#like yeah I really want to work in design and you know the dream is character design and concept art but that's unrealistic

[marshvlovestv]

Oh oh oh, so I've talked before about how incredible it is to see how Double Fine matured in its handling of neurodivergence in the fifteen years between Psychonauts 1 and 2, but you know what else is addressed more sensitively in Psychonauts 2?

War.

The first game talks about war a weird amount, for it not really being the thing that the game is about, and it's all through the lens of insecure dudes in military cosplay (Fred I still love you the most but it had to be said). Oleander got rejected from every branch and now he's made this military fantasyland his whole personality, acting like a drill sergeant around the kids and dreaming up horrible superweapons, and all the while his construct in Lungfishopolis proves he doesn't really understand how the Navy works or how a revolution against the military complex would actually look. (Aside, I still find it very funny that Psychonauts 2 establishes that designing superweapons is just something he does all the time, even when he's good, and Hollis's austerity is the only thing getting in his way.) Waterloo World, meanwhile, has its roots in a real world conflict, but the real world conflict is not Fred's issue; the things casting a shadow over Fred are the mythologized legacy of Napoleon and a board game which is an abstracted mockery of real military strategy.

And all of this, treating the war and military as some abstract fantasy, is just for giggles and goofs. Which is totally fine by the way! Psychonauts is a comedy game and a dark one at that. I don't have a problem with a comedy deriving some harmless laughs from a dark topic. I'm just pointing out that the first game had an odd and irreverent fascination with war so I can say that the contrast between it and Psychonauts 2 is kind of mind-boggling.

In Psychonauts 2, war is no longer some heady hypothetical thing. This game puts an actual, in-universe war at the center of its backstory. This war had real casualties. It tore apart families, displaced people from their homes, left so much pain in its wake that even mentioning the name Maligula is said to cause a massive psychic outcry. Of course, every character in the game who was touched by this war has trauma coming out of their ears. And the villain of the piece is Gristol, the one person who (despite, yes, having associated traumas of his own) doesn't take what happened seriously, the person who wants the war machine that was Maligula to come back.

Anyway so yeah I played Psychonauts for one (1) hour yesterday and the Video Game Thoughts are alllllll coming back.

[featherymainffins]

Kinda fucked up how all the people I know are like "Yeah I know what I want in my life. I want to work in X field and I want/don't want a long-term partner who I'm going to marry, I want kids and-"

and I'm there just like 🧍

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

[vaaaaaiolet]

Sleep-deprived Leon's upstairs neighbor works late 'cause she's a singer on a deadline, and he's having none of it. He comes up with a wild solution to the problem in a moment of desperation, and he's surprised when you actually go along with it, but anything to get a full night's sleep, right? Then he finds himself wanting a bit more than camaraderie with you in the process.

f/m, romance, fluff, does this count as crack??? popstar reader w/ a twist, ID leon is USELESS w tech + lives under a ROCK, also you manic pixie dream girl a bit too close to the sun but it's ok bc ur cute LOL

word count: 2.6k // read this chapter on ao3

a/n: req fic + belated bday gift for my lovely 🍍 anon!! as usual i got carried away and butchered it. um. NOTHING makes sense just go w the vibes i beg you </3 pt. 2 coming out asap bc this fic will not leave me alone in the best way :)

chapter one

Rule of thumb: don’t bang on the first date. 

Leon’s wrapping his pillow around his head like a pair of goddamn Beefs (or is Beets? those tacky, overpriced- oh, forget it) while his upstairs neighbor gives her bed a run for its money on a Friday night, at a blessed 9 PM no less. 

Oh yeah. Her.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

R-rated suspicions aside, Leon tries hoping for the best. His new neighbor might just be an interior designer of the nocturnal sort. Sick of his previous rowdy, college kid-infested apartment building, he’d moved into this complex not too long ago thanks to a very politely-worded call to Hunnigan about open listings in quiet, senior citizen-friendly neighborhoods. Call him old, call him boring, but after a long day of running around saving humanity from the newest bioweapon to hit the market, all Leon ever wants to do these days is get a few winks of sleep. He’s pushing 30. Insomnia’s no fountain of youth, people. 

Thump, thump-thump-thump. 

New Girl upstairs seemed to have the same idea but with far more nefarious intent. She’d moved in at the same time as him, he’s sure – Leon saw a flash of her face a few days ago when she was lugging boxes of stuff into the elevator up to her floor. She’s the only sign of life from the 21st century he’s encountered since the day he came to sign his lease papers. Why? 

Because Hunnigan had fulfilled his request to a T. Leon’s new apartment building is long-term care home adjacent. 

Full of grandmas and grandpas who got about as loud as their record players, only leaving their homes to fetch the mail – telegrams by the wrinkles on some of them. It was perfect. Leon was positively thrilled when Eunice from Unit 202 very, very slowly, waved hello to him on his moving day.

THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

And then she happened.

Maybe he’s just a grumpy old man right where he belongs, in all his 29-and-a-half glory. But the pounding that girl is giving her bed with some frat boy right now is giving Leon the college dorm experience all over again. It takes him half an hour of tossing and turning in his sheets to throw on an old jacket, beeline to the elevator, punch the neon 3 button, and darken New Girl’s doorstep. 

His turn now. A quick knock, knock is enough for Unit 304’s door to open a crack.

“Hey, I’m from downst- oh my God, are you decent?”

And you, standing at the door in a dress that’s more sheer than his disbelief, only tilt your head to go, “Huh?” 

“Listen, I know tomorrow’s the weekend but I- shit,” his face burns, “could you keep it down, please? You guys are really loud and it’s late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You- you and whoever you’re with, could you not do this right now?” Leon croaks. 

Your hands flail wildly in dismissal. “Oh no, that was just me jumping on my bed! Helps with my creative process,” you say, smiling weakly. “I didn’t know the floors were that thin, I’m sorry.”

Bullshit. “They are.” Leon grimaces, “And um, it’s fine if you guys are loud, just save it for when everyone’s asleep next time.”

A frown interrupts your smile. “I just said it was me. There’s no one else here, seriously.”

“So what’s with the getup?”

“The-” your eyes drift down to the near see-through of your dress and Leon gestures vaguely, as if you need more explanation to why he’s avoiding eye contact with your chest. “Oh, this?”

He nods. 

“Creative process!” you chirp brightly.

“For what, pray tell?”

Curiously, that puts the wind out of your sails. Suddenly you having trouble meeting Leon’s eyes, lashes fluttering as you look up, down, anywhere that’s not his face. 

“For school,” you finally make out, fingers wrapping around the edge of your door. “I’m a music major.”

Pianos and prancing on beds don’t exactly mix. He can’t help but squint at you. “And the jumping helps with…?”

“Getting past writer’s block!” 

Back to bubbly with the ball in your court, you go so far as to open your door a little further to explain. Leon’s cheeks blaze as he tries his damndest to keep his eyes from drifting south. 

“I read online that moving around helps with ideas, and I’m supposed to have a whole album written by the end of the week. I probably shouldn’t have procrastinated…” you trail off with a half-hearted chuckle, “so now I’m throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, y’know?”  

He hums. “You wanna be a singer?” 

“Mhm!” Your updone hair bobs with you, reminding him a little of a bobblehead. It’s almost cute enough to make his AMs worthwhile.

“Then you better start singing somewhere else, sweetheart. The walls are just as thin as the floors.” 

And Leon immediately turns his ass around to go back to sleep.

In hindsight, it might’ve been a little mean of him to leave like that. But his bed is just so heavenly, and with the sleep deprivation he’s been racking up lately, Leon’s half sure he just dreamed that entire exchange. There’s no way a girl like you in college – in her 20s, give or take – is seriously jumping on her bed on a Friday night for a homework assignment. That too in a dress fit for the club to add to the irony. Are all creatives this weird?

He pinches the bridge of his nose as the elevator descends, pushing aside his last glimpse of the glum expression he left you with in your doorway. So much for first impressions. But hey, you didn’t really make a great one either. He’ll call it even. Maybe get you a gift basket for chivalry’s sake.

He considers all this as he slips back under his blankets, finally, at 9:45 PM.

And then he hears a creeeaaak.

“Please,” Leon groans, jamming his pillow over his ears. 

Thump…thump?

Nix the gift basket.

6:00 AM on Saturday finds Leon with his eyes wide open and glazed insomniac red.

His alarm blares as if to say, you actually thought you’d need to get woken up, didn’t you?

It’s a little patronizing. He teaches it a lesson by throwing it off his nightstand.

Sometime between 11 and 12 at night, you’d gotten bored of your bed and taken to something with wheels. An office chair is Leon’s best guess. You’d rolled across your floor all night, and the resulting clatter of plastic grating on hardwood had kept him awake until the sunrise. Hangovers were more pleasant than the night of sleep (or lack thereof) he’d just gotten, and Leon’s no wimp. He’s a man, goddamnit. A decorated government agent!

So he handles the problem at its source. Whips out his flip phone like a man, and makes a very important call.

A disgruntled female voice crackles through at the first ring. “May I remind you that this line’s only for emergencies, Leon?”

“It is! I need you to find me another apartment, Hunnigan, please,” Leon sits up, rubbing his eyes to plead his case to an unimpressed Ingrid Hunnigan. “My upstairs neighbor won’t let me sleep. The floors are thin as hell and she’s been moving around all night. It’s even worse than my last place.”

“Really? An old lady is giving you that hard of a time?” 

“She’s college age — a singer — and when she starts singing for her homework all the time, I’m really not going to get any sleep. I’m begging you, Hunnigan. Get me out of here.” 

“Strange.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Truly,” Hunnigan deadpans. “You know how hard of a time I had getting you into an apartment building only for people over 55, Leon?” 

He winces, holding the phone a little further from his ears just in case. 

“How many favors I had to cash in, strings I had to pull, all because you’re hopeless at navigating an apartment listing site, let alone anything on the Internet? Do you realize I had to do that in my personal time because your request would fall under illegal use of federal intelligence resources?”

Leon falters. “I didn’t-”

“So here’s what you’re going to do,” Hunnigan says shortly. “You are going right back to your neighbor and working out a solution like an adult.”

“But I already-”

“You’re solving this on your own, Leon. Figure something out because I know you can delegate. Got it?”

He really doesn’t. He’s only good at that outside of the US.

“Is that clear, Agent Kennedy?” Hunnigan repeats for semantic measure.

“Crystal,” Leon mopes, sapped of all hope when she ends the call with a ‘good luck’, just like back in Spain. A familiar routine.

He’s back in front of Unit 304 by 9:00 AM. 

You open your door with a half-chewed yawn, wrapped in a robe and looking deceptively angelic, that is, if it weren’t for the immediate pinch your pretty brows take on when you grace him with a decidedly sour look. 

“Up already?” Leon tries.

This time all he gets in response is a quick nod, a mouth parted in distaste. 

Forward march, Kennedy.

“You were up past midnight. I heard you, y’know, on your chair. Kinda loud.”

“I’m not annoying you on purpose,” you sigh, tucking your arms into a tight cross over the fluff of your robe. “I just really have to turn my album in on time and I’m having crazy writer’s block. They told me the people here are quiet and easygoing. I haven’t had a single noise complaint so far except for you, did you know that?” 

“That’s because everyone in this building either has hearing aids or doesn’t realize they need them yet,” Leon grits. “I don’t even know how you got in here, to be honest.”

“A sparkling letter of recommendation, thank you very much. And you?” You push up on your toes indignantly. “Are you just older than you look? ‘Cause you might need a pair of hearing aids yourself.”

Leon bites back a scoff. “Don’t need ‘em. I can hear you plain as day from below.”

Sirens are starting to blare in his head and it’s like he can feel Hunnigan glaring at him from her HQ in the sky. Aborting mission again isn’t an option. If Leon doesn’t fix things now, he’d be starting bad blood that might outlast the combined remaining lifespans of the building’s tenants. His salary could cover rent that long; his ego, not so much.

You’re about two seconds away from shutting your door in Leon’s face before he interrupts with a save pulled straight from his ass: “I’ll help you write your songs.”

So instead, you squawk, “What?”

He sticks the toe of his shoe in your doorjamb for insurance. Blurts, “I mean it. I’ll help you come up with ideas.”

“How on Earth would you do that?”

Great question. No better time than the present for the both of you to find out. 

“You said moving around helps?” Leon repeats for you to confirm with a quizzical nod, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anywhere in the city, you name it, I’ve got a motorcycle I’ll get you there on. It’ll be a change of scenery. Just whatever you do, enough with the gymnastics at midnight.”

It’s a desperate lifeline, a creepy one now that he’s had more than two seconds to think about it, but a lifeline nonetheless.

And to his horror, all you do is stare. 

The resulting silence feels like crystallizing amber. A clock ticks agonizingly from somewhere in your living room. Tick, tick, shit, he desponds. But thankfully, your laugh bubbles out not a moment too soon, sending a tsunami of relief down his shoulders. 

“Gymnastics, really?” you snort, covering your mouth with a well-manicured hand.

“I’m serious.” Leon shoots for a winning smile. “But I have to ask, is working late also part of your creative process?”

