#talented tourist

[bewarethecheese]

Just #drawing a new #sketch all about some cool #Disney #Lego sets for #TalentedTourist.

Check out all of the articles and #illustrations right now at https://talentedtourist.com/.

[violent138]

This is such a monumentally stupid thought, but can you imagine Gotham making eager Olympic bids because the city's leadership is always and dependably going in the opposite direction as the needs of its citizens? Mercifully every time a bid is made it is unanimously and immediately shot down as the social media discourse explodes over it, well before any truly costly and insanely time consuming endeavours like walling off the Narrows or cleaning the Gotham harbour can be undertaken.

[maistora]

Hope by Vladimir Dimitroff Via Flickr: We often grumble with fellow musicians of my ('boomer') generation that today's kids don't bother to play instruments and make 'real music', content to 'produce' on laptops from samples and loops (or rap over 'beats')... But each time I see an enthusiastic young band on a stage or in the street (this one's really good - recommended!) - I don't just enjoy the sight and the music, I realise that 'not everything is lost - yet'... ANd that makes me happy :)

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part three)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, fighting (verbal).

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: idk yall, this kinda ate ngl. I’m so proud of this and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I did! <3 also I’m sorry to all the Pedro girlies…I had to. 

part three: uninvited

The past few days seemed to drag on slower than you wished they had. The rest of your time in London was spent doing various interviews centered around your upcoming album release and Ashley dragged you around to every possible tourist attraction around. It was all rather mundane- every interview was the same and every attraction too crowded for your liking. You were being a grump but you were tired and anxious. All the hype around your sophomore album delighted you, truly it did, but the doubts always took up more space in your mind than you cared to admit. With this album, you took a lot of inspiration from the pop girlies of the early 2000s, Britney being the biggest influence. You allowed yourself to explore your sexuality and true self. The songs were erotic in the best way and in just a few weeks, everyone would have access to that side of you. The image you’d been portraying wasn’t that of a ‘soft good girl’ per say but you hadn’t been this open and honest before. It was terrifying. 

You landed at LAX around two in the morning, giving you a few hours of sleep before your 11am meeting. This was one of those times you didn’t mind using the perks of your fame. You had a car waiting to pick Ashley and yourself  up to take you straight home, allowing both of you to get some sleep as the driver fought through the airport traffic. The moment you reached your small house, you threw your luggage across the living room and dropped face down into the couch, falling back into a deep sleep with Ashley right next to you. When your alarms go off at nine am, you’re banging your head into the couch cushions, the seven hours of sleep feeling like a blink. You roll slightly allowing yourself to fall the short distance from the couch onto the floor. “Ow…” You mumble, rubbing the back of your head. Dragging yourself up, you sluggishly made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. It was something you should have done last night. Just thinking about all the germs sitting on your body right now made a quick chill of disgust roll down your spine. You heavily disliked sleeping in your ‘outside clothes’ but the tiredness beat the cleanliness last night. 

Sweat pants and a hoodie weren’t exactly meeting appropriate but it wasn’t anything serious, just a little gathering to figure out some last minute details for the album listening party being thrown for your friends and family. You didn’t want it to be a huge deal but your label saw it as a marketing opportunity. If it were up to you, it would be a simple get together at your house but they insisted on it being at some club that would have paparazzi waiting to take pictures. You aren’t even sure why you're needed at the meeting because your input wasn’t even being considered, you just sat and gave the ‘stamp of approval’. Ashley was still knocked out when you walked to your kitchen to grab a small breakfast- a protein yogurt and some apple slices. You’d much prefer french toast but your trainer has been onto you about your diet with a tour coming up. You needed to be in good shape to dance and sing at the same time, it was ridiculous how hard it was. 

“Hey Ash, imma head out, i’ll be back soon.” You shake her shoulder lighty. She opens her eyes to some degree and mutters, what sounded like, an ‘okay’. You sighed as you started the engine to your 2000 green Toyota Corolla. It had been making a funny noise before your trip overseas that you had forgotten all about it. A lot of your newer, richer, friends have made fun of your car but you couldn’t find reason to part with it. It still ran and got you where you needed to be. You loved your fugly little car. The car ride was surprisingly short, traffic light. Pulling into the office parking lot, you sent a quick text to Stacy. 

You: please tell me you’re here already 😭

Stacypoo <33: I am. 4th floor, take a right. I’ll wait in the hall for you. 

You sent a thumbs up and made your way to the front doors. The elevator ride was quick, luckily you were the only one in there, saving you from making any awkward small talk with some random person. You were too tired to keep up your friendly demeanor. Stacy was standing outside of an office door when you first saw her. Giving quick hellos, she motioned you into the room. 

“How long do you think they’ll have us sitting here this time?” You ask jokingly. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as possible in the cheap plastic chair with a thin cushion on the seat. With your elbows propped up on the table, your head sat heavy with both hands holding up your cheeks. 

She lets out a snort before responding. “Who knows. I swear these people make us wait on purpose as some kind of power move.” 

Stacy had left London a day before you had. The moment your last interview was over, she was jumping on the first flight back home. She looked well rested and put together. You envied her ability to bounce back into routine so quickly. The two of you filled the small room with back and forth conversation about the day in London she had missed. Three people from your management/ label came tumbling in fifteen minutes later. As you suspected, you were doing a whole lot of nothing. 

“The team we hired are allowed to go into the club at noon to start decorating and the party will start at 10pm.” One of the people spoke, you think his name is Mark, but you aren’t completely sure. 

“Will y/n need to be there at a certain time or is 10 fine?” Stacy asks. 

“She can show up at ten but she won’t be in the main room until 10:30 so she can give a speech and introduce the album.” Stacy gives a nod and types that into her laptop. You didn’t like the idea of giving a speech. 

“Okay, let's go over the guest list one more time and then we can wrap this up.” Mark, you think, says. You’re paying closer attention now, they hand you a list and you skim it. There's a lot of names of people who you consider more of an acquaintance than a friend but you can’t really uninvite them. 

“Um, can I actually add two more people to this list?” You ask and Mark nods. Stacy is giving you a questioning look. 

“Can you add Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman? I um.. I met them the other day and they said they were fans. It would be cool to have them there.” You smile and from the corner of your eye, you can see Stacy pursing her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. One of the other people in the room, not Mark, adds their names to the guest list. Stacy and Mark talk for a few more minutes before the meeting is coming to a close. Once Stacy and yourself are enclosed in the elevator, she’s looking over at you with a lopsided grin, shaking her head slowly. 

“What?” You give her a small chuckle, feeling extra giddy. 

“You're unbelievable. Why even extend the invite to Mr. Reynolds when all you want is to see Huge Jackman.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the play on Hugh’s name. 

“So not true. They like my music, why not invite them to hear the album before anyone else?” You deny her accusations. 

“Whatever you say y/n.” She drags out the ‘ever’ a little too long to emphasize just how much she doesn’t believe a word you say. The elevator is opening and the walk to the parking lot is silent. Stacy bids you goodbye and says that she would be in touch soon before she’s walking away. 

“Wait! Stacy!” You call out to her and she’s turning back to you.  “I need you to track down Hugh’s number, I want to personally invite him.” You smirk and she’s just shaking her head in a joking manner. 

“Byeee Stacypoooo!” 

—

When you got home, Ashley was awake and watching tv on your couch. You sat with her and talked about everything you had learned at the meeting. She was more excited for the event than you were, it was her type of scene. You knew you'd end up having fun once you were there but you were nervous. You might have left out the fact that you had invited Ryan and Hugh as last minute guests- it was something she could find out the day of if they showed up. She left not too long after, leaving you to pick up your home a little bit. You cleaned it pretty thoroughly before leaving the country but you felt a little overwhelmed by the unpacked luggage that sat in the middle of your living room floor. You packed too much clothing for the short trip, a lot of what was in the suitcase never even got worn. You decided to throw it all in the washer anyway. Dirtys clothes touching clean clothes makes them all dirty in your mind. In the middle of moving your laundry into the washing machine, your phone quacked signaling that Stacy had messaged you. She earned her own notification sound after the endless mixed texts and calls over the first few months of her working for you. It was a terrible habit you had, not answering your phone, but you usually paid attention to it when you were expecting contact. You pressed start on the machine and sauntered over to the kitchen counter your phone sat on. 

Stacypoo <33: the deed is done…have fun loser 

There was a second text that contained a number to which you assumed was Hugh’s. You smiled brightly as you texted Stacy a quick ‘thank you, love you’ text with a million heart emojis. You wasted no time, immediately creating contact for the man you were so eager to see again. 

You: hey hugh, it’s y/n! my label is throwing a listening party for my album that’s coming out soon and I thought it would be really cool if you were there. no pressure to come if you don’t want to but it’s on september 14th at Disco Lights at 10pm. 😊💕

You hit send, put your phone back on the counter, and ran across your house, needing to be as far away from the device as possible. Keeping yourself busy was probably your best option right now, so that’s what you did. You continued where you left off by putting your suitcases back into the storage closet in your hallway. Living alone made you realize how neat of a person you were. Back home it felt like you were constantly cleaning but you didn’t have to do as much in your own home. It was a simple three bedroom with one and a half bathrooms. Two of the three rooms weren’t used that frequently- one being a guest bed and the other being an at home studio/ office. The most you had to do was an occasional dust and sweep. You ran out of things to do too quickly. It had maybe been an hour since you sent the text and you were too nervous to even take a peek at your phone yet. You walked over to the counter comically slow and stared down at the phone screen, too afraid to look at the notifications. There were only three outcomes to this situation- one he doesn’t respond, two he can’t come, or three he agrees to come. You were hoping it was the latter option. The worst outcome was him ignoring you, you hated being ignored. It would also overall be the awkwardest outcome because his team will more than likely extend the invite to him as well. Maybe it would have been easier that way but you really wanted an excuse to get his number and talk to him. 

It felt like eternity had passed before you finally grabbed your phone, but in reality it was probably only a minute, you’ve never had the best self restraint. You unlocked it, opening the home screen, not even bothering to look at the pile of notifications, instead opting to go straight into the message app. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Hey y/n. I’d be delighted to come. 😁

You let out a loud screech after reading the message. If you were laying down, you’d be kicking your feet in the air and twirling your hair. You knew he was old but the way he texted did something to you. It was weird but the simplicity in his words was such a turn on. Everything about him turned you on, he was sex on legs, and he was coming to your party. You checked the time he sent the message to see that he responded only ten minutes after you had sent yours. You felt bad for leaving him hanging for so long. 

You: YAY!! I’ll see you there 😘

The added kiss was bold and flirty, you’d hope he would see it as such. You wanted to continue texting him but didn’t want to bother him, so you left it up for him to decide to text you back or not. Just as you were about to swipe out of the app, three little dots popped up at the bottom of the screen. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: What should I wear? I haven’t been to a club in awhile. 

You: wear whatever you want. I'm sure you’d look good in anything ;)

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Thank you sweetheart. I genuinely do need help though. I’m too old to pick out club clothes. 😂

You: hmmm.. if it would help I could send you a picture of my outfit? maybe it will inspire you 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah we can try that. 

Ashley begged you to go shopping with her the moment you told her about the event and you both have had outfits picked out for a few weeks. When you got home that day, you put on the outfit, snapping a quick mirror picture to send to your hair and makeup artist so she could start brainstorming. You opted to send the same picture to Hugh. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Oh! That’s nice. 

You laughed at that. The picture of you wasn’t the best quality but you still looked hot. You were wearing a silver mini skirt that was lined with large sequins, ones that reminded you of a purse you had when you were younger. The top was a silver latex halter top that made your cleavage look devine. To top the look off, you wore a pair of shiny silver heels that could almost be classified as stilettos, but you wanted to be able to move around comfortably. You could have easily pulled the outfit out of your closet and snapped a picture of it but you wanted to tease him.

You: thank you! did that help at all? 😊

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah, it did... Thank you sweetheart. 

You: no problem! 

He didn’t respond right away this time and being the menace you are, you were hoping it was because you made him flustered. 

—

The two and half weeks leading up to the listening party seemed to drag on now that you were more excited for it. Now that Hugh was coming, you were also extra nervous. While you got your hair and makeup done, all you could think about was how everyone was about to hear about your sex fantasies for almost an hour straight. You were counting on the beat of the music and the fact that this was everyone's first listening to distract them from processing the lyrics right away. You hadn’t heard much from Hugh and you were scared that you might have offended him with the picture you had sent. You decided to send a text two days ago asking if he was still planning on coming, to which he replied positively. 

Butterflies danced around your tummy as you posed for a few pictures before you went out to join the party. You could hear it in full swing, a playlist that you had curated playing in the background. Breathing in and out slowly, someone handed you a microphone and you were being ushered to a small stage that sat in the back of the club. The music got turned down and the lights centered towards you, a wave of quiet flooded the room. 

“Hi everyone! I’m beyond thankful for everyone here tonight. This album has been so much fun to make and I feel like it really represents me as an artist. It pays tribute to the amazing women of the late 90s and early 2000s who changed the pop game and who inspired me to make music. I really hope y’all like it! Without further ado, here is ‘Secret Sounds’!” The gathering of your friends, family, and acquaintances cheer as the first song starts to play. You rush over to the side to hand the mic back to the crew member and you begin to make your rounds. You stop here and there, speaking to people you hardly know, thanking them for being here. The club was packed, making it hard to move around without stopping to talk every step you took. There were only a few people you really wanted to see right now. A smile is glued to your face, soaking in all the love in the room, with it only being partially forced. You can see Ashley across the crowd and you start making your way towards her. You don’t make it far before there's a hand on your shoulder stopping you. 

“Hey baby.” A familiar voice comes from behind you causing your smile to drop as you turn around. 

“Pedro…what are you doing here?” You ask with a mix of shock and irritation in your voice. 

“You invited me, remember?” He’s smiling as if he hadn’t broken up with you in the cruelest way almost two months ago. 

“I thought you’d be smart enough to take the breakup and me ignoring you as being uninvited.” You roll your eyes. 

“Don’t be like that baby.” He’s smiling down at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. He reaches down to grab your waist but you step back before he can. 

“Don’t touch me!” You say louder than anticipated but no one’s paying attention to you over the loud music. “You broke up with me, remember?” You’re thoroughly pissed off. 

“I know, baby and  I regret it everyday. I want you back y/n. I need you back…” He’s reaching for you again, you step back again. 

“I said don’t touch me..” You don’t yell this time. You need to get away from him. This was supposed to be your night and he’s ruining it. You go to turn around but you’re stopped by a very hard object.

“Is everything okay over here?” A gruff voice asks and you feel two hands grab either side of your arms. “Are you okay?” You look up to see Hugh looking down at you, concern in his eyes. 

“Hugh..” Your voice is weak and breathless. 

“Oh don’t tell me you already moved on?” Pedro lets out, anger lining his words. “What is he, your boyfriend? I wasn’t old enough for you y/n? You had to run and fuck my friend?” His voice grows louder and louder but miraculously no one seems to notice the commotion. 

“He’s not my boyfriend…” You mumble, too embarrassed by the situation. 

“What’s it to you? Huh? Why don’t you mind your business and leave.” Hugh’s voice matches Pedro’s energy effortlessly. He lets go of your arms and instead points an angry finger at Pedro. 

“You know what, I don't need this and I don’t need you.” Pedro says looking into your eyes with a malicious stare. “Good luck with her, she’s nothing but a good fuck and trouble.” He’s walking away before either of you could answer. You felt Hugh go to move towards the directions Pedro went but you stop him by putting your hand on his chest. 

