#need to find either of them and you best start by looking up

[moralesluvr]

omg i have a funny idea have you seen that couples trend on tiktok where like one of them wraps themself in wrapping paper and surprises the other with it? I think having that in a fit and having it lead to giggly cute smut would be so cute and i know you would eat that up hopefully this makes sense idk LOVE U

LMFOAOAOA I LITERALLY LOVE THIS

wrapped up | b.eilish

the idea had come to you late one night, scrolling through tiktok while lying in bed. the trend popped up on your feed— a girl wrapped in shiny, ridiculous wrapping paper, jumping out at her boyfriend, and both of them collapsing into fits of laughter.

you couldn’t stop thinking about how billie would react if you tried it. knowing her, she’d either find it hilarious or give you her classic deadpan look, followed by a teasing comment. you were always playing pranks on her and it drove her nuts, but deep down, she always found it funny too. it seemed worth it.

so you got to work, scouting out the attic while billie was away at some interview, searching from some old wrapping paper that you could use.

the hardest part wasn’t the idea itself, but the execution.

you spent the better part of the afternoon figuring out how to wrap yourself up. it was ridiculous, fumbling with tape and paper in the mirror, trying not to crinkle it too much while also ensuring it stayed in place.

you were on the phone with zoe, who thought the idea was absolutely hilarious. she was cracking up on the other side of the phone, watching as you tried to swivel the roll of wrapping paper around your hips.

“this is so stupid,” you muttered under your breath, struggling to secure a bow to your chest. but the thought of billie’s laugh kept you going as zoe giggled, “please record her reaction, i need this.”

when you were finally satisfied— or as satisfied as you could be— you bid zoe farewell and opened your video app, positioning yourself in the middle of the living room and waited on billie to get back home.

after what felt like ages, the sound of the front door opening made your heart race.

“baby?” billie called, her voice soft but curious, “why is it so quiet?”

you stifled a giggle, trying to stay as still as possible. it felt like everytime you moved, it sounded like you were opening an entire chip aisle all at once.

you heard billie’s footsteps as they echoed closer, and then she stepped into the room, her eyes immediately landing on you.

it took a second for her to process the sight of you, wrapped head to toe in gold, shiny paper, a bow slightly askew on your chest.

“what the—” she started, her lips twitching as she fought to keep a straight face. she couldn’t tell if you were serious, but she let a giggle slip from her lips as she folded over her body in laughter.

“surprise!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms out, the paper crinkling loudly with the movement, which made you snicker.

“girl, what the hell?” billie managed between breaths, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, “what is this?”

you pouted dramatically, folding your arms over your chest as the wrapping paper ripped under your arm’s weight. the curvature of your breasts caught billie’s eye, and she gave you wide eyes. “bils, you don’t like your present?”

“oh, i love it,” she said, stepping closer, still shying away a few giggles. inevitably, her eyes lower themselves, “you look….really good.”

she reached out, her fingers gently tugging at the paper that had fallen off of your shoulder. “you really went all out, huh?”

“i wanted to do something cute,” you giggled, pointing to your phone that was set up on the counter, your cheeks heating under her gaze. “plus, you always say I’m the best gift you’ve ever gotten, so…”

her laughter softened into a warm smile, her hands settling on your waist, crinkling the paper beneath her fingers. “you’re so ridiculous.”

“you love it,” you shot back mockingly, smoothing out a crinkle in your wrapping paper skirt proudly.

“i love you,” billie said, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek as you smiled underneath her gentle touch, “even when you’re dressed like one of santa’s elves.”

you giggled at that, quickly ending the video simultaneously to billie snaking her arms around your waist, pressing tons of kisses across your cheeks.

things escalated from there— and they escalated quickly, at that.

it started with her teasing you, pretending to unwrap you like an actual gift, tugging at the tape and paper piece by piece. but the way her fingers brushed against your skin, the way her laughter softened into something quieter, more intimate— it made your breath hitch.

“you’re so cute,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over your jaw as she pulled another piece of paper off of your frame, leaving your chest borderline exposed.

you shiver under her touch that’s contrast to the warm air as her ringed hands graze over your collarbone. her voice is hushed to a soft whisper, “can i use my gift, baby?”

you nod fervently as billie giggles at your eagerness, carefully placing big rips in the wrapping paper until you’re completely nude in front of her. you can see her eyes soften, big and wide with love and admiration as she scoops you up like it’s nothing, your legs wrapping around her waist.

billie sits you down gently on the couch cushions, immediately lowering herself onto her knees. she grabs a hair tie from her wrist, offering you strong eye contact as she put her hair in a ponytail.

“you look so pretty for me,” she praises, finishing off her temporary hairdo before giving you a kiss to your thighs, her eyes still piercing into yours. “wanna make you feel good, is that okay?”

you nod at her, “please touch me, bils. been waiting for you all day.”

“clearly you have, walkin’ around looking like one of santa’s slutty elves.” billie can’t help but giggle, looking at the pile of discarded wrapping paper that’s on the floor, a pattern with reindeers and little bells printed over it. you snicker, “it was for you, though! you were on my nice list, i was giving you a gift.”

“uh huh.” billie smiles, fingers digging into the waistband of your red thong, sliding it off and onto the floor in one swift motion. you feel her hot tongue dip between your folds, collecting your arousal on the muscle as her hand comes up to massage your thighs.

you let out a soft moan as billie’s tongue finds home on your clit, little whines sliding through your gritted teeth as your hands grip at the sheets. you’re so engrossed in your pleasure that you almost don’t realize that billie’s stopped— you only know because you can hear her loud laugh from underneath you. you sit up and cock an eyebrow, “something wrong?”

billie shakes her head, trying to calm her laughter down, “there’s…wrapping paper…on your…vagina.” she almost chokes the way she’s cackling, and you just frown as billie fans her face, trying to sedate herself.

“okay, i’m sorry mama, it’s just so cute how much effort you put into this.” she smiles, and you feel your skin grow hot when she gently places two fingers inside of your dripping cunt, immediately curling them and thrusting into you quickly, but lovingly. she returns her touch back onto your clit, sucking on the bud as quiet moans of her name pass from your lips.

“always have been such a giver….” billie murmurs into your sex, “just wanna make my girl feel good, yeah? you wanna cum for me, baby?”

“m-mhm!” you stifle out a chopped response, letting yourself get lost in the way she touches you, your skin tingling as your walls tighten around billie’s fingers.

she coos at you, “i know, love, it’s okay— cum for me.”

and you do just that, louder moans passing through your lips as your orgasm hits you in a strong wave, your skin hot and bubbly as you let your high course through your veins.

“such a good girl,” billie murmurs against your cunt, watching as you fall apart beneath her, a smile etched on her face.

“the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”

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[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

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[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

no specific chapter tags

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Day 11: 2024

They didn't work on calls together often. Or, at all, really. But today was an exception. Today, Tommy was on the ground and the fire required help from five different stations. It took hours to get it under control, and then they were getting everything cleaned up. Tommy was pretty sure he could get back to Harbor without ever seeing Buck.

However, as that thought crossed his mind, and because the universe had it out for him, he was suddenly face to face with Buck, who was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open.

"H- Hi, To-"

“I started going to therapy,” Tommy blurted.

Buck cocked his head to the side. “Y- You did? When?”

“I made an appointment two days after we,” he paused, took a breath, “after I broke up with you.”

“Oh, that's... that's good, Tommy. I mean, I- I guess that's good. That's good, right?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, it's good.”

“Well, then. Good.”

There was a few seconds of awkward silence.

Until.

“I've been wanting to text you since we broke up.” Seemed like it was Buck's turn to blurt something out.

“I've been wanting to text you too.”

“Yeah, the bubbles.”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “The bubbles?”

Buck shook his head. “Nothing. It's... nothing. I just feel like we left a lot of things unsaid. Most things were left unsaid, actually. I'd like to change that. I'd like to try to change that.”

Tommy pursed his lips, trying to maintain his composure. It was getting more difficult by the second though, so he let go. “Buck, I'm a disaster,” he admitted, shoulders slumping. “I mean a huge, giant, massive disaster. There's been- There's so much that I...” his voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words. “It's years, and years, and years of traumas that built up, and I just kinda pushed them away and built a wall between me and all of that so that I could appear to be...”

“Comfortable?” Buck suggested.

Tommy smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

“I get that,” Buck replied. “It wasn't like I was really my best self either. I- I think I never let myself see past your wall. I knew there had to be more there, and I ignored it because you seemed so confident all the time and I kind of, maybe, took advantage of that.”

“No,” Tommy disagreed, stepping closer to Buck. “I never let you see beyond the wall, because the second it tore down I knew that it would just be this huge mess pouring out all over you and you don't deserve that, Buck. You deserve someone who actually has it together.”

“Tommy, what makes you think I have it together? I don't know what I'm doing. I think that's pretty obvious from the last time we spoke. I kinda made a fool out of myself.”

“Buck, it wasn't you,” Tommy tried to explain. “I decided from the start that I'd let you set the pace, and that was my mistake. I didn't realize your pace would feel like warp speed to me, and I would spend every day just trying to catch up. That's not fair to either of us.”

“Well i- it's not your fault that I'm so impulsive that I jumped over at least three steps when I asked you to move in with me and I just expected you to jump too. That wasn't fair either.”

Tommy took a deep breath, smiling slightly. “Sounds like I'm not the only one who's been going to therapy."

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes. “Every Tuesday, 4pm.”

“I'm Thursday's at five.”

Buck opened his mouth to speak when a voice came over the radio. “Leaving in five, Buck,” Bobby said. “Gotta head back.”

“Be there in a minute, Boss,” Buck replied.

He looked back up at Tommy. “I'd really, uh, like to talk to you, Tommy. Wh- When we're not in the middle of a shift. I'd, um, I'd like to get to know you. All of you.”

Tommy felt vulnerable. Exposed in a way he hadn't ever let himself feel before, and he and Buck hadn't even really said much. “I'm still trying to get to know myself."

“That's okay. I realized a few years back that that never really stops. I'd still like to talk. I think we both need that.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “Yeah, I'd like to get to know you too. All of you.”

“Okay. Good, um, j- just text me, okay? Whenever. I'll... I'll be here.”

“I will,” Tommy assured him, then added with a smirk. “I won't just bubble you.”

Buck smiled. “Ah, so you did know what I was saying?”

“Of course. I saw your bubbles too.”

Then Buck was clearing the rest of the space between them, wrapping his arms around Tommy in a hug. “Merry Christmas, Tommy,” he whispered, face practically buried in Tommy's neck.

Once Tommy's brain caught up to what was happening, he returned the hug, holding Buck tight.

“Merry Christmas, Evan.”

[myimaginationplain]

Viktor loves the Undercity...in theory. Viktor loves humanity, in theory. Viktor is a pacifist in theory. But when you look at how Viktor actually interacts with the world around him, he displays a level of detachment & general disregard that runs counter to those ideals. Viktor is a character whose principles are out of sync with his actual feelings & natural inclinations. And that's something I love about him! I find it fascinating, & very human.

