#when its meant to be more loose and wavy

[idolomantises]

looking back at some of my Eva drawings I think the more recent ones have lost that sort of... semi unnerving angle her concept design was meant to have

I don't mind making her eyes more expressive, but i want to return that initial look she used to have.

Edit: I have no clue why people are trying to give pointers, I know the issue with her design hence why I’ve been criticizing it

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Prompt-ober 2023 – Mythology and chaste kiss

From the moment Harry first sees the block of marble, he knows what it’s meant to be. He gets it at a discount due to some flaws – not enough dark green striations to look intentional, too many to create a piece using only the pure white marble, a slight crack formed during transport from the quarry. None of them matter to Harry. Once he has it in place in his spartan studio, Harry works like a man possessed to bring his creation to life. His friends, well aware of how Harry gets when he’s sculpting, pop by to bring him food and drink and make him take breaks to sleep. He’s not sure what he’d do without them. Probably die from overwork and malnutrition. He’ll have to do something really nice for them once he’s finished his sculpture. It takes three months of solid, near round-the-clock work to chip the precious but unnecessary stone away from the form he can envision within. The time flies by. He knows he’s never seen the face he’s shaping before, but it seems so familiar to him. If he were to really think about it, he might be able to determine who he’d used as a reference for the chin or the nose or the lips. But looking at the features as they take form, he can’t imagine them any other way. He takes his time with the final polishing, ensuring the sheen and smoothness of the stone appears as perfect as he can make it. The sculpture’s skin almost glows – he’s gotten the translucent lustre just right. Harry stands back and takes in his finished work, removing his apron, pockets heavy with chisels, rasps and sanding paper, and dusting off his worn, ripped jeans.  The figure is seated on an ornate throne, slouching the slightest bit and staring down its aquiline nose at some unseen supplicant. The face is beautiful, but there’s a cruelty to the arch of its brow and the twist of its full lips. Lush, wavy hair frames high cheekbones, leading down to a long neck and broad shoulders. The sculpture’s body is trim and firm, but the musculature isn’t overly defined. Seven dark green veins of varying sizes spiderweb across the figure’s torso and arms. Its feet are planted solidly on the plinth beneath it, arms loose but holding a sword across its lap – covered with carved, draping fabric for modesty, because Harry just couldn’t visualise the sculpture’s bits and, at a certain point, he'd felt decidedly perverted from his continued efforts to do so. He has always been told that his sculptures are full of vitality – that they look ready to step off their plinth and join the world of the living. But even he thinks he’s outdone himself this time. Harry decides to catch a few hours of sleep then give the sculpture one final go-over. Before he puts out the lights and leaves, he wanders over to stare at his creation, looking as an observer rather than the craftsman. He’d been so careful to touch the marble with his bare skin as little as possible, to prevent his skin oils from discolouring the stone. But, just this once, he allows himself to reach out and gently stroke the sculpture’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Cold and smooth. When Hermione had last popped in to make sure he was eating enough, she’d looked at his sculpture, raised her eyebrows, then looked at Harry and asked if he’d finally carved himself a Galatea. Harry had huffed a laugh – people had been making those sorts of comments to him for years at this point – and asked Hermione about her work at the library. But now, as he rests his hand against the figure’s cheek, he wonders if she’d noticed something he hadn’t. He’ll miss this project more than any other, once it’s sent to the gallery that displays his work. He leans in closer and presses his lips, feather-light, against the figure’s lips, thinking maybe… But he’s no Pygmalion, and the sculpture remains marble beneath his touch. Laughing a little at his fanciful actions, Harry finishes closing up his studio for the day and goes to rest. ──⚝── Hours later, with dawn’s first light illuminating the airborne dust in the studio and no one around to see, a marble finger twitches.

Part two can be read here.

[runawaycarouselhorse]

People who wonder how Usagi [blonde, blue-eyed] and Mamoru [raven-haired, blue-eyed] produced Chibiusa [pink-haired, red-eyed]... aside from BSSM being one of those anime where the hair colours are more symbolic and reflective of personality traits and tropes than genetics, Chibiusa has red eyes and pink hair because she's meant to resemble an albino rabbit. Her hair is pink like the ears of a rabbit! That's also the reason for her dango.

She also has loosely curly/wavy hair, much like Usagi's is naturally (it's just veeeery long and stretched by its weight, so you mostly see the curls/waves in the shorter strands, fringe, and at the spiraling ends, or when it was very short as a child!)... and when it's loose. It can looks as wavy as Makoto and Michiru's!!

Also, in Takeuchi Naoko's earliest concept art, Usagi was meant to have white hair (like a bright, white moon!), but she was advised to make her more colourful and appealing to young girls with more primary colours. ^o^; That's why she kept the silvery white hair for Serenity... Kousagi (Chibiusa's sister in an alternate world) has pink hair, blue eyes, and even curlier hair!)...

Here's a very good website compiling many different colours Usagi (and Chibiusa!) have had.

But even more interestingly, blonde was not the first colour Takeuchi-sensei tried for Usagi: pink was!!!

90's and even 2000's shoujo characters often had different colours in the coloured pieces, to suit the mood of the piece, but Chibiusa's hair being pink and her eyes being red could've been inherited from Usagi's earlier designs...

Also, Ikuko-mama has wavy hair in every adaptation... and pastel-coloured hair, too! A sort of purple-pink...

And now, for my last bit of "proof" that Usagi and Chibiusa are mother and daughter, without a shadow of a doubt, via likeness--

These bunnies are PACKING HEAT, thank you.

(Yes, I know Chibiusa's gun was a toy. No such evidence for beta Usagi's.)

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 1 - Lysa Kane

Din Djarin is happy on Nevarro. He has a home, a family, what more could he want? But when a woman turns up selling bread and cakes at his doorstep, how can he not fall in love? And how can he also stop her from getting hurt at the hands of her partner behind closed doors? Will the hero save the girl and get the girl? Warm and sweet fluff/romance/hurt/comfort fic.

Masterlist

Chapter 1

----

Din Djarin was content.

For the first time in his existence he needed for nothing. He was on a planet with clean air. He had a home, a ship, good friends, and even family.

The Mandalorian, who was sitting at a scrubbed wooden table inside of his cabin fixing one of the booster parts of his N-1 Starfighter, glanced through the open window to where he could see Grogu.

His son was playing near the pond, toying with the frogs that resided in it - his favourite thing to do while they had some downtime.

Din was happy that he now had a place for Grogu to just be able to be a kid. For here he could be safe without the worry of capture, or worse.

Din gave a chuckle as Grogu, using his powers, sent a frog spinning into the air before it fell into the pool once more.

Turning back to his work, his expression formed again into a frown as he scrutinised the device in front of him. He knew that eventually it would need to be looked at by Peli Motto and her team of droids. But he could put a temporary fix on for now, avoiding making a trip over to Tatooine without reason to be there.

It was likely that a job in that part of the outer rim would come up eventually, now that his role of Bounty Hunter was back up and running.

But since he had settled here in Nevarro three weeks ago, he and Grogu had only taken on one job and that had been a quick one, paying very little in return.

And as far as credits went, Din had used his last yesterday, picking up food and supplies to make him and Grogu’s home - a home.

His child didnt want for much. But despite the pair being set up with a few items of furniture, there was very little here, and basic bedding and utensils had needed to be bought. So that’s where his credits had disappeared to. 

Raising a kid certainly wasn't cheap. If it had just been Din here alone, he would have gotten by on the few items he had gathered during his travels inside a tiny storage trunk at the base of the Starfighter. But he wanted a better life for the child. And that, he realised, required buying things. And that meant, credits. Lots of credits!

Din gave a weary sigh, but as he did so, he heard another sound nearby.

A sound drawing nearer and nearer…

He lifted his head, eyes on Grogu, as he listened, his hand moving to his blaster which sat on the table nearby.

It sounded like a speeder.

Din was so far out of town and away from the usual roads between here and the Mandalorian camp, so it was rare to get anyone just ‘passing by’.

Getting quickly to his feet and placing the gun into its holster at his waist, he strolled through the door that led out into the yard where Grogu was playing. 

From here he had a good view of the path that led down to his home.

He saw his son look up from what he was doing to watch, as a small battered landspeeder juddered down the road towards them.

At first, Din presumed it would be someone he knew, come to see him. But as they hovered closer he noticed that this was no one he recognised.

The battered old speeder slowed to a stop a little way from his ship. His smart Naboo Starfighter seeming gigantic compared to this tiny vehicle. From here it looked ancient, with faded blue panelling on the outside. It had certainly seen better days that was for sure.

Nearby Grogu cooed, as Din’s hand tensed near to his blaster. Ever cautious of a stranger and what they might want from them.

But to his surprise, this stranger lifted off their visor revealing a length of loose, wavy hair, the colour of honey, and offered him a soft smile.

“Didn't realise there was anyone living out this far,” came the voice of the woman as she got to her feet, stepping from the landspeeder. “I never normally come this way, I was just trying to avoid a dust storm on my way back from Jawa territory”. 

She was clothed in a long light grey jacket that fell to the floor and an outfit of pale lilac beneath, practical for the bleaching dusty desert sands Din noted.

At her voice, Grogu got to his feet, waddling over towards the newcomer with interest.

The woman reached into the rear of the speeder and lifted the lid off a basket she had hooked onto the back.

“I’ve got fruit for sale, and homemade sweet bread, three different types,” she said in a carrying voice, revealing a bounty of colourful food beneath the cover. “You interested?”

Din noted that she was a little younger than he was, human, with kind eyes and a voice like bird song.

He had never lived anywhere long enough to be bothered by travelling salespeople, so the idea of someone calling to sell food at his doorstep felt novel. Quaint.

But right now this was not something he could afford. He would need to earn more credits for a luxury like this.

“Uh, we’re-” he began, but before Din could explain that they were not interested, Grogu had shuffled past him and made for the basket, bouncing up onto the speeder. And before the tall Manadalorian could do anything to stop him, he was already biting down onto a ripe horned melon greedily, the yellow juice spilling down his tiny chin.

“Oh,” uttered the woman in surprise, before blinking several times and giving a laugh, her entire face lighting up. “Where did you spring from, little guy?”

“Grogu!” scolded Din in a gruff voice, marching over, as the green child turned, taking a piece of dark sweet bread and shoving it into his mouth in one. “Grogu, stop!”

The woman laughed brightly, her golden hair tangling around her in the breeze,

“It’s fine, don't worry,” she said looking up at Din as he reached in and hurriedly pulled Grogu from the basket. “First sample’s on me.”

Grogu instantly whined, making grabby hands for the sweet delicacies over his father’s armoured shoulder.

“I’m sorry we don't have any money to pay you,” Din said, turning to the woman who merely smiled back.

She reached up and took one of Grogu’s clawed hands in hers, waggling it playfully.

“You must have that infamous Mandalorian sweet tooth,” said the woman gently, her eyes flicking quickly to Din, explaining- “The Manadalorians in the camp on the other side of the city are some of my best customers.”

Din stared at her through his helmet for a long moment, his eyes travelling over her face at this close proximity. 

She didn't look like someone from the Outer Rim. For someone who travelled through the harsh lava flats, on what sounded like an almost daily basis, she looked good. More than good…almost ethereal to him. Like a goddess. Like a mirage. Like a swirl of perfectly golden sand caught in a cool breeze.

Din internally shook himself, snapping himself from his daydream. All this, it was likely just the heat of the sun talking.

But the woman had already turned away from him, instead reaching into the basket before handing him a small piece of sweet bread wrapped in cloth.

“You can pay me next time,” she said kindly. “Cant have this little one going without now can we?”

Din could smell the sweet scent of the fruity cake, even through his helmet, as he took the food from her grasp and gave a nod.

“Thank you,” the Manadlorian uttered quietly,  as Grogu turned in his arms, reaching for the sweet bread excitedly. “You…uh…you live in the City?”

She gave a nod, as her honey coloured hair fluttered around her gently. “Yes. My name’s Lysa Kane.”

“Din Djarin,” the Mandalorian replied promptly. “And this is Din Grogu.”

The woman named Lysa Kane smiled, her marsh-coloured eyes meeting with his behind his helmet, despite her not realising it. “Good to meet you, Din Djarin and Din Grogu.”

She reached up and tickled Grogu under the chin, before turning and closing up her basket neatly and reaching for her visor.

Din took a big step backwards as she shot them both one last smile before pulling the visor over her head and hopping back into the landspeeder.

With a clack-clack-clack the speeder juddered to life and reversed shakily, before zooming quickly away.

Din continued to watch until Lysa and her landspeeder were just a speck on the dusty horizon, before glancing down at Grogu who was already munching his way through half the sweet bread in his hand.  

He placed his son gently to the floor, before standing up straight and lifting his helmet a little.

Continuing to watch the now empty horizon, he slowly lifted what was left of the cake in hand, and took a bite. 

