#mr. frothy

[on-leatheredwings]

Mr. Sandman (18+)

Yandere Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

> romantic  > tw/cw: non-con, somno. reader has a vagina, piv sex, creampie(s). > Jason just can't get enough of you when you're awake; why would that change when you're asleep? > a/n: my first jason solo!!! WE UP! im a sucker for simpering, weak, vulnerable jason sowwyyyy . he needs u spiritually what can i say . > word count: 1.1k

Jason knows he shouldn't be doing this.

But who could blame him? You’re just so gorgeous. And so smart, so funny, so generous and so– so perfect. You are his god. He is your faithful acolyte. And your cunt is his altar of choice.

Jason glances himself in the mirror across your bedroom. He’s a hulking mass of muscle on all fours, hovering above your gently sleeping body. It would be a shock you haven’t woken up yet, if not for his stealth. He padded onto your bed, knowing just where the mattress would give soundlessly under his solid weight. Underneath him, you’re none the wiser. Innocent. Ripe and for the taking.

He shouldn't be doing this, he reminds himself, despite his bare erection already weeping precum in anticipation. 

You took him into your embrace, like a savior to a wounded dog. You decided he was loveable, of all things. 

He shouldn't be doing this, he tells himself again, despite his hands starting to wander. Your nipples poke sinfully through his wifebeater, breasts nearly spilling out of it anyway. You’ve dictated it to be your new set of pajamas. It’s much too long for you, falling past the start of your thighs. He peels it up, slowly, carefully. He leaves it to bunch at your collarbone, revealing your naked breasts. He swallows an appreciative groan, leaning forward and suckling on a nipple.

It’ll just be some heavy petting. Just some kissing. Just some marks so people know you’re his – he knows what to say so you won’t mind that too much in the morning. Just– just a few touches.

But then Jason’s hand wanders downwards. And when he cups your cunt with his hand – his throat tightens; he bristles, stiffens; heady desire intoxicates him and fogs his mind – all restraint comes crashing down. 

He was a damn idiot to think he could resist.

“Okay– Just a little. Just a little, I swear,” Jason groans, little more than a whisper, betraying his attempts at being quiet.

Jason, with expert vigilante fluidity, hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. He lowers and shuffles back to an eye-level view of your cunt, waiting prettily just for him.

He draws circles around your clit with his fingers, using his abundant precum as lube. A man possessed, he could watch all day at how easily and nicely you let his fingers in.

Fuck, you were made just for him, he bets. It’s not only his cock your pussy remembers; your body accommodates, obeys, and wettens in response to every part of his own. He’s barely even trying, pumping his digits back and forth. You’re basically drawing him in. 

Your mouth drops open, a soft whine falling out, and he freezes. His fingers are still stuffed in your puffy cunt. After a few seconds, you continue dozing off, although your brows pinch together with pleasure.

If you can wake up at any second, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least go the full mile. He slips his fingers out. Another whine from you. I know, I know, baby, he thinks. You’ll be full again soon enough. Jason slides forward and makes you both fit together puzzle pieces, cock against your folds. “Just the tip, I promise,” Jason says again. And so he continues. 

He’s in. He lets out a relieved sigh, nearly moaning. He’s in.

… But it’s not enough.

Before Jason knows it, he’s pushing forward, entering you fully. And every inch is well-earned – your tightness has him choked, panting and gasping. Yeah, he reassures himself. He fucking belongs here.

It takes him no time at all to start fucking his precum into your cunt. A near-frothy ring of cream grows at the fat base of his cock, a product of his speed and fervor. If he had the mind to, he’d be embarrassed at his desperation. But then he grinds your clit down against the root of his cock, frotting against your walls, and he could not be at all fucked to care.

Jason could start laughing, fucking you with wild abandon. As soon as he climbed on this bed, this was out of his hands. How did he ever think he’d be able to stop? He can’t even try to quiet down anymore. There’s the sound of skin colliding bouncing through the room, your mattress creaking from the intensity of him pounding you, and of course, his own heavy breathing. Fuck, fuck. Despite the noise, he can’t help it – he needs this.

Finally, the hot coil in him snaps. He shudders violently, veins visible in his arms and temple, mouth falling open into a moan. Face-to-face with you at this point, his breaths tickle against your cheek.

On his third orgasm, he’s finally spent. He marvels at the mess he’s made – the inside of your thighs is slick with his own makings, pearly white smeared across the canvas that his your skin. Your abused cunt is swollen and so, so pretty. His cock is still firing ropes into your body. 

Jason can't bear to withdraw himself, mind drunk with pleasure. Suddenly drowsy, Jason has to stop himself from collapsing on top of you. He gently lowers himself to lie down facing you. Both of you are on your sides, his cock still buried in your warmth.

You start to wake up, blinking away the blearly tendrils of sleep. You glance black hair and a shock of white. Mm. Jason, your sleepy mind thinks. Good. Great, even. The allure of continuing your slumber calls, as he rocks you back and forth, the motion almost sedative. Hips meeting yours, cock rutting into you…

Wait–

Your eyes fully snap open, body on high alert. You gasp.

“Jay–?” you squeak. Now fully awake, you register the full presence of his length in you and the pleasurable throb in between your thighs. And the utter stickiness of your thighs. 

Startled, Jason wakes up with a jerk. He doesn’t normally fall into such deep sleep. He feels panic rise. He was supposed to wake up after just a few minutes…!

“Fuck–” he begins, fumbling to roll away and unsheathe himself. But you curl a fist around the collar of his shirt, like pulling on a leash. You two stare at one another, both bodies still sweaty and warm. Your cunt is still full with him, his seed. Leaking. 

Fear thunders through Jason at getting caught. 

But then you pout. So cute, his dumb animal brain instinctively thinks. Even though you’d argue to him that you’re nothing of the sort. You smile mischievously, sinking onto his cock an inch.

“Now, Jay,” you say, tutting. “You should’ve woken me up first.”

[justauthoring]

Shadow of Yourself [14/18]

Prompt: “You’ve changed, Eli. I barely even know who you are right now.”

A/N: we delve into the reader's past a little bit more the episode and eli is an absolute sweetheart about it <3

Based off of: Cobra Kai 05x05, 05x06, and 05x07 Warnings: some swear words (because tumblr apparently doesn’t like that), poorly written fight scenes (i swear, i struggle so much) Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x F!Reader

Tag List: @moonydrafts - @ashwhowrites - @traveleraroundsworld - @truly-abysmal - @likecherriesinthespring - @hollxe1 - @asonofpeter - @scarlett-verse - @musically-ambiguous - @kayda1 - @moon-zoons - @dwcode - @day-dreamsinthedark - @leilani788 - @silvermagnolias - @hawkinsavclub - @animewolflover278 - @gruffle1 - @b-tchymoon - @maggiecc - @beetea38 - @hawkinsavclub1983 - @crpytids - @embersparklz - @kimilight - @httpjiikook - @marauderssmut - @fyckcore - @multinci - @lqveabby - @oh-well-whatever-nevermind - @redskull199987 - @silvermagnolias - @shortneko - @okjaeminn - @thecyclonetragedy - @vamproq - @siriusfahey - @cobrakaigirlie - @kaylinfayezink - @oursuh - @aphroditelxver - @minl0u - @cherrywinepoison - @bath1lda - @fixalice - @fallsofserinity - @maisieibae - @ssrcsm​ - @notplutos - @kaitieskidmore1​ - @httpvomitello - @nichmeddar - @rafaelajonerr - @lazyneonrabbitt - @belleoftheball28 - @httpvomitello - @nichmeddar - @rafaeljonerr - @lazyneonrabbitt - @harrysnovia - @dopepersonacloudllama - @fluffybunnyu

THE FRIENDSHIP WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR.

“I made a new friend today.”

“Did you?” Your uncle Elijah calls over the sound of the water running in the sink, his hands frothy and wet from washing the dishes. This was your regular routine after dinner; he’d wash and you’d dry and when your mother was home, she’d put the dishes away. There’s a glaring pile of dishes building to your right that both of you ignore that, as of recently, has been more common. “That’s great, what’s her name?”

Biting your lip, you take the offered dish from his hands; “it’s a boy.”

That gives your uncle pause. With a teasing grin, he turns to you, quirking a brow; “oh? Is that right?” You flush at his wiggling brows, shaking your head as he flicks some soapy water at you before caving. “So, what’s his name, then?”

“Eli,” you answer, grinning from ear to ear. “Eli Moskowitz.”

“What a name,” your uncle laughs, nudging you with his elbow lightly. “He nice?”

You nod instantly, “very.”

“Good. Because no boy will be disrespecting my daughter.”

You flush at your uncle’s words, rolling your eyes; “dad, he’s just a friend.”

Eyes distinctly focused on the pan he’s washing, your uncle hums knowingly; “mm-hmm. And how did you meet Mr. Just-A-Friend Moskowitz?”

You just snort, focusing back on your own task like your uncle and ignoring his teasing because it was nothing new. Your uncle was a funny man and he was the best at jokes, and he liked to tease you – but you didn’t really mind, because it always made you laugh in the end anyways.

“I stood up for him,” you say, with a certain air of pride and an eye on your uncle for his reaction. “From a bully.”

Setting down the pan, your uncle turns to face you; “is that right?”

You mimic his actions, nodding; “yup.”

In the next second, before you can even blink, your uncle is moving his wet, soapy hands to your sides and moving to tickle you relentlessly. A giggle bursts from your lips instantly, carrying on as you desperately swat your uncle’s torturing hands away from you, gasping as you try to catch your breath.

“Elijah!”

“That’s my girl!” Your uncle cheers, clasping you by the waist and hefting you over his shoulders as he moves to run around the dining room, your cackles the only thing that can be heard in the otherwise silent house. “My little niece, standing up to bullies just like I taught her!”

“Elijah!” You call, grinning wide, “put me down!”

He obliges, finishing one last race around the dinner table before setting you on your own two feet. A laugh bubbles from your throat as he does, breathless and quieter, before you meet his waiting gaze and watch as he moves to crouch in front of you, hands on your shoulders.

“I’m incredibly proud of you, Y/N,” your uncle smiles, all sincerity and love in his eyes. “You know that, right?”

Beaming, you hum; “of course, Elijah! You tell me all the time!”

Shaking his head, your uncle places his hand on the back of your head before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The moment is flooded with a gentle and comfortable silence as you lean into the kiss, heart racing and belly aching from your laughing but more happy than you could ever be.

It doesn’t last long.

The next day your uncle falls over at work and is rushed to the hospital.

Two months later, he passes away.

That is the last good memory you have of him.

-

You stare at the date that glares at you from the top of your phone screen.

July 14th.

July 14th.

The anniversary of your uncle’s death.

And you’re completely alone.

You frown when you see a message pop-up, the frown deepening further when you see who it’s from.

If you need to talk today, let me know. I can try and find some time to chat.

A second later, another text pops up.

Love you, honey.

With a sigh, you let your phone fall to your bed before collapsing against your pillow yourself.

You don’t have the energy to reply to your mother. Not after all that had happened and certainly not when today is… today. 

She couldn’t even be here—

Clenching your eyes shut, you roll over to your side, staring at the wall of your bedroom and ignore the buzzes that rumble from your hip where you’d left your phone. You have no doubt it’s your mother, probably irritated or worried that you weren’t replying to her messages.

It’s early-ish, sometime mid-morning, but you haven’t gotten out of bed yet.

Classes at the dojo were a little… well, nonexistent right now because of everything and it was the summer which meant that you didn’t have school. You knew Yasmine and Moon were doing something but pretending everything was fine and smiling with them didn’t seem like the solution to the pain in your heart either. Sam was too busy ‘finding’ herself, Miguel and Robby were spending the day with Johnny last you heard and you could only imagine how that was going. Demetri was maybe with Yasmine and Moon, maybe not, though honestly, you loved the guy, but you didn’t think being with him today would help any.

Honestly, the only person you did want to see was Eli but after your fight in the waterpark parking lot, you didn’t know where either of you stood and you were too scared to find out. Eli hadn’t tried to reach out to you and neither had you, afraid that if you did, he’d officially break it off with you.

Maybe you were being dramatic but this always seemed to happen when you two started dating. You loved Eli, you knew that, and you didn’t want to just be friends but maybe Eli didn’t feel that way anymore. You had been a tad bit cruel at the waterpark and hadn’t tried to see any of it from Eli’s point of view. Cobra Kai had been traumatic for Eli and even if you stood by your opinion that the students at Cobra Kai weren’t your enemies, it still stood to truth that some of them had done horrible things and hadn’t apologized for it.

Nor did it look like they planned to.

Letting out a dejected moan, you shove your face into your pillow.

This was awful.

All you wanted to do was see Eli but you were too afraid to make the first step in case it meant you losing him, permanently this time. Realistically, you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever but for now, you figured, you could at least try.

And all of this was ten times worst because… because—it hurt too much to think.

Your father would know what to do. He would have all the right answers, you knew he would. But he wasn’t here to tell you.

A knock echoes from the front door, startling you out of your thoughts as you jump, moving to sit up as you stare in the direction of your bedroom door and the stairs you can see through it. Who could possibly be at your front door right now?

When you don’t move, another knock follows and with a slight frown, you finally push yourself off of the bed and to your feet before making your way down the stairs. You stare at your front door for a moment longer, confused, before finally moving to unlock it, glancing over the edge of the door to see who it is.

Your eyes widen when you see it’s Eli, with a bouquet of flowers.

“Eli?”

“I know we’re fighting or… something, but I didn’t think you’d want to be alone today.”

Lips parting, there’s a flutter that resonates from your heart at Eli’s words; they’re said with a certain softness of hesitation, eyes flickering from meeting your own back to his own feet as he shuffles on your front porch. You feel your heart melt then and there, all anger or doubt you’d had previously disappearing in a single second.

Eli had been the one person you’d wanted to see and here he was.

“You remembered,” you mumbled, still stunned as you reached your hand out, taking the offered flowers that Eli eagerly gives to you. There's a beam of hope that floods his gaze as you take them, pressing them to your nose where you smell the sweet and natural scent of the assorted bouquet, before glancing up at Eli with warm cheeks.

“Of course,” Eli says with ease, without hesitation. “I wasn’t sure if I should come but I knew your mom still wasn’t home and it felt wrong not to come. I’d texted you but you, uh… weren’t answering them.”

Oh, you think guiltily, so he’d been the one texting. Biting your lip, you hug the flowers; “thank you, Eli.”

He smiles; “you’re welcome.”

There’s a moment more of silence before you snap out of your own thoughts, shuffling back to make room for Eli. “Here,” you offer, “come inside.”

Eli is quick to abide, shuffling into your house as you shut the door behind him. You smile at him, a little unsure, as you descend into the kitchen to grab a vase, filling it with water before delicately setting the flowers inside and leaving them to rest on the windowsill where a bit of sun shines on them.

“They’re beautiful,” you smile softly at Eli, “seriously, thank you.”

Eli shakes his head, brushing off your continued thanks; “it’s the least I could do… you know, as your boyfriend.” Then, his gaze shifts, standing an awkward distance away from you as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his joggers and glances at you warily. “If I still am?”

He asks it with a sense of doubt, obviously not sure where you both stand in regards to your relationship. Honestly, you know it’s a little wrong, but it’s a bit of a relief to you that Eli had been having similar concerns as you in regards to your relationship. It made you feel a little less silly knowing that Eli had also been unsure of whether the two of you were still dating or not.

And even more, it made you feel better that it seemed Eli still wanted to.

Letting the first real, genuine beaming smile curl onto your lips, you quickly cross the distance over to Eli, wrapping your arms around his shoulders eagerly. “Of course you are!”

Eli stumbles back at the sudden force, his hands quickly coming to grab you by the hips as he lets out a soft ‘oof’ at your sudden embrace. Still, there’s an eased grin that curls onto his lips all the same and he’s leaning into your hug with a certain fervour of passion.

