#prompt game link in replies

[zorilleerrant]

Hi, just saw the word prompt thing? I don't know if you're still doing them or taking them, but if you are, would you mind something with either 25: Hair or 27: Sick with Bruce and/or Jason? Thank you so much! Love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

(absolutely still taking them! see this is the problem with reblogging everything in a row instead of in a queue because that post is like three hours old or something)

"I'm not sick," Jason says, once the coughing fit is over, trying to shove himself away from Bruce without stumbling over. If he falls while Bruce is watching, Bruce will know he's lying, and then he's done for. The thought only occurs to him when he's already leaning against Bruce's shoulder.

"I know you're not, Champ," Bruce says, and it's ridiculous hearing that tone of voice when he's full on Batman mode, the cowl on with smudges of greasepaint all across his eyelids, wrapping the cape around him like when he was small. It doesn't work. The cape back then was soft, quilted one patch at a time by Alfred's careful hand, and warm enough to keep at least the chill of Gotham's winds howling over rooftops at bay. Now it's the thinnest nanofiber metamaterial Jason's ever seen, soft as silk but not half as warm.

It's a nice night. He's only cold because he has the flu, but Jason always wears a mask, so why is that his fucking problem? Nothing's supposed to be able to get through the filters. Not even whatever has Bruce so wary, using dad voice even through his gas mask. "I'm fine. There's just a problem with the filters." Is there a problem with the filters? He was coughing earlier, and something smelled deep maroon and ominous. The people shuffling around the building - no one left inside, but not so far removed yet - are coughing, too. Speaking in strange voices, like they don't know what they're saying themselves. Their faces screw up when they try to talk.

"Jaylad? Are you with me?" Bruce says, pulling Jason's full weight against his chest, as if they're not in front of a crowd right now, cameras pointed at them from all sides. Jason barely refrains from shoving him away, feeling like a little kid trying not to get hugged at school again, and aware that most of the reason he's not pushing is that he doesn't have the energy, and he needs something to balance his weight on anyhow. "How much of that stuff did you breathe in? Here, list off your siblings, will you? I don't know who's behind this new toxin, but we'll find them."

"No one's behind it," Jason says, completely ignoring Bruce's instruction, and fuck him for trying to give it, anyway, Jason is fine. "Look around at the fucking building, B, it was a science fair. It was an accident. No one was behind - okay, actually, that's a lie, Black Mask is behind it, but it's not exactly like you can throw him off a roof over it, so." Jason can throw him off a roof. Maybe. Once he gets a good night's sleep, at least. Oh, fuck, sleep sounds good, right about now. If only Bruce would hurry up and get him to the Batmobile. Of course, if he says that, Batman's going to worry. Like an asshole.

"Black Mask?" Bruce says, in horror, finally moving them in the direction of the car, finally moving Jason out of the way of paramedics that he's absolutely certain would demand to take his temperature and then the jig would be up. "What the hell does he have to do with any of it? How long has he been running this plot?" Oh, sure, once you bring Roman up, Bruce is all invested again. Couldn't have just listened when Jason said the sprinkler systems needed to be double checked. 'Oh we just checked them last week' last week before the last villain siphoned toxins through them again, yeah. Some detective.

"Well, it's not about to help to fight crime at him, B, I assure you, all of his horrifying chemicals are perfectly legal," Jason says, climbing into the chair and reclining it so he can lie down and never get up again. He almost can't hear himself over the roar of the Batmobile's engine. "Some idiot posts a video about how you can hack the blush, soak it in alcohol and precipitate out the metallic component. You know the new bronze and silver ones? Yeah. Well, if you're not careful, you know. I was checking to see if it's made of Nth metal. Some precocious teens beat me to it, I guess."

"That can't possibly be legal," Bruce says, taking a curve a little bit slower than Jason would've expected him to, even on the drive home, even while they're having a totally civil conversation and Jason hasn't yet resorted to trying to bite him. "There are all sorts of regulations on strange metals. We voted on a referendum last week! And you're telling me he's doing this through his company? To, what, entice kids to accidentally cobble together bombs?"

"He doesn't fucking care about the kids, Bruce. I don't even know if he knows - like the advertising isn't even aiming at them, it's aiming at, fuck, celebrities and influencers and shit, he probably doesn't even know it can do this or he'd be selling the shit to Wall," Jason says, tiredly, words that would be mumbled through his hands if his helmet weren't beaming them straight to Bruce's earpiece. "He just found a way to pawn off his trash to the rest of his company, and told them to come up with profits. And they did! Like you always say, crime doesn't fucking pay, eh?"

"Okay. I very much do not want Amanda Waller to get her hands on this. You really think that's his long term plan?" Jason shuts his eyes, not that Bruce can tell under the mask. Because, like, did he fucking say that? Bruce never listens when Jason tries to explain in completely straightforward English - or any other fucking thing - what is going on in Gotham. He missed the limited edition pretzels, too. Asshole. A warm gust of wind blows across his face and Jason realizes that, at some point while he wasn't responding, Bruce pulled his helmet off. Undoing all the latches silently and everything. He's saying something soothing.

Jason ignores him. Wiggles his mouth a little; it's always easier talking when you don't have to aim directly at the mic. He's used to it enough it's reflexive by this point, but it still makes his jaw sore. "Yo, you know the mayor's get kickbacks, even the new one - I mean, I didn't ask him personally, so his kickback may be, like, his own head - there's no such thing as a regulation with no loopholes in Gotham." And then the kids try to mix it up and test out cool new properties, two projects get too close to each other, someone's baking soda volcano sets of a chain reaction or whatever happened in there. The sprinklers took a beat too long to set themselves in motion, Jason knows that part for sure.

"Jay, kiddo, you sound like you swallowed an entire sheep worth of steel wool," Bruce says, in that grudging way where he's trying to show emotion the way Leslie taught him to, but he sucks at it, because Alfie's British and never made proper expressions when he was a kid. Only the thing is he's turned the car to whisper mode and Jason can barely feel the rumble of the engines now, and Bruce's hand is stroking through his hair, and he could probably fall asleep, moving car or no. "Let's get you some of Alfred's soup."

"Yeah," Jason says, even though Bruce is right for once in his life, and Jason's voice does sound a thousand times more like sandpaper now that his voice modulator is gone. "Alfred is the one that misses me, sure thing old man." Actually, who Jason really needs to talk to is Lucius. Maybe over the phone, so as not to get him sick. Because if one thing will piss Roman off it's a fucking hostile takeover. Plus then they can hoard the metal to, whatever, build a Batspaceship or who knows what, like that part matters.

Bruce's hand stills, fingertips still cool against Jason's skull, and they just breathe like that for a few moments, in sync and slow, their heart rates slowing to rest, just the way he used to after a panic attack, even though Jason's pretty sure neither of them are panicking, unless Bruce cares a lot more than he assumed about a flu he's pretty sure he's mostly over anyway. Bruce squeezes his neck a little too hard, and hesitates before he opens the door. "Alfred does miss you."

[hornkerling]

As you wish, @jadesabre301

My fics for stray gods mostly come in sapphic, particularly Calliope/Persephone because they're so angry and messy and delightful and writing Calliope soothes my inner menace. The first I ever wrote was Kore Enterprises, filling in the missing scene of Persephone visiting Calliope's apartment.

I expore Calliope and Persephone first getting together in Firewater, which probably still has one of the better opening paragraphs I've managed recently.

Calliope is used to Persephone on the edges of things. A cautionary tale for late night drinks and the bluer days of late autumn, when the city parks are full of crows fighting over the night’s scraps amongst raw and jagged trees, their final leaves are just the shed skins of their livelier, younger selves. A fragile song through tiny bones.

I wrote You caught my voice and listened as a response to @kshaar's Earworm, which is such a good drabble istg. Everything they write is incredible, whether for stray gods or dragon age, you should read all of it. But Earworm was the one that had me seeing if I could remember enough Greek to mangle some Sappho. It's also, like most of my fics for these characters, full of extravagant eidolon lore.

I have one Calliope x Grace, Calliope x Persephone, eventual ot3 everyone lives AU called Sing all your questions to sleep, which was quite fun. Comes complete with a rant about The Symposium!

The two fics I'm probably the most proud of, however, are The seed that grows without the sun (complete) and Monsters of the old world (one chapter to go).

Monsters of the old world came about because Hephaestus's fate in the game haunts me. He is one of my favourite Greek gods, and because I'm me I was tangled up on the crip potential of it all, and also the idea of Medusa on a very particular rescue mission. I'm trying to close off the final chapter, but it keeps running away from me because I get caught up in the absolute mess that is Aphrodite's choices re: Venus. But it's nearly done!

Hephaestus is blowing glass the first time he hears about the snake-haired bitch in the compound. It is only training and muscle memory that stops him from swallowing and ruining this body’s throat, and frankly the body is built more for war machines drawn up in CAD than the construction of delicate, physical parts. But Hephaestus has always worked better with a prototype, and while you can take a smith, lock him in a server room with a wall of screens, and he’ll make do, he’s always preferred to bother his captors with these specific, ‘old fashioned’ demands. A workshop. Bronze and coal where they want radium. Glass blowing, when a single wrong move would fuck his lungs beyond repair. Even he’s got to live, and showing the bastards just how much their discards can do is some extra stolen joy. When Hephaestus has to pass on, the higher ups throw the infirmary at him. Why waste an able fighter on the crippled god? Hephaestus’s eidolon tends to lead to injury, and well—that path is a dark one. But he is sure the tales of Medusa’s arrival are something he’s dreamed up in a crucible, and it’s not till he’s in the compound’s refractory and a hooded, writhing figure is shoved into a chair opposite him that he believes it can be true. Medusa stares at him, eyes hectic and flaring in a single, surprised moment before she ducks her head, the snakes around her face extending flickering tongues into the air between them. Chains hold her arms at her sides, and a corporal slams a bowl down, glaring at Hephaestus as the known quantity. “You feed her,” he snaps. “Not like the snakes will get you.” For a moment, Hephaestus and Medusa, two who have not spoken in millennia and rarely even then, meet each other’s eyes in perfect accord, amazed that this child-human thinks snakes are the problem

Seed is...it's about Persephone meeting the woman she would become in the late 1940s. It's one of the most personal stories I have ever written, despite being in a time and place I have not lived.

If you read any of them, read this one.

“—I can help with that.” Chastity wipes sweat from her eyes and blinks at the woman leaning against her gate. She’s seen her around. Hard not to, when there’s only one good place for bread in the village—though if there’s any more rationing or prices go up again, she’ll have to start making that, too, and God only knows where she’ll find the flour.  But that’s future, and presently Chastity has a stocky, slouching stranger smiling at her, and she’s got a spade. And the spade's not covered in rust like the one Chastity found in Sal’s shed. Hers has an edge to it, and Chastity, a married woman for nearly a year and imagining it cutting through the dirt she’s barely managed to scatter, is pretty sure this is what lust feels like. Turns out, Sister Immaculata was wrong.

[takes1]

asahi x feral reader w/ a size k!nk

this was indulgent for me. asahi is def a favorite of mine. idk where the kuroo's little sister idea really stems from, but it just came to me and worked with my prompt (mostly adding conflict/humor). thirsty lead-up to some pay-off smut

warnings. asahi thirst. eventual smut. minors DNI info. lite!nsfw to future smut / gentle giant!asahi / asahi appreciation / size kink / kuroo's sister!reader / kuroo cockblocking / 860 words / multi-part smut so reply to be added to taglist! haikyuu collection. more here. part two here. part three here. final part here. more links. masterlist. my ao3. requests/submissions: open

Great, hulking muscles slammed a ferocious serve through the other side of the court. An easy point for his team.

Screams of adoration from Karasuno supporters and his own teammates echoed in your ears: Asahi.

Yeah, that was a name you could get used to screaming.

Your jaw was on the floor. Your trembly hands seized the railing to keep your wobbly body barely upright. The sigh you gave felt like it lasted minutes, so when you went to gasp for more air, it sounded like a demented groan.

"I need him biblically," You heard yourself declare.

It may have been the show of force, but there was something about a kind face attached to that weapon of a body that set your senses on fire. You were already crafting plans to seduce him after the game, making fictional arrangements to ensure you could be under him in the shortest wait time possible.

"What?" Your friend laughed at you, a hand on your shoulder to jerk you back to reality.

You were on the opposite side of the court, after all. What you could see of him was through the net.

That was not your team by any means- you were connected to the one in front of you by blood.

"Number 3," You sighed, leaning against the railing. Maybe you'd fall into the court and he could catch you in his big arms. Then, you'd start making out and--

"Yaku??" She laughed.

"No!" You made a disgusted sound, "God, not-- Karasuno number three!"

Her laughter only made you feel like talking to him was as realistic as Nekoma winning right now. With a 7-point difference, it was pretty self-explanatory.

"Yaku's not that bad," She grinned at your eyes rolling all the way back into your skull, "Hey! You've gotta calm down."

Your head was on your arms, crumpled against the railing. There was no chance in Hell you'd let this opportunity slip from your fingers.

The energy pumping through you was straight-up biological.

It was the only explanation for a need that went this deep, so strong that it carried your legs down the stands and into the hallway behind the gymnasium after the game was over.

This deranged arousal only felt out of place when your brother stopped you from moving further down, to where Karasuno was packing their gear up.

"Woahwoahwoah," Kuroo narrowed his eyes at you and spun you around by your shoulder, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He knew something was up. There was a sick scheme playing out in your eyes.

He glanced from you, to the rowdy group of giants the next space over, then back to you with a harder look.