Your eyes crinkle maybe, but you shake your head no. 

“Then we’ll go whenever you’re free. Show you a few of my favorite spots, see if it speeds up your songwriting. Sound okay, sweetheart?” 

“How about now?” you pipe up.

Leon coughs his splutter into something more dignified. 

“You said whenever I was free! It’s a Saturday, you’re free,” you point a finger at his chest, “I’m free,” turn it back on yourself, “and I need to finish writing my album by, like, yesterday. This is perfect!” With a miniscule squeal, you disappear back into your apartment.

Leon’s left standing in your entryway wondering when his lifeline became a dynamite detonation cord.

“You haven’t even asked me my name,” he calls out to deaf ears. Cups his hands for effect because he can hear you flinging hangers onto the floor. “Don’t they teach you about stranger danger at school?” 

“I’ll find out eventually!” floats back your worrying response.

You’re an efficient dresser, Leon gives you that. A thankfully normal one too at the dress and heels you rush back up to the door with. A large pair of cat-eye sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose makes Leon do a double take at the cloudy sky outside, but then again, maybe it’s another part of your creative process. Beyond his pay grade.

You adjust your sunnies with gusto, grin up at him when he gives you a curious look. 

“Well, go on,” you say, pulling out your phone. 

Leon blinks at the glowing rectangle.

“Number, name?” You tilt it as if you’re trying to entice a toddler. “I can’t just keep calling you Mr. Noise Complaint.”

“Aw, you’ve been telling your friends about me?” Leon chuckles at last, pulling out his flip phone and handing it to you.  

And suddenly it’s your turn to stare at a piece of foreign technology.

You take your sweet time putting in your number. It’s very entertaining, the way the tip of your tongue sticks out the tiniest bit when you make a mistake and the sound of furious keypad backspacing follows right after. Leon’s no better, setting himself on your phone as “LOEN KEENAYD”, and with his pride bordering on hubris, he has no choice but to keep it that way.

“Really small backspace key,” he fibs when you peer at the gibberish in your contacts. 

Your lip bite makes for a piss-poor job of hiding how funny it is.  

“It’s Leon, by the way. Leon Kennedy. Apartment 204.” 

You fix his name in half the time it took him to put it in. He holds his hand out for a shake, timeless enough, and you give it three businesslike pumps.

“I have to grab a spare helmet from my place, I’ll meet you down at the garage,” Leon promises.

You point at him before stepping into the elevator. “Either your idea works or I’ll have to work past midnight to get this album done and then you’ll really owe me, Leon.” 

In another life, you could’ve been a CEO. You’ve certainly got the pointer finger for it. 

Leon tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Whatever it takes to get back into your good graces, ma’am,” he grins.

That gets a cackle out of you as the elevator doors slide shut.

And he takes the stairs this time, waves good morning to Eunice in 215 on his way to pick up that helmet for you. It must be a good day, Leon thinks, sounding out your name in his phone’s contacts. Eunice even has a post- Great Depression era vinyl playing on her record player. Maybe it’s a sign to not be so glum about his situation. He’s finally fixing it, isn’t he? 

So be it. A guy can dream. In Leon’s case, he’s hoping he gets eight hours by Monday.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/saradika-graphics <3

[hyunverse]

welcome home ★ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x gn!reader. fluff, drabble. no warnings.

wc: 600 words.

Hyunjin renovates your new home for you, ensuring each detail is tailored to your liking.

"Watch your steps."

Carefully, Hyunjin guides you around the house, one hand clasped against your eyes, the other resting on your waist.  You could feel the cold tiles beneath your feet, and how it is slightly dusty from the month-long renovations. 

"Careful, don't want you to stub your toe," Hyunjin says, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

Hyunjin walks you through the house, until at one point (you couldn't tell where in the house), he stops. 

"One, two..." he whispers, and you can feel the smile on his face, "...Three. Surprise!"

Hyunjin drops his hand, watching as you take in the sight before you. You're standing in front of the newly renovated kitchen, its appearance far different than the last time you saw it. 

"Oh my god," you breathe out, "What the hell, Hyunjin?"

The walls of the kitchen had been renovated to your liking, the boring brick walls transformed into green marble tiles. The countertop looks like one from your dreams — straight from the house of Monet. All you could do is gasp.

"You like it?" Hyunjin questions, placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Sweetheart, I love it," you whisper. He smiles, content with the perplexed look on your face. 

"I love it," you repeat, roaming around the kitchen with Hyunjin following you like a lost puppy. "I really love it, Hyune."

“I’m happy you do, baby.”

You rummage through the drawers, trailing your pointer against every surface you could touch. All the furniture, even the kitchen cookware sets, was designed according to your preferences — as though Hyunjin had the same mind as yours. Frankly, it’s like your Pinterest board has come to life. 

What you’re unaware of is that indeed, Hyunjin had spent weeks stalking you on Pinterest. His urges of “pleeaaaaseee update your Pinterest boards,” weren’t for nothing. 

"Wait, need to show you this," your fiancee interrupts, taking your hand to lead you to a cabinet. 

He gently opens the cabinet, revealing a spice rack. The spice rack you've always wanted — he knows because he remembers the few times you've mentioned it — is sitting right inside the cabinet. 

“Holy fuck, Hyune,” you mutter, turning your head to him with your mouth agape, “It’s the fucking Lenox Spice Village that I wanted!”

“Yeah,” he giggles, a sense of pride bubbling in him. He lets out a small “oof,” when you throw yourself onto him, engulfing him into a tight hug.

“I love it so much, baby. I really love it.”

“Really?” he giggles, holding you tightly, “You haven’t even seen the bedroom.” 

Hyunjin leads you to the bedroom, then the bathroom, the living room — and lastly, an office. The space in the office had been divided into two, one-half works as his art corner, and the other serves as a study for you. The desk is exactly to your liking, a space designated for you to indulge in your hobbies.

There’s a peg board above your desk — with magnets from the cities you’ve travelled to, and polaroids from your dates with Hyunjin. A memento for all the memories you’ve made with him. 

It all feels like home. 

“It’s really perfect,” you exhale, standing by the desk with an awestruck face. “You know me so well, Hyune.”

“I do?” he mutters, a small smile gracing his face. He inches closer to you, his breath fanning against your neck. A kiss is cheekily placed on your cheek. “I just wanted you to feel at home.”

“And I do,” you whisper, looking up at him. “I feel at home. When you said to move in with you, I didn’t expect for all of this, you know?”

Hyunjin smiles, cupping your face with a tenderness you never thought you would deserve. Soft, akin to the breeze that graces your face every midnight. 

A contrast to his touch, his next words kicks the air out of you.

“Welcome home.”

taglist (send an ask to be added!)

@zoe8stay @starlostseungmin @hwajin @sleepyleeji @jdopes-recorder @sherryblossom @alyszaen @hyunluvxo @bokk-minnie @ghostyycat7 @fortunatelyhertragedy @yongbokkari @ameliesaysshoo @seoli-16 @jisungsdaydreamer @soobnny @seolboba @in2heartz @jehhskz @astraystayyh @mnwrld @hanjsquokka @pheonixfire777 @sapphirewaves @onlyhyunjin @jaefilm

[kingconia]

HOW TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS ACT WHEN YOU ARE THEIR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY

— ; gender-neutral ; might as well do the second and the third part with vices and first years if you want ;

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— You are his favourite fashion designer. It might sound ridiculous on some extent, but he fell in love with your collections of clothes in his early childhood;

— Not only you made an exquisite pieces on your own, but also, as a former student of NRC—most likely, from Pomefiore—you often create collections inspired by each of houses;

— Riddle's mother strongly shares his strange obsession over you, so she bought him a lot of your clothes;

— When he becomes a student, he indulges himself by ordering a special lining of clothes that will be made only for him.

•

”I see,” you nod, gripping a pencil harder as you frantically draw something on the paper. ”That wouldn't be a problem at all. In fact, I actually enjoy your ideas.”

”Really?” Riddle blushes traitorously, almost knocking the tea cup of the table. Gladly, you don't notice due to being too involved in sketching. ”I, I mean, it is pleasant to know.”

Just as rumours told, you were a very interesting, though, extravagant creature. Not in the rude way. But it seemed like an outside world hardly existed for you. All your attention was centred on your works.

”Give me two weeks, and I will finish everything,” you finally look at him, eyes sprinkling with a pure inspiration. ”Will it be fine for you, mister Rosehearts?”

”Of course,” he offers you a nervous smile. ”Take all the time in the world, please”

”Good,” you hum, standing up from your chair. ”It is pleasant to work with you.”

He nods, being completely at loss of his words. You are his idol, his legend... He doesn't know how to talk with you.

”Oh, and... Thank you for this short opportunity to visit the walls of my old school once again. It is interesting experience,” you wink at him, before disappearing in the depth of his garden.

Riddle gasps.

That is so much better than his dreams!

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Might be a controversial opinion, but you are his favourite political figure in the Afterglow Savannah;

— Perhaps, it is because you are not dazzled by his brother, always keeping your coolheaded and calculated attitude. Or maybe it is because you actually tried to help him to get involved in the country's council. Nevertheless, he strangely adores you;

— As a kid he dreamt a lot of becoming a king, and making you his consort. But, of course, his dreams were useless and quite embarrassing;

— Yet, even after all these years, are the only person, who makes him stutter. Ruggie honestly loves it;

•

”It is pleasure you meet you again, prince Leona.”

As soon as Leona makes an eye contact with you, he gets absolutely lost. It takes almost a minute from him, to bow his head before you respectfully, and to answer.

”...Farena never mentioned you coming,” he tries to sound cool as usual, but his tail is swaying nervously, betraying him. ”But, of course, you are very welcomed here.”

You nod, but stay very oblivious to his excitement. You never actually notice his adore towards you, always too focused on your work, rather than paying attention on people around.

”I had a meeting with this head of the school of yours,” you frown a little at these words, and he assumes you didn't really like Crowley. ”And his Majesty decided to bring Cheka along. Since he insisted, I couldn't deny the wish of little prince.”

”Yeah... Thank you very much for taking care of this little cub.” He mutters, tugging his own braids nervously. ”May I ask what could possibly be required from Crowley?”

Your ears perk up a little; a good sign of you being interested in the topic. Leona instantly feels smug that he was able to raise a right topic to drag you in conversation.

”If prince Leona doesn't mind, we could discuss it while walking around your school,” you suggest, now with your tail swaying enthusiastically. ”I also think, you will be interested in my proposition."

As if he isn't interested in everything you do...

”I wouldn't dream of anything better,” he answers honestly. ”Ruggie will take care of Cheka then.”

Ruggie, whose present was forgotten easily, rolls his eyes. As two of you leave, speaking in the hushed tones, he couldn't help but cuss at Leona. What an annoying brat he is.

Azul Ashengrotto. ���

— Quite predicable. You are his favourite lawyer in the whole world, much to his stepfather's displeasure;

— He is actually the one, who told stories about you—since you are working in the same area—but he couldn't imagine that his son will be so invested in your figure;

— Azul has a whole wall with cutouts from news about your wins in the court. He stares at it every morning, for—as he says—a manifestation a luck and success;

— He is buzzing with excitement, when Crowley invites you on the orientation day to inspire his students.

•

You let out a tired groan.

It is not the first time you are invited on lections for kids, but it was definitely the hardest one. Mostly, because there was this very enthusiastic boy, who asked you a million questions about everything. Your work, your ideals, your previous cases.

And while you could feel a great potential in him, you also was drained. That is why when you hear his voice again, you are thinking about running away.

”Excuse me, Y/n Y/s? I... I apologise for the interruping your rest time, but I simply wanted to say how impressive you are, and—”

You raise your hand, gesturing him to stop. He does so, a little bit ashamed.

”What is your name?” You ask him instead.

”I... My name is Azul Ashengrotto,” he pauses, glancing at the floor, probably, assuming you will scold him.

”Oh,” you blink in late realisation. ”I know your father. He is the lawyer, too, isn't he?”

He nods, and you finally realise where he got this persistence from.

”Well, Azul...” You shuffle in your pocket, finding one of many visit cards you carry with you, handing it to him. ”You are truly quite smart kid. And if you will still be sure in becoming a lawyer later, after your school ends, you can always contact me. I think, I could become your mentor.”

He stares at your visit cards so shocked, that you wonder if he is okay. Nevertheless, as he is speechless, you are quickly attempting to leave the corridor, before he starts asking more.

”T... Thank you very much! I will.” You hear him saying, when you are already at doors.

It is a shame you miss his screeching sounds of happiness as you left, though. People will kill to see Azul Ashengrotto acting like this.

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Another predictable answer. You are his favourite dancer;

— You dance in some different styles at the same time, and he honestly adores the way you switch so easily between them;

— ...He is crying from the pure excitement, once you try east style of dances, and Jamil listens him sobbing for an hour, while he spams your Magicam with millions of complements;

— Of course, Kalim shoves a sack of money in Crowley's face, so he could invite you on some ball in the school to perform, lmao.

•

”I am honestly flattered,” you admit shyly, while Kalim kisses your hands adoringly. ”And surprised! We, dancers, rarely appreciated as much as actors or singers... But, uh, thank you very much!”