When you pull back, just enough to meet his eyes, Eli’s laughing; “i’m glad,” he assures. “I felt bad after we fought and I wanted to turn back around instantly but I saw you with Robby and I wasn’t sure…”

“Oh,” you breathe, not having realized he’d seen that. “Robby… he, um… saw me crying after our… and was just making sure I was okay. He walked me home, but that was all.”

Something pained crosses Eli’s eyes but he doesn’t speak on it and the expression is gone as quickly as it came. You watch on in concern, but then he’s squeezing your hips and shaking his head, as if getting rid of the thought, before focusing back on you. “I really am sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you exclaim, “I shouldn’t have made that comment about you and Cobra Kai…”

“Nah,” Eli brushes off with a shrug and a light chuckle. “You were right. I was a jerk, just like they are now. It’s not fair of me to act like I wasn’t.”

That wasn’t exactly the point you’d been trying to make, but, you figure, one step at a time. Besides, you were tired of fighting with Eli and you’d desperately missed him for the few days you hadn’t been speaking. You needed and wanted Eli, especially for today, so you decide to leave it for now.

“You know,” you speak up after a moment of silence, clasping your hands behind Eli’s neck as you pull him closer. “My uncle was the first person I told when we became friends.”

Eli blinks at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod eagerly, “he was the closest thing to a father I had and at the end, it was usually just the two of us… He’d said he was proud of me.” Then, frowning, you meet Eli’s eyes. “I really wish you got to meet him.”

Eli’s face softens. “I wish I'd met him too.”

Lowering your gaze, you hesitate for a moment. “You think he’d still be proud of me?” The question comes pouring from your lips before you can stop yourself, but Eli’s always been good at bringing that vulnerable side of you out that no one else really ever saw. And, truthfully, you didn’t really mind if it was Eli. “I feel like I never know what I’m doing and so much is happening all the time. I mean, we’ll be done with high school soon and I don’t even know where I want to go for college. Not to mention this whole karate thing…”

Eli raises his hand, softly brushing a strand of hair that had fallen in your face in the midst of everything and therefore, pulls your gaze back on him. His gaze is soft, adoring as he glances down at you and there isn’t an ounce of hesitation or doubt as he says; “of course he’d be proud of you.”

Smiling, enough that your cheeks hurt from how wide, you lightly nudge Eli; “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t want to spend his anniversary alone.”

Eli grins, ear to ear, and there’s a shared understanding between the two of you as he nods;

“I’m glad to be here too.”

-

“So… back at Miyagi-do, huh?”

Laughing, Robby shakes his head as he makes his way over to you, having just walked into the dojo. You knew that most of the people there might not be happy to see him back, at least not at first, so you figured that you’d be there to greet him so he didn’t feel so isolated and singled out.

“Yeah,” Robby breathes, coming to a stop in front of you, winking teasingly at you. “The place you’ve never left.”

You snort; “what can I say? I’m loyal.”

Robby rolls his eyes but the smile on his face is undeniable. 

“How did… uh, everything with Miguel and your dad work out?” You ask after a moment, unable to help yourself. Ever since Robby had texted you letting you know, despite everything else, it’d been on your mind. There was a lot of bad history between Robby and Miguel, and you honestly had no idea if there ever wouldn’t be.

But… Robby was back in Miyagi-do and Miguel hadn’t seemed as angry about it as you’d expected.

So you hoped it went as well as it seemed it had.

“Went okay,” Robby shrugs, “as okay as it could’ve, I guess.”

“Seems better than okay,” you offer, hopeful. “I mean, you’re here and the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats. So… that’s a good step, right?”

Robby just snorts; “yeah.” And you beam, grin turning wider, until you notice Robby’s gaze over your shoulder and he adds; “but just because Miguel and I are okay, doesn’t mean others feel the same.”

Following his gaze, you freeze when you realize Robby is talking about Eli. He’s stood with Miguel and Demetri, but there’s a particularly nasty glare on Eli’s face as he glances your and Robby’s way. When he meets your eyes, the glare softens considerably, but there’s still an edge to his expression.

“No more deadly of a glare than Tory sends me,” you try to joke, turning back to Robby nervously. Robby just raises a brow, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest and you sigh. “Look, don’t worry about Eli. He’s having a harder time seeing past what happened before the All Valley… you know, with his mohawk.”

Robby just lets his hands fall by his sides. “No worse than he’s done.”

“Robby.”

Robby’s eyes snap back to you at your sharp tone, wincing slightly at the look you send him.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs, “I’ll play nice.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, somewhat relieved. “We’re all on the same side now and Eli will calm down. I promise.”

“It might also help if he realizes I’m not trying to steal his girlfriend.”

Cheeks burning, you sputter, surprised by Robby’s comment as you turn to him with wide eyes. “B-But he knows you and Tory—I mean, you guys are dating. And we're friends. Just friends.”

Robby lets out a chuckle. “You said it yourself about Tory,” Robby shrugs. “Besides, I’m not so sure Hawk does know that.”

Your face falls in concern, mortified. “Robby—”

“Line up!”

-

A FEW MINUTES EARLIER:

-

“Look at them.” 

“Hawk—”

“—When did they get so friendly!”

“Who?” Demetri asks, looking up from the stretching he’d been doing.

Eli just huffs, meeting his friends eyes briefly before nodding in the direction of you and Robby. “Them,” he says sourly, ignoring the look Miguel sends him. It wasn’t his fault. He’d tried to ignore it but it was impossible – he knew that you’ve told him many times that you and Robby were just friends but he hadn’t known you guys were that close. Walking you home? After Eli had made you cry? He couldn’t get it out of his head, a constant numbing thought that was irritating him and making him see things in a different light than was true.

And yes, it was his fault because he’d gotten so defensive and made you upset. But Eli had turned around to apologize and make up, only to see that Robby had already swooped in before he could.

And now? The two of you? You’d left Eli’s side the second you’d seen Robby making his way in, eagerly rushing over to the boy and you were all smiles and giggles as the two of you talked.

What was that about?

“Oh,” Demetri calls, “Y/N and Robby?” He asks to which Eli sharply nods. 

“They’ve always been like that,” Demetri shrugs.

That catches Eli’s attention. His eyes finally leave you and Robby to turn and look at his friend, baffled; “what?”

Even Miguel looks a little surprised.

“Yeah,” Demetri nods, not seeing the problem. “Ever since she and I joined Miyagi-do. Or… I guess at first they hadn’t gotten along, but then suddenly, one day, something changed. I think it has to do with the whole parent thing… I know things are better between Robby and Sensei Lawrence now, but they get what it’s like to not really have a parent around.”

“Wait,” Miguel speaks up, before Eli can say anything. “Y/N lives on her own?”

Eli’s previous jealousy forgotten, he and Demetri glance at each other, unsure.

“Not completely,” Eli is the first to explain, voice hesitant with what to say and what not to say. Demetri didn’t even know everything either but Miguel even less it seemed, though Eli was sure you wouldn’t mind having Miguel know; even just a little. Like Demetri knew just a little. “Her dad… passed away when she was really young. And for a while her uncle helped raise her but then he passed away when we were in middle school. She still has her mom, but she leaves a lot for work. She’ll be gone for months at a time.”

“It was okay, you know, when her uncle was alive,” Demetri mumbles, glancing at you from across the dojo. “Because she had him. After he passed away, Y/N was home alone a lot. It’s been hard on her.”

“Oh,” Miguel mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I had no idea.”

“She doesn’t like talking about it,” Eli explains. “She doesn’t want people worrying about her.”

A somber air surrounds the three boys, neither of them sure what to say.

Demetri, as usual, is the first to break the ice. “I wouldn’t worry about Robby and Y/N, Eli.”

Eli turns to Demetri in surprise.

“They’re just friends,” he explains with a shrug, as if there was never any other explanation. “Besides, anyone who can see Y/N can see she only has eyes for you.”

Cheeks warming, Eli turns to Miguel, as if asking for his opinion; Miguel nods,

“Honestly bro,” Miguel laughs tentatively, trying to lighten the mood. “Y/N looks at you like you’re her whole world.”

Eli hesitates, doubting their words because of his own insecurity. Before he can help himself, his eyes naturally drift back towards you and Robby, only to pause when he sees you staring back at him. Eli freezes, panicking, as his eyes widen a fraction and he’s quick to soften his gaze, offering a nervous smile.

You just turn back to Robby, as if confused.

-

PRESENT TIME:

-

Jumping at Chozen’s suddenly booming voice, you don’t get to finish what he’d been about to say to Robby as Chozen calls everyone over to him. He shouts something in Japanese and you sigh, knowing that’s it, as you follow after Robby to make your way over. Eli quickly makes his way over to you, falling a stop next to you as he meets your eyes, sending a soft smile.

You’re quick to give him one in return, lightly nudging him with your elbow to assure him everything’s okay before turning your attention to Chozen.

“So,” Sam is the first to speak up, “where are my dad and Johnny?”

“Not here,” is all Chozen says in explanation. “Today, you train with me.” He follows by shouting something, again, in Japanese, that no one understands before sighing; “attention.” Instantly, everyone straightens out, your hands falling flat against your sides.

Again, he says something in Japanese and is met with confused gazes.

Huffing, Chozen shakes his head; “bow.”

Oh. Everyone quickly does.

“Cobra Kai gaining ground. We must prepare. Come.” Shuffling forward, Chozen moves to walk around the set up table with various things on it, and you meet Eli’s gaze curiously. “Now, we learn about Yanbaru Kuina.”

“What is that?” Chris asks, “like, some top-secret karate move? Like a throat rip?”

“No,” Chozen answers sharply, ignoring Chris’ poor imitation of having said throat ripped. “It is bird. In English called Okinawa rail. Endangered. Cannot fly.”

Demetri nods; “hence, endangered.”

Chozen grabs something off the ground, hidden behind a brown cloth, before peeling it away the second it’s set on the table. It’s eggs.

“So these are the real eggs?” Miguel asks, gesturing forward.

“No,” Chozen says, like it’s obvious. “Trader Joe’s. $3.29.” At the various looks he gets, Chozen just shakes his head, obviously annoyed; “take egg.”

Eli, Sam and Miguel step forward, grabbing a handful and passing them around; you smile when Eli hands you yours.

“So, what do we do with the eggs?”

“Yanbaru Kuina must protect egg,” Chozen answers. “From Kume Shima habu. Poison snake. You must do same.” He takes the hourglass off the table and turns it upside down. “Begin your preparation.”

“What are we protecting them from?” Robby asks.

“From me.”

-

You give yourself credit for lasting longer than Eli and Robby, but ultimately, your plan to protect your egg fails all the same.

You wince as Chozen cracks your egg, staring down at the broken yolk sadly before meeting his gaze. He simply just grunts at you before moving on, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the sparing deck where everyone else has lined up. You pause, however, when you notice Eli and Robby standing next to each other.

That cannot be good.

You finish making your way over with a certain hesitance, eyeing the both of them warily, before coming to a stop next to Eli. You smile at him warmly, before letting your eyes flicker from him to Robby and back.

“Everything okay?” You ask, tentatively.

Robby and Eli glance at each other, hesitating.

“These two?” Demetri calls out, answering you when neither Robby or Eli say anything. “Fighting like usual. Not focusing on the bigger picture,” he complains, “like, for example, the crazy guy taking us all out one by one!”

You ignore Demetri’s ramble, turning back to your boyfriend and friend; “oh.”

“No,” Eli is the first to speak up, sighing. “We’re fine. I guess.”

Your eyes widen, straightening out with hope.

“We’re good,” Robby assures, shrugging. Then he pauses, eyeing you and then Eli, before adding; “and just to be clear, Y/N and I are just friends. I don’t like her in that way. She’s great, of course,” he smiles at you, “but I like someone else.”

You freeze at that, eyeing Eli cautiously.

“Cool,” Eli says eventually, his voice even–cautious. “I knew that.”

Yeah, right, you think to yourself as you roll your eyes at Eli’s ‘cool-guy’ attitude, that’s why you spent the entire day glaring at Robby. It was endearing, though, and clearly nothing was meant from it.

Robby nods, holding back a chuckle; “just wanted to make sure.”

You watch as the two of them glance at each other one more time, just staring, before the corner of Robby’s lips twitch and then he’s grinning and to your surprise, Eli is mimicking his grin and suddenly all the tension just fizzles away.

“I will never understand boys,” you huff, bewildered by what had just happened.

Eli and Robby both look your way before bursting out into laughter, and your cheeks warm, slightly embarrassed, but still unable to fight the smile that curls onto your lips all the same.

“Now that that’s done, can we please focus on what’s happening?” Demetri calls, gesturing in front of himself wildly.

You blink, “who’s even left?”

- 

Frowning, you watch as Chozen cracks an egg and starts frying onto the portable heater and pan – right in front of you.

“You are not good Yanbaru Kuina.”

Dejected, you lower your gaze.

“Snakes will take you down,” Chozen sighs. “One by one. I have tried to tell you what you must do. But you do not listen. You must learn to adapt. Or soon, you will be extinct.” A little morbid, but you couldn’t argue against his point. “Take new eggs. Try again.”

Slowly, you all grab a new egg.

“Sensei Toguchi’s real cryptic, like Mr. Larusso,” Demetri thinks aloud, you and the rest circling around each other. “But aggressive like Sensei Lawrence.”

Chris nods; ���it’s like the hardest part of both styles.”

“Definitely,” you huff, “it’s scary.”

Mitch just huffs, shuffling back; “can’t wait to get our asses kicked again.”

You turn too, following Eli, Robby and Miguel, before Anthony calls out, halting you; 

“Uh, no. No, um….” Curious, you glance back, watching as he tries to find the words. “G-Guys, uh, wait. He said that the snakes will take us down one by one. Right? Just like he took us down one by one, but… but what if we weren’t a bunch of ones? Like, what if we were…”

“Together,” Sam agrees.

“Exactly!” Anthony exclaims, nodding at his sister. “Like, um, a raiding party in Dungeon Lords.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Demetri calls, “even if you’re a level eighty-five, you can’t mount an attack on the grand realm alone.”

Eli nods at Demetri, “exactly. You need a team. And everybody has a special role.”

Grinning, you laugh in hurrah. “By working together!”

Anthony grins, nodding. 

“It’s the only way we win. As one.”

-

You walk home with a certain pep in your step, practically skipping.

The three boys walking with you watch with varying grins.

“This is amazing,” you gush, turning to the three of them and grinning from ear to ear. 

Miguel snorts; “you’re way too excited,” he brushes off but his words still come out fond. He meets your eyes with a gentle smile and gestures to Eli and Robby beside him. “We just became friends.”

You snort, shaking your head. Figures they wouldn’t understand.

“It’s much more than that,” you correct, “the three of you have been in some mini-war since this all began.”

At that, Miguel, Robby and Eli glance at each other.

“Miguel and I have always been friends,” Eli reminds, jutting his thumb at Miguel before pointing back at himself.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah but now Robby’s here!”

At the sudden attention pulled on him, Robby flushes, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“I have been waiting for this day for a long time,” you explain, sending them a look. They all just laugh, shaking their heads and you fall back into place beside Eli, slipping your hand into his.  “Now all that’s left to do is make Sam and Tory be friends and everything will be good.”

There’s a pause that follows that – you’re blissfully unaware.

“Y/N,” Robby calls, somewhat hesitantly. “I feel like that might be harder to do.”

“More like impossible,” Eli snorts, pulling your eyes on him in confusion. “Those two hate each other.”

“I feel like that’s somehow putting it lightly,” Miguel sighs, obviously distressed by his ex-girlfriend and… well, ex-girlfriends hatred for each other. “I don’t think they’ve ever been in the same room without fighting.”

