slicing through the quiet like a whisper meant only for him.

He pauses, his hand hovering above his umbrella as his brain catches up. Did someone just call him? He waits, half-expecting it to be his imagination.

“Pst.”

There it is again, low and deliberate, followed by a sharp, distinct, “Yes, you. Kid.”

He turns slowly, blinking in surprise, and finds himself face-to-face with none other than Medicine Pocket themself. They’re standing near a countertop, watching him with that calm, detached expression he’s heard so much about. Their gaze isn’t fixed on him for long—already, it darts off to some undefined point in the distance, as if they can’t be bothered to fully regard him.

“E-excuse me?” he stammers, pointing to himself as if to confirm. “Me?”

Medicine Pocket nods. “Yes, hello?” they reply, a faint trace of impatience in their voice. Then, with a slight tilt of their head, they gesture to the table beside him. Then, “Do you mind? Pouring me a cup?” They nod at the thermos, just a few steps from where X is standing.

“Oh. No, I don’t mind,” he says, his voice almost too quick, a mix of surprise and politeness. He steps over to the thermos, retrieving a cup from the dispenser as he glances back at Medicine Pocket. They watch him, their gaze unreadable, their face a perfect mask of calm.

The silence thickens as he pours, the dark coffee filling the cup in a steady stream. He’s so focused on getting it just right that he doesn’t even realize he’s licking his lips. And then, he hears it—a laugh, low and strange, with an edge of something that might be amusement.

“Why don’t you help yourself with it?” Medicine Pocket says with a scoff, voice almost teasing. “Looks like you want some.”

X straightens, flustered, caught off-guard by the comment. He glances over his shoulder, only to see Medicine Pocket looking away again, their attention already meandering. They don’t stall, don’t wait for eye contact. It’s like he’s just another fixture in the lab, another minor distraction in their field of vision.

“Oh, um…” He shakes his head, finding his voice with some effort. “No, thanks… I’m about to go home. I just came back for my things. Here’s your espresso.”

He holds out the cup, and Medicine Pocket’s hand brushes against his, bare and ungloved, the lightest touch. X doesn’t let himself react, though he feels the moment slip past, brief and strange. He watches them accept the cup, feeling like he’s glimpsed something that wasn’t meant for him.

“Huh. If you say so.” Medicine Pocket’s tone is dismissive, almost indifferent, as they bring the cup to their lips. X hesitates for a split second before turning on his heels, leaving Medicine Pocket to their espresso as he clutches his coat and umbrella.

He’s got a train to catch, after all. The rest… Well, he can figure that out later.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

The next morning, X strides into the lab, eyes bright and mind brimming with ideas. This—this is his favorite part of the day, the quiet hours in the lab where he can lose himself completely in his inventions, thinking up mechanisms and quirks that are, by most people’s standards, entirely ‘useless.’ To X, though, each little device, each new mechanism, is a marvel.

He finds Mesmer already there, slouched over some charts with the weary look of someone who has already spent a long morning deciphering data. She barely glances up as he settles in at his workbench, rolling his satchel to his side and unpacking the sketchbook with an air of ritual.

“So… any brilliant ideas today?” she drawls, roughly hiding her skepticism.

“Oh, tons!” he trills, beaming as he flips to a fresh page and starts sketching furiously. “See, I was thinking, what if we made a machine that could… well, it’s hard to explain,” he prattles, noticing Mesmer’s unimpressed stare. “But think of it like a self-tying shoelace, except it, uh, ties together lab equipment. Picture how it could handle all the little pieces at once and—”

“Another Goldberg machine?” she sighs, already anticipating where this is going. Probably.

“Well… yes. But this one’s unique!” he insists, turning back to his sketch with renewed energy. “It could speed up all those menial tasks. And, uh, maybe entertain us a bit while we’re at it? Yes?”

She looks unenthusiastic but blows a breath, turning back to her charts. “You’re going to get us in trouble, you know that? Vertin isn’t here to look out for us, and as much as I hate getting orders from above, I’d rather not be given extra orders to, I don’t know… keep an eye on you,” she rumbles, giving him a sideways glance.

“Vertin’s not here, though,” he points out cheerfully. “She’s off doing… well, whatever Timekeepers do—or a Timekeeper must do. So as far as I see it, we’re free to do as we please.” He waves his hands in a grand gesture that nearly sends a stack of papers flying off the table. Whoops, an accident! But thankfully, Mesmer catches them—with a scowl. Heh.

“Just keep your experiments to yourself,” she warns, eyeing his sketchbook, albeit suspiciously. “And don’t even think about asking me to be the first to try it out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chirps with an innocent grin, returning to his work. His hands move deftly over the paper, lost in a flurry of gears, levers, and circuits as the minutes slip by unnoticed. Mesmer, after another few moments of grumbling, finally falls into her own tasks, muttering the occasional complaint about his ‘ridiculous’ tools, but he’s too absorbed to mind. And they’re not ridiculous. Just…out of their league. Yes, that.

Eventually, lunch break rolls around, pulling him out of his reverie. He stretches, peering over at Mesmer, who gives him a lazy look but joins him anyway. Together, they head to the cafeteria, where the mix of chatter and the clinking of trays makes for a welcome break from the tranquility of the lab.

As they step in, X spots a familiar face: Matilda, sitting across from a peculiar figure—a changeling with deer-like legs, her tawny hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders. She’s poking at an exam paper in front of her with an expression of mild amusement.

“Jessica, right?” X murmurs, remembering her name only vaguely. Or was it Anne…? Either way, the changeling seems utterly unbothered by the large, red F scrawled across her paper.

Matilda sighs as they approach, rubbing her temples as Jessica cheerfully holds up the failed test with pride.

“Look!” Jessica exclaims with a wide grin. “Isn’t it funny? An ‘F!’”

“Wow,” X muses, unable to hide his glee. “Quite the achievement.”

“Jessica here,” Matilda starts, exasperation evident in her voice, “is supposed to be learning. But I swear, she’s happier about this F than she would be with an A.”

“’A’s are boring,” Jessica chimes in with a shrug, her guiltless expression doing little to mask the slight glint of mischief in her eyes. “’F’s have more… personality.”

X snickers, snagging a tray of food and sliding in next to Matilda as Mesmer takes the seat across. They fall into easy conversation, Jessica occasionally making odd comments that leave Matilda sighing and X stifling his laughter. By the time he finishes his lunch, his spirits are high—Jessica’s chaotic energy and Matilda’s resigned exhales are an amusing contrast to the calm of the lab.

“Well, I’m grabbing some espresso,” X announces, pushing his tray away and stretching. He wanders over to the vending machine, fingers already fishing out some loose change from his pocket.

As he nears, though, he notices a figure standing directly in front of the vending machine, hunched slightly and pressing buttons with a frustrated expression. A presumptuous figure, with messy white hair and the unmistakable outline of a worn lab coat.

X hesitates, taking in the scene: Medicine Pocket, of all people, struggling with the vending machine. They mutter something under their breath, their expression twisted in irritation.

“Stupid pulley… should’ve just brought the thermos. Would’ve been a lot easier…”

X bites back a smile, careful to keep his expression neutral as he approaches. Medicine Pocket, clearly not aware of his presence, continues grumbling. “Never again,” they mutter, jabbing a button for emphasis. “Next time, I’m bringing the thermos.”

As they press the button for what seems like the tenth time, they let out an aggravated sigh. X steps forward, sliding his coins into the machine, and presses a few buttons. The contraption vibrates in response, and in a matter of seconds, a fresh cup of espresso slides into the dispenser slot.

