#I don't know how to cell shade still

[black-and-yellow]

Someone said Micnight was like Team Rocket. And they were right.

[qalrey]

13 years of pones!!

flats + sketch bellow!

i had a lot of trouble drawing AJ, then i realised i've never drew her in my entire life

[ourstarsystem]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[cha0s-boyy]

pic i did for my friend @thefoolfolio

[ID: a cartoony digital bust drawing of a humanoid character with bull horns at a 3/4 angle. she has fair skin, brown eyes, long golden blond hair with short spiky bangs and shaved sides, and offwhite horns with darker tips. her nose is straight and she has broad shoulders. she is wearing a pale blue plaid button-up, as well as a gold septum piercing. she is grinning and has one eyebrow furrowed. /end ID]

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MICHELLE PFEIFFER- J. TODD

day fourteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! mechanic! jason x innocent! fem reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: your car starts acting funny in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service or tow trucks in sight. you do the only thing you can do- wave now the nearest truck and pray for the best. luckily, your prayers are answered, because the man helping you turns out to be jason todd, a mechanic whose pretty... good with his hands.

warnings: SMUT! smuttiest of the smut, heavy praise kink, pet names, not manipulation per say (maybe a little but its jason todd who cares he can do whatever he wants to me) - but a power imbalance? (reader really has to rely on jason), daddy kink, finger sucking, degration/ heavy dumbification, manhandling and huge size kink

i was rlly horny when i wrote this lol. but im proud and happy with it :)

 “and everythings easier way out west, wholly mad and half undressed, i love the way it always feels to miss you. i tell all my friends everything you do, a sick obsession that i still try to prove- and but it's no good, cause who am i without you?”- michelle pfeiffer, ethel cain 

This was probably one of the worst things that could be happening at this very moment.

And of course, it had happened to you.

Here, all alone- in the hot summer heat, your tire gone flat. On the hottest day of the year, barely a tree for shade and your car already low on gas- you realized you had hit a new all time low.

Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, the humid wind brushing them away as you stepped out of the car- pulled off on the side of the road.

You had a spare tire- but you didn't know how to put it back on.

Needless to say, you could try.

There was no cell service out here to call for any means of help, as you were in the deep country, surrounded by hay bales and brush.

Your lower lip quivered, and you braced a hand on the car, as if your touch could magically fix the issue. You had to be a big girl, and figure this out yourself, you told yourself- but god you just wanted to sob more than anything.

Then- as if God himself had heard your call- a truck came up over the bend- leaving a trail of dust in its wake. All you could think to do was stand on your tippy toes, trying to get the driver's attention as you waved.

Please. Please stop.

And he slowed.

You could just make out his figure, tall and large, built of solid muscle. He looked strong. He could lift the tire, knowing damn well you couldn't by yourself.

His truck engine sputtered to a halt as he parked behind you, and you were so relieved you started to cry again. He stepped out, streaks of grey in his darkened hair, tattoos snaking around biceps that were the size of your head.

He was old enough to be your father. But his eyes were so pretty, all warm and coaxing as he approached you, as if you were a startled dog.

“Hey sweetheart what's going on?”

His gaze instantly dropped when he got close enough to see the tears staining your cheeks, rushing to place a hand to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Awh little fawn don't cry. Shh, shh it's alright. What's going on? Why are you here all by yourself?” he asked softly, as you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was just driving and I just- my car-”

”Hey, hey calm down. It's okay. I promise.” he smiled and you nodded, wiping your fresh tears.

“I got a flat tire and I don't know how to put on the new one. And it's too heavy for me to grab and I just-”

You sighed, trailing off, kicking the ground.

“Well you’re in luck, fawn, I happen to be a mechanic. M’ Jason. Jason Todd.” he rubbed your arms in a soothing motion, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his intoxicating blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you, so, so much Mr. Todd.”

“Oh god don't call me that. You make me sound old. I don't need reminders.” he teased, making you giggle.

“There's that pretty smile. See? It's alright fawn. Let me just get your spare, okay?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him do his thing. He was so large he seemed to tower over your little camino, lifting the tire with ease from the trunk. You watched in awe as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

A drip of sweat trickled down his bicep, tracing the ink on his skin and you caught yourself ogling like a cartoon character. You wouldn't be surprised if little hearts fluttered around your head, and you trailed behind him as if he was a fresh pie through an open window.

Stranger danger was a foreign concept today, but honestly, you didn't like to think about that danger.

Everyone was nice, at least you liked to think so. And Jason was super nice.

Stopping to help you fix your car? He just seemed to be the nicest man in the whole wide world.

A cluck of his tongue and a sigh broke you from your lovesick trance, and you peered over his shoulder as he crouched, examining the tire with a shake of his head. “Is everything okay Jason?”

He sighed. “M’afraid not fawn. This tire is no good either.”

“Oh! Well…what's wrong with it?” you asked timidly, trying to get a better look. He blocked your view from the commotion though, sweeping you up with his syrupy voice and southern charm.

“Nothin you need to worry your pretty lil head about darlin. But, I dont think it's safe to drive on. Do you wanna come with me to my shop and we can grab a new one and come back?” he asked, empathy rolling off him in waves you were swept up in.

Why couldn't you trust him? He was nurturing, wanting only the best for you. Plus, wasn't it dangerous for a little girl like you to be out here all alone?

You would be safe with Jason, he was a nice old man who probably just wanted to keep you hydrated and out of the sun- and any bad onlookers who would lure you in their trap.

There was no question to be asked, no second guessing.

You felt yourself nodding, happy and eager for him to lead you, a large hand on your lower back, all warm through the thin fabric of your little white dress.

“Good girl. No more tears, okay? I got you sweetheart.”

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

“Look at you, pretty lil thing. All those pretty tears.” Jason cooed above you, pounding into your tight cunt so hard you started to see stars.

All that could be heard was his sweet praises and gentle coos, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and your short gasps, and gentle moans. You couldn't help the tears from falling again as he splayed you out on a workbench, dragging you to the edge and splitting you in two.

He was so big and thick you couldn't think straight, and with the pace he was setting- it was as if he had no sign of stopping. You felt his thumb brush away the salty tears as you hiccuped, moaning as he slipped his fingers in your mouth.

You instantly sucked them, pacifying yourself as a means of grounding.

“Atta girl. Daddys gotcha.”

You clenched around him at the name he gave himself, and he chuckled lowly. “Oh you like that, don't you fawn? You like when Daddy takes care of you? Makes things all better, cause you're too lil to figure it out yourself?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted even harder, balls slapping your ass as the bench banged against the wall, making the tools above you jolt.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

That was the plan all along of course. He was always keen to help a stranger, but you? He knew he couldn't leave you, just quite yet.

So yes, he had told you there was an issue when there truly wasn't- but could you blame him? How else was he supposed to take care of you the way you so desperately deserved?

Jason could tell as soon as he saw the quiver of your lip and the anxious fidgeting with the hem of your dress that you had needed this- needed him for a while. And he was more than happy to oblige to your needs.

He watched as your legs started to quiver from pleasure, like a little newborn fawns. His little deer.

A thin line of spit trailed his fingers as he pulled them away, letting your whines and moans get louder. You clawed at his biceps, gripping them tight as his pace refused to falter.

Daddy daddy ohhh- Was all you could muster out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Yeahhh sweetheart just like that. Grippin me so tight- s’like you were made for me hm? You needed someone to take care of you baby? To split this lil cunt in half like she deserves?”

You nodded absentmindedly as you let the pleasure wash over you- holding onto him as if he were your savour.

He was- your savior. And he’d be damned if he’d let you forget it.

“Gonna cum please daddy can I-”

“Can you? Oh look at you, using your manners without me even reminding you. You’re such a good girl baby, go ahead n cream around this cock lil fawn.”

You cried, wails bouncing off the walls- sounding like sweet music to his ears, as if it was coming from his old radio in the corner he’d whistle a tune to while he worked.

But your sounds were much, much better. So sweet and delicate- your face all contorted in pleasure, nose scrunched, eyes clenched shut as you let go around him.

All he could do was coo at you, his sweet little girl, planting soft kisses to your face. You were so soft and gentle to him on the ride over, thanking him endlessly, clenching your thighs as he dared to slip a hand down to rest on your thigh.

Swooning over him, like a love sick puppy.

He didn't miss the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn't looking. And maybe it was wrong, for him wanting to corrupt such a sweet angel like you, so innocent and eager to do right by him for a simple gesture of kindness.

But he couldn't help himself.

And this? Peering down at the bulge in your stomach from where his cock rearranged your insides?

This was payment, and then some. 

[yandere-wishes]

˚｡✮ Yandere! Darth Vader {Anakin Skywalker} x Apprentice Reader

˚｡✮ Bad, bad news, One of us is gonna lose I'm the powder, you're the fuse, Just add some friction, You are my strange addiction

˚｡✮ We've talked about Yandere! Anakin Skywalker falling for Padawan! Reader... But what about Vader falling for his acolyte/apprentice?

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ★⋆.˚

Vader isn't nurturing.

It feels almost sacrilegious to entertain the thought.

That's why it's so troubling when the galactic empire's staff take note of a smaller morbid figure trailing after the ebony monstrosity.

