#tabloid exaggeration

[sohannabarberaesque]

Meanwhile ...

Imagine back in Jellystone Park the prospect of Yogi Bear, with his faithful Boo-Boo in tow, stumbling upon a discarded bottle of the old cherry brandy, and "smarter-than-the-average" "himself" takes a sample swig out of curiosity ... only to have Boo-Boo stunned at the effect such is having upon Yogi, including light-headedness (not to mention the usual desire to plunder tourist picnic baskets).

Rat pack proves no match for the Rac-Pack! Biker gang ripped to shreds by band of drunken raccoons!

Raccons turn into party animals and attack members of the Red Street Rogues motorcycle club, above, after drinking beer from half-empty cans left by the bikers.

[cobra-salt]

It's all goodness gracious that technology like TikTok and the wider internet were not around in 1989.

I'm sure because Ralph Macchio was a guy it wouldn't be as EXACTLY personally vile as the fatphobic shit you see about the later seasons of Cobra Kai wrt Mary and YET...

Precisely because he wasn't some masculine man and was "too skinny" then "too fat" to be a realistic karate boy and some laughingstock to all the critics and those so disenchanted by the movies, there could've definitely been some unholy bullshit like there already was going on (and for so long). It's a good thing he wasn't so engaged with the "celebrity" thing and culture and just did what he pleased with his life, though I'm sure some stuff didn't go amiss especially since tabloids back in the late '80s reportedly had some salacious and rude rumors related to his weight and former manager that some dudebro types vaguely parroted on IMDB.

Still, the fact that a lot of these bros even know Mary Mouser has type 1 diabetes and still shout that shit or say she should have never been cast because diabetics can't be physically active and healthy is just stank...

[bluelockmaniac]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

୨ৎ ft. itoshi sae x actress!reader (fem)

synopsis. when football star itoshi sae randomly names you as his celebrity crush, the internet goes wild with rumours. what happens when you decide to make a surprise appearance during his next interview?

notes. thanks anon for the suggestion ! the editing process took quite a while bc i had to search for so many synonyms and celebrity-dazzling-type of vocabulary, and just a bit of research & idioms, lol (like tell me why i didn't know what filmography was??).

word count. 1.7k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 first thing that grated on sae’s nerves was the endless string of interviews he had to endure after every victory. the second were the interviewers, who seemed to lack any sense of boundaries or respect of privacy all together. but the third and perhaps most exasperating thing sae loathed were the questions– particularly those who left him completely clueless.

how on earth was he supposed to provide this nosy interviewer with the name of his celebrity crush when he didn't even have one?

besides, sae’s social awareness was practically nonexistent. his mind was consumed by football– matches, practice sessions, training drills, and occasionally, thoughts of his brother. naming a celebrity was as foreign to him as the idea of reconciling with rin.

he had tried to dodge the infuriating question, really. but his attempt was thwarted by the exaggerated glare of his manager, whose expression screamed ‘make. up. any. name’.

the older itoshi sighed, eyeing the lady who had posed the stupid, intrusive question from the side. to the untrained eye, it might have appeared that he was merely stalling, which, in truth, he sort of was. but on the inside, he was actually scrambling to conjure up any random name.

then, as if the goddess of luck intervened, a blurry image of you materialized in his mind. he recalled catching a glimpse of you while riding in his personal chauffeur-driven car.

your recognizable face had adorned a massive, wide billboard advertisement. you looked too striking– too gorgeous– to forget. you were holding a rose perfume bottle next to your shoulder, smiling with such infectious brightness. luckily, his eyes had happened to drift to the bottom left corner, where your name was elegantly inscribed in cursive.

y/n l/n.

anyone familiar with the entertainment industry would no doubt recognize your name immediately. you were a standout actress in hollywood, notably known for your phenomenal acting skills and breathtaking beauty. your filmography– the number of movies you've starred in– was extensive, and your trophy shelf in your large mansion was filled to the brim with numerous awards.

“itoshi-san?” the interviewer prompted again, her pesky voice cutting through his trance as she set her coffee mug on the table. she repeated her question, “there's nothing to be embarrassed about, haha– we’ve all had celebrity crushes at some point. who’s yours?”

sae scoffed lightly, leaning back onto the couch and propping his elbow on the armrest. he hid his face behind his hand, attempting to mask his discomfort.

“y/n.” he muttered, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

the words slipped from his lips with shame. he knew this embarrassing revelation would literally dominate the headlines by nightfall, and he could hardly brace himself. he actually felt a teeny bit of guilt for dragging you into the main focus of the public’s attention alongside him. by tomorrow morning, his phone would be buzzing with notifications about this becoming the top trending topic on social media.

heck, he could already envision the misleading headlines in the tabloids:

alleged hidden affair: football prodigy itoshi sae and actress y/n l/n rumored to be in secret relationship– what’s really going on?

the interviewer let out an exaggerated gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she exchanged a gleeful look with the cameraman.

“d-did you get that on tape? this will certainly make the headlines!”

she turned back to sae, who was still averting his gaze awkwardly. “j-just to be sure, itoshi-san… you’re talking about y/n l/n, correct?”

sae mumbled something inaudible under his breath before finally meeting her eyes, realizing it’s better to save face than to prolong his embarrassment live on camera.

“yes, her,” he replied with a shrug, rolling his eyes. he seriously had no idea who you were, what you did, or why you were famous. “she's cute, i guess.”

the interviewer beamed, leaning in enthusiastically. “—absolutely, her beauty is nothing short of enchanting! which of her shows or movies did you enjoy the most?”

so you were an actress, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the woman. he had absolutely no clue about any of your work. resorting to his typical bluntness, he retorted,

“none of your business. shut up.” he turned his head towards his manager, who looked as if he was about to cry literal tears of joy. “this interview is over. let's go.”

a few weeks had passed, and just as sae had predicted, rumours of a secret affair between him and you had exploded across the internet. yet, they remained just that– rumours. neither of you had addressed them… perhaps because there was no need to.

sae had just secured another effortless victory and was now being chauffeured to the interview venue. as he passed the familiar billboard, his eyes wandered, searching for your eyes, only to find that your advertisement had been replaced by some no-name, cheap milk brand’s.

—

as usual, he handled the post-match questions with ease. they were always the same, tedious inquiries: “how do you feel about your performance today?”, “could you describe the pivotal moments in today's match?”, “how did teamwork play a role in the game?”, “one fan asked…”, and so on.

however, this time, the midfielder felt slightly uneasy— the camera crew seemed larger, with cameras on every angle of the room. the interviewer, the same lady from before, appeared unusually excited. her voice was squeaker and she fiddled faintly as she spoke.

finally, she asked the final question regarding the opposition team’s strategies and approaches.

“hmph. we barely broke a sweat today; their game plan was so weak and predictable it was almost laughable. we could have won with our eyes closed.”

she nodded, almost dismissively, as if she couldn’t wait to wrap up the interview and get to the next part of the show.

“incredible, exactly what we’d expect from japan’s prodigious player! now, for all our online viewers, get ready to tune into GoalTalk’s special event! tonight, we're thrilled to welcome a very special guest who will be joining us…”

sae quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he watched the crew reposition the numerous cameras to focus on the entrance door, though a few lenses remained trained on him.

“... y/n l/n!”

you stepped onto the platform as soon as your name was announced, waving to the countless cameras flashing blinding lights in your direction. you were dressed in a long, flowing burgundy gown that accentuated your curves perfectly. you exuded elegance; the very epitome of grace.

sae's eyes widened in surprise, tracking your movements as you made your way to the seat beside him.

“fucking bullshit, you’ve got to be kidding me…” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s backrest, his adam’s apple bobbing. 

you let out a soft giggle, settling beside him so that your thighs brushed against his. with a gentle tap on his shoulder, you flashed a practiced smile as he turned to look at you. 

“it’s such an honour to finally meet you, itoshi! i’m actually a huge fan, so you could imagine my excitement when you mentioned i was your celebrity crush in your recent interview.”

he cringed inwardly, having heard similar compliments from noisy fangirls countless times before. besides, you were a renowned actress; for all he knew, your cheerful expressions and excitement could be part of a well-rehearsed facade.

“ah. thanks, i guess,” he shrugged, clicking his tongue before adding nonchalantly, “...you’re a good actress.”

“oh, thank you! i appreciate it.” you leaned in slightly, your smile widening, “hey, you know, i wouldn't mind giving you my number. we could maybe… figure things out?~”

“what–” his leg began to bounce subtly. perhaps it was the effect of being an actress who had participated in a multitude of romance movies and shows– such flirtatious comments tend to slip naturally from your lips.

“you wouldn’t mind, would you? you’re single, right?” you pressed, propping your chin on his shoulder. 

fuck. your face was so close– so close he could understand why people called you stunning. you were infinitely more beautiful than the artificial, edited image on the billboard. your sweet scent of exotic fruit, reminiscent of a hot summer day on the beach, wafted to his nose. his eyes wandered to your cherry-stained, glossed lips, feeling a strange, inexplicable magnetic pull.

but he sighed defeatedly, feeling his manager’s intense yet pleased gaze boring into him. “i guess. don’t expect anything, though,” he dismissed, reaching up to ruffle his reddish hair. everything was alright. he just needed to get through this interview.

little did either of you know– or perhaps you had a vague idea– that social media was already ablaze with an endless amount of comments from hundreds of thousands of fans from both sides, shipping you two together.

you nudged him playfully with your elbow and turned your head, winking at the cameras as you slyly slipped your hand into his. “i’m getting his number, sorry girls.”

he felt his breath catch in his throat, his fingers remaining numb in your grasp. but suddenly, a strange surge of boldness overwhelmed his usually rational senses– he was already doomed, anyway, so why seem like a lame pushover? his hand reciprocated your grip, intertwining his fingers with yours as he leaned in slightly. his lips brushed over your ear as he whispered a few, short words, eyeing one camera directly with a subtle smirk.

you felt your cheeks bloom with warmth at his words. all the cameras in the venue captured the sight of your eyes widening in surprise and the visceral nodding of your head to whatever he had just said.

his words would remain a secret to the public however, even as the internet flooded with speculations and questions, triggered by a sensational headline featuring a photo of the two of you together:

𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹? 𝑱𝑨𝑷𝑨𝑵’𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑺𝑯𝑰 𝑺𝑨𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝒀/𝑵 𝑳/𝑵 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑳 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫!

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[zaczenemiji]

Curtain Calls and Curveballs III

Kenji Sato x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: Your long-standing feud transformed into a legendary public dynamic where you navigate your high-profile careers, and confront your true feelings.

Word Count: 1,629

Genre/Warning: Confessions, Enemies to Lover, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: The last part aaaaaa im gonna miss this 🤧

PART ONE | PART TWO

MASTERLIST

With every passing year, you were getting a step closer to your dream. The stage became a set and curtain calls became wrap parties. You no longer had rehearsals, you had takes.

There’s no audience, there’s cameras instead. Your live performances were now edited ones, and changing costumes didn’t have to be done so quickly anymore.

Projected voices and exaggerated gestures were no longer your thing. You were now more subtle—nuanced. Micro-expressions and quieter dialogues became your new thing.

These are the many changes you went through to become who you are today, the It Girl of Hollywood. You were known for your sharp wit and an even sharper tongue; thanks to the thorn on your side since high school.

Your rivalry with Kenji became the stuff of tabloid legend. Your public feud became a part of your brands. This time around, though, it was you who had the unerring knack for getting under his skin.

How the tables have turned, indeed. And Kenji looked forward to your verbal sparring matches even more so than before.

Whenever Kenji had a big game, you would inevitably tweet something snarky. And whenever you had a new movie release, he would make a point to mock you in interviews.

It was a dance you two perfected through the years; one that hid the truth neither was willing to admit. The world knows, oh they do. “The more you hate, the more you love,” as they said.

Your one-of-a-kind relationship with Kenji is all over social media, with fans and fellow celebrities alike piqued by your long-standing rivalry of sorts.

“Okay, (y/n),” your manager said. "I need to brief you on something before we get to the studio."

The two of you are headed to an interview with your one and only enemy, Kenji Sato. The limo you were on glided smoothly through the bustling streets of LA.

"What is it this time?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Another last-minute change?"

"Not exactly," she answered. "There's been a lot of buzz on social media about you and Kenji."

“Buzz?” your eyes widened. "What kind of buzz?”

"Well, let's just say the world is very interested in your... dynamic," she replied, smirking.

You took your phone out and started scrolling through tweets, heart racing as you read the comments from various celebrities.

You couldn't help but smile at the comments, a mix of embarrassment and amusement swirling inside you. "Wow, they really think we're... in love?"

It seems like the world ships you two. You can’t blame them. Sometimes you wonder if you’re giving too much away that they’re starting to notice.

But everyone knew already. They have done so since high school. The only ones who didn’t know, or rather, didn’t admit, were you and Kenji.

You were a study-first type of girl when you were a student. And now, you’re a career woman who loves her job. Somehow, there is currently no spot in your life for dating.

Your agency tried, they really did. They tried putting you in a love team with other actors but for every interaction with Kenji, the fans seemed to love it more.

But no matter how you deny it—to others and to yourself—there is something that you refuse to face, a repressed admiration blanketed by faux hate.

Meanwhile, in the studio, bright lights were beaming down on Kenji as he adjusted his jacket. He’s tossing a baseball form hand-to-hand as he waits for you.

In a short while, the door swung open. You walked in with the grace of a seasoned actress, smile dazzling and eyes sharp. You made your way to the stage, commanding attention.

Kenji’s smirk widened as you approached. You looked elegant and sophisticated in the chic dress that you wore. You always did. You were always so beautiful and smart, and all so dense.

“Kenji!” you said with a mock sweetness. “I didn’t know they let amateurs in the show.” You sat down on the couch next to him.