He grabs the cup and hands it to Medicine Pocket. They blink, looking between him and the cup with a frown.

“Oh. So, that’s how you’re supposed to work the thing,” they mutter, irritation giving way to grudging acceptance. “Fine. Damn it. Next time… No, there will be no next time. I won’t forget my thermos.”

X almost releases chuckles but, again, keeps a straight face, taking out a few more coins and getting a second cup for himself. As he does, he feels Medicine Pocket’s eyes on him, studying him with that removed, assessing look he’s seen them give others before. He’s not sure what they’re searching for, but he doesn’t let it bother him.

“Thanks. Again. Kid.” Medicine Pocket’s tone is somewhere between casual and dismissive. Their gaze flits over him briefly before sailing away, their eyes already searching the hallway for their next destination.

“Anytime,” X replies with a shrug. He takes a sip of his own espresso, watching Medicine Pocket’s retreating form as they stalk off, boding slightly against the weight of their coat.

He straggles by the machine for a wee bit, trying to shake off the odd feeling that the encounter leaves behind. It’s strange, he thinks, how Medicine Pocket can seem both entirely present and somewhere else at the same time, as if even in conversation they’re halfway down another path, in another world. But as quickly as the thought comes, he dismisses it.

He’s got gizmos to build, subsequently.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

Back in the lab, X’s fingers fly over the pieces of metal and wiring on his workbench. He’s been working on this one for days—a miniature machine that, in theory, should wind up and pour a cup of tea or coffee automatically with a simple push of a button. He envisions a little mechanical arm tipping a kettle, steam curling as it pours the perfect cup every time. To most people, it would look like an overly complicated teapot, but to him, it’s one of his best ideas yet.

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” he goes on a tangent to himself, adjusting a tiny cog. “Once I get this gear aligned, it should… yes… now the arm should reach…”

A sudden voice interrupts his thoughts, indolent and precisely British.

“X, my dear boy, are you conducting yet another experiment?” Regulus strides into the lab with an amused grin, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose despite the dull luminescence. Mr. APPLe, the floating apple in a necktie, hovers beside her with an air of sophistication.

“Good day, young inventor,” Mr. APPLe greets him in his deep, gentlemanly voice, dipping slightly in what appears to be a nod.

X lights up, abandoning his work to wave them over. “Regulus! Mr. APPLe! You have got to see this.” He gestures excitedly at his half-finished machine. “It’s an automatic tea-pouring device! I’ve been working on it all week.”

Regulus smirks, folding her arms and leaning in for a closer look. “You and your machines, X. Aren’t you a clever one?”

“Isn’t he just?” Mr. APPLe intones, bobbing slightly as if in approval. “Though this apple must say, an automatic tea pourer sounds like the most delightful and civilized of inventions.”

“Exactly!” X exclaims, looking thrilled to finally have an audience who appreciates his work. “I mean, imagine it. You just press this lever here”—he demonstrates, although the mechanism is still far from operational—“and it’ll pour the tea for you. And once I get the tilt angle just right, it’ll work perfectly.”

Regulus chuckles, one eyebrow raised. “You’re a genius, X. Useless genius, but a genius nonetheless.”

X beams, turning back to his contraption with reestablished enthusiasm. “Finally, someone who understands.”

Regulus reaches over and playfully taps the arm of the appliance, watching it wobble slightly. “You know, X, this place could use a bit more rock ’n’ roll, don’t you think? Machines, they’re all well and good, but where’s the fun? Where’s the chaos?”

X smiles at her. “I suppose I could add a music feature,” he humors, thoughtfully. “A little radio, maybe, to play while it pours?”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” She winks, swaying her hips in an exaggerated twist. “The Swing Era had it all—music, bikes, rebellion. This lab could use a bit more of that.”

“Would you consider a radio attachment a practical addition to your invention?” Mr. APPLe inquires, bobbing in a thoughtful way.

“Probably not,” X admits, adjusting a few wires. “But hey, I’m all for mixing things up.”

Just then, Matilda strides in, her blond hair catching the fluorescent light as she crosses the room. She’s carrying a small book, flipping through the pages as she joins them, glancing between Regulus and X with mild curiosity.

“Oh, Matilda!” X calls, looking up from his machine. “Back again?”

“Oui, nothing else to do,” she replies, her French accent peeking through. “I’ve left Jessica with Blonney. Or… is it her girlfriend now? I cannot keep track.”

Regulus laughs. “Girlfriend, definitely. Those two have been inseparable lately. Haven’t you noticed, X?”

“Girlfriend?” X repeats, tilting his head benevolently. Romantic relationships are one of those things he’s never really put much thought into. “I suppose I’ve noticed, but… can’t say I really get it.”

“It’s simple,” Regulus intones, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “When two people fancy each other, they stick together. They have fun, they argue, they dance, they… well, you get the idea.”

Matilda shrugs, an amused smile flickering on her face. “I think it’s rather nice, non? Though I wouldn’t know much about it myself.”

“Perhaps you’d like to learn,” Mr. APPLe suggests, with a nod that somehow seems cheeky. “This apple has heard rumors that you have an eye for a certain… Sonetto?”

At the mention of the name, Matilda blushes ever so slightly, looking away. “Ah, Sonetto… Yes, well… we were always competing back in class. She was always better, faster…” She shrugs, forcing a casual tone. “But it was nothing, really.”

“Nothing,” Regulus echoes, amused. “Right.”

Before Matilda can reply, X chimes in, holding up his machine proudly. “All right, all right, enough about romance and… whatever. You’re here to see this masterpiece in action.”

Mesmer, who’s been sitting in the corner quietly, finally rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, don’t make this a group activity. You know it’s not even going to work, X.”

“Where’s your faith, Mesmer?” X shoots back, grinning. “This is going to be brilliant.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh, crossing her arms. “Just… don’t ask me to test it. I’m still recovering from the last ‘masterpiece’ you showed me. That thing practically blew up in my face.”

“Blown up? Really, X?” Regulus raises an eyebrow, clearly gladdened.

“It wasn’t that bad,” X insists, holding his hands up defensively. “I mean… I might have miscalculated the pressure release. But this one’s different! It’s… just tea, you know?”

Mr. APPLe floats over the unit, bobbing with interest. “An invention as noble as a tea pourer is well worth the risk, in this apple’s humble opinion.”

“See?” X gestures grandly toward the machine. “Mr. APPLe understands. Now, let’s give this a shot.” He turns to Mesmer. “Would you care to do the honors?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she declines, looking horrified at the suggestion. “Ask Regulus. She’ll happily be your first victim.”

Regulus lets out a hearty laugh. “If this thing can pour a good cuppa, I’ll be impressed. Go on, X, show us what it’s made of.”

He grins, reaching over to push the lever. The motor jerks to life, gears whirring and cogs clicking as the little arm shakily reaches out toward an empty cup. The team watches with bated breath as it lifts the teapot—a bit unsteadily—and tilts it over the cup.

A thin stream of tea trickles out, landing mostly in the cup, though a bit splashes over the edge. But for the most part… it works.

“Ha!” X cheers, hands in the air. “Success!”

Regulus claps, dazzled. “You’ve done it, X! A working tea machine.”

Even Matilda lets out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Not bad,” she admits, glancing at Mesmer. “You have to admit, it’s clever.”

Mesmer sighs, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll give you this one, X. Just… don’t push your luck.”

X beams, already scribbling notes for improvements. “I knew it would work! Maybe next time, I’ll add a little tray that carries the cup to you. Imagine that!”

“Oh no,” Mesmer groans, putting her head in her hands. “I’ve created a monster.”