I can see there being many interesting scenarios in which Vader would pick an acolyte. The most heartwrenching and particularly curious case would be if his acolyte used to also be Anakin Skywalker's Padawan.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader searching for you across the galaxy. He feels your force signature reverberating inside him, calls out to it, tries to bind and morph it. A sardonic love letter he pens with rage and perplexion. Still, you always slip away. He keeps your hunt a secret, some ancient wound that's never healed right. The swing of your saber still haunts him, your satisfied grin as you land a blow on him. The force works in mysterious ways and Vader's desperation can't fully be reasoned. He's given up everything that Anakin once had. Forgone to an almost spiritual level. But you are the one pesky thing that still lingers. He likes to think that it's because he knows your true power. That you're a threat as long as you live.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader finally, finally finding you. Mesmerized by how much you've grown. You're rugged, wild. Some strange creature wearing the skin of the girl he once loved. You don't hesitate to attack, and Vader signs it off as a blessing. He needs a reason to hurt you, to drag you back kicking and screaming. He needs an excuse to push his fury between your bones and drown you in his sorrows. He needs revenge in the worst way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader winning because of course he does. He leaves you bruised and broken, bleeding on the soft grassy ground. Your eyes are so beautiful when they're filled with terror. Your voice melodic as you scream in agony as his saber severs your leg and arm. Vengeance, Vengeance, Vengeance. You left him, left him to face Obi-wan alone, left him to be mutilated and disfigured.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only coming to terms with who he is, and what he is as he's watching the medical droids repair your body. He can never escape Anakin, cause that's who he still is. Anakin hasn't died just grown. He's no longer the kid with a schoolboy crush on his pupil and supernovas under his tongue. He's swallowed the burning stars, let their fires and explosions paint him in shades darker than the nights on Tatooine. He runs a cybernetic hand across your head, feeling you for the first time in forever.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader training you once more. It's been months since your capture, months of brutal and tender torture. He's ripped you apart and rearranged you so meticulously. Picking favored parts to hem and sew with a buzzing red needle and dark doctrines. Only when Vader notes the red-rimmed golden shift flicker across your eyes does he know he's truly won. Your connection to the light is nearly completely severed. Your past is left to rot on the green planet. What stares back at him from the corners of the dark, damp cell is a creature forged of hate and malice. A sith in every way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only ever happy when he's with you. He's finally free to train you as he pleases, to touch you as he pleases, to kiss you as he pleases. He's taken you to ice worlds to bleed kyber crystals and to Mustafar to forge your new armor. He kisses you on a battlefield littered with the corpses of dead resistance soldiers. Metal clancks against metal all wretched sinister love. You're beginning to love this new master, he's everything Anakin had repressed, he's everything you have always feared. But the thing you must realize about fickle fears is that once you fall in love with them, you begin to lose yourself.

˚｡✮ Imagine Pulling up Vader's mask and kissing the burns across his face. Your kisses are laced with such passion and hate he feels like he's drowning in lava once more. He's brutal in the way he handles you, each touch leaving a plethora of bruises, singing I love you. You like the way each training session starts with a deep all-consuming kiss and ends with him using the force to smash your head into the ground as you laugh and laugh. His force signature is different now, you like the way it slithers across your body, all fire and pain, all destruction. Love the pain that comes with him, this grisly bloody love affair that makes the stars shutter.

The staff of the galactic empire, Find the little midnight creature all too bizarre.

She trails after their commander with vicious playful skips and plays uno with their lives. She twirls around the galaxy's most feared as if she's playing hopscotch.

The staff of the galactic empire doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror...

I think about how at the beginning of being Vader, Anakin was so quick to reject who he once was. Trying desperately to kill off any semblance of Anakin. But by the time of the Original Trilogy, he's sort of come to terms with who he is and who he once was. Anakin isn't really dead he's just grown stronger now, and in a strange way, he even seems to embrace his past as a Jedi, wearing it as - a not so obvious- badge of pride.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The night is long and torturous. When sleep comes, it's accompanied by the same man that invaded your waking hours. Thor is like a shadow, following you from one plane to the next. You wake in a sweat, disoriented and dull.

What are you going to do? Even if he wasn't a dangerous felon, you're no match for him. He's like if someone made a bear human. Despite how nice he can be, you fear the flip side of the coin.

You force yourself to get up as Andy's voice echoes beneath the thunder of Thor's. Your mom would flip if she found out. And do nothing. It's your problem, you're grown, just don't bring that around your siblings. She's with Andy for a reason; several.

A day off would typically be an occasion for delight. Everything is off. Everything is tainted by the consequences of your stupid action.

The idea of eating makes you want to puke. Getting washed up is a task on its own. You read about Marie Antoinette in her cell and the looming threat of the guillotine. Is this how she felt?

Light blue jeans and a tiered lilac top. It would be cute in any other context.

You don't know when but you know he's coming. He promised. He made many promises and you never took those seriously. Now you know just how committed he is.

It's absurd. He has to see that right? You're too young. You're naive. He needs someone who can relate to him. Someone who isn't terrified.

The doorbell rings as you pace in circles. Shoot. Ugh. You see him on the little smart screen.

You freeze for a minute. Fight or flight has you stuck in the middle. You make yourself move. You have no fight but also nowhere to run.

You open the door and let out a gurgling noise. He's surprised you again. Not as frightfully as that first encounter, but still. Thor wears a tidy button up in a shade of pale blue and navy slacks. His hair is braided along the sides and drawn back into a low pony. He smells like fancy pine cologne. Your eyes go wide.

"My queen," he offers you a tiny gift bag, dwarfed by his large hands.

"Um, hi," you take it by the ribbon handles with a trouble furrow in your brows.

"While you always look stunning, might I ask you to change into something more...than casual?" He smiles sheepishly. "I have many surprises and I would have you in style."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I just... threw this on," you look down.

"It is no trouble. I only thought you would want to match your gift," he gestures to the gift bag.

"Ermmmmm," you drag out the fizzy murmur.

You reach into the bag and take out the ivory box. Your stomach storms furiously. You pull open the lid on the hinges to reveal a ruby necklace. The heart-shaped stone is trimmed in diamonds. You blink and babble.

"It's so... pretty, but I can't--"

"My queen, please, it would be a great honour to have you wear it," he insists. "Might I?"

He opens his large palm. You stare at the deep lines and gulp. You carefully pull the necklace free and hand it over.

You turn and he steps closer to drape it around your neck. It rests along your clavicle as he clasps it. You're no great judge but you think it's real. Did he steal it?

"Thank, er... I'll go find something to go with it," you draw away as he tickles your neck.

"As ever, I shall patiently await my queen," he assures.

The bag crinkles as you face him again, "can I meet you at the truck? I don't want you standing out here that long."

"It is no trouble--"

"Please, I would feel bad," you plead.

He touches his chest, "aw, my queen, you do treat me well. Yes, I shall wait for you there."

You nod and watch him go before you retreat inside. You hurry to the guest room and shove away the bag. You sift through your bag. You didn't really bring anything fancy... Wait.

You trip out of the room and head down to the basement. Your mother holds onto everything. You clamour down to the basement and push through the hangers. It's not your fave and she chose it, but your semi-formal dress hangs amid the forgotten thread. You really don't think it goes with the necklace but it will have to do.

You change quickly and steel some of your mom's shoes and a thin white shawl. You probably don't look any more ready than you feel. As you come out, clutching your purse against your side, you catch your breath. You lock the door and brace yourself.

You come down the walk as Thor stands up straight from leaning on his truck and touches his hair to check that it's in place. Oh gosh, what've you done?

This man is delusional. Sure, you helped build that fantasy, but for him to take it this far? You feel sick.

"My queen," he opens the door.

You smile and let him help you into the truck. The dread settles with you in the seat. He shuts the door gently as you look down at your hands. You busy yourself by buckling the seat belt.

He gets in and you peer down the street with wide eyes. He reaches over to pet your knee, "that colour is wonderful on you. You always are perfect, darling." He leans over and kisses your cheek. He squeezes your knee with his large hand, fingers swirling on the bare skin. He growls. "How I dreamt of this. Of you. When I was locked up. But now I'm free, we are free, and together."

You put your hand on his and squeak, "Thor."

"I understand now. It is new to you. I wish you'd said. But now I can take it slow for you, my kitten."

He kisses your cheek again and rescinds his hand. He grips the wheels and you watch his knuckles pale. Your throat constricts as if his fingers are around your neck.

"Um..." you shrink into the seat, "where are we going?"

He chuckles, "it's a surprise."

You twitch. This is how those true crime shows start. Your lips tremble but you keep your smile in place. He pulls away from the curb.

"Okay, but er, you know, my stepdad is very... strict and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on the house, so I can't stay out long," you explain as you mash your palms together.

"Your stepdad. Hm. Yes, he seems controlling."

"Well, you know, he's just... particular," you shrug.

"Mm, it makes sense," he nods.

"Makes sense?"

"Yes, why you thought to try to block me. To deny our love," he clucks. "You speak of this man as he is. A dictator. Well, I am your king, he will not keep me from my queen, so you needn't worry for him."

You don't argue. It's a better explanation than you had and if he knew the truth...

"I don't know the man and yet he makes my blood hot. I could throttle any who would stifle you, my queen," he snarls. "As I have sworn to myself to always keep you safe. And close."

You cringe. You remember his long rambling emails. You skimmed a lot of those flowery monologues. You assumed he read a lot of poetry in jail. What else did he have time for?

"Please, be calm, and yourself," he glances over at you. "No need to be scared, my queen. Not ever."

🩷

Your confusion mounts as you watch the grand house rise before you. The property is maintained; trimmed hedges, marble statues, a fountain, a drooping blossom tree akin to some whimsical fantasy movie.

It's unlike anywhere you've ever been. How would Thor know of this place? Are you trespassing?

You peek at him nervously as he pulls his bright red truck in behind the luxurious ivory and gold car. You search around for anyone to come calling intruder. Thor gets out as you're too reluctant to move further. He comes around and opens the door. As you step down, his hand around yours, his name booms in the air.

An older man with white hair marches over in a velvet jacket over a sleep shirt. He's eccentric with his long white hair and bird-headed cane.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," the man proclaims, "and he has brought... fresh meat?"

