#maybe it’s time I start doing things my way

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I’ve read every single one of your works, and I am absolutely obsessed! The way you write and capture emotions is beyond amazing—it’s pure magic. I really hope this isn’t too much to ask 😭, but I just adore your writing so much. If you’re not comfortable with this request, though, please don’t hesitate to ignore it. Thank you so much!

Could I request a James Potter x Reader story? The plot starts with James pursuing Lily Evans, but along the way, he realizes his feelings for her were more about the excitement of the chase. In contrast, with the reader, he feels truly at ease, able to be himself without pretending or changing for anyone. I’d love for Lily’s perspective to be included—how she starts to desire James after noticing how much he’s 'matured' in his relationship with the reader, but she can only stand by and watch as James and the reader create their beautiful love story.

chase ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ james potter x reader where he realizes who he truly loves

warnings: fluff overload, mild angst

word count: 1,836 words

author's note: omg stopppp you’re making me blush ‹𝟹 this is the sweetest thing ever, and i’m so honored you enjoy my writing!! ♡

navigation┆ james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter had been chasing Lily Evans for years. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it—how he’d flash his most charming smile, throw an arm around her shoulder with a wink, and dramatically proclaim his undying love. It was all in good fun, of course. At least, that’s what he always told himself.

Lily, ever stubborn, had always rebuffed him. At first, she detested his arrogance. Later, she simply rolled her eyes and dismissed his advances, treating him as little more than a particularly persistent house elf. James didn't mind. The chase was half the fun, after all.

"She'll come around, you'll see," James would say after every rejection, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Mate, she's been saying no for three years," Sirius pointed out, sprawled lazily on the Gryffindor common room couch. "At what point do you consider the possibility that she's actually not interested?"

James gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. "Not interested? Padfoot, please. That’s just what she wants me to think."

Remus sighed from behind his book. "Or perhaps she genuinely means it. You ever consider not making a public spectacle every time you ask her out?"

Peter snickered. "Yeah, Prongs, maybe if you stop serenading her in the Great Hall, she'll stop running the other way."

"That was one time!" James protested. "And I thought she’d appreciate the gesture."

You, sitting cross-legged by the fire, smirked. "James, darling, even I was embarrassed for you, and I usually live for the drama."

Sirius grinned. "See? When even our dear, theatrical doll here cringes, you know you’ve gone too far."

James huffed, crossing his arms. "You lot are supposed to support me."

Remus finally set his book down, giving him a small smile. "We do support you. We just also support your dignity."

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll try… a different approach."

The boys exchanged glances, and you patted his knee sympathetically. "That’s the spirit, Prongs. Maybe next time, just… don’t propose in front of McGonagall again."

James groaned even louder as the Marauders burst into laughter.

But somewhere along the way, the chase had stopped being fun.

It had started with you.

You, the one he never really had to chase. You, who laughed at his antics but also scolded him when he was being too reckless. You, who had a quick wit but also a kindness about you that softened his rougher edges. You, who never needed him to be anything but himself.

It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no lightning strike, no grand revelation. Just little moments that wove themselves into something undeniable.

The way you tucked a stray curl behind your ear when you were reading, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. James had watched you do it a hundred times before realizing how endearing he found it. The way you argued with Sirius about the best way to sneak into Hogsmeade, eyes alight with mischief as you held your ground against the self-proclaimed master of rule-breaking. The way you always had a spare quill when he inevitably lost his, rolling your eyes fondly as you handed it over with a teasing, "Honestly, James, do you even own quills?"

There was the way you leaned against his shoulder after a long cold day, sighing. "James Potter, you are a human furnace. Please continue existing exactly as you are."

There was the way he found himself seeking you out first—before Remus, before Sirius, before Peter, before anyone else—whenever he had good news to share. The way his jokes felt funnier when you laughed at them. The way his name sounded different coming from your lips, softer somehow, like it belonged there.

One night, after an exhausting Quidditch practice, you had met him outside the changing rooms with a chocolate frog in hand. "For your heroic efforts," you’d said with a mock bow, pressing it into his palm. He had laughed, shoving it into his pocket, but the warmth in his chest lingered long after.

James Potter had always thought he wanted a grand, all-consuming love. He had spent years chasing something he thought would make him whole. But standing beside you, teasing and laughing and existing so effortlessly together, he realized something else.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be a chase.

Maybe it was supposed to feel like home.

Lily noticed the shift before James did. It crept up on her, subtle but undeniable, like the slow changing of seasons. He still ruffled his hair like a prat, still laughed too loudly with his friends, still turned every moment into a grand performance. But there was something quieter about him now, something settled in the way he carried himself. The endless pursuit that had once defined James Potter—the grand gestures, the dramatic declarations, the unrelenting chase—had stopped. And he hadn’t even noticed.

At first, she felt relief. She had spent years pushing him away, certain that his attention was something fleeting, something she didn’t want. And now, finally, he had listened.

Then she felt something else.

She caught herself watching him more often. Noticing the little things. The way his grin softened when he looked at you. The way his hand found your wrist when he pulled you toward him in the common room, like it was second nature. The way he listened when you spoke—really listened, with an intensity that made it clear you had his full attention. She had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he looked at her.

And suddenly, she found herself wondering. Had she been wrong about James Potter?

Had she spent all these years dismissing him without ever really knowing him? Had she mistaken boyish bravado for immaturity, mistaking the show for the substance beneath it?

But it didn’t matter.

Because James wasn’t looking at her anymore.

The realization hadn’t struck James like lightning, not at first. He hadn’t woken up one day and thought, Oh, I love her. No, it was something slower, quieter—woven into the fabric of every moment he spent with you.

It was the way you sat beside him in the common room, curled up with a book, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your face. The way you absently played with the hem of his sleeve when you were lost in thought. The way you saw him—not James Potter, Quidditch Captain, mischief-maker, the boy who never stopped chasing—but James. Just James.

And for the first time, he found that was all he wanted to be.

He didn’t need to impress you. He didn’t need to chase you. He could just exist with you, and it was enough.

There was a night—one that stuck with him, long after it had passed—when he had finally put words to the feeling.

You had found him on the Astronomy Tower, shoulders hunched against the cold, lost in thoughts he hadn’t even realized were weighing him down. You didn’t ask what was wrong. You just sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched, close enough that he could feel your warmth.

“You ever think about who you are without all the noise?” he murmured after a long silence.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

James hesitated. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent so much time being—being James Potter, you know? The one who’s always got a joke, the one who’s always chasing something. But with you…” He trailed off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t have to be anything but me.”

You blinked, taken aback, before a small smile curved your lips. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Yeah, it is.”

You nudged his shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I like just you.”

And that was it.

Not a grand confession. Not a dramatic moment. Just quiet understanding.

Just home.

Lily saw it all unfold. Saw James fall in love without the fanfare, without the spectacle. And for the first time, she saw him—not the boy who had chased her, but the boy who had finally stopped running.

And it wasn’t for her.

It was too late.

Then came the grand gesture.

James Potter did nothing in half measures, and asking you on a date was no exception. If anything, he seemed almost nostalgic about the whole ordeal—like he had spent so many years planning elaborate schemes for Lily that now, finally asking the right person, he wanted to do it justice.

So, naturally, it started with fireworks.

Not just any fireworks, but ones that spelled out your name across the sky in brilliant, shimmering letters, crackling above the Quidditch Pitch where half the school had gathered after dinner. Then came the enchanted banners floating midair, reading: 'WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?' in flashing gold and red, trailing behind a very enthusiastic Sirius, who had volunteered to fly them around on his broom. A charmed choir of singing toads croaked a love song (Remus’ contribution, because, according to him, ‘there needed to be some class in this spectacle’), and Peter had somehow gotten his hands on a bouquet of flowers that smelled like sunshine.

James himself stood in the center of it all, hand on his heart, eyes locked on yours, waiting.

The crowd turned to you, hushed in anticipation. Lily, standing off to the side, watched with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on her face. There was a time when she would have scoffed at something like this, dismissed it with a roll of her eyes.

But you—

You were grinning.

Dramatically clutching your chest, you gasped, staggering back like a swooning damsel in distress. "Oh, James Potter! Whatever shall I say? This is all so sudden!"

James, without missing a beat, fell to one knee. "Say yes, my darling star! For I have loved you since the dawn of time—or, well, since fourth year at least, and that’s practically the same thing!"

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. "Hmm. I don’t know, Potter. It’s an awfully big commitment."

James shot to his feet, grabbing your hands, eyes wide with mock desperation. "I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of your love! I shall carry your books! Share my sweets! Defend your honor against Slytherins and bad hair days alike!"

You sighed deeply, then beamed. "Well, in that case… Yes! A thousand times yes!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, Sirius fist-pumped midair, and Remus groaned into his hands. James, triumphant, swept you up in a spin, laughing so hard his glasses nearly fell off.

Lily watched it all unfold, and for the first time, she felt the weight of what she had lost. Not because she wanted James, not really. But because once upon a time, it had been her he was chasing.

But James Potter had finally stopped chasing.

Because he had already caught what he was looking for.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑷𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒐/𝑳.𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

You finished packing away the resistance bands and wipes into the cupboard in your treatment room when Beth walked in, her brow furrowed as she rubbed her thigh. “Got time for me?” she asked with a wince. You gave her a quick nod, gesturing to the padded bench in the middle of the room. Beth hopped up, stretching her leg out before you.

“This one again?” you teased, moving to retrieve the massage oil from the counter.

Beth groaned in response. “Yeah, don’t remind me. Feels like there’s a rock buried in my muscle.”

With a sympathetic smile, you got to work, your hands kneading into the tense fibres of her thigh. She let out a dramatic sigh of relief as you worked out the knot, chatting with you about the upcoming match and laughing about something Caitlin had done during training. Beth was easy to work with—she trusted you completely, even when your thumbs dug into particularly sensitive spots.

When you finally finished, Beth rolled her leg and tested the motion. “You’re magic, you know that?” she said, hopping off the table with a grin.

“Don’t tell the others, or they’ll never leave me alone,” you joked, packing away the oil and wiping down the bench.

Beth waved you off, but before she could leave, her eyes flickered to the doorway behind you. “Speaking of never leaving you alone…” she murmured, smirking before walking out.

You turned, already knowing who it was before you even saw her. Leah was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the frame. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she was dressed in her post-training hoodie and joggers, but her pout was unmistakable.

“Baby,” she drawled, her voice laced with a familiar whine.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your own arms as you leaned against the counter. “Leah,” you mimicked, your voice a touch teasing.

She pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the room, her pout deepening. “My legs hurt,” she said, stopping in front of you and tilting her head dramatically.

“Do they?” you asked, feigning scepticism as you reached out to place your hands on her hips.

She nodded earnestly, her eyes wide and imploring. “They’ve been giving me trouble all day. Really tight, darling. I need you.”

You tried to hold back a smile, but it was impossible. Leah was many things—cheeky, competitive, fiercely protective—but she was also the biggest baby when it came to getting attention from you. “Alright, trousers off and on the bench,” you said, pointing to the same spot Beth had just vacated.

Leah perked up instantly, shimmying out her joggers leaving her in just a pair of shorts before climbing onto the bench and stretching out with all the grace of a cat. She wiggled her legs at you, her grin now replacing the pout. “Thank you, my girl. You’re the best.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, grabbing the massage oil again. “You’re so lucky I love you,” you muttered, moving to the end of the bench where her feet were dangling off the edge.

“I know,” she said smugly, resting her head on her crossed arms and peering at you over her shoulder.

Starting at her calves, you worked your way up her legs, applying just enough pressure to knead into her muscles. Leah hummed contentedly, her whole body visibly relaxing under your touch. Despite her initial dramatics, her legs did feel a bit tight, likely from the extra sprints she’d been pushing herself through during training.

“You’ve been overdoing it again, haven’t you?” you asked, your thumbs pressing into her hamstrings.

She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes fluttering closed. “Maybe,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against her arms

You let out a small sigh, but there was no real frustration behind it. Leah was always pushing herself, always giving everything she had. It was one of the things you admired about her, but it also made her your most frequent visitor in the treatment room.

Once you’d finished her legs, you gave her calf a gentle tap. “All done.”

But instead of getting up, Leah craned her head back to face you. “My back’s tight too,” she said, though her grin betrayed her.

“Leah,” you said warningly, though the corners of your mouth were twitching upward.

“Please, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with charm. “Just a little bit? I promise I’ll be good.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you leaned over her, your hands finding her shoulders. She was warm and soft beneath your touch, and you couldn’t help but let your fingers linger for a moment. Leah’s grinned up at you, and she gave you a cheeky wink.

“Flirting won’t get you anywhere,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

“Oh, but it’s working,” she countered, her grin widening.