Kalim jumps on his feet, smiling even wider with each word. Not only you danced gracefully, but also spoke this way! He is so amazed by you!

”No, no, thank you! You can't explain how much joy you bring in my life!” He practically screams, making others to glance in your direction suspiciously. ”I actually wanted to show my gratitude! So, maybe you want to have dinner with me and Jamil! Jamil's cooking is just amazing! You will love it!”

You raise your brows in surprise, but laugh quietly. This boy is very, very funny.

”Oh, that sounds nice, but... I have a special diet, so I assume I cannot...”

Before your finish your sentence, a lean and dark figure of the boy around Kalim's age appears behind you. With a slight nudge to your shoulders, he whispers, almost pleadingly.

”Please, agree to this offer. He is literally will cry for hours if you don't.”

Ah, that is supposedly Jamil...

You return your gaze on Kalim, who is watching you with big, watery eyes. You really can't say no...

”I assume... If only for an hour or, so...”

"Yay!”

Idia Shroud. 💙

— You are his favourite cosplayer, because of course you are;

— A love from the first sight, some can call it. But he is obsessed with each character you do! You nail it!

— He is not social enough to actually write comments on your photos, or even appear on the same Cons as you, so instead, he keeps his love anonymous;

— And by that I mean sending you a lot of donations, and buying all your Wishlist for new cosplays, lmao.

•

You stare at the big amount of money that came to your account this morning. The sender stays the same throughout this year; an anonymous fan named as a Hounddog666. No matter how concerning it is, you are actually flattered. Someone really loves you this much!

So, as usual, you message to him to thank for it.

His account—the only one you has—is private and closed, no photos, no names, no followers. You assume it is fake.

You:

Hello, hello! :) I just received your new gift, and I wanted to say how much I am grateful for your support. I wish I could do something for you as well, though.

Answers comes immediately.

Hounddog666:

Greetings. Please, continue to make all of us happy with your art. It means a lot for me. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. How sweet.

You:

Thanks, really. Maybe we should meet sometime, if you are such a fan of mine, haha.

Perhaps, it is slightly stupid and naive decision. This person could be a possible stalker or maniac, but... Well, you couldn't help but be curious of how exactly looks a person that adores you like this.

Hounddog666:

Perhaps.

You hum as he vanishes from online.

At the meantime, Idia Shroud falls from his chair after recieving your message, making other students in the History of Magic class glare at him with disapproval. But what would they know? He is just became closer to his idol!

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Surprisingly... You are his favourite writer;

— The connection between actors and writers is always a strong one. Writers and books are a constant tools for actors that help them understand characters and their inner thoughts;

— Vil isn't an expectation! He loves your books for many years, and his only dream was to play some of your characters;

— That is why he immediately suggested his candidature on the main lead in the film adaptation of your book that was announced recently.

•

Vil huffs, staring at his reflection absent-mindedly. A closed scenario in front of him ache his eyes, making his chest to tighten nervously.

This character, whose role he got, is his favourite actually. As a teenager, he found this boy with a complicated writing, a very relatable one. And he thought, it would be easy to play him as they share the same issues and pain. Bur instead, he finds himself... Feeling worse as he does so.

Each conversation with your about this character makes him feel nauseous. It is as if he is playing himself! And for some reason that he can't understand, it is not pleasant at all!

”Here you are,” he hears your warm voice, and before he realises you are close, you already put a cup of green tea in front of him. ”Are you okay, Vil?”

He nods thankfully, accepting the drink.

He should be happy now. He met his favourite person in the world, he has a possibility to speak with you so casually. Then why, he feels so shattered?

”I am,” Vil answers. ”It is just... A hard role.”

You nod, and he catch the glimpse of understanding in your eyes.

”Trust me, I know. Writing him wasn't easy, too. Do you know why?” He shakes his head. "Because I put a lot of myself in him. And it felt... Awful. As if I was peeling my own skin from myself, layer by layer, until I was left naked in front of thousands... No, millions people. It is never easy to be sincere, I am afraid.”

Vil blinkes.

This! This is why he loves your books. It is the way how beautiful you yield your thoughts, putting them in gentle, yet piercing, words. It is about you understanding him, despite never knowing before.

He finds himself smiling widely.

”This makes me even more glad that I am playing him,” he says, more collected than before.

You laugh, patting his shoulder slightly.

”I feel the same way about you playing him, Vil. Believe me or not, you look and act exactly as I pictured him to be.”

He gasps happily.

You are satisfied with him. That's absolutely beautiful!

”I will try not to disappoint, then.”

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— You are his favourite artist whose works were introduced him by Lilia;

— He fell in love with your drawings first, but as soon as he realised that you not only draw, but also make sculptures, he fell in love even more;

— Buys and adores everything you do, but especially likes it, when you give interviews, explaining all little details and historical context behind your works. You are smart. He likes it about others;

— No surprise he commissions a gargoyle statue from you, eventually.

•

”You speak so beautiful, young prince,” you murmur, astonished by the fae in front of you. ”I... I can't explain how charmingly inspiring your stories are!”

Malleus feels unexplainable amount of joy, when he sees you pacing from one side room to another, inspired by his words. His stories.

No one ever shared his interest in gargoyles, and this kind of reaction feels... Strangely rewarding.

”It is only small part of what I have to say about gargoyles,” he assures you quietly. ”But I am glad that you find it as curious as I do.”

”Curious?” You echo his words, stopping in front of him. ”That is not curious, young prince, that is ethereal. Ephemeral. It feels like chasing a dream.”

He smiles at your excitement, baring his fangs out. He feels the same way about it. For once, Malleus's assumptions were right; you are exactly who he searched for all these years.

”Young prince,” you take his hands in yours, making his breath hitch, ”please, if you enjoy my result on your commission later, I am begging you to work with me on my next project about gargoyles. I feel like it will be my magnus opium. I—”

You continue to chatter actively, voice becoming higher with each sentence, but Malleus only can stare at you and at your linked arms. The tip of his ears are reddening. Is it even real?

Not only he will have new works from you, but also... He will be able to spend time with you?

Does you expect him to refuse?

”It will be a pleasure of mine,” he tells you, with a genuine adore in his eyes.

”My prince,” you squeak,” I already love you. Thank you, thank you!”

And at this point, others can't say for sure, who is whose fan here...

[wonryllis]

somewhere in northern italy | 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇.

synopsis. park sunghoon hates oranges, he always has. the tangy citrusy tingles he's so not fond of it. he also hates you, the living embodiment of an orange: cheery, full of life, and well, round. why should he be bothered by it though? all he has to do is work hard to get into his dream university. but the thing is, he really needs a specific recommendation letter for it. something which he can only get from your father. and hypothetically speaking, he can't just ask for it, so he does you 'a favor for a favor'; he fake dates you on your trip home for summer break and surprise surprise your family owns the biggest orange farm in the country.

or where, sunghoon falls for the one thing he has hated all his life.

word count. 1.6k (teaser) full fic: est 10k-15k? maybe more?

meet the cast. park sunghoon who has an obsession of taking photos with fem!reader who loves being photographed.

genre. fake dating AUUUU!!!! ANDDD enemies to lovers!!!(for hoon), frenemies to lovers(for you), fluff, crackkkk, nsfw, suggestive, sunghoon getting cockblocked all the damn time, set in lombardy, northern italy. popular x unpopular but it's mildly mentioned. sunghoon thinks you are a spoiled brat, a very very studious and upright sunghoon. oh and did you know? orange, orange and orange (sunghoons nightmare) rich girlie and old money reader, sunghoon is gobsmacked at reader's house, parents..(do i really need to add?) and the orange farm.

warnings. allusions as to reader being daddy's princess and being sheltered and hoon struggling every day with oranges and painting a good image of himself to get that letter. nsfw warnings will be added in the full fic. (also no it's not a chubby reader)

RELEASE DATE. TBD

written so far. 15%

author's note﹙ ⌕. ﹚ had this random ass idea while having orange juice yesterday ksjksj. taglist is open for this as well as the permanent one, just let me know and i'll add you asap! not sure if this' good enough kindly bear with me. PLS DONT LET THIS FLOP I REALLY LOVE THIS BABY ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

꒰⠀ N O W P L A Y I N G. ⠀꒱ cruel summer by taylor swift, one kiss by calvin harris & dua lipa, karma by taylor swift, me by taylor swift, call it what you want by taylor swift, blinding lights by the weekend, fireworks by katy perry

"you wanna go down to the lake?" sunghoon looks up to find you at the door, more like peeping in from outside. his hands stopping mid-air with his spongebob boxers in hand, in the middle of unpacking what was left of his luggage. he moves at the speed of light, shoving them back in before you can notice the print. but too late you already saw it well, "you wear spongebob?" your laugh tickles his insides and it feels weird how he seems to like it.

no, he did not want to go out right now. after that stressful breakfast in the garden he just wants to fall face first into your fluffy mattress and sleep it out under your silk comforter. but something about your laugh makes him intrigued, would going down to the lake with you show him more of this side of yours? now this would probably be the seventh time he has wondered of how prettily you laugh. the curve of your eyes and the faint dimples on your cheeks his favourite things. oh? he picked favourites already it's weird, he thinks.

"yeah, let's go. just lemme change my shirt real quick," disappearing into the bathroom before you have the chance to speak. though when he steps back into the room,"your taste is funny," his spongebob boxers hang at the tip of your index finger as you look closely at the design. "put that back!" he scolds, choking on his spit while he rushing over.

"why? don't tell me you haven't washed it? now that's really bad hoonie," the tone of your voice teases his nerves but honestly he's used to it, more precisely he doesn't hate it as much as he thought he did.

"y/n," he warns, albeit not seriously and you can see it.

"baby," in a sweet little smile, (one that has sunghoon's hate for you faltering in the slightest each time you put it on) you correct him,"remember?" my fake boyfriend, mouthing out through a sly grin.

it's like an immediate que for him to give it up, he's not gonna win against you. when he used to see you around the university, mingling amidst a crowd of people every single time, he always thought you'd hold nothing against him. in his eyes you were a hollow image, nothing worth it. perhaps he was wrong, for so far you have him tight in a grip, he can't seem to find something to properly hate. that is if he takes the oranges out the picture.

he sighs in resignation,"come on, let's go, baby." happy? his brows rising in a question, softening up at your smile getting wider with a swift nod.

he relaxed too soon.

"was this really necessary?" the palm of his hand slides around your wrist as you walk down the steps of your italian chateau. supporting your heel clad feet and gesturing at the big beige floppy beach hat sitting atop your head. "absolutely! it's my fa- dad!" sunghoon's head snaps at that, immediately turning to look at the pitch of your voice going higher. the real deal, your father still seated in the garden with a newspaper in his hands and dear lord, a glass of orange juice.

it's embarrassing to be seen with you like that, he was gonna say. but oh well, nevermind.

"i see you have your favorite hat on, going somewhere with sunghoon?" your dad asks smiling warmly at your pair. it makes sunghoon scared, aren't dads supposed to hate boyfriends? is he being bamboozled by your family? will he be preyed upon later when you are not there to see? as if it was possible, your entire family though really welcoming of him are a bunch of weirdos, who the fuck let's their precious daughter share her room with her boyfriend they've met for the first time?

when he agreed to fake date you he didn't know he'd have to put on such a detailed act. there's literally no restrictions for you in the house. you do whatever you want, when ever you want. and that includes taking him everywhere you go, because apparently your parents know him as the boyfriend who loves you so much that he can't let you be alone at any time. shouldn't that be a red flag though? he can't with this anymore, just over a day in and he's convinced he can't make it make sense anymore, it's a white towel, he can only go with the flow.

"yes he really wanted to go down to the lake," what me? when? sunghoon's eyes wander in a panic while you smile as if you weren't just lying through your teeth. smile sunghoon smile, just fucking smile, he reminds himself wondering if he should maybe say something, maybe not?,"didn't you, baby?" the little nudge of your elbow against him tells him that he should, oh god its difficult to learn when to do what.

"yeah the weather seems really good," he says, a slight tremor in his voice, internally facepalming himself. he has one job, and he's failing even that.

"hm, true," the acknowledgement from your father helps calm his nerves a bit but it runs on high again at his next words,"be back before lunch though, your brother and sister in law will be home soon. it's been so long since we last ate together," you have a brother? why wasn't he informed about this? is the universe playing a game with him? as if your parents weren't enough, now he has to impress more people. he can do this, for the sake of his recommendation letter he has to do it.

"yes dad! love you," sunghoon waits like a lone statue as you leave his side to press a kiss to your father's cheek. grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away the moment he opens his mouth to bid your father. at this rate you'll ruin it for him before he can ruin it himself. "slowdown, fluffy. i'll fall at this speed," he tries but it's to no avail, he should have known by now, no one can control you.

the walk down to the lake is quieter than he expected, no bickering or fighting. you show him around the small streets and shops on the way, telling him little stories back from your childhood. sometimes stopping at a spot,"so pretty, can you take a picture of me here?" and it's already the fourth time. he doesn't mind though, on the contrary he finds himself enjoying it. it's not everyday he gets to roam around the streets of italy with the perfect weather.

it doesn't take long for you both to reach the deck on the far left. following your lead, he sits down on the edge beside you, legs hanging low over the cold water and your shoes placed on one side. you sit close, arms brushing each other, little finger atop one another. your hair flowing with the wind swipes against his face when you turn the other way, a subtle hint of sweet (you guessed it) orange tingling his smell buds. instead of grimacing his life off, he leans closer for another whiff of it. "sunghoon!" retracting immediately when you turn back to him.