Kenji leaned back in his chair, still tossing the ball. “Well, they needed someone to balance out your overacting,” he replied.

The host, catching the vibe, jumped in with a chuckle, "Welcome, both of you. The dynamic duo, or should I say the dynamic rivals. How are you feeling today?"

Kenji shrugged, his eyes never leaving you. "Feeling great,” he answered. “Especially now that I know (y/n) here is going to try and one-up me."

You crossed your legs and leaned back, matching his intensity. "Oh, Kenji, it's not about one-upping,” you said. “It's about showing the world who truly deserves the spotlight."

The host laughed, clearly enjoying the energy between them, "Well, let's dive right into it. You two have a practically legendary history. Care to share how it all started?"

Kenji glanced at you, his expression playful. "It's simple,” he answered. “(Y/n) has always had a talent for annoying me."

You rolled her eyes, "And Kenji has always had a talent for being easily annoyed."

The host leaned forward, sensing an opportunity. "But there's got to be more to it than that,” he said. “You both always seem to have this... chemistry."

Kenji smirked, leaning closer to you, "Chemistry that explodes, you mean."

You shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Yeah, the kind that blows up in your face."

The host laughed, clapping his hands together. "So, Kenji," the host said. "You’ve got a big game coming up. How do you feel about (y/n) always commenting on your games?"

Kenji chuckled, glancing at you. “Honestly?” He replied. “ I look forward to it. Keeps me on my toes."

You smiled, a genuine one this time. "And I watch every game,” you said. “Gotta make sure l have enough material to roast you."

The host raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like you two are more invested in each other than you let on."

He then turned to you. "What about you?” He asked. “How do you feel about Kenji's constant critiques of your acting?"

"I think he's secretly a fan,” you laughed. “Why else would he watch all my movies?"

Kenji leaned closer, his voice low, "Maybe I am. Or maybe I just like seeing you try so hard."

“You wish,” you met his gaze, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Please, Kenji, you couldn't handle me if you tried."

Kenji leaned ever closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Is that a challenge, (l/n)?"

“Maybe it is,” you met his gaze, heart skipping a beat. "Do you think I do not know about the flowers being delivered to my set—where they come from?”

Kenji was silenced, blush creeping on his cheeks. “Like, come on, Kenji,” you continued. “Flowers, seriously? For who knows since when—just ask me out already!”

The people in the studio gasped at the revelation. Everyone else was on the edge of their seats.

You weren’t dumb to not know where those flowers came from. It started with the very first movie you filmed and it continues until now with the latest one that has just been released.

“If you knew, then why didn’t you say anyt—“ Kenji was cut off by you, “Because I was waiting for you!”

The tension in the air seemed palpable. No one said anything, no one made a move.

“You were too busy chasing a ball! And you were so happy with it, I didn’t want to interfere!” you continued.

“Yeah, well!” Kenji said, thinking of a good comeback. “You were always paired up with another man, I didn’t wanna ruin your love team!”

“Then I’m glad none of them ever worked!”

“Thank heavens! Dinner, later at 7PM, Michelin-starred restaurant, your pick!”

“Fine!”

At that moment, everyone in the room burst into squeals. The floor beneath you shook with the intensity of people jumping up and down at the same time. Even the host stood and did a victory dance in front of the camera.

It felt as if the world rejoiced in unity. This was a memorable day for all the fans that were watching live.

The celebration of each person in the room had blurred as you and Kenji stared at each other. “Took you long enough,” you said softly. Kenji chuckled, “You weren’t so dense, after all.”

Without hesitation, you leaned close and threw your arms over his shoulder, hugging him. He hugged back, tighter, for he was also waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity.

The screaming in the background loudened at your interaction but none of you paid mind. To you, Kenji’s hug felt warm and comfy and oh-so lovely.

The years, no matter how long it has been, were all worth it for this moment. If there was anyone who knew you best, it was Kenji. The same goes for him.

Your phone, in your manager’s care, beeped with so many notifications. Checking your account on her tablet, she was greeted by over a hundred thousand tweets in just a few minutes.

That night, the two of you didn’t go out for dinner as said on TV. Instead, you treated your team to the dinner at the Michelin-starred restaurant you picked while you, with Kenji, stayed at home.

You found yourselves dancing together in the comfort of your living room. The air was filled with a soft melody, and as you swayed to the music. Kenji realized how natural it felt to have you in his arms.

"You know," he murmured, "I never imagined we'd be here." You remembered high school, the graduation ball, your first dance with each other.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you said, head on his chest.

“Wow you’re even dense with yourself,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you replied. “And you’ve always been a dork.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@hismistresss @sweetangle8 @aerivina

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @themourningfox

[b00tyliciousbabe]

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

barbie tingz

marcus scribner x THICC male reader

summary: just marcus loving you like with his heart, soul, and FAT SCHLONG. slight feminisation - don’t kill me.

notes: LOVELIES! hope everyone is having a beautiful day. i wanted to let y’all know that i will be taking a lil break because it’s exam season. don’t be sad…because this means i have an entire summer of smutty content to write and catch up on! ps. each word in this fic is me being another squat closer to the fattest ass in the world. ENJOY!

ALSO! the met gala is tonight! my favourite event of the year, i might make a short rec…how do we feel about that?

song rec: ‘freak’ - victoria monét

marcus was well on his way to establishing a name for himself in hollywood. booking new roles, alongside his debut as a director, he was on track for a career that would rival his mentors. but if you were to ask him what his biggest achievement was, he would say being with you. the corny mf has actually reiterated his adoration multiple times during interviews, and the world is obsessed with how lovestruck he was. aside from being social media’s favourite young couple, you, yourself, had a blossoming career in fashion that meant you were styling your man to make sure he looked good for his press tours.

notoriously, you garnered a reputation for EATING UP on the carpet - zendaya being your only competition. this ain’t no exaggeration, but every time you’d step out, those fits would break the internet. thus, when the news dropped that you’d be attending the premiere with your boyfriend, all eyes would be on you - yet again. having you on his arm, instantly elevated his aesthetic. not that he ever saw you as some pawn too boost his career, you meant the world to him, but your beauty as his trophy wife made him even more palatable. usually, you’d have an entire glam team by your side cultivating your iconic, polished look. but, you and marcus had both been working so hard, to the detriment of your relationship, and so you decided to spend the night at his, agreeing to do all the glam yourself.

‘Y/N,’ Marcus bellowed from downstairs, putting on his rings, and spraying cologne onto his clothes. ‘baby, we gotta go.’

‘Y/N! over here! to the left! Y/N!’ a flurry of paparazzi screamed. ‘the body is TEA!’ one reporter exclaimed, making you laugh.

you graciously blushed. they weren’t wrong, your pear-shaped figure, defined abs, and toned arms were nothing short of a sculpted masterpiece. amidst the bbl allegations on twitter, and every tabloid claiming to have the secret to getting an ass as perfect as yours, YOU were the standard. a beautiful, androgynous mix of allure and charm. not even chris evans, america’s ass, said that you had the best glutes in the industry. it was a thing of wonder; something so many lusted for, and even more desired to have a piece of whilst having you in backshots. there were an array of wolf whistles from the public whenever you walked, swiftly followed by a gaggle of photographers snapping shots of your post-gym bawd.

marcus soon joined you on the carpet after finishing up on his interview. if the sensory overstimulation of flashes and cheers wasn’t enough, this was heightened when marcus snaked his arm around your lower back. whispering sweet nothings into your ear, spectators were foaming at the mouth by his public proclamations of love, hiding your blush from the world.

‘don’t be shy,’ he said lifting your chin to his face. ‘there’s that smile I love.’ the whole crowd was gushing, you could’ve cringed at how clingy he was being in public, but found his confidence to do so, all the more endearing.

one thing that you sly liked about marcus, was how he jealous he could get, so many of his friends and industry buffs would come up to talk to you during the interviews, coming up for hugs, and even though he trusted you, his need to protect had him riled. marcus had a great relationship with all of his co-stars and they all became such a family over the filming process. you being there made the family even stronger, embodying the role of MOTHERRR in more ways than one, and they all appreciated your kindness. always there to soften the stressful tones of your bf’s criticism.

you were particularly close with his friend from another project, and due to mutual management you spent a lot of time in the same spaces. he came up and hugged you from behind, before being whisked away to speak with another reporter. all but a few seconds, lasted an eternity, the worst kind, burned into the possessive psyche of your man.

moments passed and it was time for group pictures on the carpet. you and marc were dead center, with his large hands gripping you tighter than usual. you looked up to see he was scowling, ‘lighten up bubs.’ you giggled, to which your bf fixed his face - he could never stay mad when you were always there to calm his demons. not long after, the same face screw, that made his nose look so cute came back, as he remembered the voices of the media resounding in his head.

‘damn I’d hit that.’

‘Marcus is one lucky mf to be all up in dat pussy’

‘I bet the recoil on that thing is insane.’

it infuriated him to hear how the public spoke about you, as if you were some object, and not the kind person he grew so enamoured with. ‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you gon’ beg me for mercy.’ he whispered , breaking that veneer of respectability for a brief moment, squeezing your butt, then turning back to smile at the cameras. you’d never seen that side to him, it’d be a lie to say it didn’t turn you on.

throughout the screening, he made sure to let you know that all your teasing would soon be dealt with. the vulgar remarks were still plaguing him, and you knew you were about to be on the receiving end of it. literally.

‘upstairs.’ he said sternly,

the two of you started kissing, unbuttoning his shirt as he unbuckled your pants to free the globes of juicy flesh he loved so much. strewn across the floor, all fear of creasing the custom couture outfit you were wearing had disappeared - the overwhelming desire to make love to your boyfriend clouded your judgement.

you get down to business, kneeling to align your lips with his cock head. ‘don’t take this the wrong way.’ marcus sighed, urging you to stand up, so frail against how tall your man stood.

‘Y/N, i just wanna fuck right now.’

you knew how badly he needed this, and a part of you liked how desperate he was to be inside you. but it was bizarre, marcus loved watching you suck him off, getting him all lubed to plough your hole, almost as much as you loved gagging on his meat. nonetheless, you obliged, bending over as you had your knees on the edge of the bed, hole puckering at the chill of the air. marcus grabbed your left cheek, caressing and massaging your upper hip.

‘so fucking soft.’ he whispers against your skin, kissing at your taint. it was as if he snapped out of his love drunk trance, and was left a primal shell of himself. he practically ripped off your underwear, leaving your naked bodies to rub up on each other as he scrambled to find lube.

‘fuuuuuuuk’ he groaned.

his thick schlong fit like a glove in your inviting hole, slick from your desire and his precum.

‘damn i missed that boy pussy’ - LIES. that man combusts if he isn’t inside of you at least 4 times a week - wtf was there to miss? this sentiment made you smile at how whipped he was for you though.

his pace quickened. pulling his entire length out of you, except his bulbous tip, and spitting directly on your pussy to get you even more slick. ‘hear that baby,’ he praised the ‘mac n cheese’ sloppiness of your hole. ‘your pussy was made for me.’ he was right; most guys love skinny twinks because their petite butts made their tops’ look hung. despite the voluptuous curves you had, you were ample in both chest and derrière making average look like a micro penis inside you. all but marcus. he overpowered you in ways no other man could, his thick, girthy cock stretched you out in a way that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. not to mention his length, during your first time he could barely fit half in without it feeling like he was stabbing your insides. but after some practice, you started taking him - ALL of him.

his grunts deepened. ‘practically begging me to cum inside that hole.’ gripping your hair up fucking you in doggy. style. marcus began leaving love bites on your neck, marking you for all to see. his big hand crossed to caress your childbearing hips. whoever said men can’t get pregnant must’ve never accounted for marcus’ determination. his dick wanted to make you a mother so badly, and nothing was going to stop him trying.

‘you can take it.’ he praises. ‘all. of. it.’ slamming into you with a bold rhythm on his final three words. and that you could. your hole was heaven for him. every time he would enter, your thick meaty globes would bounce like jelly on his lower abdomen, making marcus even more inclined to give you your reward. you moaned out in ecstasy, your bodies were made for one another.

‘who’s pussy is this?’ his grip on your neck became tighter, still allowing you to moan out in response, ‘it’s yours marky, all yours.’ fuck. you were whipped, almost as much as he was. ‘that’s right baby, moan for me.’

‘scream like the little bitch you are.’ you and marcus both enjoyed the passion of rough sex, but this was something you hadn’t ever seen in him before. he was a beast and you loved it, way more than you could ever admit. there was something sweet about the high you were on as you were being impaled by his dick.

particularly, he relished in hearing your slutty cries, ‘music to my fucking ears.’ praising you ‘my pretty little slut, fuck yeah, you want my load.’

‘fuck yeah marc, give it to me please.’ you screeched, loving how hard he was clapping your cheeks.

‘shiiiiiiit, baby, fuuuuuck.’ he spouted, spilling his pearliness into your pussy. he used his thumbs to kneed the dough around your hips, losing himself in the bakery he so enjoyed visiting every morning for breakfast.

gently, he collapsed on top of you, still inside the warmth of your flesh. after a gentle make out sesh, cockwarming your boyfriend until he was soft, your bf brushed up against you. massaging your thick thighs, marcus tended to the bruises he gave, kissing them reassuringly. you ushered him to lay his head between your pecs, as he put his entire body weight onto you. he sighed deeply, feeling safe in your warm embrace. ‘marc, is everything okay?’ you stroke his face, as your fingers laced into his curls. he snickered groggily, ‘shouldn’t i be asking you the same thing?’ - a fair question because he litch just wrecked your shit. ‘real, but we both know that in a couple hours i’ll be fine.’ a silence filled the room, concern brewing in your heart. you played with his ear, knowing how he becomes putty in your hands. ‘fuuuuuck, you ain’t gon’ stop unless i talk, right?’ you kept quiet, trailing the tips of your fingers on his lobe. he sighed deeply, ‘i just get so possessive over you.’ his last words muffled by your ample bosom as he came to the realisation that the press’ words got to him more than he thought.

sitting up, marcus exhaled deeply. ‘i can’t even blame them for ogling, you’re so beautiful.’ ‘but u ain’t an object, and i hate that people treat you like that.’ you caressed his cheek with a loving care. ‘call it jealousy, possession, toxic - I don’t care. you’re all mine.’ marcus always felt the need to take care of what was his, doing better than what he had seen throughout his childhood.

you had an idea, trailing your fingers down his torso, circling his belly button, ‘why don’t you show me again?’ whispering into his ear as he breathed out in pleasure.

you kissed his cheek, before slowly massaging his dick tip, ‘how much do you love me.’

marcus turned you over. stroking and licking his ear, y’all were so intimate. he held onto the grooves of your waist, fucking into you slowly, marking your neck with his saliva.