You squirm as you look between them.

"Father, she is not to be spoken of such," Thor warns.

His father? Your mouth falls open.

"Odin," the man offers his hand. "And you must be wildly out of your mind."

You open and close your lips. He laughs and you finally unclench your hand to shake his. He squeezes firmly and brings your hand up to kiss the back.

"So, has she read the court report yet? Is she aware?" Odin chirps.

"Father, I am reformed," Thor snatches your arm back. "You needn't mock me so. I've done my time. She knows this."

"Does she? She is rather young. How much can she know?"

Your brows rise up and down. You're speechless. This is both awkward and humiliating.

"Come then, your mother has been fussing over breakfast all morning. It is why I had to flee the house. You get your madness from her," Odin mutters as he turns.

He walks airily despite the cane, swinging it more than he uses it. Thor holds your hand as he pulls you along. Maybe your family isn't so weird.

Odin whistles as he swings the door open and enters. Thor squeezes and you fear he might dislocate something. You squirm and he lets up.

"Oh, the love of my life, where are you?" Odin calls out, his voice echoing along the high ceilings.

Your eyes rove around the extravagant decor. Refined but not stuffy. Elegant with subtlety. You could only aspire to be any of those things.

You can't help but wonder how he got locked up. By the looks of it, his family is wealthy. Better off than your own. Your mother is comfortably middle class but she's stingy as heck. Andy is worse.

"In here," a trill sounds through the large doorway with the curling detail over the archway.

Odin strides through and Thor drags you in to see the older man kissing a blond woman on the cheek as she juggles a covered tray. "Oh, you rogue."

He purrs and keeps his arm around her as she sets her armful down. Her eyes brighten as she looks in your direction and they flick between you and Thor.

"Oh, my son! You've brought her!" She claps her oven mitts together. "And she is absolutely stunning."

She sweeps out of her husband's embrace and around the large square island. She brings the warm mitts to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. She holds you at arms length and admires you.

"My, my, so lovely," she praises. "And you're with my son?"

Thor grumbles, "mother."

"Well..." she shrugs and pulls away, then wraps her son in a hug. He wraps his arms around her as she turns her ear to his chest. She giggles as her green eyes flash. "His heart is racing. He must be in love."

"Mother," he gently nudges her away. "You're embarrassing me."

"I embarrass myself," she turns to you again, "Frigga, darling, and you?"

You peek up at Thor before you give your name. She repeats it, rolling it over her tongue.

"Just as beautiful as the rest of you," she turns and taps away in her heels. You don't know how a woman her age has so much energy. "Oh, and have you heard from Loki, Odi?"

"You know his excuses. Work. A very busy man," the white-haired patriarch shakes his head.

"My brother," Thor explains in a whisper.

You nod. Does it make much of a difference?

"My son tells me you've been a wonderful support. Gods know he has always been such a handful," Frigga arranges a silver tea pot and porcelain saucers on a tray. "Even after they put him away, oh, it was awful. When I called, they told me he was not permitted to take his calls." She hums in disappointment and sends Thor a sharp look. His shoulders slump. "I didn't raise him like that. I want you to know, I've only ever taught him to respect women and I do hope he treats you as well as you treat him."

"Mother, you know I would never," Thor insists.

"Oh, and you promised you would not go to prison. Yes, I see how that panned out," she sniffs. "Ah, but let us not cling to mistakes. Let us move on." She smiles at you as she lifts the tray. "I know, dear, that you will fix him. From what I hear of you, it cannot be any other way."

Heat crawls up your neck. What has Thor told them? How can you live up to expectations when you don't even know what they are?

"Um, may I help with that?" You offer as you near her.

"Oh, but you are a guest," she chimes.

"Really, it's no problem. All this food smells delicious. It must be a lot of work," you insist. "It's the least I can do."

You take the handles of the tray as she relents. You hold your smile and turn. You don't let the facade fall until you're out of the room. She calls after you that the dining room is left not right. You correct your path and bite the inside of your lip.

You're really not that helpful but you'll take the excuse to get away. If even just a few minutes.

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 8

2.4k words. NSFW. Warnings for the smut finally smutting. She/Her Teacher Reader.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them.

The lesson you gave Ryan that day would not have won you any awards.

Homelander flaunted his acting abilities by being perfectly normal. He listened intently to the lesson, answered Ryan's controversial questions, and chuckled at the parts of American history he found comical. The Battle of Paoli tickled him. Compared to how he usually engaged with your lessons, he was more relaxed than usual. He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded on his lap; the nods he occasionally gave, as if watching his evil plans come to fruition, made your chest clench.

You were a mess. Any other day, you can answer Ryan's factual questions without blinking an eye. You had his textbook memorized to a near clinical degree. Now, you hesitated after his ponderings and didn't land much banter. Your face flushed five shades of red when you called Benjamin Franklin a president. Ryan was polite enough not to comment, but Homelander could fit a whole family of canaries in his shit-eating grin.

Mercifully, the lesson ended earlier than usual so Ryan could work on an essay. You expected to sit and wait for him to finish - but as always, Homelander had other plans.

"Alright, Ryan. You've got 30 minutes to finish that paper. No cheating." He says, pointing at him with a wink. The supe stands up and stretches his arms to his sides before settling them on his hips. He still has his gloves off. "Teach and I have a meeting downstairs."

You look over at him suspiciously. "We do?"

He looks at you from the corner of his gleaming blue eyes. "We do. I would've mentioned it earlier, but we got a bit sidetracked. Remember?"

Damn him.

Ryan looks up from his paper, concern on his creased forehead. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no! Not at all," Homelander assures him with an easy laugh. He steps between you and Ryan’s seats to give his son a reassuring shoulder pat. "Just some things to discuss with your next unit coming up. Don't worry. She's not going anywhere."

Ryan smiles in relief while you swear you hear a cell door slamming shut.

Homelander turns and holds out a hand to you. When you automatically take it, his fingers quickly enclosing yours, his grin widens. "Leave your stuff here," His voice is gentle enough to disguise the command as a gentle offering. "It shouldn't take too long."

He lifts you like you're made of parchment, using just enough strength so you nearly stumble into him. He keeps up an innocent smile. You adjust yourself and look up at him for a long moment before turning to Ryan. Your expression instinctively softens. "You're only using Chapter 7, remember? I'll know if you try using others."

He nods confidently and returns his pencil to a scurrying scratch across the paper. "Yep. Got it."

If Homelander is concerned about your academic threat to his son, he doesn't show it. He ruffles Ryan's hair and guides you out of the penthouse with his hand still holding yours. As the door to the penthouse closes, his hold tightens. You wonder if he is about to pounce on you. Instead, he walks you to the elevator - and you loathe yourself for feeling disappointed.

You kissed him to get him to shut the hell up, you remind yourself. That fucked up little brain of his wants - needs - affection, and the only way to pivot him away from his rage was to give it to him. That was why you kissed him. That was why your body was so tightly wound as you waited beside him for the elevator - your hand, somehow, still in his grasp.

"So..." Homelander breaks the silence as the elevator numbers crawl up to find you both. "President Franklin, huh?"

You instinctively growl in annoyance. "Shut up."

He wheezes, and the sound gives you enough time to remember he can split you like soaked paper. You choke on an apology. "Shit. I mean-"

“I’ve killed people for less than that, you know.”

Jesus. “I didn’t-”

"Relax." He snickers and squeezes your hand. "Common mistake, right? Now he won't fuck that up himself in the future."

The elevator door opens, and he pulls you inside. You two are the only inhabitants for this ride. Homelander takes his merry time pressing the button to the floor for this apparent meeting. When the elevator starts to move, he finally lets go of your hand. You instinctively fold your arms across your chest. "So...what is this meeting about?"

He looks at you, but you are staring at the elevator buttons. He scoffs. "Take a guess. What could Vought possibly be worried about with you and me?"

You pretend to take a moment to think about it. "This weekend?"

"Yahtzee.” He pauses. The only sound is the painfully slow ding of passing levels. “Now, this meeting is with Ashley. You’ve met the basketcase. She’ll want to spin it one of two ways. The two of us never interact in public again, let this slide away, or we use it to our advantage."

That gets you to look at him. "Our advantage?"

He smirks like the two of you are in on a scheme. "I gain points for dating a little normie, and you get all the benefits of dating me."

Dating. The word sounds so absurd that you bite your lip to stifle a bewildered laugh. You have no words to describe the increasingly concerning dynamic between you and the most powerful man on the planet, but dating is certainly not one of them. You turn your body to face him fully, though it does little to fend off the feeling of being attacked from all fronts. "What benefits?"

You’re aware he may have been infuriated by your snark on another day. Today, he just tilts his head impishly. "Oh, the fame, the power, the money…but that's not where your brain is, right? Your little noggin is still thinking about that kiss."

You scoff and unconsciously take a step back. "Please."

Homelander follows you with a tut of disapproval. "Don’t lie. I hate liars.” He stops just an inch from you, and your back presses to the elevator wall. “You’re lying to the both of us, pumpkin. We're the same, you and me. We want more. We deserve more."

You tilt your chin up to keep your eyes locked on his. "We are nothing alike, and I only kissed you to shut you up.”

Without breaking eye contact with you, he reaches for the elevator buttons. He presses the emergency button, and the room stumps to a halt. You stumble, and he takes the opportunity to rest a hand on your hip to stabilize you. His free hand reaches up to gently pry your arms apart and to your sides. You don’t have time to speak before his chest pushes lightly against yours. "Your body tells me a different story…” He leans over to growl directly into your ear. “Your pulse was elevated that whole lesson. Your eyes were dilated any time you looked at me. And right now?” His voice lowers to a dangerous growl. “You are soaking wet."

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you push at his chest. Nothing. You snarl. "Get off of me."