Viktor does genuinely want to help the Undercity, but his idea of what that "help" can look like is abstract at best; Viktor has, as far as we can tell, no lasting ties to Zaun. By the start of Arcane, he doesn't seem to know anyone who currently lives in the Undercity besides Singed, who originated in Piltover. There's no real evidence that he returned to the Undercity even once in the years between becoming an Academy student & visiting Singed in Season 1 (although to be absolutely fair, there's no evidence that he didn't return to the Undercity, either. We know so little about most of Viktor's life that we can't really make that call one way or the other.) He wants to help, he really does—but when given the tools to help, he & Jayce made a lazer gun & mechanized hulk hands. Viktor has a very real love for humanity & need to see the world a better place. But prior to Sky's death, the literal only person who Viktor seemed to really & truly care about on a personal level is Jayce. Not out of any misanthropy or hatred, but again, out of a baseline level of detachment & distance that probably warped Viktor's idea of what "better lives" would look like.

Now, to be fair, this didn't come out of nowhere. Like many things in Viktor's life, his detachment from the people & place(s) he cares about is a positive feedback loop. Viktor is othered & isolated as a child in Zaun due to his disability, so as an adult he has no lasting personal connections to Zaun, & therefore continues to be isolated from the people of Zaun. Viktor is doubly isolated in Piltover due to both his disability & social class/ethnicity, so he builds no lasting connections with anyone prior to meeting Jayce; he feels that he is incapable of building lasting connections with anyone other than Jayce (I'm assuming, the show is never actually up front about this tbh), & continues to be isolated from anyone other than Jayce. Viktor had no social power as either a child in Zaun or as a student in Piltover, so he internalizes the idea that he has no social power & continues to move as if he doesn't even when he accrues some status & social capital, & therefore doesn't make any moves that would require social power. That is, until he acquires physical power in Season 2 after being fused with the Hexcore. (Again, for the sake of fairness: it isn't a lie to say that whatever power he might've had as Heimerdinger's assistant or a co-creator & co-owner of Hextech was extremely limited by, again, his disability & his class/ethnicity. Social capital only works if people are either willing to listen to you or if you can force them to listen to you. Based on how even people he's personally acquainted with like Heimerdinger or Mel never really listened to him, it's not a stretch to assume that most people in Piltover wouldn't listen either no matter how much sway he should technically have.)

And this is a tangent I know, but this attitude absolutely extends into his relationship with Jayce. We the audience know that Viktor has an increase amount of sway over Jayce's thoughts, feelings & actions. But Viktor doesn't realize that, so he never really exercises it until it's too late. And then as the mage, Viktor is basically running the same trolley problem simulation over & over & over again (letting Jayce & Ximena die in the snow but automatically saving that world from the scourge of Hextech vs saving Jayce & Ximena but setting yet another world on fire.) And he chooses more personal, more selfish option every single time, because ultimately Viktor loves Jayce & the less-than-a-decade they spent together a bit more than he wants to stop himself from ending the world.

Viktor's altruistic ideals are real & genuine on his part. But Viktor is also a bit more selfish than he wants to be, than he thinks he is.

I think the fact that Viktor and Sky were never close says a lot about Viktor. Before I get started this isn't about any potential romantic relationship that could have happened between Sky and Viktor. It's just fascinating that he and Sky were as far the audience knew, the only Zaunites to work in this hyperelite space in Piltover... and they didn't get to know each other. No moments of peer to peer solidarity? No small talk to mention family or trade stories from the weekend? Sky worked for him and didn't know where to discard her ashes despite coming from the same place and likely having her address on file.

If we have to put Sky and Viktor's relationship in context of the greater story of Arcane, it represents Viktor's relationship with Zaun and its populace, which is both nonexistent and largely theoretical. Viktor has a deep well of empathy, but uses it ineffectively, even when he is in a position to help... he invents mining tools (not even an air purifier for a place like that). He gets it, but somehow he doesn't get it.

Viktor's most significant on screen relationships are with other Piltovans like Jayce, Singed, and even Heimerdinger. Despite the prejudice he faces in Piltover, Viktor has the most legitimate political influence out of the entire Zaunite cast. The way Viktor was Heimerdinger's assistant is not the same way Sky was his assistant. Heimerdinger was Head of the Council and President of the Academy and Viktor was tasked with carrying out his assignments with limited authority, technically that makes him a high ranking government aide. Could Sky or Ekko or Silco (without blackmail) talk to the Sheriff the way Viktor could? Viktor's even best friends with a Councilor (Jayce) after the timeskip, and he does NOTHING with that to lobby for Zaun.

By the end Viktor's very ridiculous and overly complicated plan gets even more Zaunites killed, including Sky a second time. He solved nothing, killed hundreds, and apologized to no one, including Sky's family. Maybe the Academy was a mistake all along.

[foodiegoogie]

pahinga (rest)

remus lupin x fem!reader | 1.7k

summary: remus can’t sleep again. luckily, you come to save him, and he finds his rest in you. cw/tags: self-deprecation, slight anxiety (?), three little eepy bois and one (1) insomniac, peter pettigrew appears (he’s not corrupted here), hurt/comfort <3 note: 'pahinga' means rest in filipino. its root word, 'hinga,' means 'to breathe/breath.' the 'pa' part can make it literally mean, 'let me breathe.' also, u can never have too much “reader patches up remus after a full moon” fics 🥰🥰 p.s. the vibes are inspired from isa lang (only one) by arthur nery <3

It’s way past midnight in the Hospital Wing, and Remus knows this because his friends are knocked out around him; James is sprawled out like a starfish on a cot to his left, Sirius laid asleep at the edge of Remus’ own cot, and Peter had long since made himself comfortable in the cot on the right, curled up in a blanket. 

Usually, they’d be up late with Remus. Something about boys being boys, having an endless amount of energy surging within themselves. But they were also only human at the end of the day, despite being unregistered Animagi. 

Remus also knows that he should be asleep himself alongside his best friends, but this particular night had taken a toll on him. Sure, he’s had full moon nights happening every month, every year, ever since he was turned at four years old. But regardless of how frequent they took place, it never became easy to deal with for the lycanthrope. Especially not now while he’s unable to sleep.

Poor Madam Pomfrey—she’d given Remus countless potions to aid him in his condition, time and time again. But it seems like even the Sleeping Draught that was brewed for him earlier just couldn’t work on him either.

Thinking about failing to fall asleep is ironically keeping him from falling asleep. Remus Lupin is, quite frankly, stressing out about not being asleep yet. He knows he needs it, so why can’t he do it? He almost feels immensely envious of how easy it was for his own friends to have fallen asleep quicker than he did, and he was the one who turned into a werewolf that night. 

Remus turns his head to get a look at Sirius’ slumbering face where it lay at the edge of his cot. Sirius is a handsome being, whether asleep or not. But right now, his wide-awake friend doesn’t know whether to be glad because he gets to appreciate his friend’s company because he’s asleep, or if said friend should be frustrated for the very same reason.

Before Remus even gets to decide however, he hears footsteps scurrying towards the entrance of the Hospital Wing. He perks up at the sound, attempting to sit up in his cot but failing, wincing as he was reminded of his injuries.

He doesn’t know which comes first: the sound of the double doors being pushed open or the bags of chocolate falling to the ground, coming from your arms.

Remus’ bleary eyes flicker over to your incoming presence - how he knows you’re here for him is needless to say with the bags of chocolate you’re re-gathering in your arms presently. He sees you throw an apologetic glance, mouthing “sorry,” but Remus receives it with a lazy smile, more amused and fond than it was teasing.

“Hope I didn’t wake them,” You whisper to him as you approach his cot, looking warily at the three slumbering boys surrounding him. Remus feels compelled to follow your gaze towards them, address that you didn’t actually wake them (and he’s certain that you didn’t, the lads sleep like a log), but his eyes remain on you as well as his smile.

“What’re you doing here?” He murmurs.

You scoff quietly, giving him an incredulous look. “What, not even a ‘hello, how are you?’ You’ve changed, Lupin.” 

Remus’ smile widens at your words, the familiar banter bringing a lighthearted feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s because of his fatigue mixed with frustration that’s making him feel lightheaded, but he finds himself momentarily entranced by the sight of you as you start to near him in his cot. The moonlight which filtered through the windows finally landed on your features, and Remus was convinced at that moment that he’s met an angel in person: you.

“Anywho, I come bearing gifts,” You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, setting down the array of chocolates beside him. Remus shifts so that there’s more room for you in his bed.

He looks down at the sweets, the corners of his lips quirking up into a lazy smile, then looks back up to you. 

“Dark or milk?” Remus asks.

You furrow your eyebrows, giving him an incredulous look to which the boy grins at. “Milk, duh. I’m not dumb, Remus. You only go for dark when you’re feeling fancy.”

It’s true; Remus doesn’t like dark chocolate as much as he likes milk chocolate, which is a classic and a whole lot sweeter than the former. He tries not to think too hard about how you knew that about himself like it was just sitting casually in the place of your mind. He wonders, then, about what else you knew about him, and took care to remember and save for times like this. His heart races at the thought. 

“Did you come all the way here to butcher me for my taste in chocolate? Flattering, really,” Remus quips, reaching for one of the chocolates.

“No. I came here to do just that and more actually,” You mirror his actions, unwrapping the chocolate from its plastic shell, popping the whole treat in your mouth all in one go. 

It’s a lot more attractive than Remus would like to admit - you being so unapologetically yourself, uncaring about being seen as prim and proper. Here you are, sitting in front of him, munching on the chocolates you’ve brought him and looking like a squirrel stuffing nuts in its mouth for the winter. Adorable, he thinks.

But then your eyes narrow at him, and he’s caught in the act of shamelessly staring at you. It’s only then that he realizes that he has been staring at you. “See something you like?” You wriggle your eyebrows suggestively, reaching for another chocolate from the dwindling bunch on the bed.

“No,” His voice comes out a little breathy, an octave a tad higher than what’s normal. Remus clears his throat. “Just- it’s amazing how you keep going.” You pause mid-bite into another chocolate drop, putting it back inside its plastic wrap with a sheepish smile. “Right, I brought these for you. Not for me.” “S’alright,” Remus smiles fondly at your suddenly shy expression. “I couldn’t finish them all by myself, anyway.”

A soft chuckle falls from your lips, shoulders relaxing from his reassuring words. Even in such a state, Remus still goes out of his way to make sure people are cared for in his own, heartwarming ways. But rarely does he ever take the time to inflict the same kind of treatment to himself. 

And, speaking of which—

“I thought you’d be asleep, you know,” You blurt out all of a sudden, fidgeting with the unwrapped, uneaten chocolate in your hands. “coming here. So… why aren’t you?”

“Dunno,” Remus lets out a deep sigh, his fatigue finally coming through in his expression. Your chest tightens at the sight and sound of it.

Finally, he finishes, saying, “I just… can’t.”

Almost instantly, a knot forms between your brows at the same time the corners of your lips turn downwards into a slight frown. Remus hates being pitied. He’s had enough of people apologizing on his behalf, as if he had been a mistake in the first place long before he was given this unfortunate tragedy, a weight he has to bear on his shoulders for the rest of his life. 

But with you, it’s never pity that he sees in your eyes when you look at him. It’s something warmer, something that’s coming from a deeper place of intent. Something like care—genuine care, and concern. Perhaps there’s more than that, but Remus is already dizzy enough as it is right now, and he doesn’t want to render himself unconscious just because he’s feeling a little lovesick by you. 