‘you’re such a dream to me Y/N,’ he always had a way with words that made you smile like a school girl. ‘I was so selfish before, you didn’t even come.’ you always placed marcus’ pleasure above your own, but he was never satisfied with just brutalising your hole. he needed you to enjoy taking his dick, just as much as he enjoyed gaping your hole.

‘guess I’ll have to fuck another load in, to get one out of you.’ he joked, sucking on the sweet skin of your plump ass.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Love strategy p.3

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy part 3, here's part 2 if you've missed it :)

The next morning arrives quicker than you expected, and before you know it, you're rolling your suitcase through the hotel lobby, your mind racing with the events from the day before. It all feels surreal—the kiss, the plan, Carlos’ indifference. It’s a lot to process.

As you step outside, the cool morning air hits your face. You spot Lando leaning casually against the side of a black car, phone in hand, his luggage already stowed away in the trunk. He looks up as you approach, his expression softening into a playful smile.

"Ready for our grand escape?" he teases.

You chuckle, though there’s a hint of nervousness in your laugh. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Lando straightens up, grabbing your suitcase and lifting it into the car with ease. "Don’t worry," he says, glancing over at you as he closes the trunk, "this will all be worth it once people start talking."

"I hope so," you murmur, climbing into the passenger seat.

Lando slides into the driver’s side, adjusting his sunglasses before starting the car. He turns to you with a grin. "I mean, we’re going to make headlines. I can already see the gossip: ‘Are Lando Norris and his mystery girl getting serious?’"

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips. "Just remember, no over-the-top dramatics. We’re aiming for ‘believable,’ not a full-blown tabloid scandal."

"Right, right," Lando says with mock seriousness, then smirks. "Though I wouldn’t mind a little drama."

When you reach the airport, Lando parks the car, turning to you with a relaxed smile. "I’ll see you on the plane," he says, his voice soft but carrying a hint of excitement.

You nod, feeling a flutter in your chest that you try to ignore. "See you on the plane."

As you both step out, you give each other a brief nod before heading in separate directions—Lando through the VIP entrance and you through the main one.

You board the plane, still carrying a sense of unease from Carlos’ indifference. Normally, when you flew with him, he’d sit with his friends, leaving you on your own for most of the flight. It had become the norm, so you weren’t expecting much different this time, even with Lando.

But as you step onto the plane, Lando catches your eye from a few rows ahead. He’s already sitting down, an easy grin spreading across his face when he spots you. To your surprise, instead of sitting with the other drivers or disappearing into his usual crowd, he gestures toward the empty seat beside him. You hesitate for a second, not used to this sort of attention mid-flight, but his encouraging smile leaves you with little choice.

Taking your seat next to him, you give him a playful glance. "What, no VIP treatment for you? Sitting with the common folk?"

Lando chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. "Thought I’d mix things up a bit. Besides," he leans in a little, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we’ve got a plan to discuss, don’t we?"

You smirk, nodding. "Right, the plan."

At first, the conversation sticks to the details—how you’ll post the photo, what you’ll do when people start to speculate. But soon enough, the playful side of Lando starts to slip through.

"Okay, so picture this," Lando begins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "We post the picture, right? And immediately, people start speculating. They’ll probably think I’m whipped. And you? You’re obviously the mastermind behind all of it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Obviously?"

"Of course," he teases. "I mean, you’re the one calling the shots here. I’m just the poor, innocent driver who got swept off his feet."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Right, poor you. Must be terrible having to pretend you’re dating me."

Lando grins, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. "The things I do for a good story."

Before you know it, the conversation flows into something more natural, the plan slowly fading into the background. Lando starts sharing random anecdotes about his life on the road—racing stories, inside jokes with the other drivers, and moments of chaos that only someone in his position could relate to.

"Okay, so get this," Lando says, his eyes sparkling with laughter as he recounts a story from a past race weekend. "Carlos and I were in this tiny restaurant in Italy, right? And somehow, I managed to order enough food for, like, a family of eight. Carlos, of course, being Carlos, dared me to eat it all. Let’s just say I’ve never been more full in my life, and I had to race the next day!"

You laugh, picturing the scene. "Let me guess—you won the race with a food coma?"

"Surprisingly, no," he chuckles, shaking his head. "But I didn’t throw up either, so I consider that a win."

The conversation keeps rolling, each story sparking a new one, and before you realize it, you’re telling Lando your own anecdotes—random moments from your childhood, funny travel mishaps, and awkward encounters. He listens intently, laughing at all the right moments, and it feels surprisingly… easy. Relaxed, even.

It’s different from flying with Carlos, who usually busies himself with his friends, leaving you to your thoughts. With Lando, there’s none of that distance. He’s fully present, engaging in the conversation with his usual charm and quick wit. He makes you feel seen.

At one point, mid-laugh, you realize how much fun you’re having. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Lando to be this comfortable to be around. You glance out of the window, noticing how far into the flight you are, time having flown by without you even noticing.

"You know," you say, turning to Lando with a small smile, "I’m kind of surprised. You’re a good travel companion."

He looks at you with mock offense. "Surprised? What, did you think I’d be boring?"

You shake your head, laughing softly. "No, just… I guess I’m used to Carlos doing his own thing."

Lando’s smile softens, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual. "Well, I’m glad I could change that."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you. This whole thing might have started as a plan, a façade, but right now, sitting beside him, it feels a lot less like pretending.

The plane touches down smoothly, and you feel a strange mix of relief and apprehension as you start gathering your things. You and Lando have spent the entire flight talking, joking, and trading stories, and for a few hours, the world outside of the plane seemed to blur away. But as you prepare to step back into reality, the weight of the plan settles back in.

Lando stretches beside you, yawning slightly before turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You chuckle, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Not bad at all. Maybe I should fly with you more often."

His grin widens, but there’s something else in his expression—like he’s holding back a secret. As the two of you make your way off the plane and through the terminal, you notice Lando constantly glancing at his phone, his smile growing with each tap of the screen.

"You know," he begins casually, as you step out into the cool air outside the airport, "you don’t need to worry about how we’re going to announce this whole thing anymore."

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Lando bites his lip, holding up his phone to show you the screen. Your eyes widen as you take in the image—an article, complete with a photo of the two of you entering the airport together just hours ago. The headline blares in bold letters:

"Lando Norris’s Newest Catch? F1 Star Spotted With Mystery Girl at Airport!"

Your stomach drops, the air suddenly feeling heavier around you. "What? How did they…?"

Lando’s grin only grows as he scrolls through the article. "Looks like the paparazzi beat us to it. We didn’t even have to make an announcement. They did it for us."

You can’t help but laugh in disbelief. "We didn’t even post the café photo yet!"

He shrugs, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Guess we’re more convincing than we thought."

As you stare at the headline, a strange mix of nerves and excitement washes over you. This was all part of the plan, of course—but seeing it in print makes it feel so much more real. You glance up at Lando, who’s watching you with that same easy smile, clearly unfazed by the attention.

"Guess it’s official now," he says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "No going back."

You smirk, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. "I guess not."

With a final grin, Lando steps closer, his voice low and teasing. "Welcome to the spotlight."

Here's part 4

Tag list: @abq654 , @spaceflowergal, @mads94sworld, @anewpersonthatexists, @qlovalova, @itsskavya, anaferreira-4, @willowsnook, @larastark3107, @blueberry648579, @luckyangelballoon, @runs-with-sciss0rs

[alicentflorent]

Condal, Hess and Co really missed the point of the books misogynistic fatphobic comments on Rhaenyra’s weight. The problem is historians compare Alicent and Rhaenyra’s body types as if it is at all relevant to them as people or relevant to their rivalry. The problem is they sexualise young Rhaenyra and her teenage body more than her adult body which naturally changed as she grew into womanhood and had six children. Her not losing the baby weight shouldn’t matter but much like tabloids in our culture, the historians felt the need to point out her weight gain and body changes while simultaneously pointing out that Alicent remained slim and had the same body type that she did at 18 even after giving birth to four children.

Rhaenyra being curvy or fat is not a moral failing, it didn’t make her less desirable to her lovers nor did it make her bitter or envious both Rhaenyra and Helaena seemed happy and content with with their larger body types. The point isn’t that her gaining weight was an exaggeration or a lie made up by the anti Rhaenyra sources like condal and Hess have suggested, it’s not her mentioned boy type that’s the problem here, it’s the way she and other bigger women throughout history are talked about by these male sources that is both misogynistic and fatphobic. Quite frankly, erasing her natural weight gain and body changes after she grows older and has six babies is fatphobic and misogynistic in itself.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ.ᐟ ᵖʳᵒˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ/ᵗᵉᵃˢᵉʳ

"Everything happens for a reason," they say. Which sounds all wise and comforting—until you realize the reason is that you’re stupid and make bad choices.

The bad choice in question? Falling for your best friend and PR manager Lily’s honeyed words and agreeing to let The Marauders, the biggest boyband on the planet, open for you on your world tour.

You had questioned the logic. Repeatedly. Why would you, an established artist with a loyal fanbase, need them? But Lily had dismissed your concerns with a grin so radiant you’d have thought she was discussing her wedding plans, not your career.

“It’s all about PR!” she’d said, practically bouncing. “You’re unstoppable alone, but with them? The buzz will be next level!”

Buzz. Right. The only buzzing now was the ringing in your ears as you sat stiffly in a glossy conference room, waiting to meet the so-called biggest boyband ever. The air was thick with tension—and regret.

The first impressions hadn’t been awful. Their drummer, Peter, seemed endearingly awkward. Their songwriter and bassist, Remus, was quiet but polite. And their frontman, James Potter? Sure, he was a little much with his golden-retriever energy, but at least he was charming in a harmless sort of way.

Then there was him.

Sirius Black, the band’s lead guitarist, resident heartbreaker, tabloid darling, and a walking cautionary tale wrapped in leather and bad decisions.

You’d heard about him long before today, of course. Everyone had. He was the one with the womanizing reputation, the rebellious attitude, and the kind of tragic backstory that made the press salivate.

What worried you most, though, was that your tour manager—Regulus—was his brother. Regulus had already muttered enough unflattering anecdotes about Sirius to make your skin crawl. And if Regulus, who was calm and composed to the point of saintliness, couldn’t stand him? What chance did you have?

You’d never heard Regulus rant about anyone before, but when Sirius came up? Oh, he let loose. Words like self-centered, arrogant, and man-child had been thrown around liberally.

The door slammed open, breaking your spiraling thoughts, and there he was: Sirius Black, 30 minutes late, looking like he’d rolled straight out of someone else’s bed.

To your immense irritation, his face was as devastatingly attractive as the rumors said. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and eyes like molten steel that practically dared you to look away. His dark hair was messy in that perfectly careless way that took effort.

But then he smirked. And all that potential evaporated.

You glared at Lily, silently screaming, PR?! Really?! She avoided your eyes, suddenly fascinated by her notebook.

“Well, well,” Sirius drawled as he strolled in like he owned the room. “Looks like I’m fashionably late.”

“Just late,” you corrected, your voice cold enough to freeze fire.

He turned to you, smirk deepening. His gaze raked over you—not subtle, not respectful, and definitely not apologetic. “And you must be the boss.”

The way he said it, like it was both a compliment and a challenge, made your teeth clench.

You extended a hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said flatly, forcing yourself to stay professional.

For a moment, it seemed like he might take it. Instead, he leaned back, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You’re not my type,” he said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

The audacity.

It took every ounce of self-control not to let your jaw drop. Instead, you plastered on a bright, brittle smile. “Oh no. How ever will I survive now that Sirius Black doesn’t consider me his type?”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying your irritation. “Guess we’ll find out.”

You were this close to throwing professionalism out the window and throttling him when Lily nudged you sharply.

“Play nice,” she hissed under her breath.

With an exaggerated sigh, you stepped aside, letting Sirius pass. He sauntered to the table, but instead of sitting, he stopped behind Lily’s chair.

“You’re in my seat,” he said smoothly.

Lily blinked up at him, startled. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“No, Lily,” you cut in, already exhausted. “Stay where you are. If Black has an issue, he can go complain to the teacher.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his stormy eyes. “Cute. But that’s my seat.”

“This isn’t kindergarten, Black,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sit somewhere else.”

Lily started to stand anyway, but you put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Seriously, stay. If he’s that attached to this chair, maybe he can write it a love song later.”

Remus snorted from across the table, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sirius, mate, just sit next to Pete.”

But Sirius didn’t move. He was staring at you now, his smirk gone, replaced by something sharper, something that made your skin prickle.

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “Still standing there? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for me to roll out a red carpet.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. “No need, sweetheart.”

You gritted your teeth. “Not your sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” he shot back smoothly.

The audacity.

Lily elbowed you under the table, her look screaming be nice.