The others laugh, and for a while, the lab feels warmer, the machines and charts forgotten as the team shares in the small triumph of X’s ‘useless’ invention. As they laugh and chat, X feels a sense of relish. This may be his life now—tinkering, developing, and occasionally roping his friends into his schemes—but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

He’s midway through ameliorating with his new gadget when Regulus, with her usual knack, pulls a small, portable speaker from her bag, her smile widening as she holds it up like a prize.

“All right, folks, time to bring a bit of life into this dreary lab!” she declares, flicking on the speaker. Perhaps, she couldn’t hold back anymore. Alas, a burst of rock ’n’ roll fills the room, the beat sharp and invigorating, snapping everyone out of their usual focused pattern.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Mesmer curses, rolling her eyes, but X sees the vaguest hint of a smile on her face.

X, though, couldn’t be more thrilled. “This is amazing!” he declares, already tapping his foot to the beat.

Regulus, sunglasses and all, strikes a pronounced pose, gyrating to the music with the enthusiasm of someone performing for a sold-out show. Mr. APPLe hovers beside her, looking as dignified as ever, though X could almost swear he catches a tiny bobbing motion as the apple bops along with the beat.

“This, my dear X, is the sound of civil disobedience,” Regulus disseminates, pointing at him like she’s about to hand him the secrets of the universe. “The music of freedom, of change. It’s about living.” She twists and throws her hands up. “Feel it!”

“I feel it,” X claims, laughing, letting himself get swept up in the energy. He takes a deep breath, raising his arms in time with the thump, letting himself move a little more liberally than usual. The music feels like a break from reality, a flash of something wild amid their structured groove.

“Now this is what this lab has been missing, see?” Regulus continues, twirling dramatically. “The Swing Era, I tell you! The rock ’n’ roll, the mini skirts and high buoyancy—none of this solemn, silent science! We need more… tempo!” She taps her foot emphatically, casting a pointed look at Matilda, who’s watching with mild gaiety.

Matilda shakes her head, a small, coy smile forming. “You are such a troublemaker, Regulus.”

“Thank you very much,” Regulus retaliates, as if it’s the highest compliment she could receive.

X finds himself inspired by her vigor, bounding on his feet, caught up in the birch. He leans over to Matilda, grinning. “This is what I mean by adding some fun to the lab. Think about it—a little excitement never hurt anyone.”

Matilda rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “As long as it doesn’t end with your masterminding blowing up. Again.”

“Oh, you wound me!” X replies gravely, clutching his chest as he keels to the music. He grabs a nearby ruler and holds it up like a microphone, lip-syncing along with Regulus as she belts out the lyrics.

“Now you’re getting it!” Regulus cheers, lifting her imaginary microphone high. “Sing it, X!”

Even Matilda cracks a smile, her usual strict demeanor loosening. She raises an eyebrow at him. “So you’re good for more than conception after all?”

“Did you ever doubt it?” he shoots back, laughing. “I’ve got moves too, you know. Not just machines!”

Mesmer, in her corner, lets out a groan. “You’re all going to get us kicked out if you keep this up.”

“Oh, live a little, Mesmer!” Regulus teases, turning the volume up a notch and throwing a wink at Mesmer, who responds with a scowl.

Mr. APPLe, bobbing serenely to the beat, adds his two cents. “It is, in fact, scientifically proven that music can improve creativity and reduce stress. Perhaps a bit of rhythm could help our dear Mesmer find some joy?”

Mesmer gives the floating apple an exasperated look. “Is that so?”

“Indeed,” Mr. APPLe ripostes, with a bow of his leafy stem.

X laughs, taking this as an encouragement to turn his ruler-microphone toward Mesmer. “Come on, Mesmer, you know you want to sing a line or two.”

She crosses her arms, diffident, but a tiny smirk betrays her. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m joining this circus.”

“Circus?” Regulus gasps, hand to her chest as if offended. “Why, this is no circus, Mesmer, this is rock ’n’ roll history in the making!”

“And you’re all a part of it!” X enjoins, letting the tones fill him with a rare, freeing feeling. He starts to improvise a little dance, shuffling and spinning, arms swinging as he moves to the pelt. Regulus cheers him on, clapping to the pace and making Matilda giggle.

She, who looks enlivened and possibly a bit curious, turns to X. “So, are all your inventions inspired by… dancing?”

“Not exactly,” X laughs, taking a quick step to the left. “But maybe they should be! Like, what if they all had a musical component?” His face lights up. “You know, a sound trait could actually be useful. Maybe a tune that plays when the gizmo’s done with its work… To notify the owner!”

Regulus’ eyes gleam. “Now that’s a genius idea! The thing we cooped up earlier! The machine sings a little melody when your tea’s ready. Oohh, I’d use it every day.”

Mesmer snorts. “Stop encouraging him… The last thing I need is a singing tea device in the lab.”

“But it would be fun,” X agrees, enchanted with the concept. He twirls, giving an exaggerated bow to the group, which earns him a round of half-serious applause.

The music fades, and they’re left catching their breath, still laughing as the sound disintegrates into the lab’s usual thrum of machines. There’s a fervor in the room now, the aberrant affinity of shared hysterics, and for once, the lab feels less like a workplace and more like a home…? No—just a place where they can relax, joke, and break formulas together.

“Well, I think we’ve officially had the best lab day in a while,” Regulus remarks, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

Matilda nods, still smirking. “Agreed, though let’s try not to make this a proclivity. Some of us have work to do.”

Mr. APPLe gives an elegant little bow in midair. “It has been a pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, but all good things must come to an end.”

As the others settle back into their praxises, X finds himself grinning as he returns to his workbench. There’s a new energy in the room now, and he can feel it infusing his inventions with something intangible—a liveliness, a compassion he can’t quite put into words.

Maybe it’s not so bad to break the schedule now and then.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

Everyone’s just beginning to return to work, hilarity hovering in the air, when a sharp sound cuts through the calm. Uh-oh.

The door to the lab slides open, and in walks Madam Z, her gaze sweeping over them with that severe look only she can muster. Instantly, everyone straightens, trying (and failing) to look upright. Mesmer coughs into her hand, X sets down his ruler, and Regulus folds her arms, tilting her sunglasses back onto her head in silent acknowledgment of their misdeed.

“May I remind you all,” Madam Z begins, her tone as dry as a desert, “that this is a laboratory, not a concert hall.” Her gaze rests pointedly on Regulus, then on the abandoned speaker. “In the future, keep noise levels at a respectable volume. This is a disturbance to other staff members.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they mumble in unison, heads slightly bowed in shame.

The woman narrows her eyes, scanning each of them before she nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, please get back to your work.” With that, she turns on her heel and exits, the sound of the door sliding shut behind her as sharp and final as a gavel.

The room stays silent for a heartbeat. Then, in unison, everyone sighs in relief, exchanging wary glances before breaking into quiet, guilty sniggers.

“Well, so much for adding a bit of disco spirit to the place,” Regulus mutters, but she’s grinning as she says it.

X chuckles, returning to his tea mechanism. “It was worth it, though. For a minute there, this place felt like a party.”

“I could live without the scolding, honestly,” Mesmer drawls, sinking back into her chair, though there’s a modest smile painting her mouth. “Still… yeah, it was fun.”

Just as the laughter dies, the door opens again, and everyone freezes, expecting Madam Z to return. But this time, a tall, shadowed figure with dark curls steps through. His expression is neutral, eyes slightly narrowed as he scans the room with a quiet, assessing gaze.