He shakes his head as he pulls back to look at you. He pouts in annoyance. "Why do you torture yourself? Enjoy this. You have no idea how good I can make you feel."

The frustrating heat clogs your thoughts, and the words come out of you before you can think them over. "Please. I don't think an asshole like you even knows where the clit is."

You swear his entire face flutters. His silence drags, and you can’t decide if fear or excitement makes your body pound. Finally, he replies. "You know, Maeve said something awfully similar to me back in the day. And boy oh boy did I prove her wrong. Over and over again."

This time, when he kisses you, there’s no slowness. His mouth molds against yours with a possessiveness that makes your legs quiver. Your back hits the wall firmly, and the wanton moan out of your mouth shocks you in its primality. He keeps one hand in your hair, angling your head to kiss you how he wants, while the other keeps its grip on your waist. He holds you tight, squeezes you, and you whimper against his mouth. His responding smirk against your mouth is devious.

“Real sensitive for someone who talks such a big game,” He breathes against your lips. He gives you another peck before his lips move to brush along your jaw. It barely feels like kisses; it’s almost like he’s tasting you, relishing your soft skin against his mouth.

You squirm, but it’s you pushing against a brick wall. He chuckles against your skin at the attempt, and you huff. “You’re cheating.”

“Cheating?” He repeats, his grin wide as it finds the top of your neck. “These are my God-given talents.”

“God had nothing to do with you,” You murmur. In reply, his sharp incisors bite hard at your neck. It’s an absolute shock to your system, a thrum pounding from your heart and settling between your legs. You whine loudly, your hands suddenly finding purchase in his hair as he sucks over the bite. He purrs at the contact and sucks slowly, fondly, at his created spot. You manage to find your voice. “Are you…are you leaving a fucking hickey?”

“Like you didn’t almost come just now,” He murmurs without leaving your skin. He gives another harsh bite and soothing suck directly beneath his first attack, his hands easily keeping you still as you squirm like a fish on a line. It won’t be a subtle mark you’ll have to carry around Vought Tower, and it’s a thought that makes your body clench helplessly.

Somewhere during his assault on your neck, he’s undone the button to your jeans. He moves his hand so slowly from your hip that you don’t notice its descent into your pants until he moans. It’s the first time he’s felt the soft skin of your stomach under his palm. He sounds just as - if not more - excited than you. He slowly presses his hands down until he’s pressing against your underwear, and your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. “Fuck.”

“Should cover your mouth,” He mutters as his long fingers sneak shamelessly beneath your underwear. “But these sounds are so cute.”

You want so badly to give him a clever comeback, but any witty retort disappears as the pads of his fingers press your clit. He moves them in an agonizingly slow circle. Your mouth opens in a soundless cry just in time for him to pull away from your neck and admire your face.

“Oh, would you look at that?” He chuckles as his fingers continue swirling in that torturous circle. “Found the clit.”

It’s unfair. You’re trapped against him, and he can toy with your clit at his own pace. Even worse, he knows how to play with you. He knows when to speed up when your body craves it, but never too hard or fast. He builds you up slowly to something that leaves your hips spasming fruitlessly against his hold. Not once does he look away from your face. He doesn’t even blink as he slides a single finger inside of you, his lips gently parted in awe. It takes him all of five strokes to find the spot inside you that has your eyes falling shut and rolling back. His free hand immediately cups your jaw.

“No, no…” He growls. “Open those pretty eyes. You’re gonna be looking at me when you come.”

He emphasizes his point by adding a second finger, and the stretch makes you obey. You blink your eyes open as he curls those damned fingers over and over again, his thumb working at your clit. Your body is on fire as you wrap one hand around his wrist at your jaw. Your nails digging into his skin would hurt anyone else, but not him. Not Homelander. You don’t even realize you’re speaking until the word comes out. “Please…”

Homelander’s eyes widen in delight. “Please? Oh, so sweet…” His fingers crook deeper, leaving no escape from the pounding inside you. “Go ahead and come.”

A few more of those perfect strokes, and you release. You swear it’s as if thunder booms from your core, and your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers. He groans your name like a prayer but doesn’t slow down; he keeps going. You’re reawakened by a raw oversensitivity you’ve never known before. You whimper as you squeeze his wrist. “T-too…too much…”

He smirks and gives a rough thrust of his fingers. He relishes in your cry. “You better get used to that,” He taunts but finally relents. He slowly pulls his fingers away, letting out another debauched moan. “So fucking tight…”

You watch in a daze as he puts his fingers in his mouth. He closes his eyes, and the moan he lets out makes your pussy pound for something more. He relishes in your taste for as long as he can and then finally looks down at you. Now, he looks just about as dazed as you feel. His voice is a rumbling sin. “And that’s nothing, teach. I can give so much more.”

You have no words. Homelander doesn’t seem to mind. He takes his time rebuttoning your pants, adjusting your shirt, and brushing a hand through your hair. He tilts his head as he looks you over for a moment, and with a quiet hum of approval, he turns and presses the emergency button again. With a jolt, the elevator returns to its slow descent. He steps away from you with a disappointed sigh. You realize that this hasn’t satisfied either one of you. It was a silent craving for more. 

The thought and the jolt of the elevator wake you up, and you finally speak. “We…” You cringe at how broken your voice sounds; how loud have you been screaming? Did anyone hear you? “...We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Homelander is back to holding his hands behind him, perfectly poised as he watches the numbers drop. “Why not?”

You shake your head as you desperately search for some sort of logic over the persistent throb between your legs. “It…it’s wrong.”

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, sweetheart…you should know by now the laws of right and wrong don’t apply to me.”

[dorabellingham]

Dinner plans

warning: none

characters: jude x mom!reader

summary: when your baby is too fussy to let you go to dinner

may contain spelling and translation errors!

Madrid, Spain — October 10, 2024.

The sun was already setting on the Madrid skyline, coloring the sky with shades of orange and pink. You were in front of the bedroom mirror, adjusting the long navy blue silk dress you had chosen for the special night. The thin straps highlighted your delicate shoulders, and the fabric flowed softly to the floor, making you feel elegant, even though a part of you was worried at home.

—You look beautiful, sweetheart.

Jude said as he entered the room, stopping for a moment to appreciate you. He was neatly dressed, wearing an impeccable white suit that highlighted his athletic build. His hair was casually styled, and the woody scent filled the air around you.

You smiled slightly, but there was a glint of concern in your eyes.

—Thank you, Jude... but I don’t know if we should really go. Benji is so moody today.

Your husband came closer, placing his hands on your shoulders, the warm and familiar touch trying to convey comfort.

—Hey, everything will be fine. Martina is already on the way, and he'll be fine with her. We need this time just for the two of us, don't you think?

You nodded, but your gaze went straight to the next room, where your baby was mumbling softly in his crib, his little arms stretched up high, as if searching for his parents. He was going through a difficult phase, too clingy to let go of you, and every time he left he seemed more defiant.

—I know, I know... it's just that he's been more attached lately, I don't know what's going on. —You sighed, releasing the air that seemed trapped in your chest. —Maybe it's just a phase.

Jude smiled understandingly and continued to run his hands over your shoulders, giving you a good feeling.

—It certainly is. And he'll get used to it soon. Besides, we're not far away, we'll just have dinner and be back before he notices.

You turned to him, touching the knot of his tie gently, as if that small action could distract from your worries.

—He knows when we’re not here. You’ve seen how he’s gotten more agitated since we started getting ready, Babe.

At that moment, Benjamin’s soft crying increased in intensity, turning into a continuous whine, as if he knew his parents were about to leave. You moved away from Jude, hurrying towards the baby’s room.

When you arrived, you found him lying in the crib, his little face red and his little hands clutching the blanket.

—Oh, my little boy.

You whispered, taking your little baby in your arms. Immediately, he calmed down a little, but sobs still escaped between heavy sighs.

Bellingham appeared right behind, watching both.

—He just wants to be held, babe. You’re his comfort.

Jude's voice was soft, but with a touch of contained frustration, because he knew how much these moments affected his wife. You rocked Benji gently, feeling his small body fit against his.

—I know, but it feels wrong to leave him like this.

—Do you think if we don't go he'll sleep better?

Jude asked, trying to find a solution. He understood your concern, but he also wanted to provide a special moment. You looked at him with an uncertain expression and Benji groaned, grabbing yiur dress as if holding on with all his strength. Jude sighed, feeling his son's resistance, but also understanding that they needed this time together.

—Maybe we can postpone the reservation for a little longer, until he calms down?

—Do you think they'll let us? It's a super busy restaurant, Jude...

You asked, already mentally preparing yourself to give up on the idea of ​​dinner.

—I'll call them, explain the situation. It'll work out.

The taller one answered, already taking his cell phone out of his pocket and moving away a little to make the call.

While he was solving the problem, you continued to calm Benjamin, who was now calmer in your arms, his little brown eyes slowly closing. You rocked him from side to side, the gentle rhythm making the baby snuggle even closer against his mother's chest. A small, affectionate smile appeared on your lips as she watched him.

—You know you can let mommy and daddy go out, right? Just for one night?

You whispered, kissing your son's forehead.

Jude came back a few minutes later with an expression of relief.

—I managed to postpone it in an hour. That way we can spend a little more time with him and leave when he's asleep.

You smiled, relieved, and blew a kiss in the air followed by a wink at him.

—You're the best, darling!

He shrugged, sending a kiss and a weak wink back.

—I’m good at negotiations, it’s part of my job.

You laughed softly, still rocking Benji. Jude came closer again, putting his arm around you and looking at his sleeping son.

—Now, let’s enjoy this little time with him, and then we have our night. Fair enough, right?