“Don’t…” You whisper and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the music. Tears were starting to pool at the bottom of your eyes, threatening to escape. 

“Are you okay y/n?” Hugh asks and that’s all it takes before you let out a soft sob. He puts his hand under your chin and is lifting your head. “Let's get you out of here, is that okay?” All you can do is nod. You grab his hand and walk towards the hallway that leads to the room you got ready in. You open the door and make your way to the couch that sits along the wall. Hugh follows behind, closing the door and takes a seat close to you but not too close. He doesn’t say anything, what could he say?

“I’m sorry.” You let out, tears still falling. You pull your knees up, trying to hide the tears from Hugh, even if he already knew they were there. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” He cautiously places a hand on your back and rubs it in soft circles, soothing you. You untuck your head for a moment. 

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” You frown at him. 

“What he did is not your fault. Okay?” You can’t find the energy to answer him right away, not sure if you truly believe his words, but you nod anyway. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” Sadness fills your voice.

“What? Why not?” He asks confusingly. 

“Everyone is going to think what Pedro thought, that you’re my boyfriend. We shouldn’t be seen together. It won’t be good for you.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that sweetheart. Whatever we are is our business, nobody else's. I want to be seen with you, I'm here to support you. I don’t care what people have to say. I’m not him.” His hand stopped moving around your back, eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

I’m not him

You don’t respond but you do feel better about the whole situation. You can hear the fourth song of your album playing and you get hit with another rush of sadness. 

“I should probably go back out there, people will start to wonder where I am.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Stay right here.” Hugh stands up and grabs a tissue, wetting it slightly by pouring a few drops of water from a water bottle onto it. He walks over and bends down, sitting on his knees right in front of you. Even at this angle, his head is still resting above yours. Hugh grabs your chin lightly and begins to dab the tissue, wiping your tears away. You can feel the heat from the air leaving his nose hitting your face. It’s comforting in a way.

“There we go, good as new.” He says with a big smile. Your faces are inches away from each other and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him in. 

“Thank you Hugh. For everything.” You return his smile, eyes locked onto his. You took a moment to appreciate his appearance. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray, almost silver button up, as if he tried to match with you. 

“Don’t mention it sweetheart” He stands up and offers his hand to you. “Now let’s get the star of the show back out there, yea?” 

You grab his hand and smile. “Do I look okay?” You ask, afraid that your disheveled state might have ruined your hair or outfit somehow. You pull him towards a mirror to check your full appearance, a firm grip still on his hand. It engulfed yours beautifully. 

“You look gorgeous.” You can tell he means it by the look in his eyes and the small smile that sits on his face. You see a flicker of something in his eyes, you don't fully catch it, but before you can think it over, he’s leaning down to leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Let’s go.” He says pulling you out of the room and back into the sea of people, never letting go of your hand.

Thank you for reading!!

part four

series taglist: @chronicallybubbly @spideybv28 @pear-1206 @robertthehoover @reidsworld @bloody-bunni666 @quillycrow @kythefangirl25 @bluetimeombre @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @thewiselionessss @annagraceevanss @peterparkernotfound @rogueinmymind @samsamsantos @wolviesgirl @white-wolf-buckaroo @weskerussy @marvelgirlie-4 @honey-ros3ss @nonamevenus @nizem8 @chaimshelii @rockerchick05 @starryeddie @saylak @haytchee @godlypresley

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[wndaswife]

saving room for dessert | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Dinner with the new neighbours sets you on edge due to the repeated subtle passes made at your wife. You reestablish your ownership over Wanda in the kitchen while your guests wait for dessert in the dining room.

Word count: 6864

Tags | MDNI: smut, domestic fluff, humour, jealousy, possessiveness, reader has a penis, handjobs, brief thigh fucking, daddy kink, degradation, but way more praise, what is the word for almost getting caught fucking in the room beside the dinner guests??, sub!wanda maximoff

A/N: the corny alliteration of vision and virginia's name was not my doing it is based on his comic series ndskjfnkjfn

The town of Westview was a rather quiet one, though both you and your wife really loved the neighbourhood community, for it was friendly and close-knit. When you first moved into Westview together, it was because Wanda’s job had relocated her to somewhere further than where you had previously lived, and close to the charming town that was alike to the kind you had always talked about living in together.

Both of you were delighted to find that the people of Westview were welcoming and kind, and that there were frequently tourists that made the small town buzz with life, for Westview’s small-town charm along with its infamous preservation of its older architecture and landscape was a sight that many of those from the more bustling areas of New Jersey enjoyed visiting.

Though Westview had a tightly-knit community and a steady flow of cheerful tourists, it was rather uncommon for the small town to get new people moving in, so when one of the new neighbours ended up working alongside Wanda, the two of you were rather eager to get to know them — a long-time married couple with two children who’d graduated from college and were now living elsewhere.

After about two weeks of scheduling between the four of you, dinner that had long been spoken about was finally happening at yours and Wanda’s. 

You were looking forward to it, for Wanda spoke quite highly of the wife, who she described as an extremely kind and funny woman. You had spoken with her a few times too, but only by chance like under casual circumstances when you were bringing in groceries with Wanda and she was out gardening. 

Additionally, Virginia, the wife, lived in Russia until she was eight, and though Wanda was Sokovian, the two were able to initially enjoy discussing their Slavic similarities in culture and dialect until they became closer, chatting casually about things from their spouses to Westview. Eventually, conversation led up to Wanda inviting Virginia and her husband, Vision, over for dinner. 

You were looking forward to it, and though Wanda was looking forward to dinner with the neighbours too, she also enjoyed hosting and cooking, and so the kitchen was busy and smelling wonderfully for the last little while as you cooked together. 

Mostly, it was Wanda who took the lead with cooking, but since being married, her talents had rubbed off on you; you could now dice onions at perhaps two-thirds of the speed she could, and Wanda also always says you’re good at cleaning up after her while she cooks.

But also, you really just loved doing things like this with her, when you could just talk about anything, just the two of you, while doing things you could only dream about when the two of you were still only dating, living in a place together that you could also only dream about back then. 

You wrapped your arm around your wife’s waist once she slid the potato dauphinoise into the oven and shut it, pulling her into your body and kissing her forehead. “I love you,” you uttered into her warm skin. 

She held your chin in her hand and angled your face to hers so she was able to kiss your lips. “I love you too,” she replied, smiling sweetly at you. 

Your guests were five minutes early, perhaps to make a good impression, for they could have been exactly on time if they so preferred seeing as though they lived right next door. 

It was you who opened the door as Wanda was finishing up a few things in the kitchen, ensuring the cheesecake you had made earlier was comfortably sitting in the fridge waiting until it was time to serve dessert.

Also, she thought it’d be a good impression for you to greet them first, since you’d yet to meet either of them officially.

Cheesecake was actually your signature greatest achievement in the kitchen aside from nearly — not nearly at all, really, but you like to boast — keeping up Wanda’s onion-chopping. You’d taken the cheesecake recipe from a cookbook, and it was Wanda who adjusted most of the measurements and changed some of the ingredients, but it was you who could make it perfectly.

Well, Wanda could make it perfectly too, and probably better, but she never tried; she liked the way you made it, and gave you recipe credit though it was her who really reconstructed it to be what it tasted like now. But she always says that it was you who found the original recipe, at the end of the day.

Not that any of that would matter to your guests, and maybe it might be a story told over dinner if the topic came up, but it mattered plenty to you and Wanda; you wanted to concoct a special dinner together, preparing dishes with special meaning. Though some of said meanings were not as profound in their history as the cheesecake’s, like how Wanda lathered the dinner rolls in butter a second time halfway through because you liked when the top of the rolls weren’t completely dry by the time they were finished baking.

In any case, the intention was to host a dinner that was friendly and warm, and so the dinner spread was selected with intention.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile, waving a bit awkwardly for no reason at all before ushering them into the foyer and closing the front door behind them. “You must be Virginia — I’ve heard lots about you from Wanda.”

The woman, slightly taller than you and with smooth, soft looking dark hair that ended at the mid-way point of her slender neck, beamed at you as she stepped into the house, her husband following behind her. She took your hand with both of hers, warm fingers caressing your hand gently. “And you must be Y/N. I’ve also heard quite a bit about you from Wanda,” she said, eyes crinkling at their edges as she smiled.

She gestured to her husband, a clean-shaved blonde man with aviators, slightly shorter than his wife but still a bit taller than you. “This is my husband, Vision,” she introduced. “I don’t believe even Wanda’s yet met his acquaintance.”

It was when Vision shifted the lidded ceramic bowl into his other hand to free one in order to shake your hand that you realised he was carrying something. You shook his hand with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said cordially and with a smile.

���Virginia!” Wanda cheerfully greeted as she walked into the foyer, hair fixed up and now without her cooking apron on. They exchanged a hug and Virginia kissed her cheek before introducing Wanda to her husband.

“Thank you for having us,” Virginia said appreciatively. “We’re both thrilled to finally get to know both of you better.”

Wanda replied, sharing a tenderness with Virginia within their met eyes, “You’re very welcome. Y/N and I have been looking forward to tonight all week.”

“Oh,” you interjected softly, realising Vision was still holding his ceramic bowl. “I’m so sorry, let me take this into the dining room for you.”

“In fact, I’ll also take the both of you into the dining room too,” Wanda added lightheartedly. “Let’s get out of the foyer. You can set your shoes down anywhere by the door, and the coat rack’s right here.”

Once wine had been poured and everyone’s plates were served the dinner you and Wanda had made together — pomegranate-brined chicken with white balsamic charred peach, potato dauphinoise, and a medley of some vegetables — you each sat at the dining room table, enjoying your dinner together.

There was conversation about how wonderfully everything tasted, and you were sure to credit Wanda with taking charge in the kitchen, allowing her to talk a little bit about how she prepared the meal and delving into details the couple asked her about, like how she had made the potato dauphinoise so creamy. 

You began to truly enjoy their company for how much they were complimenting your wife.

Until there was Vision’s, You’re a gorgeous woman who can put together an equally as gorgeous dinner spread — Y/N’s hit the jackpot.

“Dinner couldn’t have been done without Y/N,” Wanda assured and then looked at you with a proud smile mostly meant for your eyes, but you weren’t paying as much attention to her as you were scrutinising Vision’s body language after his comment.

It wasn’t… inherently malicious.

But there was something implicative in his wording that made you slightly sceptical of him.

Perhaps in an attempt to… Well, you actually weren’t entirely sure what Virginia was attempting to do when she lightly corrected, “Both Y/N and Wanda have hit the jackpot finding each other. You two seem so perfect for each other. Not to mention, if I might be so blunt, you’re a rather attractive couple.”

Wanda laughed, but in the way she regarded Virginia’s expression for just an additional moment before looking back down to her plate to respond with something humble and bashful, you knew she was also curious about the other couple’s compliments.

“I moved the wine around!” you tried, intentionally poorly, to call after Wanda when conversation came around to discussing the different wines you had, resulting in Wanda leaving to go get one the opposite couple loved. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t believe I’ve yet told her how I reorganised down there.”

As you headed down the hallway, you inhaled and exhaled thoroughly to untie the uneasy kink in your stomach, sure to keep your shoulders still so your tenseness wasn’t obvious to your guests who could still see your back until you headed downstairs to where the wine was kept, for their comments hadn’t stopped since the first time.

Wanda looked over her shoulder at you when you descended the stairs and she straightened from looking around at the selection. “Baby, do we still have the Pinot Grigio they were asking about?” she asked, hands on her hips as she leaned back a bit and ran her eyes over the selection on the wall in front of her.

“Are they swingers or something?” you asked as you approached, placing a hand atop Wanda’s hand on her hip as you reached around her and took the white from the wall to her left.

“Oh, you moved them,” Wanda noted, thanking you when you handed it to her. 

You stood beside her in front of the wine rack and repeated your question, looking up at the closed basement door before asking again. “Are they swingers?”

“What?” Wanda looked up from surveying the wine, looking confused. “What are swingers?” 

Clarifying, you replied, “Couples who sleep with other couples.”

“Them?” she asked incredulously and laughed. You took that as a ‘no,’ then looked over at the basement door curiously as if you could see them through it, ruminating over their comments. Then Wanda was silent and unmoving and you looked at her as she was tapping her fingers against the glass of wine, seemingly in deep thought of her own. “Well… Come to think of it…”

“Wanda!” you hissed. “You invited swingers over to our place for dinner!”

“I didn’t know!” she answered. “I just thought… Virginia talks about her sex life often and I suppose there are some times that she’s alluded to… to swinging about with other couples—”

“It sounds weird when you use that term like that — just say sleeping with,” you interrupted.

Your wife gave you a look and you cracked a tiny amused smile before she continued. “Anyway, yes, I suppose they’re swingers. I didn’t know!”

With your arms crossed, you tapped your fingers against your upper arm in thought, and Wanda supposed you were thinking of how to converse with them now that you both knew they were swingers. But instead you asked hesitantly, meeting Wanda’s eyes, “Are you… interested in that?”

Wanda scoffed. “Y/N, no. Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied. You surveyed her face for a moment longer and she fully turned her body to face you. “You really think I want to sleep with other couples?”

“No, I don’t, but we’ve never had the conversation before, so it’s possible that you’ve had it on your mind before, even in passing.”

She assured, “I do not want to sleep with anyone else but you.” It was almost funny to hear those words come out of her if you thought about it with no context, but context given, it was really a relief to you. “I’m entirely satisfied with only us, and the thought of being with anyone else disturbs me greatly. I’m not offended that you asked just to make sure, but the idea of being with another couple, or anyone but you, has never been anything that I’ve entertained. Y/N, I didn’t even know what swinging was until a moment ago.”

“Okay?” she checked in, her voice soft, letting her other hand with the wine hang by her hip while she stepped towards you and cupped your cheek with a warm hand. “I really didn’t know — and not even subconsciously, if you’re thinking that.”

“Okay,” you confirmed and smiled at her, causing Wanda to smile at you in response. She leaned forward and kissed you.

When she pulled away, she met your eyes and your chest warmed when Wanda’s smile crinkled the sides of her eyes. Her thumb rubbed against your chin adoringly. “I’m unsure how we ought to go about signalling a lack of interest in having sex with them,” she told you.

“Just a lack of reciprocation, maybe?” you suggested, and at that, you perked up at the recollection of their commentary that you now knew was flirtatious. “Wanda, if Vision calls you gorgeous one more time, I’ll fuck you over the dining table monogamously in front of them — I’m serious. It’s driving me crazy. He’s right, but to know they’re both just thinking of how much more gorgeous you’d be if we were all having sex is rather startling.”

It wasn’t that they weren’t making subtle passes at you too, but since Wanda was far more communicative and talkative, it was natural that their efforts to become closer circulated your wife far more than it did you.

Wanda laughed and pushed at your shoulder playfully, her head thrown back slightly. “You’re such a freak,” she said. She took your hand and you headed out of the basement together. “It’s okay. Now that we’ve spoken about it together, I’m sure it’ll be much less awkward since we know they’re swingers. It likely won’t be a problem until they bring it up, and then we can clarify that we’re not interested.”

The plan was more than simple, but it failed to consider how agitated you were becoming, little comments now seeming much larger now that their intentions were clarified between you and your wife. 

It was things from Virginia noting how you seemed to be the one to ‘take charge’ in the marriage, to asking outright how often the two of you had sex, about children and the possibility of them, and plenty of other things that were likely of no consequence but seemed irritating to you because you were simply irritated. 