"hm?" a feeling so out of this world, a haze lost in his mind. your words sound blurry and your extravagant hat looks so pretty on you. he almost feels like he has to capture this. "i asked how you like it? weren't you listening? what're you thinking?" and he does, taking out his phone and clicking a candid. he can't believe he now has a photo of you in his gallery that he's taken on his own accord. he's been doing many weird things lately,"it's really pretty," so so many weird things.

"hey fluffy i've been wondering about something," he speaks again, looking away to try to ignore tiny little fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

"what is it?"

"haven't you ever dated before, why do your parents seem so excited to see you have a boyfriend?" there he asked it, the biggest mystery he can't stop thinking about from the moment he set foot in your palace of a house. if it's your first then maybe that would somewhat explain their behaviour, not that it would become normal altogether, just kind of justifiable that he won't be put on the rack. that he's truly welcomed and he's safe.

"not really, no one ever met my standards," your answer throws him off. what?

"does that mean i do?" he tests the water, cautious above all yet his tone still comes off as one of tease.

"yes, except one," he eyes turn to you at that, pupils dilated with curiosity for the one thing stopping him from the title of 'perfect for you' as your parents claimed. meeting his eyes in a lock of contact, you give him a small smile. hands moving over to his white button up, fingers tracing his collar and undone buttons watching his adam's apple bob in a hard gulp as his brown orbs follow your movements, sweat building up at the close proximity when you both lock eyes again,"you don't really like me," sunghoon immediately looks away, a stab of reality, he was actually anticipating something he could change. really park sunghoon? remember you don't like her?

"am i wrong?" you laugh leaning forward to have a look at his face.

"i never said that," sunghoon clears his throat, turning back, suddenly gaining a surge of confidence. park sunghoon what???

TAGLIST ( open. ) @s00buwu @luvyev @deobitifull @nottkwiwin @enhyven @crysieberry @eneiyri @sovlidago @fertiliezedtoesw @laylasmother @pockyyasii @ladyartemesia @kaispulshies @nctislifue @capri-cuntz @sweetjaemss @parksunghoonsgf @ariadores @asteria-wood @laurradoesloveu @en-dream @304files

[togrowoldinv]

Pour Me

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You meet an intriguing woman while you’re bartending

Note: This is a quick little fic about milf Wanda because I love her lol. Enjoy it!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You never expected to meet the love of your life this way. You never thought that the woman of your dreams would walk through the door as you poured drinks behind the bar.

But there she was. She had a quiet reserve about her. The friends that were with her were the ones who spoke to you first.

“This one here,” a redheaded woman said, “just got a divorce. We’re pouring them out for her.”

“Yeah, so pour them strong!” a blonde woman added.

“Can do, ladies,” you said.

You poured their drinks, and they tipped you. It pays when pretty girls come to the bar almost as much as it does when men do. But you much prefer when women come in. The other women walked away and left you alone with the woman at the bar.

“I’m sorry about your divorce,” you told her.

“It’s okay,” she said. You thought you picked up on a slight accent. It’s intriguing. “I’m better off.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am. I didn’t get your drink order. What would you like?”

“Oh, um- what do you suggest?” She asked.

“I’ve got just the thing,” you said.

She watched as you got to work behind the bar fixing her a drink. It was what you always made when someone didn’t know what they wanted. Nothing special, but she sipped it like it was heaven in a glass.

When you asked her if she wanted another one, she said no. Her friends had convinced her to go out, and she didn’t really like to drink all that much.

“Your friends might end up shutting this place down,” you said to her.

The beautiful woman looked around and back at you. She smiled shyly.

“I’ll tell them we need to go,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Oh, no you can stay,” you said. “I just need to start cleaning the bar up and I didn’t want you to wonder why.”

“Well, what if I help you?” She asked.

“I couldn’t allow you to help, ma’am. It’s my job,” you said.

“Oh, please it’s nothing. I’ve got two boys at home, so cleaning is my forte.”

“Come on over then,” you said, a smile on your face.

You walked to the open slot in the bar where you let the woman inside. She smiled as she took a rag and wiped the counter with you. She helped you clean for almost an hour before you asked her to help you restock the bar.

“It’s nice back here,” she said, admiring the office you built.

“I designed it myself,” you told her.

“I’m impressed.”

You picked up some crates filled with bottles and the woman watched the way your arms flexed under the weight of them. Really, she had been watching you all night.

“So, how old are your boys?” You asked her, trying to make small talk as she watched you move crates from the office to the bar.

“Ten,” she said. “They’re twins.”

“That’s so cool!” You said.

She grinned and showed you a few pictures of the boys. They looked like her and you couldn’t help but feel like you knew her already.

After you finished with the crates, you leaned against your desk. The woman looked at you intently.

“I should probably get back out there and close the bar,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Oh right,” she said.

You stood up and walked past the woman, but she grabbed your hand. You looked back at her and she looked like she could cry.

“Are you okay?” You asked her.

“Could you- would you- forget it,” she said, pulling her hand away.

“Hey, what is it?” You asked. You have gotten some odd requests working at a bar, but nothing this woman could say to you would be the craziest.

“Would you kiss me?” She asked.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should,” you said.

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry,” she tried to leave the room, but you grabbed her hand this time and pulled her back into your arms.

You looked into each other’s eyes before you leaned in and kissed the woman. The bar noise faded out and the only thing you could feel was her lips against yours. Her sweet, soft lips. You wondered how anyone could ever lose her, and when was the last time she was kissed like this. She was perfect.

The kiss ended when the woman’s friends knocked on the door to your office.

“I should drive them home,” the woman said.

“Ah, you’re right. It was nice to meet you,” you waited for her to fill in her name.

“Wanda,” the woman said. “I’m Wanda.”

“Y/n,” you supplied.

“Y/n,” she tried it out her tongue. Her friends called for her again. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

“Sure,” you said. You opened the door for her, and her friends pulled her into their arms.  “Hey Wanda, come back sometime?”

“I will,” she promised, a glint in her eye.

And she did come back. She came back every weekend for three months before you asked her out.

And she stands across from you now three years later ready to become your wife. You thank goodness she walked into the bar that night.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION!

A smol bird requested for this to be written and so here I am, playing fairy godmother! If any of you have any sort of requests, just drop me a dm as I am revived from my death and ready to write more delulus as your solulus!

Context: What happens when your outfit decides NOT to cooperate with you? What will the boys do for you?

Disclaimer: This one-shot is created with me studying their lore on various websites and social media so that I could get a better idea on what colours they like/represent and what style they lean towards. Some of you may disagree but its okay! You can read it as it is and add in your own imagery of a suitable outfit by your hubbies! Warnings: Fluff that might rot your brains.

RAFAYEL

"I am almost done with this piece," Rafayel spoke, eyes still glued to his canvas, one hand holding up his messily stained colour palette, while the other held the brush as he drew strokes across the canvas. "Why don't you go and get changed as you wait for me to finish off this bit, yeah?"

"Yes sir." You quirkily replied and you stood up, spotting him sending you a teasing look given the way you addressed him. Earlier on, some strangers had came by Rafayel's mansion with Thomas to deliver some clothes. Apparently, these clothes are custom made by those luxurious brands specifically for Rafayel. Thomas addressed it as this was one of the ways the luxury brands show their support towards Rafayel's works. ONE OF THE WAYS... At this point, you are convinced that Rafayel is a huge deal and having luxurious brands begging on their knees to work with him sounded like a dream that would never come true to you.

The dress that sat on the bed was delivered for you as well, as per Rafayel's request. There was objection amongst the team that were handling the sponsorship and ambassador deals for the brand. But Rafayel spoke through the phone like he owns the company. "If she does not get a gown, then our business ends. Right now." He hung up abruptly, and the next thing he knew, the dress showed up at his door in less than 30 minutes.

Any brands, regardless luxurious or not, knows the right way and only way to please Rafayel. One wrong move and you are off the chart and some other brand may easily replace you. Hence, nobody dares to mess with Rafayel. Except for you. "The dress on the bed is yours!" He shouted from the living room and you picked up the dress.

The chiffon textured dress is of a forest green colour, going all the way down to your ankles. The strapless design made you gulped as you are not used to outfits of this measure, given the nature of your work, whereas your attire has to be 'appropriate for work in times of need'. Touching the inner material, you sighed in relief as you realised that there was bra padding for you hence you do not have to go all the way out to get a new bra just for this event.

Putting on the dress and zipping it up was easy, and you fit almost perfectly into the dress. The keyword being ALMOST. As you lifted your hands up, the dress started sliding down like it is a floatie on a wet water slide and woop, off it went and onto the ground. You panicked, bending down in one fell swoop and trying to gather the dress so that you can pull it up to your chest again.

But it does not let you go past the waist area unless you unzip it. Groaning, you struggled to find the zip as the dress is really puffy and you did not want to ruin the designer dress. "Is everything okay?" Rafayel stood at the doorway, leaning against the side of his door, as he watched you with amusement written all over his face. He has been standing there for quite a while hasn't he?

You gasped, pulling whatever that is on the floor to cover your chest area and he walked over, analysing the dress and scowling when he found out the reason. "I should have gotten them to measure you instead of just bringing you a standard fit." He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen a couple of times. His eyes looked back at you and you bit your lip in embarassment. "Your curves are way too beautiful to be hidden amongst this pile of leaves."

His comment made you giggled. Guess he has the same thought as you. "Toss the dress aside darling, I will get you a new one." Another few taps of the finger, he shows you the dress he has in mind. A purple dress with extravagant sleeves, puffing out like how a jellyfish would and you instantaneously knew why he opted for this dress. "I like purple better anyways."

"But wait Rafayel... this dress is not entirely scrap, maybe I can sew a temporary knot on it to tighten the top so it won't fall off. And there is really no need for you to get another custom one for me as we are running out of time." Your suggestion made him stare at you, purple-blue pupils blown wide as if he has really just witnessed a shark eating grass. iykyk.

He walked over and grabbed you by your waist and pulled you close to him, so close that you could hear the sound of his heart against yours. But at this moment, maybe he could hear yours louder than his. "Nobody can put a price on your love for me. EVER. But, I can sure as hell throw out any price on anyone, regardless the amount, as a representation of how much you worth to me." You looked away immediately, eyes stared at the arms that were holding you in place. He kissed your forehead, chuckling, before he pressed his phone against his ear. "Now, let's see who can make this dress for the price I am willing to pay in 30 minutes time." he makes me feel something

ZAYNE

You waited on a bench in front of Akso Hospital. You figured it would be a great idea to wait for Zayne as he finishes work early today and you might be able to grab dinner with him. You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking through your daily for-you-page before a shadow loomed over you. You looked up and no doubt, it is Zayne aka the great and almightly Elsa.

"How long have you been sitting here?" He asked you, before handing you a candy that he had fished out from the pocket of his trench coat. "I was planning to meet you slightly later at your condo." The thought of him initially wanting to surprise you made your heart fluttered. You see, Zayne is a more upfront guy so having him to plan surprises are one of the uncalled scenarios.

"I had only been here for a couple of minutes." You lied, taking the candy out of his palm and unwrapped it before you tossed it into your mouth. The raise of his eyebrow towards you made your breath hitched as he knew you too well that you could not lie to him in his face. "Fine, I had waited here since 5pm." This made Zayne looked down at his wrist watch.

"So it's been an hour and 15 minutes?" He side eyed you and you admitted it by nodding your head. "Next time, it would be better if you were to just wait for me at home. If it wasn't for a full deck today at the hospital, I might just be covering shifts for other people and that might be inconvenient for you." But, he himself actually noticed you exactly an hour and 15 minutes, from his office's window, before his upcoming surgery. He had another three surgeries lined up for the night, but fearing that you may end up waiting the whole night for him, he decided to cancel his schedule for the night and transfer the case to other doctors. Even workaholics take a break. iykyk

"But I just wanted to come over to check up on you. I even chose to sit outside so that you would not be distracted as you are working." You pouted, hands picking at the hem of your shirt. You felt Zayne's hand landed on the top of your head, a gesture of love and comfort. He patted and smoothed your brunette strands back and you stared up at him. "I shall wait for you at home next time okay?"

"Now that's a good girl." killmeplease Zayne smiled warmly. "Now, lets get you back alright? My car is parked right by the road side. Come on." Hands around your waist, he slowly walked you over to his car. The smell of his cologne lingered on your nose, the smell of mint and dashes of cinnamon. Just like his personality, icy as mint but warm and welcoming as cinnamon once you get to know him.