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the table as Sirius finally—finally—took a seat. But the smirk on his face told you one thing loud and clear:

This tour was going to be hell.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ.ᐟ

Fueled by caffeine, sleep deprivation, and the questionable life choice of writing instead of resting, this story is here to (hopefully) make you laugh, swoon, and maybe yell a bit. Sirius is impossible, the MC takes no nonsense, and I’ve probably had too much coffee to be trusted with this much drama.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading—you’re the real MVP for putting up with me. ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

[mreomys]

oooo, what exactly do/have the tabloids said about Vee?

Mostly things that try to tarnish her reputation. A lot of tabloids take her words out of context and exaggerate them, or they just fabricate stories altogether. Unfortunately, that's pretty standard for celebrities, but for some reason, Vee seems to be the recent favorite target.

[notlhecxzsa]

Down The Caliginous Road - A.H

Summary: Finally working for Agatha Harkness is a whole lot of conversation to be talked about, but finally working with Agatha Harkness is another conversation you weren't ready to speak up about. Maybe, it's because of how much she confuses you, or maybe it's just because of how much of your time seemed to be so consumed by her. What's wrong with her? You didn't know. But, one thing's for sure, she's something else than what those sleazy tabloids pictured her to be.

Author's Note: Ahhhh, here comes the 2nd part of CEO!Agatha, hope you'll enjoy it! It's starting to become more... of a rabbit hole (I'm TRYING my best), dark fics aren't my pursuits in writing. 5,5k words.

Warnings: Mean!Agatha, Red flag!Agatha but is really a Green flag, Simp! Agatha ahhhh, Buff!Tall!Agatha (enough to manhandle you and break your bones), Sexual Innuendos, cursing. (Tell me if I missed something)

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

3rd Person's POV:

"Come in." Agatha called out through the room when she heard a knock.

Waking up today, it felt like her responsibilities were taken off of her shoulder, as if she was floating in cloud nine. She didn't know whether it was because of waking up on the right side of the bed or maybe it was because of the message she received from Wanda.

Ms. Y/L/N just emailed back. Gosh, I'm over the moon that she accepted. I almost thought she wouldn't since it's been three days already. Be good, Agatha, or you'd lose two people. Yes, two means that includes me.

She didn't even know why she was smiling so much that time, but maybe it's just because she knows she'll get less of Wanda's earful scolding here and there.

Though, there was a certain disappointment that haunted her insides. Hoping for a certain message to come through and pop up, but received none. Of course, Y/n won't be able to message her, she didn't know her personal email—especially her number.

What could she expect? She could only hope that Y/n liked the laptop she gifted and that she didn't had to borrow from anyone anymore. She could just only imagine what the girl's reaction was, almost giggling like a high school girl at the thought.

"Hey..." Wanda went inside the room, rummaging through her bag without looking up at Agatha, missing the smile that immediately turned down from the older woman's face. "Here's the papers you need for Ms. Y/L/N. Are you sure you don't want me to fill her in?" Curiously meeting her boss's gaze, she finally caught something unusual on Agatha's face.

"Thank you, Maximoff. And yeah, I got it, don't worry." Giving her a tight lipped smile, Wanda's eyes narrowed as Agatha kept the envelope on one of the drawers underneath her desk.

"Well, I hope you don't scare her off on the first day." Crossing her arms, Wanda took a seat on the chair in front of Agatha's desk.

The same chair that Agatha's eyes would unconsciously stare at as she thought of you.

"You're over exaggerating everything, Wanda." The roll of her eyes didn't go unnoticed by Wanda, just as the faint curl of her lips.

The usual annoyance that would lace through her tone was absent, only playfulness and something that Wanda couldn't pinpoint. "You seem... a little vibrant today. Did you fire someone that I didn't know?" Wanda blurted out, watching as Agatha's gaze snapped at her with a frown, a frown that is not too deep for Wanda's liking.

"Now, you're over analyzing things. Maybe you're the one who might be feeling a little different today." Agatha bites back before focusing her attention on the laptop in front of her.

Frowning, Wanda acted as if she was offended at the assumption. "Hey! I'm not-" Wanda was cut off by the sudden knock on the door, making Agatha let out a small chuckle with a shake of her head.

"Come in." Wanda only rolled her eyes while looking at the window, anticipating what would come out.

One of the employees peeked her head inside, seeing the two women in the room before also letting her whole body in. "A woman is requesting to see you, Ms. Harkness. She seemed persistent and said that she has something important to discuss..." Wanda frowned and looked back at Agatha.

"God, it's too early for another scandalous scene. What did you do this time, Agatha." Wanda didn't only ask but demanded a question.

Agatha who was wearing a stoic expression, visibly not caring as she looked back down on her laptop, continuing on what she was doing. "Who is it?" She asked.

The woman looked behind her, peeking her head on the other side of the door, getting the name of the girl behind her, making Agatha's eyes roll in annoyance. Nodding, she turned to put her attention back on her boss. "Y/n Y/l/n, Ms. Harkness."

Wanda surely didn't miss the way that Agatha's head almost broke with how fast she looked back up at the woman, almost making the whole floor rumble with how fast she stood up. "Invite her in, now." Slowly, a curl on Wanda's side of the lips formed on her face, gears seemed to finally be running inside her head.

She watched as Agatha anticipated, staring at the door with an expression she hadn't seen before. Her eyes help a glint that sprinkles a curiosity in Wanda's insides.

Soon enough, the same girl from four days ago, clad in some simple jeans with a coat that seemed to be her only protector from the gloomy weather of the city of Westview. Her flats paddled towards the woman whose eyes seemed to have the ability to brighten up the day with how her eyes gleamed up.

"Ms. Y/l/n, glad to see you here." Agatha greeted, wearing an unusual smile that made Wanda smirk knowingly. Agatha could only hope it didn't sound as if she was already expecting the girl to come.

"Good morning, Ms. Harkness..." Continuing her walk towards the woman with her gaze glued to hers, Agatha cursed mentally, only then realizing how big her office is—only then, hating how big it is. "Oh!" Almost coming out as a quiet yelp, Y/n stopped walking, turning to the other woman in the room who stood up.

"Ms. Maximoff, I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't see you, Good morning." Bowing her head, she looked between the two women, her cheeks heating up as her heart started beating loudly, almost fearing that a couple pair of ear might hear it. "I'm so sorry, did I interrupt something?- Oh god... I'm really sorry..." Her feet moving slowly back to the door, as if attempting to carefully escape a horror room with her eyes wide and still stammering.

"Hey, no, no-" Agatha didn't know if she should be thankful that Wanda cut her off or pissed that she did. At least, they won't have the chance to hear her almost desperate tone.

"No, sweetheart, it's fine, we're done here anyways. Come, sit here." Y/n looked at both of the woman, cautiously walking further back inside the room.

Cheeks are still flush, while her hands gripped at the handle of a paper bag that she was holding. "I-I'm really sorry, I should've- I didn't..." She stammered while taking a seat, regretting it as she suddenly felt more nervous as both of the women seemed to overtowered her with their height.

"Don't worry, darling." Offering her hand, Wanda smiled at the girl who took it and shook their hand. "Nice to see you again..." Turning back to Agatha, missing the way that the older woman had unconsciously swallowed roughly while gazing at their hands that are entwined. "Agatha." Bowing her head slightly towards the older woman who did the same, offering a silent farewell.

"Thank you, Ms. Maximoff." Agatha said.

"I'll be outside if you need me." Wanda said before turning back to the girl and gave her a smile, receiving a coy smile in return.

"See you around, Ms. Y/l/n." Wanda said before she started walking.

"Just Y/n." Y/n offered, nodding her subconsciously.

"We often use professionalism around her, Ms. Y/l/n." After missing a certain small frown on Agatha's forehead, she heard the older woman suddenly talk.

Now, not noticing the smirk on the red head's face, as Wanda shook her head, finally getting the answers she needed for a certain curiosity that ran miles in her head.

As soon as the other woman took her exit, Agatha sighed, as if grateful to be left alone. Sitting down, she looked back at the girl who was already looking at her with the same coy smile. "Well?"

"The laptop..." Y/n started, not knowing how to form the things she wanted to say.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the same small smile playing on her face. "Which I hope you liked." She filled in immediately, her smile now becoming more visible.

"So, it really is for me then?" The sudden amused expression from Agatha's face made the girl nervous as she almost flinched from her seat, jumping it to ramble. "I love it! I mean, thank you, really. I just- it was... I didn't... I didn't expect you to buy me one- it's too much, and it's- it's so much, I thought you might've put the wrong address..." Shrugging as she trailed off, carefully scanning the older woman's face who seemed to be looking so... entertained.

"Hmm, if I did, one thing's for sure is that I put the right name. Y/n Y/l/n, that's your name, right, honey?" Blush seemed to be creeping up again as she looked down, hoping to hide it.

"Thank you, really..." Looking back up, Agatha had never seen something so... genuine—so pure. She was stuck between wanting to ruin it or take care of it. "I don't know how to repay you—I mean, I could, but it might take me months, that laptop must've cost you a fortune." Y/n rambled and all Agatha could think is how adorable she looked, but she would never admit that.

"A number that comes back to my bank account per minute, don't mind it, okay? It's for you, use it. I expect no payment. Thought of it as the company's welcoming gift." Agatha playfully moved her eyebrows, almost cringing herself with how she was acting and trying to reassure the girl in front of her.

Y/n wondered if it's only her or did Agatha also gave the others something like that. "Oh, so your company gives away... laptops?" Y/n asked curiously, Agatha chuckled before answering.

"No, no. It's from me, Y/n. I gave it to you because I wanted to. Now, enough questions, sweetheart." Agatha directly confessed, only leaving the girl in front of her wanting more answers.

Another wishful thinking formed inside the girl, for her to be the only one that Agatha had given something like that, but she would never come close to accepting that she thought of something like that.

"Oh, I- uh..." Holding up the paper bag that contrasted the aesthetic around her. "I was gonna message you personally but I didn't think it was enough. I baked you cookies last night, I hope you'll like them." Standing up to give the bag to the older woman who accepted it with so much ease.

"Oh wow, honey. You didn't have to, really." Standing till by the table, she watched as the woman took a peek of what is inside, her legs almost trembling with how nervous she was.

"They look delicious! Oh god, they smell so good too! I can't wait to try it, sweetheart." Again, she wondered if the air-conditioning inside the office was shut off or is it just her.

"I know it's not enough- but I could bake you some more if you would like." Y/n rambled once again, stammering as she did so.

Agatha looked up, smiling as an idea popped inside her head. "It is more than enough!" Putting the paper bag aside, she stood up, circling around the table to walk towards the girl. "I don't usually eat sweets, but I know I'll love them."

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't know." Y/n blurted out, her heart seemed to be beating more faster as the woman came close to her.

"You couldn't have known, but how about you accompany me for breakfast?" Agatha blurted out, noticing the way Y/n's eyes widen and her motor thinking seemed to stop for a moment.

"Breakfast?... Like, eat... out?" Seeming like a lost child, she asked.

What boss would invite a person who hasn't started working for her yet to eat out?

"Yeah! I know a delicious diner at the corner down the street." Seeing the confused expression that the girl was wearing. "Think of it as a business meeting..." Shrugging, Agatha put up an unbothered face as if she did not just practically ask the girl out.

"I also have to fill you in with the job, anyways..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Y/n's POV:

"How was it?" I looked up to see Agatha looking at me, a smile on her face that almost hid behind the lid of her cup of coffee.

"It's good." I said, grinning at her to show just how much I loved the latte I ordered. "How much was it?" I asked, putting down the cup before turning to rummage my bag for my wallet.

"It's on me, don't worry. You should try that cupcake, it's the best one they have here." She said, pointing at the cupcake she brought to the table, the same on she also has.

I frowned, noticing how she tried to change the subject. "What? No, I can't let you do that, Ms. Harkness-" I was cut off when she spoke so suddenly, putting down her own cup, flatting her hands beside it, almost close to my hand.

"Agatha. It's fine, really. Don't worry about it." She smiled at me, leaving no room for an argument but I kept staring at her, confused but feeling a certain coil in my stomach.

As soon as we walked inside, I noticed how her hands stayed around my back, and with so much persistence from her, I let her hold my bag as we walked through the busy highway of the big city of Westview. She told me to find is a seat while she ordered for the both of us, not even giving me my bag as she did so. Keeping it in her hold.

"I thought you said you guys keep the professionalism around?" Settling back on my seat, I look at her, my eyes narrowing as I do so.

I noticed how her tounge pushed on the side of her inner cheek, a smirk visible in her face as she tempted what to tell me. Sipping on my coffee to hide my sly smile which I doubt she couldn't see.

"Did I say it applies to the boss?" She replied.

I rolled my eyes at her, regretting it as soon as I did it and I watched her face as I pursed my lips, not knowing whether to laugh at my own stupidity or start saying sorry. "Did you just rolled your eyes at me?" Playfulness was lacing through her voice, but it didn't stop the way my heart started beating so loudly inside my chest.

Not knowing if it's because of the action I made or the way she was looking at me.

"Sorry-" Cutting myself off with a short airy giggle as I put a hand overy mouth to stop myself, only for her to grin more widely at me while raising her eyebrows in what I hope is an expression of amusement. "I didn't- sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry." I rambled, it stopped as soon as her hands went clasped with mine, encasing it with her bigger hand.

"It's fine, Y/n. Careful though, I might give you something more interesting to roll your eyes on." Words seemed to got caught up in my throat as I look at her with eyebrows blown and cheeks flushed.

"S-sorry?" She only laughed, pulling away but leaned into the desk, our face would touch if I were to do the same.

God, since when did they started making such small tables like this.

"I would like to know more about you." There was a moment of silence, not knowing what to say as I look at her like a deer in headlights.

"There's... not much to know about me." Shrugging, I held the cup with both of my hands, grateful for the warmth it brings to me. Looking away, her gaze felt like it was burning holes into mine.

"You said in your application you're interested in English literature? Tell me was it Charlotte Bront, Jane Austen or Thomas Hardy, who made you fall in love with literature?" She asked, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, once again, I found myself answering.