You rolled your eyes again but indulged her anyway, giving her shoulders a quick rub before stepping back. “There. Now you’re done.”

Leah sat up slowly, swinging her legs off the bench. But instead of standing, she turned towards you, her expression softening. “Can I just…” she trailed off, her hands reaching out for yours.

You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t wait for your response. Pulling you closer so you were stood between her legs, she wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her head against your chest.

“Leah,” you said, laughing softly. “What are you doing?”

“Cuddling,” she said simply, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“In the middle of the treatment room?”

“Yes.”

You let out a sigh, but it was full of affection. Running your fingers through her still-damp hair, you allowed her to hold you for a moment before gently nudging her back. “We can cuddle at home, baby. I need to finish up here.”

Leah looked up at you with a pout that could rival a toddler’s. “But I’m tired,” she whined.

“Then go take a nap in the lounge while I finish this paperwork,” you suggested, already knowing she wouldn’t.

Sure enough, Leah shook her head, her grip on your waist tightening. “No. I want to stay with you.”

Before you could respond, she pulled you down onto the bench beside her. She shifted so that she was straddling in your lap, her head tucked against your shoulder as her arms looped securely around your shoulders.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes fondly as you wrap your arms around her waist, letting her settle against you as you nuzzled your nose against her shoulder. You breathed her in for a second before trailing your hands down her back until they met her thighs. You squeezed once, softly, before bringing them back up so they rested just above her behind, slipping just beneath the material of her hoodie to rest against warm skin.

“Comfortable?” you asked after a moment.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, already sounding half-asleep.

You pressed a kiss to side of her neck, your fingers tracing lazy circles on the small of her back. Leah let out a contented sigh, her body relaxing even further. The room fell quiet, save for the faint sounds of voices and footsteps from down the hall. You knew you should have been working on your paperwork, but with Leah in your arms, it was hard to care.

Leah’s breathing slowed as she drifted off, her weight pressing more heavily against you. You shifted slightly, slipping your hands beneath her thighs and scooting her a little closer to you. She stirred briefly, mumbling something incoherent before nestling her face into the crook of your neck.

“Sleep, baby,” you whispered, returning one of your hands to the small of her back whilst the other combs gently through her damp hair.

She hummed in response, her lips brushing against your collarbone. A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched her, her usually sharp features softened by sleep.

It was moments like this that reminded you just how much you loved her. For her vulnerability, her sweetness, and her ability to make you feel like the most important person in the whole entire world.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[mariasont]

hi pookie! <3

i loved loved loved the recent lipgloss fic! could you write smth about perfume? like bimbo! reader smells sweet asf and all of a sudden reid (or hotch) comes into the office smelling suspiciously sweet

tytyty!! <333

Suspiciously Sweet - S.R

a/n: hiiiiiii pookie!!!!!!! thank u so much for requesting i loved this lololol

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fluffiest fluff, established relationship, spencer's relationship almost being exposed, hotch saving his ass, hotch hinting to having a secret girlfriend (aka my girl bimbo!assistant)

wc: 1.3k

You had a very distinct scent. This wasn't a bad thing, no, far from it. It was sweet and intoxicating, it reminded him of ripe peaches in the height of summer and cherries soaked in syrup, with a hint of something citrusy that reminded him of lazy afternoons in the sun. Was that too poetic? Spencer wasn't sure.

He noticed it everywhere. In the office, where it announced your arrival before you said a word. He noticed it at home. His pillows, his sheets, even the collar of the sweater you'd borrowed once—it was all steeped in the same honeyed scent that lingered after you left his bed, as if you were something he couldn't wash away—not that he wanted to.

This was why Spencer had started sleeping in on weekends when you stayed over. It wasn't laziness—not exactly—but how could he resist staying wrapped up in the thing that reminded him most of you?

Especially on those mornings when you were still half-asleep and clingy, burrowing into him with sleepy little hums, like you were trying to fuse yourselves together, and somehow, it worked. Your scent didn't just stick to his things, it stuck to him, sinking into his skin and leaving him a little dazed by the time you finally rolled out of bed.

Sure, he could rationalize it with some scientific explanation about heat transfer, molecules, or something equally clinical. But science (and he hated to admit this) didn’t account for how it made him feel.

Unfortunately, those feelings, didn't do him any good when one of those slow mornings he was becoming so fond of turned into an emergency call from Hotch about a case.

Now, he found himself here, hunched over the impossibly small sink in the jet's cramped bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw for what felt like fortieth time today. The scent wouldn't budge. It was as though it had soaked into his skin. He knew it was his fault—he couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming across every inch of your body morning.

It wasn't that he minded smelling like you, but focusing on case details and running probability algorithms became infinitely harder when every breath reminded him of how tightly you had wrapped yourself around him just hours before.

He let out a bated breath, shutting off the sink before pushing his way into the main cabin of the jet. He found his way to his favorite seat, third back on the left side, which happened to be located far enough from the engines to minimize auditory distractions.

Morgan looked up, sniffing once as Spencer slid by. "Man, I don't know what it is, but something smells good in here."

Spencer tensed, his stomach dropping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he fought the urge to whip around. Surely it wasn't that strong. It couldn't be.

Rossi glanced up from his crossword, brows furrowing.

“Huh. I was thinking the same thing. It’s faint, but it’s nice. Like fruit or… maybe something floral?” Rossi’s nose wrinkled as he added, “Certainly an improvement over Morgan’s cologne.”

Spencer ducked his head so fast it could've looked like a nod, his cheeks burning as he avoided everyone's gaze.

JJ came out of the coffee area moments later, glancing at the case file in her hand as she passed him. She stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, then frowned.

"Wow, Spence, you smell really good. Did you finally cave and buy cologne?"

Spencer blinked up at her, every ounce of blood in his body rushing to his face.

"Uh, no," he said flatly, trying to mask the embarrassment. "I suppose I woke up smelling like this."

Technically not a lie.

He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. Emily tilted her head, brow furrowing before a wide grin spread across her face. Not a good sign, he concluded.

"Wait a second," she said, pointing at Spencer. "That smells exactly like outside of Cruz's office. I pass it all the time."

Spencer cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around the armrests as his mind scrambled for an explanation—any explanation—to divert their growing attention. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He was doomed. This was it.

Spencer’s pulse was thundering in his ears, his face still flushed, when Hotch finally set down his pen.

For a second, Spencer braced himself for the worst, the horrifying moment when even Hotch would add to his scrutiny.

"That smell? It's the same hand sanitizer Cruz keeps in his office. He offered it to me after a meeting—probably the same stuff Spencer borrowed when he spilled his coffee this morning."

Spencer looked to Hotch, mouth opening and closing before nodding as if in agreement. "Yeah, that's... probably it."

The rest of the ride passed, to Spencer’s immense relief, without further incident. Morgan gave him a few odd looks now and then, but Spencer was too preoccupied, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out why Hotch had saved his ass.

When the last of the team finally stepped off the plane, Spencer hung back, letting the others pass. Hotch did too, falling in step beside him. His pace was slower than usual, his gaze fixed forward, but when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for Spencer to hear.

"Word of advice, Reid—next time, carry mints and a travel sized bottle of something unscented. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Spencer’s head whipped around, his face going a deep shade of red. Hotch, meanwhile, kept walking, his expression completely neutral, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

"He said what?"

You were laughing uncontrollably, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake and left you gasping for air, your hands grabbing him for balance. Rollers filled your hair—a ritual you'd patiently explained to him before—and loose wisps curled around your face. And your smile, well, he was perfectly certain it was the prettiest he'd ever seen you.

"Yup," Spencer confirmed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You froze mid-giggle, eyes narrowing.

"Wait, wait, wait—how does he know that? Is Hotch speaking from experience or something?" You blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, what if Hotch has, like, a secret girlfriend? What if it's someone at the BAU? What if it's Garcia?"

"It's not Garcia, and it's definitely not a secret." Spencer raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if the answer was obvious. "Hotch has been dating his assistant for years. He thinks it's some big secret, but it's... not. He picks her up lunch at least twice a week, and his closed-door meetings with her? Not as inconspicuous as he thinks."

You gasped, practically bouncing in place as you grabbed Spencer's sleeve. "Shut up! I didn't know that! I love her clothes. Do you think she'd tell me where she shops? That red skirt she wore the other day was everything."

“You don’t need any more skirts,” Spencer said, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your hip and ribs, pinching just enough to make you squirm on the countertop. “If your closet gets any fuller, you’re going to have to rent out a second apartment just for storage.”

You giggled, tightening your legs around him and clinging to him like a koala, your arms looped snugly around his neck.

"That's why I have your apartment," you said, sticking out your tongue. "Plenty of space for my skirts, and you get to see me model them. Win-win."

"When you put in like that, it's kind of hard to say no."

He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, teasing and testing, like a flicker of fire before it catches. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter blending into his smile. The kiss deepened, honey-slow and sweet, golden warmth spreading through his chest as you pressed closer, closing every last bit of distance between you.

When you pulled back, his lips still tingling, you grinned. "Wow, you really do smell like me."

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[missdynamighttt]

using your boyfriend! katsuki bakugo's face to test out if your lipsticks are kiss-proof.

katsuki leaned back against the couch, a mix of annoyance and amusement flickering in his eyes as you're perched on his lap, armed with an array of lipsticks on the coffee table.

the array of tubes came in various shades of red, pink, beige and even orange gleamed under the light, and your grin was way too mischievous for his liking.

“this is stupid,” he grumbled, though he didn’t make any effort to push you away.

“no, this is science,” you teased with a grin, twisting open a tube of lipstick. “i need to test if these are actually kissproof, and who better to test on than my loving boyfriend?”

“remind me again why i agreed to this?” he asked dryly, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“because you love me. now sit still, and don’t wipe your face, no matter what.”

katsuki instinctively tensed, but before he could say anything, your lips pressed against his, leaving a bold red kiss mark.

you pulled back to inspect your work, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, not bad, but let’s see if it smudges.”

you lightly rubbed his lips off the kiss mark with your thumb, then grinned triumphantly when it smudged slightly.

“guess this one isn’t kissproof. let’s try another.”

“you’re just usin' this as an excuse to kiss me.”

“maybe,” you admitted, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you reached for another lipstick. “but you’re not complaining, are you?”

he opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off with another kiss, this time on his forehead. katsuki grumbled under his breath, but the way his lips twitched betrayed his amusement.

one by one, you tested out each and every one of your lipsticks. you made sure to leave vibrant marks across his cheeks, his forehead, his jawline, and even the tip of his nose. each kiss mark was a different shade, creating a chaotic warm hue of affection on his face.

its only half way, and katsuki’s face was plastered in smudged kiss marks, and his patience was starting to run out.

“are you done yet?” he grumbled, watching you in the corner of his eye as you leaned in close, his tone exasperated but not entirely serious.

“shush,” you grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss against his cheek. you pulled back, studying the growing collection of kiss marks.

“okay, definitely not kissproof,” you said with a satisfied nod before reapplying another shade. he didn’t move as you kissed his jaw this time, leaving another bold lip mark. you pulled back, inspecting your work. “nope, not this one either. next!”

katsuki sighed, his patience wearing thin, but he stayed put, his hands resting on his thighs. “sweets... how many of these fuckin' things do you actually have?”

you ignored him, happily swiping on a soft pink shade next. you leaned in again, pressing your lips to the other side of his face. you pulled back, feigning disappointment. “ooh, not kissproof either. guess we keep going!”

“what a shame,” katsuki deadpanned, his voice dripping with sarcasm with the squeez of your hips, looking at you so affectionately.

but you weren't done yet.

you were intentionally avoided the tubes you knew were kissproof, prolonging the excuse to pepper his face with kisses. each time you left a print, you grinned, giggling as his face slowly became a canvas of lip marks in every imaginable shade—reds, pinks, beiges, and even a daring orange.

by the time you finally went through them all, katsuki’s face was an absolute mess of lipstick smudges. you dabbed on your first long-lasting formula lipstick, making sure it was a bright, bold red.

“this one’s supposed to be smudge-proof,” you said, leaning in close and planting a firm kiss above his neck. you pulled back, studying his skin. not a single smudge. there was nothing there—just the clean outline of his breath-takingly sharp jaw.

“huh. guess this one’s actually it."

but before you could grab a makeup wipe to start cleaning up, katsuki’s patience finally snapped. he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer into his lap.

“oh, it’s kissproof, huh?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing with playful intensity.

you blinked, your cheeks heating up. “y-yeah, it is.”

“good. because you’re about to find out how kissproof it really is.”

but before you could protest, katsuki leaned in and kissed you deeply, his hands firm on your waist as he poured all his pent-up energy into the kiss.

he didn’t stop at one, either—he kissed your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, and down your jawline, his lips brushing against every inch of your skin he could reach.

you squeaked in surprise, trying and failing to squirm away as you dissolved into laughter. “k-katsuki, stop it!"