Robby nods, solemnly, and Eli just shakes his head.

You stare at them.

“What?” Eli asks, confused.

“That was literally you two,” you point at Eli and Miguel, “with him,” you shift to Robby, “not a week ago. Especially you two,” you single out Miguel and Robby. “Unless you guys have forgotten,” you snort, raising a challenging brow their way. “I’m sure we can get Sam and Tory to see past their differences.”

It’s clear by the way all three of them look at each other, they’re doubtful.

“Well,” you brush their doubts away, “I'm determined to make them be friends.”

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Shut up and dance with me

steddie, omegaverse, a little bit of fun during my angst-fest to celebrate some follower milestones 🥰

Steve keeps saying he feels goofy wearing a suit, even if he’s happy to do it for Robin. It’s non-traditional, sticking an omega in black-tie. But neither is an alpha like Buckley having an omega as her best man. Her mating ceremony is beautiful, Chrissy absolutely sparkles, and Steve cries through half of it because he’s so happy for his best friend.

Eddie might cry a little, too.

He’s seated in the front row, with Robin’s family, since he and Steve are ‘capital S’ Serious, and Steve has practically been adopted by Robin’s parents. Melissa catches him crying and smiles; she’s certain to ask when he and Steve are going to tie the knot themselves.

He’s nowhere near ready to answer that one. Especially without Steve to help. Eddie hasn’t wanted to rush things, even being friends so long beforehand. Knows that he loves Steve more than anything. But they’ve barely been dating a year…

After the ceremony, Steve catches his eye from the reception line. “You good?” Eddie mouths, quirking a questioning brow.

Steve makes a dumb face—pretends to cry—gives him a thumbs up, and it’s like everything rearranges, his whole world shifting a couple inches to the left.

He knows.

All his worries about it being too fast float away like so much dust on the wind. He’d be happy enough watching Steve from across the room for the rest of his life, to giggle and mime at one another.

But after the reception, he gets to take Steve home.

Not being in the wedding party, he should honestly head over to the venue soon—after going through the receiving line. He kisses Chrissy’s cheek, tells her she looks stunning, high fives Robin for locking down her perfect omega, and whispers, “I’ll be waiting for you with a cocktail,” in Steve’s ear.

He manages to cop a feel, squeezing Steve’s ass before pulling back, earning him a tiny whine as they part.

Forcing himself to keep walking, Eddie hates leaving his m—

Hates leaving Steve. He wants to run back and scoop him into his arms. To keep him close.

Instead, he gets in Steve’s car and drives to the reception, grabs a scotch from the open bar, and distracts himself from missing Steve by chatting with Jonathan who is just as in need of the company since Argyle and Nancy are also in the wedding party.

Eddie’s on his second scotch when he hears whispers that the limo has arrived, and he goes to order a Manhattan for Steve with extra cherries. He’s barely got the coupe glass in hand before the DJ is announcing the new Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.

They’ve changed into their reception outfits: Chrissy’s dress short and frothy, Robin in metallic pants and a shirt unbuttoned halfway down her sternum, both of them already dancing as they make their grand entrance.

The whole room hoots and hollers as they burst into cheers.

The rest of the party has changed too. Nancy’s in a slinky dress, the depth of the black of it the only thing hiding the outline of her dick. Argyle is in shorts that make him seem ridiculously tall, and Heather is in a romper covered in rhinestones.

Then there’s Steve.

He’s dressed to match Robin in silver-sequined pants, trading the button-down for a loose tank top that shows off too much of his golden skin, freckles and moles like so many stars in the sky.

Eddie’s mouth waters as he makes his way over to him, drink in hand.

“Damn, sweetheart!” he says, eyes locked on Steve’s tits, needing to hold him by the sides and slip his thumbs in to tease his nipples.

Steve grips hush chin, tilts his gaze up until their eyes meet. “Thanks, babe.” He smiles into their kiss, uses his teeth a little.

Eddie offers him the drink, and Steve happily accepts, plucking out a cherry and popping it into his mouth. Another kiss, this one cherry-sweet, and Steve downs his drink, holding his extra cherry between his teeth for a long moment, grinning as he bites it in half.

“Why is it so hot when you do that?” Eddie rasps, his dress pants suddenly a little too tight.

Steve smiles, pulls half the cherry from between his lips, and presses it to Eddie’s mouth. “Shut up and dance with me, Munson,” he says, laughing, barely containing his delight.

He drags Eddie onto the dance floor, the alpha going willingly, hands easily finding their way onto Steve’s hips. Falling to the beat, into moving with one another is easy. So easy, Eddie nearly forgets his revelation from earlier.

And he’s distracted again by Steve’s chest.

“You okay there, Munson?” he teases, using a single finger to direct Eddie’s gaze back up to face him. “Keep your eyes on me.”

A purr rumbles through Eddie’s chest as he leans in close. “Why d’ya still call me Munson all the time, Stevie?” he murmurs, then kisses Steve’s ear.

“Like the way it sounds. I like everything about you, Eddie.” The words are soft and vulnerable, barely audible over the pulse of the music.

It makes Eddie brave enough to be vulnerable, too.

“How do you like the sound of Mrs. Munson? Or Ms.” He smiles. “Whichev-”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

“I like the sound of that a lot.”

[delirious-donna]

A Kiss But At What Cost? [Part Seven]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: The time calls for a movie night and one you’ll be sure to rope Kento into. A good old-fashioned slasher movie sounds just right, but how will the end of the night go once you’re all spooked out?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: SFW, fluff, two oblivious idiots, yet more emotions, bad communication, mentions of horror movies and tropes, if you can tell me what the movie at the end is you get a gold star

Part Six | Series Masterlist | Part Eight

Popcorn? Check. Cozy blanket? Acquired.

“Hm…” You hummed quietly, turning on the spot in the living room. The lights were set low, the thickest of the blankets from the basket in the corner ready for you to crawl beneath for your movie night, but something was missing.

A drink, of course.

Padding back into the kitchen, you bent your head to investigate the contents of the fridge, debating on a Diet Coke or a beer. The noise of someone clearing their throat made you jump, bumping your head into the door of the fridge in the action of whirling around.

“Ouch!”

Kento winced before quickly schooling his features into neutrality. You turned with a frown etched on your brow, and he couldn’t blame you for it this time. Moving forward, he stood by your side to reach inside and a grab out a bottle of beer, popping the top easily.

Your scowl deepened, more annoyed at the flutter in your stomach at his ease of opening the beer without even looking at the damn thing. “Aren’t you going to apologise?”

“Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t think you’d still be so jumpy this far into our little arrangement.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a quick sip, eyes moving to the ceiling which presented you with the open opportunity to watch whilst his throat worked to swallow the frothy liquid, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

A thought leapt from the recesses of your brain, and your pout turned into a wicked smile before he could blink. How would mr ‘stick-in-the-mud’ cope with a couple of scary movies? It would be beyond hilarious if he turned out to be a scaredy cat given his imposing stature and presence, and the chance to find out was too delicious to pass up.

“Got plans this evening?” you asked with an expression you hoped looked nonchalant. Before he could answer, you pulled out a can of Diet Coke and cracked open the ring pull with a low hiss.

“None to speak of. Why?”

Your hand linked through his arm with a wide grin, pulling him away from the kitchen to the cozy little nook you’d crafted for your movie spree. You gestured towards it with a theatrical “ta dah” and glanced up to meet eyes of hazel alight with confusion and a hint of intrigue, if you weren’t much mistaken.

“What’s this? You’ve made a… nest on my couch,” Kento guessed, scanning the bowl of popcorn and bar of unopened chocolate resting on the faraway arm. He wasn’t so stupid not to realise that this was clearly a movie night, but he was doing his damnedest not to think too much about your hand curled around his bicep. One wrong move and you might take that touch away, and he didn’t want that, not yet.

“Wow. Don’t tell me you didn’t watch movies with Karin growing up, because I know it’ll be a lie. That girl is more of a film buff than I am, no way you escaped that.”

Kento scoffed. “You’re correct. I did not escape, though there were many times I sorely wish I had. If I have to watch When Harry met Sally one more time, I might do something drastic,” he admitted with a laugh.

“Not a fan of romcoms, Nanami?”

“I didn’t say that, and it’s Kento, stop changing it back. There are a few that I can…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Tolerate, I guess.”

Your eyebrows rose in clear curiosity. Slipping your hand out of his arm, you rounded the couch and settled next to your snacks to pat the seat next to you in invitation. Kento swallowed, a wash of heat licking up both sides of his neck and he fought the urge to pull at the neck of his sweater.

“I don’t have any romcoms on the menu for tonight, sadly…” You added just to see his eyes narrow and his lips thin in displeasure. “Come join me, please? I’ll even share my popcorn.”

A moment passed where you simply stared at one another, your heart in your throat at the thought of being rejected, but it didn’t come to pass. Kento took another swig of beer and made his way to you, sinking into the couch with a sigh of resignation that didn’t sound genuine at all. You hid your smile behind the can in your hand, twisting to look at him and meeting determined eyes.

Kento crossed an ankle over his knee, settling against the cushions. “I’ll pass on the popcorn, too noisy,” he teased, smirking when you blew a raspberry in his direction. “So, if it’s not lovey-dovey nonsense, what are we watching?”

He should have taken the wide, almost twisted grin as a hint, but once again he was oblivious to your devious ways. What a fool he was. Except, in the long run, you were the one who would have something to worry about…

~

A piercing scream tore through the sound system, followed immediately by one of your own, although thankfully not as loud. You pulled the blanket to your face, covering your eyes from the gore feast on the screen. It didn’t help that you could hear Kento chuckling by your side. So much for the idea that he might be the one taking the starring role as scream queen… dammit.

The first movie had been a classic, one you had both seen before and it was nice to be able to laugh along with your handsome companion at the overused tropes featured in many of the slasher movies from the eighties and nineties. Groaning almost in sync when the lead female chose to run deeper into the house than take the open door that led outside and booing when the killer miraculously managed to traverse the same distance as the comic relief sidekick without even breaking into a light jog.

It gave you time to indulge in conversation as well as keeping pace with the plot. You shoved him playfully when he refused to indulge your curiosities as to which, in his words, lovey-dovey movies he enjoyed. Not even your best pleading puppy eyes could get him to relent, the curl of his lips so telling of his enjoyment at your frustration.

However, he did share some juicy tidbits about his sister that you were sure to tuck away and use to embarrass Karin at a later date. She more than deserved it given that other than one short and snappy text message, you hadn’t heard from her in all the time you had been staying here. Some friend. The bluster was all feigned when you examined it, and you refused to dig any deeper.

Karin and Kento were so different you would have never guessed they were related, yet you liked them for completely different reasons. You wondered if you would keep in touch once… no, it couldn’t be like that, and you knew it deep down. This was a temporary situation that would be forgotten soon enough, you lied to yourself with a long swallow of your drink. It wasn’t worth ruining the evening by moping. Deciding it was for the best, regardless of what your heart tried to yell, you forced the feelings into a box and refocused on the here and now.

It warmed your heart to watch as Kento slowly relaxed further, his limbs losing the tension from when he first joined you, an arm draped along the back of the couch and his beer balanced on his thigh, hand loose around the glass bottle dripping in condensation. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be, making you nearly choke on your drink several times over when he offered his bitingly sarcastic commentary on the situation on screen. At times you thought his ears even looked a little red, but you couldn’t be sure given the lack of lighting. If it was true, then it was adorable that he got enjoyment from your genuine reactions to his jokes.

With the second movie fast approaching the climax of the horror, you regretted the decision to ramp things up. Most of the movie you had spent tucked tightly beneath the blanket covering your lap, squeaking at every little jump scare and even more so when Kento moved unsuspectedly. All of it was ammunition to the laughter Kento levelled at your expense, and more than once you reached out to smack at his arm with him feigning noises of hurt when you knew very well it was the lightest of touches.

Oh, he was a menace alright.

Kento, not for the first time during your stay, felt like he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. He watched your bravado disappear in the face of a movie you weren’t familiar with, and tried not to think too deeply when he felt the desire to pull you into the side of his body. It wasn’t worth the headache. His beer was long finished, and his hands felt too empty, fingers twitching against his thigh and pinching at the stitched seam of the couch to distract himself from what he knew would be inappropriate thoughts. He would not sully this evening with his own selfish desires.

You shrieked once more when the villain popped out unexpectedly, however, this time you lunged sideways and buried your face into his arm that lay between you both. He nearly yelped himself, barely holding back the strangle of surprise when your nose rubbed into his bicep and your small fingers curled around his forearm. His heart rested in his throat, glancing down with wide eyes and almost missing when you spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Tell me when this bit is over.”

Tentatively, he lifted his arm and your hold tightened as if he were trying to shake you off. Kento murmured a gruff affirmation and refocused on the TV. You dared to lift your chin, blinking at his unwavering expression fixed straight ahead whilst he settled his arm around your shoulders and gently drew you closer. His jaw clenched, and you nearly backed away despite your heart hammering in your chest from the movie playing, but when his fingertips rubbed gently against your upper arm… it was game over.

You melted into his side, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne surreptitiously and smiling into the soft knit of his sweater at the lingering aroma of coffee that infused his clothes. Clearly, he was a man that ran hot given the output he was currently kicking out and the longer you remained in this position, the less you felt like the blanket was necessary. It was far from unpleasant, in fact, you longed to wrap yourself in his warmth. Who needed a blanket when you could have him instead?

Closing your eyes, you smiled indulgently, knowing it would be hidden from view. This was nice—more than nice—it felt right. Like you belonged here, and you should make up for lost time by refusing to move when he inevitably tried to pry you off.

The moment didn’t come.

At last, when Kento signalled that you could look again, he didn’t make any move to shove you back to your corner of the couch as you had assumed he would. No, instead, he slouched deeper into the seat and rested his cheek atop your head like a boyfriend or a lover might do. It was comfortable, welcoming after all that had transpired in such a short space of time and honestly, you wished you had the courage to fist the front of his sweater and drag him into the desperate kiss you longed to bestow on his lips.

The walls that both you and Kento had built around yourselves were beginning to crumble like sandcastles being washed away by an approaching tide. The water was unstoppable, or so it seemed and the air in the room felt charged with possibilities.

The credits rolled and neither of you made a move. Kento held himself back for fear of something he couldn’t define, and you lacked the courage to be the first to act after the incident in the bar. Two idiots, that’s what you amounted to, and it was endlessly frustrating.

“I guess it’s time for bed,” Kento said, straightening in his seat but still making no effort to untangle you from his chest.

Alarmed, you jerked upwards and shook your head violently. “Oh no no no. There is no way you go straight to bed after horror movies!”

“I don’t plan on staying awake all night if that’s what you’re insinuating,” he countered with a sharp arch of one eyebrow. Your hand remained flush on his thigh now that you weren’t moulded into his body, and he did his best not to notice.

“No,” you pouted, exhaling loudly through your nose. “We watch something funny then go to bed. And you have to stay with me because…”

“… because you’re scared.”

You smacked him dead centre in his chest, rolling your eyes when his chuckle deepened into a rich baritone belly laugh that made your legs tremble. Thank god you were sitting down. “Shuddup.”

There was a part of you that wanted to retreat into his warmth, to make yourself a home in the space beneath his arm and listen to the beat of his heart until you found yourself too tired to resist the pull of sleep, but that was asking rather a lot.

Not for the first time, you wondered if he could read your mind, or if your thoughts were simply so obviously written across your face. Kento lifted the remote with his right hand and waved you towards him with the left. There was something unreadable in his expression, a tightness around the eyes and chiselled jawline. Again, you wondered how much of this he wanted to participate in, but the allure of his offer was too tempting to miss out on.

You resumed your position, legs tucked up and your torso leaning into the strong support of a man you were falling for. Fuck… why did it have to be like this? Closing your eyes for a moment’s reprieve, you resolved to do something about it—anything—because living this way, with these feelings and desires was taking its toll.