“Oh no, I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?” You say, and Remus is a bit startled by it. You don’t notice. “Should I leave? I– I feel like I should leave—”

“No, no. Just—” Stay.

Remus reminds himself to be very careful with his next words, lest he betrays his true feelings and ruins one of the few good things he has in his godforsaken life. 

Another thing that he hates is owing people something, or anything really. It’s no big deal for him to go out of his way and be the giver rather than the receiver out of a pair, but it bothers him to no end to think that he’d actually have people do something—anything just for him. 

For some reason, it just feels… wrong for him. Almost as if Remus believes that he doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. 

But for the love of Merlin, he’d really like to get some sleep, and he really likes you being here with him. And if you walked right out of the Hospital Wing right now, leaving him alone, Remus is certain that he’d be getting no sleep at all. 

So, just this once, he’ll be selfish. 

“Just… just talk to me. Tell me about your night.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, a slightly amused smile coming alive on your face as you ask, “My night? Well, my night’s going pretty well right now.”Remus rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face betrays his true emotions. “Tell me about your day, then.” 

Now, a full-blown grin takes place on your face. “Now that I can do.”

And so, you start telling him about your day in a hushed voice, careful not to be too loud as you recount something that had made you happy during the day so as not to wake the other three boys you’re surrounded by. 

Far along the way as you’re speaking to him, your hands—yours and his—drift closer and closer to each other. Remus wonders if you notice this, even as you’ve taken ahold of it now and started to play with his fingers absentmindedly.

Before he knew it, he was on the way to dreamland by the ticklish yet gentle feeling of you tracing the lines of his palm, coupled by the soft timbre of your voice, low and sweet. 

It is then that Remus realizes that he finds his absolute rest in you. 

A shame that he managed to miss the featherlight kiss you leave on his forehead as you bid him a good night, though. 

aaa thank you for reading! (づ￣ 3￣)づ as always, likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated !! <3

[th3-past3l-cl0wn]

The portraits of Neha and Elizabeth Beaufort: an analysis

By me

At first glance it was easy to observe the clear inspiration Neha’s portrait had of “the girl with the pearl earring”, however we can somehow feel this when looking at Beaufort’s portrait.

But the deeper we look into their character, the more we realise how opposed they are to each other, representing her inner character.

our first encounters

In both cases, you don’t know them for who they are, but you are introduced by what they are, “the novelty dice maker” and “the gardener”.

You get to later know their names, you might only know one for Neha but it doesn’t distance you from her, quite the opposite it feels like a nickname.

Learning Elizabeth Beaufort’s full name distances you from her, she is now a title, a figure of authority.

Neha is hidden, and if you wish you can even decide to go the whole game without seeing or talking to her. But Beaufort? She is centric to the story, you have to talk to her, she is one of the first characters you see when you go outside, one of the first that helps you in the examination process with the ammonia and gardening gloves.

the girl with the pearl earring

while we can see it clearly for Neha, it feels more vague for Elizabeth.

Neha’s head covering is worn in a more modest and classical manner, her pose practically identical to the reference, she symbolizes the “old” what was once. An art piece and aspiring individual of her time. The way her portrait is painted is very academic, there is very little use of dark outline if ever. Everything about it is almost soft and comforting.

In contrast Beaufort’s portrait adopts a widely different, almost provocative pose, the way she wears the headgear covering less for instance but attaching her hair, prioritizing practicality over appearances. There is a more modern touch to her portrait, the colours are saturated and there is a bold dark outline, she is defying the traditional. She represents the “youth” of Martinaise.

While Neha resembles almost identically to the portrait, Beaufort distances herself from it, the past but still she finds a way to keep a part of it, what made her what she is, and then turn it into something personal.

In both of their portraits, the background is applied similarly for the taints and almost like they were mirrored vertically, however Neha’s are softer, almost like they are fading away, while Beaufort’s are high in contrast.

the postures

The novelty dice maker, upon your first meeting with her, is turned away from you, she’s working, she stills open herself to you, as she presents her arts and studio in an almost familiar way. You enter her domain of creation, you’re inside her soul. Maybe you could picture it sort of like a confessional, there is intimacy between the two of them and they won't necessarily need to face each other. She looks at you from the side, seemingly making you feel as though you were disturbing her, and yet she is not. But she stills look at you from above, this could be referring to the fact she was up, high in her workshop’s room while the crime scene was unfolding, not only this but she “disregarded” it when it was happening, as she had one of the best view on it, and yet stayed absorbed by her art.

On the other hand, Beaufort is facing forward all time, she’s observing your every move, she looks up at you, from beneath it is easier to see all (visual calculus check “gardening in march”, you point out the fact she is stationed at the best spot to keep tabs of people). She looks at you with an interrogative expression, she was expecting you to be here, to talk to her. She shields herself from you when she crosses her arms or when she hides her real identity from you at the start by going as “the gardener”, she makes you believe that you are someone above her, and you believe it. She is always in a public space, never once alone, she is either outside or in the Whirling-in-rags. There is no intimacy, if even a way to talk to her as “Elizabeth” instead she is “a member of the union”, this could also be reflected in her looking upward, as stated earlier, as she is in the middle of a hierarchy in the Union. Her purpose is to exonerate the Union of the presumed crime, “the Union fixer”. She is cleaning up the mess caused by the Union’s dogs. Even if there is a “box” reminding of a confessional where the Hardie boys stay, it is, not only a long process to get them to confess, she is the first to stop them when they open up, but you are also constantly observed by the public, not only her but the people at the Whirling.

Knowing this, Neha also found herself “shielded” by the entrance of her studio, though it served an entirely different purpose as it can always be opened. Beaufort wears different masks that you can’t take off as you talk to her, but rather break by any new dialogues you have surrounding the case, there is no way to get under her skin without making her reach a breaking point. They are facing opposite directions, Neha leaned toward the past, Beaufort toward the future, but they both look in your direction: the present.

No matter their difference, both of them wear blue clothes, this reflecting their social class, they're both born blue collars, even if Beaufort wears a white shirt, representing the purity of her youth and her future aspirations, she works for the union, the symbol of the working class, she represent them on a legal point of view, as a lawyer. Her jean strapped overall partially visible in her portrait also can remind of a tank top, or “débardeur”, which could be an echo to the organization she works closely with, the dockworkers union” or “débardeurs’ union”. Elizabth’s softer features in comparison to Neha’s sharper ones also amplifies this duality of “youth” vs the “old”.

the lightings

Beaufort’s portrait shows a significant amount of green on her forehead, associating blue and yellow, blue symbolizing intellectual skills and yellow motorics, this is her mindset. However the right side of her face is lit in dark red, which can be associated with physique skills, indicating her short temper she tries to hide. The fact it is cast on the right side of her face could imply that it is her “real” face, what is “right”. In her eyes and her nose you can also see a reflexion of light that Neha doesn’t have, echoing to her “ bright and hopeful” futur, the fact she is highly regarded by her peers, but also maybe her more emotive tendencies, not in a derogatory way, but more in a youthful ardor, defending her ideals.

For Neha, her yellow, we could even say gold lighting highlights what she is handling right now, her works, her art, that is what is important to her, she is what she creates, her face being cast in the shadow. This choice of colour for the light might be associated with motorics skills knowing she is a dicemaker. The light could also represent the future ahead, the change in the world, the “miracle – from the northwest”. She is averting her gaze from it. It is too late for her.

[s4rainbows]

MORE!

Berry Color: Grey A child of death, darkness and the negative Energy plane, the gloom never quite leaves you. You make the best of it, though. Death isn't evil, and darkness isn't scary. To you, it's a comfort.

Appearance: Grey skin, either white or no hair at all, pointed ears Ability Score Increase: Dex +2, CON +1 - Max the fitness skill! Feats: Key Trait: Macabre Fey Ancestry: Purchase the Never Weary Reward Trait! Keen Senses: Purchase the Observant Reward Trait Blessing of the Raven Queen: Max Wellness and teleport around! Dwelling: Live in the Mourningvale Neighborhood of Ravenwood Starting Equipment: Take half of your parent's money and build a shell for your home. Reset your money to 20k before you furnish. Main quests: - Max out the Undertaker Career, and then the Reaper Career! - Attend every Ravenwood festival at least one. Pick your favorite and attend it weekly! - Finish your Soul's journey! - Frequent the Baleful Bog and max out your ghost powers through out of body experiences! - Finish the Wailing Mother Questline! Side Quests: - Own and care for a Crow! - You feel the Raven Queen's presence close to your heart. Also have the Chased by Death trait - Complete Lady Ravendancer's Tarot deck! - Dedicate a day of the week to visiting the graveyard and tending to the graves

Berry Color: White Your Parent was god-touched through the lady of death, and you carry that legacy through divine blood in your veins. However, where your mother sought to soothe the dying and their loved ones, you seek to prevent death. Appearance: Angelic. Wings, many eyes, glowing eyes, burning wheels... go as biblibally accurate as you want. Ability Score Increase: Any 2 by 2 and 1 respectively - Max two skills of your choice! Feats: Key Trait: Generous Healing Hands: Use the Generous-Trait interactions as often as you can, and max out your empathy character value before aging up Radiant Soul: Become a spellcaster and use a broom. Closest thing we have to flying. Dwelling: Live anywhere, but make sure your house is lit up everywhere, and never use the auto-lights feature. Starting Equipment: Take none of your parent's money, and cheat yourself enough to buy a sterter home Main Quests: - Max out of the Doctor career - Run a Vet clinic on the side - Never befriend anyone in the criminal career, or someone who has the evil or mean traits - Max out the Wellness skill and give classes to help others find peace - Make sure to meditate at least once a week Side Quests: - Create an even MORE angelic looking Sim as your Celestial Guide. Keep their needs frozen and max all their skills with cheats. Use them to mentor and guide your little Aasimar! - Marry an evil Sim and get them to change their evil trait through Personality Discovery - ...or beat the living daylights out of every evil sim you meet - Slay Vlad and adopt him into your household. You can fix him.

Berry Color: Pink (Spring), Red (Summer), Orange (Fall), Blue (Winter) You are a chamaeleon, adapting to your surroundings, connected to the shift of the seasons, ebbing and flowing in your blood. You breathe the season and the land changes along with you. Appearance: Elven, sharp features, pointed ears, glowing eyes. Change your color scheme with each season Ability Score Increase: DEX +2, CHA +1, Max Fitness and Charisma Feats: Key Trait: Loves the Outdoors Fey Ancestry: Purchase the Never Weary Reward Trait! Keen Senses: Purchase the Observant Reward Trait Fey Step: Become a Spellcaster and liberally use the Transportalate Spell! Dwelling: Live in any world, but redecorate for each season! Alternatively, have a dedicated area of your house for each season. Starting equipment: Rob your goodhearted Aasimar parent absolutely blind Main Quests: - Switch between these goalsets for each season: > Spring: Play the Romance Consultant Career and run a Retail store with Floral arrangements and Wedding cakes > Summer: Spend the majority of your time in Sulani, and work as a Lifeguard part-time. Earn the rest of your money by collecting shells and taking underwater photos. Befriend a mermaid, and host frequent pool parties > Fall: Get back into Gardening and max out both cooking skills. Make your money mainly through selling produce, but also start a little Trendi-side gig, and sell fall-appropriate cozy clothing. Host Costume Parties and Potlucks often. > Winter: Switch to Plopsy as your main income source and start knitting and cross stitching. Go on frequent hikes in Mt. Komorebi, and successfully lead a mountain climbing excursion. Host cozy, warm little movie nights with family and friends, serve hot beverages every time!