You nodded, feeling Jude’s warmth and love beside you. The baby finally fell asleep completely, his body relaxed in his mother’s arms. You sat together on the couch in the living room, Jude with an arm around you, both of you watching Ben breathe softly, his face angelic and peaceful.

—Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever be able to have time for just the two of us again.

You confessed in a whisper.

Jude squeezed your arm lightly.

—We’ll find that balance. Benjamin is our priority, but we also need to take care of ourselves. This night is just a reminder that we are still us, Y/n. And that all of this is only getting more special.

You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words and the truth in them.

—Yeah... you’re right.

You were silent for a few minutes, enjoying the momentary peace before finally getting up to get ready again. When Benji was safe and sound asleep, with the babysitter already at the ready, you left the house, knowing that, despite the challenges, this night was for you —a little piece of time just for them, amidst the rush of being parents.

[leclerc-hs]

fille stupide pt. 3 - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader / max verstappen x fem!reader Summary: in which you now kind of know French and a not so stranger is still here Warnings: smut, oral (f-receiving), angstyyyy (?), cheating (again, i'm sorry), 18+!, not proofread!!, bad French (correct me please!!), bad Dutch (correct me please!!) Word Count: 1985 Author's Note: ok so I think we'll end fille stupide here 🤭 I absolutely loved writing this (if you couldn't tell by how fast i was able to write it lmaooo). I honestly WOULD NOT mind writing more scenarios for them in the future. Like if I ever write mean dom charles, my mind will automatically come back to them. please don't forget to leave feedback! love y'all french edited by @shewantsvengeance!!! dutch edited by @deanlovescassie!!!

PART 1 PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

STARTLED BY A loud bang in the kitchen, you jolt awake. The bright sun streaming through your windows blinds you as you try to make sense of the abrupt awakening and your surroundings. You were no longer naked; a large plain white t-shirt enveloped your body. A t-shirt you don’t remember even putting on or falling asleep in. A t-shirt, that’s not even yours.

Caution gripped you as you inched towards the kitchen, moving slowly down the hall. The muffled sounds persisted, their meaning elusive, while the clattering of cabinets continued. As you finally reached the corner of the hallway, you were met with the sight of a partially naked Charles in the kitchen, an array of food on the stove top cooked. The aroma of bacon and eggs wafted through the kitchen, prompting your stomach to audibly grumble in response. You leaned against the countertop across from him, just watching the muscles of his back flex with each deliberate movement. He stayed?

You let out a breath of air in relief at the sight of him. Not just because he was there and stayed, but because it wasn’t somebody breaking in.

He didn’t even turn around before saying, “Où ranges-tu tes assiettes?” Where do you keep your plates? “Oh, I found them!” He didn’t have to turn around to sense your presence; all his senses seemed attuned to your proximity. Your body called to him, like it demanded his attention. As if your cells were able to alert his own, screaming for them to merge with yours.

You felt a swirl of need form in your stomach at the sight of your scratch marks on his back. As if he was marked for your territory only. You also felt a surge of panic form in your throat as the memories of last night came flooding back. 

Tell me who your body belongs to.

Je t’appartiens, Charles.

A sensation of unease churned in your stomach as thoughts of Max’s face crossed your mind. The guilt weighed heavily, and you felt on the verge of nausea for what you had done to him. How was it possible that something so bad felt so good? It was as if Charles held complete control over you, rendering you senseless and devoid of rational thoughts and actions. Tears prick at your eyes as you observe the bruises on the insides of your legs and felt the welts on your neck. Your body looks and feels both used and abused. Nothing about this situation is okay. Last night, you both had been remarkably careless. 

The panic began to subside only when Charles turned around and met your gaze. His eyes, an unusually light shade of green, captured your attention. His disheveled hair hinted at just having woken up not too long ago.

“I didn’t know you stayed,” you began, confusion laced in your voice. “I heard the door shut last night.”

“Fille stupide,” Stupid girl. A smile crept on his face, carrying a mocking undertone that seemed directed at you.  “I went to store to get you a pill last night. Je suis revenu.” I came back.

You despised how profoundly his words impacted you, how his return stirred a need for you to rationalize both your actions and his, even when there was no justification for what had transpired. Anxious, your fingers fidgeted with the end of the T-shirt that rested at the middle of your thighs. He advanced towards you, trapping you between him and the counter – a familiar position whenever you find yourself in his presence. His hands find their way to your face, their size enough to envelope majority of it. His fingers sprawl on your jawline, and his thumbs rest on your cheekbones as he looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he’s memorizing every inch of your face. Like you’re a textbook and he has a test to study for. 

“Tu es tellement belle,” You’re so beautiful. Despite his sweet words, a sinister gleam in his eyes followed the contours of your body, his hands firmly gripping your hips as he pressed himself to you, “I meant what I said last night.”

Mine, you’re fucking mine.

The ache in between your legs was growing with each passing second. He was too close, his smell and warmth surrounding you, creating a sense of intoxication. You felt the need to press your thighs together, but Charles stood between them, smirking down at you like he knew. 

Words fail you as you gaze up at him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He stands there patiently, waiting as you study the furrow of his eyebrow. He stands there patiently, waiting as your eyes delve into his, memorizing every shade of color within them. He stands there patiently, waiting as your gaze fixates on his lips.

It was almost as if you didn’t have a choice. Like he was a pre-determined answer to your life. A definition to your word.

“Guess I didn’t give it to you hard enough last night, hm?” It wasn’t until your hands settle on his biceps that he realizes you’ve given him consent. Suddenly, his hands are everywhere. Roaming your body like an unexplored map; squeezing your waist, pinching your nipples, squeezing your butt. He just can’t get enough of you. “Need me to take the ache away?”

A moan escapes your lips as you yield, unable to resist him. Your body, seemingly under his command, surrenders to its desires. 

His tongue presses against yours, never losing contact. He quickly flips the both of you around, pushing you until your back met the countertop of the island. With determination, he lifts you onto it, shoving anything that finds solace there, to the floor. His hands push you down, so you now lay sprawled on the counter in the center of the kitchen. You replacing the breakfast Charles had made.

“Mon dieu,” My God. He growls at the sight of your legs spread and bare for him. “Je pourrais mourir heureux.” I could die happy. You have no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Especially when his tongue met your clit, licking you as if you were the last meal on Earth and he was starving.

His two fingers slid into your heated core, curling them to brush your g-spot with every stroke. “Tellement bon,” So fucking good. He’s moaning into your pussy, sending you into oblivion. 

“Putain de salope.” Fucking dirty slut. He manages to mumble in between your legs, the vibration of his words pushing you closer to the edge.

Around his fingers, you clench. You revel in the feeling of him in you, no matter what or how it’s done. Your fingers clench in his hair, it’s longer than the first time you met, tugging to anchor yourself. His hands on you are equivalent to an out of body experience. You could never tire of it. 

“You like that?” Yes! You wanted to yell. You more than liked it. You loved it.

It wasn’t until his other hand, the one not inside of you, groped one of your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, that you went flying over the edge, relishing in the waves of pleasure as he continues to thrust his fingers in you – coaxing you through the orgasm. 

His mouth is hot on you, swallowing anything you’ll give him. Your legs shake, his mouth on you becoming too much as you squirm until he stops and looks at you, his lips glossy and coated.

“Tellement foutrement doux,” So fucking sweet. He murmured as he pulled you up, holding you in an upright position to look at him. You still don’t know what he’s saying, but you didn’t care. Your ears were ringing as you came down from your high, feeling limp against the hands of Charles.

You shut your eyes as you began to feel the panic surge. You gave in, again.  He peppered small kisses to your neck, almost too softly, a stark contrast from how he treats you in the midst of sex. He was soft with you now -- tender. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop. As if sensing your panic, Charles tips your chin to look at him.

“Cherie, you are made for me.” You feel the panic claw at your throat, constricting you, and the tears begin to spill from your eyes. “Don’t you see?”

You did see it. You could see it clear as day. After all, there wasn’t a day that he wasn’t on your mind since the first encounter. You don’t understand what’s happening to you. How could you betray Max like this? He didn’t deserve it, and you didn’t deserve him. It feels like there’s no choice when it comes to Charles. It’s as if your body responds instantly to his mere gaze. He’s the batteries, and you’re the remote control. Completely useless without its batteries.

You knew you had to tell Max. You couldn’t bear to hurt him any further. You observed Charles begin to furrow his eyebrows in frustration as he sensed you withdrawing from him. The sight pained him, and it hurt to witness.

“I need to tell Max,” You started, but were quickly cut off by a voice.

“Tell Max what?” 

You felt your heart stop and face flush red, as none other than Max stood just a few feet away in the entry way of your home, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a spare key to your apartment in the other. Time seemed to slow down as you observed Max’s eyes darting between the proximity of you and Charles. There you were, perched on the counter, with Charles standing between your legs. Your cheeks flushed red as you sat with nothing but Charles t-shirt on your body. The kitchen island was wiped clean, everything scattered on the floor. The air hung heavy with an unspoken tension.

He didn’t even speak. He simply dropped the flowers and spare key on the entry way table and turned around, heading for the door. You shoved Charles out of the way, running towards the door. Running towards Max.

“Please, I can explain,” you were shouting. Completely panicked. But really, there was nothing to explain. It was clear as day, all cards laid out on the table in front of Max’s eyes.

“You don’t need to explain.” He scoffed, his jaw clenched in anger, as his eyes bounced from you, standing in front of him, to Charles, who remained planted in the kitchen. “Ik ben er klaar mee.” I’m done. He spoke in his native tongue, knowing you understood.

“Ik walg van je.” You disgust me. His words were sharp, stabbing you where it hurt most. He couldn’t even look you in the eye as he stepped out of the apartment as fast as he could.