Mostly, it was Virginia’s comments that were permitted to be slightly more vulgar as it was she who asked about yours and Wanda’s sex life, for she was now more than only work friends with your wife, and she’d shared much about her own intimate tendencies with Vision before. 

The conversations about sex weren’t crude, and mostly they were merely jokes, but knowing the intentionality behind them now made them far more than that.

But it was about more than references to sex; there were comments made about how both you and Wanda were such a perfect couple, how well you worked together and how kind you were — observations upon observations about how you and Wanda were within your marriage.

It seemed they had standards, at least.

And truly, Virginia and Vision were kind people and you would thoroughly enjoy having them as neighbours as soon as it was made clear that you and Wanda weren’t interested in sleeping with them.

What irritated you wasn’t necessarily all about them and their commentary, for they knew not that you and Wanda weren’t interested, and anyways, if Virginia had been alluding to being a swinger along with her husband on several occasions, this dinner might very well be interpreted by them as interest.

So you didn’t necessarily dislike them.

It was all true that you and Wanda made a wonderful pair and that Wanda was gentle and so generous, and that she was beautiful and all the things that had been said about her tonight. 

She was very funny too when she wanted to be, and had great taste in movies and all her clothes always sat so well on her shoulders, and her hair was always so soft and the crook of her neck was always very warm, and her fingers were gentle and curious when she had them wrapped around you, and she was so delicate when she slept, and her elbows were a nice shape, though you don’t think you ever told her what you thought about her elbows — all this Virginia and Vision didn’t know, but for whatever reason, you thought so much about it all.

And for another inexplicable reason, it was rather related to how irritated you were.

“Y/N and I have been married for two and a half-ish years now,” Wanda said in response to a question you weren’t listening to, placing her hand on your thigh. You looked over at her and she smiled at you sweetly. 

You’d only said a few things in the last few minutes, little comments and visible reactions to show that you were engaged in the conversation, but nothing majorly contributory. You looked to the side in brief thought then said, “Two years and… seven months.” 

With a second more to think, you also added, “Three days.”

Wanda thought that was funny, but also sweet, and her smile widened, perking up her ears slightly as her smile grew. She squeezed your knee and pulled her hand away to take a sip of wine. “Indeed — two years, eight months, and three days.”

“If we feel so inclined to place trust in my math,” you joked modestly.

You watched as Wanda conversed further with your guests, watching the way she laughed and how she looked over at you often to see your reactions to things or to just make eye contact with you. Specifically, you liked when she looked at you while she was laughing to see if you were also laughing, to share in that joy with you.

As you watched your wife between sips of wine, there was a rupture of adrenaline that came over you. All that you’d been thinking of about Wanda wasn’t some abstract concept about some idea of Wanda — they were all about the woman you loved, the woman who loved you, the woman you were married to.

The woman who was yours, and who’d only ever be yours, as you were hers.

The thought warmed you and made you feel delighted, but your cheeks felt warm and the wine warmed your throat and chest in such a pleasant way, and suddenly, you needed Wanda then and there like you knew you had her.

“Are we all ready for dessert?” Wanda asked, looking around at the table to see everyone’s plates empty with their silverware to the side. 

When Vision confirmed for both himself and Virginia, Wanda said, “Y/N’s made a wonderful cheesecake for the occasion. She can be quite the chef.” Her praise made you feel a bit bashful and you smiled at her gratefully.

Virginia expressed excitement for dessert while you and Wanda collected the empty plates to bring to the kitchen, letting them know it’d be a few minutes.

You followed behind Wanda as she headed down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dishes were thoroughly emptied and rinsed before being placed into the sink while Wanda carefully took the cheesecake out of the fridge.

“Can you take this?” she asked, holding the cake out to you. You took it from her and placed it on the island counter at the centre of the kitchen. “I think I’ll slice some fresh fruit and arrange it nicely on top. I didn’t want to do it before it was served or it wouldn’t be fresh.”

You were listening, but not quite taking in what she was saying. You watched her closely as she took out some fruits and honey from the fridge and brought it to the counter before taking out the cutting board. She tucked loose hair behind her ears and pushed her sleeves up.

Her neck was exposed and you felt the urge to smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her skin against the tip of your nose.

You stepped forward so your pelvis was pressed against her hip, an arm wrapped around her waist as you pulled her close and ducked your head beyond the strands of her hair, burying your nose in her neck. She tipped her head to the side, allowing you room to kiss up her neck.

You felt the vibrations of her laugh against your lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I need you,” you answered briefly, using your other hand to tug her sleeve down slightly and expose some of her shoulder so you could kiss there too. There was no response from her aside from a soft hum, and you knew it had been on her mind too. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it; all their implications have made me think of you all night.”

“And that constitutes you needing me now?” she asked, turning her head to look down at your face along the slope of your nose and forehead seeing as your face was still half-buried within the crook of her neck. “I would have thought you’d be too busy brooding.”

She was trying half-heartedly to taper your desire, but the soft inflection in her voice told you she’d certainly felt the same thrum you’d been feeling too.

“I was busy with far more important things.” You wrapped your fingers around her wrist carefully and led her hand down to between your hips, and in spite of her hesitation, Wanda’s fingers wrapped delicately around you through your pants. Your hips immediately bucked into her hand.

Wanda inhaled sharply then sighed at the feeling of you. “Y/N…” Your name trembled on her lips. You watched as she swallowed, eyes flickering up at the hallway in front of you both. Her jaw tensed and she looked back down, fingers twitching as she internally fought against her most rational objections.

She bit the inside of her cheek before her hand moved, unbuttoning your pants then unzipping. She met your eyes, her hand pausing momentarily, perhaps wishing you might change your mind suddenly and stop her before she was unable to stop herself. But you said nothing, only meeting her eyes with stubborn conviction.

Your gaze made her cheeks flush a soft pink and Wanda shifted in her spot, pushing her own hips against the edge of the island counter, no doubt feeling her own desire growing. She looked down and tucked her hand past the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down along with your pants until your cock was free.

“I’ve been thinking about having your lips around my cock,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the lobe of her ear. “About the way you groan when I pull out just enough so you can taste the way you make me feel against your tongue before I fuck myself down your throat. I thought about how beautiful your pussy looks when I lay you down and spread your cunt open. I thought about you.”

Her breathing became heavy at the sight of your arousal, seeing how you twitched as you spoke about her. Her hand wrapped around you, her thumb brushing gently over your sensitive tip and eliciting a soft grunt from you.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you cursed from beyond clenched teeth. Your hips twitched forward into her hand and Wanda didn’t wait a moment before giving you the friction you wanted, her hand jerking around you and repressing a moan of her own as she felt you throb and twitch in the warm confines of her palm.

Your arm wrapped around her waist advanced upwards, pulling up some of her shirt and exposing some of her lower stomach as your hand groped at Wanda’s clothed breast.

She let out a soft moan and you watched as she squeezed her thighs together and further pressed her pelvis into the kitchen counter in desperation. Her hand gained speed, ensuring to graze around your tip each time her hand continued its rhythm around you. Her head rested on your shoulder as she watched the way she touched you, watched the way you let her touch you, her breaths shaky as she felt her own desire climb.

But how could you deny your wife mutual pleasure?

You moved the cutting board to the side and Wanda watched as you readjusted things. 

“Y/N, don’t,” she protested quietly. “We can’t.”

Ignoring her, you moved from her side, her hand releasing from around you as you placed your hands on her hips and pressed her against the counter. 

You unbuttoned her pants and watched over Wanda’s shoulder as she watched your hands, her chest rising and falling, gripping the edge of the counter. She was so warm against your body and her perfume smelled so nice. 

You pulled her pants down along with her underwear, allowing you to press your cock against her perfect ass. 

Wanda exhaled a deep, trembling sigh and she leaned forward against the counter. “Y/N,” she weakly protested again, reaching back and trying to swat your hand away. 

Impatient about wanting her to give up her hesitation, you pulled her pants down further below her ass and slotted yourself between her thighs, parting her wet cunt with your dick and brushing your tip against her clit. 

Her head fell back against your shoulder and you felt her thighs squeeze together ever so slightly, nudging you up against her clit. 

“We can’t?” you asked. 

“They’ll…” Wanda braced herself again and straightened her back, knuckles turning white as she pressed the pads of her fingers into the underside of the counter. “They’re in the other room. We’d have to…”

“Be quick?”

She nodded. 

“I can be quick,” you told her. You kissed the corner of her jaw, the hollow part behind her earlobe. “You know I can be quick.”

Your hand slid down her stomach, the heel of your hand brushing against the space between her hips before your fingers found her clit. Carefully, you brushed them against her, feeling the way she twitched her ass back against you, subtly rubbing herself against your cock that was still throbbing between her thighs. 

“Beg me to fuck you.”

Wanda looked over her shoulder at you. “What?” she asked. “I thought you wanted–”

“But you were so adamant that we couldn’t. Now, I’m not so convinced myself,” you said. “You’ll have to beg me.”

“Y/N, please,” she whispered impatiently. 

You gave a quick pinch to her clit and Wanda repressed a yelp as her body jolted against yours. “That’s not how you beg, baby.”

Wanda urged, “We don’t have time.”

“Make time.”

Impatient, you spanked Wanda’s ass lightly and took a handful of the soft flesh, eliciting a sharp inhale from your wife before she sighed out, “Oh, Y/N…”

She reached back, parting from your hips to make enough room for her hand. She wrapped her hand around your cock and stroked it slowly, bending herself over the counter and presenting herself to you obediently. 

“Please, daddy,” she begged. “I want you inside me. I want… I want you. Please. I need you.”

You watched as her desperate hand continued to pleasure you, watched as her back arched as she bent over the counter. You pushed her shirt up her back, eyes running up the delicate curve of her spine and feeling with your palm the smoothness of her soft skin. 

“Are you… Are you going to?” Wanda asked nervously, fully aware of the fact that you had every liberty to pull away and forget all about wanting to fuck her right there and then. She wasn’t exactly meeting your eyes, not that she could at the angle she was looking back over her shoulder at you, but she wasn’t exactly trying to either, for the possibility of you leaving her all desperate and unfucked was all too real.

You hummed in what sounded like consideration, but really, you were just running your eyes down the curve of Wanda’s lower back and the perfect swells of her ass, watching the way she continued to hesitantly stroke you, desperate to please and desperate to have you inside of her.

“How could I deny you, Wanda?” you finally answered, and you saw your wife flush from beyond her mess of loose strands, looking away and at the hallway ahead that led to the dining room. 

“We really have to be quick,” she reminded, letting go of you but not without brushing her thumb over your tip again. 

A hand came to her upper back and flattened her against the kitchen counter, a soft grunt leaving Wanda as was pressed down against the marble. “You really overestimate yourself if you really think it’ll take very long to get you to come,” you mocked, hands hooking under her hips and around her upper thighs, arching her back further and sticking her ass up. 

At the sight of her cunt, you groaned and parted her sticky mess with your thumb and middle finger, brushing your index finger down across her clit. You ran your thumb across her hole, dipping ever so carefully into her before removing your hand to position yourself against her opening.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, “how embarrassed and shy you were every time they mentioned sex or asked about our sex life. Trust me, there were dozens of other things running through my head, but one in particular.”

Wanda gripped at the edge of the counter, taking in a breath as she felt you prod at her opening with your tip, dipping in just enough for her to feel the stretch of your cock sliding into her. “What… What was it?” she asked quietly.

“I wondered why you felt such an urge to act so embarrassed talking about sex when you know what a fucking slut you are,” you gritted out before your hands tightened around her thighs below her hips and pulled her ass back against you so your cock slid into her with a single thrust. 

You leaned forward to grunt against her shoulder, muffling your noises and letting your wife know how good she felt. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good around my dick, angel,” you groaned. “Sweet innocent girls wouldn’t be able to take cock like this, Wanda. You put up a front when you’re with them, but you know how much you love getting your pussy fucked raw by daddy. Isn’t that right?”

Wanda shut her eyes tightly, her moans and yelps being only partially-swallowed as she tried to keep them from escaping past her lips, though it become increasingly difficult as you began thrusting forward, trapping her between the kitchen counter and your hips and forcing her to withstand the entire impact of your brutal fucking.

“Th-That’s right…” she conceded.

“I know it is,” you agreed. “I know it is, because it’s fucking filthy. You’re a filthy slut, baby. You can hear it, can’t you?” You reached down to rub your fingers against your wife’s clit. “You can feel how much it turns you on that you’re all daddy’s, that daddy can fuck you whenever she wants because she owns you.”

Your forehead laid against her shoulder and Wanda reached up to cradle the back of your head with her hand, interlacing her fingers with your hair.

“That’s right. Fucking take it,” you grunted into her ear, feeling yourself growing closer each time Wanda’s walls squeezed around you, listening to her delicate high-pitched yelps every time you pinched her clit or thrusted into her so hard her ass stung with the way your skin slapped against hers. 

Her hips were beginning to become sore with the way they were pressed against the edge of the counter.

“Do any of you need help in there?” Virginia called from the dining room, audibly beginning to head down the hallway to the kitchen. 

“A-Ah, no!” Wanda called back, her attempts at repressing her moans making her response come out slightly more aggressive than she’d wished. “Please don’t! We’re almost finished. Just…” Her head hung as she quickly ran out of excuses, but she couldn’t bring herself to push you away — not when she was so, so close.

Not when you felt this good inside of her, holding her so close against you.

You felt so good with your arms around her.

You took a handful of Wanda’s ass as you shoved her further down against the counter so she was being soundlessly fucked from behind as her hair gradually became undone, her shirt riding up to expose that beautiful curve of her spine that you loved. 

“Wanda’s a bit of a perfectionist with decorating the cake,” you added, digging your nails into her malleable flesh and watching as smooth ivory tinted into a flushed red. “She wants it to be a surprise!”

“I promise we’re… we’re nearly finished!” Wanda called back, slightly breathless, before quickly burying her face into her arms and muffling herself.

Virginia gave in, saying something about having the both of you promise not to work too hard because both she and Vision would love the cake anyways. But neither of you paid much attention once you heard her walking back down to the dining room.

“You feel so good inside of me, daddy,” Wanda whimpered into her arms. “Please come inside. I want to feel you. I wanna feel how warm you are.”

Being degraded always turned Wanda on, but it was being praised that made her come; you loved how your wife was so sensitive to sweet things like that.

So you lifted her from the counter with your arm wrapped around her waist so her arms were taut with her hands gripping the edge of the counter again. From here, you were pressed against her with access to whisper into her ear.

“You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you, sweetheart?” you complimented against her cheek, pressing a kiss there and running your hand beneath the confines of her shirt. “All nervous and hesitant to let daddy make you feel good at first, but you knew better later, didn’t you? You know that I know what’s best for you, honey.”

Wanda nodded fervently. “Yes, I…”

Your hand pulled Wanda’s bra to the side and you kneaded her breast with your hand, feeling the way her nipple hardened against your palm before moving to the other and pinching her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. “Oh, I know,” you cooed when she leaned back against you with a prolonged, quiet moan. “My princess, you’re such a good girl.”

“Why don’t you listen to what a good girl you are, hm?” you asked, moving both your hands down to grip her hips again and pulling her against you. You watched in detail as you pulled out of her, her glistening pussy wrapped around your cock, before you thrusted back in, your obedient wife taking every inch. 