Side Quests: - Create a custom Holiday for each season! - Go ice-skating and rollerblading every weekend! - Decide on a signature dish you make the start out each season - Go on vacation each season! (Spring: Tomarang, Summer: Sulani, Fall: Henford on bagley, Winter: Mt. Komorebi)

I’m back on my bullshit, friends! This Legacy Challenge has 11 Generations and is based around the Races present in the Player’s Handbook, though if this takes off and there’s demand, I may make additions for the other sourcebooks in 5e. @simschallenges @berrygameplay​

Basics:

- Base Legacy Rules apply to whatever degree you like - Custom Content may be necessary to fullfill some of the Appearance rules! (though optional) - Mods are encouraged! - Heirs are generally firstborn, but generational restrictions may apply - You may age up children prematurely when they finish their aspiration, and teens when they have three positive character values in range for the trait - Go ape shit

The Generations

Berry Color: Peach The Founder, and the most versatlle of your Legacy. This is the “fuck around/find out” Gen. Appearance: Anything goes, but no Supernatural features aside berry skin just yet. Ability Score Increase: Max Three base-game skills of your choice Feats: No Key Traits, pick what you like Dwelling: Live in Newcrest, have at least a two-story home by the time you pass the torch to your heir Starting Equipment: Build a small house with the bare necessities, then set your money to 500 Quests:  - Complete the Renaissance Sim Aspiration - Reach the Top Level of a base-game career of your choice - Have at least 25k in reserve by the time you pass the torch to your heir - Marry a Snob

Side Quests: - Own a Restaurant, pretend you retire and become a tavern-owning questgiver

Weiterlesen

[sexysturn]

MAKE YOU MINE.

FWB!BSF!DRIVER!CHRIS x DRUNK!READER

warnings: SMUT. mentions of being used for your body, sex while drunk, fingering, oral f!recieving, spitting on face/in mouth (???), squirting, getting caught, creampie, unprotected p in v (dont do this), names: “good girl, baby, ma, slut, darling, love, etc”.

summary: you and chris have always felt something besides just a fling for each other, its just never been said out loud. but you, madison, and nick decide to go out for the night. you forget to tell your best friend chris where youre going, and you get a little too drunk, nick and madison cant drive, so chris has to drive you home. but theres too much tension for chris to handle himself tonight.

not proofread.

authors note: this has a VERY long intro guys sorry whoopsie i locked in

i cant focus my eyes on anything. the whole room is filled with purple and pink lights. all i hear is the muffled laughter and conversations in the bar and my friend madison screaming something at what i have to assume is nick.

“NICKKK THIS IS MY SONGGGG” madison drunkenly shouts, slurring her words almost more than mine. “NO WAYY!!” nick yells.

nick is the only sober one out of me and madison. i dont know how or why he is even dealing with us right now.

“nick!” i shout over the katy perry song thats playing for the fourth time tonight, and the large crowd of guys hitting on madison, hoping he hears me. he scans the crowd til he connects eyes with me. “is everything okay?” he says in my ear once he makes his way next to me through the group of grown men flirting with madison.

“nick fuck i think i- i forgot to tell chris where i went with you and mads” i say as i slur my words and almost fall over into nicks arms a solid three times. “shit its okay,” nick reassured me, “he probably assumed you went somewhere with me and madison when we left the house anyway its alright”

“n- no. hes gonna be mad” i say, realizing i havent even checked my phone for God knows how long to text him. shit.

all of a sudden i dart to where nick, madison and i left our bags, leaving nick confused contemplating on whether he should chase after me or not.

i text chris, hoping hes not mad. he hasnt texted me since i left, that cant be good.

me:

hi chris

chris:

what the fuck. ive been so worried about you why haven’t my texts gone through since you left!?

me:

shit im sorry i didnt twll you where i went i just assumed you knew where njck and madison were going cause you knew i was goibg with them.

shit i cant spell, hes gonna know im drunk as fuck

chris:

no i didnt fucking know you were going with them, plus none of my texts have sent to them either!! where the fuck are you do you need me to come get you??? are you drunk!?

me:

im at the bar dowb by the beacj but no i dont need you to come ger me

chris:

you didnt answer my other question, are you drunk?

me:

no

chris:

liar. im omw.

fuck.

i scan through the massive crowd with my purse clutched to my side trying to find nick or madison, preferably both.

i spot nick, talking to some random guy. i probably startled this poor guy when i ran up to nick basically bashing into his arm trying to tell him that chris is on the way to come get me and he seems mad.

nick has always known chris is protective of me. nick also looks worried for me, scanning me up and down. “you sure you want chris to see you out partying drunk as hell in that dress…”

he hands me his leather jacket and puts it on one of my arms and before i know it i feel a cold hand grab me by the forearm before i can fully put nicks jacket on.

its chris.

im getting practically dragged away by him, my visions still blurry, and my thoughts disoriented.

i get in chris’ car outside and he starts interrogating me.

“why didnt you tell me where you went!? what if something happened to you?!! why didnt you text me at all??”

im overwhelmed by all the questions, i can barely think. “im sorry, chris!” i shout “i figured you’d assume i went with nick and madison to the bar and it slipped my mind to text you.”

chris is silent after what i say, i glance over confused.

chris’ gaze is taken by the outfit i have on. a dark red sequin dress with holes at the sides exposing most of my waist, and a scarily low v neck which exposes my tits which are damn near about to fall out the dress.

“what are you thinking wearing that,” he says protectively, “are you trying to get laid by some random guy at the bar!?”

“no”

no? thats all im able to say? why am i nervous?

“hm. maybe ill knock some sense into you later then, teach you its not alright to display yourself like that to everyone” chris huffs.

what does that mean?

chris is silent the rest of the drive home, so am i.

we make it home and chris brings me to his room, giving me some of his clothes to change into.

boxers and a baggy “boston” t shirt.

i decide to change in his room because im too drunk to walk anymore and get to a bathroom. i ask chris for help unzipping my dress.

he comes and helps me, he gets dangerously close to my jawline with his fingers running up and down my back, to my collarbones, which is very unnecessary.

a shiver goes down my spine as he unzips my dress.

all of a sudden, he pulls and drops my dress to my ankles and acts like it was an accident.

“shit sorry” he turns around.

i dont say anything.

we are in his bed watching some random movie, and i feel his cold hand graze over my thigh, causing me to shiver again against my will.

“y’know, that dress was really pretty on you,” he says to me without hesitation. “t- thank you?”

i cant tell if he’s joking and messing with ms caise he is still mad, or if he’s being serious.

“ive always thought you were pretty.” he whispers. “im sorry i got mad earlier. i just dont want other people seeing you and thinking they can use you, you were so drunk”

“i know but i had it under control”

“did you? did you have it under control when you told nick earlier that me and you have hooked up before.”

what.

i did not do that. i couldnt have. was i really that drunk??

next thing i know i feel his hand trace up my thigh again and get scarily close to my core, which was growing embarrassingly wet from the memories of our last hookup now running through my mind, and all the shit chris did when he was unzipping my dress.

his hand finally reaches my core, he rubs circles around my clothed clit.

“you wanna dress like a slut at the bar, huh?” he hisses. “and you wanna get so shitface drunk that you accidentally tell my brother what me and you did?”

“i- im sorry, chris.”

“dont be.”

he stops rubbing my clit and he traces the band of the boxers on me, slowly pulling them down.

“youve always been a slut,” he throws the blanket off of us and pulls my boxers fully off, exposing my glistening pussy to the cold air of his room. “see. youre wet from me getting angry arent you, ma” he slaps my sensitive pussy, making me wince.

“y- yes” i whine, “please chris, touch me”

“whatd you say love, i didnt hear you” he teases while looking me dead in the eyes.

“touch me, please, chr-” before i can finish my sentence, with my mouth open he takes rhe opportunity to spit in my mouth.

holy fuck

“ohh, you couldve just asked.” abruptly he sticks his long middle finger into my aching hole, thrusting slowly. “faster, please.” i beg.

he listens and goes faster, causing me to let out an embarrassingly loud moan. he adds another finger and curls them right into my sweet spot.

“f- fuck!” i let out. “im close.”

“already?” he pulls his fingers out, causing me to whine again at the loss.

all of a sudden he strips completely and his nearly rock hard dick is exposed and seems larger than it ever has. he orders me to take off my shirt, and my tits are exposed.

“so sexy, ma” he grabs my tits and slowly moves his way back down to my still throbbing hole. he licks right from my hole to my clit leaving a slick trail. and he sticks his tounge into my hole causing my back to arch off the bed and i let out a borderline pornographic moan as his fingers begin rubbing circles on my clit again.

he moves his tounge around inside me going as deep as he can while his fingers still work steady circles on my clit. “shit. chris- dont s- stop.” i feel the knot in my stomach tighten, and without warning i squirt.

chris pulls his face away and starts aggressively rubbing on my clit causing me to keep squirting for what felt like forever.

“youre so fuckin sexy ma, only i can make you do that huh?” he says, “my fuckin slut”

“y- yes chris. only you, im yours” this makes him let out a sly chuckle. “i know.”

all of a sudden i feel his dick thrust into me, quickly and without warning. i let out an insane moan and so does he.

his moans are so fucking hot.

“fuck- chris!”

“hm?” he questions, his voice already shaky.

i dont even reply, he knows what i want. i just try my hardest to focus. his cock hitting my gspot perfectly every. single. thrust. his moans are bringing me to the edge so fucking fast.

“c- chris. im gonna cum” my voice is so shaky. his thrusts are gettinf sloppier by the second and i feel the knot in my stomach break. and i feel his cum fill me up.

we finished at the same time

we are both a moaning mess together and he pulls out of me, both of our cum dripping out of me.

then we hear chris’ bedroom door open… its madison and nick, they’re home.

“WHAT THE FUCK” they both shout in unison, nick slamming the door back shut immediately.

oops.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Need you to continue Best Friend! Fred please… PLEASE… I am begging on my knees… You write so well… I will be waiting right here… Oh how I yearn for Best Friend! Fred…

Merry Christmas sluts ❤️

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Bestfriend!Fred with no boundaries teaches you how to have sex pt 2

summary: its the day after you asked Fred to teach you about sex, and he's keeping up on his promise.

warnings: smut, cursing

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It wasn’t unusual for you to think about Fred first thing in the morning. You often walked to breakfast with the twins and saw him within your classes on a daily basis. But it was unusual to wake up with your panties completely soaked while thinking about him. Was this something that happened the morning after, or did you just not shower well enough after last night?

Either way, you ended up taking a very cold shower before breakfast. By the time you came down to the common room, Fred and George were waiting by the couches. Fred smiled as he watched you come down the stairs.

“Good morning, lovely,” Fred said as you approached them. He pulled you under his arms as the three of you started towards the exit.

“Good morning,” you smiled, happy to start another day by your best friends side.