Din Djarin gave a groan of pleasure at the taste, blissfully closing his eyes in satisfaction.

-

Would anyone be interested in me continuing this?

Please let me know if you liked it and want to be added to the tag list?

[kabanos-ek]

Hello!

I decided to try out and write something with Good Omens involved. You know, to test the waters or whatever the saying is.

It didn't exactly turn out how I had it in my mind but I don't think it's bad either.

Short and fluffy and calm

Experimenting with his style was one of Crowley's favorite things he could do. Especially in regards to his hair. Though he never changed its color once. The demon could do this any second, snap his fingers and be a blonde, or a brunette, or have jet black hair, like the pits of Hell he once inhabited. Would match his jacket and other clothing he wished into existence. But no, Crowley liked the coppery, rusty color, it somewhat matched his personality. Someone once told him he had typical orange cat energy? He still doesn't quite understand what the fuck that meant.

But he did experiment with its length and styling.

Crowley especially found it convenient that he could miracle it to his liking. Mostly because one day he felt most like himself in a short hairstyle. Cropped sides, longer top, few strands falling at his eyes, maybe a bit messy. The other days, long, wavy hair, sometimes tied in a loose bun at the back of his head, making him even more confident and sure.

But Crowley loved having long hair in moments like this, in Aziraphale's old bookshop, on a calm, warm and sunny day, with nothing else to do than sitting and doing nothing. His Angel sat on a vintage looking couch, legs slightly spread to let Crowley sit on the floor between Aziraphale's knees, back turned to him, slightly slouched, head rested by the cheek on the Blonde's knee, and an arm hooked around his calf, the other laying limp on the Demons lap, sunglasses held in a loose grip. His eyes were closed and his facial features relaxed. Aziraphale's hands tangled in copper curls and strands, making random braids and combing trough it.

Crowley's breathing was slow and quiet, sometimes a content sigh escaped him but he would deny it with all his might if anyone asked. His mind was comfortably fuzzy and cozy, with nothing that could cause any stress running trough it. He didn't really need to breath, but the action was automatic in the body, and he didn't bother fighting it.

Aziraphale felt quite similar. Also relaxed, his thoughts quiet for once. When he got bored of playing with his Demons hair alone, he would snap his fingers and miracle a book from a nearby shelf in his hand, without moving his legs even an inch, careful to not disturb the sleeping serpent at his feet. He'd hold the book with one hand, the other laying atop Crowley's head, sometimes moving a bit, the action even resembling a petting action a bit. Only taking it off to turn a page.

And when Crowley's legs grew tired, a feeling of hundreds ants walking on skin, he'd tighten his hold around the Angels leg, then slowly rise his head up, blinking out the fog from his vision and slowly stand up. He'd settle on the couch instead, next to Aziraphale, lay down on his back, setting his legs over the armrest and laying his head back on the lap of his favorite being in existence, going right back to sleep.

Moving the book to his other hand, Aziraphale would lay the now free one on Crowley's chest, feeling his (not really needed) heartbeat.

[as-is-above-so-below]

In the Middle of the Night (Jason Todd x OC)

Masterlist

Chapter 7, Chapter 9

story summary: Melanie Withers and Jason Todd do everything together - including but not limited to stealing tires off Gotham's famous vigilante. The newest additions to the Wayne family begin their journey, learning how to navigate their new family, life as vigilantes, adolescence, grief, and rebirth.

chapter summary: Teenage fluff, sibling bonding, and Dad!Bruce

Shoutout to @lethalchiralium for beta'ing this chapter :)

July 2012

Bruce checked his cufflinks in the mirror before buttoning his jacket, meeting their eyes in the reflection. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t cause too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“I can’t believe it. Another date with Selina Kyle,” Melanie teased, her hands on her hips. Bruce had been fretting over his appearance for the last hour, rifling through his suits to pick just the right one (they all looked the same to her), meticulously combing his hair, and asking for their opinions on about a dozen different ties. “Why are you so nervous? You’ve been together for years, it’s not like you have to win her over.”

“You always have to impress. Every time,” he advised, taking the massive bouquet Alfred offered to him. “Whether it be a grand gesture or something small. Having a long history with someone doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be lazy. Remember that advice.” He bonked the top of her head with the flowers, stray water from the stems clinging to her face. She sputtered, wiping the droplets with the back of her hand. “And as you said, Bruce Wayne hasn’t taken Selina Kyle on a real date in a long time.”

Alfred then passed along two small boxes with a ‘W’ impressed onto their face. Jason snorted and reached for one. “Seems a little soon for a proposal, Bruce,” he pointed out, then the box was swiftly moved out of his reach. He pouted frowned and went to pounce when Bruce cleared his throat.

“These aren’t for Selina. They’re for you.” He handed the confused teens their respective gifts. “You were meant to get these months ago, but I decided to have them specially made, which took longer.”

They briefly made eye contact before cracking open them open. A thin gold chain with a ‘W’ pendant, about the same diameter as a penny, lay in hers. Jason’s contained a thicker necklace of the same material, sans any charms.

“When I was about your age, my parents gave me one. My father said ‘a gold chain should be a staple in every man’s wardrobe,’” he explained, patting the spot where his necklace rested under his collar. “When Dick became my ward, I had some of my parents’ jewelry melted down to make a chain as my father did for me. Now I’m doing it for you. I made yours thinner to be more feminine, but if you’d like something else I can change it.”

“No, I love it. Thank you.” Melanie pulled the delicate piece loose from its holder and held it out to Jason. “Can you help?”

He smirked, took it from her, and motioned for her to turn around. Her wavy hair already tied up and out of the way, Jason gingerly draped the necklace before moving closer until he could see the tiny clasp enough to fasten it. His fingers brushed against the soft skin as he fiddled with it, sending sparks up his fingertips. He did his best to ignore it, and finally, the latch caught, and he lingered for split second before tapping her shoulder.

When Jason’s touch was gone, Melanie finally allowed herself to shiver, the spots where he had grazed her burning underneath her skin. She quickly did the same with him, the clasp on his chain bigger and easier to work than hers had been.

“Perfect,” Bruce beamed when they faced him again, smiling themselves. “I have to get going. Remember, no patrol, and try not to–”

“Cause too much trouble,” the teens droned at the same time.

“Exactly. Just have to make sure you were listening.” With one final adjustment in the mirror, Bruce made for the door. “Be good!”

.

.

.

They were, indeed, not good.

After Bruce left, the pair settled into their routine of Melanie typing as Jason recited the synopsis of a book she was supposed to have read for her paper. He watched over her shoulder, occasionally pointing at the screen to tell her where to make corrections. When he wasn’t talking with his hands, he was drawing light circles on one of the elbows resting on his thighs.

Melanie was smart, but God did she hate Literature class.

Jason is mid-explaining what the green light in The Great Gatsby means when Dick appears in his bedroom doorway, knocking twice. Melanie peeked around her laptop, where her body was nestled between the length of his legs, head resting on his stomach. “If Dad sent you to check in on us, we’re fine. We’re behaving,” she told him, before going back to finishing her (read: Jason’s) thoughts on the electronic page.

“Behaving?! Absolutely not. I won’t have it. Let’s go.”

“So Bruce didn’t send you to babysit?”

“A little birdy told me that tonight’s date night, figured I’d see what you guys were up to. Clearly, you need my help.” Dick winked at them before jumping forward, grabbing Jason by his ankles and effectively yanking them both down the bed.

Jason glowered at the ceiling, irritated at the man for ruining his alone time. It was hard enough getting Melanie alone nowadays, with schoolwork and training and gymnastics, without their brother interrupting what was supposed to be a night off. 

“Suit up, we’ve got places to be,” he said, holding up…the keyfob for the Batmobile?

Melanie closed her computer and placed it higher up on the mattress, then rolled off of Jason. “Dad said we can’t patrol without him,” she pointed out, leaning back on her hands. 

“We’re not patrolling, just doing some sightseeing!” Dick sang, twirling the keyring on his index finger. “Beats this snooze fest.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he sat up, legs still splayed in front of him. “For your information, dickwad, I like school. And we were enjoying a quiet night off,” he grumbled, then stretched forward until his hands wrapped around his feet, stretching his muscles and spine. Jason had quickly put on weight with regular homecooked meals and frequent exercise. From what he could tell from the files on the Batcomputer, he had already surpassed Dick in size when he was the same age. Growing pains were bothering him, but it wasn’t anything a bit of stretching couldn’t fix. “I’d kill to drive the Batmobile, but–”

Dick snapped his fingers and pointed with finger guns. “Sold!” he said, like an auctioneer, with a wicked, mischievous smile.

The black-haired boy tilted his head up from his stretch, brows raised. “You’re not serious. Bruce will kill us.”

“Bah, what Bruce doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. Besides, if he does find out, he can’t ground all of us. We just have to stick together.” He offered his hands to pull each of them off the bed. “Remember, young grasshopper: I exist for the sole purpose of raising his blood pressure. You must learn to ask forgiveness, not permission.”

.

.

.

“Whose bright idea was it to interrupt my evening with an alert that the Batmobile was activated?”

The thick heel of Bruce’s loafers clicked on the hard floor of the Batcave as he paced back and forth, echoing over the profound silence from his children. Dick, Jason, and Melanie were lined up in their uniforms, arms behind their backs like soldiers, eyes straight ahead. All three sported tousled, wind-swept hair, Melanie’s tangled in bushy knots over her shoulders.

“I admire your solidarity. Truly,” Bruce admitted with pursed lips. He stopped in front of Jason and leaned into his face. “Very touching. I don’t want to punish you, lad. This could all be over if you just tell me which one of you decided to take the Batmobile for a joyride.”

Dick nudged him with his elbow. “Hold.”

Bruce shot a nasty glare in his oldest son’s direction. Dick had gotten into plenty of his own shenanigans growing up, especially when the League created the Titans for their partners.  The loyalty between the Titans only went so far when it came to getting grounded. However, as Selina had pointed out months ago, he wasn’t prepared for sibling collaboration.

He straightened up and buttoned his jacket. “No one? Last chance.” After another stretch of silence, he sighed deeply and shook his head. “Alright, I warned you. I don’t want to do it, but I guess I’ll have to ground all of you.”

“I don’t even live here–”

“Grounded.”

“But we have to patrol!” Melanie whined, waving at her costume. Her hair fell into her eyes, which she blew back in annoyance. The strand floated back down unceremoniously.

“You climbed onto the hood while going sixty miles an hour!” He turned to Jason next. “You drove the damn thing! You are thirteen years old!”

“Almost fourte–”

Bruce cut him off by addressing Dick. “And you encouraged it! You used your vocal ID!” He pointed at each of them with every statement. Bruce sighed yet again and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something along the lines of Thirteen years old and Still stealing my cars. These kids were going to be the death of him. “Fine,” he growled. “You can patrol. But otherwise, you will stay in your rooms. You will only come out for meals and patrols for two weeks.”

“Dad, come on! That’s not fair!”

“This is not a discussion! I’m tempted to revoke everyone’s access to it in the first place!”

Melanie promptly snapped her mouth shut, having decided it would be best not to make the situation worse. Dismissed to the locker room after a thorough reaming and the promise of an extensive refresher on emergency vehicle use and driving safety, they all stripped out of their suits and into the comfy house clothes in their lockers. They stared at each other for a moment until Jason choked. Melanie immediately lost her composure, cheeks red from trying to hold in the fit of giggles that inevitably ruptured.

Dick dropped his entire weight onto the locker next to him and wheezed helplessly as his siblings melted into a puddle on the floor. “H-Holy shit, he-he’s pissed,” he croaked, covering his tear-filled blue eyes. “I don’t–know if I’ve ever m-made him so mad!”

High-pitched screams filled the air, Jason gripping his stomach. “I c-can’t breathe!”

“‘A-Almost fourteen’, I can’t believe you–”

October 2012

Bruce let the glass door to the conference room shut behind him with a soft rush of air. After his phone buzzed for the third time in his pocket, he briefly excused himself from the Wayne Enterprises board meeting. Dick had called twice, and now Alfred was the one who had tried to reach him. Probably because they know he always picks up for Alfred. “It’s one competition, Alfred. There will be plenty more.” Bruce checked the time again, not wanting to take too long. “Look, I really have to get back-”

“Master Bruce, I’m afraid I must insist. It’s not just a competition. This is her first.”

“Melanie said it was fine. She knows this is an important meeting. She told me not to come.”

Alfred sighed on the other end of the line, and Bruce could picture the exasperated look the butler was most definitely wearing. “Sir, if I may,” he offered. “You do realize Miss Melanie is a teenage girl, correct?”

The man paused, lips pressed into a thin line as he looked over his shoulder at the board members expectantly waiting for his return. “…Dammit.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Can I make it?” he asked, referencing his watch again.

“If you leave now, you just might be able to sneak in.”