Both of you listened to how her cunt sounded around your dick, her slick coating you as you throbbed inside of her, her tight walls squeezing you in just the right way, feeling the way the pressure from her walls gripped around your tip when you pulled out at just the right length.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy feels so good,” you groaned, leaning back so you could watch the way her ass looked when you rutted your hips against her. Unable to help yourself in spite of the noise you knew it might make, you delivered a spank to the side of Wanda’s ass. 

You then wrapped your arm around Wanda’s waist again, your other hand moving up to cup the side of her cheek and turn her head around so you could kiss her lips. “Come on, angel, fuck yourself on daddy’s cock. Let me see how badly you wanna come on my dick.”

Wanda obediently began moving, arching her back to allow herself leverage to fuck herself back against you, listening to how her ass slapped back against your hips.

“That’s good, baby. You’re so beautiful,” you breathed out against her neck, kissing the warm expanse as you listened to Wanda whimper and try to hold herself together until you gave her permission to come. Your hand groped her breast again. “You’re so needy for daddy’s cock, hm? You’re making such a fucking mess, Wanda.”

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, her arm reaching back to grab at the edge of your shirt. “Please let me come. Please.” You kept your chest pressed against her upper back, allowing her to meet your eyes when she turned her head to plead.

“Come all over daddy’s cock, baby, come on,” you permitted. “I love to see you all desperate for me. Let me see you come, Wanda.”

Wanda ground her ass back against your hips, burying your cock deep within her pussy as she came around you, walls gripping at your twitching cock. You felt her pulsate around you as she grasped desperately behind her, searching for your hand. 

You interlaced your fingers with hers and kissed her lips as you came to your own hilt, emptying yourself inside of her and letting her feel your warm cum fill her up to the brim until you could feel yourself dripping out from the sides of her cunt.

Weakly, you continued thrusting into her, fucking your cum deep inside of her as Wanda whimpered, sensitive and still pulsing around you as she felt your sticky warmth shoot up inside of her. 

“Oh… I love when you come inside of me, Y/N,” she breathed out, satisfied and tired as she let go of your hand and used both to balance herself against the counter as she slumped forward.

You grinned at her and kissed the back of her neck as you pulled her underwear up first, giving her sensitive cunt a quick swipe through her panties, telling her to keep your cum in for as long as she could. Then you did her pants back up and did the same for yourself.

The rest of the cheesecake decorating went relatively fast after Wanda quickly cleaned herself up in her kitchen window reflection. 

Actually, neither of you had ever decorated a cheesecake so fast considering you decided to go a bit overboard with some whipped cream to make up for how long you both took — it would’ve made far more sense to come out with a more intricately decorated cake. It was a decently-sized cake, just enough for four people to enjoy, so it didn’t take as long as it would’ve if it were sized regularly.

“Oh, we were so worried you might’ve needed help with the dessert,” Virginia said the moment the both of you stepped into the dining room, Wanda with the cake in hand and you with the plates and silverware.

“We’re so sorry,” Wanda apologised. “One of us set the cake lopsided in the fridge and it came out a bit kooky, so we had to reshape it and all. And then the organising of the fruit and—” She waved her hand dismissively as she set the cake down. “Well, it’s all finished now.”

You set the plates down for everyone along with their respective knives and forks. “We hope you didn’t have to wait too long,” you told them apologetically.

Aside from how your initial impression as a couple spiked Virginia and Vision’s interest in wanting to sleep with both you and Wanda, the meal thus far must’ve paid off, for they really didn’t seem irritated at all after waiting for dessert. 

And they did end up enjoying the cake too.

Except for Wanda, however, who seemed to be rather distracted with something else. You watched as she kept readjusting herself in her seat, her thighs squeezing together every so often and taking sips of her wine just to fidget with the handle of the glass.

You were rather eager to fuck your wife in the bedroom too after dinner, but before that, to see how much of your cum had leaked out of her.

By the looks of it, she had failed to hold much of it in.

[samaraida]

My trip to Goa tour... Wow amazing green blues climate 😍😍🤩🤐💞💞🤩 #samharaida #goa #goabeach #goadiaries #beachtime #Facebook #google #twitter #tour #tourism #tourist #indiangirls #pakistan #kidsofinstagram #kid #kidsmodel #talent #mumbai #modeling #model #fashionista #instagood #instadaily #instagram #dubai #love #life #best #reelsinstagram (at Goa) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cnb_0I6PRNq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 8 - Jason Fucking Todd

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Well, look on the bright side of things. You’re not crying right now. That’s nice. You’re not an intern anymore. That’s nice. You struggle to think of anything else. Oh yeah, you’re rich! That’s also nice. You’re not dead. Nice.

This is kind of pathetic. You just feel bummed after having to break up with George a second time. And getting smacked right in the face by him. Which you know, anybody would be, you think. You don’t think a single soul has ever known the George Lancaster Break-Up Special more than once. And you didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that asshole more than once.

You couldn’t fake a brave face anymore, you just didn’t have the energy for it.

…And let’s not forget almost dying via Joker goon. Not even the man himself, just a random lackey. You think of how he literally disappeared in front of your eyes, and decide you are going to stop thinking. It’s doing you no good anyway.

Instead, you just start walking. Letting your feet and your intimate knowledge of Gotham’s streets, even in this area you don’t often frequent, guide you. You find yourself at the train station. With little consideration, you buy a ticket to the southern part of the city. The bad side of town, the docks, where your apartment used to be.

You feel like a little rat scurrying back into the sewers as you hop on the subway, tucking yourself in between people who don’t recognise you, probably because of your general dishevelment.

Shoulders knocking against strangers, you feel the most at home since this whole disaster started. You stare across the train car, watching a baby babble to its mother. It catches your eye, gives you a big toothless smile, and some snot dribbles into it’s mouth. The mother notices and cleans the baby up with a tissue. When she catches you staring, you give a very awkward but friendly smile, and she smiles back.

A tiny weight lifts off your shoulders. Surrounded by the chaos of Gotham, as the subway exits the tunnels and heads up onto the sky rails, you find yourself warm by the rays of sun through the clouds. The view is beautiful, as it always is. Usually, you’d be looking at your phone, too busy to enjoy the sights. But it really is beautiful.

It’s only when you hear the announcer calling out that you realise you did this for a reason, and dart out of your seat and through the narrowly closing doors. The metal closes behind you with a small hiss. The Docks station, for most people, would be one of the better Gotham train stations. Newly built, and with all the tourist money it was clean. Well, clean as it could get. You’d read some article about the bacteria the rats were carrying being not found anywhere else on earth, and you’d decided to stop reading articles.

Anyway, for you, even the shining marble of the station was a sad sight. Because you only ever came here on your very worst days.

This seemed like one of them.

The familiar streets flit past you, barely something you’re even cognisant of. This part of the city was mostly new, the concrete fresh under your feet instead of littered with potholes. Still, it wasn’t at the centre of the blast radius, so it hadn’t been totally demolished.

No, that was just up ahead. And like everything else in this weird new world, you immediately noticed something different. Where your family had died was… still there, for some reason.

With confusion, exhaustion, and no small bit of despair, you stop in the middle of the pathway outside the remnants of what used to be an old diner and was now just a pile of rocks. Some very charred rocks. Looking at the wreckage, you raise your brows. Its crumbling form is still under construction after all these years. The yellow caution tape is only a deterrence to you because you don’t want to end up on the gossip reels for a second time today. Looking around, you find yourself further confused. Lots of other parts of the pier had been redeveloped, but this piece of the puzzle still lay bare.

It didn’t, in your home, your world. It had been replaced with high-rise apartments, and since they were so close to the water, so pretty and new, you had no hope of affording them. It probably wouldn’t be very good for your mental health even if you could. Still, you’d taken many walks past the street. Enjoyed the little bit of dirty white concrete that had survived. You and your siblings had signed your names into it, and you’d stroked the sidewalk like the weirdo you were many times.

Like you did today. And today, for some reason, the rest of it was here. Untouched. A remnant of the disaster. As you run your thumb along the sharp edge of Julie’s J, you find yourself once again lost in your memories. They were like honey traps to you these days.

The mum-and-pops diner had been run by your uncle. It’d been in the family for three generations, and he was incorrigibly proud of it. You’d all had your birthday parties there, because it was free and you were poor. It wasn’t like your uncle would let you pay for the food anyway, it was just one of the few times Mum could stand the generosity. She didn’t like it when you had disappointing birthdays, and no matter how much you tried to fake your happiness, she could always see to your core. Eventually, you and your siblings all gave up on trying.

You were late. You were often late, but this time it was… it was the difference between life and death. If you’d been a few blocks further, a little bit earlier, you’d probably be dead too. Or at least have some serious hearing loss instead of just suffering mild tinnitus.

You had felt more than seen the destruction. The earth had rumbled, and a deafening roar had swept through the streets. You remember falling to your knees, the worry about being late morphing to worry for your best clothes to a true terror when you realised where the blast had come from.

When you realised your family was in the epicentre.

You sometimes wish you were on time that day. That you’d gotten to see them all, even if you went with them. It didn’t sound so bad, really. At least you wouldn’t be alone. Hmm, you should probably stop thinking like that. Or maybe go to a therapist about it.

Not that you could afford it. Oh, right. Rich now. That was really taking some getting used to.

You wonder if people who won the lottery felt the same way. Probably not, because the rest of the world reflected the changes the person felt. They’d have to go pick up the check, go to the bank, and if they let their family and friends know, deal with the consequences of that.

You’d just woken up rich. No time to adjust, your new life was here and it was demanding your attention very loudly. And soup-ly, unfortunately. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the rubble, you look towards your left, where you know the Memorial awaits you. It’s in the centre of the new shopping district, built on top of the bombed parts of Gotham. It sits right next to the water, the cold breeze a comfort that you’d turned to on more than one occasion.

You’d feel bad if you didn’t change your clothes. You told Grayson you would, and you already felt bad enough about... everything to do with him. You suppose he was your brother. Your ex-brother. Ex-step-brother. The ex-step-brother of a woman who you weren’t.

Really, he was just a stranger. It seemed he didn’t feel that way, though.

You start the walk towards the shopping district, and into the first clothes store you see. The prices on the tags would usually make you flinch, but well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing seems to matter. Your survival is now guaranteed, might as well wear some clothes that feel nice on your skin.

You walk out of that store looking like you just robbed it. Even the clerk had given you a weird look but accepted the black card tucked in your phone without much complaint. It’s an improvement if a small one.

Once you’re done, like a moth to a flame, you drift towards the Memorial centre. You’re following all the steps you used to in the past, but somehow, it all feels a bit alien. The world looks a little different, a little uncomfortable. Your shoes are worn in, and yet they still feel too tight.

Uncanny valley. You feel unwelcomed here, unwanted. Like the very earth can tell that there’s something wrong in this scene, some intruder. You ignore the feeling as best you can.

The Memorial is just as unfamiliar as the diner was, maybe even more. You know that your mother was a Wayne before she died. You know that. But still seeing your family’s framed photos, right alongside Jason's is so shocking you nearly jump. It takes a moment of wide-eyed staring before you can manage to get past that. When you do, for some reason you still go back to your old habits. You walk by them, the bouquets and to where their names used to be in thin letters.

You count with your fingers, finding the fifty-second line.

A man’s name replaces the spot where your mother’s is. The little grooves the oil in your fingers had left behind were gone, and instead was sharp stone like when the monument was first erected. It cuts at your fingers. It no longer welcomes your touch.

James Whitaker. That’s the name of the man who took their spot.

You can already feel a rising obsession with the random dead man. If you were going to psycho-analyse yourself, you’d recognise that you didn’t feel that the images of the Waynes you’d created were no longer real, no longer safe to your escapist mindset. You’d realise, that this was all pretty unhealthy, and you really, really needed therapy.

Instead, you give the guy your condolences and start reading the other plinths. They seem largely the same. It’s not like you hadn’t read all of these towers of stone at one point or another, your eyes glazing over the many, many names. So much devastation, all in one moment.

And still, this was not even a tenth of all the lives the Joker had taken. You kinda wanna go take a kick at one of the Bat signals littered around the city. Maybe that’d make you less… broiling with incompetent rage.

Again, maybe you should just go to therapy. You should call Jeanine about that or something.

Eventually, you circle back to your family and Jason’s shrines. You know, back then you’d been jealous that Jason Todd had been so well mourned. You’d wished your family had gotten the same treatment.

Now, you… felt jealous again. Possessive, over their memory, their image. You didn’t really like that random strangers that never knew them… knew them. That Sam always got As in English and Art class but would sometimes skip math and would hide in the bathrooms to do so. That Chasey had struggled with going to school because of her anxiety but kept going because she had a friend going through the exact same thing. That Julie was the ace of her school’s soccer team, and that she’d almost gotten them to nationals even in the presence of all the super-rich schools in Gotham. That your Mum was a great cook but genuinely hated doing it, but for some reason, baking was her favourite thing even as she had never made a proper macaron.

They didn’t know them. They knew their faces and a facsimile of them, but they didn’t know them. It reminded you of the people at the orphanage. Nice, but not kind. They’d had their own lives, they didn’t want some bratty, demented teenager who was going down and planning on taking everyone with her.

You really couldn’t be happy, could you? Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. What you want now. What you’d wanted for a while, actually.

Ugh. You close your eyes and let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh. It takes a moment for you to shore up the willpower to open them again. Come on, flower shop, finish your weird little ritual then you can go home and hide for the next millenia.

The walk there is the same as always, if a little more morose. It’s in a good spot, near the church just a block away and the memorial on its other side, as well as less sombre atmospheres down near the pier. Well, as little sombre as Gotham can manage.

You feel like you blink and you’re there. Too quickly, you find a rainbow of blooms in front of you, the scent of the blossoms washing over you. When you walk into the flower shop, the bell at the door rings the same as it always does. On autopilot, you walk over to the small, cheaper buds. Your hand clenches around the crinkly wrapping paper, a bundle of posies in your hand. You go to the counter with your prize in hand.

Larissa, the counter worker, smiles at you. Your breath hitches. It’s a working smile, not one of the real, toothy ones she used to give you.

“Oh wow, I thought all the posies had sold out. Lucky you!”

You think of something to say, but the moment passes and you don’t. She rings you up, tells you the price, and when you pay, asks sweetly if you want a receipt.

She doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t acknowledge how you come here every week and buy this same handful of flowers. She doesn’t ask about your job or the weather. She doesn’t cheerfully tell you about how her apprenticeship is going, or about the next sweet thing her partner has done. No, she just stares at you, growing more uncomfortable the longer it takes for you to answer.

She doesn’t even seem to recognise this other version of you. It feels like another string that tied you down to the earth has been snipped. You have an image in your head of a child losing a balloon, desperately grasping at the air. You’re going to float up into the atmosphere, and then you’re going to pop.

You can see the foil glinting in the sun’s light, so, so clearly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Yes, a receipt, please.”

Taking it blindly, you barely flutter your eyes open as you walk out of the shop. She didn’t know you, didn’t remember you. That doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You hadn’t really known her. It doesn’t matter. There’s no real difference, it doesn’t matter.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it never really mattered. You keep telling yourself this as you walk back over to the memorial. As you lay your flowers down with the others, the little posies are dwarfed by the other donations. It didn’t matter. You didn’t know her. None of this matters. Their flowers don’t matter.

You don’t matter. You hit that errant thought with a mental fly swatter.

Exhausted, you sit down next to the monument. You used to be able to lay your head on the stone, able to feel your family in the warmth it had absorbed in the sun. Now you just sort of, awkwardly reached out to the small bit of uncovered plinth at the side. You have to stick your hand through a wreath to do so.

It’s not warm. You wonder if your family are sad. And then you wonder if you’re an idiot for attributing feelings to a literal rock.