“you've been attackin' me all day,” he teased, nipping at your jaw lightly. “now it’s my turn.”

“katsuki, wait—” you started, but your words were cut off again as he kissed you firmly, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that made your head spin.

when he finally decided to pull back, your lips were slightly swollen, and your cheeks were flushed. your lipstick was still perfectly intact—proving it really was kissproof—but your face was flushed, and your laughter had turned into soft giggles.

“looks like it’s kissproof, alright,” he said, kissing down your cheek, then your jaw, then to your neck. again.

“katsuki!” you squealed, laughing as he peppered your face with kisses.

“fair’s fair. you got to mark me up, i'm just returnin' the favor.”

"uh-huh. you’re just looking for excuses to keep kissing me.”

“am not.” he argued, though his grin gave him away. “like you said. this is serious science, sweets.”

“fine. you win,” you said breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “but admit it—you secretly loved being my test dummy.”

katsuki smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “maybe. but only because it’s you.”

you smiled, leaning in to kiss him one last time. “you’re the best canvas ever.”

“and you’re the most annoyin' artist,” he shot back, pulling you close again. "but i love you anyway."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ saw this on twt and KNEW i needed to act on it.

[dlight98]

OH I have a story for this! It is going to be gross. I have it on video too, so I'm not making this up.

Back in my freshman year of high school I was on the rowing team. I was NOT good. Like one of the bottom 5 on the team.

Our team was going to the Stotesbury Regatta (race). This is the biggest regatta of the year for high school rowing. It's in Philadelphia, and people came from all over the country for this. We lived hours away. My coach was from Philadelphia and rowed the Schuylkill River in college, so going was a big deal for us.

I was not good, but I wasn't the worst. I was picked as the 9th rower for our boat. A boat only has 8 seats, so I was just backup. I got to have all the fun in the hotel and none of the difficulties of rowing.

We were at the hotel and playing Jenga Tetris edition, which I brought. I wasn't very close with this group yet and wanted to get to know them better. We had been playing this game for maybe an hour and wanted to add stakes. We decided to make The Concoction and the loser would need to . I'm not going to remember *all* of the ingredients, but they included:

Orange Juice

Half and Half

Milk that was left out overnight

Sour cream

Coffee

Coffee grounds

Tea

tea leaves from the bag

Cream cheese

Strawberry cream cheese

Butter

Funions -> this comes up later

Goldfish (crackers, not real)

Monster

Dr Pepper

Coke

Sprite

Toothpaste

It was foul. It looked like something you would dredge up from the bottom of a bog, and smelled like it too. It had floating mystery chunks. And no one wanted to lose.

We decided that the loser would either need to attempt to drink the whole thing or actually manage to choke down part of it (this comes up later). I was hesitant to go through with this, but it was my game and I wanted to make friends.

We started playing the game and everyone was on edge. It was silent. No one even breathed. We went around the circle and the game felt like it lasted an eternity. Eventually Pat knocked the tower over.

All five of us crowded into the tiny hotel bathroom to watch him drink it. He was standing over the toilet in case he vomited. He drank part of it then vomited. The group was unsure if any ended up in The Concoction, but I swear some did. They decided to play another round.

I was going to back out. I couldn't take the pressure for this. They convinced me to stay though. For team bonding and because it's my game.

We went around and around again with Pat watching on the sidelines. It was even more tense this time. The tower was higher than it's ever been. It was my turn and I put a piece on the top. It was teetering. Pat decided to get some ginger ale to calm his stomach. He bumped the table. It all came crashing down.

The rest of the group said that Pat didn't touch the table and that it was my fault. I protested at first, but eventually I accepted my fate.

I was in the bathroom again. The Concoction was now warm. Everyone was cheering me on. I held my nose and tried to drink some. It was rancid. There is nothing that could compare to how vile this tasted. Image rotting sewage combined with the underside of a truck stop toilet and you'll be one iota of the way there.

I only got one sip in and I threw up almost instantly. Everyone was telling me to go for another swig, but I yelled out "I swallowed a Funion!" The rule was if you swallow anything it's over. They let up on making me do more. Everyone decided to stop playing immediately after that. I was kinda salty but it was alright.

We all went on to be pretty close friends (except Pat. He tried to prank people a year later by smearing feces on a cabin door handle and got kicked off the team). One of them went on to be the best man at my wedding.

Would I drink The Concoction again? No. Was it worth drinking the first time? Yes.

what is THE worst thing you've ever drank. all liquids acceptable. please tell me what it was, bonus points for why

[lilylushes]

Luigi Mangione - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): I already did h/c’s for this, but he’s amazing. He cuddles with you, praising you and leaving you kisses. Things like, “you were so good for me,” “you’re so pretty,” “I love you so much, baby.” He would get you water, put on a bath or shower and join you. He would be reading up on how to make you feel good after sex too and why it’s important for you and your relationship.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): his PhD I think his abs or shoulders. He said himself that he got his six pack because he had to change his workout routine due to an injury. He adapted and worked through his hardships. And I think he probably likes his shoulders as well. On you, I think he would love your eyes. This is a soulful man, imo. He knows that eyes are the windows to the soul and I think he would get lost in them all the time, sometimes even zoning out haha. Even when you’re just cuddling, he asks you to look at him, just so he can look into your eyes and tell you you’re beautiful. But when you’re intimate, he loves eye contact. LOVES it. It cannot be understated. He wants to see you come undone for him while he stares into your soul and you stare into his.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): We all knew this but he has a BREEDING KINK. He didn’t talk about low birth rates for nothing, and he comes from a big family. He loves the idea of cumming inside of you to make you his. When you first said, “fill my pussy up, please,” something in him changed. He almost went feral, finishing right after the words came out of your month. His dirty talk will always include things like, “gonna breed this pretty little pussy,” “want me to fill up this tight pussy of yours,” “wanna fill you up with my babies, hm.” And speaking of, when you guys start trying for kids, you’re fucking like rabbits, even though you did before as well. You’re going at it multiple times a day in every room.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Before you talked about having kids and before you got off the pill, he told himself he wouldn’t be mad if you did get pregnant. He knew he wanted to be with you forever and believed in divine timing. The two of you wanted to settle down, but weren’t fussed about getting married and then having kids or having a certain timeline. He often thought of what they would look like and sometimes he would mention to you a name that he liked just to see your reaction.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): This is a tough one because I think he could be experienced but maybe not. I’m actually leaning towards him not being that experienced due to his injury and seemingly not being that into dating casually and being a nerd. I would say body count under 10 for sure, potentially less than 5. Still, he DEFINITELY knows what he’s doing. He had a book about female pleasure on his GoodReads for god’s sake. He gets off on you feeling good and finishing. He knows all the female anatomy and is always reading about new ways to please you whether it be a new pussy eating technique or a way to please your erogenous zones. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): MISSIONARY. In this sense, he’s a traditional kind of guy. He loves all sex and all positions, but missionary is his favourite because he’s dominant and can see you coming undone beneath him. He has access to your clit, boobs, hips, neck, mouth, everywhere. He can also look deeply into your eyes the entire time which he loves doing. Eye contact is CRITICAL to this man. Oh, and he can lower himself down to whisper dirty shit into your ear. His favourite things about missionary overall are seeing the effect he has on you and being able to look into your eyes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): He can be goofy sometimes, but not all the time. I think goofiness would mostly happen in bed, rather than any quickies, where he’s rougher and more serious. He’ll laugh if you’re fucking at his or your parents’ place and you can’t keep quiet, or if something falls over. It puts you both at ease and make you feel safe and connected. You love when he laughs right against your lips or face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): We’ve seen how fast the hair on his head grows, so I’d imagine down there is similar. I’m thinking that he keeps things neat and trimmed, but not fully bare. As for you, I don’t think he’d have a preference at all.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): I think that Luigi really sees all intimacy as something that is almost spiritual for your connection. It’s an important part of the relationship, but he doesn’t think that in a selfish way. He knows it’s so important for your partnership and relationship. Luckily, you’re both horny freaks so there have never been any issues there. I think sexually, he’s pretty traditional in the way that he loves missionary, eye contact, etc. He wants to feel as close to you as possible physically, emotionally, spiritually. But not in such a serious or intense way. He watches you closely, knows what makes you get closer to your release, and is always praising you and dirty talking.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He doesn’t masturbate often because, as I said, you’re both horny freaks

If he does, it’s because you’re away or maybe after you had a baby (and he probably asked permission before lol)

For him, jacking off could NEVER beat having sex with you, EVER, so he almost never wants to do it because it’s just not that arousing

You have tried both touching yourselves in bed together, but your hands quickly wander to the other person

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): Like I said, breeding and praise kink!!! He wants to give you his babies like yesterday. To him, making a baby together is the most intimate thing he can think of. It’s really the two of you committing to one another forever and going through something incredibly special together. I’m just also going to add that while he enjoys MAKING the baby, he’d really have that attitude throughout your pregnancy and postpartum. And yes, praise kink. Since day 1, he’s been calling you a good girl and saying how beautiful you were taking his cock. Oh, and size kink! He loves the thought of his PhD hitting your cervix and stomach. He gets hard just thinking about how you have to adjust for a second after he enters you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): I think he likes the bed. It’s your safe place where you can try new things and be as close as possible. The bed also makes missionary more comfortable as there’s ample space for the two of you. He would like the couch too. Many of your makeout sessions during movie night turn to more and you don’t feel the need to go to the bedroom. Sometimes when you have a bath together, you’ll ride him nice and slow, which he loves. That being said, it’s not like your kitchen countertop, car, and several public places haven’t been sites for your sexcapades.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): He loves seeing you get turned on. He is all about giving you pleasure. If you even moan during a perfectly innocent kiss, the blood rushes downward. Seeing and hearing you beg for him, eye contact, and dirty talk work on him too. Even if he’s not in the mood himself, if you are, he’ll get in the mood. He knows he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, and he loves nothing more than seeing you taking his cock and talking you through your orgasm.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Scat and piss for sure. I also think he would never be down for a threesome, like, ever. You’re his and he’s yours, in this life, and the rest. He’s not going to do anything super violent. He’ll slap your ass of course (and maybe your face idk on this one), but he’s not going to be violent with you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): Like I’ve said, he gets off on getting you off. Watching you come undone on his fingers or his mouth could make him cum in his pants. Our little bookworm is always reading about new ways and techniques to make you cum. That being said, he loves the sight of you on your knees, taking him in your mouth, licking the tip, or sucking his balls while pumping his length. He will ask you for BJs on occasion. You two communicate all of your needs well, including sexually. If either of you asked for or received oral, you always reciprocate, or at least offer.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): A mix! There are times when he’s slow and gentle, and times when he’s rough and fast. You both enjoy both A LOT. And you seem to be able to read each other’s mind on what you want or need on that day. Slower, gentler sex makes you both feel incredibly connected to one another emotionally, while rougher sex brings out your primal sides. Both are essential for a good relationship, so you VERY happily take part in both often. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): You two usually have sex at home because you like to be free to make noise and let your guards down, not worrying about someone hearing or walking in. Being at home lets you really focus on the other person and how they’re feeling. But you do engage in quickies. And because you’re both perpetually horny, it’s decently often. Typically, it’ll be in your car, on a secluded beach, or in a bathroom. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): He will if you demonstrate to him that you’re comfortable and feel safe. A lot of things are your suggestion and he’s happy to try. You’ll try things like sensation play, some light BDSM, but overall you keep things pretty tame.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): With his back, he can’t go for as many rounds as he’d like, but the ones you do have pack a punch. Two or three rounds and you’re both exhausted, opting for a cuddle session or a bath to rest up before you’re ready for more. As for how long he lasts, it depends I think. Sometimes he will be fighting for his life not to cum in his pants while you’re grinding on him, and other times, he lasts quite a long time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): You’ll occasionally use a vibrator, restraints, blindfolds, butt plugs, and whips or ticklers, but it’s not often. You both prefer to focus on getting the other off all on your own. You like to bring in toys sometimes to change things up and heighten sensations.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He loves to tease. LOVES it. And he wears a big grin on his face while doing it, saying, “how bad do you need my cock, baby,” “beg for it,” “patience,” “good girls wait,” or “you want me to give it to you.” Sometimes he’ll really make you work for it. Your begging gets him off. He knows it’s a bit cruel, but it makes your orgasm even more powerful, so it’s a win-win. He’ll also tease you in public. You’ve had to leave a few family dinners early.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): He’s LOUD. A moaner, groaner, whiner, occasional whimperer, and ALWAYS dirty talking and praising. When he comes, he groans and moans your name. When you tease him and grind on him, he whines and whimpers. He’s a vocal guy and sees making noise as a part of being intimate and letting your guard down with the other person.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): Luigi has asked you a few times to suck him off from under his desk while he’s in meetings. Once he heard whimpering and saw you rubbing your clit while you were sucking him off. He looked under his desk for one second and had to mute his mic and go off camera for a second because it made him cum right then and there.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): He said he has a PhD and I believe it. Also in one of his pics where he’s painted at Penn during his freshman year, his bulge is very visible and looks pretty big.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): It’s always there. Luigi is in touch with his body, including his sex drive. It’s increased so much with you, and luckily for him, you’ve got a high sex drive to match.

 Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): He couldn’t fall asleep without making sure you’ve been taken care of. Cuddling is essential for both of you. He praises you after as well, and if you’re in the mood to talk, he will listen or talk with you. Sex involves aftercare for him, and he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and ready to rest before he can think of sleeping.

[kianamaiart]

Hey hey! You’ve probably been asked this a lot but what made you want to start creating I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl?

Also I drew Akia in my style!

Hope you’re having a great day btw ! :0)

First of all this is so rad!!! I loooove how you drew her

And what made me want to make I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl... It was a lot of things! (im assuming you mean the pilot in general)

The idea started off as a stupid doodle/character design practice. It wasn't gonna be anything more than that. I just felt like drawing a cute character with a gun really hahaha.

It's not a particularly original premise and I didn't plan to do anything more with her (as I do with most of my ocs/designs). But I actually did really like this one and couldn't help but think of little ideas and scenarios with her. Things started ramping up in my brain more when I realized I could attach a personal story and personal experiences to it to make it feel less cliche. That's when I started designing the other characters and coming up with bios and stuff

And then that was gonna be it again. I'd maybe do a comic here and there but there was a combination of things that happened that led to me jumping in and making a pilot.

First of all, I had a two month hiatus coming up so I had so much time. I also decided to step down from my directors position to be a board artist again in the coming season. So I really wanted to get some storyboarding practice in and what better way to do that than with this character I ended up really liking? I also don't have a portfolio and I'd been wanting to make something that's very me rather than my work from an existing show.

I'd offhandedly mentioned to my editor at disney that I wanted to do a board for these characters and she told me she'd help me make an animatic if it ever came to that. I couldn't pass up that opportunity! Now, since it was gonna be an animatic and I didn't want it to just be my scratch, I reached out to a bunch of VA friends to see if they'd be interested and they were!

Then other than having that support, just seeing my friends work on their own personal projects has been really inspiring and made me want to also do my own thing! Me and my friend group had just made a whole video game for our friend as a bday present which was so creatively fulfilling and made me realize like "oh my god we're artists we can literally just make stuff".

In the past I'd been so afraid to share my original work and for similar fears I've never wanted to showrun despite having the opportunity to pitch. While it's flattering to be wanted there was this pressure that felt like "oh you HAVE to make something, you're wasting your talent otherwise." (lol this is ironically the thesis of idwtbamg). And as a qpoc, i'd felt this extra layer of pressure to have to make something perfect on all fronts because if i fail in any capacity, i'm failing my community. it'd just be another another reason for people to say "ah queer media and work centering poc just can't succeed." then on the other end, i can only do and write what i know and feared that other people in my community wouldn't resonate with it or would feel like it's inaccurate to their own experiences.

but that's an exhausting way to feel and i've finally decided for myself that i'm just gonna tell stories that are authentic to me and it will reach whoever it needs to reach~ this realization was kind of the final step i needed to push myself to go all in. and now we're here!

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: You are always cold and blunt, but when Noah needs you, you show him a side of you that’s unexpectedly tender.

Tw: just fluff and taking care of a sick noah

You had been working with Bad Omens for a while now. It started as a way to get your foot in the door of the music industry, but quickly turned into a full-time thing. Touring, managing logistics, keeping the band in line, and occasionally making sure they didn't break anything or burn down a hotel room.

When you first started living with them, it didn’t take long for them to figure out that you were a sharp mix of sarcasm, gruffness, and blunt honesty. You didn’t sugarcoat things. If they looked ridiculous, you told them. If they were being annoying, you let them know. But despite your icy, sometimes cold demeanor, the band still loved you. You weren’t a big talker about your emotions, but they all knew you cared, in your own way.

Noah, though? He was different. He didn’t just take your sarcasm; he leaned into it, shyly flirting with you whenever he could.

Like that time in the kitchen when he walked in wearing a pair of jeans that were, unsurprisingly, too short to reach his ankles. He rifled through the cabinets for cereal, oblivious to the way you were staring at him over your coffee.

“You know,” you said, setting your mug down, “one day, you’re going to buy pants that actually fit, and it’s going to change your life.”

Noah froze mid-reach, turning to look at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They don’t cover your ankles, for starters.” You gestured toward his legs with a mocking smile. “Is it a fashion statement, or are you just bad at shopping?”

“I’m tall,” he protested, as if that explained everything.

“You’re not that tall.”

“I’m six three!” he said, indignant.

“Congratulations, Noah,” you deadpanned. “You’re the same height as many other tall guys in the world. Buy bigger pants.”

The rest of the band, who had wandered in during this exchange, immediately lost it. Folio was laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter, and Jolly just shook his head with a grin.

“You’re so mean,” Noah muttered, grabbing his cereal and retreating to the couch, his ears turning pink as the guys teased him relentlessly.

“Someone’s gotta tell you the truth,” you called after him. “Clearly, your friends aren’t doing it.”

But you knew Noah didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it in his own awkward way, even if the guys never let him live it down.

And then there was that other time in the living room. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Noah plopped down next to you. He shifted to face you, his signature hesitant smile already in place.

“So,” he began, leaning in slightly, “if I asked you to go out with me, what are the chances you’d say yes?”

You didn’t even look up. “Zero.”

“Not even one percent?”

“Not even half a percent,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Why? You planning to impress me with your ability to burn toast again?”

The band, as always, burst into laughter. Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was used to this by now.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’re predictable,” you shot back, setting your phone down. “Every time you try to flirt, it ends up in a disaster."

He laughed despite himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe one day I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” you said with a smirk, though you couldn’t deny the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten just a little.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Another time, the two of you had been sitting on the porch late at night, the house unusually quiet for once. Noah was writing something in a notebook, probably working on some ideas for a new song, his brows furrowed in concentration, while you sipped on a drink.

After a while, Noah looked up, noticing you looking like you were lost in thought. “What’s going on? You seem quiet tonight.”

You shrugged. “I was thinking about picking up some of those cupcakes from that new bakery in town. Some of you guys mentioned you wanted to try them, so I might as well bring some back for everyone.”

Noah grinned. “Wait, you’re actually going to do something nice like that?”

You shot him a playful glare. “What, you think I’m incapable of being nice?”

"No, it's just..." He hesitated, looking at you for a moment, "nevermind. I think they would appreciate that."

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you, though? What’s your favorite flavor?”

Noah hesitated again, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “If I tell you, you’ll just pick all of them except that one.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to sabotage the cupcake choices.”

He chuckled. “Fine. The one with the white sparkles on top. Now I’m sure this is the only one I won’t even see in the box.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one just for you.”

He shyly looked away but you were sure he didn't really believe you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you can be really sweet when you’re not roasting me in front of everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, yeah? And when exactly am I not roasting you?”

“Right now,” he said, looking up at you with a shy smile.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I’ll take what I can get.”

That night, you sat on the porch with him until it got too cold.

A couple of days later, you came home with a big box of cupcakes, the band cheered just at the sight of it. Folio kissed you on the cheek, surprising you as everyone gathered around the box like kids.

"Seriously man?" You looked at Folio.

"Ops."

Noah, leaning against the counter, had no expectation of seeing the cupcake with the white sparkles, thinking you probably even forgot that coversation. He watched as you opened the box, and there it was, right in the middle. You handed it to him, and his eyes softened in surprise.

He took the cupcake from your hand, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

"I promised. Didn't I?" You just said.

And then, of course, there was that night in the living room when the guys called you out. The TV was on in the background, but no one was really watching it. Nick leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Noah sit next to you on the couch.

“You two ever gonna stop this weird flirting slash bullying thing and just kiss already?” Nick asked.

Noah nearly choked on his drink, and you shot him a withering glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “But seriously, Noah’s been crushing on you for months, and you just keep shutting him down. Give the poor guy a break.”

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not?”

“You’re all delusional,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “This isn’t flirting. This is me tolerating him.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said, grinning. “That’s why you always smile whenever you roast him.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t bother denying it. Noah peeked at you from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, and you sighed.

“You’re all idiots,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and walking out of the room.

But as you left, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because despite your sharp tongue and cold comments, you knew that you cared about him. You cared about all of them but with Noah it had always been different.

And then, there was the time Noah got sick.

It had been a long day. You’d been out since the morning with a friend, running errands, getting things done, and by the time you finally made it home, it was late afternoon. You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as you sank into the cushions.

It was quieter than usual. You glanced around, expecting to see Noah lurking somewhere nearby, like he always did—sitting on the counter, hanging out in the living room, always popping up like a cat in need of attention. But today, there was no sign of him.

You raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. It was weird that he wasn’t around. It had been hours, and you figured he’d at least come say hi. He was always around. He was probably just in his room working on some new music, you thought.

“Hey, Nick,” you called out, when he enetered the living room. “Have you seen Noah?”

Nicholas glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Oh, uh, this morning he wasn’t feeling great. Said he had a bit of a fever and just kind of stayed in his room after that. He’s probably asleep.”

You froze for a second, immediately feeling a knot form in your stomach. Noah never liked to admit when he was sick, but you couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stayed in his room like this.

“Okay,” you said, but your voice felt off, the concern creeping into your words. “Thanks.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your feet carried you quickly down the hallway to Noah’s door, and your hand was already on the knob before you realized it. You knocked, but when there was no response, you opened the door quietly, peering inside. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dimly lit, but Noah was laying on his bed, curled up under blankets.

The sight of him immediately set off alarm bells in your head. He looked... pale, almost ghostly, and he was barely moving. His breathing was shallow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. The moment he noticed you standing there, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, as if trying to focus.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper.

You walked over slowly, concern heavy in your chest. “I’m just checking on you,” you said softly, walking closer to his bed.

You crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin made your heart drop. He was burning up. The soft shiver of his body confirmed the fever.

“You’re hot,” you said, your voice betraying the concern you didn’t bother to hide.

"Finally you admit it." He murmured.

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re burning up,” you said, your hand gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Did you take anything for it?”

He shook his head weakly, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I... I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You let out a breath. “Noah, you’ve probably had a fever for hours. You’re not okay.” Without waiting for him to protest, you stood up, “I’m going to make you take some paracetamol, alright?”

He didn't respond, and you weren't even sure if he registered what you said. When you returned with a glass of water where you had dissolved the medicine, Noah looked up at you with droopy eyes. His pale face looked even more fragile in the dim light, and you could see how exhausted he was, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He tried to sit up, but his arms trembled, unable to sustain him. He swore under his breath, wincing as the strain pulled at his muscles, too weak to follow through on the effort.

"It's okay. Here." You quickly moved to his side, one hand gently supporting his back while you propped him up. His head rested heavily against your shoulder, and you felt a tightness in your chest as you steadied him.

His brown eyes fluttered, looking at you through half-lidded, his expression soft with confusion and exhaustion.

You moved slowly, carefully, making sure he was comfortable before grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand. You held it up, making sure to keep it steady as you brought it closer to him.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment. It was almost as if he didn’t expect you to be so gentle with him, yet here you were, taking care of him without hesitation.

You placed the glass against his lips, guiding it toward his mouth. “Come on, Noah, you need to drink this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. His lips parted weakly as he took a small sip, the medicine sliding down his throat, though he barely seemed able to swallow.

His hands trembled as he gripped the glass, trying to help, but it was clear how difficult it was for him.

You supported the glass, steadying it in his hands, urging him gently, as your other hand still rested on his back, softly caressing it in slow, reassuring motions.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, watching as he weakly took another sip, his body shuddering slightly from the effort. When he pulled away, you pulled the glass back, but your eyes never left him.

He gave you a tired, almost apologetic glance as he let his head rest back against the pillow, his body sinking deeper into the blankets.

His lips parted in a soft sigh, and you smiled faintly, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your thumb gently rubbing his temple for a moment. It was a quiet gesture, one that said more than words could express, as you continued to sit beside him.

A few minutes passed, and then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, “I knew you were sweet.”

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you at the simple, quiet words. You leaned down, letting your hand go through his hair, murmuring, “I knew you knew.”