You convince yourself that something has to be wrong with you. You were so mad that you did this. So mad that you hurt Max. But still, despite it all, everything with Charles feels so right.

Tears spilled hotly from your eyes, falling to the floor as you sobbed into your hands. Charles hurried over, lifting you to your feet and cradling you in his arms. Swiftly, he carried you to your bed, gently placing you on the covers. Pulling you into his chest, he held you tightly, providing comfort and solace.

“Je te protégerai.” I’ll keep you safe. Charles mutters into the nape of your neck, rubbing your back soothingly as you cry into him. “Tu es faite pour moi.” You’re meant for me.

You cried for what felt like hours. Charles only continued to whisper sweet nothings to you as he held you. You cried until you were limp with exhaustion, eyes closing, surrounded in the warmth of Charles. You didn’t deserve it.

“I will be here when you wake up, Cherie.” ----------- sorry max, you need to lose something 🤭

[heretyc]

Regret [Barbi x Jessica Rabbit! Reader]

Based off of the ask where Reader is Jessica Rabbit-esque, and on an idea I had about you being kidnapped by the CIA. I was like, "Jessica Rabbit AU would fit this perfectly". Maneater would eat everybody and Wife would be far too hard to take lol.

I know the title sounds sad, but the fic is not. Promise. You'll see.

Enjoy.

"You know, gentlemen...this isn't the proper way to treat a woman."

The heavily uniformed men merely shot you dirty looks as you fixed your lipstick; the pocket mirror, coated in sequins and with you and Barbi's initials, stuck out like a sore thumb as your other hand swiped the red wax onto your lips without flaw.

"You're no woman," one sneered, pushing the end of his nightstick against your bare chest. "You're an evil bitch."

"I'm not bad," you purred, your glittery lids catching the light of the shitty excuse of a ceiling light, "I'm simply perceived that way."

The ship fought against the rough waves, almost as if Mother Nature herself was making it a challenge for the CIA to steal you away.

"Your idiotic husband fucked up, you know," another spoke up, his hands occupied with a gun. "He killed too many innocent people."

"Nobody is ever truly innocent in Havana, don't you know?" you smacked your lips, the red lipstick matte upon your pouty mouth, "Men sleep with the women of the island, the women gamble their husband's money...you know how it is." You blinked lazily, putting your mirror and lipstick onto the small table within your cell. You heard thunder in the distance, the choppy ocean promising a hurricane within its domain.

"Your definition of innocent differs from mine," you clicked your tongue, "Murder is justified in some cases."

"Name those fuckin' cases," the first man rolled his eyes, his nose twitching in clear irritation, "Murder is sinful, that's what it is."

"Well," you began to count on your gloved fingers, "there was that one man who tried to assault me, Barbi shot him..."

"Okay, that's...that's fair, but-"

"And then there was that man who tried to drug my drink to kidnap me..."

"That's...okay, sure-"

"And thennnnn the man who stole my purse...oh, how I remember that," your giggle was airy, "Barbi chased him down in the Corvette and ran him over...my purse was bloody, sure, but he bought me a new one...Dior."

"...I..." The man scoffed, "Okay, those are...decent reasons, but...seriously? Running the guy over?"

"You would too, if your wife's 3000 dollar custom glittery purse was stolen."

The man grew silent, and the others began to silently leave your cell, "I...guess so. But still, he's made a name for himself. One we can't abide by or associate with. "

"So stealing his wife was a good idea?"

"He stole our good reputation, we're stealing his wife. Seemed fair to us."

"...Mmm," you pursed your lips, looking out of the window; lightning flashed nonstop, the wind picking up. "Regret is a beautiful thing, don't you think?"

He scoffed, "He doesn't regret murdering innocent people."

"Oh, it's not him I'm talking about."

And it was left at that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ───

Bloodshed. Delicious shades of red, like that which sat upon your lips and Barbi's pale cheeks.

"And this, gentlemen, is why you don't FUCK with me or my fuckin' WIFE." Barbi announced to the CIA members on board, all tied up and at the mercy of Barbi's men.

Barbi's hand guided you down the stairs from the cabin, the large ship bobbing within the docks. It took a long ass time, but he managed to track you down with his yacht, and redirect the CIA's ship to the Havana docks.

He looked up to you with love, his smile wobbly with affection, "You're safe now, sweetness...they didn't hurt ya, did they?" His grip grew tight, "Just say the fuckin' word and we'll put more holes in them than swiss cheese."

"I'm fine, baby," you cooed, bending down to peck his lips, "We can be nice to them, can't we? I mean...they didn't hurt me." You feigned a pout. "And murder is sinful."

"Anything my sweetness wants, she gets," he booped your nose, "Drowning in shark infested waters it is."

Oh, how delicious were the sounds of the muffled guards and their shrieks behind dirty rags.

"Alright boys," Barbi took you to the ramp leading onto his smaller, yet luxurious yacht, "You heard me. Take this shithole of a ship, drop the bastards in with the great whites and sink it."

"NO. No," you rushed to say, resulting in a look of curiosity from him. "Baby...this ship is armoured and full of weaponry. As well as seized drugs. Wouldn't you want to keep it for yourself? Just rip the GPS system out...simple."

It took a moment for the idea to click, but he smirked, a hand clapping itself onto your ass and squeezing through the material of your dress, "You're a fuckin' GODDESS, you know that?" He sighed lovingly, "Get onto the yacht...I'll be there shortly."

You nodded, watching Barbi's retreating form as a few of his men guided him to the control room.

Adjusting your dress, you looked around before spotting the guard from earlier.

"I told you...regret is a beautiful thing. You feel it now, don't you?"

You didn't care for the frantic nods. You did, however, want to drink a mimosa.

"And make it strong, baby!" Barbi called from the stairwell, "We're gonna fuckin' party tonight!"

He knew you well.

[lightandfellowship]

I actually find the topic of "Nomura's evolving art style as he takes on more and more responsibility at Square (and subsequently has less time to Do Stuff)" really fascinating.

Like, If you compare his art from the KH1-DDD era to his current day art, I think there's a noticable difference to his approach: how many steps there are in his art process, how he chooses to finish a piece, and the shift from a clean digital style to a more organic traditional one.

He used to use very clean, black lineart; bold colors; and more instances of defined/hard shading for that digital, almost cell-shaded or vector kinda look. Nowadays he goes for a more sketchy + watercolor style with pencil lineart, broad washes of faded color, and color shading that's a bit more blended and simplified in places (relying more on the pencil shading to create distinct shadows), with the hard edges more often reserved for scattered, bright highlights. (He's made art like this in the past eras too, such as the KH main menu arts which all have a watercolor quality to them, but the lineart was a bit more defined then and less sketchy, and thus slightly different from his current stuff.)

I think the Dark Road key art is a very good example of his current art style. The sketchy, almost brown lineart. The watercolor quality that emerges where two colors meet and overlap. A little desaturated and earthy. Color shading that's very broad, soft, and loose, with sharp highlights here and there.

Both styles have their merits (I personally love this sketchy era of his), but I think it's pretty likely that he adopted this as his "main" art style in order to adapt to time crunch. He doesn't need to do time-consuming lineart and precise shading anymore; he can use the original sketch as the lineart instead. Heck, he can fill in a bunch of the shading via pencil during this sketching phase to save even more time, and then can paint in a more watercolor-y kind of way that allows him to color in quicker, broader strokes.

And then there's the occasional art mistake that has become a bit more frequent in recent years, by my estimation. Which I imagine, again, is due to running out of time to notice/fix those mistakes. Things like Ephemer's arms being a bit too long in this UX art, the Kingdom Key being slightly off-model in this anniversary art, or the ears on this Mickey Mouse symbol being two different sizes on this Utada album art.

(Which isn't to say that he hasn't made art mistakes in the previous eras, for example he initially got the colors of Riku's shirt mixed up in the Re:CoM cover art before fixing it, but I still think the mistakes were a bit less frequent back then.)

And like, hey. I draw, too. Amatuerishly, but I do. I don't blame Nomura for possibly needing to change his approach to making art in order to meet deadlines, nor do I blame him for these little art mistakes that ended up falling through the cracks. I imagine he simply doesn't have the time anymore now that his job has shifted from (primarily) being a character designer/illustrator to (primarily) being a director of multiple, simultaneous projects. Or maybe I'm totally wrong about this and his art evolution had nothing to do with time crunch, who knows. I think his current art style is gorgeous either way!

Anyway, I just think this is an interesting example of someone taking their art and adapting it to a difficult and highly limiting situation, experimenting with new things and finding the means to still make art even when you have less time to do. Also a great example that professionals are human and will make mistakes even in professional products, and it's not the end of the world, it just happens. If you ever obsess over a mistake in your art...maybe take solace in knowing that it happens to everyone. Even people who have been in their field for a very long time.

[helpme695]

Hello! I really liked your general relationship headcanons with Samarie <3 and i was wondering if you could do the same but with Pocketcat?

Have a good day/night!

I'm glad you liked it, dear! I must consider myself lucky tbh ^^; thank you for appreciatin'!

I started with silly plot :3

I'm sorry for any mistake. I hope you will accept it <3

Pain, hopelessness, vulnerable, you strayed in a long path of decaying flesh that belonged to living people for once.

Stumbling with throping pain in your thigh, you were hit with an arrow from one of these guards, trying to get a key to free a man from his cell, and the mercenary thanked you by stealing your silver coins and a bottle of wine when you most needed it. You wonder how a human being can be this determined to be ridiculous in such situations.

You noticed a mechanism in distance, so you pushed against the pain and scooted to it. Standing near you saw it lead under the ground. You felt paranoid and thought if it's a good idea to go for it. But you already broke that question by stepping a foot into this monstrosity called dungeons.