"Hardy." I replied, my shoulder finally becoming less tense.

"I would've guessed Jane Austen." Shrugging she soft lips turned up a little before taking a sip of her coffee. "What are your plans for after you graduate?" She rounded with another question.

"I'm just trying to get through my finals." I answered truthfully, finally getting more comfortable.

"And then?" Warmth spread through my whole body, hearing her asked so fondly, gentleness visible in her voice.

"Well..." Leaning towards the table where I put an elbow on and used it as a stand as I put my head on my hand. "I really love working, so I'll find a permanent work that fits me well. I would like to take masters also, but I know that would cost me much, I'll probably just... work and save up for it." I rambled, her eyes stayed on me, almost making me feel conscious with how much attention she seemed to be giving me.

"Well, you'll be working in my company, you can always continue if you want." She offered as if she was just letting me sleep in her office.

Frowning, I almost let out a giggle, finding her ridiculous. "I wouldn't fit in there..." I started, almost regretting it with the look she gave me, frowning so deep as her eyes seemed to be shooting lasers into my whole face.

"I wasn't even really expecting that... you'll take me in." I confessed, looking down at my latte, not knowing what to do with how she was looking at me as if I just offended her in so many ways, as if I just robbed her of millions. "I mean, look at me..." Looking back up as I moved my shoulders, smiling as I try to lift up the mood that seemed to gloom.

"I am." She said, with voice so low as if it was only for my ears to hear.

Now, her eyes holding a certain look I couldn't seem to fathom as her gaze soften, making it more comfortable for me too look back in the. Never did I once wished to see or hear what the others thought of until now.

"I bet you $20, she's interested in you!"

"Miya, stop. That's impossible."

"Doesn't mean it can't happen. I mean, look! She just gifted you a laptop! You haven't even started working for her and what? She bough you a laptop just because she wants you to answer the application?"

"Miya, I swear to god. You're over exaggerating everything right now. Do you see me? We're so... far from each other."

"Hmmm, whatever, the deal still stands, just wait for it."

I was snapped out of the memory I recalled with Miya the night before, mentally cursing myself for even remembering that much. God, don't get my hopes too high.

"So... you're romantic?" She suddenly asked, ignoring how we just satred at each other for several minutes that felt like hours, and did I just noticed how blue her eyes were.

Clearing my throat, I answered. "I grew up with my Mom, she's an incurable romantic. Guess I got it from her..." Giggling, I rolled my eyes at the thought. "Though, I never really... explored that much." I added, coyly smiling up at her.

There was an expression that caught in her face for a moment, I almost didn't catch it but the gleam in her face was gone, momentarily before she smiled. A smile that seemed forced, but I took a bite of the cupcake, not minding too much about it.

Moaning at the taste, I look back at her, only to find her gazing at my lips with her own that is gaping a little. "God, you're right! This is so good." I expressed.

"I'll walk you out." Stopping mid bite, I gaze at her confusedly before my head followed the way she stood up abruptly, so I followed, almost running as I tried to catch up to her.

Her sudden action brought so much confusion inside my head, my heart started beating loud as I called out her name.

"Agatha." I called out for the third time, only then she turned back to me, almost hesitant to do so.

"You should steer clear of me." She said out of nowhere, looking down me. The weather seemed to be getting more colder at each passing moment.

"What does that even mean? What happened? Did I said something-" I started rambling, getting nervous at the distant look she's giving be, but still looking straight to my eyes, betraying what she was trying to show.

"Do you even deal with girls?" She asked. I didn't know if it was for me or for herself.

"What? I don't- I don't understand. I-" Suddenly both of her hands was wrapped around me when I attempted to follow her again, a sudden fear creeping up inside me at the thought of disappointing her in anyway.

"Watch it!" She yelled with sudden dominance that I almost cowered, the bike that passed through us, which almost collided with me stopped and started apologizing.

"Dickhead, fuck people these days!" She said, and my hand immediately went to her biceps, holding onto her as if I feared she would do something. And I did.

Her head snapped to me, and I looked up at her with eyes that pleaded for her to no do anything. Once again, something crossed her eyes as her face relaxed. Our face are so close to each other that I could feel her breath fanning ever so slightly on my face while her arms stayed connected around my waist protectively.

Her mouth agaped as her eyes stared into my lips. Before I knew it, she was pulling away from me and backed away a little. "I'll see you at work, Ms. Y/l/n." With that, she was gone, leaving me with an empty feeling floating around my chest.

So much for filling me in about work.

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

2nd Person's POV:

Monday. You started working for them. Grateful for the asynchronous class schedule you have at the University, the same one that—suprisingly, your boss owns. This week, is your turn to do modules and online classes in the morning, while next week is face to face. It goes on like that.

You didn't even bother eating breakfast, not even taking medicine for the cold you might have caught last night, only focusing on dressing well. Not for anyone, of course, just... for yourself... to fit in.

Wanda Maximoff, the kind person that she is, filled you in with everything that your boss might have forgotten last week. The same boss who sent you that new book of your favorite author in hardcopies and first editions.

As much as it frustrates you to receive such treatment towards her—confuses you, even. You couldn't help but think about her when the night rolls on and the moon's light seeped through your curtains.

Everything around you seemed to be in order, the people, no mess around, you almost thought that you might be the only trash left in the room. You haven't seen this part of the building, but it seems like this is where most of the works are done.

Receiving a lot of good expressions and comforting welcome was not what you expected, but grateful to have received them. But, still, nothing could calm the nerves from seeing the same pair of blue eyes that hunted you in the middle of your sleep.

Maybe, you'd be more lucky today and won't cross paths with her, you thought.

But, as everyone stood up straight, facing the same door you went in earlier, the sound of chairs squeeking and rolling on the floor, you did the same. Remembering what Wanda told you earlier.

"Ms. Harkness often walk pass this room to get to her office. To check the people and all. The guys would consider themselves lucky if Agatha is lazy enough to walk through here."

Of course, since when did luck stuck with you.

As soon as the door opened and a tall figure clad in a dark colored suit came out, a wave of greetings came showered the atmosphere. But, all you could seem to muster is a mumble as you stared at the woman, not sure if you wanted to hide or get her attention on you.

As walked throught the hallway, picking conversation with people, criticizing their works and almost scolding some. It seemed to be years but the people around you started getting back to work, sitting in their designated seats and stalls and continuing what they were doing.

As you were about to do the same, your name was called. Only then did you remembered that you'll be returning something from her.

Turning and looking up, the first you noticed was the visible smirk on her face, it wasn't there when she came in. You almost thought that it was reserved for only you.

"Ahhh, Y/n." So much for professionalism around her.

"Y/l/n. Good morning, Ms. Harkness." You didn't even know where that courage came from. You felt pair of eyes from the people that are near you looking at you, but you couldn't turn away from her gazing ones. You felt glued.

"Hmm..." Her eyes circled your stall, narrowing with meaning behind that you couldn't seem to figure out what, then she smiled at you—mischievously. "Did Maximoff forgot to tell you that you're gonna be my assistant?—Personal Assistant." She asked, walking a little more towards you.

"She-..." You head curved a little to follow her eyes. "She did, Ms. H-Harkness." You stammered, almost cursing yourself mentally, wondering how pathetic you might've looked.

"Then, who told you you'll be working in this area?" She pushed even more.

"She... uhm... she did...?" You blurted out, not knowing what to do, almost fearing that you've done something wrong or missed something from earlier.

"Oh, so change of plans that I didn't know?" Agatha only received a confused coy glance from you, making her roll her eyes as she turned on her heels, ready to take off. "Bring your things and follow me in the office..." Looking at you one last time, she muttered. "Y/n."

As soon as she strides with lengths that would be considered as a jog to you, you scrambled and followed her, taking a mental note to check what you left later.

It was silent as she lead you to a couple of more hallways before a pair of big doors welcomed you—Agatha opening the door for you to come inside, making her almost roll her eyes with how her movements seemed to be automatic.

She could only hope that deep down nobody had seen that, not even from the security footage.

"Maximoff never told me that you'll be working for her or with her. Your little office back there? No use." You didn't know what to do as she moved with grace around the room, taking out her coat and putting it on one of the expensive looking racks next to the big doors.

As she talked, she moved to the cabinet that looked so fragile and beautiful. You thought she was going to get some water, but soon regretted it as you watch her pour an alcohol which you couldn't name over the glass. "You will be working for me and only with me." As soon as the her eyes was set on you, it felt like a glue once again as she walked passed you, leaving you in the middle of the room, clutching you bag as she took her seat on the big office table, where she was days ago.

"You are mine to work for. That means, you'll stay here." Her point finger bumped on her table.

"..." She watched as you looked around, confused gaze as your eyes wandered around while she sipped on her whiskey that she had caught you eyeing earlier but made no comments about. "Where exactly... Ms. Hakrness?" Looking back at her, you wished the ground would eat you or just randomly get thrown out of the building.

"Wherever you want, Y/n." Once again, she received the same questioning gaze, almost making her laugh—not even sure if it's because of how adorable you looked or how much it entertains her, maybe both, she couldn't find it in her to choose.

"Sit down, you'll get tired standing there all day." She demanded.

"But, there's... there's not an office table here other than... yours." Yoe hesitated as you carefully walk and took a seat in front of her.

"There's a comfortable sofa right there..." Her head pointed out to the sofa. Not something that workers should be working at, especially not in some kind of sacred company like hers. You made a face that almost looked offended... surprised? Agatha couldn't figure out but it made something in her flutter as her gaze soften, her smirk now less sharp.

"You could work right there, in that chair you're sitting on, or..." You head turned to look at her in question. "Here." Her head bent down to motion beneath her.

"That's not possible, Ms. Harkness. " Thinking that you got what she was pertaining she laughed, only for it to stop at the next word you said. "I won't be taking your seat from you, that's not... ethical." The look of amusement she gave you told you enough that you were wrong.

"That's one thing we could do, but I was talking about my lap, honey." She sipped on her whiskey as if what she said was a normal thing.

"That... that's even more inappropriate!" You couldn't help the high pitched tone you let out as you tried to hide your blush away.

Did your boss just offered you to sit on her lap to work? You'll be questioning your existence this day later, that's for sure.

"Not when I say so." Shrugging, she started opening her laptop. "Now, how about you fetch me some more ice and refill my drink?" She started, not even glancing at you, which took her almost all of her energy not to.

"That's... alcohol. You shouldn't drink alcohol this early morning, Ms. Harkness." Blurting out, Agatha couldn't help but stop what she was doing, looking up as she narrowed her eyes at the girl who immediately averted her gaze to the alcohol in front of the older woman. "It's not healthy... and definitely not good for you—especially in the morning."

"Hmmm, then what do you think I should drink?" Agatha asked, a certain softness and a playful tone in her voice. This is the first time she's had someone to tell her something like this. Not that anyone has ever tried to. Or will she let anyone try.

Something about one of the habits she's grown used to, even knowing how bad it is for her.

She immediately caught the younger girl's gaze. Something inside those pairs of eyes that seemed to calm the raging storm inside of Agatha. Her insides fluttered, immediately thinking that maybe it was the alcohol doing "bad" things in her stomach, but she knew better.

Standing up, Y/n smiled at Agatha, an idea coming up to her mind. "Let me bring you something good and healthy to drink then, Ms. Harkness." With that, she turned on her heels, ready to leave the room with a mission.

"What- Wait, no." Y/n's steps haltered as she turned to face the voice. For a moment, they were just looking at each other as Y/n waited on what her boss will say. "Here..." Taking out a black card, Agatha motioned for Y/n to take it. "Use this."

Looking at the card, Y/n looked back up at Agatha, "The coffee on my first day is one me, don't worry, Ms. Harkness. It's all I can pay for the treat you gave last time." Y/n explained, ready to turn on her heels but stopped when she saw Agatha started walking towards her.

"No. Take this. It's the company's card. Besides, you don't have to pay me back for everything that I gave you..." Agatha trailed off before a thought came running in her mind. "I mean, unless you give me those cookies again. I would accept those."

She could only remember how she devoured those box of cookies in just a day, only eating the thing from breakfast to dinner—the only cookies she'd pair with her whisker and wine.

"Uh... I-" Agatha took Y/n's hand, putting the card inside it before going back to her seat. Looking down at the card, Y/n read the name written on it. Agatha Harkness. "Ms. Harkness, I think it's not the company's card-" Y/n started, only to be cut off.

"Huh? What? No, I can't hear you, now go fetch me those healthy drinks you're saying and get yourself one too." Opening her mouth, but no words came out, leaving her to decide that it's finally time to leave and go get the food for her boss before Agatha could decide to cut her paycheck for the lack of time she's worked on at her first day.

"I'll get back quickly, Ms. Harkness, don't worry." The small soft voice piqued around the room, but Agatha's gaze stayed on the empty space on her computer.

"Hmm, that, you should." Whispering into the nothingness, Agatha's head turned to look at the door just in time as it shut close. Her mind whirling in her deepest thought, only thinking of the certain pair of eyes she'd gladly look at for forever.

And, into the air, she whispered.

"Flung out of space..."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~

Author's Note: Ahhhhhh, I love this type of Agatha. A soft tease who's dark but softie for her girl (GIVE ME AN OLDER WOMAN LIKE THIS, PLS) I hope you guys liked this! And, Yes, that's a Carol reference at the end! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Twelve: Arborvitae for Friendship

Summary: The Host Club collaborates with the Newspaper Club.

Attention: I will be going on a brief hiatus until the 22nd of January due to being abroad. I hope you guys have a great January!

            “The cherry blossoms are so beautiful,” sighed (Y/N)’s guest.

            “I love this color pink. It’s so sad they’re not around all year,” said another girl.