Bruce promptly hung up and poked his head back into the boardroom. “I’m sorry, everyone, I’m such a ditz. I completely forgot that I have a family event tonight. You’ll have to excuse me. I appoint Lucius as my proxy.”

“But Mr. Wayne-” A dark-haired woman in a pantsuit stood near the end of the table, looking completely appalled at his sudden departure. Oh well.

“I really have to go. Apologies again!”

.

.

.

Melanie dismounted the beam and hit the final pose of her routine, facing the judges’ table before quickly turning on her toes to the crowd. She had competed on the uneven bars and done a floor routine before finishing on the balance beam.

It had taken quite some time for Dick to work something out and get her into competitive gymnastics. Not being associated with a particular gym provided its challenges but Dick’s reputation from volunteering as a gymnastics teacher at local community centers in Blȕdhaven (and, obviously, as a Wayne) lent a helping hand. They paid their dues and were allowed to compete, but not without some media backlash.

Many parents and media personalities expressed their distaste. Some called Dick’s presence an ‘unfair advantage’, given his pedigree as one of the world’s top trapeze artists. Others claimed their father had to have paid panelists and association members off and that there was no way that a street rat from Crime Alley could bear actual talent in less than a year.

Who knew the performative sports world was so vicious?

Dick clapped wildly and pumped the air from the coach's area. She beamed, waving both hands and scanning the crowd for her family. A sharp whistle caught her ear, and she finally found them in the front row further down. Jason removed his fingers from his mouth and then resumed his jumping and hollering; Alfred applauded politely next to him. Then, Melanie realized–

He really didn’t come.

Her shoulders and expression dropped minusculely, disappointment evident only to those who knew her well. While she did tell Bruce that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he missed the competition, Melanie had held out hope that he would make it. Alfred nodded to his left, and she followed his direction along the courtside bleachers. Still in a sharp suit, clapping quietly by the door to not draw attention, was–

Dad!

Melanie’s smile brightened impossibly before she moved to the sidelines, hugging Dick tightly as he lifted her off the ground.

After the award ceremony, Jason’s body smacked into hers, nearly knocking the wind out of her. He rocked them back and forth on each foot, her shoulders locked into him by his arms. Jason pressed a small but lingering kiss on her rosy cheek, about an inch from the corner of her mouth. Cameras clicked and flashed in the background as she grinned at him, about to speak before she saw her dad coming toward her.

She handed Dick her trophy and took off in a sprint, then launched into Bruce’s arms when she was within range. “You came!” she squealed, squeezing his neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. He held her easily, swaying as he hugged her. “Look!” she exclaimed, holding her medal up to him. “They put my name and score on it and everything!”

“I knew you could do it, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, letting her gush over the engraved details.

[ariddletobesolved]

Thank you for tagging me, @whateversawesome 🫶

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

The order is based on the last 10 fics that I’ve posted on my writing blog @written-by-ariddletobesolved 😊💖

Twilight could kiss her, there and then.  •  Deciphering Code: W (Spy x Family)

Forbidden is the word that the creatures of the forest and the ocean use to describe their union. They are not meant to be together, these creatures would say, one belongs to the land and the other belongs to the sea. But who are they to say such a thing, to assume that nothing good will come out of a union between two creatures of different realms?  •  Forbidden, in One Word Prompt Series (Frozen)

Twilight rouses from his slumber with a jolt, one hand instinctively reaching for a weapon hidden underneath his pillow, ready to face whoever dares to threaten the safety of his family. Much to his relief, however, there’s nothing but serenity that greets him when he opens his eyes. Darting his gaze to every corner of the room, making sure that there’s no threat waiting for him in the dark, sighing in relief when he finds none. That’s when he feels a movement from beside him.  •  Promises and Sweet Nothings (Spy x Family)

A quiet life is something that Loid Forger still isn’t quite used to.  •  All’s Well that Ends Well (to End Up with You) (Spy x Family)

“You’re burning up, Yor.”  •  Stay with Me (Will You?) (Spy x Family)

Winter has arrived in Berlint as the first fallen snow finally lets its presence be known. Days leading up to that very night have been colder than usual, as if trying to remind everyone that the new season is knocking on the door. Some people may associate winter with fun and togetherness, with the Holidays coming up. But some others associate winter more with loneliness and the end of a chapter.  •  Winter Memories (Spy x Family)

The moment the letter arrives on her desk, she knows he’s already made his decision. It’s addressed to Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle, written in a neat handwriting that unmistakably belongs to him. There’s a pang on her chest, and suddenly her breathing gets heavy. She quickly dismisses her advisor and tells her butler to make sure that she is left undisturbed.  •  The Heart Wants What It Wants (Frozen)

“Can you manage without your stick?”  •  Stolen Glances and Sweet Nothings (Frozen)

He didn’t know how long he had been staring, but it was probably long enough that the cup of tea in his grasp had lost its warmth. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife – his pretend wife, with a strong emphasis on that particular word. But then again, how could he when Yor looked rather different that morning – a good kind of different. Not that she had never looked so good before (she always does, in his eyes), but it’s not every day that he got to see her long dark hair draped over her shoulder in a single braid, with loose and wavy strands framing her face nicely.  •  Pretending Shouldn’t Be This Hard (Spy x Family)

Hans feels numb, frozen perhaps, more mentally than physically. Never did he think that he would eventually fall for the future queen. Truly, madly, deeply.  •  Coldness, in One Word Prompt Series (Frozen)

Tagging @ravinewreyn @sareinadale @springzero123 @iambellarose1816 and anyone who would like to participate! 💕

[jellybeandrawsthings]

☹️hi i dont usually do this thing where i ask for art/thoughts on things but ive had a super bad day and i was just curious as to what your take on your wounded-on-krypton Kara would be doing with Lena if she hadn't of come out as Supergirl but they still met and fell in love- would Kara just be floating around Lena's apartment during quarantine listening to Lena read books and making her gf tea's and flying out to get her her supplies so Lena would stay safe from getting sick? I really love your art.

aww, I'm sorry u had a bad day, I made a little doodle and tried writing a little story for it as well that should answear your queastion about my scarred!Kara and her relationship with Lena if she didn’t became Supergirl (tho I'm not a writer, so its quality might not be the best)  hopefully it will make u feel even just a little bit better

The first time she met Lena, Kara was going to L-Corp to get a prosthetic replacement from their new Cybernetic Futures program since she kind of destroyed her old one.

Okay, she definitely destroyed her old one, but to be fair, who knew kicking a cement boulder with a prosthetic leg made from human metals but with the force of an angry and very frustrated superpowered being would destroy said metal leg. Really, who could've predicted that?

Walking into the building with warm coffee in hand proved to be more difficult than Kara hoped, her busted prosthetic making her wobble every two steps since she didn't have a spare she could wear - this was the spare - and the slippery tiled floor didn't help. Making her way to the elevator she kept glancing down focusing on her steps, this meant she didn't notice when a woman absorbed in her phone walked straight into her path. On instinct, she relaxed her body as to not harm the human she collided with, unfortunately, that meant she lost her barely-there, to begin with, balance and was sent sprawling onto the floor and her coffee splashing straight at the woman's shirt. Perfect. Just what she needed today.

She had an apology already forming on her lips when she looked up and for the first time noticed the woman, no, the goddess she bumped into. Her hair was black, but when it caught the light it shone deep chestnut brown and cascading down her back, her skin was pale and looked so soft Kara found herself wanting to touch it, her fingers twitching at her sides. The woman's eyes were green, though her right eye seemed to be two shades lighter, more gray than green. She wasn't looking at her currently occupied with taking in the state of her clothes. And Rao, her clothes. The outfit was that of a businesswoman, high heels ready to kill, dark burgundy slacks with a matching suit jacket, loose black tie, and a white shirt. A white shirt that was now covered in Kara's coffee. Oh no. She needed to fix this, like, immediately. The best place to start is with an apology, right?

———————

Lena was having a pretty normal day, all things considered. She should have known her days are never normal. She woke up early, ate a small breakfast, and went to work. There she had meetings with investors from 8 to 11, some paperwork to sign, a small meeting with the head of R&D at 12, and now she finally had enough time to take a break and maybe grab some lunch. With a certain sandwich place in mind, she made her way down to the ground floor and, while answering some last-minute e-mail made her way to the exit of the building.

Before she could even make it halfway to the wide double door, she felt something surprisingly solid and at the same time very wobbly bump into her, and then a sudden warmth and wetness on her chest. Looking down at herself confirmed what she already suspected, someone, spilled coffee on her. Thankfully it was only warm and not scalding hot the last thing she needed right now was dealing with coffee-induced burns. Making sure her shirt was the only thing damaged in the incident, Lena paid no mind to the person who bumped into her, that is until a very apologetic voice started talking to her. From the floor. Looking away from her ruined shirt, she took in the person frantically trying to apologize for spilling coffee on her, at least that's what she thinks the woman was trying to do, seeing as at his point she was rambling a mile a minute.

The woman on the floor looked young, probably around the same age as Lena herself, she had blond wavy hair gathered in a messy ponytail and hidden behind cute square-framed glasses, the bluest eyes she has ever seen. There was a burn scar covering most of the left side of her face and neck and more peeking out from under her shirt. Her left leg ended right below the knee, and the prosthetic she was wearing looked like someone put it under an industrial press and then tried to put it back into shape with a hammer. She was wearing blue sneakers, jean shorts, and a yellow tank top with tiny rainbow dinosaurs on it that gave her an unobscured view of the rippling muscles in her arms as she gesticulated wildly still rambling out something resembling an apology.

Taking it all in Lena came to one conclusion. She's cute. And so with warm coffee drying on her chest and a beautiful woman at her feet, really what else was there for Lena to do other than ask the blonde out on a date.

———————

They moved in together after a year of dating. Alex asked if they were sure, but there wasn't a doubt in their minds that this was what they wanted. It felt right. And they were glad for this decision since a few months later, they and most of the world's population were confined to their homes.

Days in quarantine were spent working from home on their laptops with their legs entwined together and sharing a blanket out of the view of the cameras. When they weren't working they were finding new ways to entertain themselves. Slowly making their way through the classics of fantasy and sci-fi literature, with Kara floating them above the couch and Lena laying on top of her chest reading aloud from her Kindle was how they were spending most of the evenings. During the weekends when there was less work, Lena tried to teach Kara how to bake - with mixed results - and Kara made it her mission to recreate as many childhood experiences Lena missed out on living with the Luthors as possible. Her blanket fort wasn't the most structurally sound, but it sure was cozy. Movie nights were a nightly routine, and cooking dinner together became the most sacred daily ritual neither of them dared or wanted to skip. Weekly game nights through zoom were initiated almost immediately after lockdown and to no one's surprise, Lena and Alex's competitiveness did not lessen with the development of not being in the same room. If anything it became worse. Bets about how long will it take for the two of them to start fighting and accusing each other of cheating were as much a tradition as game nights itself. Most days though were spent working and lounging together with Kara occasionally flying out to pick up supplies they needed. And when one day Kara flew through the balcony with two cats and a dog saying there wasn't enough space in shelters, who was Lena to refuse those cute puppy eyes (it didn't hurt that the dog and cats were adorable as well).

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter two rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Moving and finding an apartment can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re you, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it.

Your dad dropped dead three weeks after you told Andy you were moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of you trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. You doubted you’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for you. As his only child, you got his apartment in Queens and all his smelly hoodies.

You said your goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. You had originally moved there after high school to start your show, The L/n Report. San Francisco was known for its crimes against the homeless population and you wanted to start with a story on that. You ended up interviewing Andy at the police station while investigating a missing person, and dated him for two years. Now, you were spending your last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy you once loved and the very girl he now did.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” You answered her. She smiled fondly at you as she linked her arm through yours.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” You whispered, nodding towards Andy, who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and nodded in agreement as you continued to walk.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re my best friend here.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” You thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2021, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. You laughed at the domestic moment but couldn’t help feeling a pain in your heart knowing he used to be that way with you.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. You and Dani looked at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, growing annoyed.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded playfully. Andy sighed and reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked you. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back.” You shrugged. “I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.”

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased you.

“That is verbatim what they said to me.” You admitted with a laugh. “But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest investigative reporter.”

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy showed a rare interest in your work.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady.” You answered. “He’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens. No one knows how he’s hiding his victims bodies. Apparently none have ever been close to being found.”

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Andy raised an eyebrow, always with the condescending tone.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” You replied, earning a laugh from Dani but not Andy. You and Andy had already broken up by the time Carlton Drake contracted a symbiote and tried to kill you and Venom. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone and wrote a career defining article on his lethal human experiments. You managed to leave out all information regarding symbiotes from the article, so your secret was still safe. You were a fairly well known reporter since the incident and your next job was waiting for you in New York.

In the morning, You and Venom got on a plane and made your way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom turned out to be the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. You tried to sleep, but every two seconds you had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window, even after you explained to her that everyone on the plane would die horrible death if the window were to open.