He opened the car door for you and as you walked over to get into the car, your shirt got hooked against one of the metal wires that went astray from the metal fencing and the next thing you heard was the sound of a ripping cloth. You yelped as you stumbled and Zayne slotted himself right in front of you, shocked as well and using his body to block you from falling further. "Oh my..." Your cursed under your breath as your hands were against his washboard abs, steadying yourself. doublekill

He guided you into the car slowly before getting into the driver side himself. When he had started the car and turned on the air conditioning, he turned to look at you. "How bad is the rip?" He asked and you lifted the hem of your shirt, showing the rip that is around 4cm long.

"Why does this have to happen to one of my favourite shirt?" You frowned, fingers won't stop touching and fidgeting with the ripped edge.

"Do they still sell this shirt?" Zayne asked, hands reaching over to tug against the shirt, as if to examine the material of the outfit. The shake of your head made him sigh and he gestured to the glovebox. "Open the glovebox and take out the black pouch please."

You did as you were told and you watched in confusion as he took off his trench coat and placed it onto your lap. The coat still radiating warmth that was collected off of his body heat. He opened the black pouch and laid it flat on the arm rest of his car, and inside of the pouch was an array of threads and needles. "Are these suture needles?"

"Yes." His response was prompt. "Take off your shirt and hand it to me please." He requested and you gulped. Using the trench coat to block his view, you slowly took off your shirt and then wrapped his trench coat around your whole front. You knew that he had probably seen many naked bodies given his line of work but something about this scenario, with you being with him only in a car, felt very intimate and it made you very anxious. "You know how to sew?"

"I am a doctor, I know how to suture. And it is the same concept as sewing, but only with different kinds of needles and threads." He then started sewing, his concentration a trait you find admirable. It did not took him long when he finished sewing your shirt and he handed it back to you, the thread sewed on has gaps of equal length and was tied off neatly. As expected of one of the top doctors from Akso Hospital. As he started driving, he added. "Although I had managed to sew the shirt for you, I believe with my connections, I would be just as capable to find you the same shirt. Then, you would never have to complain about this being your only favourite shirt."

XAVIER

You were going about your day in your own house before you heard your doorbell ringing. You placed your bowl of cereal down and took a glance on the clock on your phone. Who dares to threaten your peaceful weekend? You went over to the door and you opened it to reveal your blond hair lover. "Xavier?" You asked, eyebrows furrowed when he smiled at you.

"Good morning, I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He teased and stepped in, holding out a parcel for your. "I believe this belongs to you?" The small rip at the top side of your parcel indicated that he probably took a peek on what's inside. Acknowledging the parcel, you took it off of his hands and you blushed, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

"Good morning to you too. I guess I might have accidentally wrote your level instead of mine." You bit your bottom lip and you heard him chuckle in return. "But thanks for coming down to deliver this to me when you could have just asked me to get it from you." "But I wanted to see you personally. And seeing the clothes that are in the parcel, I thought I could get to watch you try them on too." His blunt answer made you stare at him like a mad man. His blue eyes however, glinted with nothing but honesty. This guy may be mysterious but he sure is straightforward in stating what he has on his mind. He probably noticed the way you reacted and he took a step back, retracing his words and slightly coughing to ease the awkwardness. "I mean, I would like to see you trying out these new outfits that you had gotten for yourself. It would be a good past time for me."

You chuckled at how goofy this guy is and gestured towards him to go and sit at the couch. You went into the room to get yourself changed and it was as if today is your fashion show day. You strutted out in different outfits, layered against one another and watched the way Xavier would react to you, either fascinated, or straight down confused. There was even this one time, he would just have a blank expression where you wore an oversized shirt under your tshirt. Clothing trends on the streets nowadays baffles him and he wondered if he was the one that was left out from the fashion ring.

Your last outfit featured you in a semi see through tank top and a pair of cargo pants. Not to mention, the tank top seemed to be too small for you as the way the blond boy sees it, it was holding onto your figure for dear life and barely leaving anything more to one's imagination. And the thought itself ticked him off. When you looked over towards Xavier, he does not look surprised nor confused, but rather bland. "What do you think?" Your tone came off to be amused and you did a twirl in front of him before you took a seat right next to him.

Xavier anxiously gulped and looked away from you, his voice low as he muttered. "I don't think this outfit looks nice on you, girlfriend." The way he shifted in his seat made you cornered him against the couch even more, wanting a better explanation. "The top you are wearing. I don't like it."

"And why so?" You asked, looking down at your top and adjusting it. "This is the trend nowadays, they call it the Y2K trend I think. And this tank top was on sale, so I just got it."

"I can buy you some other clothes. Even the ones that are not going to be on sale." He retorted, eyeing the tank top you were wearing with an underlying anger. "I just don't think I would like to see you wearing this in public. It is too revealing, and I guess tight on your body."

His answer painted your cheeks red and you gasped. What were you thinking? Of course you had forgotten about his possesive nature. He does not show it much and having such a pretty boy face like him further disconnects the word 'possessive' from his character. He reached into his hoodie's front pocket and pulled out his phone, opening up an app and handed the phone to you. When you refused to take it, he lifted his torso off of the couch to 'force' you to take his phone. Just like how you had previously pressed your body against him, this is his turn to take his small and sweet revenge. You panicked as he closed the gap between you two and within the next minute, he was pressed against you, one of his hand at the side of your head and another still holding his phone up to you, his gaze intense. "Just choose whatever you want from my phone, my card information is all in there. And perhaps before you check out, you can let me double check on the outfits you are getting." He low-key demanded before he explained himself for such a decision. "I just don't like nor want people staring wrongfully at what I treasure the most."

Another fluff for another day. I already did my best in having to think of different wardrobe malfunctions as I did not want one theme of wardrobe malfunction to be stagnant across the whole story for all three of the boys. SO I hope you would understand my lovelies. :,) I am very very free so I will be posting more regularly for these few weeks. SO please do show me more love and support as that would aid me in my motivation in writing!

Do check out my other works as well!

HOW WOULD THE BOYS REACT TO YOU FORGETTING ABOUT YOUR DATE?

DAMNATION

Hope your Delulu is satisfied my lovelies <3

[starsainzjr]

Muse

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fashion designer!reader Faceclaim: Rachel Zegler

A/N: Hi! This is my first SMAU so I really hope everyone likes it!! I hope to do more in the future!

✷✷✷✷✷

yourusername

Liked by the.peterdo, zendaya, lewishamilton, and 62,019 others

yourusername Back to the drawing board

View all 8,715 comments

ylnschooloffashion The master is back!!

zendaya Physically unable to contain my excitement

yourusername Studio is always open to you my darling!

l.h.eight This has to be the new designer Lewis was raving about in media the other day

formulafashion 👀 Do I smell a new designer coming to the paddock???

l.h.eight Girl we can hope!

lewishamilton

Liked by mercedesamgf1, yourusername, and 582,766 others

lewishamilton Always a fun time at New York Fashion Week 🔥 See you next year!

View all 2,718 comments

l.h.eight For the record, I called it

formulafashion I'm so happy Lewis is looking at a new designer! Yn's work is always stunning

georgerussell63 We're all gonna look like garden trolls next to him now

alex_albon Now? He already makes you look like a garden troll

georgerussell63 Hey!

yourusername My favorite guest of the day! Thank you for coming! Liked by lewishamilton

l.h.eight 👀 Y'all are seeing what I'm seeing right?

lewishamilton

Liked by mercedesamgf1, f1, yourusername, and 606,826 others

lewishamilton P2 in Bahrain, great start to the season. See everyone in Jeddah 👊🏾

View all 9,186 comments

georgerussell63 Helluva start! Let's keep this party going

formulafashion Okay but this is easily the best he has ever looked in the paddock 🥵

l.h.eight How much longer until we see Yn in the paddock???

queenyln Okay yeah, Lewis is definitely my second favorite of Yn's real life models

formulafashion Second?????

queenyln Zendaya.

formulafashion Oh, yeah, no, that's fair

yourusername

Liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, zendaya, and 87,017 others

yourusername Bit of a new look

View all 2,097 comments

lewishamilton Only fair after NYFW! Can't wait to host you again

mercedesamgf1 Easily the most fashionable person we've had in the garage

l.h.eight NOT LEWIS IN THE BACKGROUND YN TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

queenyln It's been so long since I've seen her this happy 😭

formulafashion Lewis too! He was practically glowing this week

queenyln I sense a power couple forming

l.h.eight Yn would fr be the queen of the paddock

yourusername

Liked by zendaya, lewishamilton, and 76,925 others

yourusername Just getting some inspiration

View all 10,719 comments

zendaya Girl if you don't call me right now I'm getting on a plane

yourusername This is an extremely real threat

queenyln SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

queenyln OUR GIRL GETTING TREATED LIKE THE ROYALTY SHE IS

l.h.eight TRIED SO HARD WITH THE SOFT LAUNCH AS IF WE CAN'T IDENTIFY LEWIS' HANDS ANYWHERE

formulafashion This is a dream. This is a dream right? I'm dreaming right now

lewishamilton

Liked by yourusername, mercedesamgf1, and 491,729 others

lewishamilton First time for everything. Dallas Fashion Week you've been a treat!

View all 1,618 comments

formulafashion You know who else is in Dallas for this same exact event?

queenyln Perhaps a designer we're familiar with?

formulafashion Ding ding ding! We have a winner

formulafashion The woman in the dress looks awfully familiar, Mr. Hamilton

l.h.eight No but the fact that he went from Japan to Dallas for this. AND THAT HE HAS TO GO BACK TO SHANGHAI

formulafashion Our boy is in l o v e

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, zendaya, and 79,169 others

yourusername Shanghai you've been a treat

View all 3,816 comments

lewishamilton 🥇✨

yourusername 🤩

l.h.eight They're speaking in emojis now

formulafashion They're not as slick as they think they are

queenyln Yn's never been slick

queenyln Girl we already know just post the Lewis content we all want

formulafashion This. I know she has so much

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton, zendaya, mercedesamgf1 and 100,028 others

yourusername Studio has gotten a little warmer as of late

View all 7,291 comments

lewishamilton I'll be your muse any day 😘

yourusername My best muse yet 🥰

zendaya Damn, someone stole my girl

queenyln Someone stole OUR girl 😭

l.h.eight The longest four months of my LIFE

queenyln This is actually the best day ever. Nothing will top this

formulafashion Lewis is about to look the best he ever has

queenyln I think that's called the girlfriend effect

✷✷✷✷✷

All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images

[alwritey-aphrodite]

here’s my submission for the fall coffee house put together by @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno - im not gonna lie i have no idea where this came from but its the longest thing ive written in literal months so enjoy!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none :) except that i didn’t proofread lmao

You’ve always been a planner, always had goals for your future, dream boards and five year plans and a list of things to accomplish before you turned thirty. None of those ever included feeling so claustrophobic in what was supposed to be your dream job that you packed everything up and moved away and got a job at a coffee shop. Your life is far from terrible, and you’re quite happy with your choices, but you know if you were somehow able to tell past you where you would end up at twenty seven, she would have spit in your face.

The coffee shop you work at is wonderful, especially now that autumn is in full swing, because it’s almost absurdly cozy and warm. You’re able to wear whatever you want, craft playlists, design menu boards, and spend all day talking with regulars and newcomers alike. Even if it wasn’t where you imagined you would end up, you couldn’t be happier. Especially when an incredibly attractive single father starts to frequent during your shifts.

Isabel and Frankie Morales are nothing short of delightful. The pair of them are absurdly polite, which is especially adorable on the kindergartner, and Frankie is a generous tipper. Before, they had come in every Friday when he picked Isabel up from school for a cookie to split, but now that the weather has turned, they come in most days around two for hot chocolates. Most of the time they retreat to a booth, but on busy days, Frankie helps his daughter onto one of the high top stools along the counter before sitting down next to her, giving you the perfect opportunity to watch and listen to their conversations, still a little scared to actually speak to him beyond the small talk when you take their order.

Today, it’s raining, pouring really, and the shop is mostly empty, the students who normally hunker down for study marathons nowhere to be seen and even most of your regulars hadn’t bothered to show up, choosing to stay dry at home rather than brave the elements for their coffee fix. Your boredom grows with each hour that passes, but then the bell above the door rings to life, and Frankie and Isabel hurry inside, an umbrella trailing behind.

“It’s raining really hard,” Isabel says, trudging up to the counter and leaving her father behind to deal with shaking out the umbrella to keep it from dripping. Normally, she’s glued to her father’s side, but maybe she feels safer with the emptiness of the shop.

“Yeah it is,” you agree with the girl, trying not to laugh as she attempts to stretch herself tall enough to see you over the counter, and you compensate by leaning forward on your elbows, “I didn’t think you guys were going to show up.”

“We were already wet, what’s the worst that could happen,” Frankie says as he approaches the counter himself, umbrella sufficiently dry.

“And I really needed a treat,” Isabel adds, sounding so much like an adult trapped in a toddler’s body you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“Don’t get her started,” Frankie mutters, and you laugh again, calming your giggles as Isabel clears her throat.

She launches into a story about recess and reading spots and lunch tables, and it’s hard to keep it all straight, but you nod along all the same, sympathizing with the exhaustion of being a little girl.