            “Cherry blossoms are symbols of rebirth and new beginnings,” said (Y/N). “The fact they appear only once a year makes that special. It reminds you that every day is a new start.”

            The girls sighed dreamily. “So romantic…”

            “Haruhi, duck!”

            Everyone looked over at Tamaki. He jumped through the air and pulled Haruhi to the side as a ball rocketed past her head—kicked, of course, by the twins.

            “You idiots!” said Tamaki. “You almost extinguished the flame that is Haruhi’s life!”

            Haruhi groaned from where she lay on the ground. (Y/N) knelt and helped her up.

            “My life is already in danger,” she huffed.

            “Boss, it’s your fault for not catching it,” said the twins, shrugging. “It’s disgraceful that the Hikaru Genji of Ouran can’t play ball properly.”

            “Come again? Then try stopping this!” Tamaki wound up his leg. “Starlight Kick!”

            He kicked the ball, and it shot up into the air. Everyone’s jaws dropped open. It was so fast. …And so of course.

            “Farewell!” said the twins, waving as the ball disappeared over the trees.

            Crash!

            Kyoya sighed. (Y/N) winced. Haruhi groaned.

            “Oops…” said Tamaki.

l

            I’m sorry! Please accept my sincerest apologies!” said Tamaki, bowing to the newspaper club.

            The president, third year Akira Komatsuzawa, winced at his words. Chikage Ukyou and Tomochika Sakyou stood on either side of him.

            “Oh, it’s okay,” lied Akira. “It was only a window that shattered and my head that received a direct hit.” He had a nasty bump and a giant icepack on his head. “But it was good timing. We were hoping that the Host Club would allow us an interview.”

            “I didn’t know there was a newspaper club,” said Haruhi, frowning.

            “They only produce this—” Hikaru and Kaoru picked up a paper. “The so-called OU-Spot. It’s a tabloid that exaggerates love affairs between students, class divisions due to family rivalries, and so on. Their fabrications have gotten so wild that no one reads it anymore.”

            “It’s just a gossip rag,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Sure…in our quest for readership, we lost sight of the truth,” said Akira, sighing. “But with the imminent closure of our club, our eyes were opened. Please lend us your aid! For the spring special, we’d like to reveal the truth about your charm in ‘In the Footsteps of the Host Club; 24/7!’ ”

            “Really?” Tamaki’s eyes widened. “You mean it? You want to capture how I corner violent criminals and reveal my daily efforts in stopping criminal activities?”

            Akira frowned. “What? It has nothing to do with ‘Police 24 Hours.’ ”

            “We accept your request!” said Tamaki.

            “No, we don’t,” said Kyoya, pulling Tamaki back with a cold smile.

            “Kyoya, you don’t know how touching that show is!” whined Tamaki. “Besides, it was my fault he got hurt!”

            “I’m sorry, but our information is restricted to customers only,” said Kyoya.

            “Don’t worry. You won’t incur any medical costs. The Boss’ll pay for it,” said the twins to Akira.

            “Tamaki, we’re not contributing to a newspaper that makes up scandals for it’s own gain,” said (Y/N), hands on their hips.

            “We can’t erase our past mistakes after all,” said Akira, “swaying” and nearly collapsing from his wound. “I regret that we must shut down our club…”

            “That’s not true!” said Tamaki. “People can always get a second chance! Alright, leave it to me! The Host Club will go all out and help rebuild the Newspaper Club!”

            “No way,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “We’re not,” said (Y/N).

            “What?!” said Tamaki.

            “If we went along with all your altruistic endeavors, there’d be no end to it,” said Hikaru, shrugging.

            “It’s tiresome. Let’s go,” said Kaoru.

            “Tamaki, we’re not discussing this anymore,” said (Y/N).

            “Come on, Tamaki. Back to the clubroom,” said Kyoya.

            “Don’t you guy have a heart?! They’re shutting down! Their family is breaking up!” Tamaki huffed. “This is a presidential mandate. You can’t refuse!”

            “We refuse,” said the twins. (Y/N) and Kyoya still had their arms crossed.

l

            “He’s upset,” said Kaoru. “He’s still in costume.”

            “It’s just like the way kids give each other the silent treatment,” said Kyoya.

            “Pouting,” agreed (Y/N).

            “That’s because Tamaki hates to be alone,” said Honey.

            “Someone should tell him he looks stupid,” said Hikaru.

            “Is it that wrong to help out the Newspaper Club?” said Haruhi, tilting her head.

            “Haruhi, that’s odd—you’re taking the boss’s side?” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “No, but…” Haruhi sighed. “If we leave him alone, I have a feeling he’ll eventually start looking at us like a puppy, and we’ll be forced to give in. It’s strange, but I know it for sure…”

            (Y/N) grimaced. “You’re not wrong.”

            “I thought you two would’ve gone for it,” said Haruhi, looking at the twins.

            “This time it felt tiresome. Boring. Been there, done that,” said the twins.

            “Honey, Mori?” said Haruhi.

            Mori didn’t reply, and Honey grinned. “I’m eating cake!”

            “(Y/N)?” said Haruhi.

            “I don’t like people prying into my life,” said (Y/N).

            Haruhi sighed.

            And then Tamaki looked over with big giant puppy eyes. Everyone winced. He looked back, eyes even bigger than before. Everyone groaned. He looked over a third time, and Kyoya snapped his notebook closed in frustration.

            “There will be conditions,” said Kyoya. Tamaki brightened like a dog, and Kyoya went forward. “We will provide a plan for the special feature. And the interview is forbidden. Customers must not be bothered, so the service scene is out.”

            (Y/N)’s shoulders dropped. They were still suspicious of the newspaper club, but at least boundaries would protect from prying.

            “Got it, everyone?” said Kyoya.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Sounds fair.”

            “If Kyoya says so, we’ll go along,” said the Hitachiins.

            “Okay!” said Honey. Mori nodded.

            “Right! Let’s start planning now!” Tamaki had already returned to his confident, happy self.

l

            “Tamaki Suoh must have established the club to show off his power to the other students,” said Akira as he planned (plotted).

            “But the students hardly ever complain,” said Chikage.

            “Female students keep their mouths shut. Male students who know Suoh are evasive,” said Tomochika.

            “You’ve seen it yourself,” said Akira. “He pretends to be a nice and sweet idiot. Tamaki Suoh…I wager he’s an exceptionally shrewd man. I’m betting he has a dark side!”

            “So are we only paying attention to him?” said Chikage.

            “No, we need more than that…We need him to have brought in more bad influences to Ouran,” said Akira, narrowing his eyes. “Like the scholarship students. Undoubtedly, he forced the first-year to join. And the second year? They’re suspicious. They’re rapidly climbing the ranks of power…That shouldn’t be possible for a commoner. We’ll find out what’s truly going on with this Host Club, get a great scoop, and show this school the power of the Newspaper Club!”

l

            “Greeeenlight, redlight!” Tamaki whirled from the tree, but the Hosts were still and weren’t still approaching. He hadn’t caught them. “Greenlight, redlight! Greenlightredlight!” Each time, the twins were posed differently.

            The newspaper club watched in shock. This was…a children’s game. They were expecting something more refined at the very least.

            “It’s no wonder you’re surprised,” said Tamaki, smiling at the other club. “This is a traditional game of the common folk. There are many other fun games commoners play without spending a dime.”

            “I see…” said Akira doubtfully. “But what has it got to do with our article?”

            “Friendliness!” said Tamaki with force. “Friendliness is critical for wiping away the newspaper’s club negative image and gaining back the readers! According to our calculations, it will work. ‘Handsome Hosts Play a Commoner Game!’ An outdoor game will let you capture the image of spring in the background. It’s so elegant—perfect for a front-page article! It will be the perfect event!” Happily, Tamaki returned to the game and promptly “spotted Kyoya moving.”

            “You’re Fujioka, right?” Akira walked towards Haruhi, who looked at him in surprise. “Why did you join the club?”

            “On account of my own carelessness,” said Haruhi.

            “Oh?” Akira leaned forward in interest.

            “Haruhi, focus on the game,” said (Y/N), moving while Tamaki wasn’t looking and pushing Haruhi away from Akira. They smiled “politely” at Akira. “Apologies, no interviews, remember?”

            “We need some background for the piece,” said Akira, gritting his teeth. “For instance, why did you join the club?”

            “It sounded interesting,” said (Y/N), barely paying attention to him.

            “Yes, but it’s helped your status, hasn’t it? As a commoner, being relationships with the powerful is important. Is that what you get out of this?” Akira leaned in. “Gold-digging for connections?”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes ever-so-slightly. At Tamaki’s side, “out” of the game, Kyoya raised a brow as he saw Akira speaking to them. He looked at the twins and nodded. It was time for their plan to be put into action.

            “Hide and seek time!” said the twins, jumping between Akira and (Y/N).

            “We didn’t finish the game!” said Tamaki.

            “We’re bored, Haruhi, hide with us,” said Hikaru and Kaoru, grabbing Haruhi’s arms.

            “Hey!” Tamaki ran to them, grabbed Haruhi’s hand, and pulled her away. “Hide with me!”

            “I’ll count!” said Honey cheerfully, and, while the rest of the hosts pretended to hide, the newspaper club stormed away. Little did they know where the club had gone to hide.

l

            “This is ridiculous!” said Akira as he stormed through the halls of Ouran Academy. “We can’t participate in this farce! Let’s go back to our clubroom and finish the article!”

            “But, President,” said Chikage. “Writing a gossip column on Suoh without proof—”

            “Even if we don’t have proof now, all we have to do is write an article that forces his hand,” snapped Akira. “I went out of my way to get that ball and fake an injury. What a waste! Anyway, let’s take him and all his pesky hosts down tomorrow with a front-page article—” His eyes widened as he opened the door of his clubroom.

            “So. It’s just as we thought.” The Hitachiin twins, sitting on his desk, smirked.

            “It was so obvious,” said Kaoru.

            “Boss was the only one who didn’t notice. He’s pretty dense when it comes to himself,” said Hikaru.

            “Let me tell you this,” said Kaoru. “If you do anything to the boss or anyone else in this club, you won’t get off free. Not just the Hitachiins, but every family of our club will become your enemy. Are you prepared for that?”

            “As I thought, you’re using your family powers!” said Akira. “And Suoh ordered you to do it!”

            “Wrong. Tamaki would never do that.”

            Akira jumped as Honey spoke and whirled. In the doorway stood Kyoya, Honey, Mori, and (Y/N).

            “We love Tamaki. That’s why we won’t let anyone bully him,” said Honey, smiling. Mori nodded.

            “Even though he’s an idiot,” said the twins, though they were agreeing.

            “We all have our own family names, too, if we wished to go that route,” said Kyoya. He looked at Akira coldly. “Not that we would need to. We’re respectable, unlike some.”

            “Not all of you have family names!” said Akira, glaring. “Your scholarship students, they’re there for a reason! Either Suoh forced them into it or they’re going to use his name—”

            “Haruhi and I are making our own way in the world,” said (Y/N) sharply. “Tamaki is our friend.”

            “Gold digging commoner—”

            “I’d suggest you stop speaking,” said Kyoya. He pressed on a hidden button on the first aid kit he had so graciously delivered to Akira. The president of the newspaper club paled as Kyoya retrieved a disk from within the case. “Otherwise, who knows what we may do with this disc that has proof of your plot and precisely what slander you were planning on spreading about Tamaki, (Y/N), and Haruhi?”

            Akira, Chikage, and Tomochika let out strangled cries. They had lost.

l

            “I’m glad they won’t be bothering us again,” said (Y/N), sighing.

            “We humored Tamaki, and we handled an issue.” Kyoya sighed. “As long as he doesn’t drag us into helping another disreputable club, we should be fine.”

            “It is Tamaki we’re talking about,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Perhaps.” Kyoya smirked. “But Komatsuzawa was right about one thing—we do have power to throw around if necessary.”

            “You guys, maybe,” said (Y/N).

            “I—We wouldn’t let your reputation be harmed,” said Kyoya. “You haven’t done anything.”

            (Y/N) paused, and Kyoya looked at them.

            “I haven’t. But…my family.” (Y/N) grimaced. “My reputation can be harmed by association.” Kyoya was silent as he waited for them to speak again. “My aunt and uncle, they’re kind. They’re good people. You’ve met them. But they’re fostering me for a reason. My parents—” they sighed “—they had substance issues. They were in jail for most of my childhood. I have no idea where they are now. But my aunt and uncle raised me.” (Y/N) looked at Kyoya. “I’m not ashamed of them. But I know that people will look down on me if they find out, and I am trying to make a name for myself.”

            Kyoya nodded. He already knew all of that—he ran serious background checks—but that didn’t change the way he looked at (Y/N). They were still the person he had grown to truly care for, the one he had feelings for. (Y/N) was intelligent, ambitious, tenacious, and a genuinely good person on. Whoever their parents were, whatever they’d done, it had nothing to do with (Y/N).

            “I understand,” said Kyoya simply. “You are more than the reputation of your family.” He understood the desire to show your own worth independent of one’s family—particularly of one’s brothers, in his case.

            “Thank you, Kyoya,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “(Y/N)?”

            They glanced at him.

            “If someone attempts to use your class or family against you, tell me,” said Kyoya. “I will handle it.”

            “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” said (Y/N). They knew that if they intended to move up in society and make a name for themself, they would have to get used to condescension from some.

            “I am your friend, (Y/N),” said Kyoya. “I wish to help.”

            (Y/N) felt their heart pound as he spoke, and the myriad of reasons they liked him—his kindness beneath all his coldness, his watchful eye for danger, his sharp mind, his respect for them—came to their mind.

            “Yes. We’re friends,” said (Y/N). This was the first time they’d said it out loud. They smiled. “You and me.”

            Kyoya quite liked the sound of that.