He let out a soft sigh, his breathing finally evening out as he fell deeper into sleep.

You stayed there with him for hours, the quiet of the room broken only by the soft hum of the house around you. You let your hand gently run through his hair, the touch almost rhythmic as you tried to soothe him.

Every so often, you’d press your hand to his forehead, checking if the fever had gone down at all, the heat still radiating off his skin, but a little less intense.

Every time his body shifted or he made a faint sound, probably from some fever-induced dream, you softly spoke his name or whispered a quiet, reassuring phrase, just trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

"You're okay," you murmured gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead when his brow furrowed slightly. "Just rest, Noah. You’re gonna be fine."

There was something incredibly tender about the way his breath would catch, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids, almost as though he could hear your voice even in his sleep. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

Noah shifted in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning closer until his face pressed gently against your side. The soft, unconscious gesture made your chest tighten, but you didn’t move. Instead, you noticed the blanket had slipped from his shoulder, leaving him partially uncovered. With careful hands, you pulled it back up, tucking it around him securely. Your fingers brushed lightly against his hairline as you settled back, letting him stay close.

As the evening drew on and his breathing steadied, the fever seemed to break a little. You let your fingers linger over his temple, softly caressing his arm when you noticed the tremble in his hand. It felt like such an intimate moment, one where all the usual sarcasm, sharp words, and teasing were left behind, replaced by something quiet, simple, and real.

Your fingers traced over his knuckles as you kept his tattoed hand in yours before you gently leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. You pulled away just as quickly, unsure of what had made you do it—maybe it was the tenderness of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet realization that despite all the banter, despite everything you’d told him, you cared about him more than you ever showed.

Wild for the girl who acted like a bitch all the time, right?

But in that moment, with Noah asleep and calmer than he’d been all day, you couldn’t care less about how it seemed or your usual weird ways of protecting your feelings. You just wanted him to feel better, to know that, despite all your sharp words and sarcastic remarks, there was no place you’d rather be than right there beside him, making sure he was okay.

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe he knew exactly what you meant when you said, "I'm here, Noah. I'm not gonna leave."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[mysticarcanespellbook]

"You're nodding off again, Azrael," I said, prodding him awake.

The elf awoke with a start, his long golden hair whipping--no, that was too quick for what it did--floating, somehow, back behind his head as he suddenly straightened up and leaned forward, his golden eyes scanning something in the dirt I could not see. Content with whatever it was, he leaned back in his camp chair, and yawned, making a sound not unlike that of a mourning dove.

"I was merely meditating. You disturbed my trance." His voice was mellow, yet commanding. "Besides, even if I did fall asleep, I'd still be able to focus on my task. Magic elf powers, you know." He flashed me a grin, his teeth almost blindingly white against his rosy skin.

I stood up and stretched. "Humans do similar things sometimes. I've gone to bed and dreamed solutions to my problems a time or two. Can't solve them until I wake up, though." I walked over to the wood pile and grabbed a few logs, then winced as their bark scraped against my palms. "Like fueling our fire, for instance. I'm not exactly the sleepwalking type."

"Arcane problems can be solved in any state of mind," replied the elf, "so long as you're thinking about them." He turned his head to face me, then studied me as I brought the logs to the fire. "You should try it sometime. Then maybe you can kick your coffee addiction."

I ignored him. "This should get us enough flame to last another hour or two. Let's hope you can complete your ritual by then." I walked to the folding table we set up by our tent and grabbed my kettle. "Boiling some water won't break it, will it?"

"It shouldn't," said Azrael. "The only things the Lady specified was focus, firelight, and time." He yawned, a sound like the wind gently whistling past a cave. "I have plenty of all three."

He didn't sound convincing. I brought my kettle to the water cooler, a big orange plastic barrel that had seen many a camping trip. I filled the kettle and walked across the crunchy brown grass towards Azrael, who was now tracing invisible symbols in the air with his finger. "Well," I replied, "I'm not quite as alert as you elven folk, so you'll have to forgive my indulgence." I set the kettle down on the ground for a moment and took my fire gloves out of my jacket pockets. Putting them on, I grabbed the kettle and hung it on the spit above the flames.

No quips from Azrael this time. His ritual demanded his attention, apparently. It made sense, though. I had seen the way the other high elves sneered at him, the way they looked at his attempts at magic the way a businessman might look at a toddler singing in his office--with a mixture of amusement and irritation, as if his attempts were cute, but a waste of valuable time.

He told me once, what the point of the thing was. Some sort of coming-of-age ritual. It was supposed to reveal to him what his purpose was, and awaken any latent power that could drive him towards it. I had told him at the time that he was lucky, since humans had to figure out their purpose all on their own, with no magic to help them at all. The look on his face when I said it made me wish I hadn't.

It was the seventh time I had gone out with him to figure this out, and it certainly didn't feel any different: just like every time before, the sky was steel gray, the wind was gentle but bitterly cold, and the grass had long since gone from soft to brittle. It was going to snow soon, and I could feel it. The only comforts I had, standing out in this field with my friend, were the warmth of the flame, the promise of a hot coffee, and the knowledge that whatever happened, at least Azrael wasn't facing this alone.

The kettle began steaming. I left the warmth of the flame once again and went back to the table to get the instant coffee, which I carefully took the lid off of before pouring a measured scoop into my empty thermos.

Azrael spoke up again, breaking our relative silence. "What's so great about coffee, anyway?"

"It depends on what you like. Some people like the caffeine content." He scowled at this, but I continued. "Others like it for the earthy taste. I prefer having a hot drink that ain't just hot water." I went back to the kettle, which was now whistling loudly. "Any of those sound appealing?"

The elf laughed, dropping his hands into his lap. "Come on, Rob, you know that nothing you can say will ever get me to try one of your human drugs. It wouldn't even do a thing to me."

"Which is exactly why I offered," I replied. "You look practically frozen, and as much as you are 'one with the natural world' or whatever, I highly doubt you want to warm up by drinking hot water on its own." I carefully removed the kettle and brought it to the table. "At least give it a taste, and that way you can definitively say that your drink of choice is superior. Surely you wouldn't pass up the chance to lord your superiority over me?" It was my turn to flash a grin his direction before filling my thermos almost to the top. Not that he saw it; he was too busy looking at the ground again. I sighed, set the kettle on the ground next to the table and screwed the lid of my thermos back on.

"Something hot would be nice, actually." Azrael yawned again, then continued, "Perhaps this day might not be a total waste."

I shook the thermos, mixing up its contents, and popped the top open. I was immediately assailed by that strange burnt scent that instant coffee seems to have. Not the best coffee, and far from it. I regretted not bringing any cream or sugar or anything at all that could make it better. Still, I liked black coffee well enough, and instant coffee isn't the worst thing on mornings like this. I grabbed a couple of paper cups and poured some coffee in each before closing the lid and walking back, coffees in hand.

"Sorry in advance, it's not freshly ground and is definitely going to taste strange," I said. "People also usually put something in it to lessen the bitterness, or to make it sweet before they--"

I wasn't able to finish my sentence before Azrael snatched his cup from my hand, nearly spilling some coffee in the process. "Enough warning; I know what I'm getting into," he said before chugging the whole scalding-hot drink in one go. He wiped his mouth and tossed the cup into the flames.

He sighed. "That wasn't half-bad, Rob. Kind of reminds me of the way dirt tastes, and obviously the warmth is really nice. I can see why some people might drink this even without the caffeine."

A gentle gust of wind blew on the flames as I sat down, pushing the smoke towards me, then Azrael, then away from us. I shut my eyes tightly against the smoke until it passed. Azrael, on the other hand, went back to tracing in the air, unfazed by the smoke that surely clouded his vision. I sipped at my coffee, enjoying each hot sip as I finished it off. I tossed the cup in the fire and leaned back in my chair.

We sat in silence around the fire for only a couple more minutes before suddenly Azrael leaped out of his chair with the force of a bullfrog and the grace of a jaguar. He began pacing rapidly, his eyes flitting back and forth between spots on the ground and in the air. "What's wrong, Az? Are you feeling okay?"

"No. No, I am not. I'm certain it's that blasted coffee. I feel shaken up, like--like some sort of cyclone. I can hear my heart in my skull and I can feel my blood flowing through my feet. I feel like I can see the whole world, and like I can sprint across it without breathing. It's a wonderful and terrible feeling all at once. I feel--by Gaia, I see it!"

One second later, green symbols appeared faintly on the ground and in the air where he had been looking, growing slowly stronger until they looked like I could reach right out and grab one. They then floated towards Azrael until they were maybe a foot out before stopping and spinning slowly around him. Eventually they started picking up speed, becoming so fast that they looked like solid green rings. I couldn't make sense of what was happening, but Azrael stood in the center of it all, basking in the power that these symbols must surely be holding. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, and he wore the biggest smile I'd ever seen him have. Eventually, the magic rings faded, and he opened his eyes and stared into the sky.

"So, you have it then? You know your purpose?"

He looked back at me. "Yes. And I might know yours, too. Come on, we need to pack up." He ran to the kettle and picked it up with his bare hands before pouring the water over the fire, dousing the logs somewhat. Before I knew it he was grabbing our water cooler and dumping the contents in the pit as well.

I gathered the contents of the table and put them in a box to take to our car before folding the table up and taking it in one hand. Azrael, somehow even faster than ever, swooped in and got the box in one hand, the other hand somehow effortlessly carrying the now-empty water cooler, and both camp chairs and our tent in their bags slung haphazardly across his shoulders. "Geez, dude," I remarked, "that coffee sure gave you a boost."

"You don't know the half of it," Azrael replied, his breath somehow not at all ragged. "The Lady must know of this miracle. I thank you, friend, for giving me the alertness I so desperately needed to get this spell to work."

"S-Sure, anytime," I said before stumbling towards my car. "Just let me know if there's anything else I can help you with."

"Actually, there are two things." Azrael dropped the cooler and snapped his fingers. At this, everything we had brought with us suddenly started floating towards the trunk, carefully arranging themselves inside as if they had minds of their own. "One, please join me this weekend in the house of the Noble Ones."

An invitation to the Elven Land? And not just anywhere, but the Lady's residence? "I couldn't! Surely a human would be out of place in such a high court?"

"Nonsense," he laughed, "you are my guest, and I can have whoever I wish with me to celebrate such an important day! Please come with me, I insist," he cried, his eyes piercing me with a gaze stronger than steel.

Oh, what the heck. It's the weekend anyway, and I didn't have anyone at home to worry about. "Fine. I'll go with you, but I need to stop by home to get some more formal clothing."

"Excellent! They'll be delighted to meet the one who gave me my breakthrough. Oh, I can feel my heart swell with joy at the thought! Or maybe that's the caffeine, but I don't care! This is just marvelous!"

"Okay, okay!" I laughed along with him. "I'm going already!" We got into the car and I turned the key in the ignition. "Anyway, what was that second thing?"

"Oh, right," he replied sheepishly. "The second thing."

"Come on, what is it?" I asked as I shifted into drive.

"Alright, alright. Ah, er, when we get into town again..."

"Spit it out, my coffee hasn't kicked in yet."

"About that. When we get into town again, would you mind taking me to the cafe on main street? I really want to try one of those 'espressos' I've heard so much about."

Elves have never been affected by narcotics, making elves incredibly judgmental of human drug use. However, one special human drug is the exception, affecting elves far more than any other creature: caffeine.

[404creep]

Y'all were eating up my Simon x civilian cleaner drabble, so I decided to add some more on it!

Part 1

In the last one I said that you just accept him following you around like a creep because he gives you scary dog privileges, but that wasn't an immediate thing.

Early on when you first caught his attention there were many young cadets that had the unfortunate timing of trying to flirt with you when he'd show up for his daily fix.

Safe to say those poor cadets would end up running laps until they were sick.

One had the nerve to try and get your number while Simon was watching and he became the volunteer (victim) for Simon's next hand to hand combat training dimenstration.

The whole thing just literally ended up as more work for you because you had to mop up the blood

He felt so bad :(

Never wants to make more work for you

One time, a comms tech wasn't looking where he was going and ended up bumping into you in the hall while you were sweeping and spilled his coffee all over the floor and a little on you

Literally started screaming about YOU needing to watch where YOU were going and about how you're just a cleaner and you're easily replaceable and all that.

You're biting your tongue because you need this job, but damn if the coffee soaking your shirt didn't hurt.

Simon, however, is PISSED.

How dare that little shit stain talk down to HIS bird????? And he didn't even have the decency to ask if you were okay????

Marched right over and pulled that little dickhead away from you. Made him clean up his mess and then Simon contacted his direct supervisor about the little shit making a hostile work environment and harassing civilians.

Dude got put on probation

You warm up to Ghost after that.