“Stop that.” You whispered when you noticed a black tendril creeping towards the window. The lady in the seat next to you shot me a look of confusion. You gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window, doing your best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of your body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“We want it open.” Venom replied telepathically.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” You said through my teeth.

“We didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered, making you groan. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, you arrived at the apartment building. You had never been to your dads apartment, you didn’t even know he had one. You wondered what happened to your childhood home as you looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was, and The Daily Bugle offered to cover your expenses until the story was done. You figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

The first seven days in the apartment went by smoothly. You unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up the furniture. On the eight day, you sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when you had a thought.

“Oh shit.” You said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around your neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists.” You frowned. “We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.”

You and Venom grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on your shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Oops. I grabbed someone else’s mail too.” You clicked your tongue when you read a strangers name off the envelope. “I gotta find them.”

“Let’s go.” Venom said and pulled you towards the front door.

“Sorry, babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” You reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside your body.

You checked the address of the envelope and discovered that it belonged to the apartment directly across from you.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it as you mindlessly cracked your knuckles. Just as you were about to walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” You asked right away. You looked up from the envelope and your face instantly flushed. The person staring back at you definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around your age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was gelled back loosely and you could see the outline of soft curls. To your surprise, he was just as flushed as you were. You stared at each other for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to blink.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. You recognized the name of one of the most prestigious high schools in New York, already impressed with your new neighbor.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly as you handed his mail to him. The boy rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at it and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He smiled weakly. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons.

“Oh, right.” You laughed in embarrassment. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.”

You pointed to the door behind you as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit once you told him where you lived.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said and you stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” You told him, malign the boys eyes widen. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. You had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you’re right, that man stank.” You chuckled. It was the first thing you said that felt like your old self. You hadn’t really talked to anyone since moving to New York, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. You liked talking to this boy, though you still had no idea who he was.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He immediately turned red when he heard his own words. You saw the regret in his eyes and decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” You flirted. Again, he relaxed. You felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean, Peter Parker.” He fumbled over his words again, making you smile fondly.

“We like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. You looked down at my shoes and blushed, knowing you liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added, ruining the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker.” You gave him your best smile. “I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type.” You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth. You didn’t know what his sense of humor was like and he might not find you the slightest but funny. Andy always told you you were bad at telling jokes, and you feared he might be right.

Lucky for you, Peter burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry.” Peter pointed a finger down the hall. “Yeah, I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.”

“Damn. So he beat me to asking you.” You pretended to be upset, which made Peter laugh again. The sound of his laugh made your heart pick up speed. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed you, Andy was just lucky you liked a man in uniform.

“Yeah. You better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard.” You clicked your tongue. “Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops, though.”

Peter smiled at your joke. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh just to see it again. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned, and you grinned back.

“My hero.” You gushed as you put your hands over your heart. The tips of his ears went pink, like he was shocked that you said that.

“I’m no hero.” He sounded almost panicked, like you touched a nerve or something.

“We’re hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing you to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at you strangely, not knowing the cause of your sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” You lied.

“If there was a spider, we’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yeah, New York is full of them.” Peter said skeptically. “Not that full, though. And some spiders are nice. One might even call them friendly.”

“Right.” You laughed at his strange wording, unaware that you were both keeping a secret.

“Would…” Peter began but trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He offered. It all came out in one breath. You could tell he was nervous and that only drew you in more.

“I’d love to Peter.” You said, and he smiled in relief.

“Great.” He gave an awkward thumbs up. “We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Then, you did something stupid. You put your hand on his arm like the dumb bitch you were. You barely knew this guy. Who the hell were you to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing, since he instantly froze under your touch and stared at your hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” You assured him, feeling him relax under your touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning us first? Our mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked, making your eyes widen.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, you would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER” from the top of your lungs. But since you didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of the neighbors away, you merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no.” You shook your head. “His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one makes me cry.”

Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down your body, but not in a crude way. You berated yourself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors, clad in nothing but a grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute, but you had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and you could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He was dressed almost professionally and you found it incredibly endearing.

You wanted to know more about him. You wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. You wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Your gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi, Mr. S. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter hung up and looked at you apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” You called back.

You went back to your apartment and like a kid, broke out into a happy dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was?” You gushed. “And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.”

Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” You replied coyly. “Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.”

“We can feel your heart beat.” Venom reminded you. “It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?”

You had been rummaging through your closet and stopped in your tracks. With Peters new inhabitance in your mind, you had forgotten all about Andy. You moved to New York to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and you might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say.” You decided. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But we want him to be.” Venom insisted. “We want him back, remember?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You answered honestly. “I just want to get ready for tonight.”

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall.” Venom teased.

“Only 5 hours?” You sighed. “We better get moving.”

[bunnykawa]

what are you doing, step bro? (sakusa x f. reader)

summary: To your parents, Sakusa was the greatest son. To you, he was the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for, but you could only find that out with a little force.

a/n: i literally just started college so i won't have much time to write but i have some stories in my drafts that'll be posted in awhile lol. should i open requests for haikyuu drabbles since they're short but still entertaining?? idek i feel like no one is reading this rn LOL but if anyone is reading this, lmk ;)

(edit: I HAD TO REPOST THIS CS IT WASNT SHOWING UP IN TAGS so sorry if you already liked this post)

warnings: 18+, incest, mentions of drugging,  mentions of somnophilia, mentions of parental neglect, noncon/dubcon/rape, sakusa is a dirty pervert i just don’t know how else to tag this, degradation, slight manipulation

"(Y/N), this is your new big brother, Kiyoomi," your mother said, holding tightly onto your small shoulders as you stood in front of her.

"You can refer to him as your nii-san from now on." Locking eyes with you was an older boy with long black wavy hair, two moles on the right side of his forehead, and a white face mask on the lower half of his face which blocked his nose and mouth. How odd, you thought. You could tell he was disinterested with how his eyes were blank as he stared at you.

That was the first time meeting your step brother, Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Being four years younger than Sakusa, you two never really got along. Of course you had to respect each other, but there was nothing to really talk about other than when his volleyball games were or unfulfilling small talks. Sometimes he would make snide remarks, asking if you even showered when your hair was only slightly messy or if a smart word ever came out of your mouth when you stumbled over your words. Sometimes he was just mean to you in general to the point where you would cry. You always tried to ignore it, though. That was when you were younger. You couldn’t help that you weren’t that smart and he was your nii-san after all. Your parents would brush it off.

You celebrated his victories together, only because you had to. I mean, you were the younger sister of one of the nation's top three aces in high school volleyball. There was no way your parents wouldn't celebrate. He was their pride and joy.

Smart, athletic, incredibly attractive — everything you felt like you could never live up to.

Your own biological mom so obviously and painfully liked him more than you.

Before you even entered high school, Sakusa was old enough to move out and go to college where he continued to play volleyball. When he visited during the holidays, you still wouldn't have decent conversations with him. He would still insult you. It even made you cringe when you had to call him nii-san. Why address him as your older brother when he didn't even act like it?

But you dealt with it because you had to.

Fresh out of Itachiyama Academy, you're focused on studying for entrance exams for colleges in your area rather than what would happen if you ever had to see Sakusa again. But, you were expecting to see him very soon.

Gentle knocks are heard from outside your door and before you can respond, your mom is already opening it.

"(Y/N), Omi is coming today and he's gonna be here for a week. I have to go to the grocery store to buy food and I'm gonna run other errands so it's gonna take awhile," she says, leaning her head into your room. You respond multiple times with "okay" so she can leave your room sooner.

Textbooks and notebooks are strewn across your bed with you on your stomach, trying to cram as much information in your head as possible.

"That means I might not be here in time for when he comes, so you have to open the door and greet him," she adds.

"What about dad?" you ask with a grimace. The most you would do is say hello and scurry back into your room.

She rolls her eyes at you. "He's working late again. You know that, (Y/N)." With a sigh, you agree and she finally leaves your room after bidding you a "goodbye."

You can't remember the last time you saw Sakusa, but it was probably almost half a year ago. Ever since he left for college, your parents were even more distant towards you. They probably felt like they didn't need to worry about you because you weren't doing anything important.

When Sakusa came over, he barely acknowledged you and you were okay with that because it meant he wouldn't be bothering you.

But that didn't mean his blank stare wouldn't catch your attention whenever you came out of your room to eat or use the restroom. The atmosphere felt...very odd around him. You couldn't necessarily come up with a reason why.

Suddenly, you hear knocking on the front door. It had to be at least an hour or two since your mom left and the thought of who was waiting at the door made your stomach churn.

"Nii-san is here," you mutter to yourself as you got up to open the door. Right as you open the door, Sakusa was staring down at you with the same blankness in his eyes from before with his usual face mask. His hair was shorter than you remember.

Mindlessly, his eyes seem to scan your body before returning to your face, making you feel self-conscious. You were only wearing black spandex shorts and a loose tank top. Subconsciously, you rub your arm and step back to make space.

"(Y/N)," Sakusa acknowledges you in a deadpan voice. It's no surprise to you.

"Hi, onii-san. How are you?" You try so hard to be polite, but Sakusa seemed to have a naturally dominant energy that overwhelmed your senses, even if he also seemed to have the personality of a jar of mayonnaise. You step aside so he can come in. He wore gray sweatpants and a black windbreaker that was zipped up all the way. As soon as he makes it inside, he removes his face mask, stuffs it in his pocket, and starts unzipping his jacket.

"I'm good," he hums, "Where's mom?" He places the backpack he was carrying on the couch and takes a seat as you close the door.

"She's out doing errands and dad is working. Do you want some tea?"

"Yes, please. Make sure you wash your hands before you do. Thank you," he said. You walk into the kitchen, muttering "germaphobe" under your breath at his extra request. Unbeknownst to you, he watched you from his place on the couch as you walked around the kitchen, pulling the tea kettle out of one of the bottom cabinets and looking for cups. His gaze followed the outline of your ass in those tiny shorts that hugged your bottom tightly.

"What college are you planning on going to, (Y/N)?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm applying to the college you're going to and three others," you replied from your spot near the counter.

Sakusa actually perks up at your answer. "Oh, cool. You'll love it there if you get in. Only if, though. You're not the brightest."

You couldn't help but let your face fall in a frown at his seemingly small comment. Quickly, you compose yourself and brush off his remark. You got the water boiling in the tea kettle and reached high for the teacups that were sitting on the top cabinets. Your stepdad definitely put them up there.

A presence looms close behind you, which makes your whole body automatically freeze and tense up. A veiny, bulky arm reaches up easily to grab the teacups while another one snakes around you to pull your tank top down as it was exposing your stomach. You're not sure if you're imagining it, but you definitely feel something stiff brushing up against your back.

"You need to be careful. Don't wanna hurt yourself, do you?" Sakusa commented, leaning forward so his mouth was right next to your ear. A blush found its way onto your cheeks from feeling him so close to you.

He usually hated being so close to people. What was so different today?

"R-right," you stuttered, "Thank you, nii-san."

Confrontation wasn't a strong trait of yours.

You guess that moment was when it started getting really weird between you two. You still had small talks from whenever he would actually see you come out of your room, but you wanted to avoid him as much as you could. However, that was hard when Sakusa insisted that you drank tea together every night and, of course, your parents insisted, too.

Your nii-san wants to spend more time with you, they would say excitedly. Better late than never!

Maybe if he was showing the slightest bit of interest in you, your parents would finally care about you. So, with much hesitation, you started drinking tea with your step brother every night. Sakusa even made the tea himself so his poor little sister wouldn't tire herself out with carrying that heavy teapot.

You're still not sure if you're imagining things, but the tea tasted different from how you made it. And you swear that the tea didn't make you so sleepy after drinking it until he started making it.

"Come here," Sakusa would say with a smirk, "Onii-san will take you to bed."

You would pass out before you even made it to bed, but every morning you woke up with sticky thighs, only blaming it on sweating while you were sleeping.

Until one day, you didn't drink all the tea that he made you. You still fell asleep, though. Your brain was hazy enough to make you lose consciousness as he helped you up from your seat in the kitchen.

Sakusa laid next to you on your bed. You were placed on your side so he could slide under the sheets right behind you to press his hardened length against your ass. This was his favorite part of the night. He spent a few minutes playing with your cunt to make it slick enough for him to let his cock break through your walls.

You barely stirred awake. Didn't even move an inch as he caressed every part of your body, from your soft nipples to the sensitive nub between your thighs.

He pushed the elastic of his sweatpants down to his thighs quickly. His cock hit your ass before settling between your folds. A satisfied moan leaves his lips when he feels your wetness coating the top part of his shaft as he rubbed it against you. He hooked his arm around one of your legs so that you were spread open enough for him to fuck you and rub your clit at the same time with his other hand.