"None of your business," You spat, thinking him funny to try to get in your way like this in front of people. He usually acted like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe in public.

You only went to his games to spot cute boys, anyway. This time you were actually successful and felt so inclined as to approach said-cute-boy.

"Let go," You wrenched your arm out of his gross, sweaty hand and scoffed, walking off towards Karasuno's beautiful, meaty Ace.

There was a muttered, 'Whatever,' and you knew he didn't care enough to foil your plans again. They did just lose.

The thought crossed your mind to remove your Nekoma school hoodie only after it was too late. Karasuno spotted some enemy colors and quieted upon your approach.

Any confidence you had gathered shrank tenfold-- but you locked in on the subject of your desire and remembered your divine mission.

Get railed. This week.

That wouldn't happen if you backed down now or fucked up the plan.

He was in the center of his team, so you had to give some small 'Excuse me's to get to who you were here for.

Shocked, silent looks were exchanged all around when you stopped in front of him at last.

You were gathered in a sea of players, trapped to carry out the reason that brought you here.

"Um," You found it impossible to look at his face, so you looked forward at his chest while you gathered the courage, "That was a good game."

You tried to swallow the growing need to scream when you looked up. He had facial hair, you realized- his eyes were deep brown, his skin dark tan, and he was one of the two tallest on the team.

It occurred to you that you picked the biggest, baddest guy in this hall.

You grabbed his hand and deposited a piece of paper inside, "Call me."

Unable to look at his face again, you decided that was enough to get your point across and sifted through the gathered crowd of Karasuno's team members.

With your back turned, head swimming with regret at your forwardness, you couldn't see nor understand the strangled sounds of teenage boys celebrating their cowardly ace getting a cute girl's number like that.

Pushing, pulling, laughing, shoving, and other celebratory verbalizations were far behind you when you joined Nekoma once again- your home team beyond curious as to what you did to make their rivals even louder.

taglist.

none. reply to be added!

masterlist. taking requests.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey rose! I'm really excited for the Marvel holiday special!! Can I please request Steve Rogers x short!Reader (is this self indulgent? Maybe!😭 People literally have to bend down to hug me idk, tall genes of my family skipped me) for the second prompt- miseltoe mishap? Thank you!<3 🩷

P.s. I LOVE all of your fics 🤌✨

UNDER THE MISTLETOE

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x short!fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve's new year resolution was simple: confess his feeling for you, but as a new year approaches he still hasn't said a word. So, after a mysterious Christmas gift you receive, you decide to take matter into your own hands.

ᯓ★ TW(s): so much fluff it needs a tw and some teasing and flirty comments from y/n

ᯓ★ I'm sorry but as you all may have noticed the requested aren't being written in the chronological order they were requested because I got confused between the asks and the comments in the post and can't figure out who has requested before who, so I'm just writing it following the prompt list. I'm sorry but don't worry, your request will be written!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Avengers Tower is a beacon of Christmas cheer this time of year, buzzing with the energy of festive preparations. Garlands hang from the railings, twinkling lights are draped across every conceivable surface, and the smell of hot cocoa wafts from the kitchen. It’s a cozy chaos, and you’re in the thick of it, perched on a step stool as you wrestle with a particularly stubborn string of fairy lights.

Your arms ache from holding them above your head for so long, but you’re determined to get them just right. The lights have to be even—no awkward gaps or clumps. It’s a matter of principle, and besides, you know Tony will be annoying about it if you don’t.

“Need a hand?” a familiar voice asks from behind you.

You glance down and find Steve Rogers standing there, all broad shoulders and gentle eyes. He’s holding a box of ornaments, his cheeks tinged pink—not from the cold (you’re indoors, after all), but something else. The sight of him is enough to make your own cheeks heat up, though you do your best to ignore it. Steve has that effect on people.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, gritting your teeth as you stretch a little further. The stool wobbles, and his hands dart out instinctively, steadying you with a feather-light touch. You freeze, your heart doing an Olympic-level somersault.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low and careful. “That stool doesn’t look very—uh—stable.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, though your confidence in the stool’s structural integrity is rapidly dwindling. You glance down again and catch the crease of worry on his brow. The man is the living embodiment of chivalry; there’s no way he’ll let you keep going without making it his mission to help.

With a sigh, you step down. The lights can wait. “Fine,” you concede. “Knock yourself out, Captain Christmas.”

Steve chuckles, setting the box of ornaments down on a nearby table. He steps up onto the stool, and you’re struck again by just how tall he is. He’s got at least a foot and a half on you, which is something you’re reminded of constantly—like when you have to crane your neck just to look him in the eye. Or when he easily reaches shelves that are practically a mile out of your range.

He’s annoyingly perfect. Not just in the tall, strong, and ridiculously handsome way, but in the kind, thoughtful, and genuine way too. He’s the kind of man who offers his umbrella to strangers in the rain, who remembers how you take your coffee, who actually listens when you talk. And if that weren’t enough, he’s also awkward—adorably so, especially around you.

You suspect it’s because you’re small and he worries about crushing you with a handshake. Or maybe it’s because he thinks you’re fragile, which would be ironic, considering how many missions you’ve both survived. Either way, his awkwardness only fuels your ridiculous, head-over-heels crush.

As Steve strings the lights, you busy yourself unpacking ornaments from the box he brought. Most of them are classics—shiny globes, candy canes, and snowflakes—but there are a few oddities mixed in. A Hulk-shaped bauble makes you snort, and you hold it up for Steve to see.

“Look familiar?” you tease.

He glances down from his perch and grins. “Bet Bruce loves that one.”

“He’s probably going to hide it on the back of the tree,” you reply, setting it aside. Your fingers brush against a different ornament—this one shaped like a little star. It’s simple, but pretty, and you hold it up to admire it. “This one’s cute.”

Steve’s hands falter for a split second as he adjusts the lights. You don’t notice, too focused on the star, but he notices. Oh, he notices. Because you just called something “cute” in that soft, slightly breathless way that makes his chest tighten. He swallows hard and refocuses on the task at hand.

“Y-yeah, it’s nice,” he manages, hoping his voice doesn’t crack.

Why is this so hard?

Steve has faced down alien armies, assassins, and world-ending threats without breaking a sweat, but the thought of confessing his feelings to you is enough to make him panic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. At the start of the year, he’d made a resolution—a promise to himself—that he would finally tell you how he felt. But every time he’s tried, the words get stuck in his throat.

And now, with Christmas just days away, the deadline he arbitrarily set for himself is looming. The idea of starting another year without telling you makes his stomach twist, but so does the idea of screwing it up. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he ruins everything?

“Steve?” your voice snaps him out of his spiral.

“Hm?” He blinks down at you, realizing he’s been staring blankly at the half-lit string of lights in his hands.

“You okay?” you ask, your brow furrowed. “You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh, uh—yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, though his ears are burning. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you prompt, tilting your head.

You shouldn’t do that. It’s unfair, how cute you look when you’re curious. It makes it harder for him to keep his cool.

“Nothing important,” he lies, offering a sheepish smile. “How’s the ornament situation?”

You hold up the Hulk bauble again with a smirk. “I think this one’s going front and center.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Bruce is gonna love that.”

You giggle, and the sound is like music to his ears. It’s one of the things he loves most about you—your laugh. It’s warm and infectious, and he’d do just about anything to hear it.

Before he can spiral further into his thoughts, you step closer to hand him the star ornament. “Here,” you say. “This one should go up top.”

Steve takes it, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It’s nothing, really—just an innocent touch—but it sends a jolt of electricity through him. He wonders if you feel it too, or if he’s imagining things.

“Good choice,” he says, his voice a little quieter now. He focuses on securing the star to the top of the tree, grateful for the distraction. When he’s done, he steps back to admire his work, and you join him, standing so close that your shoulder almost brushes his arm.

“Not bad, Captain,” you say, your tone light but genuine. “I think we’ve got ourselves a pretty solid tree.”

He glances down at you, his heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when you’re near. You’re smiling—bright and proud—and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than to you. “It’s perfect.”

You glance up at him, your smile faltering just slightly. There’s something in his expression—something raw and unguarded—that makes your pulse quicken. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do.

But the moment passes, and Steve clears his throat, stepping away under the guise of tidying up.

“So, uh,” he says awkwardly, bending down to gather the empty ornament boxes. “What’s next on the agenda?”

You blink, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of his gaze. “I think we’re supposed to decorate the common room. Nat said something about needing backup with the garlands.”

“Right,” Steve says, straightening up with the boxes in hand. “Lead the way.”

As you head toward the common room together, you can’t help stealing glances at him. He’s trying so hard to act normal, but you know him well enough to sense when something’s off. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a hesitation in his words.

You wonder what’s on his mind. And you wonder if it has anything to do with the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Christmas morning in the Avengers Tower is a mix of chaos and cheer. The common room is alive with laughter and good-natured teasing, wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. The massive Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments and twinkling lights.

Everyone has gathered here to exchange gifts, and the room feels warmer than usual—maybe because of the crackling fireplace, or maybe because of the bonds you all share. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of unwrapped presents beside you, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much.

Natasha is chuckling as Clint holds up a sweater that has “World’s Okayest Archer” stitched across the front in bold letters. “This is slander,” Clint grumbles, but he’s grinning. “I’m amazing.”

“Sure you are,” Natasha teases, her smirk sharp and playful.

Thor, meanwhile, is marveling at a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug that someone (probably Tony) had sneakily customized to include a picture of Thor holding Stormbreaker like a proud parent. “This,” Thor declares, raising the mug, “is a mighty gift.”

“Very mighty,” Tony quips from his spot on the couch, a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head. “You’re welcome.”

Steve sits near the tree, mostly quiet but smiling at the antics around him. He’s already unwrapped his gifts—a vintage Captain America action figure from Tony (complete with the original shield), a sturdy leather-bound journal from Natasha, and an assortment of hand-knit sweaters from Thor’s mother. He’s grateful for all of them, but his focus isn’t on the gifts anymore. It’s on you.

You’re radiant this morning, your laughter lighting up the room more than the Christmas tree ever could. Steve doesn’t know if it’s the cozy glow of the fireplace or the joy of the season, but something about you seems especially beautiful today. Not that you aren’t beautiful every day—but today, you’re breathtaking.

And it’s making him nervous.

Because tucked beneath the tree is one last gift. A gift for you. A gift from him.

“Looks like that’s the last of it,” Clint says, stretching his arms above his head. “Nice haul this year, guys.”

“Not quite,” Tony interrupts, pointing toward the tree. “There’s still one left under there.”

Everyone turns their attention to the tree, and you lean forward curiously. Sure enough, there’s a single box nestled beneath the branches. It’s wrapped neatly in silver paper, tied with a red ribbon, and it has your name on it.

Your brow furrows as you reach for it. “I don’t remember putting this here.”

“Must’ve been one of us,” Natasha says, though she looks just as intrigued as everyone else. “Check the tag.”

You glance at the label, but it doesn’t give you any clues. It simply says To Y/N—no indication of who it’s from.

“Secret Santa, maybe?” Bruce suggests.

“Someone’s being mysterious,” Tony says, leaning back with a smirk. “Come on, open it. Let’s see what you got.”

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing over the ribbon. Whoever left this for you went out of their way to remain anonymous, and that makes you feel oddly shy. Still, curiosity wins out, and you carefully untie the ribbon, peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside the box is a smaller velvet box. You blink, your breath catching as you open it.

Nestled inside is a delicate silver necklace, the pendant shaped like a tiny star. It’s simple but stunning, the kind of piece that feels timeless. You stare at it for a moment, your chest tightening.

But that’s not all.

Beneath the necklace, folded carefully, is a sheet of paper. You unfold it slowly, revealing a drawing—a sketch of you, caught mid-laugh. The details are astonishing, from the crinkle of your eyes to the way your hair falls. It’s you, but somehow more: the joy on your face, the warmth in your expression—it’s like the artist captured not just your likeness, but your spirit.

The room falls quiet as you stare at the drawing, your hands trembling slightly.

“Wow,” Natasha murmurs, leaning in for a better look. “That’s... beautiful.”

“It’s incredible,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. You trace the edge of the drawing with your fingertip, your heart racing. “Who...?”

“Not it,” Tony says, raising his hands.

“Wasn’t me,” Clint adds.

Everyone else shakes their heads, except for Steve, who sits frozen, his heart pounding so loudly he’s surprised no one else can hear it.

It was a gamble, leaving the gift anonymously. He couldn’t bring himself to sign his name, not when he was terrified of how you might react. But now, watching the way your eyes glisten as you hold the necklace and the drawing, he’s second-guessing everything.

Should he say something? Should he let you wonder? Should he...?

You glance up, scanning the room. Your gaze lingers on Steve for a moment, and he feels like a deer caught in headlights. He quickly looks away, pretending to adjust the hem of his sweater.

“Well, whoever it’s from,” you say softly, clutching the necklace in your hand, “thank you. It’s... it’s perfect.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Perfect. You think it’s perfect. Relief washes over him, followed by a flicker of pride. He spent weeks working on the drawing, pouring every ounce of his feelings into every pencil stroke. Seeing you appreciate it—cherish it—is more than he could’ve hoped for.

But then you put the necklace on, and his chest tightens all over again. The star catches the light, and it suits you so perfectly that he has to look away before he does something stupid—like stare too long or blurt out the truth in front of everyone.

“Whoever did this really knows you,” Natasha says, eyeing the necklace. “It’s thoughtful.”

“And talented,” Bruce adds, gesturing to the drawing. “That’s some serious skill.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his reddening face. He’s not used to compliments, especially not ones directed at his art.