After a while, you get up. Cross your arms. You stare at your family's portraits, eyes moving over their smiles. One by one. You recognise some of the photographs, those are your favourites. A smile cracks across your face when you see the picture of when Chasey lost her two front teeth. She still grins cheekily at the camera, uncaring for any changes to her appearance, as all kids shouldn’t.

Your shoulders fall just the slightest bit when you see the picture of Jason Todd. It’s one of his older pictures. Probably seventeen or something. He’d always been a lovely boy when he was younger. And he still was up till he died but you’d always thought you’d seen something start to change in him. That sparkle of innocence, dulled, just the slightest.

And then he’d died. And you’d wondered if maybe he’d felt it was coming.

You certainly hadn’t. It had been like a hurricane tearing through your life. You’d ended up on the other side completely abandoned, the only friend who’d bothered to keep seeing you being one who’d learnt to dodge train ticket costs like a damn ninja. And you’d had to decide whether you could keep doing this, whether you even wanted to.

You were an obsessive creature by nurture. It had been all you could do to hang onto the Waynes, pretend they would love and care for you even if they’d have never even noticed you in real life. You weren’t sure that was strength or simple human survival. Dying was scary. Of course, you were scared of dying.

Your whole family had died. So, you told yourself, that Jason Fucking Todd would be sad if you killed yourself, and somehow, you had made it all these years.

And now here you were, and the Waynes did notice you in real life. You were important to them. You didn’t want to be, but you were. And again, you have to ask yourself, what would Jason Todd ask of you? What would he want you to do now, in this impossible situation you’ve found yourself in?

You stare at the picture. Stare at the way the sun hits his dark hair and blue eyes. Stare very, very hard. Like he might crawl out and give you a detailed list of what to do. You’d really like a detailed list. Or any guidance at all. Maybe you could go hit up a seance or something.

Your head falls forward into your sun-warmed palms. This is so stupid. No answers are going to fall from the sky, you need to find them yourself. And you’re not going to find them here.

Someone walks up beside you to the old memorial, and you quickly tuck yourself back into an acceptable image. Fold in all the rough edges you can. A tall and well-built man, with a face mask, sunglasses and a trucker hat, he looks like he could be a celebrity or something. Someone important, much more than you.

And you weren’t, not technically, at least. The universe had done the equivalent of a shelving error, and now here you goddamn were.

He does an odd pose next to you, something military-esque, where he clasps his hands together and bows his head. With a quick flick of your eyes you confirm, yes, his feet are equal with his shoulders. It’s obvious that he’s paying his respects so you do your best not to judge him too hard.

And then he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, startled and confused.

“For your loss,” the deep voice finishes, jerking his head toward the pictures in front of the two of you.

“Wha- oh uh, um,” you blink and then realise that this person has recognised you, which would make sense since you are literally in one of the photos in front of you, and manage to pull your fading conscious mind back together for a moment more.

“Thank you, uh-” you stare at him a moment longer, “You too?”

Almost worse than that time you told the barista who gave you your coffee you hoped she enjoyed hers too, but not quite. Well, you know, he’d probably lost someone here too. You don’t know why he’d be here otherwise unless he wanted an autograph or something. The thought almost makes you laugh.

He snorts at your words. You don’t know what to make of that.

He looks back down at the pictures and flowers. You think he does, at least, from the slight shifting of his head. He’s kind of mysterious. Pair that with the deep voice, the muscular and tall physique, and you’re an odd mix of attracted and socially anxious. Not that you’re not always socially anxious, but this guy feels… strong. Dumb again, you can see his biceps from here but…

You just can’t quite shake it off. Strong. Strong.

“They didn’t deserve it, none of them did,” he speaks again, and you wonder what the fuck he’s going on about at all.

You admit, you sound a little bitter when you mutter, “Well, that’s obvious.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and you see his eyes flash to you from under his sunglasses. A shade of blue. There’s another odd pause, and then he turns to you. You don’t know why he’s looking at you. He crosses his arms, and seems to size you up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks you like he knows you.

Your brow furrows. Okay, kind of losing any hotness points here. Bothering someone who was grieving could’ve been seen as rude from the very start, but you’d just thought he was weird. Now, you thought he was weird and rude.

“…Paying my respects. Obviously,” you gesture downwards, “My mother, my siblings, and…”

Well, how would you describe the relationship between you and Jason Todd now? He was still just a stranger to you and-

“With who, that guy?”

Now, it isn’t often that you’re stunned into silence, but at the moment you can’t find it in you to do anything but stare and gape. Frankly, you’re astonished! You’ve never met anyone who spoke so rudely of the dead, and well, he couldn’t have picked a worse person to do it in front of.

“Excuse me?” your voice can’t seem to convey even half of your offence, even as you sound like you’re about ready to bite a second person for today. The man pauses like you’ve surprised him, which- what the fuck is going on? Why do you feel like an alien crash-landed on Earth these days?

“No, I just meant-” he huffs, shakes his head, and continues, his voice now offended too, “What the fuck am I saying? Yes, I did mean that. That little twerp was a naive idiot who was manipulated by the people he believed in most.”

You stare, absolutely speechless, as the stranger goes on a damn-fucking-near crazed rant about one of the people most important to you. Never met? Sure. Dead as hell? Absolutely. But still, he was one of your lifelines. Your candlelight in the dark, guiding your way even when you felt completely lost. And now he’s calling him a naive idiot? You can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

“He changed nothing, made no difference in the end-”

“Nothing?!” you practically shriek, finally able to find your voice just to use it to shout, “He changed… so much! He donated millions of dollars, did heaps of charity work, was practically a treasure to our city… He made multiple homeless shelters, an orphanage, helped rehabilitate criminals and countless other things.”

Your fists are clenched tight enough that they shake. You hide them behind your back, but you still feel like he can probably see them. Your emotions are simmering too close to the surface, bubbling over and onto the floor. About to burn his sneakers to ash.

“You seem like you care a lot,” he says, sounding reserved.

“Of course, I care.”

“…It’s just, you didn’t seem the type, on the TV,” he keeps talking, poking at you for some god-awful reason, and you bark out a harsh laugh.

“Maybe people need to stop making so many fucking assumptions, then? It certainly hasn’t gotten you anywhere,” you throw your hands up, damn sick of all the constant fucking surveillance you’re under. You can see why this version of you lost her mind. You’re near about to as well.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and you start feeling too uncomfortable. It’s a stupid and useless protectiveness that has you staying. Like he’ll somehow try and harm the shrine to your people. It’s happened before, Joker fanboys defacing it and such. This guy could be one of those bastards.

And yet… somehow you feel…

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says.

“Good, you do that.”

“But in the end, nothing’s really changed. Joker’s still out and about, as you well know.”

You physically flinch like you’ve been slapped. For a good minute there, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You raise one shaking fist, and lift one trembling finger, pointing. The man looks in the direction you’ve pointed, and when he doesn’t see anything, turns back to you. His sunglasses reflect the grey afternoon sun.

“Go,” you order, voice shaking just like the rest of you.

He just keeps staring at you. You wish he’d take off those dumb fucking glasses, so you could see this asshole’s face. Etch it into your mind. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take any action. He simply waits for you to… Well, you don’t know what you’ll do. You haven’t known what you’d do since you left Dick behind two hours ago.

“You need to go,” you say again, and again, he doesn’t fucking move, “You… there’s… you have no right.”

You can hear the buzz of the city around you, the wind rushing by. His clothes rustle in the wind. Your voice sounds too loud in your ears, but he won’t just… he won’t leave. You don’t want this stranger here, watching you. Judging you. It’s all…

“Jason didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, and you think to yourself, desperately, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

There’s a slight shift in the stranger’s posture. His shoulders tensed.

You think you’ve offended him.

“The Joker… That’s nobody's fault but the government for not just sucking it up and giving him the death penalty, or Batman’s for not doing it himself a long time ago. They’re all fucking useless, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be dealing with this!” you continue, your words growing more heated. It’s only the already looming threat of an assault case that keeps you from shoving the guy. Not like you’d be able to move him an inch, of course, he was huge.

You’re sure it would feel good, though.

“It was never some random teenager's responsibility, and it wasn't mine either,” you say, but find yourself pausing for a moment when you hear the end of your sentence. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway.

You’d tied yourself and Jason up together in your head. To you, you were both two sides of the same coin. One foot in the grave. You’ve got one foot in the grave…

“Jason Todd was a good person, and he made the world a better place.”

You look down at the portrait of the boy, his toothy smile twisting at your heart. None of this was fair. None of this had ever been fair. Why was this guy acting like anybody here had ever been able to do anything about it? Like Jason should’ve been smarter, and avoided a fucking bomb blast?

It was stupid. This was stupid, and you were over it. You were tired.

“And I miss him.”

It’s quiet after you say that.

“I don’t know how you can think it’s fair to act like his death was pointless when… of course it was, all of this was pointless,” you say, throwing your hands wide and gesturing to the entire memorial. “This was a tragedy, but Jason was a victim. And I’m sick of people like you who think they can decide whether someone else’s life was lived right. It’s not your damn right.”

“Now… fuck off!” you announce, and to your shock, he does. He fucks right off. The man gives you one last lingering look, and then turns and leaves without another word. Not like you needed them.

You huff out a shocked breath, and then turn back to the memorial.

The framed faces of your loved ones stare back at you, and for all you know it’s stupid, you can’t help but feel embarrassed for the display. You know your mother would’ve scolded you for your language, at least.

“Sorry,” you say, and you’re unfortunately reminded of that irritating man again. Likely that won’t be the first time he pops up again in your head. He seemed well, insane. Which wasn’t that odd in Gotham but… god, you just couldn’t seem to let it go.

It pissed you off to high heaven. His rudeness was something you’d usually be able to shrug off, especially from some random stranger, but, but, but-! Argh, damn it all. And it wasn’t like that was the first time you had had that sort of conversation, but it was certainly the first time someone had been so bold as to bring it up in front of your dead mother’s smiling face.

Earlier today had snuffed out the fire in you, but that encounter had been the spark to reignite it. More than that, actually. It had made you so damn pissed, made your blood boil in a way you just couldn’t ignore, to the point that you wanted to prove him wrong.

Jason Todd had mattered and had made a difference and change in Gotham. He had made a change in you. You put your hands on your hips, stare down at the flowers, and make a decision.

You’re going to fix your goddamn life. For Jason Fucking Todd.

Your body feels like shit, your brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and yet this is the greatest opportunity you’ve ever been given. You have a chance to save yourself, and save your friends, and fix all the tiny little problems in Gotham that you’ve suffered through since childhood. Surely just throwing enough money at all your problems would fix some of them.

You were rich. If you couldn’t fix your life with millions of dollars available, then you had no chance.

And yeah, you don’t know what you’re doing. You know you can’t really change what happened. Back then or even just a few days ago. But you hate that. You hate it so much. You hate how weak you are in the face of loss. How both then and now, there’s nothing you can really do. And maybe if just out of spite, towards that asshat, Batman, Joker and everyone else, you want to make a change.

You want to be able to do something about it. You want it, so fucking bad.

First order of business?

…You want more flowers.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[insidekatmind]

That Girl Is Mine ~ Kylian Mbappé × Reader × Vinícius Jr. (Feat. Jude Bellingham)

Madrid was the city of lights, football, and dreams. The Spanish capital buzzed with fans, paparazzi, and tourists wandering through its charming streets. You were there, an ordinary girl thrust into an extraordinary world. You worked as a sports journalist, but what no one knew—and what you carefully kept hidden—was your secret relationship with Jude Bellingham, the young talent of Real Madrid.

But your life was far from simple. Aside from the secrecy, there was a rather... awkward issue: two of your most famous colleagues, Kylian Mbappé and Vinícius Júnior, seemed to be in a constant battle for your attention.

It was a crisp December evening, and the Santiago Bernabéu was still glowing under the post-match lights. Real Madrid had just won an important match, and as usual, you were busy navigating the post-game interviews. Jude had thrown you a quick, meaningful glance as he passed by. That subtle smile of his was all you needed to feel reassured, even though you had to pretend it was just a casual gesture.

You were packing up your things when Kylian approached you. Still wearing his Real Madrid jersey, his forehead glistening with sweat, his confident and charming smile remained intact.

"Are you sure you don’t want to stick around for a drink with us? I’ve noticed you work too much," he said, his tone low but loaded with a suggestion you couldn’t ignore.

You smiled, keeping your tone professional. "Thanks, Kylian, but I have a lot of work to do."

"Ah, work, work..." he replied, shaking his head. "Sometimes, you need to live a little. You know, there’s so much of Madrid you haven’t seen yet. I could show you the city."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted the conversation. "Show her the city? Kylian, I don’t think she needs a guide. I’ve lived here longer than you, remember?"

Vinícius had appeared beside you both, a provocative smile on his lips. It was clear he had been eavesdropping on every word. His eyes gleamed with challenge as he looked at his teammate. You, caught in the middle, felt like a pawn in a game you hadn’t chosen to play.

"Vinícius, same old," Kylian replied with a smile, though his eyes betrayed a certain tension. "I wasn’t talking to you, anyway."

Vinícius turned to you. "So, what do you say? The city of Madrid is much more interesting than Kylian can make it seem. We could explore the real neighborhoods, away from the tourists."

It was as if the world had stopped around you. You needed an excuse, fast. "Thanks to both of you, but honestly, I’m tired tonight. Maybe another time."

They didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t much else they could do but let you go.

Later that evening, you were finally home. Your phone buzzed, and you smiled at Jude’s message.

Jude: "Everything okay? I saw Kylian and Vini hanging around you… I’m jealous. See you tomorrow after training, okay?"

You quickly replied. "Everything’s fine, I promise. See you tomorrow."

Your conversations were simple, sweet, and reassuring. Jude was your anchor amidst the chaos. But the next day, things became even more complicated.

During training at Valdebebas, you were there for a series of interviews. It was impossible to ignore the looks Kylian and Vinícius kept throwing your way as they ran on the field. Even Jude seemed to notice, though he remained focused on his drills.

After the session, Kylian was the first to approach. "You know, yesterday I couldn’t help but notice you always seem distant. Is something wrong? Can I help?"

You were trying to form a reply when Vinícius interrupted, wiping his face with a shirt. "Hey, Kylian, are you interrogating her? Maybe she just wants a bit of peace."

"Maybe you should mind your own business, Vini," Kylian shot back, his tone irritated.

"Guys, please," you intervened, trying to stay calm. "I’m just doing my job."

But inside, your heart was pounding. Their interest was flattering, but also a problem. You couldn’t afford for anyone to find out about your relationship with Jude. And yet, every glance and every word exchanged only heightened the tension.

That evening, as you sat with Jude at your secret spot—a small café hidden in the heart of Madrid—you told him everything. He listened attentively, his face serious.

"I don’t like the way they’re acting," he said, squeezing your hand under the table. "But I understand we can’t do anything for now. I promise we’ll find a way to live all of this out in the open one day."

You smiled at him, feeling safe in his presence. Jude wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was your refuge amidst the chaos of a life that felt like a novel. But you knew the story between you, Kylian, and Vinícius was far from over. And Madrid, with its lights and secrets, was the perfect stage for the next act.

The tension was palpable, like a taut rope about to snap. Over the following days, Kylian and Vinícius’s gestures and attitudes became more explicit. Seemingly innocent comments turned into subtly suggestive remarks, lunch invitations, and lingering glances. Jude, despite his calm and rational nature, had begun to show signs of irritation.