Taglist:

@roo024

@jmclouds

@yappydoo

@ramblingsoftheill

@girgal73

@rockerica

@nosoyyo1213

@ritzes28

@grippledee-galaxy

@rory-cakes

@neenieweenie

@k03ume

@constellationguy

@paastaboi

@introvertathome

@chaseyui

@jexnight

@snowy-violet

[seramilla]

So how would Vaggie react to learning she’s now wrapped up in an arranged marriage? And since this is before she falls…does that mean Charlie is in her emo phase still??

Vaggie is really intimidated at being betrothed to the literal princess of Hell. Of course, she knows who Charlie is -- there isn't a person in Heaven or Hell who doesn't. Some years past, however, in her late teens, Charlotte Morningstar had gained somewhat of a reputation for being a rebel. Before she graduated from Hell High School, the Heaven tabloids used to publish stories of Charlie with a lot of unflattering photos of the young demon, wearing her hair and wardrobe black, reporting that she'd been running around with some wild characters, going to raves and parties, getting in trouble, and generally causing a lot of debauchery, even by Hell's standards.

Charlie has managed to stay out of the public eye for the last few years since she's come of age. Honestly, it's anyone's guess what the princess is really like these days. Only Sera, the High Seraphim of Heaven, and the one primarily responsible for finding Charlie's betrothed, assures Vaggie that the princess is nothing like what the media says. She doesn't do anything so rebellious now, and a lot of those tales were highly exaggerated anyway. Charlie is a perfectly delightful, upstanding citizen, and she assures Vaggie she will love her to pieces!

They ultimately meet at a party. One of those swanky, posh soirées that the nobility of both realms like to hold at the Heaven embassy in Hell. Sera is in attendance with her own wife, Carmilla, and they are off doing their own thing. Vaggie stands there in her white gown and fancy shoes that Sera bought her for the occasion, with her hair tied up in an elaborate bun. She stands next to some other highbrow angels, feeling completely awkward and out of her element. No one is talking to her.

She stays near the punch bowl and snack table, nibbling on things throughout the night to curb her own anxiety. She feels so out of place. She hasn't even been introduced to anyone, let alone Charlie! She's starting to wonder why she's even here at all.

It's not until a very beautiful, very coquettish woman in a red gown comes up to stand beside her, holding out her hand to be shaken. Vaggie looks down at her hand, and then up at her. She's tall. Very tall. Maybe around Carmilla's height, or a little less. The woman looks nervous, and she's blushing slightly, unable to meet Vaggie's gaze directly. Her other hand moves up to push stray locks of hair from falling in her face.

"H-hi!" the woman says, with a genuine smile. "I'm Charlie! You must be Vaggie! Carmilla has told me so much about you. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but I don't get to meet many angels. And you're just so... so pretty. Oh, shit, did I say that out loud? Forgive me! I admit, I was a little intimidated at meeting you. But I didn't want to be rude."

Vaggie looks at Charlie again. The princess is still holding out her hand, now biting her bottom lip in anticipation of Vaggie shaking it. Vaggie does. Charlie's fingers grip hers tightly, manicured red nails grazing lightly against Vaggie's hand. Vaggie maybe shakes Charlie's hand a little too hard, and takes a little too long to pull away.

"Va-vaggie. Yes, my name is Vaggie. Please! The pleasure is all mine, princess, I assure you."

That gets a laugh out of Charlie. She's beaming brightly now, like a light illuminating the otherwise dull illumination of the room. Like a morning star. Now Vaggie is the one blushing, as she listens to her talk about nothing in particular.

Oh, this! This...Vaggie thinks she could get used to this. She could get used to this very well!

[spidybaby]

Stressed

Summary: When he's stressed and worried about work, that's the only thing on his mind.

Warnings: angst because I'm a sucker for it 😤

A/N: So I'm inspired, and you already know I love angst, I breathe angst, I eat angst. (Okay, I'm done exaggerating), but lemme know how you are? Are you drinking water? Hope you're fine 💐❤️

Since Kylian sent that letter to the higher-ups of PSG about not wanting to stay until 2025, everything is drama.

The french tabloids, for some reason, want him to look bad, want him to look like this ungrateful man.

He's experiencing too much pressure, Sergio leaving, Lionel leaving, possibly Verrati leaving. It was a mess. The whole teams is.

Especially now that this dumb reporter, her name is Sam, she's all over him about the whole side of him about the leaving, the selling, the quitting of Galtier. He's done with her, with the other reporters, with the ultras hating him for even breathing.

"Don't worry, Kyky, everything's going to be fine." Sergio pat his back, Kylian was one of the first ones to know about his retirement of the club. "Don't let that chick got to you."

"I just want her away from me." He drinks too fast for what he's used to. "Can't she cover something else?"

"Look, hermano." Ney says, he had to deal with the same reporter a few months before. "Just tell her something completely different from what she's asking, and she'll leave."

He knows she just wants to write something before anyone else, something that comes from his own, not for speculation. "Lie to her."

He scuff, it's not that easy to be away from her when she's also part of the PSG press people. She has access to everywhere. That makes him uncomfortable.

"Mira Kylian." Leo says. He's not new to this whole press drama. "Just don't mind her, ignore her, saying you have to be somewhere." He smiles, nodding to his advice.

Leo and Sergio are the ones he trusts with this media hate. They're goats, and they come from a long road. He can't deny that even Neymar is an expert. But he's been there for his own stupid mind, even tho he denied it.

He followed the advice Leo gave him, always ignoring her, saying the usual bonjour or a revoir. Nothing else.

That made her mad. She even asked Galtier for his number, not caring about writing him. That took him to the limit. He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

"Don't stress, mon amour." You say kissing his cheek. You're massaging him, wanting to help him relax. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. It's only you and me."

You tried everything for him to relax, you didn't know the whole story. He never told you about this reporter. So you only think it's because of the whole letter drama.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Bonjour, Kylian." Sam says, looking at him. She's blocking the door of the lockers. "Can we talk." She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm busy." He tries to pass her, but she's not moving, and the last thing he wants is touching her or making any type of contact. "Please move."

"Just five minutes." She says, begging him. "And I'll leave you alone forever."

"I prefer you to leave me alone now." His voice is this deep tone. He's done with her games. "Get out of the way." He ask nicely.

"Four minutes." She begged again.

"Sam, out of the way."

"Three."

He breathes deeply, and he's losing his temper. "I'll say it only one more time, and believe me, that I hate repeating myself." He grabs her arm, not hard but the right amount of pressure to move her gently. "I'm busy." He's mad. His whole day is ruined, thanks to her.

He enters his car, asking the driver to take him home. He's supposed to go to his mother's house, but he's too mad for that.

He arrived home funding. His train bag is now on the floor, you're home early, and you notice the noise, thinking maybe he fell.

"Are you okay?" You ask from your bedroom. Maybe he's hurt. "Ky? Amour?" You talk louder this time.

After a few minutes, you hear the footsteps on the stairs. A very agitated Kylian enters the room. "Hi, handsome." You say, opening your arms to him.

"Remember how you said you can take the stress out of me?" He sais breathless, you nod smiling. "Do it."

You throw the covers away from you. Ready to attack your boyfriend with kisses and attention. Your lips feel heavy on his own. He's tense. You can feel him.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere, hes uncomfortable by the fact that he has Sam on the back of his head, tunning after him, basically harrassi him.

There's no other reason for him to focus on anything other than you. The way your lips feel on his neck, the way your hands are touching the right places, the way you're making him feel good.

His hips are moving to a very fast pace. He's not one to take his frustration on you, but the way you're moaning his name and how your nails are scratching his back is making him lose control.

He doesn't know how, but it happens. He can't take her name out of his mind, now even when you're taking him so well.

When he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow, and he attacks the exposed side of your neck. He's leaving red marks, marking you as his. The groan that's escaping his lips are pornographyc.

You could feel nothing but him, the weight of his body over yours, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips and on his forehead, making the hair close to your neck to stick to it.

What's making the entire situation so much worse is the fact that no matter how much he tries, he can't stop thinking about her. Not in a sexual way, but angrily wanting her to go away, to leave his mind alone.

His hand is griping your waist so hard. He knows he'll leave a mark. Moans coming out of his mouth. “Fuck, you feel so good.” he goes faster, knowing by the sounds you're making that you're close.

"Sam-" that's when he stops. His whole body stop. He doesn't know why he's saying her name. His eyes are open in a panic.

"Get off," you say out of breath. Your heart is beating as fast as if it's going off your body. "Get off of me."

You push his shoulders for him to get off of you. He pulled out and tried to explain. "Y/n, please, I didn't mean to do that."

Your mind is lost, one moment you're under him, holding him closer, kissing him and enjoying him.

And now you're pushing him away, not wanting him to touch you. You grab the covers of the bed. You wrap it around your body before running to the bathroom.

"Amour, please." He tries to grab your arms. "Amour." He almost catch you, but he's not fast enough.

The next thing he knows is you slamming the door in his face. He can hear the way you're breathing and how you sob. The sound is making his heart hurt.

"I promise I wasn't-" he can't even think of an excuse. He's fucked up, he's hearing the way you're crying and can't think of how to solve it. "Listen, she's a reporter that has been harassing me. She's always on me, and I".

You open the door, interrupting his explanation. You're standing there, tears running down your face, blanket around your body, eyes sad.

"Mon amour." He doesn't know if he can touch you. He doesn't want to make you more uncomfortable than what you already are. "I promise it's not what you think."

You pass him, walking to the room to get your clothes, dressing yourself again, hurried to get away from him.

"Please don't go." He says, hand grabbing your arm. "Please, let me explain." He feels like crying, not wanting to let go.

"Not now." You get off his hold. "I can't do this. Please get away from me." You push him lightly.

"Don't go, I'll go, but you don't have to go." He dresses himself, not wanting you to leave. "I'm fucking sorry." Your back is facing him. You can't look at him in the eyes.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

The past week, you were running away from Kylian, leaving extra early for work and returning while he was still training.

For him, it was hard not being able to speak with you. But you needed time, and he's willing to let you have it. Even if that hurt him in the process.

For you, it's been weird. You can't wrap your mind around the fact of what's going on. For you, it hurts that he didn't trust you enough to talk to you about what's happening, and the other part of you is your ego being hurt by him naming another girls name.

You were sure with a talk and being honest, you both can make up. You trusted him when he says he has never been with her, but you also needed to know the whole story.

The sound of keys jiggling is the way you know he's home. When he walks he sees you sitting on the couch.

He's tired, everyone is hating on him for the stupid tabloids, and he can't even find comfort in your arms because he hurt you without intended to.

"Can we talk?" He swears the sound of your voice is magical. He missed it. He missed you. He nods and takes a seat next to you. "Who's Sam?"

He didn't hesitate to detail the whole thing. The things his playmates advised him. "Kylian, why didn't you report her to the management?" You're mad, not with him but with her for being such a bitch and harass him about a stupid football news.

"Because I thought she was going to leave me alone." He yells, frustrated. "I can't do this anymore."

You hug him, caressing his back and him cry his frustration. His not crying about her. He's crying about the news, about the hate, about the media not leaving him alone.

"I'm here, don't cry." You kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you before."

"It's not you, I'm the one who made the mistake of letting her abuse her power." He let you dry his tears. "I'm so done."

"It's not your fault. Don't say that." You kiss his cheeks. "You're fine now, I'm not letting her or anyone hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable." You hugged him. Promising you'll never let him feel that way again.

[biblical-chronicles]

More than enough

___________________________________________________

where Liam reassures the reader that she's perfect just the way she is.

___________________________________________________

The apartment hummed with a peculiar kind of stillness, the kind that crept in when Liam wasn’t around. This morning, he’d been his usual whirlwind self—grabbing a jacket, tossing a half-empty mug into the sink, and muttering, “Won’t be long, love,” before pressing a quick kiss to your temple and rushing out the door.

It was hours ago. And though you were used to Liam’s unpredictable sense of time, the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly in his absence. The flat felt quieter, smaller, almost achingly so.

To distract yourself, you’d taken up little tasks—things you normally ignored or left half-finished. The dishes were washed and dried, the laundry folded neatly, and the cushions on the couch had been fluffed within an inch of their lives. Still, the gnawing ache of missing him lingered, making you hyperaware of the empty space around you.

By the door, you spotted the morning’s post: a stack of glossy magazines that had been slid through the letterbox earlier. Most were tabloid nonsense, full of ridiculous gossip and scandal. Normally, you’d toss them straight into the recycling bin without a second glance, but today, you figured they’d give you something to do.

With the stack balanced under one arm, you opened the door to take the rubbish out first, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as you stepped outside. The quiet hum of passing cars and distant chatter filled the air, but none of it eased the growing restlessness in your chest.

Back inside, you set the magazines down on the coffee table and started sorting through them. Most were exactly what you expected: pages upon pages of vapid celebrity rumors and cheap exaggerated headlines. You were halfway through the pile when a familiar face caught your eye.

Liam.

He stared back at you from the cover, his eyes piercing even in print, his trademark smirk tugging at his lips. The headline screamed, “Rock’s Last Great Rebel: Liam Gallagher Speaks Out.” You couldn’t help but smile at its ridiculousness.

You picked up the magazine, flipping quickly to the spread with your boyfriend on it. The photos stopped you in your tracks. They’d captured him perfectly: the effortless confidence in his posture, the fire in his gaze, the slight curl of his lips that made it impossible to look away. Every inch of him radiated the charisma that made him who he was, and you felt a rush of pride.

That was your boyfriend.

But as you lingered on the glossy images, an uneasy feeling began to unfurl in the pit of your stomach. You glanced at the surrounding pages, full of beautiful people with sculpted features and following all of the impossible beauty standards. Even the advertisements seemed to mock you, featuring models with flawless skin, toned bodies, and expensive clothes.

Your gaze dropped to yourself—bare feet tucked under you, dressed in a soft, oversized shirt and shorts. Comfortable, sure. But glamorous? Hardly.