“That sounds rough,” you say when she finally finishes her story, and she nods sagely, causing you to fight against your giggles again, “how about I make you an extra special hot chocolate, hm? Would that help?”

“Yes please!” Isabel’s eyes light up, her little frown replaced with a gap-toothed grin.

“Same for you?” You ask Frankie, even though you know he’ll refuse.

“Just a black coffee for me, please.”

You ring them up for a small black coffee and a small regular hot chocolate, even though you give them both larges and you add flavoring and toppings to Isabel’s drink. Instead of slipping into one of the many open booths, they take a spot at the counter, and your heart expands to an impossibly large size. Handing over their drinks, you place a plate of cookies in front of them too. They’re all Halloween and fall themed, and you’d spent the better part of the afternoon decorating them with more care than necessary, simply because you had the time. Frankie starts to shake his head, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“Please, just take them. They’ll all go to waste otherwise, no one else is gonna come in.”

“You should take them, then,” he counters, not giving in.

“C’mon, I’ve eaten about ten of these bad boys today already, and I’ve got a box full of pastries set aside for when I leave. Take the damn cookies,” you’d normally never use that language with a customer, but it’s dead besides the two of them and you’re grinning so you don’t think he’ll take offense.

A smile blooms on his face even as he shakes his head at you, and he takes two cookies from the plate, one for himself and one for Isabel, who looks like the happiest girl in the world now that she has cookies to add to her ginormous hot chocolate.

It’s dark by the time they get ready to leave, and you feel a little awful, like you’ve kept them trapped with you when they could have a million things they needed to do all because you were a little bored.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” you say, a little sheepish as Frankie helps Isabel back into her raincoat, which is difficult because she refuses to part with the cookies you’d boxed up for them to take home.

“We should be thanking you, for the cookies and the company,” he counters, pausing in his struggle to smile at you. You smile back, but then Isabel is tugging on his sleeve and pulling him down to her level. She whispers at him, and they’re a little too far for you to hear, so you just busy yourself with wiping down the already spotless counter until Isabel clears her throat rather dramatically and you turn your attention back to the pair with a gentle smile.

“You know, these are a lot of cookies for only two people,” Frankie starts, and you’re getting ready to argue with him, thinking he’s trying to get out of taking them again when he continues, “maybe we should split them three ways? And we can make you hot chocolate for a change?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he means, but when he does, there’s no stopping the smile that overtakes you, and you’re so beyond happy you can’t even speak for a minute.

“I’ll be done here around six,” you reply once you can form words again, and Frankie’s smile is so gorgeous it threatens to eliminate that ability all over again, “if you’re not already sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he responds, and if you weren’t already a complete goner, you definitely are now.

[mischiefandlies]

The answer to all your prayers

Loki x f!Reader

Masterlist

Notes: CRACK FIC!!! This was so much fun to write. Enjoy!

Warnings: Smutty with no actual smut. Mentions masturbating, but there's no real description. Also, Loki has a megapenis (we've all seen that gif, y'know what I'm talking about).

You were fresh out of college when you landed a job working as an apprentice technician for Stark industries. You were exceptional at physics and aerodynamics, so ended up working on the newest designs for an iron man suit Tony was working on. Due to your position, you had ended up becoming quite chummy with the avengers.

Pepper had recently been trying to set you up after hearing about your tragic love life. The truth of it was, you had been on a spree of first dates in college, but they had all been so disastrous you had sworn off dating until you were a little older and had enough time to actually go on dates properly. This, however, had left you a little inexperienced around… sex. You had been wanting to lose your V card for a while now, but knew that if anyone was going to take you to heaven and back, you wanted it to be someone you trusted. You weren’t up for playing hide the sausage with just anyone.

Enter Loki. A handsome devil (literally), hung like a horse (literally) with magic fingers (also literally). Loki may not have been worthy, but he certainly had a hammer and he knew how to swing it. He also had Ye Olde Viking charm, quick wit, and happened to be a fairly good friend of yours. The two of you had a habit of getting flirty, then backing off and letting nothing ever come of it. You'd been safely sat in the friendzone for quite a while.

Which was how you found yourself here- lying in your birthday suit, in your apartment in stark tower, dreaming about a certain tall dark and handsome norse god. You could imagine it all perfectly. How he’d slowly crawl over, kissing your lips, prising them open to invade your mouth with his tongue. He'd slowly work his way south, kissing your neck, collarbones, chest, then further south, until he reached your dripping-

DING DONG

Who the fuck is ringing your doorbell at this time of night? And why did it have to be just as you were mid wank?

DING DONG

You stumbled around in the dark, pulling your PJs back on, ready to give Tony a bollocking for knocking on your front door at twenty to midnight. You're hoping this will be a quick conversation so you get right back to the dirty fantasies about your coworker who had done nothing but make you More infatuated since you met him.

You open the door, and are met with…

“Loki!?”

He was looking incredibly dapper in that black suit, which you immediately dreamed about ripping to shreds in a state of feral horniness. If anyone could look like sex incarnate wrapped up in a gorgeous designer suit, it was him.

“Loki! What- er, what are you doing here?”

He smiles “I heard you.”

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure. Sorry the place is a mess, I wasn’t expecting company, otherwise I would’ve made a-”

He cuts you off mid-sentence, pressing his lips to yours. You immediately kiss him back with all the fervour you can muster, until reality comes crashing down on you and you push him back. He keeps you close to him, refusing to let you out of his embrace even if he has stopped kissing you. When you finally get your breath back (you appeared to have been too busy sucking his tongue to breathe) you look him dead in the eye and ask

“What the fuck was that!?”

He smiles again. “I heard your prayer.”

“My… prayer?”

“Oh yes, angel,” he says. “You’ve been praying to me for weeks. It's like I'm in your thoughts all the time. It's been hard to concentrate in those dull meetings when all I can hear is your delicious fantasies in my head. And every night my darling- you really are obsessed, aren’t you?”

You are mortified. “Loki, I'm so sorry, I didn’t realise I was doing that. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“Shh love. There's no need to apologise. I find it all quite amusing. You are rather adventurous with your fantasies. But there’s one that you keep thinking about, isn’t there angel?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “The one where I claim you. Where I am the first to have you. Where I make you mine.”

He pulls you tight against him, and bends down as if to kiss you. However, you are slightly distracted by the HUGE boner poking you in the thigh. You pull away slightly and glance down. There was a fucking great tent in Loki’s trousers. By Christ, how had you never noticed he was that big before? “Hold it Lokes. I don’t think mini mischief is gonna fit.”

He looks down at you, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I’d love to be fucked into next Tuesday, but you’re putting the long in schlong, and I kinda need to be able to walk tomorrow.”

His eyebrows have risen to halfway up his forehead now. “Is it normal for humans to speak in riddles before intercourse?”

“All I’m saying is your bellend is going to end me. You can’t go cave diving if you don’t fit in the cave.”

He rolls his eyes, and covers your mouth with his hand. “Darling, I have no idea what your saying. Yes or no, do you want to have sex with me?”

“Well, yes, but-”

You can’t finish your sentence because Loki has thrown you over his shoulder (giving you a spectacular view of his arse) and marches the two of you to the bedroom, setting you gently on the bed.

“Now my dear, I believe as a benevolent god, I am obligated to make all your prayers come true.”

“Loki?”

“Yes love?”

“You didn’t see all my prayers, did you?”

He looks down at you with a wolfish grin.

You are so fucked (literally).

The gif from earlier btw:

[baldval]

Hiii! How are ya? can I request Valentino x reader who works for vox? But not only do they work for him they have created a anime and game for it under him? So like they’re a well known manga artist type ting? So yeah they’re not a nobody basically

if not that’s fine! Have a good day/night dear :)

ART DECO PART 1!₊˚⊹♡

characters: valentino x gn!reader

wc: 1.6k

warnings: curse words, mentions of sex, making out, suggestive content.

a/n: i might do a part 2 if you guys like this!!

series masterlist!

You're bored.

To the exterior eye, working for THE Vox may be a dream. Cash, cars, designer clothes, big fancy functions filled with important hell-people and overlords. It sounds perfect.

It isn't. Between stupid rivalries, betrayals, and VERY dramatic bosses, being one of the top content producers for Vox is smothering work. But you'd rather have that than being nothing. At the very least, being so close to the Vees grants you protection.

This evening, you discover yourself at yet another 'emergency' call from Vox. Something something about losing views and how this most be the radio demon's fault. It's the 4th time this week.

You arrived at Vox's place, yet you can't really see him anywhere.

"Umm... Velvette" the girl looks up at you from the couch, unbothered.

"Watcha need sweetheart?" she moves her eyes back to her phone.

"Do you know where Vox is? He kinda called me on emergency basis? I'm not really sure what he need though."

"I have no idea where that shithead's been. He didn't even go to the last meeting with the overlords." She rolls her eyes. "He had to send me."

"Oh alright so no idea." You feel frustrated.

"You could of course ask Val"

"Did anyone say my name?" You smell him before he enters your eyeline. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood. He smells expensive. Not the faux, gawdy expensive like most men within Vox's circle, but truly extravagant.

"So dramatic." Velvette mumbles, eyes still on the screen.

You feel him before you turn around. He’s warm, and broad, and the crisp white material of his dress shirt is pressing into you. You gasp quietly at his boldness, praying that Velvette doesn't notice how close you are to him.

Valentino.

Vox's second in charge. Both an overlord and the owner of the largest movie studio. One of the greatest assholes in Hell.

The man you’re hopelessly in love with.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You truly hadn't meant for this to get this far.

Initially, it was sex. Brilliant, mid blowing, earth shattering sex.

Until it wasn't.

Now, it's late night phone calls and clandestine meetings and holding hands and apartment hunting and kisses on the forehead.

Now, it's genuine.

Vox would murder you if he found out.

You'd be shunned. Everything you'd worked for. Everything you'd created. Suddenly you don't exist. It's all Vox's.

If there was one thing you liked about your deal with Vox was the fact that he allowed your things to be yours.

People knew what you had created and they knew it was created by you.

You didn't want to lose that.

Essentially, it'd be worse than hell, which you're already in. So why do you keep finding yourself considering it?

You’ve never been loved like this. So total, so complete, so all consuming. So unconditional.

And it's true that Valentino has nothing to lose. If Vox finds out, he won't be affected at all.

But he keeps it a secret.

And you're pretty sure you know why.

You wake up to kiss him all over his face. You dance within the kitchen, as he spins you around in your socks. You see how he stares at you when in a meeting, analysing your face.

You ran into love headfirst, impulsively. Would you have slept with Valentino that night, well over a year ago, if you'd have known this is how it'd turn out? You're not sure. But all you know is that, right now, the risk is more than worth it.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"You with me, sweetheart?" he mumbles into your ear, warm breath raising the hairs on your neck.

"Yeah, Val," you murmur back, trying to keep a neutral expression on your face. "I'm here."

"Where did you go, huh?"

His fingers travel down your neck, drawing little figures on your back.

"Just daydreaming," you answer.

"About what?" he asks teasingly, caressing your skin in delicate movements. Back, forth. Back, forth. He's making it difficult to concentrate.

“You,” you whisper discreetly. He you loud and clear. “Always you.”

He needs to kiss you. God, he needs to kiss you. He needs to grab your face and smash his lips to yours, consequences be damned. He wants to pick you up and twirl you around and scream "look at the woman I love!"

Instead, his fingers tighten around your waist. He looks around carefully before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the spot just below your ear. Then, he moves to stand in front of you. To anyone else, it looks like two colleagues having a conversation.

"You look so fuckin' wonderful in that dress," he tells you, his voice bound with sincerity and admiration. His eyes are raking up and down your frame. The heat of his gaze making you warm.

"You don’t look so bad yourself," you tease. That’s an understatement. His suit fits him like a glove, perfectly tailored to all of his curves. It’s all crisp edges and careful lines. He’s wearing the cufflinks you got him for his birthday, the ones engraved with the both of your initials. The letters are small, tucked away on the underside. No one knows they’re there – your little secret.

Valentino winks at you as you stand up, going to take a step forward, but a hand on your arm stops you.

"Vox was aking where you were. The meeting already started, come on." Vox's assistant acompanies you towards Vox's office.

As you walk through the lobby you whisper to Velvette.

"No idea he was in his office, huh?" perhaps you were trying your luck, but in all honesty, Vox had pretty much as much respect for Velvette as he had for you.

"Do you think I care where that asshole is? I'm not his nanny." She talks back, louder, so that you can hear her as you enter the door.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

There's a pull between you and Val. It's like a magnetic force, dragging you together no matter where you are , or what you're doing. You're feeling it within the dull board gatherings. You feel it in the dull 'Vees Team' gatherings. You feel it at the functions he’s reluctantly invited to by Vox. You feel it now, as you try not fall asleep at Vox's words of how you all should double the work and double the content. He says that as if animating was that easy.

You allow your mind to drift away, dreaming of what awaits you later tonight. You can picture it perfectly. You and Val, curled up in bed, his penthouse bedroom illuminated by candlelight. Glasses of wine discarded on the night stand, sheets thrown across the mattress, legs tangled together. Skin pressed to skin, warmth seeping into your bones. Gentle melodies filling the room, the man underneath you humming softly into your ear. If this is hell, you’ll think. then it might just be better than heaven.