One evening, after a crucial match at the Bernabéu, things came to a head.

After the game, while you were gathering material for an article, Vinícius approached you in the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. He was still sweaty, but his mischievous smile was flawless.

"So, have you thought about my invitation? I’ll take you somewhere no one knows, guaranteed. Just you and me, no distractions," he said, his tone a bit too familiar for your liking.

Before you could respond, Kylian appeared behind you both, interrupting the conversation. "Ah, Vini, aren’t you tired of playing the romantic? Sorry for you, but I think her time is already booked for the evening."

You sighed, trying to stay calm. "Guys, enough with these games. I’ve already told you I’m not interested."

Vinícius laughed, leaning slightly forward as if he found it all incredibly amusing. "Really? You don’t seem that uninterested."

It was then that Jude appeared, striding out of the locker room with a determined walk. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, his face was tense, his gaze a mix of anger and resolve.

"Vini, Kylian, stop," he said, his voice calm but authoritative. Both turned to him, surprised.

Kylian crossed his arms, frowning. "And what does this have to do with you, Jude?"

"It has everything to do with me," Jude replied, stepping closer. He glanced at you briefly before addressing them directly. "She’s my girlfriend. And she has been for a long time. So, with all due respect, you need to stop."

The silence that followed was deafening. Vinícius and Kylian stood frozen, unable to hide their shock. Your heart was racing, but you also felt a sense of relief. Finally, the truth was out.

"Are you serious?" Kylian asked, incredulous. "She’s...?"

"Yes," Jude said firmly, locking eyes with them. "And now that you know, I’m asking you to respect us."

Vinícius looked almost offended. "And you thought to tell us like this, after all this time? Maybe you should have made it clear earlier."

"It wasn’t your business," Jude shot back, his tone hard. "But now you know. Enough with the games."

Kylian ran a hand through his hair, trying to process it all. Then he looked at you, a hint of disappointment in his gaze. "And you? Why didn’t you ever tell us?"

"I couldn’t," you said, your voice firm but calm. "We wanted to keep it private. That doesn’t mean I was playing with you."

Kylian nodded slowly, as if trying to come to terms with the situation. Vinícius, on the other hand, looked less convinced but said nothing. After a few moments of tension, they both walked away, leaving you alone with Jude.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jude turned to you, his face softening. "I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand seeing them act like that anymore. They needed to know."

You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. "You did the right thing. I couldn’t take it anymore either."

Jude sighed, pulling you into a hug. "From now on, no more secrets. I don’t care what people say. What matters is that it’s us."

You melted into his embrace, finally feeling free. Even though you knew the gossip would start soon, you didn’t care anymore. Madrid was full of secrets, but yours was no longer one of them.

[hearts4maddison]

❅ A Cozy Christmas!

| Lando Norris x Reader.

- pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader. - warnings: fluff..fluff and more fluff,only some swearing kissing flirting,kinda sexual? let me know if i’ve missed any. - summary: After a chaotic f1 season comes to an end You and lando bask in bed at home all day long as a cold December day rolls around in Monaco.

- Note: Merry christmas! to everyone who celebrates and over all have a wonderful break! And yes can you believe i posted like i’m alive probably gonna disappear again? this isn’t the best kinda rushed it but enjoy!

————————————————————

The cold crisp December feeling lingered around the air in Monaco and sheet of snow covered the grounds. Sounds of Tourist,cars and people out shopping for the holidays ringed out in the air through the window of the penthouse.

Looking over to the night stand the clock time in bold numbers read out 10:30 half of the day already passed laying in bed in his arms Lando’s arms.

looking down seeing the side of lando sleeping face, his face buried into your chest the feeling of his arms tightly wrapped around your waist as he lets out a small huff shifting around under the warmth of the covers.

your hand slowly makes its way to his face moving his soft curls out of his face as he slowly shifts his eyes fluttering open adjusting to the light as he gives a dazed look

“couldn’t get enough of admiring me?” Lando says his voice groggy as he gives a goofy smile.

“sure mr big ego good morning to you to?” You reply rolling your eyes

“don’t worry i know im just so handsome and talented and-“ He says before you cut him off

“okay! okay! we get it” You laugh out

“just making sure ya know?” he replies his lips going to the soft skin of your neck leaving small kisses there

“lando..We need to get up” you mumble your hands going to his hair feeling the softness of his curls

“Nu uh ive got absolutely nothing to do..other than you?” He says with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Seriously!”

“i can’t help it but seriously i’ve got nothing to do other than be in bed with you.” he whispers against your neck his arms tightening around your waist

“so you don’t wanna do anything all day?” you ask

“Nope i’ve missed you my love..so much i just wanted to get home to you all season” he says locking eye contact with you before kissing your lips

“hm i couldn’t wait till you were home”

“im home now and i don’t want to do anything other than be here with you” Lando says giving you another soft peck on the lips

——————————————

And he meant every word. He refused to get up mostly get off you constantly kissing your face leaving softy pecks everywhere. The amount of times you had tried to get up for the bathrooms but he would protest keeping you in place.

Eventually you gave up trying to go and kinda accept that you weren’t leaving the bed any time soon and you didn’t really complain. You had him home,in your arms content.

However it got to point you had finally convinced him to let you get up and he was not happy but you made it up to him by moving to the kitchen making Hot chocolate with shit loads of marshmallows and whipped cream.

And the once calm and content atmosphere turned into hectic as you and Lando put up christmas decorations around the house aswell as decorating the tree.

“..Lando! That bauble doesn’t go there!” You say throwing a bit of tinsel at him

“Hey watch it! i have vision alright” He said giving a upset face

“well if the vision is putting a bunch of random tinsels and gonks on the tree then..?”

“..your just mad i’m a way better designer than you” he mocks

“.i think you should stick to f1” You scoff

“keep that attitude up y/n” Lando says shaking his head

“Or what?” You challenge rolling your eyes

You managed to get out before lando picked you you up throwing you over his shoulder.

“Knew we should’ve never gotten up!” he says

“Put me down! Now!” you respond kicking your legs around in the air as lando walks to the bedroom.

“Nope! ow! stop the kicking you muppet!”

“rude” you grumble

“Don’t worry i’ll make it up to you.” he says before closing the bedroom door

————————————————

In the end the tree was finally put after many interruptions but it all came together the greens and red standing out in the corner of the room. The whole penthouse giving a christmas festive look.

You lay your head on Lando shoulder as the movie plays in the back as you feel his lips kiss your head before shifting so your leaned into him breathing in his strong cologne in.

“Still think we should’ve listened to me-” he says with a laugh

“shut it” you say looking up at him

“Yes ma’am” he says while laughing as you push him slightly making him laugh more as he wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

“..that’s what i thought”

—————————————————

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE! i hope you enjoyed this it’s not that great idk if i’ve made any spelling mistakes but please tell me if i have!

[immoral-stranger]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 // 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑. 💋 “I can get a little drunk, I get into all the don’ts but on good days I am charming as fuck.” – Tove Lo, Moments.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None except alcohol and drunkenness.

A/N: Sike, you're getting the first letter tonight. It's cute as fuck. Dedicated to all my girlies (gn) who get Tove Lo drunk when aiming for Pitbull drunk.

Charles wasn’t sure why he had agreed to go out tonight. Monaco’s nightlife, as dazzling as it was, had become an overplayed record to him. Especially during the summer with all the tourists. He remembered being freshly turned 18 and discovering it (legally) for the first time. It had been magical. Now it was a done deal, a well-rehearsed story, knowing how it would go from beginning to end. Maybe that was why he actually preferred spending time on his yachts or on some small remote resort on some small remote island during his summer break from the racing calendar. 

Alas, here he was, tipsy from an overly sweet cocktail in a VIP booth at Jimmy’z. His friends were having fun, as were his friends’ friends and whoever else could get close enough to leech on, knowing that Charles was definitely the one paying the tab. It seemed to be the primary talent of those people, sticking close enough to the rich and the famous to get something for free out of it. 

Charles found it braindead. 

He sighed, swaying half-heartedly to the DJ’s relentless house music. Was he even a fan of house music? He didn’t think so. Between the thumping bass, the flashing strobe lights, and the endless game of shouting over the noise just to make small talk, Charles felt tired.

Maybe he was getting old. But he hadn’t even hit thirty yet. Could you have a quarter-life crisis at 27?

It got to the point where he started counting down the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to excuse himself for a “bathroom break.” The moment came, and Charles seized it, weaving his way through the dance floor. He lingered in the queue for the toilets longer than necessary, opting for a stall over a urinal so he could sit in peace. He didn’t even need to pee. He just wanted to be alone. His head was spinning slightly from the alcohol. Not drunk, not even close, but his famously rigorous fitness regimen had turned him into something of a lightweight. Not that he’d admit it.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he navigated the narrow corridor leading back to the main area of the club. That was when he felt it—a tug on his arm, insistent and clumsy. Before he could fully process what was happening, he was yanked backward and down onto a bench. Or a sofa. One of those little black pleather-clad, trashy club furnishings. 

For a fleeting moment, he considered all the reasons he hated being famous. Whatever was about to happen—selfies, autograph requests, or an inebriated declaration of undying love for Ferrari—he was sure it would test the limits of his patience.

“Hi!” a voice chirped. “Are you busy? No?”

He blinked. Sitting beside him was a girl—young and lively, a light shining in your eyes as you spoke excitedly. Or maybe just drunkenly. You had that half-glazed look of someone balancing precariously between charming and completely hammered. You spoke English. A tourist most likely. Dressed up nicely. Not like you had another choice. It was Monaco. 

As Charles was too shocked to answer, you continued talking in a heartbeat. 

“Great! Not busy.” You clasped your hands together as though you’d just agreed to the most wonderful thing in the world. “You…” you announced grandly, pointing at him, “are going to help… me.”

“I am?” Charles asked, caught between amusement and disbelief.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, as though this were obvious. You leaned heavily on Charles’ shoulder for support, your words tumbling out in a rush. “Okay, so. Here’s the situation: I lost my bag. Then I lost Emma while looking for my bag. And now—” you gestured dramatically, nearly toppling over even when sitting up—“I am stuck here. No bag, no Emma, and way, waaay too much tequila in my system.”

Charles stifled a laugh. “And you think I can help?”

“Of course!” You nodded vigorously. “If you find my bag and Emma, then this—” you gestured vaguely at yourself,—“this will no longer be a problem.”

“If I find your bag?” he found himself repeating. 

“Mhm, then you can come here to me again,” you slurred your speech a little, nodding again like your head was constantly stuck doing it. “With Emma and the bag and no problems.” 

“You can’t do it yourself?” 

“Exactly!” You pointed at him, impressed, narrowly avoiding touching his dimpled cheek with your long nail. “See, you get it. You’re a lifesaver.”

You seemed to have no idea who he was, and you were definitely drunker than you had first led on. He saw it in the way your body slumped and in your bloodshot eyes. Your hair was messy, your makeup smudged, and your dress a little wrinkled. And you were undeniably funny, totally capturing and taking over the conversation without letting Charles speak. 

He helped you to lean against the sofa, getting himself out from being your human crutch. Still, he couldn’t find a way out of being your lifesaver. 

“All right,” Charles sighed. “What does your bag look like?”

“It’s black, sparkly, and small. Like… impossibly small. A wallet with delusions. But I bought it in Paris—”

“Okay, I got it.” Charles suppressed a smile. “And Emma?”

“Tall. Blonde. Looks like she’s judging everyone but will absolutely cry over a military homecoming.”

“Right. Tall, blonde, and emotionally complex. Got it,” he repeated. “Are you sure I can leave you on your own?” 

Charles stood from the sofa, glancing at you as you leaned your head back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m fiiiiine. I just need the room to stop spinning.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Enthralled by your giggle and the way you looked sort of fairy-esque with glittery eyeshadow in patches around your eyes. There was something magnetic about you, even in your dishevelled state. He couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t also slightly concerning—a young woman alone in a drunken state. You were a happy kind of drunk right now, but he had a feeling that might change quickly. 

With a final look at you, he set off into the chaos of the club. Back underneath the strobe lights and the pulsating music. Back between the warm and drunk bodies of others. Somewhere, a girl in a sparkly dress was yelling about her ex to anyone who’d listen, and he thought for a fleeting moment how easily you might have been her—except you weren’t yelling. You’d asked for his help.

He heard his friends yell after him from their place in the VIP area, probably wondering why he’d been gone for so long. But Charles was on a mission—to find a minuscule bag and a blonde woman in a crowd of not that many bags and way too many blonde women. 

The bag was easier to spot than he expected. Its sparkles caught the light as it lay abandoned, right by his feet on the dance floor. That seemed too good to be true. He picked it up, the thing so small it felt absurd in his hands. What could you even fit in here? A debit card? A single lipstick?

Charles didn’t mean to pry, but he opened it to make sure it actually was yours, and much to his surprise, he found a debit card, some spare euros, some sort of makeup product, a tampon, and a driver’s license. Fuck, you were the kind of person who looked gorgeous in official portraits. And he knew your name now. Maybe he should’ve asked for that before he decided to agree on being your knight in shining armour. 

Emma, however, was more elusive. Verging on needle in a haystack territory. He scanned the floor and the booths, getting nowhere. Looking for a girl as equally lost as you were turned out to be harder than he thought. Everyone fit so well into the orchestrated act of nightclub hierarchy that no one looked out of place. 

Admitting defeat, Charles turned to walk back to the corridor outside the toilets, hoping to find you exactly where he left you. Before he could even round the corner, he heard your voice cut through the noise. 

“I know, Emma. I know that I do this all the time and that it scares you to death.” 

Your tone was half-pleading, half-explanatory, like you were trying to win a debate and console her at the same time. The sound of it made him stop in his tracks, curiosity anchoring him to the spot.

As he edged closer, you came into view, seated exactly where he’d left you. Beside you stood Emma, arms folded tightly across her chest in a way that broadcast equal parts frustration and affection. She was, as Charles had guessed, tall, blonde, and distinctly more polished than you at the moment. Similarly dressed but with an air of sharp control. 

Emma was the kind of person you’d send in to fix a mess—not become part of one. Clearly switched into full mom mode, she had already given you a glass of what Charles prayed was water and had tied your hair into a haphazard ponytail, probably anticipating the worst-case scenario of tequila-induced disaster.

Charles lingered just out of sight, gripping your little sparkly bag as if it were a trophy. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your voice was unmistakable and loud enough to rival the DJ. 

“I get a little drunk and I get into all the don’ts, but on good days? I am charming as fuck, and you love me for it.” 

Your voice, slurred but insistent, filled the hallway. You reached out toward her, your hands wobbling in the air until she sighed and took them. Her annoyance cracked just enough for Charles to catch the tired laugh she let slip. It was the kind of laugh that said, Yes, I love you, but you’re impossible, and I have considered leaving you in a bush once or twice.

Charles smiled to himself, your declaration replaying in his mind. Charming as fuck, indeed. He wasn’t sure if the grin tugging at his lips was due to the absurdity of the situation or the undeniable truth of your words.

He wasn’t invisible, after all, so when you were done with your exclamation to Emma, your gaze easily landed on Charles, standing somewhat pathetically, waiting just a few metres away. The moment your eyes met his, you lit up like you’d just remembered something incredibly important.

“And look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward him. Drunk you had a thing for pointing. “I had this… hot guy here to help me. He’s found my bag! You, sir, are a lifesaver.”

You’d just managed to call him both “hot” and “sir” in the same breath, and Charles wasn’t sure if it was because you didn’t know his name or if you were trying to drive him completely insane.