X recognizes him instantly: Enigma. With his stoic, austere demeanor and the aura of someone who regards most people with little interest, Enigma carries himself like he’s barely there for their benefit.

“Oh,” X mutters, looking over at Matilda, who somewhat straightens at Enigma’s arrival. She’s one of the few people he actually respects, as it is, and there’s a subtle tension in the room now, as if everyone’s just been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Enigma’s gaze lands on Mesmer, ignoring the rest of them entirely. “Mesmer. I need to go over the details of Project Xenon,” he says flatly, his voice low and almost bored. He crosses his arms, waiting as she nods, gathering a stack of documents from her workbench.

“Right. I’ve got the latest updates here,” she informs, passing him a folder. Enigma takes it without so much as a thank-you, flipping through a few pages with an air of uncoupled efficiency.

As he glances through the papers, his gaze dawdles, almost absently, over to… X’s workbench? His tea-pouring machine sits there as though waiting for its next chance to impress. For a minute, Enigma’s expression doesn’t avert, but X could swear he catches a glimmer of intrigue in the man’s eyes, a brief twinkle of something almost like… interest? Whoa.

“Is this…” Enigma utters, his voice almost engrossed, albeit his expression remains stoic, “an automatic tea-pouring device?”

X blinks, a bit taken aback that Enigma would even acknowledge his work. “Um—yes,” he stammers. “It, uh, it’s not fully operational yet, but… it should work with a push of a button. Just a fun project, you know.”

Enigma’s gaze dithers on the contrivance for another second, then shifts back to X, eyes narrowing by a smidge like he’s gauging him. It’s not the kind of look X’s inventions usually get—people usually laugh or dismiss them, not study them as they might actually be worth something. It’s unnerving, but also a little rousing.

“Hm,” Enigma hums, turning his bearing back to Mesmer as he snaps the folder shut. “That’ll do for now. I’ll be in my office if you need anything further.”

Without another word, he nods once to Matilda, a quick cognizance, then swivels and strides toward the door, leaving the lab as suddenly as he entered.

The door slides shut, and the lab stays silent as they all process the encounter. Then Regulus breaks into a wide grin, clapping X on the back.

“Well, well, X! Looks like you’ve finally caught Enigma’s attention. Now there’s a feat.”

X laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t even know if he liked it. He just… looked at it.”

“He wouldn’t have looked at it if he wasn’t at least a little impressed,” Matilda avers, pride in her voice.

Mesmer smirks, giving X a scarce, approving nod. “Yeah, maybe there’s hope for your ‘useless’ inventions after all.”

Oh. Oh.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

The lab is quiet again, the noise and energy of the day replaced by a familiar, comforting solace. The others had left a couple of hours ago, and now it’s just X and Mesmer, finishing up in their own separate methods. Mesmer, packing her things with her usual lethargic air, gives X a sidelong look.

“John Titor should be back tomorrow,” she mentions, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I think the bug finally lost its fight.”

“Oh, really?” X reciprocates, glancing up with interest. “It’ll be nice to have her around. It’s been quieter here without… her, um, notable language.”

Mesmer gives a drowsy smile, clearly remembering the odd, cryptic strings of numbers and letters John Titor used whenever she was frustrated. “Right. A bit too quiet, if you ask me. It’s strange, though… the way she talks. She’s like a human computer. Anyway, she’ll be back to terrorize us in code tomorrow.”

X chuckles. “Well, she does claim to be a time traveler, after all. Guess that comes with the territory.”

Mesmer snorts and waves him off. “Goodnight, X. Don’t stay too late.”

“Night, Mesmer,” he says, nodding as she makes her way out, the door sliding shut behind her with a muffled hiss.

X watches her go, then turns back to his stuff, gathering them slowly, letting himself enjoy the peace of the vacant lab. He reaches for his satchel, halfway through packing his notebook, when the door behind him swings open, and a faint shuffle breaks the hush.

Startled, X whips around. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, is Medicine Pocket, their expression a blend of jet lag and disconnection. They stumble marginally as they step in, their golden-yellow eyes roaming the room, taking in the surroundings like it’s uncharted ground.

X stays quiet, observing as Medicine Pocket’s gaze finally designates on him, and he notices their eyes narrowing with recognition. There’s a beat of silence as they study him, their stare intense and deliberate, yet distant, as if he’s solely a facet in a much larger picture.

“You…” Medicine Pocket’s voice is slow, somewhat slurred with weariness. “You’re the one Enigma talks about? The… tea-pouring machine inventor?” They pause, seeming to piece together the fragments of their thoughts. “Some guy with heterochromia. There’s only one of you in Laplace. In St. Pavlov Foundation, this… this place.”

X blinks, surprised and unsure whether he’s meant to be flattered or confused. “Uh, yes, that would be me. May I help you with something?”

“I’d like to see for myself,” is all they impart.

X’s pulse skips a beat, a peculiar, fluttering feeling stirring in his stomach. It’s idiosyncratic—he can’t quite explain why this simple request feels so significant, or why Medicine Pocket’s interest in his invention has him feeling… well, a little unsteady. He brushes it off, attributing it to the surprise of the moment. Probably just hunger, he tells himself. He hasn’t eaten in hours.

“Sure,” he professes, giving a small nod. “Here it is.”

He motions to his device, and Medicine Pocket strides over, moving with a sluggish grace that somehow doesn’t detract from their presence. They lean in, studying the unfinished invention with sharp, curious eyes, tracing every detail as if committing it to memory.

X elaborates as best he can, pointing out the components, showing how the mechanical arm is supposed to tilt and pour once it’s operational. “It’s, um… not complete yet,” he confesses, scratching the back of his neck. “But it’ll be a fully automatic tea-pourer once it’s ready.”

Medicine Pocket watches, their expression blank, lips pressed together as they take in every movement of the machine. X shifts, feeling a bit self-conscious under the force of their scrutiny, waiting for a reaction, some comment that shows… something. It’s almost disappointing, seeing them so impassive, and he’s about to pull back, when—

“Amazing. Nothing mediocre here,” Medicine Pocket comments, the word slipping out in a low, almost reverent tone. “Just… amazing. I should have one of those.”

X feels a wave of reassurance, and something else—an atypical, almost sultry appeasement. He perks up, and for the first time, Medicine Pocket’s amber eyes lock onto his, studying him with an intensity that he can’t quite decipher. Their gaze doesn’t linger long, however, but in that split second, he catches their full face, unobstructed and up close.

It’s the first time he’s really looked at them—taken them in fully. There’s something unsettlingly balanced about their features, a blend of soft and dense, masculine and feminine. It’s difficult to pin down; they’re both and neither, entirely unique. Somehow, the ambiguity is striking. Attractive, even.

Attractive? X shakes the thought away, feeling a rapid, inexplicable jolt of self-consciousness. What on earth was he thinking?

Supposing they sense his distraction, Medicine Pocket clears their throat, turning their gaze away from him. “You must tell me how you made it,” they say, their voice returning to that low, almost gruff tone. “Tomorrow. At the laboratory. Meet me, and we’ll make it.”

Before X can respond, they’re already turning toward the door, moving with a slow, unhurried pace, boots dragging across the floor. The door slides shut behind them, leaving X alone in the stifled lab once more.

And… he stands there, still processing what just happened. Medicine Pocket—the enigmatic, rumored ‘mad scientist’ everyone steered clear of—wanted to meet with him. To see his apparatus. A simple invocation, but somehow it feels like something more.

As he finishes packing up, X finds himself looking forward to tomorrow in a way he hasn’t in ages.