“That one,” you piped up when Kento passed over a movie you knew inside out. You convinced yourself that a good laugh would solve all your immediate problems and wriggled into a more comfortable position. The other matter could wait until the morning.

“A fine choice,” he murmured more to himself than anything. A smile returned to his face when the familiar movie of an overzealous police officer deployed to the seemingly pristine British countryside for showing up the city force began to play on the screen.

An hour in and your delightful laughter had stopped. Kento felt the rhythm of your breathing deepen, a swivel of his eyes told him exactly why—you were fast asleep. He gazed at your sleeping face for longer than he realised, his neck stiffening from the awkward position but not caring for the dull ache. Your features were smooth, relaxed in a peaceful slumber. There was no sign of your trepidation following the scary movies and he smiled gratefully.

You were so pretty. The truth of those words cemented into his brain, and he doubted anything could dissuade him. He couldn’t remember a time when he had gazed longingly at a previous girlfriend or lover like he was right now. There was something different about you, and yet so right that he ached to admit it out loud. Ever since the woman in the museum had mistaken you for a couple, offering advice that seemed to be tailor made specifically for his worries, he couldn’t get the idea of opening up out of his head.

His fingers graced the apple of your cheek, stroking your skin delicately like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. Your face turned into the soft affection, a long comforting sigh exhaled through slightly parted lips and Kento fell even further. Why couldn’t he have met you under normal circumstances? A memory of your frantic flailing when he surprised you in his bathtub brought humour to his heart rather than the mortification of the day itself. It certainly made for an interesting story…

It took longer than it should for Kento to realise the movie had ended. Black velvet darkness decorated the quiet room, voyeuristic shadows clinging to the walls from the dark light of the blank television screen, still on but with nothing to display. The silent witnesses watched on whilst his heart beat faster and faster, head moving closer to your face until his lips brushed your forehead with heartfelt reverence.

The kiss was momentary, one singular frame in the grand scheme of his life, but to Kento, it felt like the defining moment. His old life, daily routine, the endlessly long hours at work, working out every morning simply to fit the aesthetic he believed to be the most suited to his lifestyle, it all seemed completely meaningless.

He thought of the books that lined the shelves of his office, most still unread. The places he dreamed of visiting—far flung countries with soft white sandy beaches, foreign cities with beautiful architecture to explore and even places closer to home that he never had time to venture to. How much of life was he missing out on? The food he could sample. The interests he could test out to see if any stuck, the people he could make friends with, the woman he could love…

Shit.

You were changing his entire world, and you had no fucking clue. He shouldn’t have kissed you. That realisation burned into him with vigour, the blazing inferno of his self-loathing at taking something that was not freely given, churned his stomach. Should he wake you and admit what he had done? No, it wasn’t fair to you.

Kento manoeuvred himself into a position to reach beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease into his arms and you didn’t even jostle at the movement. His eyes never left your face as you nuzzled into his chest, small fingers holding onto the fine threads of his sweater as if you were scared to lose your place, to lose your security. He wished he could be that for you, but he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough.

With the utmost care, he placed you into your bed, carefully unpicking your fingers and pressing the sheets into your palm as replacement before tucking them around you. Kento smiled when you murmured something unintelligible in your sleep, turning onto your side and burying your nose into your pillow with a gentle moan that spoke of nothing but comfort and peace. Despite kicking himself for the earlier kiss he had stolen without permission or consent, he found his nose and lips nestled in your hair once more. Again, the kiss was fleeting, and he stood to his full height and wished you a pleasant sleep under his breath before closing your door and disappearing behind his own.

He had a lot to think about, some decisions to make that could alter the course of his life and it was likely that not much sleep would come to him this night despite his earlier conviction that he wouldn’t be awake all night.

Sighing heavily, he scrubbed a palm down his weary face until he could catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the strain evident in his features.

“What do I do?”

[starryficsfinishwen]

✧!。◟[kinktober 2023] ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ — PGR & GI x reader [week 1]

I'm getting way too deep, I'm fucking into it

a.n. - I'm busy with midterms buT YOLO IM WRITING LMAO I just can't miss this event. I mean it's probably still October 7 somewhere hehe. updates on this might be jumpy, I am not sure if I am available all the time. TANKS and enjoy enjoy~

pairings - strike hawk [Chrome, Wanshi, Kamui, Camu]+ liyue [Zhongli, Baizhu] & sumeru [Tighnari] men x fem!reader (separate!)

word count(s) - mostly 400-1,000 words heuheue

kinktober masterlist

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW THEMES: desk sex, asphyxia (reader is wearing a collar), threesome (mmf), somnophilia, bondage, oral sex (cunnilingus), aphrodisiac, anal. Some sprinkles of degradation. Use of pet names (darling, little girl, good girl, dearest, dear) and degradation (slut). reader is implied virgin (zhongli, baizhu). sometimes bratty (tighnari). some dubcon (baizhu).

special mention: banner credits to @/rookthorneartistry, @/cafekitsune

! — Chrome: Glory [ desk sex ]

“Fuck,” the creak of the office desk is the response, a muffled whine spewing out of your lips, “you feel so good, Commandant.”

Messy but so goddamn good — a few words to describe your situation right now: paperwork, probably important, are under you but you couldn't care less, not when your beloved's cock is busy splitting your poor little pussy. His gloved hand is on your drooling mouth, desperate not to let any lewd noises be heard from the outside. Your legs are trembling, from the pressure and force Chrome had been putting since minutes ago, lazily hung on his shoulders. You can feel yourself gushing now, a frothy white crowning at the base, dripping onto the expensive wood, but when your hips flush against the captain's, you forget everything but Chrome and his name.

“Mmph-” you called out, tears escaping your eyes, “y-you feel so good, Ch-Chrome, more please, please.”

Quiet is a funny word, especially — especially — when the revered Strike Hawk captain Chrome is busy railing you on the desk of Mr. Smith.

How did this happen? You can't remember now. All you can remember is being invited to the Smit's estate, sitting prettily for Chrome as he does his father's paperwork, but now -

Chrome leaned down close to your shoulders, teeth grazing your clavicle. As the relentless pace in your pussy is hard, you felt his gloved hand rub your neglected clit, jolting you from the surge of pleasure, a louder moan from your lips. Chrome bites down on your neck, a strangled sigh escaped his own mouth.

“So naughty,” he whispered, gently licking the bite mark, “I told you to keep quiet. Do you want the maids to know that the Gray Raven Commandant is under me?”

That didn't help, blinding pleasure already fogging your brain. You can't help it, not when his cock is hitting all the right spots, his fingers rubbing slowly on your clit, your orgasm teetering dangerously close now.

“I wonder; what would be Father's reaction, hm? When his beloved son is fucking a human commandant on his own work table? While everyone is outside of this room?”

“C-Chrome-!” You cried out, and he groaned. “M-Mr. Smith will-”

“-Fuck, you're squeezing me so good.” Eyes closed, he leaned up until your foreheads touched. Stealing a quick kiss on your lips, a small smile graces Chrome's lips. “That's my commandant; I'll let you cum soon. Just...let me fuck you like this more.”

! — Kamui: Tenebrion & Camu: Crocotta [ asphyxiation + threesome ]

The collar was tight, but it felt good on your neck. No, it felt great — the pressure on your neck as dark gloves tugged on the chain, and Camu's hips harshly thrusted on your pussy.

“Hah, what a slut you are.” Camu groaned, feeling your pussy flutter around his big dick, “should've known that you like being treated like a dog, a fucking dog in heat, too.”

What an innocent tease you were, somehow turned into a dog. You moan at Camu's words, desperately grinding on his hips. Your legs shake, and your hands try to balance yourself on top of him, fingers holding onto his shoulders.

“C-Camu,” you slurred, “y-your d-dick feels so good.”

“I hope you haven't forgotten your safe word, darling,” feeling foreign hands cup your breasts, you whined at the cold pressure there.

“Fuck off, Kamui,” Camu growled, tugging on your chain (making you moan again), “I'm busy with her right now.”

“You should share her with me, Camu,” Sheepishly grinning, his fingers languidly playing with your perky nipples, his voice drops, “besides, it's not like she has one hole.”

“Isn't that right, commandant?” Kamui whispered, tongue licking below your ear, causing you to shiver.

You want to say a word, but you already felt something hard nudging at the entrance of your ass. Unconsciously complying with the man behind you, you leaned forward and closer to Camu's chest. When you felt Kamui's dick penetrate your asshole, a handful of wanton babbles left your lips, saliva dripping and onto Camu.

“Atta girl,” Kamui coons, before slapping your ass, “such a good girl.”

You felt so fucking full now — Kamui and Camu's cocks somehow filling you up to the brim, even more than you've ever felt your whole mortal life. You babbled their names now, hips grinding to wherever to chase your high.

“Kamui, Camu...please...fuck me more...”

“She's mine.” Camu scowled, “she's my fucktoy. Look how cockdrunk she is now.”

Kamui smiled, despite feeling the tightness of your ass, graciously taking the chain from Camu. Harshly, he tugged on your chain, your body weakly thrown onto his chest.

“Let's see whose name she'll be screaming after this.”

! — Wanshi: Hypnos [ somnophilia ]

There's something about sneaking into the commandant's room at night that interests him.

By him, it's Wanshi. Although you've both established that he's allowed to enter your room whenever he wants, especially now that you're sick (“I'm sick,” you told him once during your patrols, a sweet pout on your lips as you sniffled, “you should come and visit my room.”), it almost felt like a sin at this point.

He's by the edge of your bed, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. His pride may hate to admit it, but the way you're situated on the bed— sprawled out, breasts nearly spilling out of your tank top, legs wrapped tightly around a pillow — he can't help but think about something sinful.

What would your face look like under him? When are his hands playing with your breasts? Would your legs wrap around him like that when he's railing you?

The next thing he knew, he's sitting dangerously close to you. His pants feel awfully tight even. In the dark, he sees the outline of your chest better, the dip of your hips, and the sinful thoughts of somehow corrupting you are brighter than ever.

Slowly, Wanshi touched your breasts. Seeing as your nipples started to poke out, he gently massaged everywhere but there. You'd sometimes stir in your sleep, soft sounds from your lips, but Wanshi lives off the thrill;

Who knew you'd look so pretty with your guard down while he's touching you like this? Vulnerable. Sensitive. Pliant. Beautiful.

It doesn't take long before he ventures down to your nether regions. Constructs have heightened sense; Wanshi is no exception, and he could practically smell your arousal.

Dragging your shorts down, he unconsciously grinds his hard dick on the bed, as he sees some of your essence stick to your underwear. Prying your legs open, he felt like Pavlov's dog — your pussy dripping making him drool. Christmas might've come early now; without hesitation, he dips down to lick a long stripe over your slit. You stirred once more, a soft moan escaping your lips. He's relentless— kitten licks to your wet pussy, sucking on your bud. It could be driving you mad, but it's definitely making him hornier. Forget Christmas, he's the one coming soon.

Quickly unzipping his pants, he thrusted his hard cock swiftly into your aching hole. Both of you heaved a low moan, with Wanshi believing you must have woken up. But other than the tremble of your pussy, you were still sound asleep. Wanshi could feel his dick throb — this was too perfect.

He ruts his hips onto your sleeping figure, grabbing whatever skin he could reach. He could drown in this moment and regret nothing; as long as he felt your tight walls clamp on him like a vice, your face still contorting in pleasure even as you sleep through him fucking you.

Fucking into you greedily, somewhere in between, he heard you call out his name with a confused and doe-eyed look on your face. “Wanshi?”

It's too late to back down. Looking into your eyes as he grunted, a few seconds away from painting your walls white, “Good morning, Commandant. I'm just about to give you your medicine.”

! — Zhongli: Vago Mundo [ bondage + sensory deprivation ]

“Little girl,” your master coos, “You've been nothing but kind to me.”

With a butterfly kiss on your shoulder, Zhongli ties the last rope on your wrists above your head. You look at him, your master, blindingly trusting him as he steps back.

You are naked in front of him; tied wrist above your head, legs tied to the bedpost. Although shy, your willingness to please your master overtakes such behavior. Zhongli's smile never left his face. His fingers touched your chin, tipping it to meet his face.

“Mhm,” you curtly nodded, “my master takes care of me well. He's the one who is kind to me.”

“Say nothing more,” golden eyes glowed as a stray hand caressed your stomach, “After tonight, you will be mine forevermore.”

His voice only makes your tummy flutter a thousand butterflies. From his suit, he pulls out a red handkerchief, “what is your safe word again, little girl?”

“Red,” you inhaled sharply, as he started to cover your eyes with the handkerchief, “Master, will it...hurt?”

“Worry not, little one.” He kisses the shell of your ear once he's done tying the knot at the back of your head, “I will be sure to be gentle with you. If it gets overwhelming, use the safe word. Understood?”

Although blind, your trust in the man is incomparable. “Understood, master.”

“Good girl,” your mind tries to comprehend as lithe fingers start to trace from your shoulders to the dip of your chest, “let me see how much of a good girl you are for me.”

Tingles of fire in the wake of his touch. Your mind doesn't cooperate now, even as you feel his hand put a light pressure on your thighs.

“Pretty,” your master comments, inhaling your scent, “what a pliant little girl you are.”

You feel it, a long, slender finger brushing that part of you that you've never touched before. You gasped from his touch, yet unable to close your legs from the ropes he tied on you. “I-I'm sorry for being loud, master...”

“I would much rather have you be loud than be silent, dearest,” Zhongli's voice is a sultry comfort, loudly close enough that you felt the vibrations close to your throbbing pussy, “mm, archons, you are already drenched.”

“I-Is it bad, master?”

“No.” He said nothing more, only his fingers dipping experimentally and drawing slow, slow circles down there, “This is perfect.”

A surprised whine poured out of your lips, as you felt his finger slip inside your wet hole, fast and already filling the gap in between you. “M-Master Zhongli-!”

“Yes, dear, fuck,” it's the first time you've heard your master swear, that it made you throb down there, “mm, did that turn you on?”

“I-I-”

“Does your master being vulgar to his little girl turn you on?” You cried out as he started to thrust his slender fingers, “seems like you do.”

The flat of his palm rests and rubs on your clit, your tummy feeling so warm and shaking. “M-Master, i-it feels so...good...but why do I feel like s-something is coming out...!”

“That's alright, little girl,” his fingers assaulting your little pussy starts to be more ruthless, a finger slipping inside, “it means you're doing a good- fuck - job for me.”

A waterfall of moans escapes your lips, tears prickling your blindfolded eyes. “M-Master Zhongli...!”

When his fingers curved inside of you, they hit a particular soft spot that somehow made you see stars in the midst of your blindness. With a loud cry of his name, you crumbled in his fingers, something liquid squirting out of you. Zhongli fucks you through your first orgasm of the night, your squirt coating his drenched fingers, coaxing whatever you had left.

Heavy sighs and breathing filled the room. Your shaking figure, in the dimly lit room, and Zhongli thinks you're the prettiest he's ever seen in his entire lifetime.

“M-Master,”

“Good girl,” he coos, bringing his coated fingers to his mouth to taste your sweet essence, “I think you can take one more, hm?”

! — Baizhu: Beyond Mortality [ oral sex: cunnilingus ]

“Please open your legs,” said the timid doctor of Bubu Pharmacy, “I need to check what the problem is.”

Under the careful gaze of Baizhu, you shyly parted your legs. You were sitting on the patient bed of the back room of the pharmacy. You forgot to wear your underwear, seemingly noticeable as you were in a rush to your appointment with the doctor. Expecting a female doctor to attend to your needs, you were in for a surprise as the famed doctor himself was the one facing you instead.

His snake-like amber eyes carefully eyed your exposed cunt. It made you want to cover them, but his strong grip made you open your legs wider.