He may be a weird little stalker, but at least he had your back

Safe to say after that event EVERYONE on base knew to stay away from Simon's little cleaning lady unless they wanted to face his wrath.

Johnny is tickled pink by it when he finds out

Soap will hover around you now too, asking you stupid questions about your life and telling you dumb jokes while side eyeing Ghost looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Johnny is nice enough but you long for the days when you could do your work in silence.

Ghost also misses the time when you worked in silence because he's never wanted to punch Johnny in the face more than when he interrupts your guys' quality time

Now onto the kid

The first time Simon sees you go pick up the toddler from the base daycare he almost cries

Convinced you're married or have a man at home looking after you and his little fantasy shatters. He'd never seen a ring on your finger so he assumed you were single but maybe you took it off when you were at work???

He basically goes into mourning

He's in a horrible mood for a while after that and it drives the 141 a bit crazy.

He refuses to go watch you after that, because he doesn't wanna step on any toes but he misses you :(

You notice the absence and honesty kind of miss your shadow :(

Johnny finally can't take it and casually asks one day if you got a mister at home

You say no and explain that you take care of your sisters kid.

Johnny basically skips to Simon to give him the good news.

After that your shadow is back and he's even moved a bit closer to you.

You're happy to see him back honestly

Meanwhile Simon is thinking of all the ways he can sweep you off your feet. His poor bird has so much going on in her personal life, he needs to take care of her.

Starts leaving little treats in your locker

You know who they're from

[velarisdusk]

Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

word count: 1.9k author's note: i had the idea for this one literally AS i was writing the last one im annoyed i didnt write it right after bc i know i had GREAT ideas that i literally cannot remember anymore sigh ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The venue hums with the kind of energy you’d expect for a band as big as Wings of Illyria, the low chatter and country rock playing in the background almost drowned out by the buzz around the meet-and-greet booth.

Cassian, the life of the party you always imagined him to be, is already surrounded by fans, effortlessly drawing people in with that easy grin of his. But security is quick to move in, ushering people away with practiced calm, the crowd reluctantly shifting to make room for the band’s massive presence.  Rhysand sits beside him, polished and smooth as ever, his gaze flicking between the crowd and the band’s merch, playing the role of the charming frontman like he was born for it. But Azriel—Azriel looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You spot him leaning back in his chair, a half-smirk barely visible beneath the dark fringe of his hair, eyes scanning the room with a look that says he’s mentally checked out. The cigarette tucked behind his ear, defying the “No Smoking” sign above the booth, is the least surprising thing about him.

You can’t help but notice how effortlessly Azriel leans into the atmosphere, the way his posture seems to say he’s both above it all and fully in control of the space around him. The black leather jacket slung over his chair, the way his fingers casually thrum against the table, it’s all effortlessly cool. But before you can linger on him too long, a voice cuts through the room, sharp and high-pitched enough to make your teeth ache. 

The girl in front of you is practically vibrating, her hands shaking as she clutches her phone to her chest like it’s a lifeline. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispers to her friend, barely able to hold it together. “What if I say something dumb? What if they laugh at me? What if Az doesn’t even look at me? I have to tell him how much I—”

It’s the way she says Az—not like she’s just a fan, but like she’s personally on a nickname basis with him—that makes your eye twitch. You don’t want to judge, but fuck, could people just enjoy things without this level of intensity? She’s decked out in enough Wings of Illyria merch to make you wonder if she owns anything that isn’t branded. Her denim jacket is practically a billboard for the band, from the patches to the pins to the shirts she’s stacked under it, all so bright and loud it’s almost cartoonish. She looks exactly like the kind of people you’ve seen mocked in those “fan stereotype” posts, and it grates on you more than it should.

You bite back a sigh, trying to ignore the discomfort gnawing at your nerves. It’s not her fault, right? People can like things however they want. But as you stand there, you can’t shake the tightness in your chest, the buzz of unease you’ve been carrying all day. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night—too busy running through every possible scenario, obsessing over the idea that maybe, just maybe, you’d misinterpreted the song. What if it wasn’t about you at all? What if you’d been foolish to even think it was? You’d spent so much time convincing yourself this was the right thing to do, that you could handle whatever confrontation came with it. But now, with the weight of it all on your shoulders, doubts have started to creep in. 

To each their own, you remind yourself, trying to shake the jittery feeling in your stomach. 

The line inches forward, and you shuffle along with it, caught between your own nerves and the chaos around you. Every second stretches and the girl ahead of you is still whispering furiously to her friend about all the reasons this moment is life-changing for her. You try to tune it out, focusing instead on the distant hum of the music overhead, and the faint shuffle of feet, the air heavy with anticipation.

And then, it’s your turn. 

Cassian is the first to notice you, his smile broad and infectious, like he’s genuinely thrilled to meet every single person who steps up to the booth. “Hey!” he greets warmly, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. “You excited for the show?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you reply, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

Cassian beams like you’ve just made his night. “That’s what I like to hear! First time seeing us live?”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Second. Saw you guys in Orlando last year.”

“No shit?” he says, leaning forward slightly. “That was a great crowd. One of the best on that leg of the tour. You catch the whole set?

“Most of it,” you admit. “I got stuck in traffic and missed the first couple of songs.”

Rhysand, who’s been quietly observing, chuckles at that. “Typical,” he says, his voice smooth and amused. “Traffic in that city is practically a right of passage.”

“Right?” you say, laughing despite yourself. “I swear I left two hours early and still barely made it in time for ‘Bloodlines.’”

Cassian gives you a mock sympathetic look. “Tragic. That’s one of my favorites to play live.”

“It’s a good one,” you say, your nerves easing just a little. You glance between the two of them, noting how Rhys’s sharp gaze is fixed on you like he can tell there’s another reason you’re here. 

“So,” Rhys says, tilting his head slightly. “What’s your favorite track?”

How the hell—

“I mean, the whole album is great,” you say, “but ‘Sear My Skin’ has been on repeat lately.”

It’s a calculated choice, and you don’t miss the quirk of Azriel’s brow in your peripheral. 

“Interesting pick,” Rhys says, his smirk widening. “That one’s been causing a bit of a stir lately.”

Cassian chuckles. “Yeah, Az really knocked it out of the park with that one.”

And there it is—the perfect segue. You glance past them, finally letting your gaze settle on Azriel, who’s been silent this whole time. 

He’s leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable as his dark eyes meet yours. For a second, the noise of the room seems to fade, and you realize your heart is pounding in your chest, 

“Azriel,” you say, his name coming out steadier than you expected. “Can I ask you something?”

He quirks that brow again, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You just did.”

Cassian groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on, man. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be,” he mutters.

Azriel ignores him, his gaze still fixed on you. “What’s the question?”

You take a breath, forcing yourself to hold his stare. “The song—’Sear My Skin.’ Is it about me?”

Rhysand doesn’t bother hiding his laughter, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a show. Cassian’s drink nearly slips out of his hand, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, Oh, shit.

Azriel doesn’t react immediately. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable, until the silence stretches so thin you think it might snap. 

“Who are you?” he asks finally, his tone maddeningly calm. 

You blink, thrown off by the audacity of the question. “You seriously don’t remember me?”

He leans back, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t remember half the women I sleep with.” Cassian chokes on his drink, Rhysand’s grin stretching wide enough to show teeth, but you’re not about to let Azriel off that easily. 

“Pressed against the door, your lips trace the ache?” You quote the line pointedly, crossing your arms as you glare at him. The memory rushes back—how he’d tasted on your tongue, how his hands had threaded through your hair before all hell broke loose. “Sound familiar?”

“It’s not that deep,” Azriel replies, his tone dismissive, though his gaze sharpens ever so slightly. 

“Really?” you counter, your tone dripping with incredulity. “Right before I finish, your body’s all I feel, breathed in your ear ‘you feel too good to be real.’” Your voice rises, your chest tightening as the words leave your mouth. “You literally said that to me while you were balls deep in me against a wall.”

Azriel freezes, his lips parting slightly as a faint flicker of surprise breaks through his carefully guarded expression. For a split second, it’s almost satisfying. 

Cassian’s reaction is anything but subtle. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he doubles over in laughter, nearly spilling his drink again. He gasps, pounding the table. “Yo, what the fuck?!”

Rhysand isn’t fairing much better, his laughter barely contained as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his amusement still sharp but with a more controlled edge than Cassian’s, to his credit.

Azriel’s jaw tightens, and he finally breaks eye contact, glancing down at the table. “Okay,” he mutters, the word barely audible over the laughter. “Maybe it’s a little about you.”

Cassian claps a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to muffle another loud “Yo!” Rhysand smirks, watching the two of you closely. 

But you shake your head, not about to let him off with just that. “A little? Really? You practically narrated the whole thing—I deserve royalties.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. “Royalties?” he repeats, half-laughing, but still avoiding eye contact.

Before he can properly respond, a security guard steps forward, tilting their head toward the door, a silent gesture that your time is up. 

You roll your eyes but shoot Azriel a teasing smile. “Guess I’m out of time for royalties. But I’ll be expecting them in the mail.”

As the security guard ushers you forward, Rhysand speaks up. “Well, nice to meet you, Sear My Skin,” he says, voice dripping with humor. 

You grin back at him, a little cheeky. “My name—”

“It’s (y/n),” Azriel interrupts, dragging a hand over his face as he speaks, his tone casual but something darker in his gaze that would’ve stopped you in your tracks if not for the man guiding you away.

You blink at him, and can’t help the smile blooming on your face. He remembered you. Really remembered you. 

Just as you’re about to take another step toward the exit, Cassian shouts from behind you, “Wait, wait, wait!” His voice is a mix of urgency and excitement. 

You turn around, confused, as Cassian's already talking to someone behind the merch table. The team member nods, already moving to grab something and hand it over to you. Cassian looks at you with that mischievous grin you’re so used to seeing on video. “We’ll set you up for the show. Don’t leave without saying hi to us again, yeah?”

You look at the woman heading your way and take the slip she hands you, your heart stopping when you read the words Backstage Pass. You’re not sure what’s happening, but the thrill of it courses through you. “Uh—Yeah, thank you?”

“Anytime, princess,” Cassian says with a wink, leaning back in his chair as he makes a show of lounging. 

You glance at Azriel one last time before being nudged along by the guard. He looks back at you for a moment, unreadable as ever, but there’s something in his eyes. But he says nothing, and it’s enough to make your chest tighten, a mix of anticipation and confusion bubbling in your stomach. 

[obae-me]

How He Kisses

Hey there, so things are...kinda awful right now, and while I don't want to fully distract myself from my other works I'm chipping away at, I did want to post something a bit short and sweet to hopefully- well, saying "to make everyone feel better" feels sort of self-inflated, but if I can make everyone stop and think about something happy for just one second, that's more than I can ask for. I have no idea how similar this is to my hug headcanon ones. Not really checked for too many errors, this was all kind of done in the spur of the moment, but I don't think that matters too much.

Lucifer

Proper and slow. He likes being patient, kissing you once before pulling back to look at your face. He feels a sense of Pride when he can see the effect he has on you, knowing that he can comfort you like this. He's a perfectionist, he likes the whole experience to be included. That's why he likes to do it more often when you two are alone, knowing he has the freedom to do whatever it takes to make this moment perfect. Whether it's music, a lit fireplace, over a dinner, under the comfort of a blanket, everything is set up for you. To show his love for you, nothing less than high quality will be accepted. The kiss is simply the bow that ties everything together. And he'll take his time to relish in this moment with you.

Mammon

Fervent and greedy. He cannot contain his love for you. Even around his brothers, he lets it slip. So when you find yourselves alone, it's like pulling the lid off a stuffed container. Your eyelids, your ears, your forehead, cheeks, chin, lips, none of them shall be spared in his spree. It's almost frantic, as if he doesn't get as many now, he'll never have them again. He craves all of you, and he wants to be only yours in equal measure. Love, soul, attention, all of it is for you. It's as if he has to make up the seconds lost whenever you're apart. He never wants it to end. He hardly breathes. Every one is just as good as the last, and he is focused on making it just as wonderful an experience for you as well. After all, he wants you to be greedy too. Tell him your every desire.

Levi

Eager and grateful. Push past the anxiousness and the self-doubt, and you find a Levi that adores you more than anything. Like an ultra rare drop he can't get anywhere else. If he can stand in line for days for something he wants, he will stand with you till the end of time. His kisses show that, how deeply in love he is for you. Given the chance, he has the confidence to prove to you how special you are to him. Every kiss gets him more excited than the last, and in turn, he's determined to do whatever it takes to make you feel just as joyous as he is in these moments. Thank you for being here with him, your presence means more to him than you currently know, and he'll spare no effort to start showing you that.