“Guess I’ve got a secret admirer,” you joke lightly, though there’s a hint of hope in your voice.

“Or someone with terrible taste,” Tony quips, earning a pillow to the face from Natasha.

The room dissolves into laughter again, and the attention shifts away from you and your mysterious gift. But you’re still holding the drawing, your fingers brushing over the lines and shading. It’s so personal, so intimate, that it makes your heart ache in the best way.

And Steve? Steve sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this secret, but for now, he’s content to see you happy. Even if you never find out it was him, this moment is enough.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

The days between Christmas and New Year’s feel suspended in time—a cozy limbo filled with leftover cookies, twinkling lights, and lazy mornings. At the Avengers Tower, the pace has slowed to something resembling normalcy, with everyone enjoying a much-needed break.

You, however, have been anything but relaxed. Not since Christmas morning, when you opened that mysterious gift.

The necklace still rests around your neck, the tiny star pendant catching the light whenever you move. The drawing that accompanied it is safely tucked away in your room, though you’ve stared at it countless times since then. You can’t stop thinking about it—or, more specifically, about who gave it to you.

For days, you’ve replayed the moment in your mind, analyzing every detail. The craftsmanship of the drawing, the thoughtfulness of the gift—it could only be from someone who knows you well. Someone who cares about you deeply. Someone who, despite their care, wanted to stay anonymous.

And you have a pretty good idea of who that someone is.

Steve.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. He’s been acting... different around you ever since Christmas. Quieter. More awkward. You’ve caught him stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, and when you smile at him, he stammers like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The thought that Steve might like you—that he might really like you—makes your heart race. You’ve had a crush on him for what feels like forever, but you never imagined he might feel the same way. Now that you’ve started piecing things together, it feels almost too good to be true.

And yet, there’s still no confirmation. No grand confession. No slip of the tongue. Nothing to cement your theory. Which is why you decide to take matters into your own hands.

It’s late afternoon when you start your search for Steve. You’ve checked the gym, the kitchen, and even the lounge, but he’s nowhere to be found. Finally, you decide to check his room—a bold move, but you’re running out of options.

When you knock and get no response, you hesitantly push the door open.

“Steve?” you call softly, peeking inside.

The room is empty, neat and orderly as always. The bed is made, the desk is tidy, and his shield leans against the wall like it belongs in a museum. You step inside, glancing around for any sign of where he might be.

Your gaze lands on the leather journal sitting on his desk. The one Natasha gifted him for Christmas. It’s open, a pencil resting on top of its pages.

You know you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself drawn to the desk.

“It’s just a peek,” you mutter to yourself, your fingers brushing over the leather cover.

The page it’s open to stops you dead in your tracks. It’s a drawing—of you.

Not just any drawing, either. It’s almost identical to the one you received on Christmas morning, the same detail, the same expression, the same care in every line. Your breath catches as you realize what this means.

Steve drew this. Steve gave you the necklace. Steve has been hiding his feelings for you all this time.

A smile tugs at your lips, and a thrill runs through you. He likes you. He really likes you. And yet, he hasn’t said a word. Typical Steve—too noble, too careful, too worried about messing things up.

You close the journal carefully, placing the pencil back where you found it. You won’t confront him about this—not yet. No, you have a much better idea.

If Steve won’t confess, then you’ll make it impossible for him not to. And if that means teasing him a little, well... all’s fair in love and war.

You find Steve in the lounge a little while later, sitting on the couch with a book in hand. He looks up when you enter, and his face brightens instantly, though he tries to hide it.

“Hey,” you say, leaning casually against the doorway.

“Hey,” he replies, setting the book aside. “Looking for something?”

“Actually, I was looking for you,” you say, crossing the room to sit beside him. You’re closer than usual, your knee brushing against his. He stiffens slightly, his eyes darting to yours.

“Oh?” he says, his voice a little higher than usual. “What for?”

You shrug, tilting your head as you study him. He looks nervous—adorably so—and it only fuels your confidence.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” you say, your tone light and sweet. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

“Have I?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Mm-hmm.” You reach out to adjust the collar of his sweater, your fingers grazing his neck. He freezes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

“You sure everything’s okay?” you ask, your voice dipping slightly.

“I—I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks turning pink. “Really.”

You lean back, feigning innocence. “Good. I’d hate to think something was bothering you.”

He nods, clearly unsure of how to respond.

You spend the rest of the evening finding subtle ways to fluster him. Leaning closer than necessary when you talk. Touching his arm when you laugh. Complimenting him on everything from his sweater to his hair. By the time you part ways, Steve looks like he’s been through an emotional whirlwind.

The next day, you up the ante.

Steve is in the kitchen making breakfast when you join him, your hair slightly tousled and your sweater slipping off one shoulder. He nearly drops the pan he’s holding when he sees you.

“Morning,” you say, your voice soft and syrupy.

“G-good morning,” he replies, turning back to the stove.

You step closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Whatcha making?”

“Just eggs,” he says, his grip tightening on the spatula.

“Smells good,” you say, resting a hand on his back. You feel the muscles beneath his shirt tense, and it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

“Want some?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Sure,” you say, flashing him a smile. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

His ears turn red, and you bite your lip to keep from grinning.

By the third day, Steve is visibly unraveling.

You’ve spent the last forty-eight hours being as sweet, flirty, and touchy as you can manage without outright declaring your feelings. Every time you brush against him, compliment him, or catch him staring, he looks like he’s about to combust.

You find him in the training room that afternoon, throwing punches at a heavy bag like it owes him money. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you take a moment to admire him—his broad shoulders, his focused expression, the way his sweat-soaked shirt clings to his chest.

“Working hard?” you call out, stepping into the room.

Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” you say, walking toward him. “What’d that poor bag do to deserve this?”

“Just... letting off some steam,” he says, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“Need a sparring partner?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widen slightly. “You want to spar? With me?”

“Why not?” you say, stepping closer. “Unless you’re scared I’ll kick your ass.”

A laugh escapes him, and you feel a spark of satisfaction. “I’d like to see you try.”

You grin, stepping onto the mat. “Suit up, Rogers.”

After a playful (and very one-sided) sparring session, Steve is more flustered than ever. You’re lying on the mat, catching your breath, and you turn to look at him.

“You’re holding back,” you tease.

“Didn’t want to hurt you,” he replies, still trying to recover from your relentless teasing.

“You’re sweet, Steve,” you say, your voice soft. “Really sweet.”

He looks at you, and for a moment, the tension between you is palpable. You’re half-tempted to just kiss him and get it over with, but you want him to make the first move.

“I should... hit the showers,” he says abruptly, standing and heading for the door.

As he disappears, you smile to yourself. He’s close to breaking. Very close.

And when he does, you’ll be ready.

It’s New Year’s Eve at the Avengers Tower, and the entire building is buzzing with excitement. Tony, true to form, has outdone himself, transforming the common areas into a glittering wonderland of gold, silver, and twinkling lights. The air hums with music, laughter, and the promise of a fresh start as the year draws to a close.

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror with a slight frown as you adjust your dress. The sparkly red fabric hugs your figure perfectly, but the zipper in the back refuses to cooperate. Despite twisting, stretching, and trying every awkward angle imaginable, you can’t quite reach it.

With a sigh, you grab your phone and type out a quick message:

Hey Steve, can you come to my room for a sec? Need a hand.

You press send before you can overthink it, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. You already know he won’t say no—he never does when it’s you.

Steve arrives less than two minutes later, knocking lightly on your door.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” His voice, deep and warm, filters through the door.

“Come in!” you call out, keeping your tone casual. You hear the door creak open, followed by the soft sound of his boots against the floor.

“Y/N, I—” Steve starts, but the words die on his lips when he sees you.

You turn to face him, clutching the front of your dress to keep it from slipping down. His eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat as he takes you in. The dress is a vibrant, glittering red that hugs your curves like a second skin, the hem brushing mid-thigh even with the extra height your heels give you. Your hair is styled elegantly, soft waves cascading over your shoulders, and your makeup highlights your features just enough to leave him completely speechless.

“Wow,” he finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks flush a deep pink, and he looks away, as if giving you privacy in a moment that clearly isn’t private.

You bite back a smile, pretending not to notice his reaction. “Thanks for coming. I need a little help.”

Steve clears his throat, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Help with...?”

“The zipper,” you say, turning around to show him the back of your dress. You hold the fabric up with your hands, revealing the delicate, stubborn zipper that sits halfway down your back. “I can’t reach it.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat again. “Right. Sure. I can do that.”

You hear him take a hesitant step closer, and your pulse quickens. There’s something thrilling about having him this close, about knowing he’s flustered because of you. He smells like clean soap and cedarwood, and the sheer size of him behind you is enough to make your breath hitch.

His large, calloused hands brush against your back as he takes hold of the zipper, and you have to resist the urge to shiver at the contact. He hesitates for a moment, clearly nervous, before carefully tugging the zipper upward. His fingers graze your skin as he works, and the sensation sends a rush of warmth through you.

“Is... is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough around the edges.

“Perfect,” you murmur, glancing at him over your shoulder. His face is closer than you expected, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

The zipper finally reaches the top, and Steve’s hands linger for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back, his gaze darting anywhere but at you.

“There,” he says, his voice tight. “All set.”

You turn to face him, giving a little spin. “What do you think?”

Steve stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for the right words. “You... You look amazing,” he says at last, his voice full of awe.

His honesty makes you blush, and you grin. “Thank you. You’re not looking too bad yourself, you know.”

Steve glances down at his outfit—a crisp navy suit that fits him perfectly—and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks,” he says, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” you tease, stepping closer. “Shall we head to the party?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand hovers near the small of your back as you leave the room, but he doesn’t quite touch you.

The elevator ride to the party is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You steal glances at Steve as he stands beside you, his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched like he’s holding something back.

“You okay?” you ask, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, though the slight crack in his voice betrays him. He clears his throat, flashing you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine.”

“Steve.” You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he protests, but the redness in his ears says otherwise.

You decide to let him off the hook—for now. The elevator doors slide open, revealing the main event: Tony’s New Year’s Eve extravaganza.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Steve arrive. The common room has been transformed into a glamorous ballroom, complete with a dance floor, a live band, and a fully stocked bar. Guests in glittering dresses and sharp suits mingle beneath cascading strings of fairy lights, and the energy in the room is electric.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out, making her way toward you with a drink in hand. She gives you a once-over and lets out a low whistle. “You clean up nicely.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say, twirling for effect. “You look amazing too.”

Natasha smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Steve hangs back slightly, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you with a soft smile. He doesn’t seem to notice the way Natasha’s eyes flick to him, her smirk widening.

“Well, don’t you two make a picture-perfect couple,” she says casually, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re not a couple,” Steve blurts out, his face turning an impressive shade of red.

Natasha raises her glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, Rogers.”

She winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Steve standing awkwardly by the entrance.

“She’s relentless,” Steve mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s not wrong, though,” you say, your tone light and teasing.

Steve looks at you sharply, his eyes wide. “What?”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Relax, Steve. I’m just messing with you.”

His shoulders relax slightly, but the pink in his cheeks doesn’t fade.

The night unfolds with laughter, dancing, and plenty of drinks. You make a point to stay close to Steve, brushing against him whenever you can, leaning into him when you laugh, and catching his gaze across the room. Each time, his reaction is the same—wide-eyed, flustered, and utterly endearing.

At one point, you drag him to the dance floor, your hand firmly clasped in his. He protests at first, claiming he’s not much of a dancer, but you refuse to take no for an answer.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure him, pulling him close as the band starts a slow, jazzy number. “Just follow my lead.”

Steve hesitates, but when you rest your hands on his shoulders, he relents. His large hands settle on your waist, and the two of you sway to the music, moving in perfect sync despite his earlier protests.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” you say, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Steve chuckles nervously. “You’re easy to dance with.”

The compliment makes your heart flutter, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the party fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

You’re about to say something—something bold, something that’s been on the tip of your tongue for days—when the song ends, and the moment is interrupted by a burst of applause.

Steve steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “That was... nice,” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you agree, your chest tightening. “It was.”

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this game of subtlety and teasing. The clock is ticking, and the New Year is just around the corner. If Steve doesn’t make a move soon, you might just have to do it for him.

The party is in full swing as midnight approaches, the energy in the room building with each passing minute. The band has picked up its tempo, and laughter and clinking glasses echo through the air. You and Steve have stayed close all night, and now the two of you make your way toward the bar for a drink before the countdown begins.

“What’ll it be?” Steve asks, glancing at the menu. He’s been doing everything he can to appear calm, but the slight tremor in his voice and the way he keeps running a hand through his hair are clear giveaways.

“Champagne,” you say with a smile, leaning casually against the bar. “It’s tradition, isn’t it?”

“Good choice,” he says, signaling to the bartender. Moments later, two glasses of champagne appear in front of you, the golden liquid fizzing enticingly. You pick yours up and raise it in a mock toast.

“To the end of a very interesting year,” you say. “And the start of a better one.”

Steve clinks his glass against yours, his blue eyes warm. “I’ll drink to that.”

You take a sip, savoring the bubbly sweetness. The two of you fall into easy conversation, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. That is, until your eyes drift upward—and you notice the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you.

Your heart skips a beat, and a mischievous smile curls at the edges of your lips.

“Steve,” you say, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah?” he asks, oblivious, before taking another sip of his champagne.

You tilt your head upward, your gaze fixed on the mistletoe. His eyes follow yours, and when he realizes what you’re looking at, he freezes.

“Oh,” he says, his voice barely audible. The tips of his ears turn bright red, and he looks away quickly, as if avoiding eye contact will somehow make the situation disappear.