Emma’s head whipped toward Charles, her face shifting from surprise to a kind of restrained horror as recognition dawned. Her posture stiffened again, her folded arms tightening. While you hadn’t known who Charles was, Emma definitely did. 

“Y-you roped Charles fucking Leclerc into looking for your bag?!” 

“A what now?” you mumbled, looking between the two of them with confusion written across your face.

Charles stepped closer, handing you the bag like a peace offering. “I am… a Charles Leclerc.” 

“It’s a thing?”

“No, it’s my name.” 

You squinted at him, as though trying to decide if this explanation satisfied you. Then, with a dramatic sigh, you let your head fall back against the wall. “You should have led with that,” you pointed out. “I need to sit down. Oh wait—” You gestured weakly at your own position. “Already doing that.”

“Charles Leclerc,” Emma said, gesturing toward him with an incredulous sweep of her hand. “Formula 1 driver? Like… literally one of the best in the world?”

“Ohhh, right. We’re in Monaco,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about you being impossible. Then she straightened, looking at Charles briefly before her gaze shifted to the dance floor. “I’m going to find the others and tell them it’s time to go. Don’t let her wander off again, please.”

Before Charles could respond, she disappeared into the crowd, her blonde head bobbing toward the pulsating lights. He watched her go, unsure if he’d just been handed a babysitting gig or a challenge. When he turned back, you were studying him, your head tilted slightly.

Charles hesitated, then he sat down beside you again, leaning back against the worn pleather as he looked right back at you. Up close, the club lights caught in your hair, making it shimmer like an accidental halo. He wondered if it was the alcohol in his veins or just the moment, but you looked… luminous.

“So, what now? Bag found, friend located. Mission accomplished,” he asked, almost proudly, as he relaxed further into his seat. 

You drunkenly fumbled through the belongings inside your bag, in disbelief over everything being there. “You really did solve all of my problems… Thank you,” you said softly, a hint of genuine gratitude creeping into your voice.

He smiled, his amusement softening into something warmer. “You’re welcome.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze slower now, more deliberate. “It makes sense that you’re famous,” you said finally, as if you’d unravelled some profound mystery. “You’ve got a really pretty face.”

Charles chuckled completely unguarded. “I think that’s the tequila talking.”

“Nope,” you said, grinning with certainty. “That’s all me.”

He couldn’t help but be drawn in by your confidence, your complete lack of pretense. On top of the almost sticky pleather sofa, he could see your hand move tentatively, dancing over the fabric, aimless yet perfectly intentional. He wasn’t thinking when he grabbed it, intertwining his fingers with your own, but it felt right—and something innocent that felt this right couldn’t be wrong. 

“I think you were right,” he said, not scared to look you in the eye. “About you being charming as fuck.”

“Good,” you replied, raising your glass of water in a mock toast. “Because I think I’m keeping you here for a while.”

“Still too drunk to walk?” he teased. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” you declared, each syllable landing like a punchline. 

He laughed loudly, letting the chaos fade into the background, his hand grounded in yours, feeling more intimate than any drunken kiss had ever done.

Charles wasn’t dreading being in the club on a Saturday night for once, not counting the minutes until he could leave without being called boring. Instead, he found himself thinking about where you might go next—and wondering if he could come along. Even if that was a hotel room after-party or a rented apartment in Nice. You were more interesting than anything else Monaco could offer right now, and filer à l’anglaise would leave the leeches to pay for their own enjoyment. 

Thank you for reading, hope this is a good introduction to what the rest of the love letters will be like! Please comment, like, reblog, bombard me with messages, I feed off that stuff 💌

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send

(if i haven't tagged you it's because your age wasn't visible for me to verify on your blog, i keep that as a precaution even if i'm not always posting smut)

[bewarethecheese]

Just #drawing a new #sketch all about the last few days of #SpaceMountain in #Tokyo for #TalentedTourist.

Check out all of the articles and #illustrations right now at https://talentedtourist.com/.

[bakuettes]

Catch My Drift 🏁 chapter 1

Street racer!bakugo x Street racer!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, douche bakugo, slight misogyny, alcohol consumption, drug use, illegal activities etc

Kanjozoku; The term Kanjozoku is derived from the combination of the words “kanjo” (meaning ring) and “zoku” (meaning group).

Kanjozoku primarily consists of young car enthusiasts in cities like Osaka and Tokyo who have a passion for speed and a desire to showcase their driving skills.

Osaka was the place to be. Not where tourists go to take pictures and try japanese cuisine, maybe pick up a few souvenirs from the large amount of little gift shops that littered the streets but where a community of young adults with the passion for racing congregate. The night was still young, the sounds of tires screeching against the cold pavement and engines roaring was heard over the heavy base of 2000s club music. Girls dressed in scandalous outfits mingling with the guys posted up next to their pimped out rides. You could practically feel the vibrations of the noise in your head.

Three cars lined up with the drivers sitting on the hoods of their prized possession. A bright orange 1993 Mazda RX-7 FD on the far left. The car’s color was comparable to an orange or maybe even the warm sunsets that would settle over japan. The next car over was a 1993 Toyota Supra Turbo Mark IV. The bright colorful lights that surrounded the meet reflected beautifully off the cars mustard yellow chrome. The third and final car was a looker. Silver 1999 Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 with royal blue detailing along the sides and on the hood. A royal blue flexivity rear wing with matching led lights underneath the body.

It was Bakugo’s baby. Spent years modifying and perfecting it. He was a skilled driver sure but having a car like his? Most would be intimidated to challenge him. “Yo Mina, let’s get this race going!” the orange mazda driver shouted. it was hard to find anyone in this crowd but said woman emerged from the sidelines with a confused look on her face. “Woah woah, wait a second.” She looked around the lot, once overing the lined up vehicles. “where’s your fourth at? i’m counting only three.” mina crossed her arms, unimpressed. the yellow toyota driver spoke up first “it was supposed to be joaquin but he caught the grave yard shift man.”

once you were scheduled to race it was a hassle to find new drivers, the time and place was set in stone. it wasnt that often when scheduled racers were a no show but then again many get caught racing outside of meets or their car needed more time to be repaired. It was a waste of mina’s time. she was the flag girl, not their fucking coordinator. “Na, y’all either find a fourth or you don’t race. How’s that sound? Times ticking boys.”

By standers erupted in shouts of anger and disappointment. they wanted to see a race, most of them drove well over an hour to be here! gas wasn’t cheap and neither was Minas time. Hearing the crowds complaining mina sighed and pitched them an idea. “Alright! i hear you guys, relax. How about this, why don’t i find y’all a driver and we settle this now?” bakugo smirked, nodding in agreement. he never said much but he also never needed to. his aura spoke volumes. “bring ‘em on.” he wasn’t nervous, he knew his talents and was confident. resting the palms of his hands on the hood of his car, he tilted his head towards the other racers, waiting to see hear their answers. “Anyone i want?” mina questioned with a grin that would give the cheshire cat a run for his money. “anybody baby!” orange jululis shouted, raising his arms to the side. cocky bastard. mina rolled her eyes and turned away from the drivers, pulling out her phone from her bra. there was a whole list of people she could call but there was only one person she knew who could end this race quickly.

she could hear the static from the other end of the phone. “y/n, you wanna race tonight?” it was quite for a moment before you spoke in to the speaker “i’m always down, send me your lo.” your voice was smooth like silk but sultry like a vixen. it sounded like you’ve been up for a while so mina didn’t feel bad for calling you so late. she knew you came alive in the night anyway. your energetic friend squealed before gathering herself together. “you got 5 minutes hun!” and then the line went dead.

it never took much convincing to get you out. when mina called you it was 12:15 am, meaning you only had exactly 5 minutes to get there. the meet lot was about 20 minutes out. you arrived there in 4, only a minute left to spare. the sound of you engine had heads turning (a certain blonde as well) as you slowly pulled through the crowd, careful not to hit party-goers. the hot pink body of your 2000 Honda S2000 was hard to miss. everyone knew who was inside and that fact alone made them scream louder. you never really cared too much though, it wasn’t like you had vocals like mariah carey. you didn’t have the ability to move like michael jackson. you were just a damn good racer and that was enough for them apparently.

all three racers turned their heads in the direction of the obnoxiously loud honda, tensing up at the sight. well, all except for one of course. bakugo had no idea why everyone was so fucking hyped. who was that? and why’s everyone acting like they’ve never seen a pink car?? “Racers!” mina yelled excitedly “here’s your fourth!”. your black stiletto boots were the first thing he saw exit the car. then it was a black leather hat. he glanced over at the others to study their reactions and they all had excitement swirling in their eyes. maybe even a hint of nervousness? bakugo didn’t have time to be sure because before he knew it, you were leaning back against the hood of your car crossing one leg over the other. “oh shit, it’s y/n.” you weren’t new to this, you were true to this. the air was crisp and cold, you probably should’ve brought a jacket because this top (if it could even be considered one) with this miniskirt wasn’t doing you no type of favors.

from the corner of your eye you could see a blonde headed man with spikey hair almost looking annoyed as he walked over to mina who was standing in the middle of the road. “no offense but i’m not racing a damn girl. you never said it would be a girl.” you rolled your eyes, who the hell does he think he is? a race is a race. why did it matter who was behind the wheel? you best friend looks beyond over this shit, she’s been annoyed her this whole night and she’s about to lose her patience. “you said anyone i wanted, i wanted her! stand next to your car before nobody races.”

“you scared spikes?” he turned his head to the side, watching you push yourself off the car and strut to the middle where he and mina stood. he sized you up, shamelessly checking you out. “what the hell did you jus call me?” he wasn’t scared. why would bakugo be scared of some princess nobody? “can you even drive with those heels on?” your outfit was impractical he thought. a miniskirt that just barely covered the expanse of your ass (not that he really minded) and what looks like a triangle bikini top. if you were to bend over then— no. now’s not the time to thirst over you. even if he did think you were hot.

“i’m just askin.. why wouldn’t you wanna race me if you weren’t scared?” you’ve dealt with his type before, cocky, thinks they’re better than everyone and so on. he’s got sharp red eyes with a piercing gaze. you let your eyes trail away from his face down to the hardened muscles on his chest. clearly well built and his black tshirt was doing nothing to hide it. “man whatever,” your eyes moved back to his hearing the sound of his voice. “i’m not doin this, find somebody else.” he wasn’t scared, he just felt that he could be using this time to race against someone on his level. why’s it that the egotistical men somehow always find you? you would’ve just let him go but you hated the feeling of being looked down on. he’s no better than you, he doesn’t even know what you have to offer. do you did what you do best, you uped the ante.

“15 grand.” you raised your voice a bit. silence fell over the crowd. “i’ll give you 15 grand if you agree to race tonight and win, that applies to the other racers too” you say to the other two drivers still next to their cars. that made him stop dead in his tracks. were you insane? you’re acting like that’s pocket money. fuck, he doesn’t know if he should do it. he didn’t need the money, but his sister did. he tries to help his mother out the best he can, this would cover at least two months worth of bills. gritting his teeth he turns around starting directly at you “don’t start to regret this when you lose ma.” got ‘em, you thought with shit eating smirk.

you walked past him, shoulder checking the man who’s name you still don’t know. he looked at you, staring at your ass as your skirt rode up with every step you took. you must’ve felt bakugo’s stare because your hands grab them hem of the denim and pull it down, throwing him a flirty smile over your shoulder. the tips of his ears turn a shade of pink. he quickly looks to the side, licking his lips attempting to play it off as if the whole meet did see the interaction. all the racers start getting into there respective cars, starting them up. mina struts to the middle of the street once again only this time with a checkered flag. her brown skin was glowing, the lights reflecting off the body glitter she wore.

“Racers!”

mina exudes confidence. you hand your left hand on the wheel, the other hand tightly gripping on to the gear shift. foot tapping on the gas a bit. you were high off adrenaline, you lived for moments like these.

“Start your engines..”

bakugo couldn’t help but stare at you. the look in your eyes. ‘s like you got off on this, the wicked smile on your lips doing nothing to make him think otherwise. he wasn’t fazed though, he had this in the bag. maybe even after he wins he could take you out but that was something he’d ask later, he needs to focus. the flag drops.

“GO!”.

and you were gone.

𝐀/𝐍!!: okay why was this way harder than i thought? 😭 please bare with me ik im not that advanced in writing. i also don’t know a lot about cars but i research by chapter. lmk how u like it so far and i promise to produce better work as time goes on!

[k-hippie]

CHAMPIGNAC : A NEW SIMS 3 WORLD

Champignac is a fully living Frenchy suburbia World based on Champs-les-Sims and has nothing to do with a vacation place ... Well, nothing is not really the right word ;)

Back in 2016/2017, when we began to think how we could remade Champs-les-Sims, we didn't know really what kind of world we wanted to do. We named the project : Sims de Nimes. Then, because we were on other projects ( such as sims 4 k-mods ) we left Sims de Nimes somewhere in the pipes.

We made Oaksoak Hollow ( based on Mystic Falls ), we made Eureka Valley ( a world between tech and classic life ) and we left behind the Sims 4 because, well ... too long to explain. :D

So, it was time to get out of the box our old project of Sims de Nimes ... During this time, some talented creators re-made Champs-les-Sims with their own vision, more oldy or more city life like, or more like Sunset Valley ... All those versions are interesting, but we wanted something else. And so, is born Champignac !

If Champignac is a true living suburbia world, it is too a quite rural world, almost a village with :

37 Community Lots

36 Residential Lots

10 Medieval Towers all around the town :)

:)

In addition, it remains few Empty Lots, differently sized to suit whatever you wish ... So, let's say Champignac is a french-not-so-little-town where life is slowly flowing and dynamic at the same time, perfect for families and Sims looking for a different lifestyle :)

A typical downtown and outskirts, full of old buildings and southern architecture, a joyful mix between south-east and south-west housing, with a touch of something more northener ( but don't tell the citizens; it's a sure way to be frowned upon ) ... After all they worked hard to keep Champignac as it is!

People living in Champignac are quite glad of it. Sure, teenagers dream of foreign lands, but they are not too eager to leave.

Once, the townies of Champignac were grumpy because Champs-les-Sims was so more popular than their hometown ... After all, everybody went to Champs-les-Sims, stayed there, made nectar, drove a Kenspa, flirted with locals, or … anyway! Tourists had a full experience in Champs-Les-Sims and weren't interested in visiting any other city. Champignac, the official twin city, didn't benefit from any international exchanges, and was left anonymous, far from fame and glory. As unreachable as the Eiffel Tower seen from Champignac ... until ...

In February 29th of a certain year, a distant descendant of Marquis de Landgraab lost his way on the road to Champs-les-Sims and landed in Champignac. Instantly, he fell in love with the town.

He saw an always growing vegetation, a Monastery full of secrets, the familial beach ( yes, there is a beach in Champignac ), the forgotten obelisk, the shop keepers full of stories, the well preserved houses, the green fields and the paved streets, the true Café Catane and a remaining wild fauna running here and there ... He saw perfection !

For a time, the townies of Champignac experienced fame and glory. But how exhausting it was! Tourists not really caring about the legacy of the kiosk owner, the monks overwhelmed, the museum director who couldn't find enough teenagers to help ... Even the fishes were exhausted! Hard times indeed ... Happily, this descendant of Marquis de Landgraab met someone, somewhere, and moved out, far far away from Champignac. Celebrities said their last goodbyes and slowly, life, as it should be, was back :) The townies and City Council learned from that experience that they very much preferred not to be as famous as Champs-les-Sims ...