[the-girl-from-another-time]

The Gendered Gaze in the Superhero Genre

Whenever media objectification of women is brought up (eg. “sexualization of female bodies is because our culture is centered around the male gaze”), some people like to counter with “but what about all the male shirtless scenes in Marvel movies?” The point being made is really that women can’t complain about our bodies being sexualized in media because so are men’s! Another argument is “well, women have been sexualized in media for so long, so let’s sexualize the men, too! Equality!” Additionally, many filmmakers/actors/fans like to justify said male shirtless scenes with “Here’s some eye candy for the ladies!”

But here’s the thing. Sexualization of male bodies in film and comics doesn’t actually cater to the female gaze.

Hyper-sexualization of both women and men in comics increased drastically in the late 80s and defined the 90s, especially with the rise of artists like Jim Lee and Rob Liefeld.

You look at this and think “Hot women for straight men to look at and hot guys for straight women to look at. Sounds equal.” Except, female comic readership declined significantly in the 90s (mostly because of the increasing female objectification). Comics were being distributed to direct-market shops, which were largely male-dominated spaces. Even characters who were historically feminist and targeted at girls were being drawn by artists (Mike Deodato Jr.) who openly referred to their art as “porn Wonder Woman,” and were now being targeted at straight men. As far as the creators were concerned, their readers were predominantly male. Male comic creators were completely uninterested in catering to women. Their hyper-muscular male characters were targeted at men as power fantasies, and that’s really all there is to it.

These portrayals? Plenty of straight women appreciate it, sure, but this is still the male gaze. Male directors might convince themselves that it’s “a little something for the ladies,” but it’s not. It’s continuing a male-targeted trend of the genre.

I’ve watched the Superman movies (1970s to now) with several female friends, and my overwhelming observation has been that they are far more affected by Christopher Reeve’s sweetness and adorable awkwardness than they are by Henry Cavill’s muscles.

As a longtime member of internet fandom, I’ve also noticed a major trend in fanart drawn by women and queer people that actually minimizes the muscle definition of male superheroes, frequently accentuating their body fat and generally making them look very soft and squishy instead of bulging veins and eight-packs.

When women routinely prefer character depth to physical attractiveness; sweetness to big muscles; fuller bodies to tightly muscled ones; hand touches to shirtless scenes; it becomes clear that the “we’re doing this for the ladies 😉” argument has little ground to stand on. It’s not about equality. It’s not about pleasing women. It’s about male power and toxic masculinity.

So actually no, directors have no excuse for dehydrating Henry Cavill and Chris Hemsworth to the point of hospitalization so they can “look like a superhero” and give the ladies some eye candy.

[whositmcwhatsit]

A/N: Thank you as ever to my alpha reader and emotional support hostage @thatbanditqueen. It's been a week, Elvis tumblr, a goddamn mofo of a week. This is the daydream that got me through. This is the beginning of a new WIP.

Chapter One: Not Really A Fan

The wood panelled dressing room was packed with people. Sally recognised a few of the faces from movie and television screens and she tried not to look too intensely in case people realised that she wasn’t supposed to be there.

At least she knew that she wasn’t supposed to be there. Just like she wasn’t supposed to have been sitting in the main showroom a couple of hours earlier surrounded by screaming, whistling fans as they cheered for Elvis, calling out song titles and repeatedly telling him that they loved him.

A door opened to the inner dressing room and the chatter in the room went down to a muted hum as Elvis strode out clad in a black suit with no shirt underneath. He seemed like he towered over everyone, even though he was just regularly tall not statuesque. It was the aura around him that was massive, monstrous even. Sally remembered learning that the Sun pulled all the planets into its orbit because it was so big that its force of gravity was unchallenged. Elvis was a little like that, no one could turn away from him.

Sally watched him do the rounds and started a little as he glanced at her while he was chatting and laughing with Sammy Davis Jr. He sent her a sly look from the corner of his eye, his smirk making her shiver involuntarily. He moved on to a black man in a red suit that looked somewhat familiar to Sally. Possibly another musician, she guessed. Again, Elvis had the man laughing and slapping him on the shoulder like they were best friends. As he threw back his head, Elvis turned his face, just staring at her for a moment, before returning to his conversation.

It felt like forever and also still only a few minutes watching him chat to all his guests, giving a part of himself to everyone who asked. He had completed a wide arc all the way around her, before gradually narrowing the circuit.

Finally, he was standing in front of her, his shoulders down and hips tilted forward, almost like he was about to just topple on top of her. She clenched her jaw at the picture in her head. It felt like they looked at each other for too long, but she couldn’t help herself when she was gifted with such a beautiful face, all shadows and planes, soft lips and long eyelashes. And he was doing the same, staring so long that she started to wonder if she had something on her face.

“You didn’t want a kiss, honey?” Sally blinked and awkwardly looked down at the hand that she had held out to shake his. “All your lil friends came up for a kiss, but not you.”

“Well, we’ve never met,” she replied, immediately regretting it because out loud it sounded far less dry and funny and more like she was a religious grandma. He laughed a little, rubbing the side of his face as he took her in. He finally took her hand, but didn’t shake it, turning it and circling his thumb across the back. Her hand looked tiny and snow white against his long, tanned fingers and she felt like a china doll or an ice sculpture.

“Hello, I’m Elvis Presley, and you are?” he asked, an ironic tilt to his lips, the curves of his cheekbones sculpted against his cheeks.

“Sally Forrest,” she replied, her throat suddenly dry. It felt as though someone had turned off the air conditioning and sealed all the windows; she was hot and breathless staring into his eyes, wondering what it would feel like to have those plush, full lips against hers, or on her skin.

“Pleased to meet you, Sally,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth. Her throat closed and she made a weird growl/grunt at the back of her throat as his hot breath touched her knuckles, too flustered to even register his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her the whole time like she was a game he was about to win.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, a shorter guy touched him on the shoulder and he glanced away. She took in a gasping lung full of air, involuntarily tugging her hand away.

Elvis, in the middle of a low, animated conversation with the man, looked back at her.

“No, man, tell her to stay where she is. I’ll be there- Hey, where you going, honey? We only just met!” Sally smiled apologetically, pausing to let him catch up to her. “You got somewhere better to be?”

“Well, you know there’s Dion and Paul Anka down the strip, and Tom Jones over at the Flamingo,” she replied, smiling to show she was teasing. She thought she had really messed up at first, because his face dropped and he almost glared, before he huffed a laugh just as abruptly, his eyes going back to twinkling.

“Naw, you don’t wanna see those fools, honey, they can’t… entertain you the way that I can. Hey Joe?” His head swivelled, Sally felt tired trying to keep up with everything that was happening. “Joe! Give my friend Sally here some tickets for the next show. She ain’t had a chance to get a kiss yet. And get her number too, man.” Elvis clapped another short but heavier man on the shoulder as he appeared at his side in a suit and tie. “Honey, I gotta go, time waits for no man, but I’m gonna be looking for you later tonight and I’m gonna give you that kiss, all right?” He whirled away in a flurry of motion and, slightly bewildered, Sally turned to the fast, easy smile of his friend.

“How many tickets do you need?” Joe asked, pulling a bundle out of his breast pocket.

“Oh, just the one.”

“Pretty young thing like you all by yourself?” he asked, flashing his canines.

“No, I’m here with my friend, but she’s… otherwise indisposed tonight.” That sounded much nicer than screwing a near stranger in a hotel room.

“Okay, well, just in case your friend disposes herself again.” He handed her a couple of tickets and fished out a little black book from his hip pocket along with a shiny silver pen. “And you’re Sally, right? What’s your number, Sally?”