“Is...” you gulped, looking away as you felt his intense stare down there, “...is there a problem?”

“Hm,” it seems hard to decipher the emotions on his face. “It's quite complicated.”

Trying to take the awkwardness away, you coughed. Looking around, you somehow noticed the empty space on his shoulders, unaccustomed to the snake that always accompanied the doctor.

“Doctor Baizhu,” you spoke, voice cracking, “where is the little snake on your neck?”

“Ah, Changshang is not around yet.” He flashed a sweet smile to you, slightly calming your anxiety, “I let her sleep in for now. Worry not, fortunately your symptoms are fairly easy to fix.”

“Really?” You sighed in relief, somehow the mental counting of your expected expenses lessening, “can I ask what's it about?”

“However, I'd still like to be sure so I can give a proper diagnosis. May I...touch you?”

You nodded easily. Fairly easily, it's almost as if you were expecting so. Noticing your behavior, you shook your head and nodded slowly again. “I- um, of course, Doctor Baizhu.”

He dipped two of his fingers into a container close to him, a sticky, slime-like fluid coating his fingers. You stared at his ministration, almost as if in a trance: the way he lifted his hands, the two fingers mimicking a scissors. Slowly, they descended down to your core, and your heart skipped a beat as they lightly pressed onto your outside labia. Quickly taking your hand to suppress a sound, a muffled squeak instead made Baizhu laugh.

“My, that's cute. You don't need to hide your noises from me, dear,” he spoke softly, if he was aware that the two fingers rubbing your outside labia started, “Now, tell me: what happened and when did this happen?”

He seemed to know what he was doing. Trying to take off the distraction from down there, you try to recount what happened to you.

“Um...I was just walking around the harbor, I- uh, I saw a bunch of flowers...and ah, hah...I saw...”

The more you spoke, the more Baizhu's fingers were rubbing circles on your cunt. You try to close your legs, but Baizhu's grip was too strong.

“Dear, you were in the middle of talking,” his amber eyes were somehow entrancing you, that you never noticed you were lowering your hands to hold onto the hem of your skirt. “Please do not mind me; continue.”

“U-um...I saw,” looking away, you murmured, “you, Doctor Baizhu...”

“Mmm, and then?”

“I-I don't k-know...I started to feel all these, hah, things...l-like d-down there, I feel like I'm peeing...ah-”

You were cut off as you felt Baizhu's fingers graze your clit, a jolt of something good running through your body. A confused moan came out of your lips, embarrassment in the form of red cheeks evident as you noticed Baizhu smiling at you.

“I-I'm so sorry, Doctor! I didn't-”

“Please, darling,” he assured you with his free hand, the one on your cunt tapping happily on your nub, “don't apologize. Do not hide your voice from me, and don't feel embarrassed as well. This is just one of the ways that can help with the alleviation of your illness.”

His hand withdrew from you (a sense of disappointment scoured down there), “I think I know what this is. I have the medicine that you need. Would you like for me to administer it now?”

“Y-Yes!” You nodded, “please fix me...”

“I will. Now, will you please go on all fours?”

You followed his orders; awkward as it was, but Baizhu grabs your hips, pulling it closer to him, his hand pushing you gently onto the pillows.

“That's it, good girl.” You don't like, that praise somehow made your pussy throb, “I have an apparatus that can clean up your pussy. This may be overwhelming at first, but rest assured, you will feel better.”

You couldn't see what was happening, but you felt something long and sleek slip in between your puffy folds, causing you to moan out loud and grip the sheets. Not long after, something wet graces your sensitive nub, sucking it mercilessly.

Your jaw falls open, blinding pleasure wrecking your body into uncontrollable shaking. You could have lost yourself in it if it weren't for the grip Baizhu hand on your hips, probably enough to bruise you. But you didn't care; all you could feel was the delicious friction of something added more onto your gaping hole and your throbbing clit. Alas, it curved deep into you, a sensation that was foreign in your own innocent body.

“B-Baizhu!” you cried out, feeling something unravel on your stomach, “w-what-”

However, his answers fall deaf to your ears. You came all over the “apparatus”. Tears fall endlessly on your face, as you feel the apparatus diligently suck on your quivering hole, seemingly eager to clean it up. It felt like a long time before the shaking in your bones subsided, somehow overwhelmed with what happened earlier.

Gently guiding your hips to the bed, you heave long inhales, the world spinning from your vision.

“...ear? Dear? Are you alright?” Baizhu's voice brings you back to reality. Your eyes flutter open, still recounting the surge from earlier.

“D...doctor Baizhu?”

“Ah, I'm sorry. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes...” A dull pain paired with something leaking out from your pussy and into the sheets momentarily caused you to panic, but the assurance on Baizhu's face says otherwise. “I- is my treatment done...?”

“Yes, do not worry. You will start feeling better in no time. If you feel like that again, please do not hesitate to approach me so we can fix you up again.”

“A-alright, thank you so much, Doctor Baizhu...” You stood on wobbly legs, only to realize something on your stomach, “Although, what is this...?”

“Oh, that.” Baizhu wipes away the wetness on his chin, before looking at you with glinting amber eyes, “It's a medicine. It helps me know that you need help. If it glows, it's best you come here so I can fix you up.”

! — Tighnari: Verdant Strider [ aphrodisiacs ]

You never should have gone out on patrol.

Despite being a careful Forest Ranger, with years of experience carrying that title, you still get to be a victim of unfortunate circumstances. Sometimes, you trip over the spinocrocodiles on the lakes, or trip over large vines, or sometimes encounter a handful of Witherings all by yourself. It's all because of you and your poor excuse of mortal vision. Sometimes, you wished you were like Tighnari and his keen sense of smell and sight. But alas, you were human and not some hybrid.

But anyways, back to the problem at hand — or hands, because your body feels hot and aching all over, with the intense need to strip off and touch your now-wet pussy. Groaning and moaning as you crawled to the nearest hut, you desperately wished for some miracle to actually help you in this (unfortunate) situation.

But perhaps some archon took pity on you — the door of the hut opened even before you could knock. Plagued with an intense need, you try not to strip yourself now. The blinding yellow light caused your sight to disappear, before the outline of a familiar, pretty face and headwear shaped like a fox — wait.

“T-Tighna-”

“Y/N?” He called out, his usual hands devoid of gloves covering his nose, “I smelled you. What happened?”

You paid no mind to his use of words. Right now, his voice and himself were driving you to the point of madness. “Help,” you cried out, “I'm sorry.”

Quickly, he ushers you inside of his abode, locking it for good measure. You stumbled onto the floor, clumsily stripping out of your uniform and leaving you bare in your undershirt. You heard Tighnari call out your name, but you were too busy rolling on the rug.

“S-stop that,” he said, “what happened to you?”

“Ugh, hah, Tighnari...I feel hot all over...”

“Did you stumble on some poisonous plant?”

“No...” you slurred, a little bit of your rationality holding on to stop you from stripping off your pants, “I smelled some flowers...while on patrol...I didn't see...that they were aphrodisiacs...”

Attempting to open your eyes, you find worried verdant greens staring back at you. You've always liked Tighnari, but right now, the horny in your brain makes you want to strip him clean and make him cum-

“Help,” you cried out once more, “touch me, Tighnari, please.”

“I-”

The last of your rationality snaps. Pulling down your pants, along with your panties, you stare at the man as you start to rub your oversensitive cunt. You never broke your glance at him, even as you easily cum from your own touch.

“Tighnari, Tighnari,” you moaned his name, “need you now, want you to stuff me full of your dick, want to have you cum lots on me, please.”

Tighnari doesn't look away. Instead, he is entranced with the way your fingers dipped in and out of your drenched pussy. You see his tail puff out and somehow you remember - it's a telltale sign that he's eager.

“Mmfuck,” Tighnari cursed, trying to look away. But you were far too horny to react; raising your legs and opening them for him, you greedily chased your high as you abused your pussy.

“T-Tighnari,” you cried out his name as you orgasmed for the second time, “need you inside...”

“Don't regret this.” His vibrant green eyes turned dark in the light, lust clouding his vision as he stripped off his pants. It's so fucking hot, you admit, when he's like you, the last rationality stripping away.

Well, fucking your boss doesn't seem that bad, right?

Tighnari slipped in his hardened cock inside of you easily. You moaned out his name, feeling full as you felt his dick poke the deepest part of you. Roughly grabbing your hips, he easily manhandled you to the wall, your legs tightly wrapped around his waist.

“You just inhaled some aphrodisiacs and now you're acting like a slut.” He growled, speaking through gritted teeth. His thrusts on your pussy are driving you mad, that you unconsciously came over once more. “You probably inhaled that just so you can find an excuse to fuck me, isn't it?”

Euphoria and pleasure intertwine in your foggy mind, nails scratching his back. You whined as his dick hits that one specific spot, another orgasm clawing down there.

“What if I d-did, ah,” you bit back, but Tighnari saw through your play, mercilessly drilling onto that spot, “Ti-Tighnari-”

“No wonder you've been looking all doe-like to me. Should have known that you weren't so innocent, that you are just a slut wanting to be fucked by her own boss.”

You came from his words once more, pussy violently spasming over his cock. Tighnari seemed to follow after, feeling the rush of his seed coating your inside. Suddenly, you feel something else poking inside of you, before effortlessly slipping into you, aided by the mixture of your arousal.

“H-huh-”

“There's still aphrodisiacs in your system, no?” Tighnari ruts into you, a whine escaping your lips, “You triggered my rut, thanks to your influence. Now you'll have to suffer with me until it's over.”

please like, reblog, comment if you likey! please don't copy, plagiarize, or translate my work without my permission!

-ˋˏ starryficsfinishwen ˎˊ

[threadtalk]

Right in the middle of the 18th century, we have this absolutely frothy pink gown that screams springtime. Yellow bows? Sign me up!

If there is a timeless shape, I'm willing to bet it's this one. Though this doesn't have quite the volume of some of the dresses in this period, it still endures again in the 1830s and 1840s, the 1870s and 1880s, and then again in the 1950s. A fitted bodice, a 3/4 sleeve, and a flared skirt. Plus that gorgeous scoop neck.

This robe à la française was owned by Mrs. Maria Altenburg of Denmark. It then had some adventures of its own, showing up later in Victorian Era costume parties! So it's likely it's had alterations. Most dresses of this era have.

I love the floral spill and the ribbon details! Really marvelous on every level. I am obsessed.

Source: https://digitaltmuseum.no/021069530963/overkjole-med-skjort

[anoninlondon]

THOUGHTS ABOUT ACGAS SERIES 5 (that nobody asked for…)

First, I love the show. I love its feel, its atmosphere, its decency and respect towards people and animals alike. I love the actors and all those who contribute to give us such lovely 7 hours of joy every year. And I’m really happy that so many people enjoyed S5.

**I hope not to be a downer to those people**

I really want to be one of them. I started so positively, absolutely loving the warm feeling of the first 3 episodes. We had really great moments - James’s struggle and return, the emotional telegram moment, Audrey *wrenning* herself into a warden uniform (and Siegfried’s reaction to it), Mrs P being her wingwoman, Jenny looking outside the farm and Helen coming to terms with it, Jimmy(s) just being cute, Carmody in all shapes and forms, Tristan hugging people, the dogs (of course the dogs)… it’s really good to remember the nice bits 😊.

Sadly, once we got into episode 4, for me things started to go a bit downhill. The locked door antics were funny, but I found them funny in a clumsy way. It’s nice that Tris and Richard came to an accord, but it felt weak, not supported by an actual understanding of one another. The last 10 minutes of the ep were delicious, but a bit too little to sustain the whole thing. Still, I was hopeful. But going forward, I really struggled to find much substance, and I’m annoyed by that. Tris drinking and going out every night - apparently because he had a *good* war? From the show that gave us the intensity of Siegfried’s and Audrey’s traumas related to the WWI, it really felt weak and inconsistent. No mention of Edward (though I still hope it’s in a PBS cut). Audrey’s warden experience - not to mention the wonderful Jeremy Swift - was used just for some comic relief - this is the same character that gave us such a window into her emotional struggle last season. I could go on, but you get the idea. James and Helen’s story was first and last episode. They kind of disappeared in the middle, and while the last episode was brilliant for them, there was very little build up throughout that again, it felt inconsistent.

Also, I wasn’t hyped by the press highlighting the ship or annoyed by the insertion of Miss Grantley. If used well, it could have been brilliant, but it felt flat. We had Siegfried wearing his heart on his sleeve for ages (Sam and Anna’s performance at the end of the last series was a masterclass in things deeply felt and not said) and suddenly we have the last episode of the series in which they barely speak to one another, Siegfried’s pride hurt by Miss Grantley’s rebuff, Audrey holding the fort by being super housekeeper, each in their own “box”. The Farnon brothers’ walk was funny and superbly acted by Sam and Callum, but it didn’t give us anything new - I thought they were far beyond their squabbles, and their time together could have been put to better use.

I just think that it was a bit of a waste. A fun, light, frothy series ( and no, I didn’t want drama for drama’s sake) where the only resolved arc, for me, was Carmody’s. The other characters are still beautifully dangling without a resolution. They gave us great performances, tender moments, lighthearted laughs, but it kind of feels disconnected and childish. It wouldn’t have taken much (after all, they have given us so much for 4 and half years!) and yet.

I don’t know if the show and the writers are changing direction (I hope not) or there is something I missed (probably) or it’s simply a way to drag things along (mostly the ship, but not exclusively). I hope (eternal optimist) for a CS that will pick up all the threads left hanging and will put them beautifully together as in the past - just under the Christmas tree for us to unwrap.

[artyandink]

amoralism | twelve

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Chuck. That’s all it is.

Song Inspo: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé

SERIES MASTERLIST

bureaucratism

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t like other presidents. He didn’t have the gravitas of Roosevelt, the poise of Kennedy, or the eloquence of Obama. No, Chuck was more of a “deer-in-the-headlights meets caffeinated-squirrel” kind of guy. And if the public knew just how haphazardly he started his mornings, well…let’s just say the stock market might crash out of sheer panic.

Chuck’s mornings began in the most predictable way possible: with an alarm clock blaring at an ungodly hour. The digital numbers on the clock flashed 5:30 AM, casting an eerie red glow across the darkened room. The harsh sound of beeping echoed off the walls, loud enough to wake the dead—or at least the leader of the free world.

But Chuck was having none of it. Still deep in sleep, his hand shot out from under the covers, flailing around wildly until it made contact with the clock. After a few moments of blindly slapping the top of the clock, he managed to hit the snooze button, silencing the infernal beeping for a glorious nine minutes.

In the brief moment of silence that followed, Chuck’s body relaxed, sinking back into the mattress as he let out a contented sigh. But before he could drift back into unconsciousness, the alarm blared again, sending a fresh wave of panic through his half-asleep brain.

This time, Chuck groaned as he rolled over and opened his eyes, squinting at the blinding red numbers. With a resigned sigh, he reached over and turned off the alarm properly. There was no escaping it now—the day had officially begun.

Chuck sat up slowly, rubbing his bleary eyes as he tried to force his brain to wake up. It was a struggle every morning, as if his body was rebelling against the very idea of consciousness. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, squinting until the blurry room came into focus.

His bedroom was what you might expect for a president: luxurious, spacious, and impeccably clean. But for all its opulence, it still had Chuck’s personal touches scattered here and there. A stack of comic books sat precariously on the nightstand, a Captain America figurine stood guard on the dresser, and a half-eaten box of Twinkies was hidden in the drawer.

Sliding out of bed, Chuck shuffled his way to the bathroom, his feet dragging across the plush carpet. He flicked on the lights and winced at the sudden brightness, his eyes narrowing into slits as he blinked in the mirror.