“What am I, a flobberworm?” George scoffed sarcastically from behind. You rolled your eyes playfully and looked back at him.

“Good morning to you too, George,” you teased, walking through the portrait hole. The day seemed much brighter in the halls, and it looked surprisingly nice out. The three of you walked into the Great Hall and sat down where you normally did, next to Hermione usually at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," she chirped, her head buried in a book.

“Morning, Hermione,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Whatcha reading there?” The twins sat on the other side of the table.

“Ancient Uses of Mystic Herbs,” she replied, sitting up straighter and flipping her book up to show the cover. “Trying to find something that could help Harry.” You hummed in interest as Hermione sank back into her book. George pulled out a paper and began writing at the bottom.

"What’s that?" you asked, buttering your toast. George smirked and gave you a funny look.

"The Herbology assignment that's due today?" George said questioningly, raising his brows at you. Your brows shot up in response as you remembered the blank paper in your bag.

"I completely forgot about that assignment," you gasped. "Fred, can I please, please copy yours?" You pleaded, sticking your bottom lip out in persuasion. He shot you back an amused look as he gathered sausages onto his plate.

"Y/N, you're usually such a good student,” he teased, shaking his head at you in disapproval. “Were you distracted yesterday?” You sharpened your eyes at him and he laughed, passing you his paper. You felt your cheeks heat up. At least he was letting you copy off of him.

"You're too nice to her, Freddie," George joked, shaking his head at him.

"Ah, it's the least I can do for my best friend," Freddie grinned, leaning over the table to pinch your cheek. You batted his head away and started furiously copying his work, ignoring George laughing at you. As you copied his work, he filled your mug with tea. Earl grey with a dash of cream, just the way you liked it. By the time breakfast was over, you had finished the assignment and were off to your first class of the day.

The day dragged on per usual. In Herbology, Fred and George rubbed sneezewart on the observation sheets causing multiple students to rush out of class in a fit. You had a few classes without Fred and George, and Ancient Runes was your final class for the day. You stared out the window as dull clouds began to roll in from the forest. You tried to pay attention to Professor Babbling, but her droning voice quickly became background noise. The clouds came in closer to the castle, the sound of thunder rumbling through the windows. Rain storms always made you feel cozy, and you wished class would end so you could curl up in your favorite jumper. It was Fred’s Gryffindor sweatshirt and the memory of its smell reminded you of yesterday. His skin had been so close to you, and while it was comforting, there was something else. A want, a yearning to just press your hips against his. Your head snapped away from the window as your peers began to gather their belongings. You began to do the same, noting the slickness between your thighs. There it was again. You needed to find Fred and ask him what you should do about it. Was it pathetic that you knew virtually nothing about sex? You slung your bag over your shoulder and left the classroom, moving hastily towards Gryffindor. You knew Fred wouldn’t judge you and would actually teach you, that’s why you had asked him in the first place. But would he pity you for barely knowing anything at all?

By the time you got to the tower, it was pouring outside. There was the usual chatter and rough housing in the common room, but your failure to spot Fred had you climbing the stairs to his dorm. You were frustrated and cold and you just wanted to be near your best friend.

When you opened the door after a hurried knock, you were happy to see only Fred in the room. He was laying on his bed reading his book.

"Hi Y/N," he greeted, looking up from his book. "How was class?" You huffed as you moved towards his closet, pulling his hoodie out and slipping it on over your head.

"It was terrible," you pouted, coming over to his bed. Fred put his book down and opened his arms to you. You fell gladly into his chest.

"Why was it terrible love?" Fred mumbled into your hair. You groaned and buried yourself deeper into him.

"It's just..." you hesitated, always losing the courage to talk about stuff like this.

"Is it about yesterday?" Fred asked, his hand petting the back of your head. He always knew what you were thinking and you were relieved that he had caught on.

"Yes," you fussed, sitting up from his grasp. Fred huffed out a chuckle and followed suit. "It's just that, I can't stop thinking about it, y'know?"

"Oh, I know," Fred mumbled. You continued on with your ramblings.

"It's like I'm in class and I'm just distracted," you explained, your hands gesturing wildly. "And my underwear has been wet for hours. How do I make it stop?" Fred swallowed and dropped his gaze to your skirt.

"Darling, it's not something you can just stop," Fred explained, his eyes coming back up to yours. "Your body just wants more." You pursed your lips as you pondered this for a second, listening to the rain pelt against the window. Maybe you really did want more...

"I want to go all the way," you declared, sitting up straight and nodding your head. Fred couldn't help but smiled at your naivety.

"You want to go 'all the way'?" Fred chuckled, teasing your choice of words. He found this entire situation charming.

"Yes," you huffed defiantly. "I want you to have sex with me." Fred chuckled in disbelief and ran his hands through his hair. Your bold innocence made his head spin.

"It's going to hurt," Fred warned, trying his best to properly inform you before you made the decision to lose your virginity. He wouldn't be able to say no to you.

"Okay," you nodded, your fingers playing with the hem of your sock. "What else?"

"You might bleed," he said. "And it might not feel good at all this time." Your brows furrowed.

"But everybody says sex feels amazing?" You questioned, tilting your head. Freds half smile made you heart skip. That was new.

"It does," he chuckled, his eyes falling to your lips for a moment. "But it might be uncomfortable your first time. Especially with me,” he teased. You rolled your eyes at his insinuation and he laughed again. "I'm serious, Y/N. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do." This was clearly the wrong thing to say as you leaned forward to roughly grasp his shoulders.

"Fred, I want this. I want to know what it feels like and there's nobody else on this entire planet I trust more than you," you stated, gripping his shoulders as he watched your declaration.

"Well if I'm going to fuck you we need to kiss first," he grinned cheekily, watching the heat rise up to your cheeks.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," you huffed, finding the courage to lean forward to kiss him. He laughed into the kiss but gladly gripped your hips in return, his mouth moving in tandem. You kissed him greedily, your body moving on its own. Fred swept you onto your back, crawling over your without breaking the kiss. Within seconds, he had taken the control back from you, his kiss melting away your sudden burst of courage. He clearly knew what he was doing and you didn't put up a fight for dominance. The ache in your core surged as his knee pried open your legs, causing a moan to leave your lips. You felt more confident this time, less embarrassed of your noises of ecstasy as Fred's knee applied a much needed pressure to your cunt. You let your hands grip his hair, then run down his back. You felt him groan and it made you want to do it again. You were surprised at your self assurance, and even more surprised that you seemed to have to same effect on Fred that he had on you. His teeth bit softly into your neck in a change of pace.

"Fred," you moaned instinctively, you back arching off the mattress against your will. He didn't stop, instead tearing off your sweatshirt. This prompted the two of you to hastily take off all your clothes, only stopping to laugh when your hand accidentally whacked Fred in the face. The laughter faded as he came forward again, this time kissing you with such tenderness, you thought you were melting back into the mattress.

Fred was hopeless; he had been ruined since yesterday. He knew from the moment he kissed you that he'd been a complete fool. All day he'd been trying to convince himself otherwise, that he didn't harbor any romantic feelings towards you and you were still just his bestfriend. He wasn't going to bother lying to himself any longer. He was hopelessly in love with you.

His kiss began to trail down your neck again, then to your breast, then down your navel. Fred wanted to devour you. He wanted to watch as you came again for him. It drove him crazy that he was the only person to watch you unravel.

"F-Fred," you breathed, your hands tugging at his hair. "What are you doing?" His brown eyes peered up at you as he pressed his mouth into your thigh, making your hips buck.

"Before you have sex, we need to get you nice and wet for me darling," he breathed, kissing closer to your cunt. His fingers ran up your slit and you shivered. "Although, it doesn't seem like you need much help." You didn't have time to respond before he pressed a kiss into your clit, effectively sucking the rest of the air out of your lungs. You shuddered repeatedly as he licked gently on your sensitive clit. It felt so different from his fingers, so wet and warm. It took you a moment in your daze to realize he was moaning into your pussy, greedily lapping at your clit and pushing his tongue inside you. Fred wasn't even trying to hold himself back, his arms wrapping underneath you thighs and pulling you into his face. You tried to press him off of you, embarrassed at how close he was to you heat, but his grip won over you. His tongue lapped in circle, his gentle suck and kiss pulling terrible noises from your mouth. With every movement, the pressures built up inside you, sensation washing over you as you rocked your hips against his tongue. It felt like only a minute had passed when the tightness in your core suddenly snapped.

"Oh, fuck-" you cried as you came unexpectedly onto his tongue, the waves of intense pleasure taking away your ability to breathe. He sighed deeply as he lapped it all up, his grip not loosening for a second. It was only when he felt your legs kicking and your needy pleas for him that he gave one last gentle kiss to you clit. You stared at him breathlessly, unsure of what to say after you just came all over your bestfriends face. Luckily for you, Fred didn't miss a beat.

"You taste so fucking good," Fred praised, kissing up your stomach as you caught your breath. “You’re so good at this Y/N. Did that feel good?" He asked, coming up to hover over your face and brush the sweaty strands of hair off your face. You nodded shyly as you breathed, leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss. He chuckled as he accepted your kiss before saying, "Use your words, darling."

"Yes," you panted, pulling the back of his head down towards you. "That felt so good, Freddie." Fred groaned as his mouth came down to savor your kiss. You stayed like this for a while, kissing as Fred gently pressed his hips into yours. After a while, your hips began to rock with his, naturally moving with the rhythm he had set. There was nothing between the two of you besides his thin boxers, and you could feel his hard length rubbing against you. Occasionally, his tip would catch your entrance, and the pressure made the both of you groan.

"I'm ready," you mumbled into his lips, the two of you unable to break your kiss. He hummed into your lips and kissed you hard for a few more second before he pried himself off of you. He kneeled over you, freeing himself from his boxers with a slap. Your mouth parted slightly at the sight of him, and you were starting to believe him when he said it might hurt. His smile was more adoring than teasing as he watched you gape at his size. You watched breathlessly as he stroked himself a few times before coming back over you.

"Are you sure?" He asked once more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, spreading your slickness. You weren't sure you could even speak as you watched him do this, you were mesmerized.

"Yes," you breathed, you gaze coming back up to his. His eyes searched your face for any hesitation, and when he found none, he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Just tell me if you want to stop," he soothed, brushing your fallen hair behind your ear. You nodded and tightened your grip on the back of his neck. He pressed a kiss to your lips and pushed himself inside of you.

Fred felt like an idiot as he exhaled into the kiss, his thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. He couldn't believe he didn't realize how much he liked you, how much he loved you. He wanted to swallow you whole. He wished that you knew how much this meant to him, but he knew you were too distracted to be thinking about anything else but his cock inside your tight pussy for the first time. Fuck.

"How does it feel, love," Fred asked, his voice nothing but a raspy whisper. You buried your face into his neck and whined.

"Just keep going," you whispered. "Please." Fred tried not to groan at your pleading as he pulled back again. He knew it must hurt for you, you were so tight. It was taking everything inside of him not to groan uncontrollably and push himself fully inside of you, you felt so good. His lips fell to your neck and left soothing kisses as he pushed himself into you again, this time going deeper. He felt your breath hitch into his neck as your eyes clamped shut. Fred's fingers gripped the sheets for his life.