He wanted that sweet nectar completely coating his dick. He remembers the way you tasted and how you came on his tongue the night before, despite being blacked out from the little pills he would dissolve in your drinks. You tasted so clean and smelled so fresh. It was impossible for your nii-san to control himself around you.

And when did your ass look so good? God...Sakusa couldn't believe he never noticed how cute and well-shaped you were. You weren't that little girl he met when you were both kids. You were pushing adulthood now. Still pathetic looking, still too shy, still small around him, but fuck, he definitely would have pushed you over the counter the first day he came over and fucked you until you were crying and gagging.

He continued rubbing circles onto your clit and letting his cock soak up your juices. Gently, he positions the tip at your entrances and pushes in slowly.

"There you go," he whispers in your ear, "I know it's a little big. Don't worry."

He manages to fill you up all the way, making him groan. Your walls were tight around him. He thrusts in and out of you carefully, salvaging the feeling of your slick interior.

But you didn't drink all the tea, which means that you could wake up earlier than he expected.

Sakusa didn't expect you to wake up now.

You stirred slightly as you regained consciousness. Although your eyelids were heavy, you tried to force them open only to be met with darkness.

"Mmm," you croaked, rubbing your eyes. The odd feeling of being filled up suddenly made you wake up more. "W-what's going on?"

"Fuck," Sakusa muttered from behind you. You felt a hard chest pressed against your back and...a hand on your pussy. No, something inside your pussy. And that voice was so familiar.

You quickly whip your head around when the realization dawns on you. What the fuck is happening? While your eyes adjust to the dark room, you see two familiar eyes staring straight back at you. He stopped grinding his hips against you for a moment as if time stopped.

"...Nii-san?" you hesitated. His breathing was heavy and he stayed silent.

"Nii-san, what are you doing?" you asked in a panicked voice. You quickly tried to get up from your position, only to be held down by Sakusa’s muscular arms. His hand wrapped itself over your lips to prevent you from screaming.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet, (Y/N),” he whispered. A muffled scream tries to escape your lips. He continued to fuck you slowly, leaving a burning feeling in your walls. The same sore feeling that you would sometimes wake up to within the past few days.

For a moment, you pry his fingers off of your mouth. "I don't understand...Why are you...?" You yelped in surprise, horror, and pleasure as he delivered a sharp thrust from behind you. The smack of his hips against your bare ass made you cringe and feel so disgusted with yourself. Nii-san is actually inside me.

"My poor little sister," he chucked darkly. He suddenly wraps his arm around your knee tighter and forces your legs wide open, your knee almost touching your chest. Instead of putting his hand over your mouth to shut you up, he kneads your breast. His hands were so large.

"You think you can walk around the house looking like a little slut in those tiny shorts?" He stretches you open with his hard cock with slow, yet hard, thrusts. It left your mouth agape, but no sounds left your throat except for small squeaks that you couldn't hold back. "You stupid bitch. Just as dumb as I could remember. Fuck, you don't know how much I wanted to bend you over and fill you up with my cum like the stupid, desperate slut you are."

He was satisfied as you were barely fighting him. All you did was desperately search for something to hold onto and bite your lip because you were so scared. His words were painful. "Look at you. A waste of fucking space, only good as a fuck hole. Didn't even realize she was getting drugged and getting fucked every night because she's so fucking stupid."

Weak. That was all your brain was telling you, mocking you, as Sakusa didn't stop moving against you and insulting you. This wasn't the first time. It just so happened that this time you were able to wake up.

"I-I..." you stuttered, "I'll...I'll tell mom and dad." The sheets were gripped tightly between your fingers. "I'll tell them- mmmm...what nii-san has been doing to me..."

"If you tell mom and dad, they wouldn't even care," Sakusa said in a patronizing tone. The way his hand was caressing you made you wanna cry.

“They would!”

"Mom and dad don't even treat you like a daughter, (Y/N). When was the last time they told you they loved you?" Even if his question was rhetorical, your mind went completely blank. You can't recall a moment where they ever told you they loved you.

"B-but, this isn't right! You're not supposed to be doing this," you argued. It was a surprise that your mind wasn't completely clouded by how big his cock was and how his thrusts felt almost hateful.

"You think they would choose your side? You'd be ruining your own life. Maybe you'd ruin mine. And it'd be. All. Your. Fault." With each syllable, his movements became sharper. "You don't wanna betray your nii-san by saying something, do you?"

"You love your nii-san, right?"

You do. You love him so much, even if you tried to avoid him and he never said a single good thing to you in your whole damn life.

Because you have to love him.

You stopped gripping on the sheets to the point where your knuckles were turning ghostly white to brush away the tears rolling down your cheeks. Your body shook, from both crying because of Sakusa's painful words and how hard he was fucking you. The pleasure building up in your core was overwhelming you, making that intense feeling of having to pee forced out of you.

Hearing your sniffles and small cries, Sakusa pulls you even tighter against him, but doesn't stop his relentless thrusting. It turned him on even more. He pushes your hand to brush away your tears for you, like good big brothers should.

"It's okay, (Y/N). We both know mom and dad don't love you."

A loud cry erupted from your chest. Maybe if your parents cared about you, they'd be running to your room to save you the second you started crying. But, no. Sakusa was basking in the fact that you were hurting on the inside. After years of negligent silence, you were finally letting it all out.

"But nii-san loves you," he said with a smile.

Although his words seemed to stun your entire being, you manage to choke out a "What?" Like it was the first time someone ever told you that they love you.

His torturous thrusts almost distracted you. Fuck, why did it feel so good to have your step brother fucking you on your side like this?

"I love you." He sweetly grabs your face so you can turn your head to look at him. There was a pounding in your ears coming straight from your chest. A warm feeling spreads throughout your stomach.

"You...you love me, nii-san?"

"Of course I do." He was actually smiling at you, "If I didn't, would I be inside you right now?"

His face didn't seem so blank anymore. Sakusa never ever smiled at you. Hell, he never really smiled in general. Someone actually loved you. Holy shit. And he was even pounding away at your insides like you were a fuck doll.

Is that why he's so mean? Was he just trying to hide his feelings for you this whole time? You could die laughing right now. His cock felt so damn good rearranging your guts against your will yet you were struggling to accept it.

Your cheeks naturally puffed up in happiness as you smiled so brightly at him. The flip switched in your brain so easily. Without another word, Sakusa kissed you passionately, because he knew you would let him continue to ravage your body. Your hips began to buck from the pressure building up in your lower half and you starting pushing your hips towards him, welcoming his length inside you. It felt like you needed more of him. More of his love.

Love me.

"Nii-san," you gasped against his lips. His movements never faltered, which you figured was from his amazing athletic ability and stamina.

"Be a good little sister and cum on my cock," he coaxed. He could tell you were so close to cumming from how tightly your precious cunt was hugging his length and how you were squirming against him. You were both slick with sweat. As you started squirming more violently against him, Sakusa tightened his grip on you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whined desperately, “Nii-san, I’m gonna cum!” You grabbed his arms and pushed your fingernails into his skin, making him hiss from the sudden pain. With a firm grip over your mouth, he muffles your screams. Satisfaction settled in your stomach as you exploded all over his cock. Your sweet juices trailed down your thighs onto the bedsheets.

As much as Sakusa wanted to, he couldn’t fill up your insides and see your hole dripping with his cum just yet. He quickly pulls out of you and lets his seed shoot onto the bare skin of your ass. The shock of your orgasm left your thighs trembling, your skin wet, and your eyes drooping.

“You’re the best little sister.”

You would’ve replied, but you could barely form any words as you lost consciousness again. When you woke up the next morning, you were fully dressed and cleaned up, with no stickiness between your thighs like how you used to wake up.

Sakusa actually cleaned you up this time. You felt your heart melt and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Everything seemed to go back to normal between you two, with the same small talks and not really seeing each other often, but he always had a knowing smirk on his face whenever he saw you.

Whenever his eyes would trail up your body to meet yours, you could feel a warmth in your stomach spread all throughout your body which forced you to look away quickly. Whenever he insulted you, you would feel your thighs press together. Whenever you caught yourself admiring his features when he replaced his face mask for a new one, you smiled softly to yourself.

When it was time for him to leave, you couldn’t help but let a few tears shed. He was all set to go, with his backpack on and his mask covering his face.

“Hey, don’t cry, (Y/N),” he cooed, wiping your tears away, “You know I won’t be gone forever.”

You sniffled, “I know. I just hate being here alone.” Well, not necessarily alone. You just hated being ignored and neglected just because you weren’t your brother.

“If you manage to get into my college, you can move in with me. How does that sound?” You instantly perk up and dry your tears with your shirt.

"Really?!” you asked with excitement. You imagine all the things you could do with your nii-san without your parents in the picture. You could go out together, hold hands, share kisses, just about anything. He could even fuck you whenever he wants.

These thoughts about your own step brother would've made you feel sick before.

But that was before you knew Sakusa loved you. Now, you couldn't help but ask your mom when the next time your nii-san would be coming to visit. While you were waiting for his next visit, you studied hard.

College would be so much fun with your nii-san with you!

Part 2

[wowbright]

Fic: Sneaky

Tan Hands and Tan Lines SmuttySmooty Word Challenge 2021: heavy

Words: ~1850 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Kurt cooks up a birthday surprise for his new companion.

I’m belatedly going through the prompts for The Tan Hands and Tan Lines Summer Event 2021 to flesh out my Mormon!Klaine universe. This one takes place after Animal and before Transparent.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: I made a very small change to Animal so that this vignette would work. Also, there is a lot of lovingly detailed attention paid to food in this one. If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

-------

Elder Anderson might think he was subtle, but he was not. The way he’d evaded the question about his birthday as he opened his care package had not been lost on Kurt.

Kurt’s new companion was being coy about his birthdate. Well, no one could hide something like that from Kurt Hummel forever. Kurt was going to find out when Elder Anderson's birthday was, come hell or high water.

If Kurt had believed in reincarnation, he might have thought he'd been a bloodhound in a previous life. Or maybe Jessica Fletcher, but without all the murder. Kurt Hummel noticed clues. And once he noticed them, he couldn't un-notice them. He had to pursue them, regardless of where they led him.

So, as his new companion conducted his evening ablutions, Kurt shut the door of the bedroom, opened Elder Anderson’s satchel, and rifled through it for his passport.

Elder Anderson's shady secret was about to be revealed.

Kurt flipped open the passport and meant to go directly to the birthdate, but—oh. Elder Anderson’s hair was longer in his passport photo. Not by a lot, but enough that its waviness was obvious, despite the amount of product in it. A ringlet had come loose at the top of his forehead, curling over his skin like a beckoning finger. And his eyes—

Was it legal to look at your passport photographer that way? Exactly how hot had the lady taking the picture been? Elder Anderson's eyes were intense, and despite their tiny size and the little imprints running across the photograph, Kurt thought he could see gold flecks among the brown of his irises.

Or maybe—no. Kurt was just remembering the way the light had caught in Elder Anderson’s eyes that day they went to the barbershop, when they’d sat on the bench for lunch and Elder Anderson had reached for his hair, and for just one moment, time stopped.

Wait. Kurt was on a mission for God’s one true church on this earth. He was a soldier in God’s army. He was not supposed to sit in his barracks and drool over Elder Anderson’s passport photo. He was not supposed to drool over Elder Anderson at all.

That was a really cute bow tie though. Emerald green with little purple emblems spaced out on—Was that Brooks Brothers? Kurt’s new companion had excellent taste. Not the same as Kurt’s, but if anyone had the same fashion sense that Kurt had, he would be disappointed in himself.

Oh, right. Birthday. Kurt pulled his eyes away from Elder Anderson’s photo and scanned the text to its right.

“That little—” Kurt muttered under his breath. Because Elder Anderson's birthday was in two days. Kurt’s new companion was coy and evasive and maybe even a little sneaky, which was a terrible way to start out their time together, but also … intriguing?

Because Elder Anderson didn’t seem like the evasive type. He seemed so open and innocent and trustworthy and …

Well. Apparently he was even more interesting than Elder Hummel had already given him credit for. What else was he hiding under that candid exterior?

But also … Elder Anderson’s birthday was in two days. Kurt’s stomach sank. He’d pressured birthday boy into opening his presents early. What if he didn't get any others? Surely his parents were sending him something, but with Elder Anderson's recent transfer, they might have sent it to his previous address or to the mission office instead of here. Who knew when it would arrive?

Well. Kurt would have to make up for his mistake. And not because Elder Anderson was a dreamy 1950s movie star, or an adorable dork who tried to act out primary songs in the rain, or a man of more mystery than Kurt had ever dreamt.

No. Kurt was going to make this birthday memorable because that was the least a missionary could do for his companion. Even for Elder Weston, Kurt had made a three-layer birthday cake with strawberry buttercream, chocolate ganache, and raspberry glaze, and they had hardly been the best of friends. (Did Kurt mind Elders Duval and Sterling taking over his bathroom cleaning and dishwashing duties for the week so that he would have time to make the cake? Not at all. But that was beside the point.)