“Here at the hotel?” She mentally kicked herself for asking such a stupid question.

“Well, that’s a start,” he nodded, smiling again. She wondered what his job description was and whether being the collector of phone numbers of girls Elvis flirted with provided good benefits or job satisfaction.

Sally left before the majority of the crowd packing out the dressing room, even as the men around Elvis were starting to let people know that he would be heading back up to his hotel room to relax before the next show. She thought about calling her friend Laura to see if she was finished with the boy she met by the pool the day before, but then reflected on the fact that missing out seemed like fitting karma for someone who had dropped her on the second day of their vacation when it had been their idea to come to Las Vegas in the first place. So, instead she wandered the casino floor for an hour, sampling the free drinks and losing more of her hard-earned wages in the slot machines.

As it drew closer to midnight, Sally second guessed going back to see Elvis’ show, wondering if she had already peaked by meeting him. She had had such a good time at the dinner show, where she had been adopted by a group of slightly older ladies, who told her that as soon as Elvis walked on stage it would be all over for her.

“You might not be a fan now, sweetie, but when you see him in action you won’t remember who you used to be before.”

They had shared their champagne and even encouraged her to jump in on their group photos, though it was every woman for herself when ‘Love Me Tender’ started and people flooded the tables at the foot of the stage like they were in a ship rapidly sinking.

Sally had watched in amazement as an older lady with steely grey curls in a beehive hoisted herself up on the table and charged the length of it like it was a runway, knocking drinks and lamps flying. Sally had only just managed to grab her glass in time, turning away to prevent herself getting a careless kitten heel to the face, but she was laughing the entire time. It was impossible not to, the atmosphere was so joyful and exciting.

If that had been the dinner show, she couldn’t imagine what she might see at the late show after the drinks had been flowing for a while and inhibitions had been lowered.

The lobby of the hotel was still heaving with couples dressed in their finest heading between the restaurants, the bars and showrooms. The air was thick with smoke, cologne and perfume and the hum of conversation and laughter was just as dense.

Sally surveyed her surroundings, trying not to feel overwhelmed or, worse, look overwhelmed. Las Vegas was not a safe place for a young woman to look vulnerable. It was the last thing Barb, who worked in the loans department, had said as they left early on Friday:  “Keep your wits and your pepper spray about you!”

Barb had bought pepper spray for all the unmarried girls at the bank last Christmas, informing them that if they ever thought about using it then they already should have.

Moving to join the queue, Sally wondered if she should have put her pepper spray in her bag. It was still in her suitcase with the bikini she was too shy to wear around the deeply tanned babes by the pool. Rolling her eyes at herself, she caught sight of a girl talking to a man in a fancy shiny tuxedo. The girl looked almost frantic as she spoke, her face pained and her hands gesticulating madly. It was only as the line moved on that Sally caught some of the words. Apparently, the girl couldn’t find her ticket, but she had bought one, she wouldn’t lie about that. Did she look like someone who would just show up without a ticket and try to lie her way in? 

The man in the shiny suit obviously worked for the hotel and he looked entirely unmoved by the woman’s plight. In a thick accent, Sally guessed Italian, he was explaining that they couldn’t just replace tickets, especially with no proof of purchase.

“But I bought them here!” the woman insisted. “Get the guy selling the tickets down here and he’ll recognise me for sure! Just ask him!”

Sally paused, arguing with herself for a moment, before she sighed and stepped out of the line.

“Hi,” she said, second guessing herself right up to the last moment. “I think you might have dropped your ticket? I just found it.” She held out the spare second ticket Joe had given her.

The girl’s eyes widened just for a second before she seized upon the moment (and the ticket).

“Yes, that’s it!” She brandished the ticket in Italian tuxedo guy’s face. “See? I told you!” Holding the ticket aloft, she shoved her way into the queue slowly filing towards the double doors, not even pausing to say thank you.

The man sighed and eyed Sally through the large square lenses of his glasses.

“I know you think you did a kind thing,” he informed her. “But she will not last the show. Security will pull her out after ten minutes.”

“I can only do the right thing,” she shrugged. “How people choose to respond is not my business.” His frown deepened momentarily and his eyes narrowed on her.

“Are you a big Elvis Presley fan, Miss?” he asked.

“Someone gave me these tickets,” she admitted, showing hers to him. “I was at the show earlier and got invited backstage by a man called Joe. I don’t know, he was really good- Elvis, that is, not Joe- but I’ve always been more of a Beatles fan, don’t tell anyone.” He gave her a strange grin, teeth dazzlingly white against his dark mahogany tan, as he examined her ticket.

“What is your name?”

“Sally.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sally. My name is Emilio, and this is my hotel. I am the maître de here at the International. If you have any problems, you ask to speak to me.” He held her hand a little too long and she felt a pang, thinking of her pepper spray. “So, let’s take this ticket, I know exactly where you need to sit.”

Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her through the double doors, ignoring the complaints of the people that had been at the front of the queue.

The perspective of the room made Sally feel a little disorientated as she let herself be led. She was almost glad of Emilio’s arm, because it felt like all the floors were angled, much like the rest of the room, towards the stage. He led her to the booths, red and white like little baskets in a row, and stopped at one right in the centre near the front.

“Here you go, Miss,” he said, beckoning over a waiter.  

“Uh, thank you,” she murmured, wondering what she had done to deserve such special treatment. He told the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne and that the lady could have drinks service throughout the show, before giving her a wink and striding away. Again, she longed for the comforting weight of the pepper spray in her purse.

Not long after that, the house lights went down, plunging the showroom into darkness, before the drums took up their frenetic pounding. Sally could feel the beat reverberating in her nervous stomach as the music blared and people were already standing, clapping and whistling at the band.

Even as she was watching these people with a sort of detached interest, Sally was taken aback by the way her stomach swooped up when Elvis strode from the wings and the crowd went wild, the whistling, screaming and clapping nearly drowning out the music. There was no denying the man looked good. Different from the way she remembered him from the movie posters she had walked past in movie theatre lobbies, he was tall, trim and tanned in his white suit, the collar high enough to brush his jet-black hair and sideburns. She could feel her cheeks heating as she was thinking about how she had almost melted in his presence in his dressing room.

As he launched into ‘That’s All Right’, she found herself sinking into some kind of hypnosis, her eyes fixed on the stage and the way his narrow hips moved.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” he said, constantly prowling the stage like a caged tiger. “My name’s Paul Anka.“ This got titters from the crowd, especially when he sang the first couple of lines of ‘Lonely Boy’.

Sally wondered if this was a secret message to her because of her joke earlier, but quickly dismissed herself as delusional. She had been one face of a hundred squeezed into that dressing room. She dismissed the thought and, for the next hour and fifteen minutes, had very few others.

Whether it was because she was on her own and had no distractions from the action taking place on the stage, or whether he had actually upped his game even further after the incredible dinner show, she could hardly take her eyes off the stage. She couldn’t understand how he still had so much energy to flex and kick and thrust his hips, over and over and over… She had to take a gulp of champagne as her mouth suddenly became very dry.

When the first notes of ‘Love Me Tender’ started up, Sally was overwhelmed by emotions to the point where her skin felt hot and tight just trying to contain them. It was impossible to parse them, she only knew that she had to stand up. Then, an invisible rope was tugging at her, and she almost tripped over her own feet as she tottered down towards the stage.

She had no idea how she made it through the press of bodies, ducking towering hairstyles and waving hands, but somehow she found herself at the foot of the stage, wedged in with the other girls who had pushed between the occupants of the trestle tables there.