The thoughts crept in, unwelcome and persistent. Liam was magnetic, a man who could have anyone he wanted; women with perfect hair and perfect bodies; women who didn’t have stretch marks or a soft stomach; women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers beside him, not curled up on his couch in lounge wear.

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the doubts. Liam loved you, didn’t he? He told you so constantly, in words and actions alike. Still, the voice in the back of your mind whispered cruelly: What if you’re not enough?

The magazine slid from your hands, landing on the coffee table with a dull thud. You stared at it for a moment before leaning back against the couch, your chest tightening. It felt silly to cry about something so irrational, but the tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting. You clutched a throw pillow to your chest, burying your face into it as quiet sobs wracked your body.

Time passed in a blur, the exhaustion of crying soon caught up with you, and your breathing slowed as sleep claimed you. Curled up on the couch, the soft light from the setting sun cast a warm glow across the room, the magazine lying forgotten on the table.

The sound of keys jingling broke the stillness of the apartment as Liam pushed the door open, his presence filling the space almost immediately. His boots clattered against the floor as he kicked them off, the casual chaos of his arrival unmistakably him. Tossing his jacket over the back of a chair without care, he called out, his Mancunian drawl echoing through the quiet.

“Darling? Where are you?”

He paused, expecting the usual shuffle of your footsteps or the warm sound of your greeting. But the flat remained eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“Where’s me girl, then?” he muttered to himself, his tone lighter, but his brows furrowing ever so slightly as he wandered further into the flat.

The living room came into view, and there you were, curled up on the couch. His steps slowed, his posture softening as he took you in. A fond smile tugged at his lips. You looked peaceful, your head resting against a throw pillow, one arm draped protectively around it like it was the key to your dreams. The golden hues of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over you, illuminating the delicate curve of your cheek and the soft rise and fall of your chest.

For a moment, he simply watched, his heart swelling. He always marveled at how you could look so effortlessly beautiful, even in the middle of a nap.

“Proper angel, you are,” he whispered to himself.

But as he was starting to turn to let you rest, something caught his eye—faint, dark smudges under your eyes, thin trails of mascara streaked down your cheeks. His stomach twisted and his carefree grin faded, replaced by worry.

“Oi, love,” he murmured sitting carefully on the edge of the couch. He leaned closer, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face with featherlight touches. “What’s all this, then?”

The gentleness of his voice pulled you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his. For a brief moment, there was only confusion as you registered the world around you. Then, your gaze landed on him, his face filled with concern.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice thick and heavy with sleep.

“Hey, yerself,” he replied, his brow knitting as he studied you. “Why’ve you been skrikin’, eh? What’s goin’ on?”

“I wasn’t,” you lied, your voice shaky as you quickly wiped at your cheeks, trying to erase the evidence.

Liam gave you a look—a mixture of disbelief and gentle reproach, the kind that said, I know you too well for that. His eyes flicked to the coffee table, where the magazine lay open, its glossy pages splayed out like a beacon. He picked it up, swiftly flipping through the pages until he saw himself staring back.

A grin tugged at his lips, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment. “Bloody hell,” he said, holding the page up for you to see. “You been skrikin’ over these pictures of me? Can’t blame ya, really. Look at this face. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escaped your lips, but it quickly dissolved into a fresh wave of tears. Before Liam could tease you further, you leaned into him, your face burying itself in the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. His hand rested against the back of your head, his other arm snug around your waist. “What’s all this about? You’re gonna drown me at this rate, love.”

You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled but still audible. It took a moment for you to compose yourself, your words barely above a whisper as you finally choked out, “What if I’m not enough for you?”

Liam stiffened slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears as his brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Not enough?” he repeated, his voice soft but incredulous. “Are you mad? Where’s all this comin’ from?”

You gestured vaguely toward the magazine, your voice cracking. “Just look at them. All those girls… they’re perfect. And I’m just… me.”

His gaze followed your gesture to the magazine before snapping back to you. He stared for a moment, his expression unreadable, then let out a low, incredulous chuckle.

“Right,” he said, grabbing the magazine and flipping through it with exaggerated flair. “Let’s have a look, then.”

“Liam—” you began, but he cut you off.

“No, no. We’re sortin’ this right now.” He jabbed a finger at the interview section. “Here. Read this.”

“I don’t want to,” you mumbled, your eyes glistening again.

“Love,” he said, his tone softening as he nudged the magazine toward you. “Trust me, yeah? Just give it a read.”

Reluctantly, you took it, your eyes scanning the lines where he’d pointed. You froze as the words sunk in.

“Me missus? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Beautiful inside and out, proper angel. Dunno where I’d be without her, probably long gone in a ditch somewhere”

Tears welled up again, but they were different this time—warmer, fuller. You set the magazine aside, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“See?” he said, his voice a soothing balm against your frayed nerves. “Don’t be thinkin’ daft stuff like that, yeah? You’re it for me, love. No one else comes close, in any department”

Unable to hold back, you surged forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts gratitude and love. He kissed you back just as fiercely, his hands resting on your waist as if grounding you to him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured against his lips.

“Nowt to be sorry about,” he replied, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Just don’t forget how bloody amazing you are. Not quite as amazing as me, mind,” he added with a cheeky grin, “but close.”

“Liam!” you laughed, smacking him lightly with a pillow before he could say more.

“Oi, careful,” he teased, pulling you back into his arms. “Don’t ruin the moment, love.”

Liam wasn’t about to let you out of his sight for the rest of the evening, he quickly planted another reassuring kiss on your temple, and pulled you onto his lap, his arms locking you securely in place.

“Right,” he said, grinning up at you, “you’re stayin’ here, missy. No more of this ‘not enough’ nonsense, yeah?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I've got much choice. Seems like I’m stuck now.”

“Good,” he quipped, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “That’s exactly where I want ya.”

The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, each gentle motion like a silent vow to keep you grounded and adored. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then another to your nose, before smirking.

“You’re lucky I’m generous,” he teased, “doin’ all this work, showerin’ ya with affection.”

“Oh, is that what this is? Work?” you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He gasped in mock offense. “You doubt my dedication? Do you know how many lasses out there would kill for this treatment? Top-tier, it is.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m sure they would.”

“‘Course they would,” he said, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your jaw as he spoke. “But I’m here, ain’t I? With you. The only one worth me time.”

Your cheeks flushed, and before you could respond, he started peppering your face with kisses—light, playful, and entirely relentless.

“Liam!” you squealed, squirming as his stubble tickled your skin.

“Oi, quit wigglin’. I’m tryin’ to make a point!” he protested, his voice full of laughter as he tightened his hold on you. “This is serious business, this. Proper love declaration.”

“Serious, is it?” you said, breathless from laughter.

“Dead serious,” he replied, his tone dipping into something softer as he pressed his lips to your temple. “Love you, darlin'. Properly.”

Your heart swelled, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I love you too, Liam,” you murmured, the words coming out so naturally they felt like breathing.

He tilted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you knew so well. “Well, I should hope so, after all this effort I’m puttin’ in.”

You playfully smacked his shoulder, and he feigned a wince. “Oi, you’re brutal. I’m just tryin’ to sweet-talk ya, and here you are, roughin’ me up.”

“Oh, poor you,” you teased, leaning back slightly to look at him.

“Yeah, poor me,” he echoed dramatically, pulling you even closer. “Guess I’ll just have to keep kissin’ ya till you make it up to me.”

And he did, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, the kind that made time seem irrelevant. His fingers continued their gentle patterns on your arm, grounding you in the moment, as if to say, I’m here. You’re mine.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his grin softening into something more earnest. “You’re stuck with me, y’know,” he said. “Forever, if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

“Forever sounds good,” you replied, your voice a quiet promise.

___________________________________________________

There y’go, another request done and dusted—proper miracle worker, me, aren’t I? Hope you lot liked this sweet little Liam number, yeah? xx

And to anyone in me inbox with requests, I see ya, don’t worry. Gonna tackle this batch first, but I’ll sort you all out soon. Keep ’em comin’, honestly—stick anything in there, I'm always buzzin to hear summat from all me girlies. Mad love for ya x

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Unless I missed something, it seems you don't have anything about Rita Skeeter in your HP masterposts (other than "what if JKR was Rita").

I'm wondering what you think of her? I feel like I barely even remember her in canon, but fanfic uses her for everything under the sun.

You know, I think you're right anon.

Generally, she's unscrupulous as hell and will do nearly anything to chase down a story regardless of the devastation it may cause an individual (see her roasting a 14-year-old girl in a national paper to people who otherwise would never have heard of Hermione Granger but then only knew her as WHORE, including Mrs. Weasley who for a year thought Hermione was a gold digger), incredibly hard working and ambitious, very thorough with her sources, and has an unfortunate tendency to be... not wrong a lot of the time.

Say what?

Yes, I know, I know, she uses the quotes quill which is clearly intended to exaggerate a person's reactions to whatever she's saying (and infuriate them so they'll say more things to her face while they're flustered) but the woman is meticulous with her sources.

The Dumbledore book was extensively researched, with letter evidence, interviews with everyone Dumbledore had pretty much ever known in his life, and it turns out it's... pretty much... entirely... correct...

We learn that the reason Rita knows all this information she shouldn't is that she's been wiretapping (well, being a bug in a room). And that's the thing, she doesn't make things up, she does put them in the worst/most scandalous way possible (e.g. misconstruing Hermione and Harry's friendship into being romantic and theorizing what Hermione gets out of this relationship) but it's not wholesale made up.

So, I actually like Rita as a character. The woman will ruin you for a story, and is absolutely vicious and manipulative as hell, but she's just so interesting.

(And JKR clearly despises her, to a hilarious degree, Rita represents all of JKR's hatred of the British tabloids in one human form that she calls ugly.)

[dcdreamblog]

As it happens, my birthday is now Gay Marriage Day in the United States, not the present I was looking for that year, but it's interesting. So I tend to have a lot of Pride Month stuff coming up on my various social media around that date--and this year I spotted someone at a Pride Parade I had not seen in ages.

To be precise, Extraño of the New Guardians, who as far as I know was the first "out" gay superhero of the modern era. I distinctly remember seeing on the news years ago that he was dead. So, did he come back from the dead at some point, was he just not actually dead, is this a relative or lookalike? And of course please fill us in on the backstory.

The death of Gregorio de la Vega has been greatly exaggerated, often on purpose, usually for exactly the reason you think.

Born in Trujillo, Peru, de la Vega probably has some amount of Homo Magi blood in him since he was always able to perform minor feats of magic. Until he was chosen by some sort of alien process meant to select the breeding stock for the next, greatest stage in human evolution. They empowered de la Vega, turning him into a potent sorcerer and granting him membership on this new Adam and Eve team, The New Guardians. One problem. Gregorio de la Vega is a gay man.

Very much disinterested in this whole "breeding a better humanity" thing for fairly self evident reasons. He did however, christen himself "Extrano" which is simply Spanish for "Strange", calling to the alienation and otherness he had been made to feel his whole life for how he was born. He was, he IS, the first openly gay superhero to have ever existed.

And his first costume looked like thissss

(A photograph of Extrano, the caption is meant to be encouraging to queer youths. You ARE Strange, so own it" that sort of thing.)

He is noted as speaking with an exaggerated queer affectation, referring to himself as "Auntie" and making himself the sounding board for the other members' romantic frustrations. In short, he was playing up to a stereotype. A positive version of a stereotype, a heroic persona of a stereotype, and yet a stereotype it remained. His costume eventually changed into one that was a lot more...shear. A stereotype of another kind but his affectation didn't change much. Much has been said about this. Whether he was a poor role model for indulging in these affectations, whether he was brave for simply being out at all, this that and the other thing. Here's my opinion...I don't care.

I am not going to sit here in judgment of a man whose mere existence did more for my right to live, and love and thrive comfortably in my own skin and as my own self than I could do with 100 years as dictator of the world. Was he living to an expectation in order to find what amount of acceptance he could in a queerphobic society? Maybe. Was he hiding behind it in fear of not being "gay enough" in a time and place where the idea of what queerness is was very narrow? Maybe. Was the man just honestly like that? MAYBE.

The point I am making is you'd have to ask him because the man is still alive.

He vanished from the public eye for a long time for one simple reason: Like a lot of gay men his age and of his era, Extrano contracted HIV.

The stigma attached to the condition at that time cannot be overstated and so, in seeking treatment, he put his own health first and the clucking of tabloids last. For many years the headline that he had died at a clinic somewhere in Peru, or Singapore, or Mexico, or whatever circulated every six months.

It wasn't until a few years ago when he was called upon that what had become of him was publically known: He had become an incredibly powerful, incredibly respected, incredibly FEARED arch magus. One that went toe to toe with Eclipso on live television when the villain attacked a pride parade, the event that lead to the foundation of the loose group now known as Justice League Queer.

And he looks like thi-

(A head shot of de la Vega taken from the back of his recent memoir "Queer: It Means Strange")

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Da- BONK MAINTAIN PROFESSIONAL DETACHMENT!!!

Point being, the man is alive, and well and in the public eye for the first time in a LONG time. If you want to know who he is or what he thinks, you can read his book, or watch the 8 different TV interviews I was able to find on Youtube.

He's given talks about his queer journey, being gay in Latin America, being gay in Peru specifically, growing up gay in Peru in the 70s and 80s even more specifically. Living with HIV, living with HIV AS a gay man. Being an HIV positive superhero. Being a gay superhero. His treatment, his sudden thrust into being a patriarch for the queer hero community. He has been on a whistle stop tour of every single public event that will hand him a microphone. If you wanna ask this man a question, kick in the door of your nearest gay bookshop and odds are he will be giving a talk at that store when you check!

To answer your "question" when asked about rumors of his death so long circulating he is quoted as saying. "Death is not allowed to kill me until I've had my fun."