You feel dizzy, you losing your mind, the feeling of elevator gose down doesn't make it any better. When you push yourself out, your pupils size up to collect as much light as possible. It's so dark. But you did notice the flying creatures above your head. You continue to wonder, hoping to find something useful.

The darkness with the sound of dripping water. The adrenal withering off, and all that aimless wondering made you tired. but You can't give in. If you closed your eyes, you might not be as lucky as last time. And when you finally felt you about to give up, you heard a man's voice.

"What do we have here~? A new traveller I see! Good to see you, It was so lonely down here."

You tried to figure out his shape. But it's only a wooden cat mask with neat purple clothes you usually see with nobles.

You draw your weapon out at him, fear and pain making your legs and arms shake. You already can't focus or fight nor run, but you hope if you tuff up, he will leave you alone. That worked a few times, right? but no... He got closer than your liking.

"Now now now... that's not how you greet someone nice."

"Back off, don't get any closer! Unless you want to become a meal."

"We will become a full course table if you keep this attitude."

He put your weapon aside with ease and absorbed you. He can straight away tell you are one slip away from insanity.

"Hmmm... I know What you need! and I have it right here.."

You watched him pull something out of his suit jacket many pockets, it's a bottle of wine!

"Can't talk to a custmer when they unwell~"

Your eyes glued at it, trying to reach out for it, but you too weak to even grasp it. Suddenly, you feel a strong hand holding the back of your neck painfully, forcing you to tilt your head up.

"Don't choke on it, dear."

He chucked the whole bottle down your throat, ironically making you almost choke. He let you go when you finished the bottle and sit on the ground near him. red wine tings your tongue and overwhelm your taste buds. Trying to catch your breath and collect your mind.

"You're welcome~ and since you've been good enough to finely meet me in such gloomy place, you don't have to give me anything for that bottle."

You only starred at him. You felt disturbed and comforted at the same time. You still not sure if you want to finely rest a bit.

"Enjoying the view? I'm flattered if you say so."

You didn't say anything, but he wasn't mistaken. It's quite comforting with this shade of purple and non bothered behaviour in such a place. And so on, you finally passed out.

...........

You don't know for how long you passed out, but the man stayed there in the same position without moving an inch, watching you. You realised how much pain you actually have, from the injury in your thigh to how stiff you are.

"I see you up, sleepyhead! How about we probably introduce ourselves, hmm?"

Good, you're not poisoned, and still have your limps together. You approached this man and thanked him for his help. You found him quite a gentleman. Until he explained he doesn't need gold or sliver to exchange. He really did break that picture of him, huh?

"although I usually keep things in business, my dear custmer. I won't mind for us chatting for a while, if you like."

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

Besides his weird behaviour and disgusting desires, He is a gentleman to some degree.

His chatting and topics that are not related to the dungeons make you feel a bit at ease. You already have too much in body and mind.

He compliments you quite a lot. Half of them come off creepy and try to brush it off. And the other half truly uplifts your mood.

prefers your company more than anyone else, and if there is someone else with you (besides children and moonless), he won't try too hard to talk to them or just straight-up ignore them.

No, He won't join your party. He's a merchant, you silly!

He will give you fake excuses he's weak (not caring if a child is stronger than him, or when he crushed your neck when you first met him) and is not interested in your little adventure.

He's trying to do his role, my dear.

He will give you hints to places to find something necessary. And if you are lucky enough, you will find it close to him.

You find it amazing how monsters and creatures lose interest when you near him. although, Don't use him too much, table may turn on you.

You better hide whatever child you have if you care about your relationship. He will indeed become upset. And more upset till he snaps at you.

When you sit near him, you swear you can hear him purring.

he won't hold into you for so long, just in case you die. Would he be capable of bringing you to live? That is something he must ask his master.

He's quite strange with physical touch. Sometimes, he is shameless, and sometimes, he is extremely bothered.

He just enjoys your company, maybe more than you do.

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

And that's it <3 see you later :D

[chosaraki]

Valentine's Day❤️

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Eli Jang

Johan Seong

Eugene

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Eli Jang:

The morning sun entered through the cracks of the beige curtain, scratching Eli's face as a soft reminder that that would not be an ordinary day. The cell phone on the dresser vibrated silently, but he had already been awake for minutes, with Yena nestled in his left arm, the light breath of a child mixing with the silence of the room.

On the other side of the bed, (y/n) slept with a serenity that made him smile inside. The face half hidden by the sheet, the messy hair and a slight trail of lilac paint still on the nails - probably from the night before, when she finished the little outfit she sewed for Yena to wear in the park.

Eli wasn't romantic for words. He wasn't good with flowers or statements. But there, at that moment, lying between the two people I loved the most, I knew that that was your Valentine's Day gift. It was whole - even after so many pieces.

(Y/n) woke up gently minutes later, feeling the heat of Eli's hand intertaced in yours. She smiled without opening her eyes, his fingers already drawing lazy circles on the silver wedding ring on her ring.

- You woke up before me - he murmured, with a hoarse and sweet voice.

- I just wanted to look at you a little - he replied low, as if he didn't want to break the charm.

She turned around and kissed his cheek. A simple gesture, but for Eli it was worth more than any poem.

—————

In the kitchen, (y/n) prepared breakfast using her personalized apron - the same one she sewed last month, with the name "Yena" embroidered in pink on her chest. The table was already set with fruits cut into heart shapes, homemade breads that she baked herself, and a simple note next to Eli's mug:

"Thank you for being the man I choose every day. Happy Valentine's Day."

He read in silence and smiled sideways. He took the ticket carefully, as if it were too fragile for the world he came to. He put it in his wallet, along with the old photo of Yena as a baby.

(Y/n) approached from behind and wrapped Eli with his arms, his chin resting on his shoulder.

- You don't have to do anything great today. Just stay here with me. With us.

- That's all I really wanted - he replied, tilting his head to touch hers.

—————

Later, the three went to the park. Yena wore the set made by (y/n): a light floral dress with a small hand-sewn bow on the chest. Eli carried the backpack with the toys, and (y/n) took a folded blanket to have a picnic on the lawn.

Between laughter, Yena's races and spontaneous photos, time seemed to slow down.

In the middle of the afternoon, while Yena slept under the shade of a tree, (y/n) handed Eli an envelope made of recycled paper, sewn at the edges with golden line.

Inside there was an elegant black vest, handmade by her, tailored to Eli's thin body, with an almost imperceptible detail: a small letter "Y" embroidered near the heart.

- For when you go out with us... or just want to remember that you have a home - she said, shy, fixing his collar with affection.

Eli swallowed hard. I never cried in front of anyone. But at that moment, he had to blink several times. He touched the vest with his fingers as if touching something sacred.

- I'll never be able to give you something up to this - he murmured.

(Y/n) smiled tenderly and touched his forehead to his.

- You've already given me everything, Eli. The peace you try to find... is the same as you give me, every day. Just stay with me. Just choose me, as you chose Yena.

He kissed her right there, in the middle of the park, in a restained and intense way, like everything he is. A kiss that said: "I don't know how to promise the future, but I know that the present is yours."

—————

At night, back to the small apartment, the two lay down with Yena between them, sleeping peacefully. (Y/n) stroked the child's hair while Eli watched in silence.

- Happy Valentine's Day, Jang Hyun - she whispered.

He looked at the ceiling, then at her, and replied in a hoarse voice:

- Thank you... for sewing a place for me in your heart.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Johan Seong:

The fine rain fell on Seoul on that cloudy afternoon on February 14. The streets were full of couples, intertwed hands, shared laughter, promises murmured between shy kisses.

But Johan Seong watched everything from afar, from the top of a building, with his hands in his pockets and his heart tight, as if he were still that boy who watched the world have fun through the window of loneliness.

That date... had always been empty for him. It was something for the others. Normal people. People who knew how to be good without having to protect themselves with thorns.

But this year was different.

Because this year, he had you.

And you were... everything he didn't know he needed.

—————

Flashback: the present

Leaving the top of the building, Johan went down the stairs every two steps. His black coat was already soaked, but he didn't care. The mind was focused on a single goal: to get home. For you.

While walking through the wet streets, he remembered the chaotic morning:

- "JOHAN! Are you going to leave like this?! Without drinking coffee, without giving me a kiss?!”

His voice echoed in his thoughts.

He hadn't answered. He just slammed the door with an angry face. And why?

You're welcome.

Or rather... for insecurity. Fear. That rotten thought that he wasn't good enough, that at some point you would leave him too. That all this love you offered had an expiration date.

But you - you, with that heart the size of the world - never backed down.

—————

When Johan opened the door of the small apartment they shared, the light of the heated room contrasted with the cold coming from outside. The smell of cinnamon tea and sweet rice filled his nostrils.

You appeared in the kitchen, with your apron stained with flour, your hair pinned anyway and a meek smile, the same as always.

- "Welcome, my hurricane of bad mood," you said softly, without irony, but firmly in your eyes.

He closed the door and stood still. Dripping. Trembling. Silent.

- "Are you... still here?" He murmured, low.

- "I will always be."

You walked up to him, took his face between your hands as if it were made of glass and said:

- "If today was difficult... if your inner monsters screamed louder... it's okay. But don't fight with me. Let me fight with you."

That phrase broke something inside him.

Because no one ever wanted to fight next to him. They just faced him or abandoned him.

—————

Johan pulled you hard for a hug. A desperate, suffocated, almost hurt hug.

- "Sorry for earlier... I just... I... I don't want to ruin it."

You put your face on his chest and said, simple:

- "You're not a mistake waiting for it to happen. You are the home I chose."

He felt his eyes burn, but he didn't cry. Not there. Not with you smiling like that. Instead, he walked away, took something out of his coat pocket and handed it over with trembling hands:

- "I didn't know what to give you... so I did it."