There was a light tap on the door, and Elder Anderson’s patient voice came through the wood. “Do you still need more time? Or did you just forget to open the door?”

“Sorry, got distracted!” Kurt called out, rather proud of himself for how well he'd managed to tell the truth. “Be just a minute!” He tucked the passport back where he’d found it and grabbed his pajama shirt from where it sat on top of his bed.

*

Kurt had to be stealth. He wanted this to be a surprise. Elder Anderson seemed to like surprises. He liked rainbows, which were always a surprise; and small children, who were full of them; and he had clearly enjoyed his care package from his brother, even as he complained about said brother. Whenever confronted with something new and unanticipated, Elder Anderson's response tended toward delight.

But how did one bake a birthday cake without one’s missionary companion clueing in?

In discrete steps, Kurt decided.

While Elder Anderson got dressed the next morning, Kurt measured out the dry ingredients for the batter and hid them in a Tupperware at the back of the cupboard, behind their emergency supply of pasta.

While Elder Anderson rinsed his cereal bowl, Kurt hid the heavy cream behind the ridiculously large collection of condiments at the back of the fridge so that it would not get used.

While Elder Anderson brushed his teeth, Kurt hid a few sticks of butter on top of the kitchen cabinets, so they could come to room temperature.

At first, Kurt hadn't been sure what flavor to make. He hadn't known Elder Anderson that long. But then he’d remembered his new companion raving over an Amerikaner from the nearby bakery on their second day together. Amerikaners were simple pastries: a small mound of sweet, vanilla-y dough with a texture somewhere between a cake and a cookie, drizzled with lemon icing.

Kurt also remembered they had an entire bag of lemons in the produce drawer from his final trip to Aldi with Elder Flanagan.

This was going to be perfect!

“What are you doing with those lemons?” Elder Anderson asked after lunch, when he was supposed to be in the bedroom making sure he had exactly five copies of each of the discussion pamphlets in his satchel, eight-one English group fliers (“Why eight-one?” he’d asked—it was just a way to buy Kurt more time), and one-hundred-twenty-five address cards for the branch building.

“Did you really count all that? Accurately?” Kurt asked peevishly.

“Yeah,” Elder Anderson answered. “Do you want help with … whatever you're doing?”

“Lemon juice is amazing at cutting grease. It’s a useful ingredient in homemade cleaners,” Kurt said, because it was true, and because he thought maybe Elder Anderson might interpret that as an answer to his first question.

“Oh! That's so cool! Can you show me—”

“No. I need you to go through the Books of Mormon and make sure they all have the branch’s phone number in them.”

“Oh. Okay.” Something like disappointment flickered across Elder Anderson’s face, but in half a second it was replaced by a smile. “That's a good idea. Maybe you can show me some other time? And I'll show you my trick with baking soda and hydrogen peroxide on those pans we never use because they're too gross?”

“I’d like that,” Kurt said sincerely, because those pans had been driving him crazy, but also with a slight sense of guilt, because he didn't actually know how to make household cleaners with fresh lemon juice. He only remembered reading about it in Martha Stewart Living in high school and earmarking the page.

*

Kurt would have to mix the batter with a spoon. He couldn’t afford the noise of the electric mixer. And he would need to use double-acting baking powder so that the cake would still rise even though he wouldn't be sticking it directly in the oven after mixing it.

Kurt impressed himself with how well he managed to beat not just the batter, but also the vanilla buttercream, with just a wooden spoon while Blaine showered and shaved that evening. He scooped the buttercream into a zippered plastic bag, put that in a paper bag, wrote “chicken bones for soup stock” on the front, and set it on the bottom shelf of the fridge. It was slightly deceitful, but it would only count as a lie if Elder Anderson opened the fridge before bed and saw the note—and Kurt didn't think that likely.

If it did happen, Kurt would pray for forgiveness. But honestly, he didn't think God would hold it against him. Not when he was doing all this for a greater good.

After prayers, Kurt settled into bed and put his ear buds in. But he didn't turn on his iPod. Instead, he listened for Elder Anderson’s breathing to shift into something sleepy and slow.

“Alles gut?” Elder Anderson muttered without opening his eyes when Kurt slipped out of bed—slurring it so much that it sounded more like als gut, which Kurt was pretty sure it didn't make grammatical sense as a standalone sentence.

“Making myself some warm milk.”

“Nee’ help?” Apparently Elder Anderson was as adorable and ready to serve when he was half asleep as he was at all other times.

“Go back to sleep,” Kurt whispered, suppressing the urge to add an endearment. He shut the door firmly behind him so he would have some warning on the off chance Elder Anderson managed to stumble out of bed in his overeagerness to be of use.

Kurt hadn’t lied about the milk. He heated it up with a fresh cinnamon stick as the oven warmed up, hoping the scent would be strong enough to mask any other smells coming out of the kitchen.

Kurt baked the batter in shallow pans so it would need only 15 minutes in the oven—less time to get caught in the act. That meant the cake would need more layers, but that was fine. More layers meant more buttercream, and who didn't like more buttercream?

Bake, unmold, cut into evenly sized circles, set in freezer to speed up the cooling. Wait. Sip milk. Be struck with inspiration and make a soaking glaze and candied lemon peels at the last minute. Sip more milk. Frost.

Oh, it did look nice, if Kurt could say so himself. Not that he would say anything at this hour, when the last thing he wanted was for Elder Anderson to wake up.

He set the cake on a plate, covered it with an upside-down spaghetti pot, carefully hid it in a lower cupboard behind the muffin tins, and went to bed overfull from milk, but very pleased with himself.

*

Kurt awoke early with the desperate need to pee and a horrifying thought: What if Elder Anderson hated birthdays?

[talkfantasytome]

A Home to Claim

Rowaelin Month Prompt: I just realized I'm desperately in love with you.

Rowan assists Aelin in finding a dress for a gala she's attending...with someone else.

No Warnings; Word Count: 1,707

Read on AO3

a/n: My first Rowaelin fic! Thought it would be fitting to try it out during Rowaelin month...even if I do have something else I've been working on for a while now. I'm still new to the fandom and writing them, so kinda testing the waters with more of a vignette.

Rowan couldn't explain it.

He literally didn't have the words, a reasoning behind why he was there. Sitting on some stiff, brightly colored ottoman in the viewing area of the women's changing rooms, crimson purse resting on his lap. Like a simp, as Aelin would say.

Not that he should be surprised. He'd been friends with Aelin for five years, when they met junior year of college. And he'd never been able to say no to her. Not since day one.

It wasn't his fault, though. Aelin was ridiculously persuasive. And he was a brilliant friend. This wasn't the first time she'd dragged him to the mall to find 'the perfect outfit'; he doubted it would be the last.

Working through a game of solitaire on his phone, Rowan barely heard his name being called from the first stall just as its door opened.

"Can you do the zipper up for me?" Aelin requested, walking out into the larger space, not looking like she even bothered to try herself.

Rowan tried not to stare as she glided toward him, the floor-length gold gown cascading down her body as if she were one with the sun, with fire.

Despite her pale complexion and blonde hair, she'd found a shade of gold that complimented her perfectly, its thousands of tiny sequins and beads making the dress truly sparkle. Like a golden version of what Ariel wore when her father makes her human at the end of 'The Little Mermaid'.

Shit. Aelin really needed to let him pick for movie night every once in a while.

"Yeah," he breathed, sliding his phone into his pocket and standing up, leaving her purse on the cerulean ottoman he'd been sitting on. He was happy to have a chance to stand up. The seat had been as stiff as it looked plush.

Aelin pivoted, pulling her long, wavy locks in front of her shoulder, leaving her back entirely exposed.

The back of the dress was open, the straps as close to the arms as they could be, leaving her shoulder blades and top half of her back completely bare. Her skin looked smooth beneath the light, and the way she was standing had the bones of her blades sticking out slightly, just enough to show a definition in her back.

The zipper started just above her butt, the fabric flapping over itself, tantalizing him with a view of her lower back. It wouldn't have taken much maneuvering for Rowan to get a glimpse of her underwear.

Not that he ever would, but the desire to do so had shocked him enough to give him pause.

Fighting an instinct to brush his fingers against her cream backside, he fastened the tiny clasp and then found the zipper, pulling it up easily, the dress tightening just enough to hug her curves completely.

She turned, his arms dropping as she did, her eyes wide as she took a step back to put the full dress on display as it was meant to be seen.

The elegant gown was surprisingly modest in front, considering the low back. The high neck had a jeweled flower accent at the neckline, which covered her defined clavicle - the design covering the straps that snaked over her shoulders diagonally before they followed the path he'd tracked earlier down the sides of her back. Despite the large, fake gems of the design, it was still incredibly subtle against the fully sequined dress. The bodice clung to her in a way that showed off her well-toned body down to the top of her thighs, where it then flared out just enough so that in fell loosely, pooling around her feet.

Aelin was breathtaking. Completely so in a way Rowan had never noticed.

He knew she was beautiful, of course. With her delicate features and bright blue eyes rimmed in gold. He'd never not thought she was pretty. But, like this…Rowan had never seen her equal. Never even imagined her equal.

The air had been stolen out of his lungs, his heart racing as Aelin looked at him nervously.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, twirling slowly for him.

It didn't help. Only made Rowan even less aware of what was actually going on as he pictured Aelin, in that dress, dancing with him. Tossing her hair back flirtatiously, laughing in that sensuous way she does when she's trying to seduce someone, eyeing him hungrily from across the room as he did the same.

"Uh…what?" he stuttered, blinking in an attempt to shake out the thoughts he'd never expected to flood through him.

"The dress?" She gave him a tentative smile that made him inhale sharply. She never smiled at him like that, a fact that hadn't escaped his notice. He just didn't know how much he wanted her to until she finally did.

He ran a hand through his silver hair before resting it at the back of his neck, his tattooed arm bent in the position. "You look amazing."

"Yeah?" Her face brightened at the compliment and Rowan tried to convince himself to look away, but his pine eyes refused to, completely enraptured by her beauty. "You think Chaol will like it?"

And just like that, reality struck. His fists tightened involuntarily and Rowan felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over his head at the question, the mere mention of her boyfriend's name.

Well, boyfriend was putting it strongly. They'd barely started dating. But Aelin seemed smitten. And he was bringing her to some fancy, high-class gala - like the obnoxious private equity investor he was. It was the type of event important, dignified people would attend, spending money on gods-know what, all in the name of some charity they probably would forget the second they left. An event likely filled with people Chaol worked with or was trying to impress, or both, and he'd put Aelin on display at his side, introducing her to the ones he knew, a big step in making her a fixture in his life. They'd talk and dance, and even if that wasn't enough to make Chaol want her for good, she'd then dazzle those same people who barely knew Chaol's name, despite all his efforts. They would smile and chuckle at her quick wit, be enamored by her beauty, and tell 'Mr. Westfall' that he's got a keeper there.

And Chaol would never let her go.

As much as she loved dressing up and dancing, and as much as she enjoyed the thrill of successfully charming someone, Aelin hated those types of events. The fake people and shallow conversations. The absurd amount of money spent on the party itself, instead of the charity it represented. The stuffy, judgmental atmosphere. Sure, she navigated it better than anyone, but Rowan knew she hated doing it. Especially without him, without her friend who would make it a game for her, challenging her to see which dignitaries she could and couldn't enchant.

Still, he knew she'd much rather curl up on the couch with a good book, snuggled into his side as he watched whatever game was currently on TV.

Well, maybe she didn't care about that second part. Or maybe she'd prefer it with Chaol.

The thought nearly destroyed Rowan.

"He'd be an idiot not to," Rowan offered, his voice low and raspy.

Aelin's nose scrunched slightly as she smiled widely, and Rowan found himself wanting to lean down and kiss it softly.

Another thing he'd never felt before.

His mind flashed through five years of memories. Of parties and beach trips, coffee runs, study sessions, movie nights, rock climbing. Bike rides around town ending in a picnic in the park, Aelin laughing freely at Rowan's dry humor. No one else ever seemed to understand it like she did.

Karaoke nights at the local bar. She always had to pick a 'female anthem', as she called them, her favorite being 'This One's For the Girls'. Escape rooms that left them all completely shattered, except Aelin and her damn need-to-know-basis plans. Rowan trying to teach her how to play video games. Those nights often ended with him playing solo, Aelin watching him in amusement.

Bowling, where they'd go to the alley with their friends and always end up split, the guys' lane versus the girls' lane. The constant teasing from the girls for being undefeated, because they never realized that Aedion and Lorcan would throw every game just to see Lys and Elide smile. The boys knew. But not even Fenrys could tell that Rowan was doing the same thing.

Rowan hadn't even realized until just now.

But how could he not, when her smile could light up the entire town? When she would laugh out his favorite song at the joy of a win?