"Just one more, darling. You’re doing so good," Fred muttered, pulling back gently once more. You nodded into his neck, making some sort of noise of assurance. With a final push, Fred bottomed out and let out an irrepressible moan. You cried again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you felt his full length. He stayed like this for a moment, his lips encouraging you to return his kiss. You obliged and felt yourself relax, the feeling of his lips against yours softening your face. After a moment you let out a soft moan, the fullness inside of you finally satisfying what you thought would be a never ending ache. You moaned again into his kiss, this time louder as he became less controlled, his mouth eagerly devouring your own.

"It feels better now," you whispered into the kiss. Fred hummed and began to move with small and gentle pumps, letting you get used to his size. Fred's fingers were losing circulation as he gripped the bedsheets in an attempt to control himself from fucking you senseless. He fit perfectly inside you, and your breathy whimpers and pants were sending him over the edge. He made a critical mistake by pulling back to watch you as he picked up his pace, your watery eyes and swollen lips looked like heaven.

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted, fully moving with his entire length at this point. "I'm not going to last long." You didn't seem to be able to form any coherent words besides your whines so you just nodded instead, overwhelmed by the unexpected knot forming in your stomach. He watched your eyes as he thrust into you over and over again, the pleasure on your face growing with each movement. His hand gripped your waist as he drove himself into you at his full capability for the final few thrusts. He couldn't help himself and from the noises you were making, you seemed to enjoy it. "Fuck," Fred whispered as he pulled out of you, pumping his cock a few times as he came on the sheets next to you. You watched in awe as he spurted hot liquid onto the bed, some of it falling onto the side of your hips. It made you buck you hips as the emptiness began to creep up, his warm cum dripping teasingly down your side. Fred finished and promptly smothered you in kisses, the two of you groaning as you rode out the last moments of euphoria with each other. Breathless and spent, Fred rolled off of you and pulled you in his chest.

"Are you okay, my love?" He asked, kissing the top of your head and your ears and your cheeks. You giggled and sighed into his kisses, coming up to place one onto his lips.

"Yes," you sighed. "More than okay." Fred smiled and huffed out a laugh, burying his face into you neck as his arms pulled you in tighter. You both sighed contentedly and rested like this for a moment, wetness and warmth in between your bodies.

"We need to get you cleaned up," Fred hushed, reaching over to his bedside to grab his wand. He quickly cleaned up the bed before moving to you, carefully casting the proper charms to get you clean before doing himself. "You should definitely use the bathroom soon and shower before you go to sleep tonight, love." Fred pressed a kiss to your lips again before pulling his sweatshirt over your head and finding you a fresh pair of his boxers to slip up your legs before pulling his sweats back on.

"Mmm," you groaned, closing your eyes and falling back onto his pillow. You were sapped. Fred chuckled and came to join you again, wrapping himself around you.

"Are you listening, love?" Fred teased, rubbing your back with his soft and sturdy hands.

"Mmm," you hummed again, burying yourself deeper into his chest, relishing in his comfort. He huffed out a laugh and buried himself back into your neck.

"Well, I'm getting you up in a moment to use the bathroom," he said, pressing a kiss into the fabric on your shoulders. "And you're not getting out of it. I'm not going to succumb to your cute little noises." You murmured again into his chest and smiled when this made him laugh.

"Can we do this again?" You asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn't heard you. He chortled at your question.

"Yes. Yes, we can do this again."

[slaymitchabernathy]

Silent Night

Coriolanus strides through the halls with triumph. December came and went, taking all of those frivolous decorations with it. Good, he had thought when watching the Avoxes disassemble the Christmas tree, less clutter to fill the house with.

His wife hadn't exactly shared his enthusiasm for the dismissal of the holidays but her feelings weren't really that important to him.

She was here to make him happy and give him children, not give out her opinions on how he ran his household.

"We could start here," Quintus suggests, pointing at the library, "and then move into the ballroom for the photographs."

With a new year comes new photos that need to be taken, a rather annoying task to land on his desk but Coriolanus approaches it with the same diligence he does with anything else. Finding spots to take said photographs in the cold winter has proven to be more difficult though.

"Maybe," is all he says, his attention already drawn to a white ball of fluff running towards him. His lips curl upwards into what could possibly be a smile as his wife's kitten runs up to him.

Petunia, as Soarynn named her, is a little ball of energy, constantly meowing and running around. Coriolanus is glad that he's remained firm in keeping her out of their bedroom because he can't imagine trying to sleep with her constant noise. It's bad enough that she cries from outside their bedroom door.

It had clearly broken Soarynn's heart to hear her kitten crying. She had given Coriolanus her best pouting face the first night they had her before sweetly asking if Petunia could be let in. Coriolanus had grabbed her chin and sweetly told her that she could either sleep with him in their bed, or sleep on the floor with Petunia out in the hall.

Needless to say, Soarynn hasn't asked for Petunia to be let in since.

Soarynn is right behind her kitten, wearing the pink dress he picked out for her today. She's smiling as she chases after her kitten who comes to a stop in front of Coriolanus, batting at his shoe. He steps to the side, not wanting to become a victim of those small claws, "Petunia," Soarynn calls, "Petunia come back."

Petunia has a pink ribbon wrapped around her neck today, standing out from her white fur and she looks up at Coriolanus, letting out a meow. Coriolanus stares down at her, not entirely impressed by this behavior. To her credit, Soarynn has been training her but kittens seem to have a mind of their own, unfortunately.

"I taught her new tricks," Soarynn says breathlessly once she reaches them. Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Tricks? My dear, a cat cannot be taught tricks like a dog."

Coriolanus nods in agreement, dogs are hard enough to train but cats are stubborn with ideas of their own.

But Soarynn shakes her head with a determined look on her face, "No, no she does know tricks! Let me show you. Petunia, sit."

Petunia remains standing, very interested in the laces of his leather shoes.

Soarynn huffs, "Petunia, sit."

Petunia looks up at her owner, not at all willing to listen, and leans down on her front paws, stretching.

Quintus chuckles and Coriolanus shakes his head, "I swear she just did it," Soarynn mumbles, slouching in defeat, "she knows how to sit."

Petunia runs over to Soarynn and rolls onto her back, asking to be pet. Soarynn sighs and bends down, scooping up the small kitten, "Perhaps you should focus your time on teaching her how to use the litter box instead," Coriolanus reminds her, "and maybe get her to shut up when we're trying to sleep."

Soarynn frowns but she doesn't dare say anything against his suggestions, "We should go," Quintus says, "the war department still needs us to go over the new plans."

Coriolanus hums and reaches out to grab Soarynn's chin, something he loves to do to remind her of who's in charge, "Be good while I'm gone darling," he tells her, his words laced with threats if she doesn't behave.

Soarynn swallows, eyes blown wide in fear of any reprimands, "I will be," she whispers. Coriolanus chuckles and leans down to kiss her, enjoying how she stiffens from his touch. She hasn't acted out since he locked her in the greenhouse but he's been looking for the smallest mistake ever since. There's a sick part of him that enjoys punishing Soarynn, watching those crystal tears fall from her glassy eyes.

They go their separate ways but Coriolanus keeps thinking back to the ribbon tied around Petunia's neck, how simple yet enticing it looked, and how it would look wrapped around Soarynn's neck instead.

He'll have to work on that.

꧁ ꧂

"Open it, darling," he encourages, watching Soarynn sit on their bed, a pink box in front of her.

He got home about an hour ago, still left with things to do but he managed to secure her a gift during his time away from home.

Soarynn gives him a nervous smile as she lifts the lid up and he can see the confusion on her face when she sees what's inside of it.

A collar.

Red leather with a gold tag on it.

"This is, this is too big for Petunia," she softly tells him, her eyes filled with innocence while they look up at him. Coriolanus smiles at his sweet little wife, so dumb and clueless, "It's not for her," he explains, "read the tag."

Soarynn hesitantly reaches for the collar and reads the tag. Coriolanus drinks in the way her expression changes from curiosity to dread.

"What does it say?"

Soarynn opens her mouth to answer him but is at a loss for words is seems. Coriolanus reaches out and rests a hand on top of her head, "Tell me what it says, darling."

He can see her fighting back the tears of both humiliation and frustration, "It says, 'Property of Coriolanus Snow'," she whispers. Coriolanus nods, pleased she's able to read what's been engraved onto the tag, "And who is it for?"

Soarynn sniffles, a single tear rolls down her cheek, "It's for me."

Coriolanus smiles widely, ruffling her hair, "Good girl, it's for you. Let's put it on hmm? Make sure it fits you."

Soarynn remains frozen on the bed while he takes the collar from her hands, unbuckling it with ease, "Come sit at your vanity," he instructs, already walking towards Soarynn's vanity she often sits at to get ready for bed. He watches through the mirror as she slides off the bed, her head hung low in shame. She silently sits down on the vanity stool and Coriolanus gathers her hair in his hand, pulling it away from her face so he can slip the collar around her neck.

"Hold it there for me," he says. Soarynn finally looks at her reflection and she looks mortified. But she does as he says, holding the collar against her skin while his fingers deftly work on sliding the strap through the buckle, securing it through the correct notch.

Soarynn lets go of the collar and it sits perfectly on her dainty neck. The red looks great on her skin and the golden tag shines brightly. Coriolanus chuckles, slipping a finger under the leather, "Not too tight see? Perfect fit."

Her bottom lip trembles and she's so close to breaking he can taste it.

Coriolanus rests his hands on her shoulders, pushing down the straps of her nightgown, baring her breasts, "Look how pretty you look," he coos, "my good girl. Do you like it?"

Soarynn nods her head even though they both know that she hates it. She fucking hates it and she probably hates him too. That's okay though, he doesn't need her to love him.

Coriolanus perks up as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh, it completely slipped my mind, let me go get the leash."

That's all it takes to send Soarynn over the edge.

She breaks into tears, sobbing with the collar still around her throat. She folds her arms on the vanity's surface and rests her head on them, crying so loudly that he can hear every gasp, every sniffle, every sob.

She's humiliated and rightfully so.

It brings him great joy to see her like this.

He feigns a sympathetic tone, "Darling what's wrong? Do you not like the color?" He slides his hands down her bare back, ignoring how she flinches from his cold touch, attempting to bring her fake comfort.

Soarynn whimpers, still not lifting her head, "Let me go get the leash," he tells her, "you'll feel better once I get the leash."

Coriolanus walks into their closet, a shit-eating grin on his face. Soarynn has been good but something like this is exactly what she needs to remind her of her place.

He finds the red leash right where he left it and grabs it, wrapping the leather around his knuckles. He comes out and finds Soarynn struggling to breathe while she tries to take the collar off, red in the face, looking at her pitiful reflection.

"Oh darling, it stays on," he tells her, playing dumb, "it doesn't come off unless I want it to."

Soarynn frantically shakes her head, trying to undo what he's done but she can't see what she's doing through her tears and she's far too frantic to do anything right now but listen to him. Coriolanus sighs and walks back over to her, the leash dangling in his grip, her eyes immediately lock onto it and she whimpers, trying to move away but he grabs her before she gets the chance.

"Hold still," he orders, keeping one hand on the collar while the other clips the leash onto the ring that holds the golden tag, "there we go, much better."

Soarynn says nothing.