“Did you know Tony hung mistletoe all over the tower?” you ask innocently, though the twinkle in your eyes betrays your intent.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Uh, yeah. I might’ve noticed. He’s… thorough.”

You take a step closer, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Even with them on, you still have to crane your neck to look up at him. He’s towering above you, his broad shoulders blocking out everything else, and the nervous way he’s fidgeting is almost too cute to bear.

“So,” you say, your tone teasing. “What are we supposed to do when we’re under mistletoe?”

Steve swallows hard, his eyes darting between you and the small sprig above. “I—uh—well, I think… traditionally… people…”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting patiently as he struggles to form a coherent sentence.

“They kiss,” he finally blurts out, his voice cracking slightly.

You can’t help but laugh softly. “They do,” you agree. “It’s tradition, after all.”

His blush deepens, and he looks like he’s about two seconds away from bolting. You can see the internal battle playing out in his mind, the way he’s torn between his feelings and his nerves. The countdown begins in the background, voices ringing out in unison:

“Ten!”

“Steve,” you say, stepping even closer. “You know what I think?”

He blinks, staring down at you like a deer caught in headlights. “W-what?”

“Nine!”

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Eight!”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You’re not sure whether to be exasperated or endeared by how utterly flustered he is.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Steve,” you say firmly, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. You can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Five!”

“If you don’t kiss me right now,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing, “I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Four!”

“Three!”

Still, he hesitates, his lips parting as if to speak but no words escaping. You sigh dramatically, rising onto your tiptoes and tugging him down by his tie.

“Two!”

Before he can protest—or, more likely, overthink himself into oblivion—you press your lips to his.

The kiss is soft and sweet at first, your lips fitting perfectly against his. His initial surprise quickly melts away, and his hands come to rest lightly on your waist, steadying you as you lean into him. Even with your heels, he has to bend down significantly to meet you, and the height difference is so absurdly Steve-and-you that it makes you smile against his lips.

When you deepen the kiss slightly, sliding your hands up to his shoulders, he lets out a quiet, surprised sound that sends a rush of warmth through you. He tastes faintly of champagne, and the sheer rightness of the moment makes your head spin.

The countdown fades into a deafening roar of cheers and applause as the clock strikes midnight, but you barely notice. For this moment, it’s just you and Steve, wrapped up in a world of your own making.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. Steve looks down at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, disbelief, and pure adoration.

“I…” he starts, his voice shaky. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You laugh softly, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders. “You don’t say.”

“I mean, I—uh—I’ve liked you for a while now,” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a rush. “A long while, actually. Since before last Christmas. And I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how, and then the gift—I mean, the necklace—I thought maybe it would say it for me, but then you didn’t say anything, and I—”

“Steve,” you interrupt gently, placing a finger over his lips to stop his rambling. He freezes, his eyes wide and uncertain.

You smile, rising onto your tiptoes once more to kiss him again. This time, it’s slower, sweeter, a silent reassurance that you feel the same way. When you pull back, you whisper against his lips:

“Happy New Year, Steve.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes shining with so much emotion it makes your chest ache. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

And as the room around you erupts into celebration, you know this is going to be the start of something truly amazing.

I'm sorry (not really) but I can't imagine Steve as nothing else than a softie, like, I don't know where you all see the big dominant man...I see a puppy

[hannie-dul-set]

heartbeat conquest — day 0.

SYNOPSIS. you’re sucked into a reverse harem otome game, and there’s only one goal— say the right things to conquer as many pretty boys as you can. PAIRINGS. tomorrow x together x reader. TAGS. social media! au, modern fantasy, reverse harem (of fucking course), romance, humor, a whole bunch of weird dynamics maybe HUAHAHAHAHAHHAAH. inspired by the manhwa with the same title, “heartbeat conquest.”

it's pink.

no, literally. it’s all pink. one moment, you see the headlights of a van coming straight at you. the next moment, you open your eyes and see nothing but pink. pink floor. pink ceiling. pink walls (if there even are walls. you’ve been walking around for what seems like ages but you’re yet to bump into one).

you never thought that the afterlife was gonna be so bubblegum-y and barren.

but then again, you never expected that you’d be bringing your phone to the afterlife, either.

ding!

now, what in the otome isekai bullshit is this crap?

seriously, what the hell? is this actually real? you stare at your phone, eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion as the notifications keep pouring in— the same text over and over again prompting you to unlock, to start whatever this thing meant by conquest.

this really must be some weird post-death fever dream (can you dream when you’re dead?) but whatever mindfuckery this is, there’s one thing that’s clear to you.

if unlocking meant getting out of this pink-stained hell, might as well give it a damned shot.

your thumb presses the screen. you swipe up.

ding!

all your senses are swallowed by that dreaded shade of sickly sweet, bubblegum pink—

ding! ding! ding!

— and next thing you know, you’re now in an unfamiliar room, pink skies leaking through the sheer curtained window, trinkets strewn about the lived-in bedroom—

ding!

—with five new messages on your phone.

“—the natural talent to be loved and adored by all.”

ding! ding! ding! ding! ding!

how do you start your conquest?

NOTE. i have no idea what the fuck this is going to be, but let’s all have a blast anyway!!!

this is a choose your own adventure. click on the link above and answer the form to progress with the story. you’re the MC of this world who had just been sucked into wherever the fuck this is and have no idea who these five mystery men are, so just to your best in responding with the context that you currently have (none). after this one, more context will be provided, i promise BWAHAH.

honestly the only way to win this and get a “good ending” is to get a correct read of the boys’ characters and give the right responses— and if you’ve read a bunch of my stuff, you probably have a good idea on how i like my male leads HAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHA.

i will synthesize all submitted replies and move forward from there. the form will close once i get enough responses. this is just a little experiment that i’m doing and i have no idea how this gonna turn out HHAHHAHAHAHAHAH still, i hope you guys will participate!

DAY 0 | DAY 1

heartbeat conquest. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[ieatedyourcrayons]

Will you go on a date with me?

Schlatt x Gn!Streamer!Reader

no triggers, one shot, open to continuing it

another one based off an Ai bot i made, no this fic wasn’t made with Ai. I made the bot, the prompt, and this fanfic. thanks. i can link the bot in chat if anyone wants to use it!

You and schlatt are playing minecraft together on stream. Nothing serious just a stupid survival world that you haven’t gotten any progress in because you keep killing eachother.

“SCHLATT STOPPPP!!” you yell in between laughter. He laughs and continues spawn killing you. “Never!” He yells with a laugh.

After a bit more playful banter Schlatt pipes up with a question you and chat weren’t expecting.

“will you go on a date with me?” schlatt ask with a grin on his face.

“yeah sure.” you respond while you mine some things in the cave you found after finally running from schlatt.

“really?” he asked shocked that it was that easy.

“..If you shave off the mutton chops.” You add with a plain tone, trying to not laugh or sound amused.

“…what did you just say to me?” Schlatt says shocked and semi joking after a moment of dramatic silence. “No way you had the audacity to say that to me!” He adds with a laugh.

“I said, i will go on a date with you if you shave the mutton chops off” you reply with a grin, trying not to laugh.

“oh yeah?” He ask with a challenging tone. A stupid grin plastered on his face. Both of your chats are rolling with various things.

“Is this a joke?” “aweeee” “this is so cringe” “i hope they are serious!!” “awe Schlatt and y/n”

“Yeah.” You reply back with a grin on your face.

“Okay then, i got you.” He replies before ending the call and stream, and leaving the minecraft world. You were left there to look at the “JSchlatt left the game” on the left hand corner of the screen. A smile on your face.

[tinytalkingtina]

Revenge of the...Jocks?

Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt, using the word "time" and 485 words

Rating E | Ao3 link Tags: mean dom Steve/sub Eddie (they do switch though), light bondage, roleplay, Steve's letterman jacket and Eddie's handcuffs/bandana, tiny bit of overstim Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the pretty dividers!

This is all E-rated so under the divider it goes!

Steve scoffed. "How pathetic. Really? Can't last longer than a minute without shooting off? I barely touched you."

Eddie couldn't do anything but whimper as his tormentor kept moving his hand up and down his softening dick. 

The handcuffs keeping him bound to the bed rattled against the headboard as he tried to squirm away without success. Oh G-d, every single one of his nerve endings was on fire. Begging for mercy, his words came out as incomprehensible garbled noises through the gag. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?" He cupped his ear with one hand. "Couldn't hear you. You know, it's rude to speak with your mouth full." Eddie glared up at him. As if Steve hadn't been the one to grab his bandana out of his pocket and stuff it in to stop him from “moaning loudly like a slut.”

"-uk ooh!" he spat out as best he could.

Steve booped Eddie's nose. 

"How cute, the freak's throwing a tantrum!" Eddie's cheeks burned with embarrassment. His dick on the other hand, gave a twitch and filled back out from the half-hard state Steve had kept it in.

"Finally. You'd think a virgin loser would be ready to go again as soon as someone pays this-" he flicked a finger across the head of Eddie's swollen dick, "any attention." Eddie squeaked in surprise and wiggled around more, the sheets beneath his bare ass only reminding him how exposed he was. Fully clothed, King Steve loomed above him, a condescending smirk fixed on his face.

"Think you can give me one more, Freak?" Eddie whined. "Oh that's right, you don't have a fucking choice, unless you want me to leave you here for the rest of the team."

"Maybe I should let them have you," Steve mused as he curled his hand tightly around Eddie's dick and began to pump. "The guys need to blow off steam after games. And you've been overcharging for shit weed for years. Let's face it Freak, you owe us."

Steve continued to lay out hypothetical scenarios of what the basketball team would do to him while stroking him off. As Eddie quickly approached the edge, he let out a cruel laugh.

"Come on, Freak. I wanna hear you beg for it. Howl like the dog you are."

And howl Eddie did, the humiliation enough to push him into a second orgasm.

Once he finished twitching, Steve gently freed him from the restraints. He immediately curled up in his boyfriend's lap, completely boneless. 

"Was that the 'King Steve' treatment you wanted baby?" Steve asked as he carefully massaged the tension from Eddie’s shoulders.

"Yeah," he replied happily. "You were so mean, was perfect."

"Good. Next time we do this, I'm gonna be the nerd. Wanna see you in my letterman."

And well, wasn't that a fun idea. Eddie grinned sleepily and nodded, his mind already whirring with possible scenarios.

Thanks for reading!

[scribbly-artist]

Paint War

Summary: After talking Jinx down so they both didn’t get blown up, Ekko assists Jinx in getting everything ready to help in the big fight. They can’t crash the party looking all cool without some sick paint designs on their outfits though!

Author’s Notes: Thank you to this anon for the prompt requests for this fic! Despite not writing for Jinx or Ekko previously, I had a lot of fun trying to write them. :P Like everyone, I’m under the assumption they talked and maybe hung out between Ekko convincing Jinx to not hurt herself/blow them both up and the big fight. So here’s a little something I think could have happened!

Words: ~1,300 | AO3 Link

“You think this’ll work?” Ekko asked with doubt laced in his voice.

“Of course it will. You helped me build it, after all.” Jinx responded as she sat on a stool at what was originally her makeshift workbench.

The Boy Savior had managed to talk The Loose Cannon down from trying to hurt herself (both of them, really. If that explosive went off without Ekko using the Z-Drive, they’d both be dead) and convince her to fight as a major pawn in the clash between Piltover, Zaun and Noxus. With Ekko’s help, Jinx has converted her hideout into a secret weapon in the game of chess between the nations. They both needed to go and help so the whole world didn’t succumb to downfall. 

The big balloon was ready to go, just not launched yet. The weapons were attached, rebuilt to be more lethal and painted brightly. Just one final thing was missing in their plan…

“Now, we just have to look the part.” Jinx turned the stool so she could look at Ekko, who tilted his head in questioning. “We can’t go face first into a fight lookin’ like this. I need… something deadlier to wear. And we need paint!”

So they got to work. Ekko’s outfit didn’t need many changes, but Jinx wanted to rework her attire. She managed to make and attach a hood out of some extra cloth she had laying around to a big jacket, wrapped her chest with bandages and tape and tailored the rest of her outfit to her liking.

Jinx even dyed a few purple streaks in her hair.

“I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you that I dig the new hair,” Ekko commented, helping Jinx so she didn’t get hair dye everywhere. “I think it suits you better this way.”

“I don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve had it this short. New trauma, new me, I guess.” She shrugged.

Ekko brought the paint cans up on the workbench, mixing a pot of it with a paintbrush so its colour would be consistent. “You really want paint all over you?” He asked as he took the brush out of the paint, holding a cupped hand under the brush so as to not make a mess if it dripped.

“Paint makes everything look cooler,” she replied. “Besides, you’re the pro at it. You painted more than me as a kid, and painted my cool hat I used to wear when we used to play…” her smile faltered to a frown as her eyes grew a little sad. “…back then…”

A sad sigh left Ekko as he pulled up his own stool, sitting down. “Once this is all over, we’ll figure this out. Okay?”

Jinx nodded and then shook off the sadness, spreading her arms out wide. “Let me be your canvas, Wonder Boy.”

He nodded as got to work. He started painting her clothes first, drawing different patterns and symbols on her outfit with a range of colours. This was very different to the murals he and his friends at the sanctuary were used to painting, but it was nice to try something different. And painting like this caused some more old memories to resurface into his mind.

“Heh, I remember when we did this as kids. You could never sit still,” he moved the paintbrush from the side of her jacket to her bare skin on her torso. Jinx shuttered at the sudden cold paint touching down on her skin with a shiver. “Whenever I painted on you before, you always squirmed because you were so ticklish.” He stated with a laugh, reminiscing.