The song had been going on for a while by then and some people were losing their patience, particularly a few of the male patrons who had begun to clap, loudly.

Elvis moved away from the corner of the stage where women were climbing up to wind their arms around his neck and lose themselves in his sweaty neck and rumpled collar and stepped backwards towards the centre, standing in profile as he prepared to wrap up the song with his usual karate moves.

Sally had missed her chance, she realised with a suffocating sense of disappointment. Twice she had had the opportunity to kiss that luscious mouth and she had failed both times. Though it hadn’t seemed possible at the beginning of the evening, she thought the regret would gnaw on her bones.

At the last minute, Elvis yelled off mic, bringing the band together, but then turned his head towards where she was standing. His eyebrows raised suddenly and he smirked, holding up a hand to force the band to hold that last note even as he jogged over and slid onto one knee right in front of her.

“Goddamn, you were cutting it close!” he mumbled to her, holding the mic by his knee. He angled his face, some rivulets of sweat dripped from his jaw onto her decolletage, and pressed his pillowy lips to hers. The touch of his skin against hers was searing, she had to force herself not to flinch and yet also not to surge forward and entwine her arms around him like some of the other more excitable women. He slowly drew up, his hand still raised above his head, grasping control of the band and that deafening note, but quickly ducked down again and gave her another, sloppier open-mouthed kiss, before executing a series of punches and kicks that were captured in coloured flashing lights across the stage.

Sally blinked, finding herself gaping up at him even as he was moving into another song, and as she turned away she locked eyes with another woman sitting at one of the long tables, who raised her eyebrow and gave her an impressed nod.

At the end of the show, after joining the lengthy standing ovation, Sally was disappointed when Joe didn’t appear again with his slippery smile and easy familiarity. It was just as Elvis had said, she had been invited to the show to get her kiss, that was it.

A heaviness in her gut, she trailed out of the showroom. There was no sight of Emilio the maître de either. It was almost as if her carriage had turned back into a pumpkin.

Back in her room, she tiptoed in to find Laura’s bed rumpled, unmade but empty, and hers thankfully untouched. She lay in it later, unable to close her eyes because every time she did, she saw Elvis with his leg astride, the lights flashing as he thrashed to the song ‘Tiger Man’. She wasn’t sure why it was that song playing over and over, but she couldn’t stop it.

Eventually, she fell into a light, unhappy sleep, the feeling of emptiness accompanying her into her dreams. She found herself wandering across desolate landscapes chasing after something she couldn’t name, which was always just out of reach and sight.

It was almost a relief when the trilling of the phone pierced the fog and sent her crashing back down into reality, tangled in her sheets and shivering and croaky from the air conditioning.

“Hello?”

“Hi there, can I speak to Sally?”

“Um, speaking.”

“Hey, Sally, it’s Joe, Joe Esposito, we met earlier. Sorry I didn’t recognise your voice. I guess you must sound different on the phone.”

“I was asleep. What time is it?”

“Um, just gone four I guess. Anyway, Elvis wanted me to give you a call and invite you down to the show tomorrow night. Or tonight now, I guess.”

Recognition throbbed in Sally, wrenching her awake, the recognition that there was more to come. The show hadn’t been the end of it the way that her brain had been telling her but her gut had been denying.

“Oh, sure, that sounds like fun!” she said, cringing at the eagerness in her voice.

“Well, that’s great. I’ll have the tickets waiting for you at the ticket office. Oh no, wait a minute, I-“ There was the sound of fumbling and all the heat in Sally’s body swept down her spine as a soft, low voice came on the line.

“Hey, honey, I told ya you’d get your kiss, but you sure kept me on my toes there.”

She couldn’t help it, she grinned idiotically into the darkness.

“Well, you didn’t see what I had to go through to get to the stage!” she replied. “I think most of those women had been training for that moment for a while.” He laughed, that inimitable hiccupping chuckle that made her envision his sparkling eyes and sculpted cheekbones.

“Yeah, it can get crazy down there, boy,” he agreed. “I’m glad you made it though. You must be tougher than you look, itty bitty girl like you.”

“No, not really. I think I was just fortunate. It’s been a lucky night altogether actually. I’m not sure I’m going to believe any of this happened when I wake up in the morning.”

“Well, it’s already mornin’ practically,” he pointed out, his smile audible in his voice. “And I plan on making sure you believe it when I see you, baby.”

“I’ve been pinching myself on the arm and that didn’t work.”

“Oh no, I won’t be pinching you, honey, and it won’t be on your arm.” His voice went low at the end and her skin tingled even as her pulse quickened in all parts of her body. “What did you think of the show?”

“Oh, it was amazing! You must hear that all the time though.”

“Don’t matter, I never heard it from you before. I’m glad you liked it, enough to show up for round two anyway.”

“And round three tomorrow,” she reminded him, beaming at the ceiling as she writhed on the mattress.

“Oh yeah, we’ll have a good ole bout tomorrow for sure.” She giggled at his conspiratorial tone and was charmed by the way that he joined in, like they were little kids planning mischief. “How long are you planning on being here, honey?”

“Oh, we’re here the whole week. We flew in the day before yesterday I think now. It’s tomorrow now, right?”

“Mmmhmm. Okay, I’m glad we got plenty of time, I got a whole lotta things I wanna do to- I wanna show you.”

“Like what?” she murmured, feeling her breath quickening as her hand trailed down her ribs and stomach.

“Uh uh, it’s a surprise. I wanna show you.”

“Well, in that case, I should probably get some beauty sleep. I want to have as much energy as possible for tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need it…” She rolled her eyes at his tone and he seemed to realise it without even seeing her face, rapidly changing tone and approach. “Really now, I-I think that tonight was lucky for both of us, honey. I feel real glad I met you, you know. And this is where you say it back, by the way, just lettin’ you know.”

“Of course I’m glad I met you,” she chided. “And I know I’ll feel even gladder when I’ve had some sleep. Good night, Elvis.”

“Good night, darlin’, sweet dreams.”

The sweetness in his soft voice as well as the natural command in it almost guaranteed that her dreams after she fell asleep for the second time that night were sweeter than molasses.

[mintconditiondean]

I rewrote the ending montage of 15x20 so that everything is almost the same but also, I think, a lot better -

...

DEAN: Enters Heaven. Finds Bobby outside of the Roadhouse. Has their conversation. Bobby points him towards the Impala, which is waiting for him on the road. Dean stands.

...

SAM: We see Sam standing next to a burning pyre; the wrapped body burning on it can only be Dean. As he stands in shocked silence, the first notes of "Carry On My Wayward Son" start to play. The song continues, a montage, as we watch what happens next.

...

SAM: Grieving Dean. He looks around the bunker. It's empty; no Cas, no Jack, and now no Dean. Sam decides that he refuses to isolate himself anymore. He packs his things and leaves. He gives the bunker one final look before closing the door. The bunker lights goes dark behind him. He'll pass the key on to someone else.

...

DEAN: He walks away from Bobby and the Roadhouse towards the Impala. Runs his hand over the black finish as he walks slowly to the driver's door. He opens it and gets in. He's in Heaven now, and he's supposed to rest; but he didn't want to die, and he's not ready to stop living- changing- growing. He starts the car and drives. He has a lot to think about.

...

SAM: He knocks on a house's front door. He looks nervous; he's holding all of his personal effects in the bag on his shoulder. Everything he wanted to keep of Dean's, Cas's and Jack's is in the trunk of the Impala. When the door opens, Eileen is on the other side. They look at each other, both silent. Their expressions are of unbearable sadness and infathomable hope. After a moment, they embrace. Both are crying.

...