Her tears have dried and her eyes are red and bloodshot. She looks miserable, just as he likes her.

He tugs on the leash, jerking her head to the side, "On the floor darling," he says, pulling harder, "on your hands and knees for me."

He doesn't let her have any say in the matter, he just pulls so hard that she falls off the stool with a yelp, collapsing onto the floor. She lies there, not making any effort to give up with her pretty little face inches away from his shiny leather shoes her cat tried to play with earlier today.

A horrible, evil idea crosses his mind and he smirks, "I think your kitten scratched my shoes today, why don't you clean them for me?"

Soarynn pushes herself up with shaky hands and trembling breaths, staring down at his shoes, "Clean them," he repeats, pulling on the leash until she's almost choking. Soarynn looks up at him, unable to look anywhere else but into her husband's dark, brooding eyes, "Put that tongue of yours to use and clean them Soarynn."

He loosens his grip on her leash and Soarynn lowers her head, staring down at his shoes and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand, still sniffling.

Then, with shame and burning humiliation, she leans down to his shoes and he watches her little pink tongue lick the leather surface. It's an all too erotic sight to witness, Soarynn on her hands and knees, collared with a leash while licking the shoes he wore today.

It's even better when her nightgown rides up her hips, showing off her cute little ass with the pink lacy thong she wore tonight. He might need to get her a tail too, to match with her collar and leash.

He lets her lick both of his shoes for a few minutes, making sure that she's burning with shame by the time he decides that she's done. He pulls on the leash, lifting her face away from his shoes and he walks over to the armchair he likes to sit in when winding down for the night. It's by the fireplace and he often has a drink while reading a book to relax.

Soarynn has no choice but to follow him, literally on her hands and knees. He looks down at her and decides that if she had a tail, it would be between her legs right now. Her head is hung in shame and Coriolanus sits down with a groan. It's been a long, tiring day and this is just what he needed to unwind.

Soarynn comes to a stop right in front of him and she makes for a gorgeous picture. Coriolanus spreads his legs and tugs her closer, enjoying the gasp that leaves her lips. He keeps a tight grip on the leash, pulling her closer and closer until her face is right by his covered cock, already hard from watching her walk around like a fucking dog.

Soarynn finally looks up at him, he can see how angry she is, how humiliated and betrayed she is by his actions. He sighs and runs a hand over her head, "Oh darling, don't look at me like that," he tuts, "you always talk about being my good girl so I thought we could put that to the test."

Soarynn doesn't say anything but she doesn't need to, those stormy eyes of hers speak more than words.

She looks so glorious like this, on her knees for him, face stained with tears.

"Now I've had a long day," he says, reaching over to the table next to the chair where he always leaves his book, "so why don't you make yourself useful while I read, hmm?"

If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

But Soarynn knows better than to bite back, especially when he's displayed that he has no issue treating her like a fucking animal. He can always get his little bitch a muzzle if needed.

Coriolanus taps her nose, a less forgiving look in his eyes, "Put that mouth of yours to use before I leave you outside for the night," he threatens, smirking at how quickly Soarynn goes to unbutton his pants. He helps her by lifting his hips so that she can pull down his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He doesn't let her give him blowjobs often but he has to with her looking like this.

"No hands," he instructs when she goes to stroke his length, "just keep it in your pretty mouth."

Soarynn swallows, Coriolanus had been blessed in length and girth and he's quite difficult to take in her small mouth but he wants to see her drooling over his cock by the time he's done reading.

So, ever so slowly, Soarynn takes him into her mouth until she literally can't fit any more of him in her mouth and throat. She gags for only a second before she somewhat relaxes, resting her head on his thigh.

Coriolanus opens his book to where he left off, keeping her leash tightly wrapped around his hand while he reads. It's the perfect way to end his night. He glances over the pages of his book every so often to see Soarynn in her dumbed-down state, mouth full of cock and eyes closed.

After this he'll fuck her, keeping the leash and collar on of course.

She'll think twice about talking back to him after this, and he'll make sure that she works on keeping Petunia quiet while they sleep or this will become a regular occurrence for them.

He'll do anything to guarantee a silent night.

| Part 2. | Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf |

[tekkenenjoyerblue]

Judgemental kings

[thelostgirl21]

Okay, I've just gotta say though...

Imagine that you think you've fallen in love with some evil mastermind that only ever pretended to love you to gain power for himself!

Then, shortly after, you hear some sniffling coming from the corner of a room while searching for your family, and randomly find said "evil mastermind" looking like this:

Radovid's main casting requirement: being able to look so small, vulnerable, soft, lost, and hurt, that it'll have some members of the audience yelling "Jaskier, you better fix this right now, you big meanie! Or I'll never forgive you!" at their screen!

Basically,

Me, before season 3: "I don't think I'll ever be able to feel as protective of any character in any TV show ever as I do of Jaskier."

Radovid: "Hold my wine bottle, I've got this!"

Me, after season 3: "I now have this strange urge to throttle that bard if he ever hurts that one again... What the fuck is going on?"

[medicinemane]

I don't know, I get tired of a lot of positivity

Like yes yes, the world's wonderful and I'm so strong or whatever generic thing is being said (because it's always so generalized to the point of meaningless), but you know shit is what it is, and the only way forward is with changes I manage to make... which you're not helping with at all

And as for like... my internal mood, I'm deeply isolated, sorry if hollow platitudes don't sooth the gaping maw inside me

It is what it is, and I probably get my shit together enough to do stuff like teach out of my basement like I'd like, it's just I believe that I'll be alone in a crowd like I've always been

But positivity... I just... I kinda get sick of it. There's this guy on youtube I watch who talks about economics stuff, he's recently started doing positivity and... I just fucking know his personality enough where it's like sorry mate but I'm not interested in hearing you spout Secret light kinds off drivel

...I don't know, I suppose it boils down to this

One, I can barely fucking take in positive things said directly to me, about me. Generalizations don't help even a little... I'm a mess, I'd really like someone to toss me a life preserver instead of always tossing confetti at me while I struggle to stay afloat... doesn't help

Two, the world is a terribly imperfect place, and rather than taking a mentality of "everything will work out", I think it's important to acknowledge that sometimes good people live alone, die alone, and they never got the break they needed and slowly bled out

I think it's worth knowing that if you can't step in and help yourself, then maybe no help'll come at all

...I don't know, I suppose in the end the core of what I'm saying is a lot of positivity seems like self help tier stuff and... I get tired of that, and I see so many good people struggling and... eh... either I can at least come in and say something positive custom fit to them, or I can keep my mouth shut

Just fucking let me rot. Help or let me fester on my own, you know?

I got rid of the trailer, I maybe did something like cleaning though I can't tell... at what point will my pace on trying to make things better be good enough for people, and I'll be able to stop having people tell me to fix my life... as if I hadn't thought of that already

...everyone means well, it's just tiring

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON - paired up together

quarterback!extroverted jock x shy!introverted!FEM!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: soft!rafe cameron

your mom and dad always had a vision for you, one that didn’t exactly include self-defense classes. when you were younger, they signed you up for piano lessons, art workshops, and just about anything that didn’t involve sweat or the possibility of a sprained ankle. they didn’t want you to feel weak, of course, but they thought strength came from different things—discipline, refinement, skill.

“you don’t need to learn to throw punches,” your mom would say. “you need discipline. structure. music.”

so you’re not exactly the strongest person in the world, but you’re not weak either. you’ve got your limits, sure, but you also like to think you can handle yourself if you absolutely had to. you’re just hoping today isn’t one of those days.

as you walk with your best friend to PE, the two of you are mid-gossip, laughing at something she said about the latest drama in your grade.

“and then she had the nerve to say my dress was last season, when hers looked like it came out of her grandma’s attic,” lana says, flipping her hair dramatically.

you snort. “maybe she was going for vintage?”

“vintage?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “there’s a difference between vintage and… tragic.”

the conversation carries you all the way to the gym, where your PE teacher, coach davis, claps his hands together and gets everyone’s attention.

“alright, listen up!” he booms, his voice echoing off the walls. “today, we’re starting a self-defense unit. and before anyone complains, let me just say—you’re gonna thank me later. trust me.”

there’s a murmur of interest and maybe a little dread from the class. you glance around and spot the football team—rafe cameron and topper thornton in the corner—leaning against the wall like they’re above it all. rafe’s tossing a football between his hands absentmindedly, while topper’s saying something that makes him smirk.

“of course they’re here,” lana mutters, following your gaze, looking at each football player.

“at least we’re not getting paired with them,” you whisper back, half-joking.

lana shakes her head, “i feel like you just jinxed us.”

you look at her, “no, you just jinxed us by saying that i jinxed us.”

she looks at you with a confused face, “you’re not even making sense, like at all.”

“whatever, they're football players, it would be weird if we were paired with them,” you raised your shoulders.

coach davis goes on to explain the basics of the class, ending with the bombshell: “you’re gonna be partnered up for these drills. i’ll call out the pairs.”

your friend groans dramatically. “if it’s not them then i’m gonna get stuck with someone who doesn’t even know how to hold a fist properly.”

“maybe it’ll be me,” you say, grinning.

“please,” she shoots back. “you’re not hopeless. you’re just… delicate.”

before you can defend yourself, coach starts calling out pairs. when he says your best friend’s name, followed by topper’s, her jaw drops.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispers, shooting you a look. “like i said, you jinxed us.”

“at least he’s strong?” you offer, barely holding back a laugh.

“and annoying.” she sighs, but there’s a faint pink tinge to her cheeks as she walks over to topper.

then coach calls your name.

“you’re with rafe cameron.”

your stomach drops. you glance up to find rafe already looking at you, his eyebrows slightly raised, the smirk replaced by something unreadable.

“great,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your water bottle and making your way over.

the self-defense gym class is not exactly your idea of a good time. the thought of being paired up with anyone, let alone someone like rafe cameron—quarterback, golden boy, cute jock extraordinaire—makes you want to melt into the floor. but when coach calls your name, followed by his, there’s no escaping it.

you shuffle over to him, clutching your water bottle, avoiding his eyes. rafe, on the other hand, stands there looking like he’s just been told he won the lottery, but he’s trying way too hard to play it cool.

“guess we’re partners,” he says, a little too brightly, flashing that easy grin of his. it’s the kind of smile that probably works on everyone else, but you just nod and mumble, “yeah, okay.”

the first drill is basic—a wrist grab escape.

“so,” he starts, dropping the football to the ground and kicking it aside, “here’s the plan. i’ll go easy on you, obviously. i mean, i’m not gonna, like, actually grab you or anything. just… enough so you can practice the moves. sound good?”

you blink at him, unsure what to say. he’s talking fast, like he’s trying to fill the silence before it even has a chance to settle.

“and if you’re not sure about something, just tell me,” he continues, his hands gesturing animatedly. “i’ve, uh, done some of this stuff before. kind of, you know… for football and stuff.” he scratches the back of his neck, like that explains everything.

“okay,” you say softly, nodding.

he hesitates for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to say more, but when you don’t, he shifts awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“cool. yeah. uh… so, you wanna start with the wrist grab thing?” he asks, his voice a little higher than usual.