“That w-was when I was just a kid, though. Not anymore.” Jinx replied. With Ekko’s comment, she was now hyper aware of the brush making contact with her skin.

But Ekko noticed that Jinx’s body went stiff. The exact same thing would happen when he painted her way back then.

“I dunno… Seems like that still rings true.”

“What? Me, ticklish? As if. That’s just a stupid kiddy feeling. I’m way past that now.”

Ekko swiped the brush, painting a long, colourful streak of bright green paint from her side all the way to her stomach. Jinx let out a strangled noise as her hand darted to her mouth to silence herself. Her eyes flew to look at Ekko’s face, a small smile across it.

“Ekko.” She tried to make her voice as stern as she could. Though, her vocal cords failed her in this moment. “Don’t even think about it.”

He didn’t even need to give a response as he started to drag the paintbrush around her skin with more tickly intent, from her stomach all the way to under her arm. Jinx let out a gasp as giggles started to slip through her defences, a hand swiftly latching onto Ekko’s wrist to stop him.

“Yohohou always did this when wehehe were kids, too.” She shook her head, giggling. This was so silly, but strangely she didn’t mind it. Thinking of her past self usually upset and hurt her, but with Ekko here… some parts didn’t seem as awful, at least.

“I just wanted to lighten the mood. You need all that spark and energy for the fight,” Jinx loosened her grip on Ekko’s wrist as he grabbed another paintbrush with some bright pink dyed bristles. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t tickle this time, I promise. Super serious now.”

“Pfft, fine.” Jinx gave in and leaned back in the stool, holding her arms back out with a bit of reluctance. Ekko got back to painting, the cold paint once again making Jinx’s skin crawl. She was focusing on trying to mentally block out the feeling of the paint sliding against her skin, until—

“Hahaha! Y-You’re totally doing it ohohohon purpose!!” She jumped off of her stool, surprising Ekko. His eyes grew wide as he stood up himself, waiting for a physical attack or something of the like from the other.

“No, I wasn’t! I swear!” He held his hands up in defence, the paintbrush that was in his hand clashing to the ground with a dull noise.

Jinx looked Ekko up and down in thought. And then a plan hit her. A somewhat menacing smile formed on her face, making Ekko shiver in place. She grabbed a loaded paintbrush of her own, a pretty bright blue.

“You’ve just started a tickle paint war. And I’m gonna win.”

Ekko had no time to react as Jinx launched herself in his direction, attacking him with whatever bare skin her own paintbrush could reach. He tried to run away with begs and pleads. He was ticklish himself after all, and Jinx knew that. But she didn’t relent.

Loud laughter bounced off the cave walls from both of them. Paint was flying in many directions as Ekko managed to grab another paintbrush to fight back during the brawl. They had a scuffle, seeing who could laugh the loudest. They were both entirely covered with bright, messy paint from head to toe once they called a truce.

Ekko looked at Jinx’s face, trying to catch his breath. “I think I missed a spot,” he moved back to the workbench, dipping his thumb in some purple paint. He made his way back to Jinx, holding her chin steady with one hand as he dragged his painted purple thumb across both of her cheeks, just below her eyes. “There. Think we’re ready now.”

Jinx laughed, eyeing Ekko’s body, colourful paint now all over him. “I think I did a good job, if I do say so myself.”

They shared another laugh together.

The calm before the storm.

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

Illustration and writing are the most obvious forms of art allowed, but they're not the only ones! Literary arts fanfics, drabbles, poetry, plays, lengthy headcanon/meta posts (for headcanon and meta posts, minimum of 100 words+) Visual arts doodles, paintings, graphic design, photoshop memes, photography, animation, tiktok skits, abstract, fiber arts (embroidery, knitting, etc), ceramics Audio art fanmixes(curated playlists), original or cover songs Other crafts are also welcome! e.g. culinary, resin, woodworking, etc etc ..essentially, whatever type of art it is, I'll accept it so long as it falls within rules and is related to Krem or Maevaris :) For things that are more abstract, do include an explanation of your thought process on how it relates to Krem. E.g. you made Krem's Seheron Fish Wrap or Rice Pudding, take photos of your cooking, and post that (with the explanation that it is Krem's recipes) - that's an acceptable submission! You're allowed to explore different mediums everyday! You don't have to stick to one form of art for the whole week. I will be attempting to schedule reblogs in the 'prime time' for engagement, and in the interest of fairness, things like headcanon posts, fanmixes, and WIPs will not take priority in that time slot over fully rendered illustrations or complete fanfics. They will still be reblogged, but scheduled for other time slots.

Content Rules:

No A/I generated content. (Specifically GenAI content) As above, any and all forms of art is welcome. It must be human made, and by you. The whole point of working off a prompt is to explore a creative process, anyway - do yourself a favour and just enjoy making something! It doesn't have to be pretty! No reposting of other people's works. This must be your own creation. Obviously, no transphobic content. No harrassing others over their specific headcanons - be it in regards to any trait or quirks that come with being a person. People come in all sorts of wonderful variety, please respect that. In addition to above: No whitewashing, racism etc. Please note that Krem is not pale-skinned in canon, and I will not be reblogging content of him being portrayed as pale. 18+ works need to be labelled. On this blog, its tagged as "#adult art". Please add content warnings as appropriate. (E.g. portrayal of binding with bandages should have a warning label of "cw: unsafe binding", etc.) If your post/submission is lengthy, please insert a read more. This helps readability on the dashboard. Progress / WIPs are fine too!

General tips:

First and foremost, do what you are able to! Don't feel pressured to complete a full week if you need to take care of yourself first. Some people work on the prompts before the week even begins, and only post it day of. You are not required to do this, but if you really want to fill something for each day, this helps reduce stress day of.

Mod things:

The mod isn't from the Americas, so due to timezone differences, there may be a delay in reblogging people's works. Either way I will not reblog the moment that it's posted in order to screen properly. Posts will be queued between 30mins-1hr apart, if there are multiple entries being submitted at the same time. All submissions will also be requeued after a week for later perusal :)

[soft5ku11]

Soft5ku11 D15c0rd Server (+ Masterpost)

Everything under the cut! Gen-AI PROMPT TYPERS, POSTERS AND ENJOYERS GET OFF MY BLOG

D|SC0RD

Disclaimer: No extreme sizes, vore, scat & piss (etc), mpreg or kink content depicting minors is allowed. 18+ ONLY.

TUMBLR

{you are here right now! good job!}

BLUESKY

Bluesky will be where mirrors of my artwork will be put up as well as any artworks uncensored that Tumblr deems evil or whatever.

PILLOWFORT

I don't post on PF because there's nobody there ._. Just in case of posers though, I have an account.

AO3

I only have one fic as of July 2023, but I might post more in the future.

ART SUGGESTIONS/REQUESTS

I may not do everything left in the suggestion box, but I will see it. The more detail, the better!

This post will update if/when I have new socials or links to other sites to share.

COMMONLY USED TAGS

#my art - Original art made by me

#soft5ku11 speaking - Off-topic stuff, you can filter this if you're only here for the art

#soft5ku11 asks - Any inbox asks I reply to

#soft5ku11 headcanons Headcanons posts, usually alongside the asks tag

#soft5ku11 gamedev - Posts about the development of my still-unnamed game concept

#soft5ku11 WIP - Screenshots of unfinished artwork

#soft5ku11 commissions - Commission posts, artworks, and updates

Character tags will be abbreviated to three characters, eg my Guzma tag is "#gzm tag".

(Feel free to filter these tags if and as you see fit)

If I'm talking through my Sona, you'll see "//" at the beginning of the message (from Dec 2024 onward).

[spiderman2-99]

Got pestered into using this website; something about “building extra-dimensional rapport”. Ask-box is on, feel free to use it. Just don’t give me a reason for another migraine. I’m a grown man with very little time and patience.

•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

BEFORE YOU INTERACT, read the BLOG INFORMATION and RULES. If the links don't work, use browser to search spiderman2-99.tumblr.com and follow the steps from there.

Miguel is an asshole. His responses do not reflect my views‼️

Bullying is allowed if it’s funny.

My inbox glitches and deletes asks randomly. Please resend if possible.

Join my discord server?

•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

posting from 2099 = Miguel’s posts

shit happens in 2099 = char interactions

[admin’s art] = self explanatory

[fanart] = marvel art

[pics] = any media not related to marvel

ask meme = self explanatory; will reply to any ask game prompt no matter how late it's sent

hypotheses about a spider = headcanons

Miguel’s super helpful wonderful assistant! = LYLA cameos (obsolete)

[thecapricunt1616]

Promptober Day 1 👻

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭) : You had just landed at Boston airport last night, got a rental car, and Luca drove you to the beautiful little AirBNB that was decked out in adorable Halloween decor. Of course to break in the new space you went for a few rounds as soon as you got there, and you had left your phones off since you got on the plane since neither of you wanted to be bothered, and if you didn’t see it you wouldn’t have the anxiety that came with feeling you were required to reply even though neither of you had any interest in having conversation with anyone but eachother at the moment, so none of your alarms had gone off thankfully.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: OMG! Hello! Welcome to day 1/31 of #TheBearblrPromptober2024! I am so excited to be taking part in this! If you didn't know, this prompt list was created by my lovely, wonderful, beautiful, smart and amazing friend @carmenberzattosgf! Everyone say 'Thank you Dirty Olive Martini!' for creating such a fun list & allowing everyone to use it! Halloween is my favorite holiday out of the entire year, so I'm reporting to you from the past 👻🔮ooooooo magical time travel🔮👻 I'm queuing this alllll the way back on 9/5 🤭! Can you tell how much I love Halloween?! Haha! I will be doing TWO Posts a day this October (I'm a psycho! I know! Hence why I'm reporting to you from the past hehe)! I will be participating in #TheBearblrPromptober2024! - you can view my schedule & masterlist for this celebration right 🦇here🦇, Now- I will also be posting my own celebration at night- #TheCapricuntsKinktober2024! You can view my schedule & masterlist for that celebration right 🎃here🎃! I hope you all enjoy what I've cooked up for this upcoming month, I'm hoping to also be cooking on the asks that have been rotting away in my inbox for god knows how long in between posting, since all of Sept. was spent preparing for this celebration! Okay, I promise every authors note will not be this long - I just had to get the intro out of the way! Lastly if you'd like to be added to my taglist for either celebration, just click on the celebration links on my masterpost also linked above & comment, I will add you! Alright, without further ado- Let #TheBearblrPromptober2024 begin! oh my gosh it’s FINALLY October! I have the first 14 prompt/kinktober blurbs done. It’s gonna be a big month!! I hope I have the writing bug up my ass the whole month I have 46 more prompts to get done omfg!! 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Mentions of smut (no active smut) 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @/𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐤𝐚-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬

You and Luca had finally gotten some time off. You were currently studying law at the University of Copenhagen, and decided that you were going to take the fall semester off because you and Luca had just gotten engaged and wanted time together to plan your wedding. Luca had made his way up to head pastry chef, so in celebration Luca had surprised you with a trip to Salem to see the foliage and do other fun fall things. 

Halloween was always you and Luca’s favorite holiday. In the 3 years that you had been dating, you had always picked out cute couples costumes together, The first year, You were Fred and Daphne from Scooby doo, The next you were Lilo and Stitch, and this year you were going to be some girl called D.VA and Luca would be a guy called Soldier 76 from some video game that he was always playing when he had free time.

You weren’t so sure what it was, you just knew she wore a cute leotard that made you feel like a superhero and an adorable pink bunny rabbit she carried around, and he even ended up finding a cute bunny backpack for your costume to go with it. Halloween though, was over a week away. You had just landed at Boston airport last night, got a rental car, and Luca drove you to the beautiful little AirBNB that was decked out in adorable Halloween decor. 

Of course to break in the new space you went for a few rounds as soon as you got there, and you had left your phones off since you got on the plane since neither of you wanted to be bothered, and if you didn’t see it you wouldn’t have the anxiety that came with feeling you were required to reply even though neither of you had any interest in having conversation with anyone but eachother at the moment, so none of your alarms had gone off thankfully.

You woke up, entangled limbs and pumpkin printed sheets, cheek mushed on Lucas pec comfortably, as embarrassing as it was, a little bit of drool crusted in the corner of your mouth. What could you say? The 7 hour flight on top of 4 hours of tacked on extra traveling and then nearly 3 hours of intense hooking up with your boyfriend that had the stamina of a stallion wiped you out to say the least. 

The room was still comfortably dark, just a sliver of light peeking through the blackout velvet curtains. 

You peeled your cheek off of his warm chest,  your eyes fluttering open to see your beautiful boyfriend sleeping beneath you still. You planted a gentle, loving kiss on his collarbone, before getting up and tending to your plans you had for the morning. Your loving, wonderful fiancee had gone through all of the planning of your trip on his own, because he wanted to surprise you. He’d known you’d always wanted to go to Salem, especially around Halloween which was your two’s special holiday.

You slip on your fluffy baby pink robe, adorned with bats that he’d bought you for the trip, as well as your nightmare before Christmas slippers and pad out to the kitchen. Your first line of business was to feed your black cat, Since it was your cat together, of course he was named Salem - Who was meowing and weaving between your legs, asking for his breakfast.

“I know baby I know baby!” You coo, picking him up and kissing his fluffy head as you walked to the kitchen. After you got him all settled, you got working on the Classic English Breakfast for Luca using the groceries that you’d ordered from instacart last night. Pork breakfast sausages, poached eggs, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, and sourdough toast with lots of english butter, which you realized costed a whopping $6 opposed to it only being 2 back home. 