The man staring back at him was disheveled, with a mop of bedhead and pillow creases etched into his cheek. His eyes were still puffy with sleep, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Not exactly presidential, but then again, it was still early.

“Morning, Mr. President,” Chuck mumbled to his reflection, offering himself a lazy salute before reaching for his toothbrush.

He squeezed an excessive amount of toothpaste onto the bristles—enough for two people, really—and started brushing. It was a vigorous process, more of a scrub-down than a clean-up, and the foam quickly built up in his mouth, turning into a frothy mess.

Chuck wasn’t one for subtlety, and his morning routine was no exception. As he brushed, he paced around the bathroom, checking his hair, inspecting his stubble, and occasionally pausing to make ridiculous faces in the mirror just to see how silly he could look.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, giving his reflection an exaggerated grin. His teeth were sparkling, if a little too brightly—perhaps he’d gone overboard with the toothpaste again.

Next came the shower, which, for Chuck, was a battle of wills. On the one hand, he loved the warmth and relaxation of a hot shower; on the other hand, he knew that once he stepped out, the cold reality of the day would hit him like a ton of bricks. But duty called, and so, with a dramatic sigh, he turned on the water and stepped in.

The shower was quick, efficient, and slightly chaotic, as Chuck managed to knock over every bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the shelf. By the time he was done, the floor was a slippery mess, and he nearly wiped out twice as he climbed out and grabbed a towel.

Wrapped in his fluffy robe—embroidered with “POTUS” on the back, a gift from some well-meaning advisor—Chuck made his way to the kitchen. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he rubbed it absentmindedly as he contemplated what to eat.

Chuck wasn’t much of a cook. In fact, his culinary skills were limited to microwaving, toasting, and, on particularly adventurous days, scrambling eggs. But today, he was in the mood for something special, something that would really set the tone for the day.

Cereal. But not just any cereal. Today was a Cap’n Crunch kind of day.

He rummaged through the pantry, pushing aside the healthier options—granola, oatmeal, something that looked suspiciously like cardboard—until he found the bright red box. With a grin, he grabbed it and poured himself a heaping bowl, the sugary scent wafting up to greet him.

As he reached for the milk, his phone rang, vibrating loudly on the counter. Chuck jumped, startled by the sudden noise, and nearly dropped the milk in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” came the chipper voice of his assistant, Becky. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up on your schedule today.”

Chuck’s stomach sank a little as he realized what was coming. The dreaded schedule rundown. He glanced longingly at his bowl of cereal, which was rapidly getting soggy, and sighed.

“Go ahead, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more awake than he felt.

“Well, first up, you have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs at 8:00 AM. They’ll be discussing the new defense budget and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Chuck interrupted, waving his free hand in the air as if she could see him. “Do we really have to start with that? Can’t we, I don’t know, ease into the day? Maybe with something less…defense-y?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Chuck could practically hear Becky rolling her eyes. “Mr. President, this is important. And besides, after that, you’ve got a briefing with the National Security Advisor, so—”

“Let me guess,” Chuck cut in again, his tone dry. “More defense stuff?”

“Pretty much,” Becky replied cheerfully. “But after that, you have a lunch meeting with the Senate Majority Leader. That should be a little less intense.”

Chuck groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Becky, remind me again why I signed up for this job?”

“Because you wanted to make a difference,” Becky replied without missing a beat. “And also because you were the only candidate left standing after that scandal involving the goats.”

Chuck grimaced at the memory. The less said about the Goat Incident, the better.

“Right,” he muttered, resigning himself to the day ahead. “Anything else?”

“Oh, just a quick note: the First Lady called and wanted to remind you about the charity gala tonight. Black tie, starts at 7:00 PM sharp.”

Chuck’s eyes widened in alarm. “The gala? That’s tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” Becky confirmed, clearly amused by his panic. “And don’t worry, I’ve already got your suit and tie picked out. Just make sure you show up on time.”

“Great, great,” Chuck said, his mind racing as he tried to remember the last time he’d even thought about the gala. “Anything else?”

“Just one more thing,” Becky said, her tone suddenly more serious. “The press has been asking a lot of questions about the incident at the summit last week. They’re looking for a statement from you, so you might want to be prepared.”

Chuck winced. The incident at the summit had been…well, let’s just say it hadn’t gone according to plan. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to focus on getting through the day.

“Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll handle it.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Becky replied, her voice brightening again. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Chuck hung up the phone and stared down at his now thoroughly soggy cereal. The day hadn’t even started, and he was already feeling overwhelmed. But there was no time to dwell on it—he had a country to run, after all.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, grimacing at the mushy texture. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, but it would have to do.

Once breakfast was out of the way, Chuck shuffled back to his bedroom, determined to at least look the part of a confident, capable president. He flung open the doors to his walk-in closet and surveyed his options. Row upon row of suits hung neatly on hangers, each one tailored to perfection and carefully labeled with the occasion it was meant for.

But despite the impressive selection, Chuck found himself stumped. Did he go for the classic navy blue? Or maybe the gray pinstripe? And what about the tie? Was it a power tie kind of day, or should he go for something more subdued?

As he pondered his options, his phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Becky: “Don’t forget the blue suit.

It’s the one I picked for you.”

Chuck sighed in relief. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone else make the decisions.

He grabbed the blue suit and laid it out on the bed, then turned his attention to the tie. After a few moments of deliberation, he opted for a simple red tie—a classic choice that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Getting dressed was an exercise in patience and coordination, two things Chuck wasn’t exactly known for. But after a few minutes of struggling with his tie and nearly tripping over his own feet, he managed to pull himself together.

He checked himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie one last time and smoothing down his hair. The man staring back at him looked every bit the president, even if he didn’t always feel like it.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. The day was waiting, and so was the rest of the world.

With a final deep breath, Chuck grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, ready to face whatever chaos awaited him. After all, if he could survive the morning, he could survive anything.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he braced for the day ahead.

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a president. In fact, he wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a fully functional adult. His mornings were chaotic, his days filled with barely organized mayhem, and his nights ended with the quiet terror of knowing he had to do it all over again. But if anyone knew how to navigate the unpredictable seas of Chuck’s life, it was his sister, Amara—who just so happened to also be the First Lady.

The sibling relationship was unconventional to say the least. While most First Ladies were the spouses of the President, Amara was Chuck’s older sister, the one who had always been there, guiding and, occasionally, strong-arming him through the rough patches of his life. Their bond was the foundation of Chuck’s presidency, and while the world saw her as the serene, supportive figure beside him, Chuck knew the truth: Amara was the real force to be reckoned with.

It was after one of his more frantic mornings—complete with cereal disasters and a narrowly avoided wardrobe malfunction—that Chuck found himself sitting in the Oval Office, trying to mentally prepare for the day ahead. His phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message from his assistant Becky: “Amara’s on her way over. She wants to talk.”

Chuck sighed. Amara’s talks were rarely just chats—they were more like interrogations wrapped in silk, pleasant enough on the surface, but always digging deeper, trying to unearth something Chuck would rather keep buried.

Not five minutes later, Amara swept into the room, her presence commanding and yet somehow soft, like a storm that wasn’t quite sure whether it wanted to wreak havoc or simply pass by. She was dressed in a chic, tailored suit, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her expression was as unreadable as ever.

“Chuck,” she said by way of greeting, her voice carrying that familiar mix of affection and exasperation that only a sister could muster. “We need to talk.”

Chuck offered her a smile, though it was a little strained around the edges. “Good morning to you too, Amara. What’s on the agenda today? Let me guess—another lecture about how I’m not taking things seriously enough?”

Amara didn’t return the smile. Instead, she crossed the room with purposeful strides, coming to stand directly in front of his desk. “This isn’t a joke, Chuck. We need to discuss your security.”

“Ah, here we go,” Chuck muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “I’m fine, Amara. The Secret Service is on top of things. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

But Amara wasn’t having any of it. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing as she studied her brother. “You were nearly killed in that suicide bombing last month, Chuck. And that wasn’t just a random attack—that was a targeted attempt on your life. You can’t just shrug it off like it’s no big deal.”

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the memory of the bombing still fresh in his mind despite his best efforts to bury it. It had been a routine event, a charity dinner at a downtown hotel, when all hell had broken loose. The blast had come out of nowhere, the force of it rattling his bones, shattering glass, and leaving a ringing in his ears that had taken days to fade. He’d been lucky—unbelievably so—but luck wasn’t something you could rely on forever.

But Chuck was nothing if not stubborn. “I’m not shrugging it off,” he insisted, though his tone was more defensive than confident. “But what do you want me to do, Amara? Hide away in a bunker? Cancel every public appearance? I’m the President, for crying out loud. I have to be out there, doing my job.”

Amara’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a steely determination in her eyes. “I’m not saying you should live in fear, Chuck. But you need to be smart about this. We can’t afford to take any more chances. The security detail might not be enough next time.”

Chuck sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I trust my team, Amara. They’re the best in the business. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

“I’m not questioning their abilities,” Amara replied, her voice gentler now. “But even the best teams can be outmaneuvered. You have enemies, Chuck—powerful ones. And they’re not going to stop just because you got lucky once. We need to be proactive.”

The seriousness of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Chuck was quiet, his usual bravado slipping away. He knew she was right, deep down. The attack had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and the thought of another attempt on his life was enough to make his stomach churn. But there was a part of him—a large part—that refused to live in fear, that clung to the idea that he could somehow carry on as if nothing had changed.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice subdued. “So what’s your plan? How do we ‘be proactive’ without turning me into a paranoid wreck?”

Amara took a seat across from him, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “For starters, we need to increase the security around your public appearances. That means more thorough checks, tighter protocols, and maybe scaling back some of the events that aren’t absolutely necessary.”

Chuck grimaced. “So you want me to cancel half my schedule? That’s not exactly going to look good, Amara. People will start asking questions.”

“And we’ll have answers ready,” she countered smoothly. “We’ll frame it as a temporary measure, just until we’re sure the threat level has decreased. But more than that, Chuck, you need to start taking your personal security more seriously. No more late-night strolls without protection, no more impromptu detours. You need to stick to the plan.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that last part. “You know me, Amara. Sticking to the plan isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Amara’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Then maybe it’s time you learned, little brother. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about the country, about the people who depend on you. You have a responsibility to stay safe—for them.”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew she was right—he’d known it from the moment the dust had settled after the bombing. But admitting that meant confronting a reality he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

For as long as he could remember, Chuck had always felt like he was in over his head, like he was playing a role he wasn’t quite cut out for. Becoming President had only magnified that feeling, amplifying his insecurities and fears until they sometimes felt insurmountable. And now, with the added threat of assassination hanging over his head, it was all too easy to let those fears take control.

But then he looked at Amara—calm, composed, and as unshakable as ever—and something inside him steadied. She believed in him, believed that he could do this, and that gave him the strength to keep going, to face the challenges head-on.

“Alright,” Chuck said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll do it your way. But I’m not going to live my life in a bubble, Amara. I need to be out there, doing my job. We just have to find a balance.”

Amara nodded, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “That’s all I’m asking, Chuck. Just be careful. You’ve got a lot of people counting on you, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

The sincerity in her words caught Chuck off guard, and for a moment, he was at a loss for how to respond. Despite their frequent clashes and differences, there was no denying the depth of their bond, and the thought of how much Amara had already done for him left him feeling both humbled and grateful.

“I know,” he said softly, meeting her gaze. “And I’m counting on you too, Amara. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Amara’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the stern First Lady persona melted away, revealing the caring sister underneath. “You’re stronger than you think, Chuck,” she said gently. “You’ve come this far, and you’re going to make it through this too. We just have to be smart about it.”

Chuck nodded, absorbing her words like a lifeline. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing into something more comfortable. Despite the gravity of their conversation, there was an underlying sense of unity, a shared understanding that they were in this together, no matter what.

Finally, Amara rose from her seat, smoothing down her suit as she prepared to leave. “I’ll talk to the security team about the new protocols,” she said, slipping back into her composed First Lady demeanor. “And I’ll have Becky coordinate with you on any changes to your schedule.”

“Thanks, Amara,” Chuck said, genuinely appreciative of her support. “I’ll try not to drive everyone too crazy with my…improvisations.”

Amara’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “Just try to keep the improvisations to a minimum, okay? The Secret Service would appreciate it.”

Chuck chuckled, the tension in his chest easing a little. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

As Amara turned to leave, Chuck called out to her one last time. “Hey

, Amara?”

She paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Thanks,” he said simply, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. “For everything.”

Amara’s expression softened once more, and she gave him a small, genuine smile. “Anytime, little brother.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Chuck alone in his office, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself for the day ahead. The challenges were mounting, the threats looming larger than ever, but with Amara by his side, Chuck felt a little more equipped to face them.

He still wasn’t sure how he was going to navigate the turbulent waters of his presidency, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to do it alone. And with Amara’s guidance, maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to steer the ship in the right direction.

Lunch in the White House was supposed to be a grand affair, or at least that’s what President Chuck Shurley had imagined before he actually became the President. He’d pictured long tables filled with dignitaries, crystal glasses clinking, and silver platters overflowing with food. Instead, most days it was just him, a small table set up in one of the many dining rooms, and a staff member awkwardly hovering nearby in case he needed something.

Today was one of those days.

Chuck sat at a round table in a private dining room just off the Oval Office. The room was ornate, with heavy drapes, thick carpets, and enough gold trim to make a pharaoh blush. But instead of feeling like the leader of the free world, Chuck felt a little like a kid playing dress-up in his dad’s suit.

He glanced at the table, where his lunch had just been placed: a modestly-sized plate with a sandwich—turkey on rye, a bowl of soup that he couldn’t quite identify, and a small side salad that looked more decorative than edible. Next to it was a glass of water and a lone apple, shining under the lights as if it were some forbidden fruit that had found its way onto his tray by mistake.

“Well, this is…something,” Chuck muttered to himself as he picked up the sandwich. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it might suddenly spring to life and start talking. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about lunch at the White House.”

He took a tentative bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly as he let his thoughts drift. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t particularly good either. The turkey was a little dry, the bread a little too chewy, and the lettuce a bit too wilted. It was the kind of meal that wouldn’t be out of place in a hospital cafeteria, which only added to the surreal feeling that had been following him around since the day he’d been sworn in.

“Could be worse,” Chuck mused, trying to look on the bright side. “At least it’s not another one of those fancy dinners where I have to pretend to know what all the forks are for.”

He chuckled to himself, taking another bite as he glanced around the room. The walls were adorned with portraits of past presidents, all of them looking stern and dignified, as if they were silently judging his every move. Chuck could practically hear them muttering among themselves, comparing notes on his performance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said aloud, addressing the silent audience of former leaders. “I’m not exactly a Lincoln or a Roosevelt. But hey, I’m trying, okay?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was talking to the walls—maybe it was the isolation of the job, or maybe it was just that he’d always had a habit of rambling when he was nervous. Whatever the reason, it made the room feel a little less empty, so he kept going.

“Anyway, I bet you guys had some pretty weird lunches too, right? I mean, Harding probably had to deal with some Prohibition-era weirdness, and I bet Nixon had more than a few awkward meals.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “Come to think of it, Kennedy probably had a great time with his meals. That guy could charm anyone.”

Chuck’s mind wandered as he stared at his plate, which was quickly becoming less appealing with every bite. The soup, which he’d been avoiding, sat there like a murky mystery, daring him to try it. He wasn’t sure what kind it was—potato? Leek? Something else entirely?—and he wasn’t particularly eager to find out.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the bowl. He hesitated for a moment, then brought it to his mouth.

The taste was…bland. Not bad, just not memorable. If the soup had a personality, it would be the kind of person who never took risks, always played it safe, and probably collected stamps as a hobby.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Chuck decided, pushing the bowl away and focusing on the salad instead. It was small, more garnish than a real side, with a few sad-looking leaves of lettuce, a couple of cherry tomatoes, and a drizzle of what was probably supposed to be vinaigrette. He speared a tomato with his fork, popping it into his mouth. It burst with a sour tang that made him wince.