Life in Champignac was relatively calm again when suddenly, a global health crisis emerged and the Simvid-18 pandemic hit many many people ... Anxiety swept through the villages and the small towns, including Champignac of course ... With an aging population, residents became increasingly concerned about the well-being of their neighbors and the future of the city.

Shop owners and farmers who were already considering retirement were now faced with the daunting task of deciding whether to continue their businesses in such uncertain times. The entire world seemed to come to a halt, leaving everyone in Champignac wondering who would carry the torch and ensure the future.

Surprisingly, the youngsters that only came sporadically for holidays, moved back to Champignac. Fearful of living in a crowded city and eager to gather with family members, they came to the old town with friends. After all, there were spare bedrooms in most houses!

When the restrictions were lifted, many were reluctant to leave. Going back to a stressful life and fast-paced city wasn't enticing anymore. Most decided to turn their lives around. They took up the florist shop or asked for a job transfer ... So, life emerged again :) Champignac is now a thriving town where you have everything you wish for and nothing more.

Champignac is blessed with old churches turned into bars or wineries, old palazzi that are inspiring, and small boutiques as gathering places ...

Winters and autumns are short, while spring and summer are long. Come and live among thousands of old buildings, walk on streets Roman soldiers once trod upon, see treasures from foreign campaigns, and benefit from the perfect blend of country living and town living.

Remember ... With its unique blend of history, culture, and natural beauty, Champignac offers the Sims a captivating and enriching experience. From the stunning architecture to the delectable cuisine, every aspect of this town reflects the South of France’s intoxicating charm.

Are you ready to move in Champignac ?

blackgryffin \o/

IMPORTANT : We advice STRONGLY to begin with the half-populated SavaGame provided in addition to the World itself ...

DO NOT FORGET to download the CC of Champignac we provide on our website too ! for more information, see the 2 posts below ;)

Have fun !

DOWNLOAD HERE

[pinterestanddaydreaming]

Chapter 1: A City of Timeless Beauty - Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Y/n is a college student in Rome majoring in Roman History and Archaeology with her friends Priya and Alaya. Her mentor offers her the opportunity of a life time, to work at a dig site that could possibly hold the ruins of a Roman emperor's palace. The excavation starts in summer and it would mean that she can not go home to spend it with her family. Will she do it?

Author's Notes: Hey everyone! I know that I have posted a collage earlier for the reader's aesthetic but this collage accompanies this chapter. I personally like to make these to also help myself visualize the things I write about. Please know that y/n does not have to look like the girls in the picture, you can visualize her in any way and form you want to. Another thing, this story will be slow burn and I have not decided what the ending is going to look like so read the series at your own risk. This is my first time writing so the quality itself may not measure up the other very talented writers in this fandom, please know I am working on it!

Warnings: None!! It's just a bunch of girls being smart and lovely! If you hate girls stay away please and thank you! 🤗🙏

The golden hour blanketed Rome in a glow that seemed to blur the line between past and present. The streets buzzed with life, and y/n strolled through them with an air of calm curiosity. Her bag was tucked under her arm, brimming with essential beauty items and notes from her class on the history of Roman politics. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the sounds of the city, the distant hum of traffic mingling with the laughter of tourists and the occasional snatches of conversation in Italian. 

Y/n looked at her wrist. She still had about forty minutes to get to the restaurant where she planned to meet Priya and Alaya for dinner after their classes. Y/n, Priya, and Alaya had grown up together in London, and their business-owner parents were more than happy to let their daughters move to Rome to pursue their passion for studying history and archaeology. 

After nearly a year in Rome with Priya and Alaya, y/n felt at home. She had become familiar with the city and she loved living here. As y/n walked, she thought about the internship offer from Professor Marino, her professor who teaches Archaeological Field Studies. Y/n has been taking the class with Priya and Alaya and they all have gotten close to Marino. She has become a mentor for y/n and she has chosen Marino to be her senior thesis advisor. She is a renowned archaeologist and has been working on finding a royal palace of a Roman emperor for the past ten years.

When y/n talked to her earlier this week, she sounded sure that she had discovered the site for a royal palace. Marino had invited her and her friends to meet her at a local café to discuss an internship opportunity.  

“You see,” Marino began, leaning forward, her cappuccino momentarily forgotten, “this isn’t just any site. I believe we’ve found the remains of the imperial palace of Emperor Lucius Verus—a palace and man we have lost to history and time.”

The warm aroma of coffee and fresh pastries enveloped the small café where Y/N, Priya, and Alaya sat with Professor Marino. The professor, a striking woman in her late forties with sharp features and an air of quiet authority, gestured animatedly as she explained the significance of her latest discovery. 

“Lucius Verus?” Priya asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “He ruled after the mad twin emperors, Geta and Caracalla, right? We don’t have a lot of material culture from the time.”

Marino nodded, a smile curling her lips. “Exactly. And that’s what makes this find so extraordinary. If we can excavate and study this site, we might find details that reshape our understanding of who this man was.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “This could rewrite history, ladies.”

Alaya, who had been quietly sipping her espresso, finally spoke. “How sure are you about the location, Professor? I mean, after ten years of searching, it must feel incredible, but what evidence do you have?”

Marino smiled, clearly pleased with the question. “Preliminary scans have revealed a structure consistent with the layout described in ancient texts. We’ve also uncovered fragments of frescoes and inscriptions that point to a residence of significant importance.” She paused for effect, letting the weight of her words sink in. “But we need to confirm it. And that’s where you come in.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re asking us to join the dig?”

“Not just join,” Marino said, her voice lowering as though sharing a secret. “I want you three to be part of the core team. I am not sugarcoating when I say that you three are the sharpest students I have had in a while. You are all familiar with Roman history and have taken more than enough credits on archaeological field methods. I really think you can get something out of this experience.”

The trio exchanged another glance, excitement buzzing in the air like an unspoken agreement.

Priya leaned forward, her excitement barely contained. “When would this start?”

“Summer,” Marino replied, her expression turning serious. “It’ll be a demanding schedule—early mornings, long hours under the sun, meticulous cataloging. But I promise, it will be worth it. What you learn and contribute could shape your careers.”

The discovery of a potential royal palace sounded exciting to y/n and she has loved spending her summers in Italy. But working at the dig meant postponing her return to London and spending time with her family.

As she turned a corner, a small shop caught her eye. It was sandwiched between two bustling cafés, its entrance almost hidden beneath climbing ivy. The antique shop’s name, "Eterna Treasures," was scrawled in faded gold letters above the door. Y/n hesitated, feeling an inexplicable pull toward it. Her feet seemed to move on their own, and soon she was pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the shop was dimly lit and smelled faintly of sandalwood. Shelves overflowed with curiosities: ornate goblets, faded maps, and statues worn smooth with age. Behind the counter stood a woman who could only be described as eccentric. Her gray curls were untamed, her dark eyes sharp and knowing, and she wore a patterned shawl draped over her shoulders like a queen surveying her domain.

“Ah, there you are,” the woman said, her lips curling into a sly smile.

Y/n blinked. “Sorry, do I know you?”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Not yet. But I know you.”

Y/n laughed awkwardly, taking a small step back toward the door. “That’s… not creepy at all.”

The woman chuckled, a rich sound that filled the tiny shop. “Oh, child, don’t be afraid. I simply have an eye for people, and you, my dear, are no ordinary girl.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that so?”

The woman leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have the face of someone out of place. A beauty so timeless it doesn’t belong in this world. No, you belong in another time. A time when Rome wasn’t just ruins but the beating heart of an empire.”

Y/n tilted her head, unsure whether to laugh or feel unnerved. “Well, I do study history. Maybe you’re picking up on that.”

The woman ignored her, her gaze seeming to pierce straight through y/n. “Such eyes… deep as the Tiber itself. They’ve seen more than you know. And you have a dimple!—ah, men would have crossed oceans for a smile like that. Some might still.” She sighed theatrically. “You could change history, my dear. Bring a man to his knees.”

Y/n stared, caught somewhere between discomfort and fascination. “Okay… that’s very poetic and all, but I’m just a history student. No one is crossing oceans for me.”

The woman snapped her fingers suddenly, her tone shifting to something brisk and businesslike. “Well, never mind all that! Let me show you something.”

She disappeared behind the counter, rummaging through a glass display case. When she resurfaced, she held a small velvet box containing a gold ring and a matching necklace, each adorned with a ruby so vivid it seemed to glow from within.

“These,” the woman declared, her earlier intensity replaced with a saleswoman’s enthusiasm. “These are perfect for you. Look at the craftsmanship! Ancient, regal, and absolutely meant to be yours.”

Y/n hesitated, eyeing the jewelry warily. “They’re beautiful, but I wasn’t really planning to buy anything…”

The woman scoffed, thrusting the box toward y/n. “Nonsense! Try them on. You’ll see.”

Y/n sighed and picked up the ring, slipping it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, the ruby catching the faint light and gleaming like fire. The necklace felt cool and strangely heavy as she clasped it around her neck.

The woman clapped her hands, her grin widening. “See? They were made for you. A perfect match.”

“They’re… nice,” y/n admitted, still unsure. “But I’m not sure I need them.”

“Need?” The woman leaned closer, her voice dropping back into its earlier, cryptic tone. “They aren’t about need. They’re about destiny. Some things find you, not the other way around.”

Y/n frowned. “You’re really good at making this sound ominous, you know that?”

The woman only laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ominous? Perhaps. But it's true.”

With a resigned smile, y/n pulled out her wallet. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt compelled to buy the set. Maybe it was the allure of the pieces themselves, or maybe it was the woman’s strange, magnetic energy.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the small bag the woman handed her.

“May they bring you fortune,” the woman replied, her voice soft and enigmatic. As y/n turned to leave, the woman added, almost as an afterthought, “And perhaps… a bit of the past.” 

Y/n paused at the door, glancing back at the woman, who was now humming to herself as she rearranged trinkets on a nearby shelf. Shaking her head, she stepped back into the bustling streets of Rome.

The city was glowing in the last light of day, but y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. The ruby ring felt warm on her finger, and the necklace rested against her chest like a weight she hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe the eccentric woman was right. This wasn’t just simple jewelry.

End of Chapter 1

tags - @bad-grammer

I don't have an official taglist yet! But I can create one if you guys would like, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and let me know if you would like me to either create one or just tag you in the next chapter!

[xcziel]

Are You Sure thoughts (i'm certain there will be more)

JIMIN'S THIGHS

jk ultra competent "let's get it. let's go" vibes

jimin rolls his shorts over at the waist when he wants them shorter just like the sorority girls in college

the BICKERING

jk hostess twinkie sponsorship when???

also boy do they like avocado

jimin water baby confirmed

they drove about equally? not on the bike but otherwise they shared

yoongi sleepy voice "what?" 😂

jk hanging up after 30 seconds what even

chef jk!!!

MMA joke explained!

also very possible reason for them being given lots of room for subsequent sleeping

hiking in slides???? i was afraid he was gonna fall off that log and hurt himself

jm needs mosquito repellant sponsorship actually

every time i wanted their lonely leftover fries so bad

jk coughing 🥺🥺 poor baby

both of them*very* conscious of the audience and addressing the camera

jk is so organized! but impulsive in the moment - SUPER relatable

the film quality!!! every place looked amazing! even the store parking lots lol. connecticut about to have the best tourist season ever

jk looked SO HAPPY on the bike

both of them thrilled to be out in the open air/nature

when they play fight jk serious about boxing form and jm resorting to wrestling and leg holds (which- with his leg strength...)

i am envying jk's suitcase packing like .. damn that is perfect folding

we really did get a bit of a mukbang - SO. MUCH. EATING.

DOMESTICITY OFF THE CHARTS

jm just constantly doing bits and making up little songs and weird sounds

BOTH of them just "yes and"-ing each other until they crack up

i am american and just the familiarity of the places and people with jikook dropped in the middle was mind-blowing. when they get out if they start this up again (which sounds like the intention) i have to beg for them to come to texas

impromptu forest seven mv! jm parking lot dance moves! (with the wet asphalt stripes even!)

saying he's gonna starve himself after 🥺 like i sincerely think these trips are the only reason he didn't waste away he was so busy tired and then sick too

jm so much like my mom, like turning on the seat heater in the 86F car?

but then jk kept getting wet and then going in air-conditioned places? y'all. i'm glad they ate outside so much in that case hah

jimin's fluffy *hair* 😍 (the bed hair! lol)

jk music critique and advice hour! and he is RIGHT jm *should* growl more

feeding the staff! they are the sweetest 🥰

also i appreciated the explanation about what each is trying to do with their music

jk: i want to showcase my voice and singing talent in a variety of styles

jm: i like writing songs but it takes longer for me

[urfavoritemistake]

fiddleford mcgucket and things that go bump in the night

i understand why people like to explore scenarios in art/fic where fiddleford is aware of bill and has face-offs with him while he's in ford's body, or he works with stanley to try and get ford back post-portal incident, but to me personally? nothing beats the canon scenario where he is left entirely in the dark. because it's so horrifying.

you know the principle of horror that the monster is much scarier when it stays in the shadows than when it's revealed, usually towards the end of a story, because until then, it's left to the depths of your imagination to fill in the blanks? fiddleford chooses to not investigate those shadows, and even further enshrouds what he fears in darkness, because he's too scared of what he might uncover. he's the child who refuses to check for the monster under the bed and instead stays awake all night under the covers frozen in terror. that's the appeal of his character to me.

canonically, he doesn't know bill or stan exist. because ford refused to even trust his best friend with the knowledge of his muse, or anything about his past, even the fact that he has a twin. he actively hides childhood photos of him and stan from fiddleford. presumably, in college he kept all their conversations strictly to their interests and passions.

can you blame fiddleford for becoming infatuated with the guy? a talented, bright, yet mysterious individual. he probably longed to slowly break down those walls and gain his trust, learn more about this man who has made an effort to be unknowable. happily offered up stories of his own life back in tennessee, his family and aspirations, and prayed one day ford would do a little of the same. but he respected him too much to pry.

and then, when they reunite, he slowly notices his dear friend acts a little Off sometimes. unnatural. but how well does he really know him anyway? surely he speculates about the life ford is hiding from him, people he may be talking to, mental afflictions he may have, but he can't pin down anything due to how left in the dark he is, and his own fear of asking too many questions and overstepping boundaries. so he can only suspect. ultimately all he knows is there is some sort of evil afoot, and the machine him and ford are building will bring it about. all he has to go off of is his calculations and a vague dread.

until he starts making the choice to forget, which may be a little easier since there's already so much he knows he doesn't know. what's the harm in losing a bit more, especially stuff that is causing him pain?

and so he starts to lose his mind in turn, and he can feel it as it's happening. he knows he can't trust his deteriorating memories. but he can't stop because of the mechanisms of addiction.

and maybe one day, before everything is entirely gone, he's made aware that stanford pines, his ex-friend, has converted his lab into a tourist attraction. not one fiddleford can afford to attend with his increasing reliance on dumpster diving and beggaring to get by, mind you. but perhaps he gets a glance at the proprietor, this man claiming to be stanford pines, and feels that old sense of wrongness in his gut.

he's pretty sure that's ford's face, but something's off about it. and his hands. something's wrong with his hands. didn't ford have something with his hands? fiddleford didn't notice it at first in college until ford pointed it out because he's mighty insecure about it, but he's forgotten what it was. but honestly, how much of his own fragmented memories can he even trust?

he feels a shiver down his spine. perhaps it's best to forget about stanford pines altogether.