“sure,” you reply, your tone neutral.

he stares at you for a second longer, then clears his throat and rubs his hands together. “alright. this’ll be easy. just… pretend I’m the bad guy or something.”

you glance up at him briefly, your lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. “okay, bad guy.”

his laugh is sudden, almost startled, like he didn’t expect you to say that. he recovers quickly, though, his grin softening into something less forced.

“alright, let’s do this,” he says, stepping a little closer. you try not to focus on how tall he is, how he seems to take up all the space around you.

the first few exercises are awkward, to say the least. rafe has to grab your wrist in what’s supposed to be a firm hold, and you’d have to fumble your way through the escape technique. it’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to get the drill going.

the two of you are both way too aware of each other. the awkwardness of it all makes the air feel heavier, and there’s this strange, bubbling tension that neither of you knows how to shake. rafe’s grip on your wrist is a little too firm at first, and you instinctively yank it out of his hold too quickly, which makes you both pause and look at each other for a second.

there’s a beat of silence, and then rafe’s face cracks into a grin. “uh… yeah, you’re definitely supposed to slowly pull away,” he says, his voice a little too bright for the situation.

you blink at him, your face flushing. “sorry, I—uh—I panicked.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s fine. we’re just trying this out.”

you can’t help but feel embarrassed, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. you didn’t think self-defense could be this awkward, but the whole thing is kind of ridiculous. the movements feel so stiff and uncoordinated, and you can tell rafe is trying way too hard to hide his laughter.

“okay,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at him. “let’s try again.”

this time, rafe tries to go easy on you, adjusting his stance, but as soon as he grabs your wrist again, there’s a moment of hesitation, and both of you burst into suppressed giggles. it’s just too silly—the way you’re both standing there, pretending to fight, looking like absolute amateurs.

you can’t stop the laughter from slipping out, and the sound is so unexpected that it catches you off guard. your face burns, and you quickly cover it with your hand, hoping no one notices how flustered you are.

“okay, okay,” rafe says between laughs, still holding your wrist but clearly fighting to keep himself together. his heart is racing, not from the physical exertion of the exercises, but from the way he can’t seem to focus on anything except how adorable you look when you laugh. “we’re, uh, doing great, right?”

you can’t even meet his eyes. your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “yeah, definitely.”

but rafe’s heart is thundering in his chest, too loud for him to ignore. he’s never been this nervous during a drill, not even when he’s throwing a football in front of a crowd. everything about this is making his insides do flip-flops, and he can’t understand why.

the two of you keep going through the exercises, but the laughter doesn’t stop. each time rafe grabs your wrist, or you try to make an escape, there’s this shared, silent understanding between the two of you. it’s ridiculous. it’s awkward. and it’s perfect.

he notices the way your hands shake slightly, how your eyes keep darting away from his, and it just makes him want to laugh even more. it’s so real, so raw, in a way he’s never felt before. he doesn’t know why, but he can’t seem to stop thinking about you.

“you’re doing fine,” he says softly after a while, his voice unusually gentle. “really. don’t worry about it.”

you nod, barely able to form words as you keep your gaze firmly on the floor. he wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in his throat. it’s strange—this is strange. something about the way you make him feel like he’s in way over his head, and it’s making his heart race faster than he can keep up with.

coach davis started droning on about the next exercise, something about how to escape a bear hug or tackle or whatever, but you’re not really listening. you’re too busy trying to get the next move right, shifting your weight awkwardly, wondering if your face is as hot as it feels.

what you are aware of, though, is the way rafe is looking at you. his gaze is soft, but it doesn’t feel casual—it’s more intense than it should be, like he's lost in a thought you’re not a part of. every time you glance at him, he’s still staring, his lips slightly parted like he’s about to say something but can’t quite figure out what.

you don’t notice how long he’s been staring, how he’s not paying attention to coach davis at all, but lana does.

she’s standing a few feet away with topper, listening half-heartedly to the coach’s explanation while she watches you both from the corner of her eye. when she sees rafe’s gaze fixed on you, her eyebrow raises, the corners of her lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“no way,” she mutters to topper, who’s clearly more interested in trying not to sweat than anything happening in the class.

lana shifts closer to you, nudging your shoulder gently. “okay, seriously, are you two going to pretend like nothing is happening here?” she whispers, her voice laced with amusement.

you barely hear her, focused on the way rafe shifts his weight, trying to act casual, but you don’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“what are you talking about?” you ask, still trying to concentrate on what coach davis is saying.

“girl,” she says, almost too loudly, making you blush even harder, “you’ve got mr. quarterback staring at you like you’re the only thing in this gym. i swear, you’re not even paying attention, and he’s over here practically drooling.”

you blink at her, confused, your face going even hotter. you glance over at rafe quickly, thinking you’re imagining it, but—no. he’s still looking at you, and the moment your eyes meet, his expression shifts from uncertainty to something else, something you can’t quite figure out.

and then, like a punch to the gut, you finally pull your gaze from him, letting your eyes fall to the floor like you’re trying to escape from the intensity of the moment.

lana catches the look, then smirks, nudging you again. “i’m not crazy. he’s definitely into you. like, definitely. look at him—he’s not even pretending to pay attention anymore.”

you try to focus on something else—anything else—but you feel the weight of his gaze still on you, like he’s looking right through you. it makes your chest tighten, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him again.

“stop,” you whisper harshly, though you don’t even know why you’re saying it.

lana just giggles, her eyes lighting up like she’s holding onto some great secret. “i’m just saying, girl. you’re killing him right now.”

meanwhile, rafe, clueless about what’s going on between the two of you, is still struggling to keep his composure. his heart is racing even faster now, and all he can think about is how you’re just standing there, not noticing what he’s feeling—he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed by that. all he knows is that he can’t seem to look away from you.

rafe exhales slowly, trying to ground himself, even though it feels impossible.

[enigmaris]

Danny Kills the Joker AU

Danny is on the run in gotham, as you do in dpxdc fics. His parents are dead and he is trying to stay out of Vlad's custody. Gotham has plenty of ectoplasm to hide his ecto signature. It also has a high enough population of homeless people that no one would even notice Danny just showing up.

He's been living rough in gotham, mostly sticking to Crime Alley and The Narrows, sleeping in abandoned buildings or in relatively clean parts of the sewer system. He eats what he can find and does his best never to be seen.

Not good enough since he along with like 30 other street kids get picked up by joker goons and tied up. Joker is planning an explosive party for the city to watch and he needed guests. Joker literally set up bombs of joker gas around the city that will go off and send the entire city into pandemonium, killing millions. The only way to stop the bombs is to kill his guests (homeless kids from Crime Alley) which the city can vote on. Kill themselves or kill kids.

Danny is sitting at the edge of the group, listening as Joker televises his new plan to the entire city.

He really, really hates clowns.

He is also not gonna let this guy kill all of these kids. He may not be a hero anymore but those protection instincts didnt die with his parents.

And also fuck that clown.

He phases through his bonds, and then starts asking the various kids to borrow their hat, gloves, and scarf. Gotham street kids take one look at this out of town kid and mentally wish him luck while planning out his funeral. They keep on acting terrified because as stupid as this kid is being, they're not snitches either.

Danny puts on the borrowed clothes to hide his face and hair. He can't be identified, or Vlad is gonna be on his ass tomorrow. Once fully covered he gets up and into view of the camera. The Joker notices him, turns around to laugh and jeer at him. Probably shoot him for being impolite and interrupting him. Danny doesnt even pause just walks right up to the clown and coldcocks him.

Based on the sound of bones snapping Danny admits he might have punched a little too hard. Danny checks the Jokers pulse and immediately panics. Danny has Batman levels of fear around killing and he is panicking about becoming Dan.

"Holy Shit I killed him!" He says, to the entire city because the camera is still rolling.

Cue:

Danny running for his life, trying to hide away from his fear and guilt.

Red Hood becoming like his dad and drawing up mental adoption papers

Harley Quinn also drawing up adoption papers, paper ones, while Poison Ivy changes their home's 'no boys allowed' banner to 'son boy allowed'

Jokers goons trying to find Danny to kill him for killing their boss

City wide pandemonium as the jokers death is confirmed and people are partying in the streets, the mayor is planning on giving the street kid who did it the key to the fucking city

The batfam trying to find Danny to protect him from Jokers Goons (Bruce is third in line for custody not that he knows he is gonna have to fight both Harley and Jason for the honor)

The crime alley kids are still not snitching on the kid who saved them. Anyone who asks them about Danny only respond with 'what are you a cop? Fuck off pig'

Vlad Masters, as someone who has been punched by Danny, immediately recognizes the punch and flies to Gotham to find his wayward 'son'.

Vlad even meets with Brucie Wayne to ask for help in finding Danny. Bruce gets bad vibes from Vlad and is even more invested in finding Danny. The boy has dark hair, blue eyes, and a tragic orphan backstory. Its fate!

Danny meanwhile is hiding in some sewer somewhere breathing into a paper bag as he panics about becoming a world ending threat.

[byoldervine]

How To (Realistically) Make A Habit Of Writing

To clarify: Works with my autism. WORKS WITH MY AUTISM!!! I’ve been meeting my goals since I made them my New Year’s resolution! Anyway I’m so sick of all those ‘how to’ guides that don’t actually tell you what the process is they’re just like ‘just do it, but don’t burn yourself out, do what’s best for you!’ because you’re not telling me what I’m not supposed to be burning myself out over but okay, so I made my own. Hope this helps

1. Choose your fighter metric. What works better for you as a measurement of your progress; time spent writing or your word count? Personally I get very motivated and encouraged by seeing my word count go up and making a note of where it should be when I’m done, so I measure by that. At the same time, a lot of people are also very discouraged by their word count and it can negatively impact their motivation to write, and in that case you may be better off working from how much time you spend writing rather than where the word count is

2. Choose your starter Pokémon time frame. How often can you write before it starts to feel like a chore or a burden rather than something fun you look forward to? Many people believe that they have to write daily, but for some people this can do more harm than good. Maybe every two or three days? Weekly? Figure out what fits your schedule and go with it

3. Choose your funny third joke goal. Now that you’ve got your chosen time frame to complete your goal in, what’s a reasonable goal to aim to complete within that time frame based on the metric you chose? If your metric is your word count, how much can you reasonably and consistently write within your chosen time frame? If your metric is time spent writing, how much time can you reasonably and consistently spend writing within that time? Maybe 1000 words per week works, or maybe 10 minutes per day? The goal here is to find something that works for you and your own schedule without burning you out

4. Trial and error. Experiment with your new target and adapt it accordingly. Most people can’t consistently write 1667 words per day like you do in NaNoWriMo, so we want to avoid that and aim somewhere more reasonable. If you feel like it’s too much to do in such a short time frame, either give yourself less to do or more time to do it in. If you find yourself begrudgingly writing so often that it constantly feels more like a chore than something fun, maybe consider adapting things. And if you think that you gave yourself too much wiggle room and you could do more than this consistently, give yourself more of a challenge. Everything needs to suit you and your pace and needs

5. Run your own race. Don’t feel like you’re not accomplishing enough in comparison to others or not working fast enough to satisfy some arbitrary feeling of doubt. Everybody works at their own pace and slower work doesn’t mean worse work. You could be on one word per day and you’ll still see consistent results, which is still one word per day more than you could originally count on. All progress is progress, regardless of its speed