Every happy memory washed through him, taking his mind over completely as he looked at that scrunched up smile. The one she wore out of excitement at the thought of looking good for some other guy. Some prick who didn't know the difference between fantasy-adventure-romance and fantasy-romance-adventure books, and who'd never pay enough attention to the hour-long rant Aelin could easily give on the subject.

"Thanks so much, Rowan!" Aelin moved closer and stood on her toes, kissing him softly on the cheek, the scent of jasmine and lemon verbena freezing him in place as she walked to the dressing room to put her actual clothes back on.

His heart started to pound in his chest, as if it were trying to break free from him and get to her. His hands suddenly became clammy, even as his fingertips chilled, and his legs seemed to shake internally like they did with a bad hangover.

Yet, with all of that, a warmth spread within him. A tingling sensation that innerved him, but also excited him as he let it engulf his very being. A word that echoed through his body, a comfort and a stressor.

A home he desperately wanted to claim, though he doubted she'd let him.

Still, he'd have to try.

How could he not? After all these years? When he finally saw it for the first time?

When he finally realized he was fiercely in love with Aelin.

[crownscost]

╰     ┈     [   nick  slater  ,   30  ,   cis  man  ,   he  /  him   ]   in  the  time  of  dragons,   DAEMON  TARGARYEN  is  entering  the  game  of  thrones  .   said  to  be  persuasive  +  disarming,   we  can  only  hope  that  is  the  case  as  regrettably  they  are  also  well  known  to  be  impulsive  +  foolhardy  .   when  asked  about  them,   people  are  always  reminded  of  the  fanning  flame  of  a  dragon’s  breath,  fighting  for  a  crown  that  was  never  meant  to  be  split  in  two,  veins  filled  with  history  like  the  pages  of  a  book  —  a  story  woven  and  not  yet  finished  .   though  they  are  the  PRINCE  OF  DRAGONSTONE,   their  true  loyalties  lie  with  house  targaryen  and  rumour  has  it  that  if  given  the  choice  they  would  support  their  self  above  all  else  .   those  of  us  in  the  shadows  wish  them  luck  and  can  only  hope  they  will  survive  what  is  to  come  .

LAYER  ONE  ,     BASICS.

full  name   :   daemon  aerys  targaryen  .

nicknames  ,   aliases   :   demon  none  .

meaning  of  names   :   daemon,   of  greek  origin,  meaning  to  tame,  subdue   ;   aerys,   a  family  name,   associated  with  the  mad  king   .

titles   :   prince  of  dragonstone  .

age  +  date  of  birth   :   thirty  +  386  ac  .

birthplace   :   king’s  landing,   the  crownlands  .

ethnicity   :   caucasian  .

gender  +  pronouns   :   cis  man  +  he  /  him  .

orientation   :   bisexual,  biromantic  .

LAYER  TWO  ,      FAMILY.

father   :   lucerys  targaryen,   king  of  westeros  .

mother   :   visenya  targaryen  nee  celtigar,   queen  of  westeros   .

siblings   :   aegon  targaryen,   twin  brother  ;   saerya  targaryen,   younger  sister  ;   rhaegar  targaryen,   younger  brother  ;   aerea  targaryen,   youngest  sister  .

marital  status   :   betrothed  to  shaera  rogare,  formerly  married  to  laena  targaryen  nee  velaryon  .

children   :   none  .

extended  family   :   house  celtigar  (  maternal  cousins  ),  house  velaryon  (  former  in  -  laws  )  .

dragon   :   valyris,  named  once  upon  a  time  for  the  ancestral  home  of  the  targaryen  family,  is  a  large  and  sleek  dragon  that’s  a  deep  sapphire  in  color  .   most  would  argue  that  his  scales  were  a  uniform  blue  —  the  color  of  the  night  sea  or  the  blue  of  the  sky  just  before  the  sun  rises,  but  anyone  allowed  close  enough  would  know  otherwise  .  though  yes,  generally  a  dark  blue  in  nature,  he  has  several  speckling  of  scales  in  varying  shades  of  blue,  some  as  dark  as  night  itself  and  others  as  light  as  any  clear,  summer  sky  .   he  has  a  relatively  mild  temperament,  perhaps  it  comes  with  age  and  a  slew  of  the  prince’s  younger  siblings  eager  to  spend  time  with  a  larger  dragon,  but  he  is  certainly  protective  of  his  rider  and  has  certainly  singed  the  hair  on  more  than  one  untoward  individual  .

LAYER    THREE.     PHYSICAL.

height   :   six  foot  three  inches  .

hair  color   :   blonde   .

hair  length  +  preferred  style   :   loose  and  shaggy,  rather  devil  -  may  -  care,  wavy  or  curly  depending  on  its  mood,  looks  as  though  he’s  run  his  fingers  through  it  a  dozen  and  one  times  .

eye  color   :   purple,  light  and  almost  lilac  in  shade  .

scars  /  distinguishing  marks   :   a  thin  scar  across  his  right  brow  that  he’s  had  for  as  long  as  he  can  remember,  likely  from  getting  whacked  with  a  wooden  practice  sword  when  he  was  young  .

dominant  hand   :   left  .

LAYER    FOUR.     HISTORY.

trigger  warning  for  :  mentions  of  death  .

the  heir  to  westeros,  born  an  hour  before  what  the  world  considered  the  spare,  daemon  was  groomed  to  rule  the  kingdom  from  his  very  first  breath,  born  with  a  title  that  would  have  been  easier  to  bear  had  there  been  years  between  him  and  aegon,  and  not  a  matter  of  minutes.  minutes  that  garnered  father’s  attention,  how  he  spent  his  time,  and  every  second  of  his  life  down  to  the  very  last  one.

that  meant  his  youth,  of  course,  was  spent  staring  wistfully  out  windows  longing  to  run  with  the  noble  children,  to  sit  at  his  mother’s  skirts  or  antagonize  his  siblings  without  his  father’s  frown  burning  holes  in  the  back  of  his  head.  so  instead  he  sat  with  tutors,  learned  strategy  and  suffered  through  meetings  that  sent  him  worlds  away.  he  grew  up  too  fast,  took  on  too  much,  and  none  batted  an  eyelash  at  it.  it  was  his  duty  as  a  son,  as  a  prince.

daemon  grew  close  to  his  father  because  of  it,  his  shadow  that  filled  his  shoes  better  and  better  the  older  he  got.  he  knew  it  was  his  responsibility  to  learn  the  ropes  to  prepare  for  the  weight  of  a  king’s  crown  on  a  prince’s  shoulders,  but  he  still  found  time  for  things  that  he  enjoyed  :   swordplay  and  horseback  riding,  charming  the  people  of  court,  pouring  over  the  pages  of  history  books  that  his  father  never  bothered  with.  ‘  the  history  is  in  the  past  for  a  reason,  we  are  building  a  better  future,  ’  and  while  perhaps  the  king  had  a  point,  daemon  disagreed.  he  never  said  as  much,  never  wished  to  truly  provoke  familiar  targaryen  anger,  but  what  was  history  if  they  didn’t  learn  from  it  ?

the  older  he  got,  the  more  he  came  to  realize  that  his  father’s  views  were  flawed,  and  he  was  no  perfect  prince  either,  but  ruling  for  the  sake  of  ruling  was  not  the  path  he  wanted.  what  of  their  people  ?  their  freedoms,  their  choices  ?  choices,  he  knew  he’d  never  have  as  a  first  born,  never  have  as  a  crown  prince.  his  father  was  molding  him  into  his  image,  yes,  the  prince  that  bears  the  spotlight  and  the  expectation  —  the  weight  of  the  world  if  asked  of  him  —  but  even  he  had  opinions  that  did  not  match  the  king’s.  

he  wanted  to  be  a  fair  ruler,  a  king  that  could  better  the  people,  that  did  much  of  the  face  to  face  interactions  he  often  cared  little  for.  and  yet,  the  older  he  got,  the  more  of  a  pawn  he  became,  and  sometimes  he  felt  as  much  of  a  bargaining  chip  as  either  of  his  sisters.  he  was  never  under  the  assumption  that  he’d  marry  for  love,  or  that  he’d  ever  have  an  ounce  of  say  in  the  matter,  but  it  was  clear  that  his  father  had  a  certain  agenda  when  he  chose  daemon’s  wives.

laena  came  from  a  vassal  house,  strong  in  targaryen  support  but  stronger  still  in  their  valyrian  bloodline,  and  to  his  father’s  credit,  at  least  she  was  beautiful.  it  was  no  match  made  in  heaven,  but  she  was  easy  to  get  along  with,  took  to  the  position  well  and  fondness  came  with  time.  she  was  good  company,  a  good  companion,  and  though  children  never  came,  it  never  stopped  him  from  assuring  her  that  one  day,  she’d  be  a  good  mother,  too.  he’d  seen  her  with  his  niece  and  nephew,  seen  how  easily  she  settled  alongside  daella  when  she  did,  wondered  when  he  could  give  her  a  babe  of  her  own.

it  never  happened,  of  course,  no  matter  how  many  years  had  passed  or  maesters  they  saw,  her  death  sudden  and  tragic  and  cutting  him  deeper  than  even  he  would  dare  to  admit.  a  smarter  man  would’ve  called  it  love  that  made  the  loss  hurt  as  it  did,  but  he  had  always  been  a  fool  blinded  by  stubbornness,  too  stuck  in  his  ways  to  think  a  marriage  like  theirs  —  arranged,  for  political  ties  and  not  happiness  —  could  blossom  into  more.  he’d  watched  his  parents  for  years,  observant  as  he  was,  seen  the  way  that  everything  they  did  was  an  act,  that  not  even  five  children  later  had  truly  warmed  them  to  one  another.

his  father,  of  course,  hardly  afforded  much  time  for  mourning  the  loss  of  the  princess  of  dragonstone  before  he  began  his  hunt  anew  for  a  bride  worthy  to  one  day  hold  the  title  of  queen  of  westeros.  he’s  not  too  much  of  a  fool,  however,  to  know  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  unrest  stirring  because  of  this.  he  hears  the  whispers  of  his  foreign  bride,  the  way  he’s  failed  to  provide  heirs  for  the  kingdom,  the  way  his  brother  has  excelled  in  all  the  ways  he  lacks.

daemon  believes  he  is  the  rightful  heir  to  the  throne,  has  trained  his  whole  life  to  take  on  the  role  and  lead  their  kingdom  in  greatness,  refuses  to  let  unrest  and  the  tension  between  him  and  his  brother  deny  him  of  his  very  birthright.  he  could  be  a  great  king,  would  be,  as  long  as  he  had  say  in  the  matter,  but  he’d  be  lying,  too,  if  he  said  that  there  weren’t  some  days  when  he  wished  he’d  been  born  the  spare.  what  life  could  he  have  lived  then  ?  it  didn’t  do  to  dwell  on  such  questions,  though,  and  he  would  play  the  game  of  thrones  as  well  as  the  best  of  them,  or  die  trying.

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah​! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back. 

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table. 

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine. 

“Origin?” he asked. 

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.). 

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down. 

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”  

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself. 

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee. 

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack. 

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius. 

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later. 

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other. 

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week. 

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card. 

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête. 

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes. 

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d��”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning. 

Milieu was her word. 

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library. 

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them. 

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel. 

“Okay, ready for another round?” 

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done. 

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad. 

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence. 

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas. 

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!” 

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float. 

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said. 

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…” 

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged. 

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd. 

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board. 

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself. 

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said. 

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning. 

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down. 

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

[undertaker1827]

Fluff prompt 8 with Sebastian ~ Bonus point if the reader has long, thick, wavy, messy hair and Sebastian's hand ends up stuck in there ~

Absolutely. This one got away from me a bit, so enjoy!

Prompt in bold

Masterlist

-

Sebastian had arrived earlier on in the evening, announcing that the Young Lord had a dinner with the Midfords to attend and wouldn’t be needing his butler for quite some time if Lizzy had it her way, so he’d told the other servants to take the night off from their duties and he had done the same. Some part of you went warm with the thought that you were the person he went to during this rare piece of free time, that he wanted to spend it with you.

He had asked you if you’d already washed your hair today, almost physically lighting up when you said you hadn’t. The demon whisked you into your bathroom a moment later, asking which shampoo and conditioner your favourites were then telling you to lean your head over the bath. One of your really fluffy towels was draped across your back and tucked around your shoulders a moment later and your partner shifted your hair a little to press a loving kiss to the now exposed nape of your neck.

You rested your hands on the edge of the bath, steam starting to fill up the room and bringing with it a pleasant warmth as water started to flow from the showerhead. The calming noise of running water was soon mixed with your shampoo, something you found incredibly relaxing. You allowed your eyes to close for a moment, letting out a small noise of happiness when Sebastian��s hands first grazed your skull. He slowly began to work the shampoo into your hair by starting at the roots, deft fingertips quickly drawing the soap into a lather and rubbing gentle circles over your scalp. He was giving you a massage for all intents and purposes, and you wondered if he had ever been a masseur. You might even have asked him, were it not for how utterly distracted you were.