“Who knew a tomato could taste that aggressive?” he muttered to himself.

Chuck pushed the salad aside, feeling like he’d done his duty by at least trying everything on the plate. The apple, however, remained untouched. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand as if it might reveal some hidden secret. The fruit was pristine, almost too perfect—no bruises, no blemishes, just an unnaturally glossy surface that practically screamed “processed.”

He rolled it around in his hand, thinking about all the bizarre twists and turns his life had taken to get him to this point. Who would have guessed that Chuck Shirley, of all people, would end up here, in the White House, holding a waxy apple and trying to pretend he knew what he was doing?

“I wonder if Washington ever had to deal with this,” he said to no one in particular, imagining the first president sitting in a similar room, dealing with the mundane problems of running a country. Somehow, he doubted it. Washington had probably had bigger things on his plate—like, say, founding a nation.

Chuck shook his head, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “Well, at least I’ve got the easy part, right? Just keep the country running, avoid starting any wars, and try not to choke on a lousy apple.”

He set the fruit back down, deciding that he wasn’t quite ready to tackle it yet. Maybe later, when he had a bit more time to contemplate life’s mysteries.

His phone buzzed on the table, and Chuck glanced at it, seeing a text from his assistant Becky: “Meeting in 15. You ready?”

Chuck sighed, the brief respite of lunch already coming to an end. He quickly typed back, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” and sent the message, knowing that he was never really ready for these things. But that was the job, wasn’t it? Always moving forward, always dealing with the next crisis, whether he was ready or not.

With one last glance at the half-eaten sandwich, Chuck pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said to the room, grabbing his water glass and taking a long drink. He could hear the faint sounds of activity outside the door—staff moving about, phones ringing, the constant hum of a place that never really stopped.

As he walked to the door, he gave one final look around the room, as if hoping to find some last bit of wisdom hidden among the portraits or in the shadows of the ornate decor. But there was nothing—just the quiet, persistent sense that he was a little out of his depth, that he was still playing catch-up in a game that had started long before he’d ever even known he’d be a part of it.

Chuck squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as he reached for the door handle. “Alright, time to get back to work,” he told himself, his voice a little more confident now, a little more certain. After all, he might not always feel like he was cut out for this job, but he was here, and he was doing it. And that had to count for something.

As he stepped out of the dining room and into the bustling hallway, he couldn’t help but glance back at the table one last time, where the apple still sat, untouched. It almost seemed to mock him, a reminder of the little things that always seemed to slip through the cracks, the tiny details that no one else ever noticed but that somehow always seemed to matter.

Chuck gave it a small, rueful smile before turning away for good, leaving the room behind as he headed off to tackle the rest of his day. There would be more meetings, more decisions to make, more crises to manage—but at least he’d have a story to tell the next time someone asked him what lunch in the White House was really like. And who knows? Maybe he’d finally get around to eating that apple.

Chuck Shurley sat at his massive oak desk, drumming his fingers against the polished wood. His schedule for the day was a neat, orderly list, meticulously prepared by his assistant, Becky. Meetings, briefings, a photo op, lunch (which he’d probably end up eating alone again)—it was all just so predictable. Too predictable. For a man who once wrote best-selling books full of excitement, danger, and drama, the reality of the presidency was...well, it was a little boring.

He sighed, glancing out the window at the meticulously manicured White House lawn. The groundskeepers were out there, trimming hedges with the same precision they brought every day. Everything was perfect, nothing was out of place. Which, if he was being honest, was exactly the problem.

The intercom on his desk crackled to life. “Mr. President?” Becky’s voice was bright and cheery, as it always was. Too bright, too cheery for someone who was about to bring him yet another stack of dull briefing papers.

Chuck leaned forward and pressed the button to respond. “Yeah, Becky?”

“Your ten o’clock is in fifteen minutes,” she said, her voice tinged with the kind of energy that suggested she’d already had three cups of coffee this morning. “Should I bring in the briefing materials?”

Chuck sighed again. “Sure, bring them in.”

A moment later, Becky bustled into the room, a thick folder of papers clutched in her arms. She was wearing her usual office attire—an overly colorful blouse and a skirt that might have been fashionable in the nineties but was now just…retro. Her enthusiasm was as bright as her wardrobe, and it was infectious, even if Chuck wasn’t quite in the mood for it.

“Here you go, Mr. President,” she said, placing the folder in front of him with a flourish. “All the details for your meeting with the Joint Chiefs. I color-coded the important points!”

Chuck blinked at the folder. Of course she’d color-coded it. She always did. “Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. But as she stepped back, ready to leave him to his reading, he couldn’t stop himself. “Becky, wait a second.”

She turned back to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yes, Mr. President?”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, searching for the right words. “Do you ever feel like things are just...too calm around here?”

Becky tilted her head, confused. “Calm, sir?”

“Yeah, you know, like everything’s just...routine. Predictable.” He gestured to the folder. “I mean, look at this. Meetings, briefings, photo ops. It’s all the same, day in and day out. Where’s the excitement?”

Becky blinked, clearly trying to process what he was saying. “Um...you want more excitement, sir?”

Chuck nodded emphatically. “Yes! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the country isn’t in chaos or anything, but it’s like...there’s nothing happening! Everything’s under control, and I’m just...here. Sitting in meetings, signing papers. There’s no adventure.”

Becky chewed on her lip, thinking hard. “Well, sir, I think it’s good that things are under control. It means you’re doing a great job as President! No crises to deal with, no wars to fight—just smooth sailing.”

Chuck frowned. “But that’s just it! Smooth sailing is boring. I used to write stories, Becky. Stories full of action and drama. Now look at me—I’m the most powerful man in the world, and the most exciting thing I do all day is pick out a tie!”

Becky furrowed her brow. “I...I guess I never thought about it like that. But, Mr. President, we’re running a country here. It’s supposed to be stable. Exciting is usually bad in politics, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Chuck conceded, “but still...it feels like I’m stuck in a loop. And it’s not just the job—look at my lunch! I had the same thing three days in a row last week. There’s got to be more to being President than this.”

Becky’s face brightened suddenly, as if she’d had a brilliant idea. “What if we mixed things up a bit? I could schedule some more interesting meetings for you, or maybe plan a surprise event or two?”

Chuck sat up a little straighter, intrigued. “Go on…”

“Well,” Becky continued, warming to the idea, “we could set up a meeting with some, uh, more unconventional figures. Like...like artists or writers or inventors! People with big ideas, who aren’t just talking about policy all the time.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking! That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for. Something different, something that makes me feel alive again!”

Becky was getting excited now, too. “Or what if we organized a surprise visit somewhere? Like a school, or a hospital—or maybe even a local diner? Something that’s not on the schedule, where you can just...I don’t know, interact with regular people. Get out of this bubble.”

Chuck smiled for the first time that morning, a real smile. “I like it. Let’s do that. Let’s shake things up a little.”

Becky beamed, pleased that she’d hit on something that made him happy. “Great! I’ll get to work on it right away, sir. This afternoon, maybe we could—”

“Wait,” Chuck interrupted, holding up a hand. “There’s something else.”

Becky paused, mid-thought. “Yes?”

Chuck leaned forward, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a state secret. “I want you to plan something big. Something no one expects.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “Big? Like...how big?”

Chuck grinned mischievously. “Big enough to get people talking. Something that’ll shake up this place and get everyone out of their comfort zones.”

Becky hesitated, clearly unsure of what he meant. “Are we talking about a policy announcement, or...?”

Chuck waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean something more... fun. Something that shows I’m not just a boring old politician.”

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[violettduchess]

A/N: This is my contribution to @cy-inky's One Week Challenge!

Prompt: "Don't smile at me like that", Silvio Ricci, Pirate AU

And yes I agree with @nightghoul381 that the hardest part of this challenge is the 500 word limit 😆

WC: 500 exactly baby

It’s the smell that hits you first, a perfume of musky bodies and the warm scent of stew bubbling on the hearth. You step inside the dockside inn, the sound of your Cavalier boots on the wooden floor growing louder as conversation shifts from a flood to a slow drip. Eyes widen over mugs of frothy ale, spoons pause halfway to mouths. Some patrons sink further into their worn booths, gazes averted. Others stare openly with sharp, gleaming interest. But they all watch as you make your way towards the bar and the tall man sitting at the far end of it. Your chains of gold make as much noise as his do. 

He glances over his shoulder as you approach and you catch the surprised gleam in his sea-blue eyes, like a shiny coin glinting in sunlight. But he turns away, lifting the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing and feigning a nonchalance you know in your bones he doesn’t feel.

“Thought you never wanted to see me again,” he mutters, a quiet snarl in his voice. 

“Can we talk somewhere…..private, Captain?” You have no time to waste.

Silvio knows you well enough to hear the steel in your voice, as sharp as the rapier you wear at your hip. Still, he draws out his last sip of whiskey just to annoy you before setting his empty glass down on the bar with a loud thunk.

He motions for you to follow him, away from the whispering voices, up the creaky wooden steps to the room he's renting. Closing the door behind you, your gaze is immediately seized by his and memories roll through you like sudden waves: 

-your sword at his throat and his slow, fearless smile

-the deck of your ship, an endless sky full of stars

-his golden chains against your bare skin, your hands mapping his lean body

-the fierce fighting between two stubborn souls, two captains of two ships with two very different ideas of what freedom means, you think love, he thinks independence

-your last meeting: a smashed tumbler, you damning him to the salty depths....Silvio walking away without a backwards glance 

“What’s got ya approachin’ a man you said you wanted dead?”

You draw a deep breath. “I’ve found it. Obsidian’s Map.”

The words need a moment to sink in. The treasure map of Obsidian was always considered a myth. But you both believed differently.

And now, you have it. 

“Where’s it say to go?” His words are edged with interest and eagerness.

You run a hand over your frock coat. This is the part you’ve been dreading.

“Alexandrite.” Your jaw clenches. “Don’t smile at me like that.”

He keeps smiling, smug and beautiful and you are doomed.

“You need my ship.”

It pains you to nod but you do.

He steps towards you, a thumb enticingly brushing your chin, dredging up feelings that were never really drowned, no matter how much you drank.

“Seems like you gotta convince me……Captain.”

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @bubblexly

[p-redux]

Waking up to the Team sending me tons of DMs and Asks of Caitriona Balfe and her husband, Tony McGill, walking, holding hands yesterday in London! This makes me so happy! ❤️😍

I'm sure Extreme Shippers are having a fit and already dissecting the pic and being frothy about it. But the SANE part of the fandom aka us, is smiling from ear to ear. I literally GASPED when I saw it, and then broke out into a huge grin. 😃

Cait looks beautiful, loving the blonde hair on her, and Mr. McGill is looking verra dashing, the grey in his hair suits him.

Every time what I told the fandom 9 YEARS ago--that Cait and Tony were a couple--continues to be proven true, it makes me really, really happy.

Any Shippers or haters decide to live dangerously today and leave any hate comments, your comment will be deleted, and you will be immediately blocked. This is your only warning.

The rest of us--let's celebrate REAL LOVE. 🍾 ❤️ Cait's had her hot Scot this whole time--his name is Anthony (Tony) Gerard McGill. Hip, hip, hooray! ����💞💖💘 #tait #mrandmrsmcgill #themcgills #mrsmcgill

[milfygerard]

it feels a little callous but i cant help but find this whole brittany mahomes thing kind of extremely funny because like. Ok so taylor has very valid reason to not speak out on this upcoming election at all considering she just narrowly avoided a terrorist attack from a different far right extremist group and america has guns and a decent population of people who thought shed use the superbowl to brainwash people into getting gay biden vaccines and im positive many of those people were the cops who would be in charge of investigating that terrorist threat but ALSO none of this wouldve happened if she didnt feel a deep need to be liked and so felt compelled to befriend her boyfriends coworkers wife except her boyfriend is a linebacktightendwhatever for the nfl so of course his coworkers wife (as well as a number of his coworkers) is a conservative white lady who obviously voted trump on the dl and so are most of her friends folding taylor into a circle that even at her most politically mum she never wanted to be involved in. Taylor swift is also of course a known coward who took 10 years and a movie to even just declare that shes a democrat which she obviously was and also obviously hid for marketing reasons (which was heavily encouraged by her team and her dad who is in her team) while taking advantage of the 2015 aesthetic pop politics to say that she likes gay people and respects women, which left a bad taste in peoples mouths once popular politics left its frothy naiivete behind in 2016 and she fell off the face of the earth in a valiant effort to not kill herself which allowed for the co-opting of her extremely white image from the growing reactionary movement that she eventually had to do way more work to cut down bc she didnt nip it in the bud fast enough which has left a long standing bad taste in peoples mouths and a negative association in their minds

but anyway this all leads back to the bizarre mean girl politics of 78 year old high schooler donald trump whose still mad that taylor called him a fascist because i guess he liked her music and who has spent the last few months trying to tie himself to her because she is currently God of the Monoculture and any mention of her brings attention which is mr celebrity apprentices only desire and the reason he even ran for president but now HIS star is falling as the republican party has finally found a good excuse to kick him to the curb because they have a far less embarassing woman who is popular enough that you can publicly support her and only leftists will be disgusted but fascist enough to work directly with you to continue funding and supporting the brutal racist border policies we hold with mexico and the insanse christian zionist genocide happening in palestine and definitely wont do anything to stop the transphobia culture war that you have rolling which will keep you in legislative and representative power for as long as you want BUT i digress. donald trump found out probably from understandably angry swifties that some WAG who liked posts supporting him is ALSO publicly associated with taylor swift and is considered a friend in her circles and so the DAY BEFORE hr boyfriends first game where she generally sits in the WAG group with families and partners including her new bestie brittany he makes a very public post announcing how he just SOOO APPRECIATES brittany mahomes and her PUBLIC SUPPORT and how its SO IMPORTANT TO HIM which sets a trap specifically made to torture taylor swift of choosing between publicly rejecting and admonishing brittany mahomes and her support which will not just piss off brittany and patrick burning a personal AND professional bridge, but also a large chunk of the extremely conservative NFL and could potentially have a negative impact on travis' career going forward considering how petty sports drama can be OR she can say nothing and trigger headline after headline of TAYLOR SWIFT FRIENDS WITHWOMAN PUBLICLY THANKED BY DONALD TRUMP FOR SUPPORT which isnt only a pr nightmare but also gets trump his one actual desire which is being paid attention to and discussed OR she can go to the game but show in some way that she endorses Harris/Walz which will cause a similar shitstorm but in this one the likeliness of major conspiracy thoeries and terrorist threats and plots based on those theories rises exponentially less than a month after the last terrorist plot (discussed earlier in the post) that led her to cancel a 4 show stay that I imagine wasnt great for her anxiety and paranoia

and the funniest part is this is 10000% entirely her fault for failing to pick a side on the public about politics vs just a singer and artist debate and constantly going back and forth as her morals, her business instincts, her cowardice, and her self conscious need to be liked all go to war with each other because she just had to be friends with her boyfriends coworkers wife without ever assuming that this wildly wealthy white woman may possibly be a conservative because all the wildly wealthy white women she hangs out with are DEMOCRATS! or at least PRETEND to be! and THIS is why you dont date guys who work in the NFL!

[lazzarella]

Wandee Goodday continues to be the frothy sweet rom-com I hoped it would be! Only two eps in, but I'm loving every minute. Anyway, I have more notes that are probably interesting to only me but I'm posting them anyway!

- The pixelated/censored parts crack me up

- Why is Dee asking if he's tasty so cute to me?

- Aww. Yak wanted to see Dee again!

- Did I mention I love the theme song???