DEAN: He's been driving for a long time. He doesn't know if it's been moments or years. The scenery shifts from mountains, to boundless fields of yellow grass, to dense and lively forest, to a desert, to an ocean cliffside. He's been thinking; thinking about what he wants. What he thinks he deserves.

...

SAM: We see Sam and Eileen host a dinner party with Donna, Jody and the girls. We see Garth visiting with Bess and their kids. Sam and Eileen look happy. There are photos of everyone they've ever loved hanging on the walls throughout their home.

...

DEAN: The Impala rumbles to a stop on a bridge overpassing a mountain stream. Dean gets out of the car and walks to the rail to gaze out over the flowing water. He hopes that Sam is doing well without him, but Sam's happiness isn't Dean's priority anymore. Dean wants his own happiness. He's had time to think, and he's ready to go find something of his own, something he wants for himself. He can't be alive anymore, but that doesn't have to mean his journey is over. Thing is, he doesn't want to travel it alone.

...

SAM: Sam and Eileen have a baby. We watch as they raise it. The baby grows from an infant to a young boy. Sam smiles with fondness and sadness at a framed photo of himself, Dean, and Bobby sitting on the hood of the Impala while he carries his son to his bedroom. When Sam tucks the little boy into bed, we see that the child's personalized headboard reads "DEAN". We can assume that Sam is going to live a long, happy life.

[The last notes of "Carry On" plays as the camera rises, panning up and away from Sam and Dean Jr., before returning to Heaven; to Dean. There is no music anymore, just the ambient sounds of the rushing stream and the forest.]

DEAN: The camera is on Dean in profile. He's still looking out over the water, arms braced against the railing. He looks content, and a little determined, but not fulfilled. It's not over, yet.

Suddenly, though we hear nothing, Dean seems to sense a new presence behind him. He straightens, and a knowing expression crosses his face. The camera pans to follow Dean as he turns around. There, in the middle of the bridge, standing next to the Impala, is Castiel.

Castiel gazes at Dean with a warm, soft smile, and even softer eyes. He's been waiting a long time to see Dean Winchester again, but the wait was worth every single moment. Dean is every bit as beautiful as Castiel remembers.

CAS: "Hello, Dean."

The camera is back on Dean, showing his head and shoulders with face centered in shot. He stares past the camera at Cas for a moment, eyes filling with wonder, before a broad smile breaks across his face. He looks to be overflowing with love. This might be the happiest we have ever seen him.

[Fade to black. Credits.]

[imauthicktic]

Hello! I read your Maxie x reader fic where they play catch and it was so cute 🥹 May I please make a request for him? I was thinking about Max being jelous when a survivor heals reader a little too caringly and he becomes posessive after the whole thing. Thank you!

HI!!! HELLO I'm so sorry it took so long for this to come out and honestly it isn't that long, but I loved this request. It was so cute and the ending is mildly suggestive but no smut lol

Max Thompson Jr. x gn!reader

You were currently in a trial with Max as the killer. To say you were a little excited was an understatement. You could feel your heartbeat getting a bit intense and knew he was nearby and you wanted to give him some love real quick. Max was running behind you and was happily squealing and when you stopped to turn around, quickly with your arms wide open for him. Max dropped his chainsaw and picked you up from around your waist making you wrap your legs around his waist as you kissed his cheek making him babble happily. “Oh my sweet boy, I missed you so much!” His hand not holding you up went under your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. You unwrap your legs from his waist, but he wasn’t ready to let go and left you dangling a little. You giggle out and say, “Sweet boy, you need to go do your job! Put me down,” Max was grumbling a little sad about having to let you go right now. You were finally put on your feet and you gave him a good kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you around, cutie.” He babbled happily and grabbed his chainsaw and ran off into the distance. 

You found a generator and were working on it for a bit, finally able to get it fixed and start running. While running around the map to find another one, you found the brick walls that would typically have one on the other side. What you didn’t expect was another survivor about to run away from that already-fixed generator and hit them head-on. The crack of two heads hitting each other. Both you and Leon groan in pain, but Leon was quick to get back up. Considering there wasn’t any imminent danger around at the moment, Leon went to grab the med pack he dropped and crawled over to you, and helped you sit up. “Good god, N/N. I knew you were hard-headed but god damn, angel,” he chuckled as he leaned you against his bent-up leg to keep you up. His hands grabbed your head and were turning it to look for any possible marks other than the obvious bruised bump coming up just off the center of your forehead. “Yeah, well you’re just as hard-headed as ever, Lee. Hell, you somehow still found me when I was in an alternate universe and saved my ass too many times to count,” you both chuckled, not knowing that there was someone watching the scene unfold from a safe distance. That someone is Max and he’s not too happy with the familiarity and closeness of you two. However, he’s not going to stop it because he wants to see how it unfolds. Leon’s hand tangled in the base of your hair for a minute and sighs at the mark on your head. He lets go and gets the pain med from the pack and some gauze to wrap up your head. After finishing taking care of you, standing up, and then helping you to your feet. “Just need to watch out for your big ass head next time,” you punched his arm, “Hope your pea brain didn’t rattle in there, Lee.” You both laughed at that and Leon gave you a quick side hug and a small peck to the top of your head before you both went your separate ways. 

Max had one thing going through his mind and it was that he didn’t like how sweet you were with such a good looking man. He knew of your closeness to the man from your life before coming here and he understands that there were people you loved and cared for before him. He wants to be the only one you are affectionate with and for you to realize that you’re his love.

The trial ended when Max was acting a bit differently at the end. He was heavily going after Leon and nearly growled at you when you tried to distract him. You were running through the cornfields of his realm, trying to check on Max. Little did you know, Max was also in the cornfield, just a few feet in front of you. It took seconds for you to reach him and accidentally knock him down due to the fields being so thick. Good thing Max knew you’re the only one who would ever come into his realm. That and he heard you yelling out, “Oh my god Maxie! Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry.” You got up off him and turned him over and he immediately sat up and grabbed the back of your knees making you fall down landing in his lap with a squeak. Max cushioned your fall though with one hand going under your thigh and one on your ass to keep you from slamming onto his lap. “AH! Oh, Max, you worried me, I thought I hurt you,” you say, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him towards you to kiss his lips over and over. Max was left with more and more giggles as he returned your kisses. His hand wrapped around your waist tightly and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. “M-Mine-e, m-minn-e-e,” he kept mumbling. Your eyes widen when you pull back a bit to look at his face. Your hands are on either side of his face as he looks up at the bruise that was still on your forehead and whines at the color. He lifts his hand and softly touches your bruise making you wince a little and he pulls back. “Max? What did you say?” He looked into your eyes and without hesitation, “M-Minnne. L-L-Lo-ove,” he pointed at your chest. You couldn’t help the giddiness you felt from hearing him trying to talk, but the fact that he was claiming you in a way. You smushed his cheeks and pulled him forward to place a deep kiss on his lips. “I love you so so much, baby boy. I’m yours ok and you’re mine, all mine,” you whisper to him. You pull him back in for another deep kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and relaxing the rest of your body against him. Feeling you relax into him, he wraps his arms around you tighter. One arm unwraps for him to put his hand under your shirt because he can’t get enough of skin-to-skin contact with you. “Let’s go to the house and we can cuddle some more, ok? I’ll even give you some more kisses too, my love.” You don’t know how, but Max got up with you in his arms with no problem and giggled while running towards the house, you still tightly wrapped around him. What you didn’t know was he was not letting you leave his realm for the next two days showing you in more ways than one that you are his and his only.

Requests are open!! Lmk what y’all think!