You very nearly wined when your partner took his hands away from your head and from the light chuckle, he knew it. He leaned over you then, working the shampoo down your long locks and taking special care to rub it into the very ends. He was back at your scalp in a moment, showerhead on a setting you didn’t even know it had but it was almost as relaxing as Sebastian’s fingertips had been. Almost.

The bubbles were soon running down into the tub and the demon moved from the back of your head to the sides, careful not to leave any soap behind. The next thing you knew, he was repeating the process all over again, this time with conditioner. It made your hair silky smooth and Sebastian’s hands practically glided through it. He revelled in the occasional hums you gave, allowing a smile to grace his lips.

It was over far too soon for your liking and your partner was gently ringing out your hair. He grabbed another towel, larger this time, to curl your hair into as you stood up. He quickly squeezed as much water as possible from your hair before leading you out of the bathroom to where your hairdryer was waiting, plugged in and ready to use almost as if by magic. The drying process was much the same as the washing had been, Sebastian taking the time to separate your hair into sections and comb in out before going anywhere need it with the hairdryer. This meant that by the time it was dry, there were no tangles or knots to be found. The demon marvelled at how your hair immediately bounced back into the messy waves he was used to seeing, no styling required.

Seeing how relaxed all of this was making you, he decided to carry on brushing your hair. There was absolutely no need to other than the fact that you were the calmest he had seen you in weeks and he was enjoying the knowledge that he was the cause. If you noticed that he was taking too long to brush your hair or had, in fact, started again, you definitely weren’t going to say anything. It was as if no time had passed at all when he leaned down to murmur in your ear.

“Stand up, my love. Come with me.” Your eyes opened blearily; you didn’t even remember closing them. How much time had gone by without your realisation? You stood and followed as Sebastian requested, smiling tiredly when he took a seat on your sofa and gestured for you to join him. You caught sight of the clock as you went, a surprised jolt going through you when it read a few minutes past midnight. That would explain how utterly exhausted you felt, but you were by no means complaining. You leaned heavily on Sebastian when you sat down, smiling when he guided your head to his shoulder. You let out a happy sigh, utterly content. The demon smiled softly above you, adjusted the position of your head resting on his shoulder so he had better access to your hair.

You felt his fingertips lightly graze the back of your neck followed by your head, then he ran his hand back through your hair. You couldn’t help but sigh once more, eyes beginning to drift close-

“Ow!”

You gaze grew wide at the sudden hot burst of pain that flared across your scalp. It made you sit up automatically which of course just made everything more painful, while also contorting Sebastian’s wrist into an angle it definitely shouldn’t have been at as he attempted to avoid hurting you further. He muttered your name then clamped an arm over the front of your shoulders to pull you back into his chest and return his wrist to a more normal position.

“What happened?” You demanded somewhat indignantly, which only made Sebastian scoff in faux mockery.

“Your hair is what happened,” he told you as he began trying to work his hand loose. “I’ve just spent hours brushing it and its already managed to get tangled.”

The following snort you gave was decidedly undignified, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care.

“Guess that means we’re stuck,” you offered with a smirk, Sebastian dramatically rolling his eyes for effect.

“If you just held still, we wouldn’t be here as long.” You simply spluttered for a moment, before coming up with the most eloquent answer you could think of.

“Hey!”

[damonsvftie]

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬*

MASTERLIST

Summary: Since your return, you land yourself into a gig to go and perform at the Masquerade Ball the Malfoy’s are hosting. Things take a turn when you by accidentally turn on their son.

Warning: THE MOST UNHOLY THING IVE WRITTEN. SO MUCH SMUT. SWEARING INVOLVED AS WELL

Note: 2.2k words

Tonight’s gig was going to be particularly special since the song I was going to perform was a way for me to vent and release all the emotions that were building up inside me. Over the course of the past few months, I had completely lost motivation in writing and singing songs. I quit performing at shows. I disappeared completely. I was becoming tired due to always being fully booked for a gig and it was almost taking over my life. But tonight was my comeback.

When everyone had learnt I was finally returning back to business, a flood of requests for me to perform had come in and stakes in price were way above and beyond the type of money I’d ever had imagined. I mean.. how could a few performances hurt right? I mean if I were receiving 150 galleons per show then what was the harm?

However today I had to look representable. I had to look like I had a passion for music and prove to everyone that I was serious about it. Since the Malfoy’s were coming, I could easily earn way more money if they spread my name around and obviously anything they said would rapidly spread around like wild fire.

But I had one concern. Me and Draco Malfoy use to go to Hogwarts together and he completely had a distaste for me. Not that I cared about his opinion on me but if he loathed me then, then he probably still hated me now. His view on me could either break or make my career, but knowing him he probably would be very judgmental towards me.

“Psst.. y/n! The Malfoy’s are here,” gasped the bartender under her breathe. “Your performance will start in five,” a look of fear smearing over her face.

Draco Malfoy entered the substantial doors of the Leaky Cauldron as he followed behind his mother and father. He was dressed purely in a black tuxedo and his family ring wrapped around his finger as an extra touch. His hair wavy just like on the day of the Great War, when we all parted our separate ways.

I could feel the sweat starting to form from under my outfit and my face flushed as my eyes trailed his figure. Noticing that I was staring at him, he looked back at me coldly before turning back to face the owner of the place as he shook their hand, greeting them.

Everyone took their place at a table and looked up at the stage. The room was crowded with witches and wizards chattering until the lights went out.

I sucked in a sharp breathe before placing my hand on the stand. The back up drummers and pianists began the intro of the song as I shut my eyes closing tightly before the podium lights turned back on.

The spotlight was on me and I could feel a hundred pair of eyes gazing up at me as I started to sing. I couldn’t help but stare at Draco’s alluring face as my voice did runs and other imaginable things. My fingertips gliding across the stand as I moved my body to the rhythm. His eyes were on me as he gripped onto a glass full of wine, taking a swig of it as he leaned back into his chair.

The last part of the song that I was originally going to leave out was added in last minute. Closing the end of my performance at once, I risked hitting a whistle tone while my hands hovered against the microphone, earning cheers from the crowd as I bopped my head on the last note.

The crowd erupted into whistles and clapped for me, including the Malfoy’s, who surprisingly stood up and showed their appreciation. Draco on the other hand, still sat in his seat before getting up and pulling his father to the side.

He whispered something in his ear, my gaze darting to the two of them as I could feel my eyes becoming glossy. I just knew it. I just knew Malfoy would blow this one shot I had at proving myself.

When everyone exited the building, the Malfoy’s stayed behind as me and the band were packing our stuff up. “Y/l/n.. the Malfoy’s want to talk to you,” informed the bartender as she patted my arm before heading back to clean up the counters.

Slipping on my cloak, I walked my way to the three of them, my head hung in disappointment because I knew I had failed them. “Miss.y/l/n .. we’re hosting a masquerade ball... and we were wondering if you were willing to perform,” his mother explained as I looked up with astonishment. “Wait- really?” I exclaimed, my voice slightly high pitched at the amazing news. “We’ll take that as a yes, we’re looking forward to seeing you,” she nodded her head, before the three of them headed for the door. Draco stopped for a second turning his face around with a smirk plastered across his lips before leaving.

—

The night of the masquerade ball, I put on a black dress with a slit at the bottom, exposing my naked leg. I paired it with some black stilettos and styled my hair like Audrey Hepburn’s. To top it all of, I covered my head with a black netted veil, embedded with rhinestone.

I grabbed my black eye mask that had pearls underneath the slit for the eyes and it had a long black feather attached to its side. Putting it onto my face, I took a deep breathe before opening the red curtains to the stage.

Everyone was starting to make their way to the dance floor as I started to sing a more sensual song since the one I had sung at the Leaky cauldron didn’t really fit the theme. Lucius And Narcissa Malfoy, swayed to the song I was performing as they slow danced around the ball, her head placed into the crook of her husband’s neck. To my surprise, Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall eyeing me as each single word came out of my mouth. I thought he probably would have brought a date with him but he didn’t.

Something about the song I was singing made me get into my feels. I bent down and ran my fingers up my exposed leg causing Draco to straighten up at the sudden action. Noticing the affect I had on him, I bit down onto my lower lip as my body swayed slowly to the beat. Deciding to be a tease, I trailed my hovering hand down my body as I threw my head back, getting into my feels.

Unfortunately for Draco, my uncalled for action, caused him to spill his wine all over the top of his tuxedo making him leave and clean up the stain.

I had just now finished the song and the tiny voice in my head told me to go and find Draco. I walked through the twisting and turning corridors until I saw a certain door slightly open. Peeking through the crack, i could see Malfoy tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head.

What if someone saw me? I shouldn’t even be here. I took a step back when the floor underneath my heel creaked. “Who’s there?” He questioned as he walked up to the door. I covered my mouth and froze on the spot, my feet glued to the floor.

Swinging the door open, he glanced at me before putting up his cold demeanour once again. “You?” He sneered. Whatever he had said came through one of my ears and out the other as my eyes wandered down his body, lingering onto his abs.

Noticing that I was staring at him he fake coughed causing me to snap out of my filthy thoughts.”why are you here?” He mumbled frustratedly. Not knowing what to say I pursed my lips Into a line.

It suddenly hit me, Draco was the one who had told his father about me performing tonight so I decided to use that as an excuse. “I came here to ask why you wanted me to perform at the ball tonight? I mean .. why- why are you helping me?” I lied.

Of course I wasn’t here because of that but it was the only thing that could help me from getting myself out of a situation like this. “I.. uh- you got better at singing and I guess your voice is somewhat good,” he gulped, the silence between the two of us causing tingles to run down my spine.

“Are you sure that’s the only thing you liked?” I blurted randomly, causing my eyes to grow wide when I had realised what I meant.

Suddenly,I pulled him in, my lips on his as I deepened the kiss by pulling on the roots of his hair as his hand shut and locked the door behind me. Getting closer to his bed, he tugged at the zip on the back of my dress, making it looser and looser.

I wriggled out of it as the dress slipped down to my feet. His hand made its way into my hair, slowly undoing my loose bun, letting my locks fall down. Lightly pushing me onto the mattress , I laid bare as I propped myself up with my hands. I went down to take my stiletto’s off when he stopped me from doing so. “Leave them on,” he demanded as he crawled on top of me, dipping low to kiss me once again.

His hand trailed the side of thigh making me flinch. He wasted no time in attacking my neck with kisses, making me giggle since I was ticklish. His mouth glided down the valley of my breasts to the place where I needed him the most.

His head buried between my thighs as I could feel the cold sensation of his tongue running down my slit causing me to throw my head back in euphoria. The way his tongue skilfully teased my clit, drawing figure 8’s onto it, sending me over the edge until I came trickling down made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. He didn’t hesitate in pushing in two figures into my core as he finger fucked me, causing my eyes to roll at the back of my head.

He switched between slow and sensual to fast and rough, his fingers gliding in and out of my pussy while his tongue worked magic on my clit causing me to slip the loudest moan out of my mouth. He stopped. “Why- why- did you stop?” I huffed.”that’s what you get for being too loud,” he answered, his lips curving into a smirk.

He wasted no time in removing his trousers as the head of his cock hit his stomach. He looped my thighs with his hand, and bought me closer to the edge of the bed. Lining up with my entrance, his dick easily slid into my soaking wet core. His thrusts began of slow as my fingers trailed down to toy with my clit in the process. He started speeding up, his thrusts becoming more rapid as my vision went blurry. Gripping onto his satin bedsheets, he pushed into me one last time before stopping, his cock still buried deep into my core as I grinded a little. “Draco- please don’t stop now,” I whimpered under him. “Why? You think it’s okay to tease me out there when your performing? You think it’s okay to turn me on like that?” The words coming out through his gritted teeth as he tried to resist the desire of pounding into me. “Fuck it,” he cursed under his breathe before pounding into me, fucking my brains out senseless as sweat trickled down the side of his head. “I’m close!” I screamed as I shut my eyes tighter than ever. “LOOK AT ME!” He demanded, almost forcing me to keep the sexual eye contact. One last thrust into my pulsing pussy, caused my back to arch until he loaded himself inside of me.

Slowly withdrawing himself out of me, he knelt back down, his eyes levelled with my core as he watched me ooze out. He went back in one last time cleaning me up with his tongue, giving me overstimulation as my legs quivered. “Malfoy- I cant-,” the feeling almost turning into pain. Giggling to himself, he helped me up as he threw me my clothes.” Get dressed,” he insisted as he himself got dressed too.

Just before leaving his bedroom to go back downstairs, he turned to me once more. “We’ll discuss your next gig soon,” his lips curving into a smirk as he vanished out of the door.