Just as you were getting everything plated on the table, you heard a cough come from the bedroom “Lu?” you called, hoping his throat felt a bit better then yesterday. Luca hated flying to say the least. 

“Are you cooking” he called back with a light cough. 

“Mm breakfast is made pretty boy” you went and stood at the doorway to see Salem had made his way to cuddle up on Lucas chest. “And petting him so close isn’t gonna help that dry throat” you told him, going over and kissing his forehead gently. 

He puckered his lips for a kiss and you lean down, brushing his messy blonde tufts out of his eyes and giving him a gentle kiss. “What did you make?” He asked softly when you pulled away, taking your hand and kissing the pads of your fingers gently. 

“I made you some green tea for that airplane throat, and your favorite, classic English- cmon. Let’s go curl up on the couch and watch Goosebumps” you told him and giggle as he pulled you to lay on top of him since Salem had went off to go play with his toys 

“Mmmmm - I don’t think that’ll be enough, I think I’m in the mood for something a little sweeter” he said softly in your ear before taking the lobe between your teeth and tugging gently. 

You giggled at the way he’d been awake  for not even 10 minutes and he was already trying to get you out of your robe this morning. 

“Breakfast, then dessert, let’s go handsome” you gently played with his pretty blonde locks and he hums. 

“I guess breakfast will get cold, mm” he said and kissed the side of your face lightly. “And I can tell you if your egg poaching skills have gotten any better” he teased, pushing up the bottom of your robe and squeezing your bum between his palms, trailing his hands up to your hips.

“It will- I know what those hands are up to” you giggled as they made their way back down to cup your heat through your panties. 

“They have a mind of their own in the mornings” he said with a small smirk. You hum and leaned in, kissing him deeply just enough to make him believe that he had won this little battle that he’d started with you, before pulling away and getting up with a frisky grin.

“Well it won’t be a fair judgment of my eggs if you let them get cold, Lu!” you giggled and made your way out to the dining room, leaving him cold in bed.

“You’re gonna pay for that - we don’t have anything planned today” he chuckled as he finally got up to follow you.

Tag List: @carmenberzattosgf @daysofyellowroses @mouseymilkovich @gallaghersgal @carmybrainworms @l4long-winded @babyspiderling @southsideserendipity @djlnkaled

[amethystarachnid]

hi! Idk if you’re still doing the holiday prompts, but if you are can I pls request 21. Holiday Disaster with Tony x F!Reader?

Between a disaster cooking in the kitchen and an overbearing/insulting family, I feel like Tony would totally be able to soothe the reader during all the mayhem 😌

CHRISTMAS DISASTER

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff and some angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: You never had a good relationship with your family but Christmas Eve is a time to spend with your family, right? Then why do you feel so wrong when with them? Tony notices, of course, and decides to take matters into his own hands

ᯓ★ TW(s): toxic family / harsh family environment

ᯓ★ I really hope I understood your ask well...Also...325 followers??? Thank you so much guys <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The driveway stretches ahead, the crunch of tires against the frozen gravel loud in the stillness of the night. Snow dusts the evergreens lining the property, a picturesque scene that feels at odds with the tension coiling in your chest. The house looms in the distance, its windows glowing with golden light, but the sight only deepens the unease in your stomach.

“You okay?” Tony’s voice cuts through the quiet, warm and familiar. His hand finds yours where it rests on your lap, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a slow, grounding rhythm.

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He’s not buying it. You knew he wouldn’t. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, perceptive and unwavering, before he turns back to the road. Tony Stark has always been a man of precision, and he knows you too well to miss the cracks in your façade.

“Look, we can still turn around,” he says, his tone casual, but the suggestion holds a serious edge. “Christmas in Malibu sounds pretty great. Sun, sand, champagne—”

You shake your head before he can finish. “No. We’ve already talked about this.”

He huffs a little, a sound of mild exasperation mixed with reluctant acceptance. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You glance out the window as the car slows to a stop in front of the house. The lights are brighter up close, and the sound of laughter filters through the frosted windows. You take a deep breath, trying to brace yourself against the onslaught of emotions that always come with returning here.

Tony’s hand tightens around yours. “Hey,” he says softly. When you turn to look at him, his expression is open, unguarded in a way few people ever see. “You don’t have to do this for me, you know.”

“It’s not for you,” you reply, though the words feel hollow. “It’s Christmas. It’s family. It’s…” You trail off, unable to articulate the rest.

His lips quirk in a faint, wry smile. “I get it. Obligation. Guilt. The usual holiday cocktail.”

A laugh escapes you despite yourself, and you shake your head. “Something like that.”

He leans closer, his free hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You don’t owe them anything. Not your time, not your patience, not a single damn minute of your happiness. If they can’t see how incredible you are, that’s their loss. Not yours.”

Your throat tightens at his words, a mixture of gratitude and sadness welling up in your chest. “Tony…”

“Nope, don’t argue with me. I’m right, as usual.” He smirks, but there’s no arrogance in it, only a gentle reassurance that softens the sharp edges of his confidence.

You look down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and steady against your cold ones. The metal of his wedding band catches the light, a small but constant reminder of the life you’ve built together, far removed from the chaos and judgment that await inside.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“You won’t have to,” he promises, his tone firm. “I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

For a moment, the weight on your chest eases, replaced by the solid, unwavering presence of the man beside you. Tony Stark may not have the most conventional approach to love, but he’s always been your rock when you needed him most.

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see your mother standing on the porch, a strained smile plastered on her face. Tony squeezes your hand once more before letting go and stepping out of the car. He circles around to open your door, always the gentleman despite his devil-may-care persona.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice soft enough that only you can hear.

You nod, even though you’re not. Together, you step into the icy night, your hand finding his again as you head toward the house and the storm that awaits within.

The door swings open fully as you and Tony step onto the porch, the biting wind at your back. Your mother is there, her carefully painted smile faltering for just a second before she recovers and steps forward.

"There you are!" she exclaims, the cheer in her voice as polished as the pearls around her neck. Her gaze flits to Tony, and the smile grows warmer, more genuine. "And Tony Stark, in the flesh. My, my, we’re honored."

Tony’s signature charm turns on instantly, a crooked grin lighting up his face as he steps forward, offering his hand. "Mrs. Y/L/N, a pleasure as always. I see where Y/N gets her good looks."

Your mother practically preens, her laughter light and practiced. "Oh, stop it. Come in, come in, it’s freezing."

She ushers the two of you inside, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and pine fills your nose. The house looks exactly the same as it always has, with its antique furniture and perfectly arranged decorations that feel more like a magazine spread than a home. It’s both nostalgic and suffocating all at once.

Your father appears in the doorway of the living room, his eyes narrowing slightly when they land on you but softening when they shift to Tony.

"Tony Stark," he says, his tone a mix of skepticism and reluctant admiration. He steps forward to shake Tony’s hand, his grip firm. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Tony handles it with ease, as always. "Well, what can I say? Y/N promised me the best eggnog this side of the Rockies."

Your father chuckles, a sound that feels out of place coming from him. "She might’ve oversold it, but you’ll have to let me know what you think."

"I’m sure it’ll be unforgettable," Tony replies smoothly.

You hang back slightly, watching the interaction with a mix of gratitude and unease. They’re putting on their best behavior for Tony, of course. For you, it’s always a different story.

Your mother’s voice cuts through your thoughts. "Come on, everyone’s in the living room. Let’s not keep them waiting."

Tony glances back at you, his hand brushing against yours briefly before following your parents. You trail behind, your stomach twisting as you prepare for the inevitable gauntlet of backhanded compliments and veiled criticisms that always define these gatherings.

The living room is full of your extended family, the noise of laughter and conversation spilling over as you enter. Faces turn toward the door, and for a moment, it feels like all the air in the room shifts. The attention isn’t on you, of course. It’s on Tony.

"Oh my God, is that Tony Stark?" one of your cousins, Emily, squeals, her eyes wide with awe. She’s barely out of her seat before she’s making her way over, her smile too bright. "I can’t believe it!"

Tony handles it all like the consummate showman he is, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and even posing for a quick selfie when Emily insists. It’s impressive, really, how effortlessly he navigates these situations. Meanwhile, you find yourself standing on the periphery, a spectator in what’s supposed to be your evening.

"You must feel so lucky," Emily says, turning to you briefly, her tone saccharine. "I mean, to land someone like him? Wow."

There it is. The first jab of the night, cloaked in admiration but sharp all the same. You force a smile, your grip tightening on the glass of wine someone handed you the moment you walked in.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice steady despite the simmering irritation beneath. "I’m very lucky."

Emily doesn’t linger on you long, her attention snapping back to Tony. "So, Tony, what’s it like saving the world?"

The evening continues like this, with your family fawning over Tony while barely acknowledging you except for the occasional comment about your appearance or career. Your mother keeps insisting you should be more like your cousin Sarah, who’s just "so put together," while your father peppers Tony with questions about his work and wealth, as if he’s vetting him for some unseen test.

And then there’s Sarah herself, perched on the arm of a chair across the room, her eyes on Tony more often than not. She’s subtle about it, or at least she thinks she is, but you notice every lingering glance, every overly friendly smile. It’s infuriating, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to cause a scene.

Tony, for his part, seems oblivious to her attention. Or maybe he’s just choosing to ignore it. Either way, he sticks close to you whenever he can, his hand finding the small of your back or his arm brushing against yours in quiet reassurance. It’s a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

At one point, your aunt leans over to you with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don’t you worry, dear. Men like Tony always have their pick of women, but you’ve done well to keep him interested this long. Just keep him on his toes."

The words are like a slap, but you smile tightly and nod, swallowing the retort that bubbles up in your throat.

You’re not sure how much time passes before Tony pulls you aside, his hand warm and solid around yours as he leads you toward the kitchen under the guise of getting more wine. The moment you’re out of earshot, he turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your face.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice low.

You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly now that you’re away from the crowd. "I’m fine."

He arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You sure about that? Because I’ve seen the way you’ve been gripping that wine glass. Pretty sure it’s about to shatter."

A laugh escapes you, surprising in its suddenness, and you shake your head. "It’s just… them. They’re always like this."

Tony leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he watches you. "You don’t have to explain. I’ve met enough boardroom vultures to know what passive-aggressive looks like."

You glance at him, your heart twisting at the quiet understanding in his eyes. "I just hate how they… how they make me feel. Like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."

He straightens, closing the distance between you in two quick steps. His hands settle on your arms, grounding and steady. "Hey," he says firmly, his voice cutting through the lingering doubt in your mind. "They don’t get to decide that. You’re more than enough. For me, for anyone who actually matters. Don’t let them make you think otherwise."

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you lean into him, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. For a moment, the noise from the other room fades, and all you can feel is the warmth of his presence, the strength of his love anchoring you.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "Always," he murmurs.

When you pull back, he grins, his usual playfulness returning. "Now, how about we go back out there and make them regret underestimating you?"

You laugh, the sound lighter this time, and nod. "Let’s do it."

The dinner itself is tolerable, though the undercurrents of tension remain. As the plates are cleared, you’re almost looking forward to dessert—a cake you baked yourself, hoping it might add a small touch of warmth to an otherwise uncomfortable evening. But that hope is short-lived.

You’re helping your mother with the dishes when Sarah offers to bring the cake out. "Don’t worry," she says with a too-sweet smile. "I’ve got it. You sit and relax."

You hesitate, but your mother waves you off. "Let her do it, dear."

You return to the dining room, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. Moments later, a loud crash echoes from the kitchen, followed by Sarah’s exaggerated gasp.

"Oh no!" she calls out. "The cake! It slipped right off the plate."

You rush back to the kitchen, your heart sinking as you see the ruined cake on the floor. Sarah’s expression is one of mock dismay, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in her eyes that makes your stomach churn.

"I’m so sorry, Y/N," she says, her tone dripping with insincerity. "But don’t worry! I brought a cake too. Mine will do just fine. It’s… better anyway." She glances toward the dining room and winks—not at you, but at Tony, who’s just appeared in the doorway.

It’s the double meaning in her words that sends you over the edge. Your chest tightens, and tears sting your eyes as you struggle to keep your composure. Anger, sadness, exhaustion—it’s all too much, and you can’t even pinpoint which emotion is winning out.

Tony’s voice breaks through the haze. "Enough."

It’s quiet but firm, laced with an edge of steel you’ve rarely heard from him. He steps fully into the kitchen, his gaze locked on Sarah. "We’re leaving."

Sarah blinks, taken aback. "What? Tony, I didn’t mean—"

"You meant exactly what you said," he interrupts, his tone calm but unyielding. Then he turns to you, his expression softening. "Let’s go."

You hesitate, glancing at the mess on the floor and the stunned faces of your family as they gather in the doorway. But when Tony takes your hand, the warmth and steadiness of his touch is all the reassurance you need. You nod, allowing him to lead you out of the house without another word.

The drive home is quiet, but Tony’s hand never leaves yours. When you finally step through the door of your own home, the weight of the evening crashes down on you, and you bury your face in his chest, the tears finally spilling over.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I… I just…"

"Hey," he murmurs, pulling you closer. "You don’t have to apologize. Not for them. Not for anything."

His arms wrap around you tightly, his hand gently stroking your hair as you let the emotions out. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to fix it with words. He just holds you, his presence solid and unwavering.

When the tears finally subside, he tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours. "You’re amazing, Y/N. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise."

A small smile breaks through the lingering sadness, and you nod. "Thank you."

"Always," he replies, his lips brushing softly against yours. "Now, how about we bake a new cake? Just us."