The second you get out of the meeting, you feel his eyes on you. Heat prickles over your skin, goosebumps rising. It's kinda like a 6th sense, this quiet communication between you. You capture his gaze and wink, and you swear you see him blush slightly. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and gestures in the direction of the door. You get the hint, and follow him, trailingly behind subtly.

You reach the corridor and look around, but Valentino is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, you feel a warm grip grab your hips, pressing you into the wall.

"Been holding up to urge my hands on you all night," he mumbles into your ear.

He's trailing his fingers up and down your sides. You can feel him, hot and difficult behind you, groaning as he bites at your throat. He kisses the hinge of your jaw, and after that your cheek. It's forbidden and it's provocative and it's so tender it makes your knees wobble.

"Come to my room," he begs. "Vox is so distracted with that Radio Demon that he won't realise."

The offer is tempting. So, so tempting. But there's currently so many people in the Vees' house. Any of them could see you enter the same room… suspicions arise. As easy as it would be to just say fuck it and tell everyone, your survival instinct tells you it wouldn't be the best idea. You want to stay in this little bubble of warmth and love and trust a little longer.

You want to stay happy a little longer.

“We can’t,” you whine. “Someone might notice.”

"I don’t give a fuck," he replies.

"Of course you don't."

"You shouldn’t either."

You want to disagree, but the way he’s moved his hand to sit at your throat while pressing himself into you is making it hard to think.

"Live a little, baby," he teases, nipping at your ear.

"Fine! Fuck, fine. Let’s go before I change my mind."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes blink open, sunlight streaming through the sheer window ornaments. You're resting comfortably on Val's chest, both of his solid arms wrapped around you. You yawn languidly.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oh. That. You check the clock on the nightstand, realising that it’s only 7am. On a Saturday. Who’s knocking on the door at 7am on a Saturday morning?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck, is the noise getting louder? You push Valentino carefully, waking him up.

"There's someone banging at your door," you whisper.

He groans and untangles his legs from yours. He puts on a pair of boxers, and moves towards the door.

You listen intently, curious to know who’s trying to gain Valentino’s attention so determinedly.

The door swings open.

"Vox?" he questions, and you can almost hear the fear in his voice.

“Hey Val. Did you see where the fuck y/n went to?”

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Yuji's picked up skating and Choso wants to as well - problem is, he's got two left feet. And that's where you, Yuki's extremely good-looking friend, come in. A/N: SINCERELY SORRY IF YOU GUYS CAN'T SKATE ice skating is a pastime of mine and grrrr Choso skating was doing things to me. Requested by the lovely @ash4ree, I hope you like it! WARNINGS: GN reader, modern AU where Choso and Yuki run a tattoo parlour and no swears this time I swear (whoops, one right there)

“…Kamo, I think you better let me take over the cashier. You’re really spacing out hard.”

“Huh - what - oh, sorry, Yuki.” The man shook himself out of his daze, running a tense hand through the untidy strands falling out of his two spiky buns. He takes the proffered thermos and downs a gulp of coffee, grimacing and opening his mouth to fan his tongue. “Crap, I forgot it was hot.”

“Case in point,” the blonde announces, gently elbowing him away from the counter. “Go get your lunch break, dummy. You’re not helping sales if you just stand there staring out the store like a creep. Did something happen?”

Choso reluctantly peeled himself away and began looking for his packed lunch. “Not really.”

“Not sleep well last night?”

“No, no, I slept fine.”

“Well, you’ve been doing a pretty good job with latest customer’s tattoos, so it can’t possibly be work related…” Yuki tapped her chin. “Did you poke yourself with the a needle by mistake again?’

“It was one time.”

“You’ve got that constipated look,” Yuki hummed and wished she had a camera to capture Choso’s protesting, open-mouthed expression. “Wait, wait, I’ve got it! Yuji?”

“Well…” Choso’s face softened, as it usually did whenever someone mentioned his younger brother. It was usually followed by a long winded ramble about whatever Yuji had been doing yesterday, accompanied by aggressively showing photos and rhetorical questions. Yuki was sure this time he had something else to say so she stuck around, but if he was going to start she was going to exclaim that she had to go somewhere important or distract him with the ever trusty “have you put up the new tat designs yet?”.

“You remember his friend, Megumi?”

“Gojo’s kid? Yeah, I remember him; porcupine hair, grumpy face, about yea high?”

“That’s the one. Anyways, he and his sister - Tsumiki, I think - took up ice skating recently.”

“Rich people thing, but what does this have to do with Yuji?”

“Now Yuji wants to learn to skate as well.” Choso awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

Yuki raised her eyebrows. “If it’s about money I keep telling you you can take all the tips-”

“No, it’ll be unfair if we don’t split!” Noble as always was Choso. Sigh. “Money’s not the problem. Gojo’s happy to sponsor and all I have to do is send him off to the rink anyway…”

“So what IS the problem?” Yuki prodded.

“…I tried to go with him yesterday.” Choso groaned and put his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to skate. At all.”

“You can learn, it can’t be that bad.”

“It was. I fell down about thirty times, Yuji counted. I can’t believe even Megumi is doing better than me.” Choso’s face turned wistful. “Yuji said it’s okay if I didn’t go with him next time, but I do, you know?”

Yuki, unfortunately, did know. Choso was THAT dream brother, the one who enthusiastically got into everything you did. The one who never, ever missed a single important competition, performance or playdate in your life. The one who did his absolute best to never embarrass you (obviously he did sometimes, but only because he was so proud of Yuji). The one who if you said you wanted the moon to be hung in your bedroom, he’ll hang the moon in your bedroom.

No surprise he would want to try and bond with Yuji with his latest hyper-fixation.

No surprise either he’d worry that he’d be making Yuji embarrassed that his big brother was such a klutz in the ice rink.

“It’ll be cool to skate together,” Choso finished hopefully.

Briefly Yuki flashed back to the time Yuji wanted tattoos like his elder brother and she had to talk him out of actually considering giving Yuji real, permanent tats, compromising with those tacky but washable ones.

“But even the staff there couldn’t help me.”

Now, the imaginary commentator would bellow, may we be proud to present, Yuki Tsukumo here to save the day!

Yuki smirked and slung a hand over his shoulders, a grin too wide to not be sneaky. “Don’t worry, Kamo! Big Sis Yuki’s got your back - I know someone who’ll be more than happy to help you if I pull in a couple of favors!”

“Really?” Predictably Choso brightened considerably. “Woah, thanks-”

“But first.” Yuki pushed him away to loom over him at arms length, eyes narrowed, assessing. “You haven’t answered me. What’s your type?”

***

“Hi Yuji.”

“Megumi! Guess what! Choso’s going to be skating today!” Yuji nimbly jumped inside the car, practically vibrating with excitement as he plopped down next to Megumi.

“With us?” The dark-haired boy’s usual frown deepened slightly. “Doesn’t he keep falling though?”

Yuji smiles wide enough for everyone to see his missing tooth. “I know! It’s so funny! But-” he motioned for Megumi to come closer, cupping his hand to his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper. “Someone else’s coming to give him lessons. Yuki-san told me so!”

“Who? Choso only has two friends and none of them know how to skate.” If Mahito, the creepy blue-haired man that the older brother sometimes hung out with did know how to ice skate…well, neither of them knew, mostly due to the fact he was too creepy to talk to despite his outwardly friendly appearance.

“You only have one friend as well, Megumi, and that’s me,” Yuji said bluntly, blissfully oblivious to Megumi’s disgruntled attitude at that statement. “I don’t know who it is but he’ll be coming soon with them to skate! That’ll be so cool if Choso made a new friend!”

Megumi flashed back to the time Yuji attempted to have the grocery store cashier “befriend” Choso, namely by having the both of them go find him when he disappeared somewhere in the freezer aisle. It did not end well but apparently his myopic friend didn’t think so. “Whatever you’d like to think.”

“Aw, Megumi, play nice! I’m sure it’ll be sooo cool if Choso made a new friend!” Up front in the passenger seat Gojo cackled, long legs awkwardly propped up on the dash. “Heavens knows he needs some. He can’t keep babysitting you, Tsumiki, Nanako, Mimiko and Yuji and call you guys his friends.”

“Why not? I’m not his friend?” Yuji looks horrified.

“Technically you’re his brother - ow!”

Geto, the exhausted-running-on-only-caffeine driver, retracts the hand he used to rap Gojo’s head with. “Don’t act so energetic when you did nothing to help me send off all the kids.”

“Hey! I helped Tsumiki get her bag and made the twins put on jackets and literally everything else you told me to do!”

“You forgot to pack my gloves,” Megumi said flatly.

“I didn’t see you driving Tsumiki to her book club or volunteering to help at Nanako’s photography club event or arranging time for Mimiko’s ballet recital or helping get their snacks ready or go wash the dishes in the sink from breakfast, which not only did I tell you to do but it’s your turn.”

“Suguru, you really wound me.” Gojo pretended to choke on tears.

Yuji burst out laughing. “Woah, Gojo-san is really useless!”

“Is that any way to treat the man who assisted in opening your brother’s tattoo parlor, young man?”

“Geto made you,” Megumi said again.

“I’m not listening to a snot-nosed brat who can’t even tie the laces to his skates,” Gojo declared.

Geto steered the car into the drop-off point, clearing his throat to be heard as he unlocked the doors. “He’s your kid, Satoru. Anyways, kiddos, I’ll be dropping you both here. Be good, don’t do anything Gojo would and Megumi better be there when I come to pick him both up. If Choso’s taking you both out to eat though, let me know or tell him to give me a call.”

“Noted with thanks.” Megumi exited the car swiftly, but not before gesturing rudely at his guardian.

“Now where did he learn that, I wonder?” Geto muttered, side eyeing the passenger princess. Gojo ignored him.

“Bye Geto-san! Bye Gojo-san! See you guys later!” Yuji’s hand waves wildly as he hops off.

Gojo rolls down the window to catcall one more time, pushing down his sunglasses. “Hey, kid, hope you’re ready to get a new sibling~”

“What?”

“Sibling-in-law,” Geto corrected, and they drove off.

***

Yuki had told him some basic facts about you. Your name, your age, your job, for instance.

She completely neglected to mention how amazing you looked.

Choso was glad he had decided to throw in a little more effort into his wardrobe today, but he was still anxiously tugging at the collar of his black hoodie. Thankfully his hair was down as well today to hide his ears, which he had no doubt where even more pink than Yuji’s hair.

Because man oh man were you drop-dead gorgeous.

What you were wearing only enhanced what Choso was convinced was godly beauty. And damn, the way you walked with utter confidence as you approached him outside the rink, your smile brighter than the midday sun and and and - crap he can’t remember anything he could call bright now that he’s seen your smile. You’re going to put him in cardiac arrest or at the very least short circuit his brain when you walk right up and start talking in that sweet, smooth voice of yours.

What was his favorite type of music? He’d absolutely say your voice now.

“Hi! You’re Choso right?” You cover your mouth as you shyly laugh. Why’d you do that? Choso wants to see it. “Yuki told me to look for a tall guy with longish hair and a tattooed face who stands there like he got off at the wrong train station.”

Play it cool, play it cool. And because the people he mainly hangs out with are kids he says, “Yeah I’m Choso. I like your shoes.”

“Really?” You glance down and laugh again. “Oh, um, thanks, I guess.”

He kicks himself internally.

“So, Yuki said you wanted to learn how to skate to impress your brother?”

“Uh, yeah.” Choso nods. At least that didn’t sound too weird. “He picked up skating recently and I just think it’ll be nice if we could do it together, because all I can do right now is, you know, sit at the sidelines since…I’m really bad at skating.”

“It’s fine!” You said enthusiastically. “It takes a couple tries to get the hang of it, but I’m pretty hopeful I’ll get you skating by yourself in one lesson - um, not to sound arrogant. It’s pretty sweet you want to learn skating just for your brother, heh; you must really look up to him.”

“I do.” Yuji made friends so effortlessly and he was amazing at any sport he tried his hand at. Yuki could laugh at him all she liked but his opinion was his opinion. Choso shuffled his feet. “I’ll be really grateful if you can. I’ll even pay-”

“No, no, this is completely free, Choso! Don’t worry, it’s all on a favor to Yuki anyway, so if anybody pays, it’s her,” You joke, waving a hand, gratified to see him crack a nervous grin. “So…” You plodded over to the rink, so steady atop the blades of the skates. Choso takes a little while longer, wobbling uncertainly, but he thanks his lucky stars he managed to cross over without tripping like last time.

“Which one’s your brother?”

Choso proudly pointed at the kid with the fluffiest pink hair you’ve ever seen chasing his spiky-haired, brooding counterpart around the ice with the skill of an Olympics professional. “That one.”

“Oh my god.”

Choso panics when your hand slaps over your mouth and your eyes screw up closed. You sounded like you were holding back some really odd noises as well. Did he do something wrong? Oh no. “Are you okay? Are you cold or-”

“He’s a little silly.” Yuki leans across the table, with a sly look. “I’m sure he’s got a brother complex, actually. Don’t mind him if he gets really excited if you mention Yuji.”