Satan

Meek and curious. Whether or not it is considered if he's kissed someone before, every time he kisses you, it feels like the first time. He almost always has a distant look on his face, as if he's thinking about a million other things at the same time, and every million of those thoughts is something about you. He learns something new every time and commits it to memory. Which way your head naturally tilts, where you prefer his hands to be, how many you like, how long they take, he's going to remember them all. Well, he says that, but oftentimes its as if his mind wipes after every kiss. It's hard to think during those moments. But he's not worried about it, that just means he'll have to keep going. He has no plans to leave your side anytime soon after all.

Asmo

Uplifting and addictive. He likes to kiss for every occasion, every emotion. Happy? Kiss. Excited? Kiss? Sad? He says he saves his best kisses for those moments especially. Maybe it's shared love that makes his kisses almost tingle, or maybe its some kind of magic. It makes you feel light. And he'll give you as many as you want. He adores kissing you, not able to get enough of it. It's as though he's almost on clockwork, having to give you an embrace at perfect intervals throughout the day. He can't get enough of you, and he can't help but get giddy at the thought of running to your side and letting you know exactly just how much he loves you.

Beel

Warm and encompassing. Gluttony often gets mixed up with Greed, but this is one of those instances where the differences are clear. Every kiss is slow, and feels as if it lasts several lifetimes. It's as if he's drinking you in, savoring this moment in it's entirety. Of course he'll come in for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, but it comes steadily. Something about his kisses fills you with a warmth that's hard to describe, similar to soup or a hot beverage seeping through every part of your body to endure the coldest of days. It makes your toes curl like they're in warm socks. It makes you feel as if nothing can get to you. And with him around, nothing will.

Belphie

Soft and persistent. No amount of drowsiness can stop him. Even if he's asleep, the demon that will normally sleep like the dead will wake himself up and make sure to give you a kiss. They're so gentle, and it's difficult to tell if its tied to his personality, or if he's afraid of hurting you. Sometimes they're as light as a feather, almost tickling you. If you're falling asleep, they'll never wake you, only guiding you towards sweeter dreams. With every movement you make, you'll almost recognize the sensation of his kisses. They're like a promise, an assurance, that even in the deepest darkest of dreams, he's right there. They always lull you into a sense of peace.

[legalandnotease]

OK, you got me started.

Maybe you didn't know that. Maybe you honestly had no idea that you were saying something that is a direct attack against people who have gone through the exact mental illnesses Tony had and recognize his struggles as their own.

I have PTSD and depression and let me tell you something straight from the start.

Tony Stark does not represent me or anybody like me. Lose this ridiculous idea that Tony Stark has PTSD. He doesn't. He displays zero symptoms of PTSD.

He has anxiety at best, and is probably a narcissist. Yes, his actions and behaviour are very consistent with Covert Narcissism.

His "fear of loss" is the fear of abandonment, of no longer being able to control those around him.

His "my way or the highway" mentality, his inability to listen to or trust others, his paranoia and inability to accept responsibility.

All are massively consistent with narcissism.

...and before the Tony fans shriek, guess what the main cause of narcissism is? Childhood neglect. QUELLE SURPRISE! That said... His daddy being nasty to him does not absolve him being outright abusive to others. That is the excuse real life abusers use btw.

Whatever he has though: let us stop right now blaming mental health for Tony Stark's shitty actions. The idea that "trauma" absolves him is a harmful and dangerous idea which perpetuates negative stereotypes about mental health.

The sheer amount destructive and harmful things Tony does which cause mass death is what prevents him from being "representation" for mental health.

If Tony was anybody else... nobody would be saying he should not take responsibility for things which actively hurt and killed others because *muh trauma*.

Name a time when Tony was in a safe place to heal. I'll wait.

Every time he retired. He retires MULTIPLE times in between moves. Between Iron Man II and Avengers?

2 years.

Between Avengers and Age of Ultron

3 years.

Between AoU and Civil War

1 year

Between CW and IW

2 years

Between CW and Endgame

5 years.

That is a total of 13 years. Tony had 13 years of relative peace and quiet in which to get some self care and healing.

Compare that to Bucky who is confirmed as having PTSD and gets the sum total of 2 years to recover from 70 years of torture abuse, brain damage, trauma guilt and self-hatred. With NO support network. Unlike Tony, who had various people to support him. And Bucky has to contend with a fuckton of victim-blaming that Tony never did.

You literally just ignored the first part of OP's post, in which they noted that people constantly ignore Wanda's and Bruce's parts in Ultron.

These are excuses designed to absolve Tony of his responsibility for Ultron. Wanda did not mind control him: she gave him a vision.A vision he did not have to act opon. He chose to.

Tony was acting of his own free will and with his own agency the entire time. So was Bruce. This is why people blame Tony.

Unlike say,,,, hmmm I dunno Bucky who was literally mind controlled and had the very capacity for free choice and agency taken away from him, who was literally forced and tortured into doing things.... Tony was making a choice

(But isn't it WEIRD how people- usually Tony Fans) still insist on blaming an actual mind control and torture victim for his actions on the ground that "his body did it" - whilst trying to absolve the guy who was not mind controlled and had full bodily autonomy because "muh good intentions" and "muh trauma"

Yes, that's called victim-blaming.

You ignored how OP pointed out that the illegal arms dealing was Stane's actions, not Tony's, and that Tony shut it down as soon as he learned of it, saying "there are lines we don't cross.

Except... that's not what happened. Tony ran the company for 17 years as an adult. In all that time you're telling me he didn't notice his own stock going missing? He didn't notice the protests against his weapons being used on civilians in places like Sokovia?

The fact that it was only when he realized they were being used on *American soldiers* that he considered the line to have been crossed speaks volumes about Tony.

If he took drugs that were stopping him from doing his job as a CEO that is on him, not anybody else. Just like if somebody took drugs and decided to drive a car, you would not blame the car or the drugs.

Would Wanda not have attacked Tony's mind, then?

Since Tony was alreasdy planning to build Ultron even before he met Wanda, this bascailly makes no difference, but carry on.

Would Nick Fury and Black Widow have suddenly left him alone? Would he not have been dying from palladium poisoning?

How are Nick Fury and Natasha responsible for the stupid and reckless things Tony did when he thought he was dying. Did they make him do them? No. Thought not.

Would he have been able to suddenly change the route his company was taking without his friends turning their backs on him (which they did at first) and Stane trying to kill him?

Actually, yes. He's was the CEO, for goodness sake. He was also a grown-ass 38-year-old man, not a little kid.

You know he could in that capacity just fire Stane right? Right? As soon as he had evidence for his activities he could fire him on the spot? That's what CEOs can do? He could fire the whole Board of Directors if he wanted to.

But even if! Even if he went to therapy! Do you think therapy is a magical cure-all? Do you think people who go to therapy for PTSD suddenly don't have panic attacks anymore? That they don't get triggered, or fall back into their personal hells, or have days where they regress to who they'd been before therapy because healing isn't a straight line?

OK. Let;s talk about PTSD triggers.

People who are triggered may go into "fight or flight" mode. They may freeze. They may lash out. They may start having flashbacks. They may become depressed. They may become withdrawn.

What they do not do is take a highly dangerous object and use it to build abother hightly dangerous object despite warnings that it might be dangerous.

What they do not do is attack helpless unarmed people for 10 minutes with multiple weapons, pinning them against walls and attempting to blow their heads off.

What they do not do is ignore clear evidence for **years** of theft in their company, and ignore evidece their stock is falling into the wrong hands.

Nothing *repeat* NOTHING Tony does in the movies can be put down to him just being triggered. Blaming PTSD for Tony's violent and deliberately reckless actions is vile.

Honestly, shame on you for talking about therapy as if it's the cure-all for the world, as if every single problem life throws at people becomes butterflies and rainbows the instant a person talks to a professional about it all. As if Tony was The Main Problem of the MCU, and his capital sin was in not booking an appointment with a psychologist.

No, SHAME ON YOU.

People already think mental illness is an excuse for bad behaviour and Tony Stans are making this far worse with using conditions like mine as an excuse for everything Tony does.

Whether it be sexually harassing women

Building a murderbot

grooming and blackmailing a teenager,

or trying to murder an abuse victim in cold blood because he was upset about his disgusting daddy being killed.

How many people here, in real life, have mocked and derided Tony Stark as a character because he's a cis straight rich white man?

Let me tell you this right now.

Nobody would make excuses for Tony's actions the way they do if he was not a rich white male.

Just like in real life Tony can get away with things that anybody else would be thrown in jail for because he has money and connections.

Do you really think that poor people can get away with murder like Tony on the ground of abuse or trauma? No. They can't. They also can't get support or therapy. THEY will be persecuted and prosecuted, even for things they were driven to by desperation.

I am going to compare him to Bucky Barnes, fandom's favourite punchbag again because it illustrates this well.

One is working- class from a poor immigrant background who never had the power to say "no" or refuse to do what the high-ups told him. He was conscripted into into the army: if he refused to join up he'd have been imprisoned or worse.

He gets captured, experimented on, tortured, mutilated it, has his "brain put into a blender" and is forced to kill against his will?

What is the reaction? "He's still to blame. He chose to join up, he chose to go on that mission.... he could have escaped, he could have said no...."

Or "his body did it" as is the favourite excuse of Tony fans who want to entirely ignore the fact he had no control, autonomy or choice.

The other is a rich, priveleged guy with inherited money who had the best of everything. He is fully able to tell the government to go screw themselves, to refuse to do what he is told, and to buy his way out of any trouble he might get into.

He *chooses* to to drug himself into oblivion and drink himself silly when there are other options available. He chooses to do reckless things. He chooses to ignore the problems in his company. He chooses to go along with it because alternative is too hard.

He chooses to break multiple laws because his girlfriend is kidnapped. He chooses to mess with a highly dangerous supernatural artefact because he fears loss. He chooses to ignore advice, and people die. Over and over and over again because of his reckless actions and bad choices.

The reaction? "Its not his fault, he was manipulated" "its not his fault, he meant well!" "its not his fault, he's just trying to protect the people he loved"/

Its not about shaming: it is just a simple fact that rich white people can and do get away with the most henious things imaginable because of who they are. If Tony was poor like Bucky or black or Asian he would not be able to.

everyone always focuses on Sokovia and Ultron and Tony's involvement but no one ever thinks about how Bruce was also involved completely because they're both scientists. no one thinks about Wanda purposefully going in and digging in Tony's head, amplifying his PTSD and putting visions of all his friends dead in his head with the intent of making Tony create Ultron

Everyone always focuses on blaming Tony for the bomb that killed Wanda's parents but no one thinks about Tony being so shit faced he couldn't see straight at that time bec he was so deep in self-medicating his trauma that he could not even run his company and that it was Obidiah Stane that was the one in charge of the company and illegally selling the weapons that killed her parents

Everyone focuses on Tony selling weapons in the first movie but no one thinks about how it was Howard Starks company and that Tony was groomed from birth to run it and that he had tried multiple times to make something else of the company but was constantly shut down with guilt tripping until he was kidnapped and he forced the manufacturing to end

Everyone focuses on Tony being "conceited" and "arrogant" and not "caring about anyone but himself" but no one thinks about how every single action he makes in his movies are about protecting the people he loves and cares for. His biggest fear is his friends- not himself- dying. he goes into every battle he's in fully prepared to die and does make the sacrifice play many many times

everyone always focuses on what Tony did wrong, but no one thinks about how much he has grown and how he spends every single waking moment trying to be a better and better man who cares so deeply about everyone and is trying to protect everyone the only way he knows how- and that is with the brain and intellect that had been the only thing about Tony that was ever praised about

[swappermanent]

(Wet) Dream Come True (Frank's POV)

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

You might be wondering why I decided to take Max’s body from him. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times since it happened. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Well… not as much as you’d think.

When Max’s mom and I first got together, being a father figure wasn’t exactly in my plans. Sure, I cared for Max, but I was stepping into some big shoes. A stepdad is supposed to guide, support, and be there when things get tough, right? Well, how the hell do you guide someone through something like losing their mom? I wasn’t prepared for that. And Max—he may have been old enough to fend for himself at 20, but he wasn’t ready to face the world alone. I did my best, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I could keep holding everything together.

As the months went on, my mind started wandering to the past. What would it be like to be in my twenties again? To have that energy, that freedom? To feel like the world was yours for the taking? At first, it was just a fantasy I’d entertain when life got too heavy. A little daydream to escape reality. But then… something changed.

I came across this weird little magic shop while I was running errands. The kind of place you’d almost walk past without noticing, tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. I don’t even know what drew me in, but once I stepped inside, I found something I couldn’t ignore: a remedy that could swap bodies. The old man behind the counter explained it to me in hushed tones, like he was letting me in on some ancient secret. There was one catch, though—it had to be a mutual swap. Both parties had to, at least on some level, want to know what it’d be like to live in the other’s shoes. After that, all bets were off.