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all night, and nod. "I’d like that."

Together, you head to the kitchen, leaving the evening’s troubles behind. With Tony by your side, you know you’ll be okay.

The kitchen hums with a quiet warmth as you and Tony settle in, the earlier tension melting away in the glow of soft lighting and the familiar comfort of your own home. The counters are clean, the utensils lined up like soldiers ready for duty, and a bag of flour sits open on the counter, its contents already dusting the surface.

Tony watches as you tie an apron around your waist, a grin tugging at his lips. “Gotta say, you wear that apron well. Makes me think of all kinds of things I shouldn’t say right now.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway. “Behave, Stark, or you’ll be banned from the kitchen.”

“Banned?” he echoes, mock-offended. “This kitchen would be lost without me. Who else is going to handle the quality control?”

You shake your head with a smile, already feeling the knots in your chest loosening. “Alright, Mr. Quality Control, grab the measuring cups. Let’s get started.”

As you work together, the tension of the evening dissipates further, replaced by the quiet intimacy of shared tasks. Tony takes his role as your assistant seriously—at least for the first five minutes. He measures out sugar with a precision that would rival J.A.R.V.I.S., but then he deliberately dips a spoon into the bag and pops it into his mouth.

“Tony,” you scold, laughing as you swat at his hand. “We need that for the cake!”

“Just making sure it’s still sweet,” he replies with a smirk, licking a stray bit of sugar from his thumb. His eyes glint with mischief as he adds, “You know, like you.”

Your cheeks warm, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you hand him the bowl of flour. “Mix this. And no more eating the ingredients.”

He takes the bowl with a dramatic sigh. “You’re no fun.”

As you both continue, you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of baking. The smell of vanilla and butter fills the air, a comforting contrast to the evening’s earlier chaos. Tony hums a Christmas tune under his breath as he stirs the batter, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else can.

At one point, you lean over to grab the cocoa powder, and Tony takes the opportunity to sneak a kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm and soft, and you feel a flicker of something light and happy in your chest.

“Focus,” you tease, though you don’t pull away.

“I am focused,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “Just… not on the cake.”

You glance at him, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your breath catch. For all his joking, there’s a depth to his affection that he doesn’t hide, and it’s moments like these that remind you just how much he cares.

The batter comes together quickly after that, and soon it’s poured into a pan and placed in the oven. You set the timer and lean against the counter, exhaling a soft sigh. Tony steps beside you, his arm looping around your waist.

“You know,” he begins, his tone light, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to fatten me up with all these desserts.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “And what if I am?”

He grins, leaning closer until his lips are a breath away from yours. “Then I’d say you’re doing a damn good job. But just so you know, I’d eat whatever you made, no matter what.”

The sincerity in his voice takes you by surprise, and your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with sadness. You lean into him, your forehead resting against his.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hands settling on your waist. “Always.”

The timer beeps, breaking the moment, and you pull away with a small laugh. “Guess it’s time to see if we actually made something edible.”

Tony watches as you retrieve the cake from the oven, his expression filled with a mix of pride and adoration. You set it on the counter to cool, and he reaches out to swipe a finger along the edge of the pan, gathering a bit of the warm chocolate.

“Tony!” you protest, laughing as he tastes it.

“Delicious,” he declares, his grin widening. “I knew you had it in you.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. Together, you decorate the cake with whipped cream and sprinkles, laughing as Tony insists on adding a few too many candy canes to the top.

When it’s finally finished, you step back to admire your work. The cake isn’t perfect—there’s a slight crack along the side, and the decorations are a bit uneven—but it’s yours. Made together, with love and care.

Tony pulls you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head as you both look at the cake. “You know,” he murmurs, “I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever made.”

You laugh, tilting your head to look up at him. “You didn’t make it. I did most of the work.”

“Details,” he replies, grinning. “But seriously, Y/N. Tonight wasn’t easy, but you handled it like a champ. And I’m proud of you.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft and lingering, filled with all the words he doesn’t say aloud. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with a warmth that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“Ready to dig in?” he asks, his tone lighter now.

You nod, your smile widening. “Let’s do it.”

As you cut into the cake, sharing the first bites together, the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a blanket. The night may have started with chaos and hurt, but here, in the quiet of your kitchen, it ends with love, laughter, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

You and Tony settle onto the couch, a comfortable silence enveloping you both. The cake sits on the coffee table, a few crumbs remaining on your plates as a testament to your joint effort. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights casts a warm hue across the room, reflecting off the ornaments and giving everything a cozy, magical feel.

Tony pulls you close, his arm draped over your shoulders as you lean into him. The faint scent of vanilla and chocolate lingers in the air, mingling with the piney aroma of the Christmas tree. You take a deep breath, letting the comfort of the moment sink in.

“So,” he says, his voice low and relaxed, “I think it’s safe to say we nailed that cake.”

You chuckle, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’s not exactly bakery-level, but I think we did pretty well.”

“Pretty well?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, but that cake was a masterpiece. The world’s greatest team effort. Stark-approved.”

You laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Okay, fine. It was pretty amazing. But mostly because I did all the heavy lifting.”

Tony places a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me, Y/N. Here I thought my stirring skills were the secret ingredient.”

You reach up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, your touch gentle. “They were. Along with your ability to taste-test every step of the way.”

“Quality control is a thankless job,” he replies with a smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your shoulder. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

The warmth of his touch and the teasing in his tone send a flicker of happiness through you. The earlier tension with your family feels distant now, replaced by the easy intimacy of being with Tony. You sigh contentedly, resting your head against his chest.

As the minutes pass, the weight of the evening starts to fade completely. You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that the hands have crept past midnight. A smile tugs at your lips as you nudge Tony gently.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “It’s officially Christmas.”

He looks down at you, his eyes lighting up with a playful spark. “Well, then. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his expression.

Tony shifts slightly, reaching for something tucked under the edge of the couch. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small, beautifully wrapped box. The wrapping paper glimmers in the light, and the red ribbon tied around it is perfectly neat—a surprising touch for Tony.

“I was going to wait until morning,” he says, holding the box out to you. “But since it’s officially Christmas, I figure now’s as good a time as any.”

Your breath catches as you take the box, the weight of it light but significant in your hands. You glance up at him, your heart racing. “Tony, you didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did,” he interrupts, his tone firm but warm. “Now open it before I lose my nerve.”

You smile, your fingers carefully untying the ribbon and peeling back the wrapping paper. Inside is a velvet box, and as you open it, your breath hitches. Nestled inside is a delicate necklace, a small, intricately designed pendant sparkling in the light. It’s shaped like a star, its edges glinting with tiny diamonds.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Tony leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “I thought it might remind you of all the times you’ve been my guiding star. You keep me grounded, Y/N. Even on the worst days.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you turn to him, overwhelmed by the depth of his gesture. “Tony, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you like it,” he teases, though there’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“I love it,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

He smiles, visibly relieved, and takes the necklace from the box. “Turn around. Let me put it on you.”

You do as he asks, your back to him as he clasps the necklace around your neck. The pendant rests just above your collarbone, its weight light but comforting. You turn back to him, your fingers brushing over the star.

“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice steady now.

He grins, his expression softening as he pulls you back into his arms. “Good. I was worried for a second there.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You worry too much.”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replies, his tone playful but sincere.

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment before reaching under the couch to retrieve a small package of your own. It’s wrapped in simple red paper, the edges slightly uneven—a contrast to the flawless wrapping job on Tony’s gift.

“Your turn,” you say, holding it out to him.

Tony takes the package, his curiosity piqued. “What’s this? A Stark-proof invention?”

“Just open it,” you urge, a smile tugging at your lips.

He carefully tears into the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek black box. As he lifts the lid, his expression shifts from curiosity to surprise. Inside is a custom-designed watch, the face engraved with his initials and a small arc reactor symbol.

“I wanted to get you something personal,” you explain, suddenly feeling shy. “Something that reminds you of how far you’ve come and how much you mean to me.”

Tony stares at the watch for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he looks up at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice soft. “This is… amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, relief flooding you as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

He pulls back just enough to kiss you, his lips warm and tender against yours. When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers again, his voice filled with love.

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” you reply, feeling a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time.

As you both sit there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fades away. It’s just you and Tony, the quiet hum of the Christmas tree lights, and the unspoken promise of all the moments yet to come.

[skibidilando]

A day at quadrant: LN4

Author note: I don’t even know how to post anything on this and never wrote a fic but I hope this is good but I think it’s pretty shit and I haven’t finished it yet and if any writers want to use this idea you can for sure just @ me please oh and if you have feedback please let me know thanks xx

Lando x quadrant fem reader

Blurb: reader is a member of quadrant, she games most of the time but also likes f1 along with her best friend Ria bish. She is friends with all members at quadrant and finds it a good laugh with all her mates, but maybe her view of someone in particular is more than a mate..

Warnings: sexualising, swearing, mention of a gun, leaked tape, sad distraught reader, friends to maybe lovers if I make it a series? Smut-ish? If I missed any let me know (I don’t know how to do warnings sorry x)

I woke up late again today. The mornings aren’t made for me. I just can’t do it. I love the feeling of sinking into my bed for 20 hours. But I can’t today, I have 4 people with cameras recording waiting for me to bloody get up and start filming a video for quadrant. But I’m not complaining because this is my job and something I like to do. I try to be in most videos and do my part, but it’s not like Lando gets that mad if I miss a few videos, but from my fucked sleep schedule, I don’t think he will like if I miss another one after I skipped the last 3.

I realise the time and see Lando, Ria, Ethan, and Max spamming my phone to get on. Fucking hell. I don’t even think to get changed, i just checked all my lash extensions were on, tied up my hair, and brushed my teeth. I probably look like shit but I did this to myself. “Better late than never I guess” max says rudely to take the piss out of me. Everyone knows my bad sleep schedule and how moody I am in the morning and after he’s done that, I’m not having it.

“Sorry guys my alarm didn’t go off but I’m here now ahaha” you say trying not to make an unhinged comment to clap back at max. “Y/n girl I missed you where have u fucking been!” Ria says. Ria is my bitch, we ride together, we die together, Ria is my best friend. “Me too Ria!” I say back politely.

“Alright enough mucking about we have to record this video mate” Ethan jokingly says and makes Ria and I laugh. “What r we even playing again” i question. “we are playing gartic phone you muppet” Lando tries to say but starts laughing at Y/n. “Why r u laughing mate” I say confused then realise wtf I’m doing. I’m wearing my pajamas, not my normal pajamas my fucking tiny, tight lace top that could pass for a bra if you squint your eyes. It hits me and I shit myself realising I have a camera filming me and recording everything.

“Omg I’m so sorry fuck I forgot let me change” I panicked in saying quickly. “Who said to change” Lando bluntly says. I was stopped in your tracks. Excuse me? Lando? As if he just said that. “Um my tits are almost exposed on camera and i look like a hoe” I say. My manager is definitely gonna get me in trouble for that. “Woah y/n you fucking hottie” Ria says when she looks at me from my camera. I get nervous in my stomach and naturally run to go grab a hoodie, luckily i live in a small apartment so it didn’t take me long. “Um sorry guys sorry let’s just move on I forgot sorry sorry” i say nervously.

“Yeah alright let’s go I’ll send you the link Y/n” Ethan kindly says which is unlike him being a dickhead most of the time as a joke to piss me off. I like Ethan though I think he’s funny and actually caring about us all and our business. “So do we write a prompt then get someone else’s to draw and keep going” max says like he didn’t ask to play it. “Yeah but make it funny about us and f1 the viewers will fucking love it” Lando says. I still can’t believe what Lando said. I join the game and wait for everyone else to join. I started to feel the panic caving in on my chest and texted Lando.

lando wtf was that?

I send quickly

what was what?

He replied back

The fucking comment like I know I’m sorry and shouldn’t have worn that before chucking something on top but why did you say that Lando

I started to let everything out on accident, but I had every right to, he was my friend and said that I should not have changed from my top that was basically lingerie.

fuck I was just joking

He replied back bluntly.

Why do I feel sad that he said that. Did he think I looked bad in it? Did he think I was looking like a hoe? Fuck why did I talk to him like that he’s my boss!

“Alright we’re starting now lock in don’t say any dumb shit” Max says right before filming the intro and starting the game. I don’t know what prompt to write. Then I get an idea to do Ethan and ginge in the sauna with Lando from a video they did a week ago. I submit it and then recieve a prompt. I bursted out laughing when reading it in my head and looking at my atrocious drawing. It’s a drawing following the prompt of Max’s bunda blocking Landos old fiat jolly, but I drew their hair orange on accident. I kept playing the game and do a few more rounds and have a laugh until we stopped recording.

The rest of the day was pretty chill as I was tired and it was a week day so i stayed at home until I feel asleep watching a movie. I wanted to get sleep like I always do but extra sleep tonight because tomorrow we were all hanging out for lunch and a chat to talk about future video ideas. Was it bad I wanted to look really good? Surely not right?

I woke up and this time remembered to change my top. I picked out a cute off the shoulder knit long sleeve top and some jeans. They made me look good with my tanned skin and made me feel just as good. I straightened my hair, brushed my teeth, and did my makeup ready to go to the cafe we were meeting up at. We always watch the video our editor puts together while we meet up at the cafe spot every week, it’s basically a routine.

Ria and I hugged each other then went to the table both fashionably late. I saw Lando, Steve, Aarav, Max, and Ethan sitting there on the big table with two spots saved. One next to Steve, and one next to Lando. After my short blunt convo with Lando I decided I wanted to sit next to Steve, but that was overruled when Ria already sat down. Well fuck isn’t this awkward. Can I order a gun?