“No, no, Yuki didn’t tell me you were this cute!”

“I-” Choso feels his face heat up like an oven and his mouth dries. “Um.”

You grab his hand and yank him into the rink. “Come on, we’ll get you skating in no time!”

***

Truly you meant what you said. Yuki didn’t tell you he was THIS cute and you were going to put her out of whack for it.

You had originally regretted bemoaning your fate of being single for so long already when you had met up with the blonde a week ago, because Yuki being Yuki she was going to grill you for a very detailed description of your type just so she could set you up with someone on a blind date. What a wicked friend - somehow she managed to set you up on one anyway, but you were going to let it slide on the fact that 1. he was really, really cute (not just in looks; so rare are grown men who want to do these things just for their little brother!) and 2. Yuki was giving you a chance to show off your stomping ground and potentially impress HIM, something you weren’t going to throw away to get back at her.

Stay calm, stay calm, you chanted to yourself as you led him out to the rink. Oh god he was so cute and anxious gingerly moving like a newborn giraffe it made you want to- Focus. Seriously.

“Try and skate, I want to see how well you can do,” you said in what you hope was a normal, level tone of voice and not a representation of how you feel when he grabbed your arm to steady himself.

“Um…I’m scared I’ll trip and take you down with me,” Choso confessed, tightening his grip just slightly (it sent you reeling). “I accidentally tripped up Yuji’s friend’s dad once.”

“It’s fine! It’ll take more than some ice to hurt me,” You assure him cheekily. “Go on, try. I’ll do my best to catch you if I fall!”

“Alright, if you say so…”

You glided closer to where he sat on his bum. “I mean, at least you managed a couple meters.”

“I did a split,” Choso groans.

“You’re quite the gymnast,” you agree and offer your hand to help him out. He catches your eye and it’s all over.

“OH MY GOD! I���M - S-SORRY, IT - IT WAS JUST - JUST SO - JUST SO FUNNY - I CAN’T - I SHOULDN’T - I SHOULDN’T BE LAUGHING BUT - OH MY GOD - YOUR FACE - “

“Stop! It’s not that funny!” Choso buries his face into his hands, pulling up the hood of his jacket. But eventually he succumbs to the humor of the situation as well.

The two of you garnered quite a number of stares as you both doubled over and laughed until you swore you needed stitches for your sides now. You both glance up, just for a moment and maybe sparks flew if Choso hadn’t lost his balance and would’ve face-planted into the ice if you hadn’t grabbed him in time.

Now you both were in a…questionable position, to say the least. He was half leaning on you, head smooshed against your side as you tried to maneuver him back to standing with suddenly stiff hands, like two waltz partners when one was dipping the other. Your heart was pounding and you wondered if he could hear it. His face was burning red; he prayed you couldn’t see it. Two pairs of eyes locked.

“Um. So.” You broke the silence first.

Choso hurriedly pushed himself away, waving his hands frantically. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It was a total accident!”

Then the laughter explodes out again.

The commotion seemed to have gotten the attention of Choso’s brother and his friend as well. When you finally straightened, wiping at your streaming eyes, you came face-to-face with two gleaming brown ones as the boy grabs your hand in a tight handshake. “Hi! I’m Yuji! You must be Choso’s new friend and the one teaching him to skate?”

If Yuji wasn’t on ice you’d bet he’d be jumping up and down from glee. “I can’t wait to skate with him! He’s so bad at it he can barely take a step without slipping!”

“Yuji!” Choso can’t believe it. His beloved brother. Betraying him. Exposing him.

“Yeah, last time he tripped up Gojo,” Megumi adds. Choso could cry. Instead he puts a hand on their shoulders (he can’t bend down without falling/being unable to get up again if he’s not holding something) and leans close.

“Taiyaki if you guys don’t mention this, please.”

Yuji blinks and nods seriously, before turning back to a bewildered but entertained you. “My bad! Choso’s really good at skating! He’s never fallen down before!”

Not like that, Yuji. Choso wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Since when were little kids this silly?

“Let’s go back to skating, Yuji. “ At least one of them feels bad for him. Megumi skates off, beckoning for his friend to follow. “We’ll leave the lovebirds to skate themselves.”

“Megumi!” Choso gasps. He took it back. All kids were merciless.

You seem more amused though, giggling. “Come on, they’re right. I said I’ll get you skating by today and skating you will be by today!”

“Alright!”

He couldn’t help but beam back. You had that effect. Addicting and contagious. Anything but detrimental though.

“Okay, let’s try that again, but this time I’ll be right behind you, so grab me if need be.”

Choso nodded. “Got it.”

You watched carefully as the man slowly struggles to skate a little distance. He nearly falls, but steadies himself quickly. After a while it’s easy to spot the problem, so you reluctantly pull yourself away from admiring his form, however shaky.

“Wait, wait, hold up here.” You skated in front of him a bit and pointed down. “Skating isn’t walking. Try imagining a scooter or a skateboard, where one foot remains unmoving while the other propels you forward. It’s not really an accurate way to skate but it worked for me on starting out.”

Choso tried not to get distracted by the smell of you and your clothes, concentrating on his feet. Think about other things, not the extremely good-looking person in front of you. Other things - don’t fall - other things…

He flashed back to the time he tried to teach Yuji to use a skateboard and fell into a ditch. Um, probably explained why he was so bad at skating.

“Hey, I’m doing it!” Choso excitedly let go of your arm and pushed himself forward a little more. “I’m doing it! I’m skating - oh woah - never mind - ouch.”

“Well, almost!” You cheered, clapping your hands and mimicking confetti falling as you skated over to help him up. “You did it! Now we just gonna work on your falling problem - I think it’s because you’re trying to go faster than you can right now.”

“It’s progress,” Choso says hopefully. He tries to get up.

“No, don’t get up like that, you’re gonna fall right down again. Put up one foot like you’re kneeling and use it to push yourself up.”

And so it went on, you directing instructions, tips and corrections to Choso while he did his best to follow them, occasionally sending your heart fluttering and your stomach twisting every time he grabbed your hand to steady himself. It was like your hands were molded to fit each other perfectly, you thought giddily, then shut off that train of thought. No! You both had just met! You were just here on a favor to Yuki! Nothing more!

“Lean forward a little more - wait, no, not that much, don’t fall for me again, haha.”

“Just relax your hands, don’t keep flailing them.”

“Come on! Go, go, go, you got this! No! Don’t look back! Pretend I’m in front of you!”

But still, you couldn’t help but flush pink at the jubilant grin decorating his face as he zipped back to you, hyped over his newfound achievement.

“I did it! I skated a whole round!”

“I know you did, congratu- oof!”

He tackled you in a tight hug, crushing your arms and your head underneath his chin but you didn’t mind. Choso was warm, awfully so after you both had spent so much time in the freezing rink, but maybe that was just his personality. You melted, and it was like gluing a cracked vase back together again - a perfect fit.

Then Choso froze and let go, pushing back. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, no worries, don’t sweat it!” You tried for a smile, even though the sudden loss of his hold left something aching in you.

He smiled again and you decided to be bold.

You spread your arms. “Can I get another one, maybe? Just to celebrate.”

***

“So, it’s just you and Yuji right now?” You took a lick of your ice cream, eyes never leaving Choso’s face. He was enjoying his own cone, although his gaze was trained on the two kids running up in front. “Man, that must’ve been rough.”

“Well, not too bad.” Choso wiped a smudge of chocolate off the corner of his lip. He didn’t quite get it, so he tried to use his tongue to lick it off. You snorted at his expression. “We’ve got an uncle - my dad’s brother - Sukuna, he’s not around much but he sends us money so financially, we’re okay. He’s a pretty busy, bigshot businessman anyway.”

“THE Ryomen Sukuna?” Your mouth fell open as you pictured the scowling, towering, tattooed man you had seen in newspapers. “Oh, wow, you just keep getting even more interesting, Choso.”

He shrugged, awkwardly smiling at the compliment. “Heh, not really. I didn’t even know we were related until like after our grandfather died. Then he showed up. He’s like the family black sheep or something, but Sukuna’s pretty okay.”

After Yuji and Megumi had finally gotten bored of the rink they had ran up to the two of you and immediately pestered Choso (mostly Yuji, Megumi just sort of tagged along) to get them food because they were going to die from hunger apparently. Choso had turned to you, with that eager puppy dog look and asked if you wanted to stay, ice cream would be his treat? Who were you to turn him down?

So that’s how you all ended up in front of the toy store now, as Yuji dragged Megumi inside while you and Choso just sort of lingered around the front, poking through the products, getting to know each other better and wistfully remarking on the joys of lost childhood.

(He was such a gentleman - offering to throw the cup your ice cream was in for you, opening the door and even - gasp - helping you remove the straps from your skates.)

“Pretty okay? He looks terrifying from his pictures,” you laugh. “I guess there’s a reason they call his business Malevolent Shrine though.”

“Don’t even get me started on-”

“Choso! Choso! Check these out!”

The two younger boys burst through the racks, Yuji grinning and Megumi not quite scowling as they held up two matching wolf plushies, one white and the other black. The Divine Dogs line of toys, if you remembered correctly. They were pretty cute, you had to admit.

“Oh hey, you two are back.” Choso took a quick look at the plushies and raised his eyebrows. “Do you want them or something?”

“Nope! I think you should get them!”

You nearly spat.

“…what? And…why?”

“So you can match with my new sibling?”

“Sibling?!” Poor Choso looks confused.

“Sibling-in-law,” Megumi corrects blankly, and points at you.

At once the two of you suddenly found the floor really interesting. My, my, who knew the cracks in the tiles would make such beautiful patterns. Hmm, a speck on your shoe as well.

“But I think that's for after marriage,” Megumi continues like absolutely nothing happened.

Yuji frowns, then lights up again before shoving the plushies towards Choso. “Then you gotta marry them quick, Choso, before anyone else does! Maybe you could get matching tattoos or something, after the plushies! You guys were so cute skating around together, like a real coo-ple!”

“Couple,” Megumi corrected.

“We’re not-!”

“Um, what-?”

“Hey, can I be best man at the wedding?” Yuji waved the plushy at your face.

Choso wanted the floor to swallow him up. You decide to save him and yourself.

“…it’s too early for marriage,” You begin before Choso’s panic instincts kick in.

“I’m so sorry! I apologize on their behalf, it must make you uncomfortable! Yuji, Megumi, don’t ever say that, we just met and we’re just hanging out like friends-”

“Hey, let me finish!” You lightly dig your elbow into his side, the corner of your lip tugging up. “It’s too early for marriage but I wouldn’t say no to a date, if you asked.”

Choso bough the plushies after he finished fainting.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

a small drabble, i was inspired

Imagine finally getting the chance to buy a really nice dress.

Crocodile knows that you're not a vain woman, and he knows that you're not someone capable of spending thousands of dollars just for your wardrobe. But you saw that dress, so beautiful that it made your heart skip, and he has this important gala where he really wants to go with you; at least he won't bore himself to death.

And yes, maybe he does want to show you off a little. So, since the occasion presented itself on your doorstep, he was happy to oblige you with your small desire.

It wasn't nowadays that you had some particular request, and once in a while wouldn't kill anyone, no?

Well, imagine leaving your house, happy as a child, ready to receive a so-dreamed-of toy with one of his helpers (Mikita's was always so ready to accompany you around town), only to return empty-handed, with your face hiding in your coat, running in your shared room, and hiding yourself from all day.

Of course he knew something was off; you didn't send him a photo of the dress, and you didn't respond to his messages. Mikita was the one that reached for him after he had made several calls to your phone, discarder near your throw purse during your escape in your room.

He was a formal, calm, and collected man. He always knew how to put his emotions aside and how to use his logic.

"Sir, they... uh, we didn't buy the dress...they started to make comments about Miss Y/N, and... I think that they made assumptions about her budget? ...about her measurements and the dress?"

Well, collected man as fuck. She tried to honeycope; what he learned was that those idiots from the boutique had the audacity to critique your body, the fact that you could pay for that damn dress, and all of that shit.

"Is she crying?"

The silence of the young woman was enough.

When he returned home, he found you still in bed, now completely worn out from the cry after that umiliation. He knew you weren't strong like him, but you were far too kind for your own good.

His larger hand caressed your head, trying to convince you to look at him. A pink sugar box in his hand, inside your so-dreamed dress with a letter.

The actual designer apologized for his employee's demeanor, promising that he would take immediate action. She even put on a matching pair of shoes with the dress, hoping to be able to make up for the disgraceful event of the day with Miss Y/N.

You sniffed, hugging the dress, and your grumpy lover murmured your thanks and your love praises to him through his robes. You haven't eaten all day except for breakfast, just before heading to the boutique, and you are starving right now.

And while you both were going to eat, he was quite satisfied to know that those employees were now without jobs and had no possibility of finding new work.

Ah, he didn't mention to you that the designer was one of his most trusted customers, and she had designed for him a few of his clothes? ... Yeah, let's just put this aside for now.