Now, let’s be real—what 20-something would actually agree to give up their youth, even for a little while? Sure, I was attractive and muscular. I’ve kept myself in good shape over the years, but still, I was in my mid-thirties. Most young guys wouldn’t see that as a fair trade. That’s when I started thinking about Max.

I’d caught the way he looked at me, those lingering glances when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his cheeks would flush when I caught him staring, the awkward way he’d quickly change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had a thing for me. I mean, hell, I’m flattered. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use that. Max wouldn’t just agree to the idea; he’d probably jump at the chance.

So, I decided to test the waters. One morning, over breakfast, I threw the idea out there casually, like it was just some funny hypothetical.

“This is gonna sound like a funny question,” I said, piercing a sausage with my fork, “but if you could choose to switch lives with me and have my body for however long, would you wanna do it?”

I kept my tone light, but I was watching him closely. The way he fidgeted in his seat, the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his reaction—it was all the confirmation I needed. His sheepish response, something about how it’d be “weird but interesting,” sealed the deal. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just curious; he wanted it. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, he wanted to know what it’d be like to be me.

That was all I needed to make it happen.

When the time came, I added the remedy to our coffee, making sure Max drank every last drop. Watching his body slump as the effects kicked in was surreal, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting across from me, I knew it had worked. My plan had actually worked.

I wasted no time. I’d already packed a bag with everything I’d need to start fresh—clothes, cash, important documents, a few personal items. I didn’t even wait for Max to wake up. I just grabbed my stuff and walked out the door, not looking back.

---

That was five years ago. Five years since I walked out the door, leaving my old life—and my old body—behind.

Now, this sexy body I’m in, Max’s body—no, my body—is 26. And let me tell you, I’ve made the absolute most of it. It wasn’t always easy; the first few months were an adjustment. I had to figure out how to carry myself as a younger man, and I won’t lie, it took some time to get used to seeing my reflection. But as the years went on, I really leaned into it. I started growing out my hair, experimenting with different looks. These days, I like to dress a little more feminine now and then—just enough to turn a few heads. And honestly? I love spending as much time shirtless as possible. This body deserves to be shown off, and I’ve been having an all-around good time doing just that.

Of course, that means my old body—the one I left Max in—would now be about 41. I never bothered to reach out to him after the swap, and, frankly, I hadn’t heard anything from him either. Part of me assumed he was mad, which would make sense. I mean, I did steal his youth, his twenties—arguably some of the best years of his life. Maybe he couldn’t confront me because of that. Not that I spent much time thinking about him these days. My life was too good, and honestly, I didn’t have any regrets. I had the life I wanted.

At least, that was the case until today.

I was at the gym, doing my usual workout. It’s a gym known for its gay clientele—big, muscular guys who weren’t shy about flaunting what they had. My kind of place. I’d just finished a grueling set at the squat rack, sweat dripping down my chest as I racked the barbell. I grabbed a towel and started wiping myself down when this super muscular, hot guy walked up to me.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, “mind if I work in with you?” He had this knowing smirk on his face.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy eyeing him up. Thick, powerful arms, a wide chest, and legs that could probably crush a watermelon. He was older, but he had this ageless energy about him. Then, it clicked.

It was Max. In my old body.

My jaw practically hit the floor as I stared at him. “Max?” I said, disbelief dripping from my voice. “Is that you? You look… amazing.”

And he did. My old body hadn’t aged a day. In fact, it looked better than ever. He’d clearly been putting in work at the gym. My old body was practically glowing.

Max—or rather, my old body—grinned and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “It’s Frank,” he corrected, his tone smooth and confident. Then he flexed one of those massive biceps, his smirk growing. “But you’re damn right I look amazing.”

I stared at him, still a little stunned by how… okay he looked. Actually, not just okay—thriving. “I thought you’d be mad,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I kind of stole your youth. I figured you’d hate me for it.”

He let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back. Then, with that same cocky smirk, he raised one of those thick, muscular arms and took an exaggerated whiff of his armpit. “I was mad,” he admitted, “for maybe the first hour. But this…” He sniffed again, clearly enjoying his own musk. “…this helped me get over it.”

Before I could say anything, he casually ran a hand down to his crotch, grabbing his impressive bulge. “And this doesn’t hurt either,” he added with a wink, his tone dripping with smugness.

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over me. “So, uh,” I began, trying to steer the conversation before I got too distracted, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you in San Diego. Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

Frank shrugged, his body language as relaxed and confident as ever. “Just moved to town, actually. Needed a change of scenery. Figured this would be a good place to start.” He looked me up and down, clearly taking in how much I’d changed. “And now I know why this gym has such a reputation,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, well, I’ve been here a while. It’s a good spot.”

“Seems like it,” he said, his tone a little too casual, like he knew exactly how good he looked. “Anyway,” he continued, “we should grab a drink later, catch up. It’s been too long.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

As he walked away to start his set, I couldn’t help but watch him. There was something about his casual cockiness, the way he carried himself with this slight earned arrogance, that was undeniably attractive. He wasn’t just comfortable in my old body—he loved it. And honestly? That made him even more appealing.

---

Later that night, we met up at a dive bar just a block away from his apartment. It wasn’t much—a little run-down, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer—but it had character, and it was quiet enough for a real conversation. When I walked in, I spotted him immediately. He was leaning casually against the bar, a beer already in hand, wearing my old Texas Tech T-shirt like it was made for him. It looked snug on his broad frame, the sleeves straining against his biceps, and for a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Jealousy? Lust? Maybe all three.

“Nice shirt,” I said, sliding into the stool next to him.

He smirked, giving me a once-over. “Figured it’d be a nice touch. Thought it might bring back memories.”

I laughed, feeling oddly sheepish. “Yeah, well, it looks better on you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. Was I… flirting? With my own body? I mean, technically, yeah, but how could I be this flustered? This was me, or at least it used to be. Yet here I was, stumbling over my words, feeling like a nervous wreck. Meanwhile, he—Frank, Max, whatever—was cool as a cucumber, his confidence practically radiating off him.

We ordered drinks, and he started asking me about my life. He was surprisingly attentive, hanging on to every word like he genuinely cared. It threw me off a little. “You’ve been busy,” he said after I told him about some of the things I’d been up to. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Was it weird that he almost sounded… proud?

Then he started telling me about his life—what he’d been doing in my old body. Turns out he’d made good money over the past few years working as a fitness instructor part-time, balancing that with his job as a mechanic. And apparently, he’d built up an online following, which had blown up enough that he was now financially set.

“It’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I’d hate it at first, but I kinda love this life. It suits me.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and confident posture. “It really does.”

As the drinks flowed, I found myself relaxing a little too much. I didn’t even realize I was flirting until it was too late. My hand kept finding excuses to touch his arm or brush against his thigh. At first, it was just playful, but one of those touches lingered a little too long. My hand stayed on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t move away, and I didn’t either.

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, that damn smirk spreading across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My face went red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. But before I could pull my hand back, he grabbed my thigh, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Usually,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, “I don’t go for twinks. But I think I can make an exception for you.” His hand slid just slightly higher, his smirk turning into something hungrier. “I mean, I know how fantastic that ass is. And I’d love to try it out for myself.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could do was stare at him, my heart pounding as his grip tightened slightly, his confidence swallowing the room whole.

Stay Tuned For Part 2

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Baby come home | Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: He wants you at his home. Where you belong.

Warnings: Manipulation - Toxic!Relationship - Possessive!Salesman - Stalker!Salesman - Suggestive -

He wants you by his side the moment he has his eyes on you for the very first time. Did he hear weeding bells ? No that was probably a part of him that was dead long time ago.

But did he want to possess you in every way? Heart ? Soul ? Body ? Yes. He wanted that and more. Be the one who brings you joy, who makes your world, you only need him in that. Just you and him together, no one else.

But he has to play good. He is good with words, he is a natural manipulador, he is good looking, he knows how to flirt, how to move. He knows how to get anyone on his bed and even make them do things they would never do if asked by other person.

But he is not anyone. And you are not a body he wants to use and leave behind.

No. Thats why he changes is game play. He is softer, little touches, dates, random texts, gifts, whatever a good boyfriend does to get his gilfriend happy.

And you are, after all he got a good list of your information. He knows your work hours, likes, dislikes, he is a second shadow in your life. You just dont know it.

At first its a casual meeting at the coffee shop you usually go. He catches your eye as a drinks and looks down over a book.

The same book you are currently reading.

Its fate? No, he knows you love books and got the information that you were reading this one at the time. Its a good thing to set common ground. A way of connect with you.

Its lovely how you fall for him. He sees it on how you act around him. At first you are just atracted to him by how he looks. But its the little acts he does, likes sharing his umbrella with you, paying for your drinks, walking you home when its too dark, opening the door for you, kissing your cheeck and letting his hand there like he is waiting for you to jump at him.

Its a pull he does, waits for you to give in to him. When you two are official things move well. The next step its to live together. He wants that so badly, after having you for one weekend he realizes how his home really feels like one when you are present. Besides it would save you money and time. But he can see how you seem not ready for it.

He gets it. Living alone does give you a sense of freedoom, but he cant let you have that. No when your company makes him feel so good. And he can compensate you, once you move in with him you will forget what living alone felt like. You will love him so much and crave for him so much...

You just need a push. Maybe getting some nasty neighbors would do the trick ? He gets the worse couple to move right next to your aparment. You never see them but fuck do you hear them all the time. Your sleep hours start to deteriorate so much.

The Salesman does not take vengeance on them (yet) because he is the one who sent them and also, he gets you to stay at his home more often. Being able to wrap his arms around you at night and see you on mornings.

Yes he will punish them later. For now they can live.

But its not enough. He should have know better. After all you have been facing life alone for quiet some time.

Raising the price for the aparment you are paying ? That does seem to do the trick. Everytime you two meet you look so stressed but you refuse to accept his money.

"I cant ask you for that. Its my problem to deal with" You said giving him back the wones he had offer you earlier. "Besides you let me stay at your aparment enough...and you dont even let me clean afterwards, im taking too much from you"

Oh love of his life! You can take all from him. And its not enough how many days and nights you stay. Not till it becomes a forever.

He now knows he must make things...worse. It will hurt you, but he is going to be there for you. With open arms and your favorite flowers, ready to bring back up yourself and pull the pieces together once again.

Thats why he needs you to get fired from your job. It does breaks him when you call him crying over it. How it was your dream job and how someone blamed you for a mistake you did not made and now you were jobless.

It just needs time till you cant afford rent any longer. And the shame of returning with your parents its too much. Besides he has whisper in your ear multiple times how good it would be to live together. How you could decorate his house (after a small comment on how plain it looked), how you two would be able to see each other more (not that you need to know he has hacked your phone and knows where you are 24/7) and how much money and time it would save you (He already has a company who wants to hire you...at least till he convinces you to stop working all along).

He is in heaven when you finally move in. Most of your old forniture was sold since he said he did not have space for it. But in reality he wants you to pick new one. Maybe he can help with it even if he was never good at decorating.

The sight of his wardrobe with now your clothes besides his ones makes his heart beat fast. Its criminal how many times he has smell them when you are not home, almost falling asleep with one of them as he imagines the future weeding you two will have.

You two now have matching cups for the morning coffee, something he does find a bit cheesy but he also likes it. Specially when he comes out from the shower and sees them together alongside some toasts.

It feels right, it feels good. He knows he does not deserve it but he was never fair to start with.

"Here Love you should pick a new color for our bedroom" He gives you his phone so you can look over the different colors

"But...I thought you liked how it was?"

"I believe my life its too grey already. A bit of color wont hurt. And its yours too, its natural you get to pick at least that"

Him going to the most expensive stores to check for a new bed, couch and more. He wonders if he should ask you or keep it as a suprise.

Him not letting you go on mornings and making you late (no that your Boss would ever say a thing if he values his life). He cant just let you go off from the bed, your smell and heat are his favorite things. And if he feels like he needs to give you a remind on who you belong to....

Well its a funny sight seeing you go to work walking funny. And with more makeup to cover up the different love bites.

If he feels mean he is going to Force you to keep his cum inside you for the rest of the day. And he just knows when you let some get out. Too bad he will have to fill you up again.

He cant wait to make you his wife. He already has you living with him. Your old aparment was now a memory. You had said to him how much you did prefer living with him, his aparment was bigger, neighbors that were not loud and him.

He admits his heart did skip a beat when you told him how happy you were when being with him and knowing that you would always see him at the end of the day.

Oh, of course you would. From now and for the rest of your life.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Him seeing where you live and thinking how much better you deserve