“Hi Y/n” he says looking at me. Why is my stomach already curling into a ball. “Um hi Lando” I say quietly. I am a bit too close to home for my liking as the table was a bit small but it’s fine. We all ordered our food and I ordered some avocado toast trying to be healthy and aesthetic knowing well I end up eating some of everyone else’s food lol. Lando like the child he is ordered pancakes.

“Im sorry about what i said yesterday, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything it just came out im sorry”. Lando says politely. Did I misinterpret his message? Why is he nice now? Why is my stomach tied up into knots? WHY AM I WEAK IN THE KNEES?

“Oh it’s all good I’m sorry idk why it didn’t click to change out of that fucking slutty top like a normal person” I blurt out. “Woah why are you so hard on yourself, calm down Y/n it’s completely fine and it was a nice top anyways, it looked good on you.” he said. EXCUSE ME? “Thanks?” I said confused. Thank fuck the food came otherwise I would have fainted at the awkwardness.

The food was good, Lando didn’t talk nor did I the rest of the lunch. Then we watched the video that came out. My heart sinks. The start of the video showing our cameras in the intro has me at the start or the whole morning, in that fucking top on YouTube. “Wait-fuck what why am I in there wearing that how did the editor get that clip it’s not even from the same time frame. I panicked. I was about to cry. All the comments were already flooding in hating on me saying I was attention seeking in that top. “Please get it down, please please ” I started crying already in Rias arms. Lando looked angry. “Who the fuck put that clip of her in it” he said angrily. He calls the editor who made the video on speaker. 0.00001 seconds after the editor answer Lando is already yelling.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU PUT THAT CLIP OF Y/N YOU DIDNT EVEN ASK HER OR CARE YOU PURPOSELY DID IT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU JUST DID! GET IT DOWN NOW”. Lando yells before hanging up knowing the editor got the message. I’m are still shaking and trying to not bawl your eyes out with just a few tears. “Lando it’s my fault you didn’t have to yell at him like that sorry” i say weakly. “NO ITS NOT YOUR FAULT BECAUSE YOU DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT WAS FILMED AND CLIPPED YET AND HE PURPOSELY DID IT, ITS LIKE HE WANTED TO HURT YOU. FUCKING DICKHEAD”. Lando yells. Out of instinct i just run and give him a long hug. My head sinks to his chest. He holds me tightly as i hold onto him for a while.

I go back to your apartment that night. I’m just sad. Especially after reading all those comments about me. I try to ignore them all but they keep flooding in like rapid fire. I automatically give in and go on my phone. But to my confusion I’m getting tagged on twitter instead.

Fucking hell. When I thought this couldn’t get worse.

There is a video going around with hundreds of thousand of retweets already. It’s a sex tape of a girl which confuses me so I click onto it. Oh my god. It’s a deep fake of my face and that lacy bra thing on a random sex tape. I can’t do this anymore. I wish I didn’t exist. Naturally i call our quadrant group chat. Everyone answers immediately leaving me to realise they have seen it too. “Guys, I am fired” I say while bawling my eyes out. “Y/N I’m coming now with Lando” Ria says while in her car on her way to my apartment. I can’t even process what Ethan and Steve are saying cause my mind is just blurry and I’m a mess.

5 minutes later a knock is on my door and it’s Ria with Lando. I just cry in her arms and start rambling on about how my life is over. “Y/n that editor is going to jail, the YouTube vid is down and all of our socials are deactivated for now, talk to us if you need now” Lando says calmly to me. I just hug him tightly. “Can you tell everyone that’s obviously not me please” I say weakly. Ria is making me mac and cheese cause she knows it’s my favourite. “Of course I will and I will get this fixed Y/n for now just let us take care of you and get better.” Lando says. His touch is making me feel better if I’m being honest. “Thanks guys for coming over tonight, can you guys stay I’ll sleep on the couch and you guys take my bed” I say calmly as I’m starting to get her my bearings and feel a little better about everything.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.” Lando and Ria both say straight away after my words. “Lando has a race next week so he should fuck his back up on the couch again like he did that one night he got drunk at the club last month” Ria says jokingly. “Is it okay if I’m in the bed with you?” Lando says maturely (shocking I know). “Yeah it’s fine if it is fine with you” I say back. “Yes it’s completely fine.” Lando replied quickly. I go to change into my pajamas. I see that bloody top. I don’t think twice after ripping it into pieces with my hands and teeth before chucking it out. “Fuck that ahahha” I said laughing as all the lace misses the bin but I ignore it. Ria Lando and I all start watching a movie together, Ria asks me which movie and I try to think of a normal movie I want to watch but I’m not sure why ratatouille is speaking out to me but I choose ratatouille like the wise mature person I am. Lando starts laughing obnoxiously which makes Ria and I start to as well. “It’s a good fucking movie shut up” I say defending myself laughing.

We are watching ratatoullie all together while I’m snuggled up in between Ria and Lando feelin comfortable and safe. My mind starts to forget a little bit about the stupid video situation. I don’t know why but my legs somehow ended up over landos. Whoopsies. I feel happy and safe with him, he had always been a good friend to me and always fun to be around. We all get tired after the movie ends and go to bed to sleep, well Ria goes to the couch to sleep.

Something inside of me wishes this isn’t the last time Lando is in my bed.

I myself am going to bed too xx

thanks to these lovely authors who inspired me to write ahahahha:

@mariahcarreyyy @f1goat @uglyducklingofthe2000s @vivwritesfics

[moodymelanist]

Hello adding to the chorus of people who love your wlw nessian! And more generally I'm obsessed with your modern aus, lawyer Nesta and teacher Cassian is canon to me now. For a prompt... maybe Nesta going to a sports match to support fem Cass and getting way more into it than she expected? Idk but love your work xx

thank you so so much 🥹🩷 also you don’t know what this ask did to my fellow nesta stans. fem!Cass playing rugby or hockey or soccer awakened something in us all goddamn

I meant to finish this 5ever ago so enjoy it for @nessianweek instead 🙂‍↕️🩷

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here,” Nesta grumbled from the passenger seat, still a little cranky about getting up at what felt like the crack of dawn to support her girlfriend.

“I can,” Cass replied cheerily from the driver’s seat. She was such a morning person it was almost physically painful to watch. “You can’t resist my legs in these shorts.”

Cass played on one of the local women’s soccer teams, and Nesta had somehow been persuaded into coming to one of their games. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and Nesta was ready to call the entire day a wash, but even she had to admit how good Cass looked in her uniform. The dark green color stood out beautifully against her brown skin, and the cut of the uniform was really doing things for her muscular frame.

“If you say so,” Nesta eventually replied, but they both knew she’d been staring a bit too long to really mean it.

“I know so,” Cass responded smugly. She reached over and placed her hand on Nesta’s legging-covered thigh, rubbing her thumb back and forth for a few seconds the way she knew Nesta loved. “Cheer up, sweetheart. We’ll be back in bed in a few hours. You can sleep all you want then.”

They’d been together for almost a year at this point, so Nesta’s body was practically conditioned to respond at the words we and bed. She knew good and well she’d be going back to sleep once they got home and not, so she willed herself to calm down even as she shifted a little in her seat.

“Stop teasing me,” Nesta told her girlfriend with a scowl.

Cass just laughed and patted Nesta’s thigh in apology. “Sorry, Nes. I can’t help it.”

The rest of the drive went by in relative peace, and when they pulled up to the field, it didn’t take long for Cass to grab all her soccer stuff out of the trunk. Nesta grabbed her chair and blanket and dutifully trudged after her girlfriend, seriously regretting not making a second cup of coffee before Cass had arrived to pick her up.

“Have fun,” Nesta said once they made it to the field. Both teams were already there, along with a few supportive friends and family members on the edges of the field. “Don’t get hurt.”

Cass just grinned in the face of Nesta’s remaining morning grumpiness. “What, no good luck kiss?”

Nesta finished setting up her chair and tossed the blanket on top before she stepped into Cass’ space, linking her arms around the other woman’s neck as she reached just the tiniest bit for a kiss. Cass only had an inch or two on Nesta, which made her the perfect height for this kind of thing.

Cass made a happy little noise as their lips met, her hands wrapping around Nesta’s waist and pulling her in tight.

“Hey lovebirds!” one of Cass’ teammates yelled from the field, effectively ending the moment. Nesta turned at the sound of the other woman’s voice, admiring the way her her silver hair was pulled back into several neat cornrows. “Stop rubbing it in our faces and come warm up already!”

Cass pulled away from Nesta with a laugh, a retort already forming on her full lips. “Keep that energy when your girlfriend gets here, Cresseida!”

Cresseida flipped Cass off without missing a beat, and Nesta thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of her full-body laugh vibrating against her chest where they were still pressed together. She loved seeing Cass in her element, teasing and messing around with her friends in a way that showed just how comfortable she was with them.

She just loved Cass in general, really. It didn’t matter so much what she was doing.

“Duty calls,” Cass said once she turned back to Nesta, amusement in her hazel eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me, Nes.”

“Make the game exciting enough for me to stay awake,” Nesta fired back, stealing one last kiss before Cass jogged over to join her teammates.

“I haven’t had a problem keeping you up,” Cass replied, her voice pitched low the way she knew would make Nesta squirm. “I don’t see why I’ll start having one now.”

“Go play your stupid game,” Nesta responded with a half-hearted shove, her brain not quite back online yet. Cass just chuckled and pressed a kiss right below Nesta’s ear before turning and jogging onto the field to join her teammates, though the occasional look she shot Nesta’s way during warmups suggested soccer wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

—

When they finally made it back home after Cass’ team won, Nesta’s theory was proven very, very right.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @fieldofdaisiies | @goddess-aelin | @c-e-d-dreamer | @talkfantasytome | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @sv0430 | @talibunny30 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @champanheandluxxury | @lilah-asteria | @burningsnowleopard | @sayosdreams | @readskk | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @bellaful08 | @readergalaxy | @podemechamardek | @pearlfortears | @nerdperson524 | @jmoonjones | @kale-theteaqueen | @autumnbabylon | @hiimheresworld | @illyrianshadowhunter | @dustjacketmusings | @live-the-fangirl-life | @that-little-red-head | @sweet-pea1 | @brieq | @queercontrarian | @jsmelodies | @afflicted-with-wanderlust

[upsidedownsmore]

ENTRIES CLOSED, reblogs turned off, thank you everyone for entering and sharing your wonderful works!!

A compilation of every entry piece can be found here!

The winner is @mugbearerscorner and the information has been confirmed in DMs!!

Roll proof:

A link to the full spreadsheet of entries can be found here!

I'm so so grateful to all the people who participated in this event!! I'm so happy with how well it turned out and I'm so so thankful to be able to host it!!! Love you all!! :) :) :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GAUSS PRIME ACCESS GIVEAWAY!

* Provided by Digital Extremes! Info about the prime access here.

To enter, simply reblog with your art of ANY warframe giving a thumbs up!

Giveaway entries will close on FEBRUARY 10TH at 10:00pm CST

The post for the above drawing (with reference screenshot and wips) can be found here.

MORE INFO UNDER THE READ LINE, PLEASE READ IT IF YOU WANT TO ENTER

Notes:

This is not a contest! The winner will be decided entirely randomly, image quality will have no effect on chances of winning! Make whatever you can in any medium you want! (This can also include 3D mediums! The only thing I'm not including is unedited game screenshots/captura, though edited might be okay). Everyone can draw regardless of how good you think your own skills are!

Please submit your own drawing(s)!! Only one is necessary but you can make more if you want of course! Do not use any AI generation tools for your entry.

When reblogging it might be a good idea to enter some text either in the post or in the tags! It turns out reblogs with just an image and nothing else might not show up under the original post, which means I might miss your submission!

Only one entry per person, you will not get more entries for additional reblogs and/or drawings.

The goal of this is for the community to have a fun little gallery of warframe thumb ups in the reblogs, but again don't stress over how "good" your drawing is! As long as you have fun and submit something vaguely in line with the prompt you're good! (such as a wave instead of a thumbs up or an operator instead of a warframe, etc. Up to you how closely you want to follow the prompt!)

You DO NOT need to engage with me in any other way (likes, follows, etc.) to enter, just a reblog with a drawing loosely following the prompt!

This giveaway will only run here on Tumblr due to issues with bots and impersonation on Twitter. The issue of course is that the only way to submit images under a single post on Tumblr is through reblogs, but please know that I do not intend this to be a means of promotion. If people could submit images in the replies I would gladly take that option! If this post gets taken down I will look into other giveaway options.

As this is my first giveaway as a Warframe creator please let me know if I've made any mistakes!

Here are some example drawings that would all work, but of course whatever you want to make shouldn't be limited to this!

Inspired by @ritens, I will be assigning one unique number per individual and then throwing them into the random number generator on random.org. After the entries close and I roll the winner, I will update this post with the winner's name and a message saying that the giveaway is closed. Reblogs will also be turned off once the giveaway is closed, as I am only using reblogs as means of congregating drawing submissions under one post during the giveaway period.

Whoever's number get's chosen will be contacted via DMs here on Tumblr, so please make sure your DMs are open! I will be asking for your Warframe IGN and platform so DE can give send over your prize! If you have cross-save linked or merged then please tell me, though I will also be asking in DMs as well. If the winner doesn't respond within 48 hours or no longer wants the prime access pack, then I will roll a new winner with the same method but with the previous winner(s) number(s) taken out of the pool.

Topmost drawing without giveaway text:

Anyways good luck and most importantly have fun!!