It was a necklace. A small dark stone wrapped in silver. Nothing expensive. But made by him. Carved for hours in silence, with bruised fingers.

You held it as if it were a treasure and said:

- "It's perfect. Like everything that comes from you, when it comes from your heart."

——————

Later, sitting together on the couch, with his head leaning against your lap and the TV playing some romantic program, you played with the wet strands of his hair.

He murmured:

- "You're too light for someone like me."

And you answered:

- "And you are the shadow that teaches me to see the beauty of what is hidden."

He laughed, tired.

- "If you knew who I was, what I've already done..."

- "I know. And I'm still here."

Silence.

Johan took his hand and kissed his fingers, one by one. Then, with a voice lower than a whisper:

- "If I ever lose you, I won't go back to being who I was. I... disappear."

You touched his heart with the palm of your hand and said:

- "So never lose me. And never forget: love is not a perfect person's thing. It's something for people who don't give up."

—————

That Valentine's Day night, Johan Seong - the boy who only knew abandonment - slept with his head on the lap of the woman who saved him.

Not with exaggerated promises.

Not with expensive flowers.

But with something he never really received: presence, tenderness and choice.

And finally, he believed - even for a second - that maybe... just maybe... he also deserved to be happy.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Eugene:

The night sky of Seoul was clear that night of February 14. The city lights were reflected in the panoramic windows of the penthouse where Eugene lived. Everything there exuded control: from the moderate brightness of the chandelier imported from Austria to the subtle sound of a string quartet in analog recording.

Eugene, as always, was impeccably dressed. Tailor-made cut suit, navy blue tie and a calm smile on the lips. But his eyes behind the round glasses were looking for something with contained anxiety.

She hadn't arrived yet.

And she - y/n - was an unknown that not even he could fully predict.

When the door of the exclusive elevator sounded with a low ding, Eugene straightened up, like someone waiting for an opponent worthy of respect.

She came in.

Black silk dress with oriental cuts, meticulously pinned hair, light makeup that only enhanced the natural severity of her face. His eyes, as serene as they were dangerous, stared at him as if analyzing an opponent on a go board. She walked gracefully - but never gently. His steps had purpose. Always.

- You're late, - Eugene said, offering a smile that could be affection or provocation.

- And you're impatient. - She replied, depositing a small sealed box on the table. - I imagined that, as a strategist, you would know how to better manage your anxiety.

Eugene's smile gave in briefly to a low laugh. That woman was his favorite paradox. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't passive. She wasn't submissive. She challenged him in every word, every gesture. She understood the game - and played of her own free will.

- Are you testing me today too? Even on a romantic date?

- I'm not the type who adorns feelings with flowers. If it bothers you, let me know. I'm sure there are many willing to smile in the right tone for you.

Eugene approached, stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets.

- But none of them would make me think so much. None of them would know what you know. - Her eyes stared at her with a rare sincerity. - None of them would make me question my own control.

She looked at him in silence for a moment. A small movement - the corner of his mouth rising minimally - was his only smile.

- Control is illusion, Eugene. But you're too stubborn to accept that.

- And you're the only illusion I want to keep close, even if it costs me the whole empire. - He said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Dinner passed with refined conversations, subtle provocations, comments on corporate movements, secret acquisitions, even diplomatic scandals. No "I love you" was said - but every look carried the weight of a thousand silent promises.

At the end of the night, when she approached the window and observed the city below, Eugene stood behind her. He didn't touch her - he knew she didn't tolerate touch without purpose. Instead, he spoke softly:

- If one day everything falls apart, including the Workers, I want that's all to remain.

- This what?

- You challenging me. Like now.

She turned her face slowly, sharp eyes like ice daggers.

- So stay worthy of the challenge, Eugene.

And, for the first time that night, she kissed him.

Brief. Rational.

And yet, devastatingly intimate.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

[lovetei]

I'm in for everything that includes the MC being the sugar instead of the baby :P

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

MC taking the brothers in Disneyland and everything is already paid

Warnings:

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist

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

LUCIFER

He's shocked

You randomly went to the human world and refuses to say anything why

And then you came back with bags and shades saying "Come one losers, we're going to Disneyland!"

This was not on their budget plan...

What do you mean they don't need to pay anything?

You paid it all...

He's... Thankful really...

Well, they need some time off once in a while.

In Disneyland he'll be the parent brother and would say "Satan stand next to that large mouse, I'll take a picture."

Like

He's also the type to hold the map upside down and wonder what type of language humans are using now because this ain't the one he used to know

When you ask him "Are you enjoying it?" his smile will dissappear and he'll blush before answering "Yes..."

MAMMON

You're leaving? Aww :(

We're going to Disneyland?! Yeah :)

Lucifer don't want to? Aww :(

Lucifer agreed?! Yeah :)

You paid everything?! Yeah >:)

In Disneyland he'll be the type to buy every souvenir he liked

He'll also walk around with those headbands inspired by characters

Will probably follor Lucifer and he told him to stand next to something and pose as he will take a picture

Hell, he'll be laughing his ass off as Lucifer take those pictures with his old ass camera

Like this.

LEVIATHAN

You left..?

For what?

Oh you're taking them all to Disneyland?!

Like the Disneyland he saw on those human series?!

But Lucifer...

He agreed?!

WAHHH! He's so happy!

He's walking around the park with a map in his hand and he's blushing so much out of happiness

If you hold his hand while walking he'll be so happy he might even tear up.

But he'll show you his skills on those small stalls that includes guns and stuff to win small prizes

For short, he'll subtly show off

SATAN

He doesn't really care if they can go or not

But he did not actually expect Lucifer to agree with it

He's the smart guy

Always looking for those cheeper but still good food

He'll also be the type to distribute the brothers on each ride and stand in line

Whoever gets to ride first will let the others skip the line

And when Lucifer told him to stand beside that fucking monument of this character the human worshipped so much named "Mickey"

He popped a vessel

But he can't cause a scene so he just stood there

ASMODEUS

If you can't parsuade Lucifer then he might just help you

He might even have his brothers sign a petition or something

And in Disneyland he'll just be all around buying stuffs

He's like that pretty girl you will see in lines that will start screaming, going ape shit the moment she stepped in the viking ride or something

While Lucifer took pictures of Satan

He's standing there judgmentally

Cause as a fucking model

Why the fuck is this bitch standing there like that?

CHEST OUT CHIN UP HE SAID

BEELZEBUB

You guessed it

He only liked the Disneyland because of the food there and that fact that the whole place smells like popcorn everytime

He's carrying Belphie ALL THE TIME

In rides he does more work than those shitty ass seat belts tbh

And he's just standing there looking proud with his hotdog because he think they look like family

BELPHEGOR

He thinks it's a hassle but since you want to go there too

He has no choice

He refuses to take pictures

He doesn't buy souvenirs

And he refuses to stand in lines

He's also the type of visitor that you'll see taking a bench all for himself by sleeping there

Like

He's sleeping when Lucifer took the photo but he'll laugh his ass off later.

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

[glitter-covered-bodybag]

I don't think we talk about how awful the Dubai penthouse really is. I mean look at the dining room.

HUGE table that encourages distance (especially as there's only 2 of them living here). When it's only Louis with his little bowls of blood he's gonna sit there alone with the heaps of space available at this table and no one else sat at it and be reminded that he really is alone. The bland walls with only a painting or two. The crisp and cleaners of everything. No warmth.

Then there's Louis's (supposedly) relaxation room with Armand's magnolia tree and Armand's library. A library that book-obsessed Louis cannot access. He's wholly dependent on Armand to retrieve things from it. "Please daddy Armand, may I have a book?" 😒 We literally see this when Louis asks to see the removed pages. Those belonged to Claudia, Louis's companion/sister/daughter. Why should that be something he has to ask for? Bare, grey walls like concrete. Like a prison. White stones in the zen garden the same as those Louis was buried in.

Then the bedroom. LOOK AT THIS BED. ITS MADE OF ROCKS. You CANNOT convince me this is comfortable to sleep in. The width of it meaning Louis and Armand can sleep entirely separately. The coffins, padded as they were look so much more comfortable and we know Louis likes laying in his coffin more than a bed from when he was recovering from the full body burns and asked to be put in his coffin even though the room was sun-proof and he would have been safe on the bed. Then the bars surrounding the bedroom. He's sleeping in a cell. (I've seen other people point out the similarity between the bars over the arches and the turning of Louis which is a detail I LOVE for reasons unrelated to this post. Here's a visual)

Everything is controlled through Armand's iPad. Armand controls the lighting. Armand controls the window shades. It just shows this unequal dynamic between Louis and Armand. "Armand protects my happiness"?? No, Armand is the one with the power here. You're his pet. You're his ward. Armand is an owner, a parent, almost a jailer (I'm not saying Louis can't leave or Armand is Evil, at all, just that the power dynamic is heavily tipped towards Armand as he tries to prevent a repeat of San Francisco. I wholeheartedly think he's just so overprotective that it tips into unhealthy territory). Louis doesn't do anything for himself. This is not how romantic relationships work. This is the first clue that their relationship is not what it seems, the first sign that Armand is trying to keep control of the narrative.

There is not one thing that shows me that Louis enjoys his space. Nothing to show it's lived in. It's cold and plain and boring. Compare to Daniel's apartment, a man who has had a long successful career and also lives alone.

Warm. A little messy. Lived in. An apartment of Daniel's size is hardly cheap either. But you can feel that Daniel's space is Daniel's space. The Dubai penthouse has no identity. I know this is just a modern, high-value aesthetic but there are so many other 'rich person' aesthetics that could be adopted that would be comfortable. Even keeping the clean lines. Look at these...

Still clean, still modern but warm. Everything about the penthouse is depressing to me.