- "Our son" LMAO I love Cher <3

- "If anything bad happened to you, I could arrange your funeral" Kao and Dee are such realistic BFFs haha

- Yak excited about the possibility of seeing Dee again when his brother mentioned the appointment was so cute :3

- Ter is so manipulative >:(

- Yak is such a softie OMG! Watching the conversation with Dee and Ter?? Going to touch Dee's hand and then stopping himself? Oh, he's going to catch feelings so hard (lbr, he's already caught feelings)

- Aaaaand he's dressed as a cow!

- Dee having the Ice Bear (I think?) plush is so cute to me! Also, that bear's expression is perfect for the things he's seen lol :\

- Oh no! Dee is too precious and naive up in da club (I... I don't know why I wrote that like that. I'm truly sorry!)

- Yak to the rescue! Biff! Bam! Pow!

- Also WTF at those two guys??? That got real dark real quick

- wasted!Dee really likes nestling against Yak's chest and who can blame him?

- Seriously, though, Dee must feel so safe with Yak because the minute he clocked it was him through his hazy drunk vision he just collapsed against him

- Ahhhhhh! 'Don't go!' MY HEART!!!!!

- Yak, a boxer who knows how to keep his balance, easily pulled flat onto his back by Dee! Dee really didn't want him to go! That whole scene has my whole everything and the way Yak held Dee was so tender and precious ;__;

- And he made him breakfast??? Marry this man already!

- grandma booped Dee's nose! That nose needs to be booped

- (I love grandma already)

- Awww! Dee watching Yak's fight! Definitely just a one night stand, right?

- Yak just wandering around after Taem cancelled on him was so cute somehow. Now it's Dr Dee's turn to come to the rescue! (Something about their exchanged looks when Yak said he doesn't know where he wants to go really got me???)

- Ice Bear got smooshed between them again lol

- Wahhhhh! Yak being all 'oh, I forgot, I'm just a one night stand' D:

- that whole scene of them watching the movie and then hooking up again and then discussing the FWBs sitch was just delicious

- Mr Yoryak! Champion boxer and master of disguise!

- 'I've come to clean ze pool... I mean the fridge!' (not sure if anyone but Australians of a certain vintage will get that one lol)

- Oh, he REALLY wants to kiss Dee!

- Oh, Dee REALLY wants to kiss Yak too O_O

- THE NECKLACE! He already gave him his necklace!!! AND HE KISSED IT!!!!! My heart is not made of strong enough stuff for this

- Love the way they're sitting on the bed—something about their posture and pose is just...I don't know! Just love it! 10/10 again

- *hits play on part one again as soon as part four ends*

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Lostcauses Fic: A Good Man

A small side story to The Permanence of the Young Men. This is my 100th Eruri fic and it's a gift to the fandom for Levi's Birthday ♡

Falco is standing by the sink washing dishes in the neat kitchen that overlooks the small garden at the back of the house. It’s a bright spring day and the cherry trees, so ubiquitous in Hizuru, are swathed in frothy pink blossom that dances in the gentle breeze. Falco likes coming here, to the little house on the square. It’s quiet and peaceful, a world away from the noisy chaotic home he shares with Gabi and the kids a couple of streets over. He wouldn’t change it for the world, but he enjoys the quiet respite of Mr Levi’s house.

Pieck had come to visit earlier in the day, recently returned from the latest delegation to Paradis, bringing news of the diplomatic negotiations and undiplomatic gossip. Much as he enjoys her visits, Levi is always exhausted afterwards. He tires easily these days, especially after time spent in company. After she left, Falco had made Levi a fresh cup of tea, tucked a blanket around his knees and left him to read the newspapers that Pieck had brought from the island.

Falco’s quiet reverie by the kitchen sink is interrupted by the crash of falling china from the room next door. Hands flecked with soapsuds, he rushes through to the parlour, where he finds Levi grey faced and clutching his chest. The blanket is crumpled on the floor, tea cup shattered at his feet in a pool of spilled tea. Crumpled in the Levi’s fist is a copy of the Eldian Herald.

“Mr Levi!” Falco drops to his knees in front of his chair, heedless of the puddle of tea soaking into his trousers. “Are you all right, Mr Levi?”

He’s struggling to breathe, breath rattling and wheezing in his scarred lungs, and when he looks up, his face is grey, his one good eye glassy and unfocused. Falco knows he’s not seeing him. He’s gone; lost in an endless nightmare. He gets like this sometimes, they all do. There’s no escaping the war and its traumatic aftermath.

“You just wait there Mr Levi, don’t worry, I’ll get your pills.”

He dashes to the bathroom and extracts one of the many bottles of pills from the medicine cabinet, collecting a glass of water on route.

Back in the living room, Levi’s breath is still rasping in his throat, but Falco is able to slip the pill into his mouth and coax him to drink.

Falco eases the newspaper from his fist, sets it aside, and sits beside the older man, holding his scarred hand until the awful attack passes.

Once his breathing has eased, Falco helps him to his bed. He grumbles irritably as Falco helps him change into his neatly pressed pyjamas, before tucking him under the covers. He’s breathing more easily now and his eye has lost that terrible vacant stare. He just looks old and terribly tired.

“It’s all right Mr Levi," Falco attempts to reassure him. “Just rest, Ms Peick’s exhausted you. Sleep until morning, you’ll feel better then.” He draws the blinds and quietly closes the door. Though it’s barely late afternoon, he knows that the sedative effect of the medication will ensure Levi sleeps until well after dawn.

Falco goes back to the parlour to clean up the mess, carefully picking up the larger pieces of broken china then sweeping up the tiny shards. It’s a shame, it was one of Levi’s favourite cups. It was a plain old thing, much coarser than the fine Hizurun porcelain Levi has quite a collection of, but it was his favourite nevertheless. The cup had a small winged crest stamped on the bottom, and Falco suspects it may have come from Paradis originally. It’s broken beyond repair now, so Falco sweeps the pieces into the bin, then fetches the mop to clean up the spilled tea. The blanket is soaked, so he carries it through to the laundry, before returning to straighten out the rest of the room.

Picking up the crumpled copy of the Eldian Herald, Falco attempts to smooth out the creases. The front page is dominated by a picture of a statue of a young man with his arms outstretched. It's not a very good likeness, but Falco knows it’s supposed to represent Eren Yeager. He’s never seen a copy of the Eldian Herald that doesn’t have a picture of Eren Yeager on the front page. The headline trumpets “20 Glorious Years of Freedom”. Beneath, it promises a “full photo spread from the Eldian Nation’s biggest Freedom Day celebrations.” Falco flicks through the newspaper and finds images of massed ranks of marching soldiers with their characteristic helmets and rifles, surrounded by crowds of cheering people. There are photographs of various dignitaries Falco doesn’t recognise and several of the Queen standing beside her daughter, the Princess Ymir. Falco guesses she’s supposed to look regal, but to his mind she just looks rather sad.

Turning to the centre pages, Falco finds a double page spread titled “Heroes of the Eldian Nation: Commander Erwin Smith, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps.” At the head of the page is an imposing picture of a handsome grim-faced man mounted astride a rearing white horse, holding his sword aloft as if poised in mid charge. The caption beneath reads: “Dedicate your Hearts! Erwin Smith, the last great commander of the Survey Corps”. Curiosity piqued, Falco sits down to read.

[Continue reading on AO3]

[mysterymogai]

Dissomrfrothy — Dissospecies subterm related to thinking one is a Mr Frothy [or Mr Frothy variant] from the Fallout series, which makes the person, whether it be because of delusional or IRL attachments, being an alter based on Mr Frothy, psychosis, etc., feel disconnected from their external species. This is not for "fun" or voluntary "I wanna be this", this also doesn't override the external species of the person.

This identity does not support "transitioning" tips / subliminals / advice / etc in cases where it's harmful, furthers misinformation, or appropriative. I don't support the fetishization, romanticization, misinformation, etc. of mental illnesses, disabilities, professions, or experiences.

@dissodic-archive

[ctrsara]

(Lab) Accidents Happen

(Read on AO3)

(Little story based on this pencil drawing I did last night, plus some color added with my kid's random colored pencils, and cleaned up in Photoshop)

Tony Stark had only been home for about ten minutes when FRIDAY announced, “Boss, you have an incoming call from Dr. Banner.” 

He finished loosening his tie and pulled it free, tossing it on the bed. He glanced at the clock out of habit, even though he knew it was late. He wasn’t ever in bed at this hour, but Bruce usually was. His brow creased in concern.

“Put it through.”

“Tony?”

“Hey, Big Green. Everything okay?”

“I just got a notice that there was a lab accident in Lab #8.”

“At this time of night?” 

“Yeah, I looked at the footage, and it’s your kid. He’s fine, but I’m gonna let you handle this. I was just getting in bed.”

“Um, my kid? Not sure what you’re talking about,” Tony said nervously, slipping his shoes back on. “An issue with the chemistry lab is really your--”

“Go fix him, huh? He shouldn’t be in the lab this late on a Saturday night, especially unsupervised.”

“On it,” Tony said, resignation in his voice. Why did Bruce call Peter his kid? And why did Tony know exactly who he was talking about?

As he walked into #8, his eyes widened. What a mess. A very worried-looking Spider-kid was staring at a giant mound of frothy goo covering the table in front of him. 

“Peter.” 

The boy jumped, and a hand flew to the back of his neck. He wasn’t wearing a single stitch of safety equipment, and if Tony was right, he’d just smeared some of the  mixture along his neck.

“Uh… Mr. Stark? I thought you were at the gala!”

“I was, but I ducked out early. Care to explain what’s going on here? Why you’re in the lab, unsupervised, at this time of night? And what is this?”

“I…uh… it’s been a really busy weekend already, and finals are coming up next week, so I’m booked with study groups tomorrow, but I’m nearly out of web fluid, and I won’t have any time to make more this week, so if I didn’t make it tonight, I’d just be out, so I thought it would be okay if I just came in real fast to mix some up, but… uh…”

Tony was pretty sure Peter hadn’t even breathed during that little word explosion. Since no real explosions seemed imminent, he kind of wanted to laugh, but he made sure to keep his expression disapproving. 

“All of that, and the fact that you’re not even wearing goggles aside, what happened?” His web fluid had never looked… yellow before.

“I don’t know, I swear! The salicylic acid was clear when I measured it in the beaker, but then as I started pouring it all turned yellow and just kind of grew and I was afraid it wasn’t going to stop. But it’s still sticky,” he finished, trying to (unsuccessfully) wipe his neck and fingers off with a questionable looking rag.

Tony walked over and looked at the different chemicals he had assembled. Everything looked good until he got to the salicylic acid.

“Not the acid, Pete,” he said, the disapproval in his voice very real now. If the teen had grabbed something else without double checking, this could have been quite dangerous instead of just messy.

Peter stared hard at the bottle Tony was holding. “Oh,” he said, surprised.

“Yeah, ‘Oh.’”  But that wouldn’t have made the whole thing turn such a weird shade of yellow. Tony picked up the beaker next to him, which still had some cloudy-looking, very yellow liquid in the bottom. He smelled it gingerly while the teenager found new spots the sticky liquid had attached itself to.

“Peter, did you wash this beaker before you used it?”

“Uh…”

“What was in it before?” Tony asked brusquely.

“I… don’t remember?”

His usually-sharp kid wasn’t firing on all cylinders. What was up? He eyed the sheepish teen, noting the smudges under his eyes. 

“Kid, how much have you slept lately?”

“I’ve slept!” Peter said far too quickly. 

Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Maybe not quite enough. Just with finals, and patrolling, and--”

“I see.”

“Mr. Stark, I swear, I just--”

“Let me tell you how this is gonna work. I’m going to call your aunt,” (Peter’s eyes went wide) “and tell her you’re staying the night.”

“But Mr. Stark! None of my study stuff is here with me!”

Tony continued, ignoring the boy’s dismay. “Then you’re going to go upstairs, shower, eat something, and you’re going to bed. In the morning you’re going to hope that whatever makes your webs dissolve in time will still hold true for this monstrosity, because you’re cleaning this up before you go anywhere.”

Peter nodded forlornly. 

“Then I’m going to take you out to breakfast, after which you may resume your crazy study-group-frenzy of a day.”

Peter was smiling slightly now, though he still looked nervous about going to bed instead of getting a few more hours of studying in. His expression clouded again. 

“But what about my web fluid?”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. Spiderman’s going to be taking a break this week until after Peter’s finals are over.”

“But, Mr. Stark!” 

“Uh-uh-uh! After your last final, and after a full night’s sleep, you may come back and make more web fluid, and resume vigilante-ing.”

“‘S not a word,” Peter grumbled, starting to put a few things away.

“You can do all that in the morning, kiddo,” Tony said, finally letting his voice soften and a hand reach to brush Peter’s shoulder comfortingly. “Shower. Bed. C’mon.”

Peter nodded in defeat, leaning heavily into Tony’s side as he wrapped an arm around the boy to steer him towards the door.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Lock down #8. No one comes in but me or Peter until it’s clean.”

“Dr. Banner?”

“Especially not Dr. Banner,” Tony said, eying the giant soggy mess on the table. “He’d ban us both from every setting foot in here again…”

[the-dust-jacket]

Hello. I've already read the Kingston Cycle, Half a Soul and I'm about to finish the Stariel books. Do you have more recommendations? Thank you in advance.

Oh absolutely!

A Matter of Magic, by Patricia C. Wrede (for cross-country Regency romps, rogues, magicians, spies, and Ladies of Quality)

A Marvellous Light, by Freya Marske (for murder and mystery and secret Edwardian wizardry, romance, grand old houses and creepy curses)

Spellbound, by Allie Therin (for forbidden love, found family, and frightening magic in 1920s New York)

Shades of Milk and Honey, by Mary Robinette Kowal (for frothy and impeccably evocative Regency magic)

Sorcerer to the Crown, by Zen Cho (for schemes both magical and mundane and the world of fairy crossing into the world of the tonne)

To Say Nothing of the Dog, by Connie Willis (for laugh-out-loud time travel shenanigans and questionable Victorian aesthetic choices)

Soulless, by Gail Carriger (for vampire assassins, werewolf aristocrats, interrupted tea time, and other terrible inconveniences which may beset a young lady)

A little darker:

The Magpie Lord, by KJ Charles (for semi-secret magical society, creepy family estate, steamy romance all in an Extremely Victorian Gothic setting)

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke (clever and deeply atmospheric tour of a magical 19th century England, but definitely not romance)

Salt Magic, Skin Magic, by Lee Welch (for curses and magical bonds and frightening fairies)

Widdershins, by Jordan L Hawk (for Gilded Age mystery and romance featuring Lovecraftian horror and humor)

More fantasy:

Uprooted, by Naomi Novik (for fairytale magic and whimsy, adventure and romance and creepy trees)

Seducing the Sorcerer, by Lee Welch (for wizard fashion, romance and humor and whimsical magic)

Stardust, by Neil Gaiman (for wild romps in the fairyland next door, alternately humorous and haunting)

More historical:

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles (for saucy Regency romance and determined social scheming)

Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons (for dry humor, wacky hijinx, and extended family shenanigans)

Hither Page or The Missing Page by Cat Sebastian (village and manor house mysteries respectively, featuring lots of queer romance and found family with a dash of jaded post-war espionage)

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (for yearning and laughs and first love and an eccentric family living in an increasingly run down castle)

A little farther from the brief, but might be worth checking out On Vibes:

The Left Handed Booksellers of London, by Garth Nix

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, by Diana Wynne Jones

His Majesty's Dragon, by Naomi Novik (more Regency fantasy, but full on Age of Sail adventure rather than comedy of manners, romance, or secret magic)

Among Others, by Jo Walton

Arabella of Mars, by David D. Levine

A Natural History of Dragons, by Marie Brennan

It also sounds like a Georgette Heyer or Jeeves and Wooster binge would be really fun right now!